Marilyn Monroe Decides What To Do With Her Body – Part One

Marilyn Monroe sat in a leather-backed chair in the center of a long conference table made of polished maple. Her position was lazy, sitting back, somewhat lumped over. Her hair was long and bleached blond with brown roots showing from her lack of attention. She was wearing a black wool coat with large round black buttons over a yellow blouse that was a bit too tight for her bust. Marilyn was huddled in her coat, still feeling the cold wet weather of January in New York City. It was 1961, and the new decade was dark and cold to her. So dark that it prompted Marilyn to come to her lawyer’s office and sign the last will and testament that she had been advised to execute a few years ago but never thought it necessary.

Opposite Marilyn sat her lawyer and two witnesses. This was a hastily called meeting. The witnesses were called in the morning and advised to be at the office at two sharp. Marilyn actually showed up at noon, early for an appointment, which was atypical for her. She had slept on the couch in the lawyer’s office for an hour when she arrived, and then paced back and forth in the conference room where they were now. She ran out briefly without telling anyone why, and then returned at two, looking haggard and cold, the state she was in now as she sat opposite the three men.

“Here is a copy of your proposed last will and testament,” said the lawyer.

The lawyer placed a blue-backed document on legal-sized paper in front of Marilyn, turning it on the polished table to face her. Marilyn glanced at the document without adjusting her position in the chair. Her eyes fell on the document and the blank dead stare she brought with her to the lawyer’s office morphed into a serene interest in the document. She was not really reading it, she did not touch it, and she certainly did not fully understand it, but Marilyn was very much entranced with the notion that these white papers with black letters had something to do with her future death.

Marilyn was on a wine bender the last few days. The election of Jack Kennedy had placed a cloud over her life. JFK was to be inaugurated in a week or so as President of the United States, but his election created a distance between Marilyn and him. Marilyn and JFK had shared the same bed on several occasions, the meeting each time arranged by Jack’s younger brother, Robert. Often this occurred in Las Vegas, once in Chicago, once in Miami. Marilyn enjoyed Jack’s company. He was in constant physical pain, but always optimistic. Marilyn felt she was in constant pain as well, but not of the physical kind, and her optimism was waning.

Marilyn was torn between Kennedys. With all the running around and scheduling arrangements that Robert Kennedy had made on behalf of his brother, Marilyn and Robert had grown close. Robert was healthier than Jack and was more tender than Jack who often only seemed interested in the sex. Jack was a taker. Robert was a giver, sort of. His Catholicism was a check on his generosity. Like so many men, Robert desired Marilyn, but their one time in bed was torture for him. He made love, but couldn’t look at Marilyn during the act. Robert seemed honest and sweet and smart, and appeared to truly care. But it was appearances, in the end, that defined him with Marilyn. That became crystal clear with Robert Kennedy’s phone call last week when he advised that things would have to change. I mean, afterall, Robert Kennedy’s brother was now president, and he could not risk the fallout from contact with a Hollywood movie star. Two brothers, Jack who would have Marilyn without care or thought, the other, Robert, who would have Marilyn with too much care and too much thought. Both Kennedys willing to take from Marilyn, and ultimately both willing to dump her. Marilyn was so tired of being groped and tossed away. That is what she felt today. Tired. Sad. Drained. Left behind. Would this continue? Could she take back control of herself, of the thing that everyone wanted?

To Be Continued.

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