queen on her own color ♡ JFK

p.8 choo-choo

Pop helped arrange the mysterious meeting in an organized manner, and managed to set it at an hour when low light would provide a convenient veil of diversion. Sonny and Buck escorted Christina to the Plaza, and Pop went along. People stopped to make a double take at her anyway. It made her wonder how someone of Marilyn's magnitude could even begin to disguise herself and lay low successfully in New York.

The Plaza was yet another splash of decadence into her modest customs. The chandeliers at the very top, in their glimmering grandiosity, reluctantly shone down on Christina and made her feel she was disrespecting the venue by being underdressed-but that lack of decorum was necessary. Dressing in an eye-catching manner would have defeated the whole purpose.

Buck and Sonny encountered two men of similar build standing in front of a door with the number one hundred and seven on it. They immediately set their sights on Pop, who was marching onward with way too much confidence. A firm hand on his chest stopped his entitled stride before he could let himself into the room.

"Only the girl," the bodyguard who stopped him said.

Christina was let inside while Pop stood in place with a shocked face. She didn't look back.

Instead, she took herself forward and left him behind with no remorse. He was a businessman, but he had no business there. This was just to be between the star and the starlet.

There she was, Marilyn Monroe, with the stance of a Barbie doll in the middle of a round beige rug surrounded by furniture of similar tones, staring across like she'd been waiting like that for hours. The dim light from the window was but a line shining through the crevice between the curtains. Curtains of a similar color to the dress Marilyn was supposed to wear that day.

Christina had seen her in person before, during the rehearsals in May and that seemed like a lifetime ago already, however, this wasn't the same woman at all.

Her natural, slightly darker roots crowned her head. It already gave Marilyn a completely different face from the one she used to show to the world. This one was vulnerable in its candor. It had some makeup on, but none of that overdone pastry. More like something slapped on at the last minute hoping for the best.

"Christina, it is so good to meet you." Normally, a tame, soft-spoken voice like Marilyn's would make her question the sincerity in it-far too many women used it to pretend they were all that-but it wasn't forced. It simply sounded like she was afraid she might scare Christina off somehow.

Perhaps Christina's face wasn't as calm and collected as she thought. But how could she not be intimidated at all?

"Likewise." Keep it cool. Keep it cool.

"I understand you were at Madison during my rehearsals."

"That's right. It's one of the other venues my theater is in charge of."

Marilyn made a graceful turn to her left after telling Christina to take a seat. She then approached the bar.

"Want a Co-Cola?"

"Sure." Christina settled on a square puff seat, its apparent comfiness too tempting to resist. Marilyn came back with a Coca Cola bottle for each, no glasses. When she saw the woman drinking straight form the bottle, she did the same after thanking her.

The clinging noise amidst the wordless exchange turned out to be from their long nails tapping against the crystal. What to start with... If not the obvious?

"Where were you that day?" Christina asked, soon realizing the matter went deeper than that. "Where have you been? You've become a ghost."

The tapping ceased, but the hesitation from Marilyn incremented. With an uncomfortable posture from the opposite side of the room and a diverted stare, she succumbed.