Read My Week with Marilyn for Free Online Page B

cosy moments together (cosy for me, that is) when I have given her cues from behind the set, but otherwise she has always seemed to look straight through me as if I were a pane of glass. And so she should. The poor woman has enough on her plate without me making demands on her. I have to keep reminding myself that she is the most famous film star in the world, trying to keep up with the most famous actor in the world – and he is not the easiest man to please.
    With Marilyn off the set we spent a boring day preparing to do the exterior shots, and it was not until 5.30 in the evening that I got
to Olivier’s dressing room to check with him before he left for home. Milton was already there, and they had obviously, from the state of the whisky bottle and the ashtray, had another of those long and intense conferences that seemed to lead nowhere at all.
    â€˜We’ve decided to give Marilyn another day off tomorrow,’ said Olivier firmly. ‘Milton says she’s upset about Arthur’s departure, and now she can have a long weekend to pull herself together. One rather wonders,’ he continued grimly, ‘if she ever asks herself why so many people need a break from her presence.’
    â€˜That’s not fair, Larry. Perhaps she needs a break from us,’ said Milton. He is never malicious about anyone, except possibly Paula, and he ’d certainly never dare even to think unkind thoughts about Marilyn.
    â€˜Quite so, dear boy,’ said Olivier. ‘Well, let us say that she can rest, and take a little time to learn her lines.’
    I was wondering what on earth Marilyn would do in that big house, all alone with Paula for a long weekend, when the phone rang. Milton happened to be standing next to it, and he picked it up. He practically lives on the telephone, so whenever it rings he always assumes it will be for him. And it usually is, often from the USA.
    â€˜Milton Greene. Oh, Roger. Everything OK? Whaddya want?’
    Suddenly his face seemed to crumple a little. ‘Yes. He’s here.’ He looked at me.
    â€˜It ’s for you.’
    â€˜For me?’
    Olivier nearly exploded. ‘Who is Roger? What the hell’s going on?’
    I took the phone. ‘What ’s the matter, Roger?’
    â€˜Colin.’ Roger sounded very formal. ‘Miss Monroe wants you to come via Parkside House on your way home this evening.’
    â€˜Me? Why me? Is Marilyn OK?’ I asked.
    Giggle. ‘I’m OK,’ said Marilyn’s voice cheerfully. ‘In fact I’m standing right here!’
    If Milton had had false teeth he would have swallowed them.
Like a trained dog, he had caught the unmistakable inflexion of his mistress’s voice, and his mouth froze in terror.
    â€˜Who the fuck is on the bloody telephone?’ roared Olivier, naturally furious at being excluded.
    â€˜It ’s Marilyn,’ whispered Milton.
    â€˜MARILYN?’
    â€˜Monroe.’
    â€˜Yes, I know who Marilyn is, for God ’s sake.’
    I heard Marilyn giggle again at the other end of the line.
    â€˜But what is my star doing phoning my third assistant director in my dressing room?’
    â€˜That ’s my boy,’ said Marilyn. ‘See you later, Colin. OK?’
    â€˜Very well, Miss Monroe. If you say so.’
    Mercifully she hung up before I got fired.
    â€˜Miss Monroe was just ringing to tell me that she will not be coming to the studio tomorrow.’
    â€˜We knew that,’ spluttered Olivier. ‘And why is she telling you, and not me?’
    â€˜Well, you sent me into her dressing room to ask that question yesterday, so I assume she thinks you want me to be the messenger about that sort of thing.’
    â€˜Hmph! Well, what else did she say?’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜Colin, I heard her say something else.’
    â€˜She heard your voice in the background, asking who was on the phone.’
    As always, Olivier forgot that he had