High society life was so disappointing, and yet it seemed to occupy most of her existence. Marylin needed to spread her wings and fly from this stuffy, uptight world; to feel free and alive again. By God she was bored, and had developed some rather bad habits in order to express her displeasure. That was the best way, she found, to keep her mind intact. People would often chide her on the subject: for example, she was always late to every one of her meetings. But she needed that time to be alone, to refocus on herself – on Norma Jean, and on the woman she truly was. And so she would laze in her bath for hours on end, forgetting the time passing and all those important meetings. Her tardiness was also due to the long periods she spent swathing herself in creams and lotions; as she caressed her skin, she thought of all the men who desired her and longed to touch her. She thought of her glory and the revenge she had wreaked on the high-fliers of Hollywood, and how she had made them pay for all the years she had spent being undesired. Nobody wanted to see servile little Norma Jean, not even her own mother. Worse, she always forgot to laugh constantly during the dinners, as she ought. She had already been confined to playing bimbos on screen, and did not wish to become some sort of accomplished parakeet. People got dolled up to the nines for these parties and were careful to leave their personalities at home, to the point where each of their two faces no longer bore any resemblance to one another. When Marylin got ready, on the other hand, she was careful to keep herself intact. Other people didn’t want to show their humanity or their intelligence, as they were too afraid to stand out or be seen as too serious. Not only did they all dress the same, men and women alike, but they all thought the same way too.
Some Like it Hot was Marilyn Monroe’s most famous movie, but her character in the film was quite unlike her; a voiceless singer who played the ukulele, with a penchant for the bottle and for millionaires. A gold-digger, as dumb as they come. She’d been so obscured by her alabaster makeup and her bleached blonde hair, and it seemed her husband did not respect her enough to want to shield her from such superficiality. She blamed him. She was certain that he’d married her out of vanity, and had never seen her as anything more than a doll to be played with. Her trust in him had withered, and she no longer wanted stay married to him at the cost of her own existence. She so needed to exist. She had left the fine company on the boat to take the air and stretch her arms out to the breeze. She imagined herself like a siren on the bow of a ship, confronting every tempest without flinching. Those wooden women, strong and impenetrable. To be a sexy pin-up was one thing, but to be a ghost of a woman she could never abide. She had to hold on to her power. That was why she’d always shown up late for filming Some Like it Hot, and instead of asking her why, or worrying about her, they tried to control her. She never learned a single line; they were all so dumb anyway. How could she make them her own? A tear ran down her cheek. Her husband, Arthur Miller, had never tried to understand her. He was just like all the others, caring only for appearances. She’d gone from being unwanted to being the most desired woman in all of America, but to be understood, to be heard, to be loved...when would those things be hers? Never, she feared.
Alan Alfredo Geday