Meet MARILYN MONROE in an exclusive extract from March Great Read: Too Close To The Falls – A Memoir by Catherine Gildiner (Flamingo, $21.95)
The Marilyn Monroe saga: It is 1952 and four year old Cathy and Roy are delivering a prescription to Marilyn Monroe on the set of the movie Niagra, which is being shot close to Lewiston, a small town in western New York where Cathy’s father is the pharmacist:
Cathy went up to the guard and said that they had a prescription for Marilyn Monroe. The guard said he would make sure she got it, but Cathy informed him of the narcotics law in New York State which maintained that the person whose name was on the prescription had to sign for the drug if it was listed in the registry as a narcotic. Low and behold, the rope was moved, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea when Moses divided it, and Roy and Cathy were led on the set. They went over to the chairs where Henry Hathaway, the movie’s director, and Joseph Cotton, the leading man, were sitting. Joseph Cotton, a man, was wearing makeup that even Irene would have thought excessive.
Henry Hathaway seemed relieved to see Cathy and Roy and said, ‘Thank God Marilyn’s medicine is here. You’ve saved my bacon!” He reached for a megaphone and yelled, ‘Let’s call those extras back to the set in one hour please.”
Jean Peters, another actress, who was leaning on the motel set having a cigarette under the “No Vacancy” sign, threw her cigarette on the lawn and seemed kind of in a huff. She said, pointing to Cathy, “Well, she’s the only natural blond on the lot.”
Henry Hathaway laughed and told Cathy, “You never know. You may be our next star.”
Joseph Cotton said, smoothing his tweezed eyebrow, “After all, Betty Grable was discovered at Schrafft’s and her hair was only half as blond as yours.”
Cathy was thrilled. Henry gave the security guard the go-ahead for them to go to Marilyn’s room in the Sheraton Brock Hotel. Because of the crowds who were waiting for Marilyn to get off the elevator, the guard had to take them up in a special freight elevator that had quilts on the walls.
Cathy knocked on the door, but no one answered. One thing Cathy and Roy knew was that when you deliver narcotics, people are happy to see you. That much she’d learned practically in her crib. She leaned close to the door, tapped, and murmured, “Nembutal for Marilyn Monroe.”
That was the open sesame. Marilyn popped her head out of the door looking like a ruffled white rooster with hair askew and smeared ruby red lips and muttered., “Oh, I’m not quite dressed yet. I know I have to sign – pardon my attire and the mess and come on in.” She opened the door fully and the delivery pair entered, not without trepidation, for Marilyn was in her slip. There were clothes all over the floor, and cigarettes with red ends that were hardly smoked were overflowing the ashtray and getting mixed in with piles of makeup in more colours than an artist’s palette. “I just have two more nails,” she said, hastily applying Revlon Night to Remember nail polish on top of chipped old red polish.
Her tight slip wasn’t doing a good or even adequate job of covering her body. The scanty eyelet undergarment was white, but her long-line brassiere, garter belt, and pants were black. The cups of her bra were lace and had concentric circles sewn in top-stitching, and were shaped like sugar cones for ice cream, pointing straight out. Now, if the facts be known, Cathy wouldn’t have been caught dead in a room with another woman, let alone a man, in that getup. Cathy gave Marilyn a look which let her know that Roy was a man and that maybe he should wait outside.
Roy carried the maroon leather narcotics log and held it out for Marilyn to sign, pointing to the spot where the morphine was listed. As he leaned over to give her the pen, she flopped down on her vanity stool and prepared to sign, scowling as though she’d signed more of these than she cared to remember. Suddenly her mood and body seemed to loosen up, and she said in a little-girl kind of breathy voice, “What’s that smell? Is that Juicy Fruit?” She leaned close to Roy’s face and sniffing. Roy didn’t say anything. He just got out his Juicy Fruit and casually handed her a piece, but she said he had to peel it because her nails were wet. As he took off the yellow wrapper and foil, she gave the signed narcotics log a big squeeze against her chest, which made parts of her body come up over the top of her slip and slide all around. Then she handed the book back to Roy, saying in that same gushy voice, with eyes open wide, as though she were shocked or something, “Now, that was a sneaky way to get my autograph.” Then she smiled at Roy and her face really lit up. Her whole sort of pudgy sour face turned radiant. He remained calm, as though he were talking to the Duponts or Warty or Marie. Roy had a style that didn’t change with the wind. He said, “I go all over these parts, givin’ out Juicy fruit sticks and getting’ autographs. Why, yesterday we got…who was it, Cath? Ava Gardner, wasn’t it? But she wanted Doublemint.” He beamed back a smile right at her. Marilyn didn’t wait for Cathy’s share of the joke. “Well,” she said, raising her shoulders and everything else that seemed connected as well, except for her slip, “I guess you can’t satisfy everyone.” Roy was quiet and never moved away after getting the book back. He said, “So I’ve heard tell.” For some reason Cathy didn’t feel included.
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