My Week with Marilyn (5 page)

‘Don't you work for Sir Laurence as well? I always see you round him. He seems to talk to you more than most of the others. Do you calm him down too, like you do the servants?' Marilyn chuckled.

‘Oh, heavens, no. It 's just that he 's a friend of my parents, so I've known him for ages – since I was a child. I suppose I'm the only one who isn't frightened of him, that 's all.'

Another long pause, while I struggled for breath.

The room was so still that I thought Marilyn might have fallen asleep. What an incredible contrast to the whirlwind that normally surrounded her. I wondered how often she managed to find solitude like that.

‘Colin?'

‘Yes?'

‘Are you a spy? A spy for Sir Laurence? Tell me the truth.'

‘I'm not a spy, Marilyn,' I said, plucking up all my courage. ‘But it 's my job to report to Sir Laurence anything that will help him to get this movie made as quickly as possible. I'm sure you want that too. The sooner it's over, the sooner you can go home to America. I'm sure you and Mr Miller are both looking forward to that. And now Sir Laurence has sent me to ask you if you are going to come into the studios tomorrow, and that 's why I'm here,' I finished lamely, in case she thought I had just barged in.

‘Mr Miller is flying to Paris tomorrow to see his agent,' Marilyn said coldly. ‘He may even go back to New York for a few days. I think I'll stay home and see him go.'

‘Oh, of course, Miss Monroe. I quite understand. And so will Sir Laurence, I'm sure. Of course, of course, of course.' What a relief to be told outright, for a change. And perhaps with Arthur Miller out of the way, she might concentrate more on making the film. And on me! I knew I was being a complete fool, but I did have her total attention right at that moment, and the excitement in me rose.

‘How old are you, Colin?'

‘Twenty-five.' It was only a small lie, but I felt bad immediately. ‘Nearly.'

There was another long pause. I seemed to have been in that room for hours. I began to wonder if Olivier and Milton Greene would still be at the studio when I got out. I hoped they wouldn't think that I had forgotten about them and gone home. They would certainly be very impatient. Everything to do with Marilyn seemed to take an incredibly long time, even though she was always in a rush.

‘Colin.' Marilyn spoke so quietly that I had to step forward to hear her.

‘Colin, whose side are you on?'

‘Oh, yours, Miss Monroe. I promise you I'm on your side and I always will be.'

Marilyn sighed. ‘Will you be coming to work tomorrow?'

‘Well, yes. I come to work every day.' I didn't understand the question, but I was saved by a sharp tap on the door.

‘Marilyn,' said Paula in honeyed tones, ‘it's really time we went home.'

She opened the door wide, catching me standing on one leg in the middle of the room.

‘Colin has to finish his work now,' she said. ‘Don't you, Colin? Thanks for stopping by.'

She was like a mother hen fussing over her chick. She could hardly
regard me as a wolf, but then again I wasn't exactly a baby chicken either. Marilyn gave another sigh. My interview was over.

As soon as I was out in the cold stone corridor of the studio, I found myself gasping for air. My first instinct was to rush along to Olivier's dressing room and report the whole thing. I felt incredibly pleased with myself. I'd asked Marilyn exactly what Olivier wanted to know, and I'd got an answer. Even better, I felt that I had established a rapport with Marilyn which might come in useful later on.

But wait one minute! Things weren't quite that simple now. Whose side was I on? Olivier was my boss. He was also, in some respects, an old friend. Uncle Larry. ‘Boy', he called me most of the time. And Vivien was my heroine of all time. She was by far the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

But Marilyn was different again. She was prettier than Vivien, younger, of course, and more vulnerable.

And she had appealed to me directly.

‘Colin, whose side are you on?'

‘Yours,' I had said. I could never go back on that. I marched down the corridor and knocked on Olivier's door.

‘Come in.'

‘Miss Monroe says she will not be coming to the studio tomorrow. Mr Miller is going to Paris and she wishes to spend the morning with him.'

‘Did she tell you this herself?' Milton was incredulous.

‘Yes.'

‘Is that all she said?'

‘Yes.'

Both men looked at me with curiosity. For the first time ever, they were actually taking notice of what I said. I have Marilyn to thank for that, I thought, as I turned and went out. I know whose side I'm on now.

All film crews take a pride in being cynical. The more well-known the stars they work with, the more the crew effects an air of studied indifference whenever the famous person appears. The team working on
The Prince and the Showgirl
is even more professional than most. They have been hand-picked by Olivier and his production manager Teddy Joseph so that they will not ogle Miss Monroe, or try to catch her eye. At the same time, they have strong views about the actors and actresses they work with, and there is a rigid pecking order which all crews observe.

Minor actors, and even major ones in supporting roles, are totally ignored.

British stars in British films, like Anthony Steel or Maureen Swanson, who are both working on other films at Pinewood at the moment, are treated as complete equals – just as if they were also technicians, merely doing a different job.

Great British stage actors, like Dame Sybil Thorndike, who is playing the Queen Dowager, the mother of Olivier's character the Regent of Carpathia, are given exaggerated courtesy, as if they were honoured visitors to the set and not participants. The Oliviers, Laurence and Vivien, are a special case, treated like royalty and spoken of in hushed tones. Olivier is always referred to as ‘Sir', although not to his face. Lady Olivier is called ‘Vivien', even to her face – but, oh, with what respect and awe.

Big Hollywood stars are treated with complete nonchalance, but
each one is given an approval rating in the endless gossip which takes place while the crew is waiting for them to appear. Marilyn is different altogether. She is now so famous, and it is so tempting to look at her, that everyone avoids her gaze as if she had the evil eye. I am not sure if she is too happy about this. She obviously does not have much self-confidence, and I think she prefers a group of men to applaud and smile when she walks into a room, rather than to look away.

Whatever they may pretend they are doing, however, every man and woman in Studio A is keeping one eye on Marilyn every moment she is there. They can't resist, and endless Marilyn stories, Marilyn rumours and Marilyn jokes make the rounds. On the mornings when she does not show up, the crew get slack and sit around with glum faces, like children who have not been invited to a party.

This morning, for lack of anything else to amuse them, they've decided it's time to tease Colin.

‘Colin is Marilyn's new boyfriend, I hear.'

‘Just barges into her dressing room for a chat any time he likes, they say.'

‘And how does Larry feel about that, I wonder.'

‘He 's jealous.'

‘Of him, or of her?'

Gales of laughter.

‘Look,' I said, ‘“Sir” simply told me to ask Miss Monroe whether she was coming to the studio today, so I knocked on her dressing-room door and asked her, and she said “No.” That was all there was to it.'

‘Oh? Norman [one of the hair stylists] said you were in there for ten minutes. Plenty of time for a cuddle.'

‘Oh, yes. A cuddle with Paula, I suppose you mean. She was in there too. I presume Norman will confirm that.'

Jack Cardiff, the lighting cameraman, who has worked on such films as
The Red Shoes
and
The African Queen,
walked over to see what the fuss was about. Jack is the only person on the set who
treats Marilyn like a chum. As a result he is the one crew member to whom she can relate, and certainly the only Englishman she trusts. In return he uses all his artistry to bring out her beauty. He clearly adores her, and because he is an artist, with no ulterior motive, she responds to him very well. The whole crew understand this and appreciate it. Jack, they can see, is the man who will save the film by putting Marilyn's radiance on the screen.

‘Isn't Marilyn allowed to make friends?' said Jack. ‘I wish the rest of you would be a bit more welcoming. She 's a stranger here, you know, and no one is stranger than you lot. Let 's get back to work.'

The truth is that the crew look at me with a good deal of suspicion. This is my first film, and I am very wet behind the ears. It was obviously Olivier himself who got me the job, and he treats me as if I was his nephew (although he often yells at me if I make a mistake). Vivien, who I have known since I was a boy, always singles me out when she visits. ‘Colin, darling, are you looking after Larrykins for me?' she purrs, knowing full well that she embarrasses me as much as she pleases me. Dame Sybil also knows my parents. She treats me as if I was her grandson, and bought me a lovely thick wool scarf to keep me warm while I wait outside the studio at dawn to welcome the stars. (Come to think of it, Dame Sybil treats the whole crew as if they were her grandchildren, and would buy each one of them a woolly scarf if she could.)

Marilyn does not know my parents (thank God!), and there is no reason for her to talk to me at all. We have had a few cosy moments together (cosy for me, that is) when I have given her cues from behind the set, but otherwise she has always seemed to look straight through me as if I were a pane of glass. And so she should. The poor woman has enough on her plate without me making demands on her. I have to keep reminding myself that she is the most famous film star in the world, trying to keep up with the most famous actor in the world – and he is not the easiest man to please.

With Marilyn off the set we spent a boring day preparing to do the exterior shots, and it was not until 5.30 in the evening that I got
to Olivier's dressing room to check with him before he left for home. Milton was already there, and they had obviously, from the state of the whisky bottle and the ashtray, had another of those long and intense conferences that seemed to lead nowhere at all.

‘We've decided to give Marilyn another day off tomorrow,' said Olivier firmly. ‘Milton says she's upset about Arthur's departure, and now she can have a long weekend to pull herself together. One rather wonders,' he continued grimly, ‘if she ever asks herself why so many people need a break from her presence.'

‘That's not fair, Larry. Perhaps she needs a break from us,' said Milton. He is never malicious about anyone, except possibly Paula, and he 'd certainly never dare even to think unkind thoughts about Marilyn.

‘Quite so, dear boy,' said Olivier. ‘Well, let us say that she can rest, and take a little time to learn her lines.'

I was wondering what on earth Marilyn would do in that big house, all alone with Paula for a long weekend, when the phone rang. Milton happened to be standing next to it, and he picked it up. He practically lives on the telephone, so whenever it rings he always assumes it will be for him. And it usually is, often from the USA.

‘Milton Greene. Oh, Roger. Everything OK? Whaddya want?'

Suddenly his face seemed to crumple a little. ‘Yes. He's here.' He looked at me.

‘It 's for you.'

‘For me?'

Olivier nearly exploded. ‘Who is Roger? What the hell's going on?'

I took the phone. ‘What 's the matter, Roger?'

‘Colin.' Roger sounded very formal. ‘Miss Monroe wants you to come via Parkside House on your way home this evening.'

‘Me? Why me? Is Marilyn OK?' I asked.

Giggle. ‘I'm OK,' said Marilyn's voice cheerfully. ‘In fact I'm standing right here!'

If Milton had had false teeth he would have swallowed them.
Like a trained dog, he had caught the unmistakable inflexion of his mistress's voice, and his mouth froze in terror.

‘Who the fuck is on the bloody telephone?' roared Olivier, naturally furious at being excluded.

‘It 's Marilyn,' whispered Milton.

‘MARILYN?'

‘Monroe.'

‘Yes, I know who Marilyn is, for God 's sake.'

I heard Marilyn giggle again at the other end of the line.

‘But what is my star doing phoning my third assistant director in my dressing room?'

‘That 's my boy,' said Marilyn. ‘See you later, Colin. OK?'

‘Very well, Miss Monroe. If you say so.'

Mercifully she hung up before I got fired.

‘Miss Monroe was just ringing to tell me that she will not be coming to the studio tomorrow.'

‘We knew that,' spluttered Olivier. ‘And why is she telling you, and not me?'

‘Well, you sent me into her dressing room to ask that question yesterday, so I assume she thinks you want me to be the messenger about that sort of thing.'

‘Hmph! Well, what else did she say?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Colin, I heard her say something else.'

‘She heard your voice in the background, asking who was on the phone.'

As always, Olivier forgot that he had just roared and swore.

‘What did she say?' It was Milton's turn now, and he was pleading. Goodness knows why he is so scared of Marilyn. She had sounded very jolly to me.

‘She asked me to pass on the message to Sir Laurence. That was all.'