My Week with Marilyn (19 page)

‘In England we do not normally behave like that,' I said icily.

‘Whadja talking about?'

‘Throwing all those newspapers out of the window. They caused a terrible mess.'

‘I'd finished with them.'

Nothing more to say.

I can't believe everyone does that in America. He's just a totally egocentric and insensitive boor, and that's that.

But I soon had my revenge. The passenger seat back on the Bristol rests on two chrome ‘cams'. If I corner too fast to the left it slips off these cams, and falls back flat. The first corner I came to off the A4 was a left-hander. I was grinding my teeth with rage and consequently driving faster than normal. Suffice it to say that for a fraction of a second Mr Jacobs thought that he was falling through the bottom of the car onto the road. Of course I stopped and helped him to sit up again, with many sincere apologies. But he looked pale, and at last he actually noticed who I was for a fleeting moment.

We were very late for Mrs C-P at Tibbs, but the house is exactly as I remembered it. Thick gold Wilton, heavy curtains, eau-de-nil bathrooms etc. surrounded by dark foliage. Mrs C-P all charm and very excited: ‘Your friends were here,' she said to me but APJ, unremittingly odious, took no notice.

After 20 minutes we drove back to Piccadilly. No lunch of course. I suppose APJ had had a healthy breakfast at the Savoy, but I'd had nothing since seven and I was in a bad temper.

‘Well?' said Mr P, after giving APJ a patently false show of comradeship.

‘Not bad, I suppose,' said APJ – just as I thought he would – and shut Mr P's office door in my face. I went out for lunch and made another phone call.

At 5 p.m. I wandered back in. It was now or never. Luckily it was now.

Mr P's office door was open. ‘They want to see you right away,' said Vanessa. ‘I'm afraid they're rather angry.'

‘Good,' I said and marched in. APJ was in a corner, his face black with rage. ‘Colin,' said Mr P, very growly, ‘Have you seen this?' He held out the
Evening Standard
.

Headline: ‘This is the house Marilyn Monroe will live in while in England blah blah.' Picture of Tibbs Farm.

‘Yes, I have.'

‘There is only one person who could have given the papers this story.'

‘You must have given it to them before I even saw the house,' said APJ through clenched teeth.

‘Of course I gave it to them.'

‘Well now you've ruined everything. It was the perfect house, but once the press know of it, it is out of the question. Couldn't you have realised it had to stay a secret?'

‘It wasn't the perfect house this morning.'

Mr P: ‘Colin. What's going on?' He is a shrewd old bean. He knows that I like and admire him. He can't stand APJ and can see that I can't stand him either. Suddenly I saw it cross his mind, ‘Maybe I can trust Colin after all.'

‘When you told me to get a house for MM yesterday, I took the precaution of finding two. I showed Mr Jacobs the least good first. Now the press will always think that MM is staying there and we can rent the second house for her to live in. The second house is much better. It belongs to a Lord. I can take Mr Jacobs to see it now, or tomorrow morning, if he'd like. It is only a couple of miles from the first house, but it is much more elegant.'

Mr P: ‘And what are we going to say to the owners of the first house?'

‘I thought perhaps the production team could use it.'

‘What do you know about production teams?'

Before I could admit to total ignorance, APJ suddenly recovered his composure. ‘Hey, Milton and Amy could use it. It would be
perfect. Near the studio, near Marilyn.' Now he was the PR man, selling it to us. I suppose that in Hollywood people like him have to jump backward somersaults every day.

Mr P: ‘OK, that's settled then. Arrange for both houses to be rented from 9 July, for four months. By the way, how much are they?'

‘£100 per week, each.'

Mr P's eyebrows went up. Then he brightened. ‘Well, it comes out of Marilyn Monroe Productions' budget.'

‘Don't you want to see the other house?' (I was really proud of it.)

‘Nah, no need, we trust you boy.' Arthur had completely changed sides, and probably did not fancy another trip in the Bristol. Mr P nodded towards the door, and I left. Soon APJ left too. ‘See you, kid,' to me. ‘Bye, sweetheart,' to the secretaries. Then Mr P: ‘See you tomorrow, Colin.' Just a hint of a smile.

I call that victory.

And a victory it is.

On Monday I start working on the staff of LOP Ltd, at £8.10s. per week, as Mr P's assistant. When I came in this morning, Mr P called me into his office and actually gave a grin. Somehow Arthur Jacobs had persuaded himself that the whole house business was
his
triumph and had gone away (to Paris) happy. Mr P loathes him – quite rightly, he's a bullying shit – and sees it as
his
success, a problem neatly solved by a member of his staff (!).

‘Never trust that Hollywood crowd, Colin. The better you are, the more likely they are to stab you in the back.'

The secretaries already knew of my appointment and offered friendly congratulations. I've been living in their office for two weeks only now am I officially one of them. It means that I can share the gossip with Vanessa, which will be useful as well as fun.

Gilman bounded in and gave a whoop of delight. ‘You can get his lunch now – official!'

It did seem rather wasteful for Sir Laurence and Lady Olivier's Bentley and chauffeur to be sent in every day just to get Mr P a cheese roll. The pub is only 100 yards away, but that's showbiz.

It seems that as from Monday there will be another LOP production office at Pinewood. They will have the job of hiring all the personnel and facilities needed to make the film, and the Pinewood accounts office will pay people too – including me. Mr P promised to take me down to look over the studios in a few weeks' time.

‘We'd better try to get you a job on the production side for later on. You won't want to stay with me once filming starts.'

He has become quite fatherly. I rang Cotes-Preedy who is very excited. Naturally he believes the newspaper report that MM is going to stay in his house, and I did not disabuse him. Then I rang Garrett Moore,
¹⁰
who owns house No 2. A bit of panic when he said the whole thing was off, but I guessed the problem. ‘£100 a week is not enough,' he said severely. He is extremely astute and can somehow tell he has me over a barrel. I had told him, on pain of death to keep it a secret, that MM was going to be the tenant, and since he fancies himself as God's gift to women, I knew he was not going to refuse. I'll bet he secretly thinks that he will get to meet her and that she will be unable to resist his languid charm. Eventually we settled for £120 per week. Mr P had said ‘Price no object', so I didn't bother to check back with him. But I did insist on going down to Parkside House over the weekend. I just can't resist meeting Garrett's wife, Joan.
¹¹
She is incredibly beautiful. I hope the house is also as attractive as I remember it. Right now I'm going out to get sloshed at the Stork.
¹²
To eat, drink and, as Al Burnett would say, ‘Make Merry.'

A great weekend. On Friday night I told all the girls about my job. They were very impressed and I succeeded in getting Yvonne into bed at last. She is tough as an alley cat on the surface but quite scared underneath – like an alley cat is, I suppose. She is really too moody for me, but she was just the company I needed to stop me getting big-headed. After all, I'm not exactly going to direct MM in a movie yet.

I had quite a hangover on Saturday, but I spent Sunday sleeping in the garden and today I felt really good.

This morning Mr P gave me quite a cheerful, for him, ‘Hello Colin,' when he came in. Mind you, if you didn't know him, you'd have thought he was going to a funeral. He must have a wardrobe full of the same clothes as he never varies what he wears, day by day. Brown tweed suit, dark brown shoes, pale brown shirt, brown tie etc. Gilman said he'd never ever seen him in anything else. (There is a
Mrs
P. I wonder what she thinks?) After a bit, Mr P called me into the office.

‘You might as well know everything we are doing if you are to be any use.'

He showed me a huge squared-off sheet of paper, covered in columns and names and shaded squares.

This is really Mr P's pride and joy, his
chef d'oeuvre
, his bible. It is called a cross-plot. It has been cunningly worked out so that Pinewood's studios A and B can be alternated, with different ‘sets' being built on one stage while the other was being used for filming.

To get the most out of each set the film is not shot in chronological order. If there is a scene in a particular room at the beginning of the story and another scene at the end in the same room, then they will both be filmed together. This is especially hard for film actors who have to develop a character in fits and starts.

The major actors also have to be fitted into the cross-plot so that we get the most out of them in the shortest time. Dame Sybil
Thorndike,
¹³
for instance, is going to play Sir Laurence's mother-in-law (no more ‘Larry' now that I'm officially working for him). But she is also booked for a West End stage play, so all her scenes have to be shot first if possible and most should be finished before the play begins. (Some of her scenes need special effects and these can be put in later.) SLO
¹⁴
and MM and Richard Wattis
¹⁵
are in virtually all the scenes so they don't influence the cross-plot much.

MM has a terrible reputation for being late on the set, and not turning up at all on some days. Mr P has scheduled her to do all her scenes first with a long list of alternate shots, cutaways and reactions which can be put in at short notice if MM is not available.

‘What happens if shooting gets a week behind? The whole plan will collapse.'

Mr P grinned a Machiavellian grin and pulled out a second sheet and a third.

‘We just switch sheets. Warner Bros will never know.'

I gather that Warner Bros is lending LOP and MMP the money to make the film. Already I hear Mr P say: ‘Charge it to MMP' pretty frequently. I wonder if MMP is MM herself, or a group of people backing her.

I don't dare ask anything about MM. It seems in bad taste, like asking about childbirth. Anyway my job is to be preparing for MM's arrival. Police, press, chauffeur, bodyguard, servants, redecorations, everything to delight her eye and soothe her nerves. She must be a very difficult lady. I can't believe anyone is so unreasonable and silly, that they have to be spoiled so much. What would Nanny have said?

Six weeks until filming starts and a lot to prepare. Mr P depends on me a lot now but of course he won't need me at all when it does. Today a David Orton came in, and Mr P warned me that on him my future in the production would depend. He is going to be 1st Assistant Director. This does not mean SLO's assistant (SLO being the director), but the man in charge of seeing that everyone in the studio does what they are told.

‘He's a sort of sergeant major,' explained Mr P.

This didn't sound very attractive and I can't say I liked him at all. Blondish-mousy hair, a thin face and glasses which he is forever pushing up onto the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. He did not take to me either:

‘Have you worked on a film before?'

‘No.'

‘Then forget it. If you haven't made a film already then you aren't in the union, and there is no way in which you can work on a film, in any capacity.'

Very funny! It seems the union is the ACT, the Association of Cinematograph Technicians, and they are a famous ‘closed shop'. (No card, no film; no film, no card.)

So Mr Orton advised me to stay in Mr P's office. This is very disappointing. Mr P has already told me I can't stay in his office after production begins. And anyway I want to be a film
director
, not producer.

Mr P cheered me up by telling me to go down to see Diana Dors'
¹⁶
house tomorrow. It is somewhere near Ascot or maybe Henley. I've only got the phone number so far. Her agent has learned that MM is looking for something for the summer and thinks it might be good publicity if they could swap houses. Of course we already have two
houses, for MM and her manager, but I suppose some other creeps like APJ might arrive from America so I'll go and look.

Diana Dors always seems very sexy, even if extremely common. A bit of a tart.

Diana Dors is divine. She's as vulgar and cheeky as I imagined from her films, but with a hilarious sense of humour. She never stops cracking jokes and telling stories. Her conversations peppered with F — s and C — s.

Her house is near the river, although I couldn't see it, as she has a huge indoor pool. She and a starlet friend were sitting by the pool in bikinis when I arrived. DD is smaller than you would think in real life. I suppose the camera exaggerates her on purpose. She is quite a pretty girl, and her friend was even prettier but not so vivacious. DD could not care less about the house swap but she did want to hear about MM. It was quite a let-down when I was forced to admit that I hadn't met MM yet. DD got bored very quickly, so to liven things up she and her friend both took off their bikini tops and jumped into the pool. That got my attention all right. There were two workmen hammering at something at the far end and their eyes stood out like organ stops. They just downed tools and stared.