Read The Life and Opinions of Maf the Dog, and of His Friend Marilyn Monroe for Free Online

confusion. She lifted me up and walked into the parlour where Wanika, ever-smiling in a white maid’s apron, was laying out sandwiches and cheese biscuits on pretty little plates. I dropped from her arms into a waiting chair. She sighed. ‘I haven’t seen Mr Sinatra since your birthday party at Romanoff’s.’
‘That was just the kindest thing anybody ever did for me,’ said Natalie wistfully. Muddah was stung by this remark but she cancelled the feeling by saying no to a cheese biscuit while Natalie moved to the fireplace mirror, an actress fixing her lipstick.
‘Mr Sinatra is a kind man,’ said Mrs Gurdin. ‘He gave a lovely speech that night of the birthday. He supports many worthwhile . . . many worthwhile causes.’ Natalie turned round and drilled her brown eyes into her mother, the eyes that could magic the doubt behind them into a furious and almost blasphemous certainty.
‘I am not a cause , mother,’ she said. ‘I am Frank’s friend. That’s what I am. Frank’s friend.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Gurdin. ‘I was thinking of the work he does for the coloured people.’ Natalie walked over and put her perfect hands over her mother’s, a pose of beseeching and bullying that she had perfected long ago in the first days of her childhood.
‘Mud,’ she said. ‘Please don’t mess things up with Frank and me, okay?’ Mrs Gurdin felt that her daughter did not mean this in a romantic way; things weren’t good with the Brylcreem Kid back home, she knew that, yes, she understood that it was as much in Natasha’s nature as it was in her own to be constantly looking out for signs of betrayal in the people she loved. Her womanly instinct also told her RJ was the sort of man to be driven mad by Natasha’s moods. But Mr Sinatra was good news for her daughter and she knew that too. Mrs Gurdin knew that her daughter needed to ally herself with serious adult concerns and politics. Mr Sinatra liked Natalie, and Natalie wanted to reward him by taking seriously the things that mattered to him. Natalie felt that this was how adults behaved. Mud should know. Natalie turned back to the mirror and frowned. ‘If Faddah is upstairs with The Andy Griffith Show that’s the best place for him,’ she said in the mirror, meeting her mother’s eyes.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Gurdin. ‘He did not do so very well at Romanoff’s.’
‘He did worse than that,’ said Natalie. ‘He was loaded before the soup came and he told Peter Lawford he was a pinko fag from England.’
‘Yes, that was naughty of Fahd.’
‘Naughty! It was disgusting. He was drunk. Peter is the brother-in-law of the President-Elect of the United States of America.’
‘That is correct,’ said Mrs Gurdin. ‘Nick gets very tired and times have been difficult . . .’
‘Oh, please, Mud. Please .’
‘Well. Since the accident.’
‘It wasn’t an accident, Muddah. He was drunk and he ran a red light. He drove into the guy and killed him. Right in Beverly Hills.’ Muddah looked at the carpet and thought she saw fluff.
‘It’s unusual to find people walking in Beverly Hills,’ she said distractedly.
‘Muddah!’
‘Don’t worry, Natasha,’ she said. ‘He is in the bedroom and that is where he will stay tonight. He is not . . . as you say, social.’
‘It’s only a cocktail, mother.’
‘Yes.’
‘It ain’t the Academy Awards. Don’t we have to do something with that dog, like give it an injection or something?’ I walked over the carpet and disappeared into the hall, at which point I heard Natalie saying, ‘I don’t think dogs like me.’ She popped her head around the door. ‘Hey, buster! Everybody likes me! I’m a very liked person! The studio gets five thousand fan letters a week so stick that in your pipe and smoke it.’ She followed this remark with the kind of cackle that would have pleased a director very much indeed. Upstairs, I’m sure I heard the theme tune to Huckleberry Hound .
Natalie laughed and opened