Dear Diary, it's Marilyn

Chapter 11

This chapter kind of makes me sad...still, I hope you like it. Not everything is peaches and cream.

34 votes last chapter :D Let's try get 34 again, s'il vous plaît? That's french for please :P I knew two years of studying french would pay off!

Chapter 11

“So you and that Jim guy are completely over?” Ben asked me. I was back at his beach house drinking coffee and telling Ben and Bebe all my marital problems.

“Finished once and for all.” Finished…that was a nice word. “We started out as friends and were forced together. It’s just a shame we lost that friendship.” I elaborated.

“Well I think you’re too good for him anyway.” Bebe sipped her coffee. “Just tell me one thing; what was he like in bed? This Jim sounds so…flaky!”

I stared at Bebe in surprise, but I should have expected that sort of question from her. She was a Hollywood girl through and through, and all Hollywood was interested in was scandal. I glanced at Ben who was just chuckling at his wife’s audacity.

“Actually,” I bit my lip. I had never told anyone else about the lack of action Jim and I shared in bed. “I wouldn’t know.”

Bebe choked on her coffee. “What! You don’t really mean to say- you didn’t…?”

“No, we didn’t. It wasn’t my choice; Jim didn’t want to.” It really did sound pathetic when I said it out loud. How had I been married to him for 4 years?

“How could he possibly resist a woman of your appeal?” Ben asked wonderingly, receiving a chiding look from his wife.

“I don’t suppose I tried very hard to seduce him.” I admitted shyly. I had never been this honest to anyone else before. It felt very relieving to finally confide in people I could trust.

“Oh Marilyn, you are such a good girl.” Bebe scoffed.

I frowned, taking her words to heart.  “Is that a bad thing?”

“Hollywood will change you.” Bill sighed.

I wanted Hollywood to change me though! I wanted to really become Marilyn Monroe; confident, stunning, alluring, talented, independent. Not only that, I wanted to be the face of Hollywood. And I was sure that as soon as I got my first movie role, all those dreams would fall into place.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

My first role was in The Shocking Miss Pilgrim in 1947. It was an awfully small part, and the other roles I landed that year weren’t much bigger or better paid.

I moved into my own shoebox of an apartment after about a month of mooching off Ben and Bebe. They told me I could stay anytime but I felt a month overstayed my welcome.

Despite my tiny salary and small apartment, I still had just enough to live off of. Unfortunately, I only had a 6-month contract with Fox Studios and, after that ran out, so did my income.

Nobody knew my name, nobody wanted to hire me. I was living completely in the shadows. I had a little money saved but I used it up for the next few months of rent. This month, I didn’t know how I could possibly pay the rent for my apartment. I was desperate; I couldn’t go back to Ben’s home, I couldn’t go back to Los Angeles, and I really didn’t want to live on the streets.

I was walking back home one day when I noticed a handwritten sign in the window of a small building. Although the writing resembled a six year-old’s, when I went closer I could see what it said. “Models wanted”.

I had modeling experience. If I could land a photo shoot, maybe I could pay this month’s rent.

I walked into the building. It was just one room, and not a very clean one at that. Two men were sitting in chairs looking at pictures that I assumed to be glamour shots. They hardly glanced up when I came in.

“Excuse me?” My voice sounded loud in the silence.

“You here to model?” One of the men asked. He had short hair and was clean-shaven, but he looked pretty sleazy.

“Yes.” I answered uncertainly. This place was nothing like The Blue Book Modeling Agency.

The two men looked me up and down and asked me to spin for them. I obliged, and when I turned back they were both nodding.

“You’ll do. Sign this.” The man held out a paper and pen to me. I quickly glanced over the paper. It just said the photographs would belong to the photographer, blah blah blah. I scribbled my initials and handed pen and paper back. “Barry, get the camera.” The man instructed to the other.

“Ok missy, strip down please. You can go behind that screen,” he pointed to a corner of the room, “if you like.”

“What do you mean strip down?”

The man gave me a look. “I mean take your clothes off. This is a nude photo shoot.”

“Nude? Oh, I don’t-“ but then I remembered just how broke I was. “How much will you pay?”

“$50.” The man said matter-of-factly. Fifty dollars…My rent cost half of that. It would give me a couple months to get back on track.

“I’ll just go undress then…” My voice shook.

Modeling completely naked was an experience. I had to lie down on a red sheet and act like I was enjoying myself instead of feeling completely terrified. I was relieved when it was over.

“There you go, miss; fifty dollars. If you’ll just sign the release forms, I’d appreciate it.” The man grinned and held out another paper to me.

Biting my lip, I prepared to write my name in print on the line but, on second thought, I wrote Mona Monroe instead. I didn’t think my Marilyn persona would stoop so low as to take nude photos.

Walking out of the building, I felt so dirty and ashamed. Still, money is money.

Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul. I know, because I turned down the first offer often enough and held out for the fifty cents.

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Kind of sad, huh? That's show biz for you.

I was sort of planning out the rest of this story and I don't know about you, but I'm super duper excited! Marilyn's life was so...dramatic!

34 is the magic number :D

Thank you for all your support by the way! You have no idea how big my smile is when I see all your supportive comments.