Dear Diary, it's Marilyn

Chapter 16

Hey! I'm surprised I'm updating today because it's my mom's 50th birthday, but you guys asked so nicely so I felt compelled to!

Oh and I got a new idea for a story...but I want to focus just on this one for the time being. I'll let you know if I decide to start something new or not.

Thank you to everyone who sent an email to the Ringling Brothers' Circus! Every email helps :)

How about....42 votes this time? I was going to say 45 but 42 sounds good to me.

Chapter 16

There were blinding flashes of light, all directed towards me. So many reporters had turned up for this interview! Arnold, the man who had yelled at me, told me there would only be a few, but there must have been at least 20 snapping pictures of me. Were people in Hollywood really this interested in my nude calendar?

Brent had accompanied me, along with Arnold, to the interview, and he now led me to the lonesome chair in the front of the room. I had to sit alone, facing all those unfamiliar onlookers as they prepared to bombard me with questions.

 I remembered my feelings of stage fright in my high school acting class; the sensation in my stomach felt remarkably like that. Still, I smoothed down my dress (I had gone for a more modest appearance for obvious reasons) and smiled, trying to look like I was perfectly at ease.

Arnold stepped forward from his position on the sidelines.

“You may begin asking Miss Monroe your questions.” And that was all he said before all the reporters began yelling at me at once. I couldn’t make out anything they were saying. “One at a time!” Arnold roared, quieting the crowd.

A man in a bowler hat with glasses and a camera raised his hand. I nodded at him.

“Miss Monroe, is it true that the model is you in this,” he held up the calendar, “calendar?”

“Yes, it is.” I looked down at my lap, embarrassed. Everywhere I had gone the past few days, all I had seen were those awful photos of me. They were even selling them in grocery stores.

“Why did you take the photos?” Another man shouted from across the room. It was the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.

“Well, it was a few years ago.” I began. “I was new to Hollywood and, as I’m sure you can all understand, acting is not an easy career to get into. Things were going very badly for me; I didn’t have a penny in my name.”

 I shuddered as I recalled not having the money for food. “Being hungry night after night because you don’t have the money for a loaf of bread is one of the worst feelings in the world, but at least I had a roof over my head.”

The crowd was dead silent, with only a few flashes of cameras, so I continued with my story. “But then the rent was due, and I had no way to get the money. One evening when I was walking home, two men offered me fifty dollars to take those photos. I was starving and soon to be homeless; I didn’t have much of a choice.” I wiped away a tear that had escaped and was running down my cheek.

“I’m not proud of those photographs.” I raised my voice. “But they got me back on my feet and gave me a second chance. So for that, I have to keep smiling, because life is a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.”

Reporters hastened to scribble down my words on little notepads and then asked more questions, mostly about my childhood. I’ll admit, I did cry a little when I talked about the orphanage and foster homes.

But all in all, the whole ordeal wasn’t as terrible as I had expected, I suppose, but I wouldn’t want to repeat it ever again.

Brent, Arnold, and I loaded into a cab and I gave the cab driver my address. Arnold pulled a handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket and dabbed at his forehead, which was sweating profusely.

“I thought the interview went well…” I commented cautiously. Arnold was my boss, not a friend. I had to be careful with what I said around him.

“We’ll have to see the interview in April in Life Magazine. It depends how whoever writes the article portrays you.” Brent explained to me.

“How they portray me?” I furrowed my brow.

“They could make you out to be someone who deserves sympathy, or they could make it seem like you’re a… tramp.”

“And if that’s the case, you’ll be a tramp without a job.” Arnold glared at me. I certainly hadn’t made a friend out of him. Brent grimaced at our boss’s words.

“But being in Life Magazine would be good for publicity, right?” I tried to find a bright side to the situation, but all Arnold did was shrug. When I looked at Brent for support, he refused to meet my gaze.

Traitor! I pouted.

The cab dropped me off at my apartment building and I didn’t bother saying good bye. I was far too nervous to speak. April was next week; that article could mean the end of my career.

So where do I always go for comfort? To Bebe, of course. I telephoned her and she drove out right away to see me.

I fixed her some coffee as she sat in my modest living room. Really, it wasn’t very impressive. There was a window covered by a thin green curtain, and there was a small couch with a floral pattern. A wooden coffee table sat in front of the couch and there was a sage green rug on the floor, but that was it. How would I pay for this place without my job with Fox?

“Trust me, Marilyn, I’m sure the reporters saw how sweet you are. They won’t be able to write a single cruel word against you, let alone an entire article!” Bebe sipped her coffee and made a face before adding more sugar.

“Dear, you have to understand how Hollywood thinks. Maybe in some other city your career would be over, but Hollywood thrives on scandals just like this. About a week after the article in Life, they’ll forget all about the silly little calendar when a new bit of gossip surfaces.”

Bebe was just trying to make me feel a little better, but it didn’t really help. I moped around my apartment all week until the Friday morning when the new edition of the magazine was released.

I had overslept that day because for the past few nights I had insomnia. I would stay up all night sitting in my bed thinking about my life so far, or I would go to the kitchen and bake, which is saying something because I couldn’t cook to save my life. It was the same with cleaning. I guess I really wasn’t housewife material.

So now I was finally able to get a good night’s rest, or at least a measly 6 hours, until I was woken at 7a.m. by the damn telephone ringing incessantly. I dragged myself out of bed and answered the phone, my eyes still shut.

“’Ello?” I mumbled.

“Marilyn, Arnold wants you to come to the studio immediately!” I could hear Brent’s voice on the line. Stupid Arnold.

“Give me 15 minutes.” The studio was just a 10 minute walk from my apartment.

I didn’t have time to wash my face or apply makeup; I just threw on a black dress I had worn a few days ago, some heels, and I ran out the house.

With my luck though, half way to the studio the heel of one of my shoes broke. That’s what you get when you buy cheap shoes. I chided myself. So I took both my shoes off, tossed them in a trashcan, and ran the rest of the way to the studio, my feet getting dirtier and dirtier by the second.

Brent was waiting anxiously at the door of Arnold’s office. He gestured frantically at me to come over.

“It’s half an hour after I telephoned you! Where have you been?”

“I’ve been on a calendar, but never on time!” I winked, but he didn’t appreciate my humor.

“Arnold has been waiting for you.” Brent pointed to the closed door to Arnold’s office. “He had Life Magazine delivered here this morning.”

My eyes grew wide and my heartbeat began to race. What would Arnold say to me? Would I be jobless?

I closed my eyes and counted to 10 to calm myself before I opened the door to his office and stepped inside.

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Oooo cliffhanger! Now you really want to get those 42 votes fast, right? :P Anyway, I'll hopefully be updating again soon then!