Saving Marlilyn

  Chapter 10 - Claire & Marilyn Meet Again

  Claire decided the only way to put her mind at ease was to visit the woman whose life she saved. Claire discovered Marilyn was living in a trailer park in Los Angeles. “A trailer park?” Claire thought as she retrieved a map from the internet and hid it under the printer. She knew what she had to do.

  After telling Auggie she had some errands to run, Claire grabbed the map and the purse that she had brought with her on her time traveling trip and set out on her journey. She also brought a tape recorder, a pen and a notebook. Her hands were cold and clammy and she was shaking as she headed to her car.

  Claire drove around in circles looking for the address on Nadeau Street near Roosevelt Park. By the time she arrived at Gulliver’s Trailer Park, she had barely remembered how she even got there. Palm trees and houses with rocks for a front yard spun by her quickly, like blurred lines. When she entered the park, she saw row after row of mobile homes, not the nice modular kind either. This place was a dump. Filthy children were running through the streets while their parents sat on their front porches smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap beer. Each one stared at Claire as if they knew she didn’t belong there.

  Claire finally found Peach Grove Lane. Now all she had to do was find #225. Turning the corner, she noticed one trailer that was particularly run down. It was white with light blue trim that had obviously not been cared for in many years. The paint was peeling off the siding and one of the shutters was hanging off of its hinges. Claire noticed someone had spray-painted the word slut on the side of the trailer in bright red letters. Just above the moniker, Claire saw the number 225.

  Claire was in disbelief. “How can this be the place?” she said out loud. “Marilyn Monroe couldn’t possibly live in squalor like this,” she thought. “Maybe she hasn’t worked in Hollywood since the 60s but surely she managed to save some money. Any money.” This wasn’t what Claire pictured for her idol at all.

  She pulled into the parking area next to a worn old Ford pick-up truck. It looked like it may have been a nice truck in its day, but now it was just a rusted pile of metal with chipping paint, a rusted out bed and missing hubcaps. As Claire passed by, she could see the interior was just as sad.

  Claire slowly walked up to the trailer door. There was no porch or patio, just a set of rickety aluminum steps. Claire stepped up to the first step and knocked, quietly at first, then louder. She could hear a television on in the background, but no one seemed to stir inside.

  Claire knocked a second and third time, hoping beyond hope that Marilyn was just napping inside. Still there was no answer. Just as she turned to leave, she heard a voice shouting at her. “What do you want?!” The voice was female, but it was old and burly, not at all like Claire’s idol.

  “Miss Monroe?” Claire managed to say sheepishly.

  “My name is Ms. Norma Mortensen and I’ll thank you to take your leave of these premises before I call the police, young lady” was snapped in return.

  “No, wait, please Ms. Mo-uh-Mortensen. Please wait. I just want to talk to you.”

  “NO REPORTERS!” Came billowing from the nearest wind-out window. “Get the hell off my property before I get my gun!”

  Claire was taken aback by Marilyn’s hostility toward her. She thought if she could just come inside and talk to her that Marilyn would understand that Claire meant no harm. If she could just tell her what happened, Marilyn would understand and thank her for her heroic deed. “Tell her”? Claire thought, “Wait, I could never tell her.” Marilyn would think she was a nut.

  Claire’s thoughts were interrupted by the very distinct sound of a gun being cocked. “Ms. Mortensen!” Claire screamed, sounding a little more anxious than she intended. Surely Marilyn wouldn’t shoot her for no good reason, Claire tried to reassure herself. “Ms. Mortensen, I’m not a reporter, I’m a fan. I just want to talk to you. Please?”

  “A fan?” Marilyn began laughing, but that led to tremendous coughing, the kind that normally ends with the sucking out of a thick hocker. When the coughing stopped, Marilyn continued. “Nice try, hotshot. I have no fans. Now you’ve got ten seconds before I...”

  “NO! Wait! Please, I’ve come a long way,” Claire thought for a moment. “Farther than you’ll ever know. Really, I’m a fan.” Claire was beginning to get desperate; she knew she had to prove her loyalty. She found herself remembering the past trip. “No, please Miss Mortensen, I can prove it to you if you just give me a chance. I know everything about you.”

  “Sure you do kid.”

  “No, really” Claire began to speak more quickly to avoid interruption. “Your favorite flowers are delphiniums and roses. Your favorite drink is Dom Perignon 1953. Your favorite perfume is Chanel No. 5. Your favorite restaurant is Romanoff’s. Your favorite colors are beige, black, white, and red in that order.”

  Claire heard a rustling in the curtains. She could see the silhouette of a woman looking out at her before she was interrupted. “Kid I don’t like flowers, I haven’t been able to afford Dom Perignon, Chanel Number 5 or Romanoff’s in over thirty years, and the only color I see anymore is gray. Everything is gray from the sky to my hair, so don’t go talking to me about color.”

  “Miss Mo-uh-Mortensen...Mortensen, sorry, Ms. Mortensen, I swear I’m telling the truth. You were born on June 1st, 1926. Your first movie was Dangerous Years, in 1947, you played Evie. Your next five films were bit parts in The Shocking Miss Pilgrim, Scudda Hoo! Scudda Hay!, Ladies of the Chorus, Love Happy, and A Ticket to Tomahawk. Your first big break came in 1950 when you played Angela in The Asphalt Jungle and Claudia in All About Eve. You were in eleven more movies after that, but it wasn’t until you played Rose in Niagra in 1953 that your career really took off.”

  “Now listen kid,” Marilyn said. Her voice sounded softer somehow.

  Claire cut off Marilyn in the hopes of convincing Marilyn of her sincerity. “Then you starred in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, How to Marry a Millionaire, River of No Return, There’s No Business Like Show Business, The Seven Year Itch, Bus Stop, The Prince and the Showgirl, and then my favorite, Some Like it Hot,” Claire said, counting the films off on her fingers. Then she took a big breath and continued, “And there was Let’s Make Love, Something’s Got to Give and The Misfits.” Claire stopped as the front door started to open.

  Some Like It Hot was your favorite, eh?” came from behind the screen door.

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s my all time favorite. You were simply divine.” Claire was hoping flattery would get her everywhere.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, kid,” Marilyn snapped.

  “But it’s true, Ms. Mortensen. All of it. I only want to talk to you for a few minutes. If you want me to go after you’ve heard what I have to say, I will. Please just give me a minute of your time.” Marilyn stood and stared at Claire from behind the screen door. Claire was saddened by the silhouette of the aging beauty.

  “Hell, all I got is time, Sugar,” Marilyn conceded, “come on in.” Marilyn opened the screen door for Claire. “But if I see a tape recorder, I’m shooting first and asking questions later,” she warned. Claire made sure her tape recorder was tucked safely in her purse and proceeded toward the door as she heard the sound of several locks being unlocked.

  Then she heard a man’s voice shouting, “Don’t go in there! The devil lives behind those walls!” Claire could tell the shouting was coming from across the street.

  “Shut the hell up, you old psycho!” Marilyn shouted back as she stepped out to hold the door for Claire. “Mind your own Goddamned business you limp-peckered old jackass!” Claire stole a glance at the old man sitting on his porch across the way. He looked to be in his seventies, with snow white hair and short white stubble on his face. He was wearing a blue-checked bathrobe and by the crazed look on his face, Claire guessed he had nothing on underneath. She quickly turned and entered the decrepit trailer home.

  It was like stepping back into the 70s. The carpet was a
light shade of lime green shag. It was littered with stains and what looked like burn marks. The air was thick with the smell of booze and cigarettes. The couch was brown-checked and it had a matching chair that was just as grotesque. The end tables were tacky, plywood construction and the coffee table had at least a dozen cigarette burns in it. Claire took her eyes off the decor long enough to catch a glimpse of her idol.

  Standing before her was an old woman wearing blue polyester pants and a white cotton pull over blouse. Her shoes were plain white sneakers that looked like they hadn’t been washed in decades. Marilyn’s hair was completely gray and unkempt. It was the same length it had been in the last photos Claire saw of Marilyn. She had on no make up and the lovely beauty mark that had once graced Marilyn’s face was now a huge mole with hair growing out of it.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Marilyn snapped.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

  “To what? STARE? Of course you did. They all do. I know I’m not the looker I used to be. I’m a pathetic excuse for a woman anymore, kid. I know I’m hideous.”

  “Not hideous, just different than I remember you.” Claire tried to defend herself.

  “Whatever kid, you want something to drink? I got Vodka or Vodka or tap water or Vodka, what’ll it be?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Claire tried to be polite. Marilyn started walking toward the kitchen. A painful-looking limp replaced the seductive shimmy Marilyn used to perfect by sawing off half an inch of the heel on just one shoe. Just then Claire noticed the dining area. It was an old torn up table with mismatched chairs, all from different sets, it appeared. The table was covered with old take out packages, three ashtrays and several empty Vodka bottles.

  “Let me clear you a spot, kid,” Marilyn said as she swept the take-out packages onto the floor. She also accidentally knocked one of the ashtrays to the floor, spilling its entire contents all over the carpet. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she just didn’t care because she went on with what she was saying. “Well I’m going to have something to drink if you don’t mind, and you better not, or this conversation is over.”

  “I don’t mind” was Claire’s obvious reply.

  “That’s what I thought.” Marilyn knew she had the upper hand and she liked it. She knew she probably could have made Claire bark like a dog if she wanted. “So what brings you to my humble abode, kid?” she continued as she poured a glass of Vodka.

  “Well, Ms. Mortensen, it’s hard to explain.” Claire knew her yarn would be hard to swallow. “Uh, do you believe in time travel?” Claire asked hesitantly.

  “Do I what?” Marilyn looked annoyed as she took another swig of Vodka. “You came knocking on my door, interrupting my busy day to talk to me about science fiction? You a screenwriter or something? Want me to act in some terrible B-movie, do ya? Well you can just forget it, Missy! Norma Mortensen ain’t no Marilyn Monroe, kid. Hollywood is over and so is this conversation.”

  “Wait, Ms. Mortensen, that’s not what I meant at all.” Claire could tell Marilyn was seconds away from shooing her out of the door. “Look, this is going to sound crazy but I can travel through time and I have proof to back it up.”

  “Stop right there, sister, are you off your rocker or something?” Marilyn stopped in mid-sip to stare at this increasingly odd stranger that had shown up on her doorstep. “Listen, I was 80-years-old when I stopped counting, so I’ve been around the block a few times, sweetie. I’m not going to sit here and listen to some sci-fi bullshit from some snot-nosed psychopath. Did I mention I’ve got a gun?”

  “Ms. Mortensen, please just give me a minute to prove what I’m saying.”

  “Prove what? That you’re psychotic?” Marilyn had obviously passed the point of understanding and began to stand up. Claire was losing her battle.

  “No, please Ms. Mortensen, I can show you proof, I swear, I just need to prepare for it, and it may be a shock to your system.”

  “Wait a minute, sister, are you some kind of nut job looking for a lock of my hair or a pint of blood or something, because believe me I ain’t no timid flower. I can take...”

  “No, please Ms. Mortensen, please...” Claire had to pull out the big guns. “Don’t I look at all familiar to you, Ms. Mortensen?”

  “Yeah didn’t I see you on the FBI’s Most Wanted list at the Post Office?” Marilyn laughed rather alarmingly, still standing at the ready.

  “Please Ms. Mortensen, take a good look at me. We’ve met before,” Claire hesitated, “in 1962.”

  “1962? Now I know you’re crazy, kid, you weren’t even born in 1962, were ya now?”

  “Not in this timeline, no.” Claire was flustered but determined. “I mean, oh Ms. Mortensen, I know it sounds crazy but my husband made a time machine and I went back in time to 1962 to warn you.” Marilyn spit a mouthful of vodka in Claire’s face.

  “Your husband built a time machine, did he?” She asked patronizingly as Claire wiped her face. “Traveled back in time, did ya? Yeah right, sweetie, o.k.” She began to back away and moved her right hand behind her back.

  “I know it sounds nuts, Ms. Mortensen, but it’s all true.” Claire was still fighting to be taken seriously. “I’ve idolized you all my life and I just had to go back and warn you...”

  “Warn me, you keep saying that, warn me of what exactly?” Marilyn had reached her kitchen drawers. She began to open one behind her back and rifle through it, all the while not taking her eyes off of Claire.

  Seeing what her idol was doing, Claire suspected she was reaching for a gun. “Please, Ms. Mortensen, take a good look at me.” Claire stood up and held the chandelier light up to her face. “Please, look at me, we’ve met before, I swear it.” Just then, Marilyn dropped something out of her right hand. A revolver hit the kitchen floor with a thud.

  “Oh my God, you do remind me of someone,” Marilyn said, suddenly shocked. She glanced down at the gun and then back up at Claire, who did the same. Marilyn reached for the gun and Claire threw her arms up and closed her eyes, letting go of the light, which swung back toward the kitchen, eventually slowing to an even circle.

  “Please Ms. Mortensen, don’t shoot me!” Claire was desperate.

  “Relax, kid.” Marilyn said as she picked the gun up and put it back into the drawer. She exchanged it for a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a lighter. She then turned back around, sat back at the table and lit a cigarette. Claire slowly opened her eyes and put her hands down. She stared Marilyn directly in the eye.

  “You do recognize me, don’t you?”

  “You look like someone who came to my house the night of the accident. She was a nut or something.” Marilyn’s eyes were widening. “You win, kid, I’m listening,” she said, exhaling.

  “Thank you, Ms. Mortensen.” Claire’s heart returned to a normal beat and she sat down across from her idol. “That was me at your house in 1962.”

  “But how, kid?” Marilyn was stunned.

  “Just like I said before, I went back in time.”

  “You haven’t aged a day.” Marilyn was still in awe.

  “Actually it was a week ago, my time.” Claire was more relaxed now, but she knew she had to prepare Marilyn for the entire story. “Ms. Mortensen, I grew up a huge fan of yours, that is, of Marilyn Monroe.” Marilyn sat and stared in silence as Claire continued. “This isn’t easy to say.”

  “It ain’t easy to hear, either, kid, believe me. Just spit it out. If it gets any wilder, I can just blame it on the Vodka later.”

  “In my timeline, Ms. Mortensen, Marilyn Monroe was a huge star. She was the woman that every woman wanted to be.”

  “Well I was that in my own time, sweetie, it just didn’t last long.” She took another long draw on her cigarette.

  “I know, but in my time you were the absolute queen of sexy. You were idolized, not only by the women of your time in the 50s and 60s, but by every decade that followed. Marilyn was a Hollywood legend.”

  “Well
that’s nice of you to say, kid, but legends are generally dead.” Marilyn managed an awkward laugh. Claire’s eyes got big. They stared at each other in silence for what seemed like five minutes. “What are you trying to tell me, kid? What? That I died?”

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Claire feared she was doing the wrong thing.

  “Oh, no you don’t, kid. You started this yarn, you’re gonna finish it. Continue.”

  Claire hesitated and then continued. “In my timeline, you died on that night in 1962. That’s why I was there, to warn you about it.”

  “Tony Piccelli.”

  “Exactly.” Noticing the shock on Marilyn’s face, Claire asked; “Are you sure you want to hear this, Ms. Mortensen?”

  “Keep going, kid.” She said without breaking her stunned stare.

  “Well, it was a big scandal. The authorities ruled it a suicide.”

  “Suicide? That bastard was going to kill me!” Marilyn was more at ease with the situation. She hung on Claire’s every word.

  “Tony Piccelli didn’t exist in my timeline. At least, he wasn’t discovered. They ruled it a suicide, but there were countless rumors about the Kennedys and the mob. Some said it was an accidental overdose of sleeping pills. They were still debating the issue over forty years later...Anyway, I just thought if I warned you, I could save you.” Claire stopped and waited for a reply.

  “You asked me not to kill myself.” Marilyn’s eyes widened. “I remember. You started pulling something out of your purse.” Marilyn’s eyes went down to the purse Claire had sat on the table. “That purse.” She put her cigarette out in one of the remaining ashtrays, dabbing it hard several times.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were a nut case.” Marilyn’s eyes grew concerned as she released the cigarette butt in her hand. “So what is it, kid? What were you going to show me forty years ago?”

  “It’s not going to be easy to see Ms. Mortensen.”

  “Just chuck it out, kid, after this incredible story, what could possibly shock me more?” Marilyn tried to smile, but it was weary.

  “O.K.” Claire reached into her purse to pull out the Life Magazine she had tried to show Marilyn that night in 1962. She slowly handed it across the table to Marilyn. The corners were worn but Marilyn’s picture was still in good condition.

  “Would you look at that? I was quite the looker back then, wasn’t I, kid?”

  “Yes, Ms. Mortensen.” Claire didn’t want to say what she had to say next. “Read...Read the caption.” Marilyn’s eyes moved over the words.

  She read them out loud; “Memories of Marilyn, August 17, 1962 20¢.” She began to look teary eyed. “I remember this photograph. I was doing my last picture, Something’s Got to Give. The bastards shut down production after I gave the Kennedy interview!” She looked back at the picture, “The photographer told me to look surprised. Too bad he doesn’t have a camera here now.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Mortensen.” Claire looked sympathetically at her.

  “You really had me going kid. What’s the catch? Where’s the joke?” Claire had just lost all of the ground she gained. “This magazine is a nice touch, you almost had me, but the August 17, 1962 issue of Life Magazine was the one where I spilled the beans on the brothers, Kennedy.”

  “But Ms. Mortensen, I’m telling you the truth. Look at me, you said yourself I haven’t aged, how would I pull that off?”

  “Plastic surgery? Maybe you just look an awful lot like your mother who also just happens to be a nut job!” Marilyn’s eyes were about to burst.

  “Please, Ms. Mortensen, I’m sorry I upset you, but it’s all true. I was there the night of your death...I mean the accident. In my timeline you died, but I went back and ran into Tony Piccelli, changing all that.”

  “O.K. toots if I died in 1962 in your timeline then what happened after that?”

  Claire looked at Marilyn and crossed her eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean? What happened next? Where is Jack Kennedy in your timeline?”

  “Oh.” Claire swallowed, ready to take another sad leap. “President Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963 in Dallas, Texas.”

  “My God. You know, Jack and Bobby were rat-faced, two timers, but I never wanted them to die. Not even the night of the accident. Bobby and I had a terrible argument but...wait, what happened to Bobby?”

  “Oh, uh, Bobby ran for President in 1968, but he was assassinated before the election.” Claire looked increasingly uncomfortable.

  “Bobby too? There really is a Kennedy family curse, isn’t there? If you went back in time like you say, you still couldn’t stop their deaths.” Marilyn paused in reflection. “So in your timeline, I didn’t get a chance to spill the beans, then, kid?”

  “No.”

  “Then it really was the Kennedy’s who tried to kill me? All these years they’ve been accused but I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Well, I haven’t been in this timeline long, but it’s my understanding that they don’t know who exactly hired Tony Piccelli.” Claire tried to reassure Marilyn, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

  “Little bastard took that information to his grave. They all did.” Marilyn snapped out the daze she was in and continued. “So, kid, you said I was still famous in your timeline...because I died, right?”

  “Famous and respected and...”

  “Respected?”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely.”

  “Honey, I’ve never been respected.”

  “No, seriously, you were one of the most respected Hollywood bombshells.”

  “Bombshell? They called me a bombshell?”

  “Oh, yes, Ms. Mortensen, you were the most famous sex symbol of all time.”

  “Ever?”

  “Absolutely, no question. At the time I left my timeline, your posters were still the highest selling of anyone in history.”

  “Get out. You pulling my leg, kid?”

  “No. I’m being completely honest here, Ms. Mortensen. Marilyn Monroe is, hands down, the most famous actress of my time, of any time for that matter. You were truly a legend.”

  “A legend, huh?” Marilyn seemed to repeat that thought over and over in her mind. “Ain’t that a kick? Respected, too, you say?” Marilyn started to look at Claire sideways. She took another cigarette out of the pack and lit up. She took a big drag. “O.K. kid, if I was so famous and loved and all that you say, why the hell did you come back to change that?”

  “That wasn’t my intention at all, Ms. Mortensen. I just wanted to save you. You shouldn’t have died.”

  “Who were you to decide whether or not I should have died, kid? You God now?” Marilyn was now visibly annoyed at Claire.

  “Ms. Mortensen, I’m sorry you’ve had some hardships, but you’ve been alive for more than forty years longer, isn’t that worth something?”

  “Look at me, kid. I’m a washed up has-been who hasn’t worked in over forty years. Can you see the dump you’re standing in? Did you see the writing on the wall outside? That’s my life, kid. Some life! This whole legend thing you’re talking about sure sounds good to me.” Marilyn took another long drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke directly in Claire’s face. Claire didn’t know what to say. She just waved the smoke out of her face. “Alright, kid. You want me to believe this whale of a story? You really want me to believe?”

  “Of course.” Claire said indignantly, knowing an unreasonable request was to follow.

  “Fine. Fix it.” Marilyn said decisively, putting her half smoked cigarette out in the ashtray, forcibly.

  “Fix it?” Claire was lost.

  “You heard me kid, go back and fix it!” Marilyn was growing angrier by the moment. “You got me into this mess and you’re gonna get me out of it. Now just go back to your little time thingy, go back to 1962 again and fix this.”

  “You mean...?”

  “Yes, don’t act meek, sweetie, you
came bursting in here just dying to tell me how you saved my life and how grateful I should be to you...”

  “That’s not my intention...”

  “If you want my gratitude, fix this. I want to be a legend in my own time, not a washed up, childless loser without a friend in the world. If you really care about me, you’ll do what I want. Fix it.”

  “Ms. Mortensen, I can’t...”

  “Can’t or won’t kid? No one gave you to the right to play God in the past, sweetie. It’s your duty to go back and make it right. Save my reputation, save Jack’s reputation, save Bobby’s reputation. Let their silly, naive wives stay with them and inherit all of their fortunes after they die. I don’t care anymore. They can have the lowlifes. The biggest mistake I ever made was blowing the whistle on those bastards. They ruined my life in my timeline; they might as well take my life in yours. At least then I’ll be respected. I won’t be a joke anymore.” Marilyn was completely agitated by this point. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “What?” Claire was reeling.

  “Your name.”

  “Oh, Claire.”

  “Well, Claire, you know what you have to do. If you came here looking for my approval or my gratitude, you don’t have either. But you still have a chance for redemption. Go back, Claire. Go back and fix it.” Marilyn got up out of her chair and picked up the magazine off the table. She walked over to Claire and put the magazine back in her purse. She put the strap of the purse on Claire’s shoulder and grabbed her arm to help her to her feet. She led Claire to the door and opened it. Claire was too stunned to speak. “Time to go, Claire. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drink myself into a stupor and pretend that you were just a bad dream, which you probably are.” She then gave Claire a little push out the door.

  Claire stood at the bottom of Marilyn’s steps, still stunned by what had just transpired. Her idol leaned out the door and offered one final word of advice. “If you’re really a fan, you’ll do what I ask. Don’t let me be a joke, Claire. Fix it.” With that, the door slammed shut. Claire could hear the clicking of several locks on the door.

  Claire had met her biggest idol for the second time in her life and this meeting was even worse than the first. Claire couldn’t believe it. She had saved Marilyn’s life and now Marilyn wanted her to take it all back. On the way home, Claire convinced herself it was the Vodka talking. Surely she didn’t go back in time for nothing.