marilyn [h.s.]

chapter seventeen

“Then this is Rufus,” Devon demonstrated, pulling out a doll and shoving it at Norma’s face. It smelled like smelly socks with a hint of lavender. “You can be Rufus and I’ll be Kevin- he’s a fireman, he rides this fire-truck.” Devon pulled out an old and decrepit fire-truck from behind the sofa. It was a faded pink (what Norma assumed used to be red), with one side almost completely orange, which, Devon confided in Norma, was ‘only a stain from the one time I spilt half of Mommy’s nail polish on the carpet’.

Norma decided she would buy Devon a new fire-truck.

They played for the better part of an hour; playing with Rufus and Kevin and the old, dilapidated fire-truck. But what Norma didn’t know was that Harry watched the two of them for the whole thing, standing and smiling with Gemma occasionally coming to hug him from behind because this was it. He couldn’t stop comparing them; he couldn’t.

They were completely different.

In the best way.

“Devon,” Gemma called softly from the kitchen. “Your dad’s here to pick you up, dear.”

Norma’s back tightened noticeably, her hands reaching up to finger her face as she swore underneath her breath. No makeup. No face. No mask. She felt hands on her back and dared to turn; to see Harry winking at her and pulling her to him; pulling her to his chest; shielding her.

Protecting her.

“C’mon, Devon,” a male voice called through the apartment. “We gotta go, buddy.”

“Coming!” Devon called as he shoved the bruised firetruck back underneath the sofa. “G’bye, Miss Norma Jean.” Glancing at the door, then leaning down, he whispered into her ear, “I hope you stay. I hope you don’t leave like Miss May did.”

And then he pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek and left.

Norma sat in silence for a few more moments, head on Harry’s chest, listening to his heartbeat- he is alive, he’s okay, I am alive, I am okay…. He is different, he is real. It’s difficult to remember that, sometimes.

Harry spoke, breaking her from her thoughts, “He likes you.”

“I like him.”

--

“Well, just make yourselves sandwiches, then,” Gemma said as she came into the living room to find Norma and Harry kissing while a rerun of Gone With the Wind played, muted, on the television. “I’m off to the library.”

“Bye,” Harry murmured against Norma’s lips, smirking as she blushed and waving to Gemma as she called, “The lads said they might pop by later.”

“Who are ‘the lads’?” Norma asked in her airy voice, later, as they watched Rhett walk away from Scarlett- with the sound still off, Spanish subtitles on. She turned to face him, nose brushing his cheek and she giggled as he puffed them out, tickling her lips.

“Friends,” Harry responded slowly. “A few co-workers and people I know.” He didn’t seem like he was going to add anything, but then he turned and faced Norma, shifting his whole torso towards her- giving her his whole attention. “You okay with that?”

 “Of course,” she responded, because she was. “Will they be?”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Harry laughed. “They’re mostly just lads who come over for cheap beer and to watch ever cheaper footie. They’ll get over it.”

Turning off the TV, then moving towards the door, he glanced back at Norma once more and winked. “You look gorgeous today, baby,” he whispered, as if sensing her insecurity at being just Norma Jean, not Marilyn Monroe- no makeup, no mask, just mess. “So beautiful.”

The door swung open, as if the men on the other side were impatient and wanted in. “Styles!” the first one in said loudly, embracing Harry roughly and a little bit surprisingly. Norma laughed. “Where’ve ya been, boy? For the love of God, you disappeared off of the face of the fu-”

“Lou,” one of the other men- a tall, dark skinned, beautiful one- murmured, gesturing to Norma. “There’s ladies here.”

There was silence for a moment; four pairs of eyes trained on her like she was some sort of goddess before the boy at the back- short, blonde, with rosy cheeks- burst into laughter, bending over and clapping his hands. “Well, Harold, you’ve gone ‘nd done it this time, haven’t you?” The other three boys soon timidly waved before taking off their coats and shoes, shooting quick glances at Norma and then Harry, murmuring quietly amongst themselves. They seemingly pushed the first boy forward, appointing him as their leader and welcome wagon. “’Ello, love, I’m Louis. Lovely to meet you, eh… Miss?”

“Norma Jean,” she said cordially, accepting his pre-offered hand. She appreciated him for that; because all of them knew who she was, all of them could obviously tell that Marilyn Monroe was in their best friend’s living room, but she took a liking to this first boy because he wanted to appreciate her for who she was.

She liked that.

“I’m Louis, Louis Tomlinson,” he was continuing, shaking her hand, then motioned to the other four boys. “I’m the ringleader of this.” He turned back to her and nodded. “I work with Harry at the Times, tough job, innit, Styles?”

“That it is,” Harry mumbled, eyes focused on Norma. You okay? they said. Fine, she replied.

The blonde boy stepped forward and clapped Louis on the back. “I’m Niall, lovely to meet you, Miss Norma Jean. I work as an accountant,” he repeated. Laughing, he added, “I knew there was a reason Harry wasn’t showing up at work until recently.”

“Niall, be polite,” said the tallest, biggest boy- a sweet lad, with big, bushy eyebrows and crinkly eyes. “I’m Liam, nice to meet you, miss. I’m the assistant editor at the Times, and that’s Zayn over there,” he pointed and Norma noticed how love emanated from him as he singled out the darker boy in the room. “He’s an artist.”

“And your loverboy,” Niall added. Louis elbowed him, scowling at his direction and Norma laughed. “It’s quite alright, Louis? Louis, it’s fine.” Surveying the room, she smiled. “It’s nice to meet all the ‘lads’ Harry talks so highly of.”

Laughter rumbled about the room as Harry turned on the television to a football game. “Hurry up, boys!” he called. “The game’s already started!”

--

whoo double update

dedicated to the sweetest <3