My Week with Marilyn (22 page)

In the wardrobe department was one of the prettiest little girls I have ever seen in my life. This is very good news indeed since I am going to be working here myself for four months. Slim as a wand, curly brown hair, huge brown eyes and a wide cheeky grin. The head of the department is a large motherly lady. She definitely feels that it is her duty to protect her little lambs from prowling 3rd Ast Dirs. But the ‘wand' was thrilled to bits. After all I was with MrP — and Mr P is supreme boss, at least until SLO arrives. Teddy persuaded Mr P that all was well, Mr P caught me by the ear to prevent me bobbing up to Wardrobe for the sixth time and we returned to London. Pinewood strikes me as a bastion of professionalism and common sense. It is not at all like the Hollywood studios I have read about. With Teddy and David and Tony Bushell in charge, what can go wrong?

Last night I asked myself what could go wrong. Today the whole movie seemed in question, before the camera has even rolled. A rumour came from the USA at lunchtime that AM was going to have his passport refused after all.
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This would mean that he couldn't come to London, and MM would certainly not come to London for four months without him. Since huge sums of money have been spent
already, this caused quite a panic. Everyone was on the phone, asking for reassurance which we could not give. Rattigan was especially put out. SLO was grim-faced and terse, firmly shutting me out of the office for his conference with Mr P and Tony B, and a series of calls to the USA.

No one could get through to MM and AM, but Milton Greene, on the transatlantic phone, was calm. It could be fixed, he was sure. But
he
couldn't find Irving Stein who had been with MM last night or speak to MM and Arthur at least. So the worrying went on all day.

Mr P has heard (from her last director) that MM often gets ‘confused'. Surely he doesn't mean ‘drunk'? Pills, more likely – as with Judy Garland. That may be the problem now, although I hope she isn't taking pills on the first week of her honeymoon. I suggested this to Mr P and got a very grumpy ‘grmph'. But by 6 p.m. it was all solved. AM and MM had got up at last – 1 p.m. in the USA – and switched the phone on. Milton Greene was on the line to MM and SLO simultaneously and all was sweetness and light.

‘Not a very good omen,' said Mr P, for the second time this week, as we finally left the office at 7 p.m. But he is always pessimistic. I'm really relieved that the film is on the rails again. Gilman whisked Tony and SLO off to Notley in the Bentley. Anne had been waiting for them in the car. My goodness, she is an attractive woman, and extremely nice too. She gave me a great welcome, as if I was an old friend. But she is not in the least seductive, unlike Vivien. I'm off for a weekend in the country too – but alone. I sure envy those two men their beautiful ladies. I wouldn't mind staying in bed till 1 p.m. like Arthur Miller if I was with either of them – or both!

Back to earth. SLO started to distribute cigarettes when he came in this morning. He is delighted that they have named a new cigarette after him, and now he gets free packets of ‘Oliviers' for life. I suppose I didn't look as thrilled as I might have at this news so he told me
quite sharply that the same tobacco company had named a cigarette after the great actor du Maurier.
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He could hardly refuse.

‘Oh of course, yes, wonderful,' I cried, but to me the idea of someone as great as SLO advertising something is a shame. Du Maurier was of another era – and probably needed the money which SLO does not. I know nothing about du Maurier but I think of him as an old ham, although quite unfairly I'm sure. More importantly, du Maurier cigarettes are not a great success.

SLO went on to explain that his costume in the film has no pockets so he wants me to be on call holding the cigarettes at all times in case he wants to smoke. I am naturally to smoke ‘Oliviers' also, and I can get as many as I want from Gilman, who has crates of them.

After one day's trial I don't like them that much – I prefer Woodbines – but that isn't the point. ‘On call by SLO's side at all times' is what I wanted to hear, and have been planning to be anyway. As soon as the film starts, my pay goes up to union scale (£10.10s. pw), I get free cigarettes, and I have to be at the director's side at all times. Good news.

I told this, with glee, to David Orton who came in at 4.30.

‘The hell with that idea!' he roared. ‘You work for me and me alone and don't you forget it. You are my slave. I don't want my 3rd Ast Dir poncing around with the director, even if it is SLO.'

‘Quite right, David. I was only kidding.'

I've managed situations like this before, and it's nice to be in demand. Just a matter of being very quick on the feet and polite at all times.

Irving Stein and Milton Greene arrive from NYC tomorrow on the overnight flight. I offered to go to meet them but Mr P said ‘no'. He's sent the chauffeur.

‘Let the buggers find their own way around,' he growled.

Do I sense hostility to our American cousins already?

Milton Greene and Irving Stein are both very young. They came in like a couple of recent graduates from some Jewish university. Both were exhausted after the flight and looked wary, but very charming. Irving is more aloof; Milton more boyish, very slight, dark brown eyes always smiling. They must be extremely shrewd to have got control of the most famous film star in the world.

Milton masterminded the plot to break MM's contract with 20th Century and ‘set her free'. I suppose these two are the up-and-coming Louis B. Mayers.

SLO was brimming over with bonhomie – always a bad sign. When he is irascible is when he is sincere. Milton treats me like an executive, which is nice! He asked me all the details of the houses, the servants, Plod and the airport reception.

SLO absolutely promised Milton that Vivien and he would be on hand ‘to welcome Marilyn and Arthur' and join in the press conference.

‘But let's keep it low key, old boy.'

SLO wants the minimum publicity of course, and Milton says he does too. I wonder if both men have the same definition of ‘minimum'. I suspect SLO really means ‘none' and Milton means ‘front page of every paper in the world – but no scandal'. There is a new publicity man around who has been ringing newspapers all day – ostensibly to notify everyone about the press conference even though this has already been done by the Pinewood press office.

Whenever they have a chance, Milton and SLO go into very private conference, talking fast and low. ‘MM worries' I suppose, that even Mr P and I are not allowed to know about.

Milton rang from Tibbs Farm – could we all go down there for lunch. He was tired after the flight. Mr P was delighted. He is more curious than he lets on! I drove down in the Bristol, behind Mr P and Tony
in the Princess. That way Milton can meet the chauffeur MM will have. SLO met us there as it is nearer Notley. Everyone agreed that Tibbs is perfect – out of Milton's earshot that is. Nouveau-riche – bathrooms smelling of pot pourri and towels so thick and soft that they don't even dry your hands. SLO gazed round in genuine horror. He is used to Vivien's exquisite taste.

Gilman said, ‘This is a bit of all right, Colin,' loudly enough to embarrass me and please Milton who thinks it is typically ‘English'.

There was a huge bunch of roses in the Bentley from Vivien which Gilman took through to the kitchen to find a vase. A buffet lunch had been prepared by the Cotes-Preedy cook – mainly reheated delicacies from the Ascot shop which I recognised from my stay here. Milton had ordered salad and cold white wine, which made it seem American. SLO had also brought a lot of Olivier cigarettes.

‘I get them free, dear boy,' he said with much pride, but I don't think Milton smokes. Perhaps he is a health and fitness addict.

After lunch Milton and SLO went into conference again, this time allowing Mr P and Tony in too. I hope Mr P has some gossip for me later.

At teatime we drove over to Englefield Green to see Parkside House. The Moores have left and only the servants are waiting for MM and her party. Plod will move in on Friday and the chauffeur will live out. Parkside really is too pretty for words. It is right on the edge of Windsor Great Park and has its own private entrance to the Royal Gardens – or so I'm told. It is in quite different taste to Tibbs – much more elegant and feminine thanks to Joan. The master bedroom has been repainted white. I never saw it when Joan was in it. (I wish I had though!) Everyone was delighted. Milton praised me very highly for both houses and Mr P beamed, for once.

SLO hadn't come, of course. He'd been to the house as a guest of Garrett and Joan's. I don't think SLO likes Garrett any more than I do. Garrett is famous for sneering at people less clever or less titled than himself – which means pretty well everyone. I must admit that I am pleased with the arrangements so far, but everyone warns me
that the day MM arrives, the rules will all change. She is the most famous woman in the world, though, so I would expect her to be pretty wilful. The worst thing is to have all that clout and not know your own mind. If she says her favourite colour is beige, that has to be a definite possibility. Then she will be as dangerous as a Chinese Empress. We'll see in three days' time.

The press are really getting worked up about MM's impending arrival. They phone me up hourly, demanding interviews with MM and SLO. I tell them that there will be a press conference at the airport and another at the Savoy Hotel on Sunday but of course they already know this and they want more. Any request for MM has to go through the loathsome Arthur P. Jacobs who is coming back to the Savoy tomorrow. It isn't that MM wants to avoid publicity – publicity more than anything else has got her where she is. But you have to control how much money you print. Even publicity has to be rationed out to get the maximum effect. APJ is meant to be the expert on this.

But there is a new publicity/personal relations man who is very nice. He is an Englishman, who nevertheless works from Hollywood, called Rupert Allan
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and he is the opposite to APJ, quiet, dignified, polite. Perhaps he acts as the antidote to APJ's type of poison.

MM's personal make-up man has also flown in. He came in to the office this morning, unannounced, ‘just to say “Hi”'. His name is Allan Snyder but ‘Call me Whitey' is his opening remark to everyone. Impassive, and courteous, he is a great contrast to the Hollywood types we were expecting. Evidently he used to be a great influence on MM and is still a great friend. She insists on his presence on each of her films. I wonder if he was ever her lover, too. In our case, he only has a limited work visa so he is doing her original make-up and
then someone English will take over. Frankly I wish he was staying for the whole movie. He has a wonderfully calming presence which could be a great help. But he clearly doesn't want to stay more than a few weeks anyway.

‘I love Marilyn,' he said with a nice open grin, ‘but I do not want to find myself responsible for her behaviour.'

Now he has wandered off to explore London. He gives no address and simply says he will see us at Pinewood next Tuesday. Even Mr P, who deeply distrusts all Americans, seemed to like him. I hope he doesn't come to any harm in Soho! He is probably not as naive as he seems.

Mr P's distrust of Americans was justified. Arthur Jacobs went to London Airport and changed all our careful plans for MM's arrival tomorrow. Once again the police there assumed the worst, jumping to the conclusion that all we all want is maximum disruption and publicity. In the end, one of them thought to telephone me. I didn't even know APJ was out there so I got very cross. I pointed out that they had promised to listen to no one but me; that APJ was a publicity man whose job was to get publicity whether his client wanted it or not; that SLO and MM's producers had both instructed me to arrange MM's arrival with minimum fuss etc. But the papers are nerving everyone up and the police are edgy.

Luckily APJ is so loud-mouthed and overbearing that they would much rather disobey him. I have promised to get there really early tomorrow morning and go over the details again. I do remember from the days of Gaby Pascal and Jean Simmons
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that once show business
retinues get on the move, it is very hard to influence them or deflect them. They are like rivers. They jolly well go where they want to, so you have to make the banks good and high. London Airport is very big and if we lose control there will be chaos. The police are efficient and charming, but like all men in uniform they will take orders from anyone in authority. It's going to be a close-run thing.

APJ did have one success out there, I must admit. So oogle-eyed are the junior cops about MM that four motorcycle riders have volunteered to escort her car from the airport to Englefield Green. Evidently that is an honour never granted to anyone before except visiting royalty. I hope MM is impressed. It is not the sort of thing SLO and Mr P meant by minimum fuss, but I must agree it sounds exciting.

The first problem was that it rained.

After all the fine weather we've had, a light rain was falling when I woke up and it got heavier. I got to the airport early and went straight to the police office to make everything as clear as possible. But within an hour APJ and his minions were there trying to make everything as confused as possible.

Milton Greene arrived, very nervous, and was all too ready to listen to APJ's panicky lies. Quite soon he too was trying to change the plans around. Rupert Allan also had ideas of his own, even if they were expressed a bit more calmly.