Beautiful Mess
Page 1
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BETWEEN THESE WALLS
“Herrick will make waves.”
— Publishers Weekly
“[John Herrick] performs a service.”
— St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“With Between These Walls, John Herrick has crafted an engaging, inspirational story with a resounding message about faith, matters of the heart and above all, inner peace.”
— Edge Media Network
“A compelling read from beginning to end … A sophisticated and deftly crafted novel … Very highly recommended.”
— The Midwest Book Review
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FROM THE DEAD
“Eloquence with an edge. In a single chapter, John Herrick can break your heart, rouse your soul, and hold you in suspense. Be prepared to stay up late.”
— Doug Wead, New York Times bestselling author and advisor to two presidents
“A solid debut novel.”
— Akron Beacon Journal
“Evocative … I felt breathless … You'll want to get this book.”
— Michelle Sutton, author of Danger at the Door
“A solid read with a powerful spiritual message.”
— The Midwest Book Review
“A well written and engaging story. It moves, and moves quickly … I don’t think I’ve read anything in popular novel form as good as this in describing a journey of faith.”
— Faith, Fiction, Friends
“Brilliant … There is a heart and integrity to Herrick’s writing.”
— The Phantom Tollbooth
“Simply bad-ass … With this book, [Herrick] breaks the mold.”
— The Elliott Review
ALSO BY JOHN HERRICK
Fiction
Hit and Run
Between These Walls
The Landing
From The Dead
Nonfiction
8 Reasons Your Life Matters
BEAUTIFUL MESS
A NOVEL
JOHN HERRICK
Copyright © 2017 by John Herrick
Hit and Run Copyright © 2017 by John Herrick
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published in the United States by Segue Blue, St. Louis, MO.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Book layout by Ebook Launch
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016959604
ISBN-13: 978-0-9915309-6-0
ISBN-10: 0-9915309-6-9
Publisher's Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Herrick, John.
Title: Beautiful mess : a novel / John Herrick.
Description: St. Louis, MO : Segue Blue, 2017. | Summary: An aging Hollywood relic finds a lost screenplay by Marilyn Monroe which catapults him to the top of the A-list. But the opportunity to reclaim his fame and fortune come with a choice: is he willing to sacrifice newfound love, self-respect, and his most cherished friendship to achieve his greatest dream?
Identifiers: LCCN 2016959604 (print) | ISBN 9780991530960 (softcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Monroe, Marilyn, 1926-1962—Fiction. | Actors—Fiction. | Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Hollywood (Los Angeles, Calif.)—Fiction.
| BISAC: FICTION / General.
Classification: LCC PS3608.E7746 B43 2017| DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016959604
Dedicated to the memory of
Kim Steele
One day, we’ll play together again in heaven.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many individuals helped make this novel possible, including those mentioned here…
My family. Thanks for your love, and for understanding that sometimes these books need to be the way they are, even if it’s crude or awkward.
Author Howard Roughan gave me strategic advice on crafting my stories. Thanks for your kindness, humility, and for the honor of letting me learn from you.
Eliot Parker, a terrific writer, for the mutual encouragement and respect, year after year. Iron sharpens iron.
Author Steven Manchester, an unexpected new acquaintance and a kind soul. Thanks for your generosity and encouragement behind the scenes. Knowing you has been a blessing.
Maryglenn McCombs, a talented publicist and my personal champion. Not only are your passion and faith in me as a writer genuine, but you have no idea how much that faith has meant to me when things looked dark around me. You’re my MG.
Dr. Carla Siegfried — I’m able to write because God worked through your hands. You will always have a special place in anything I write. It’s a privilege to have you in my life.
Jackie Ammons, Haydon Spenceley, Pam Rempe, and Christen Santoscoy were my early draft readers.
Phil Lewis provided my first opportunity to write for the public on the radio in 1996. You don’t think you deserve thanks. But the truth is, that experience fine-tuned my ability to speak to a specific audience—and you were the guy who gave me the chance. Everything I write today has some roots in your team.
Rose Seifert, Heather Manning, Bobby Schroeder, Felicity Swann, Aisha Ford, Kelly Corday, Marnie Thompson, Karen Robinson — for your encouragement, prayers, faith in me, and the everyday nuggets that add up.
Thanks to the bloggers, reviewers, media people, and everyone else who gives my work a shout-out.
Without a doubt, I’ve forgotten people here, and I apologize for that. Thank you for those who have supported me—whether I realize it or not.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you to my readers. You don’t need to read my material, but you choose to. What an honor for a writer.
Lastly, but truly first, thanks to God. I hope I’m doing this Your way.
Much love. Never give up!
Table of Contents
ACCLAIM FOR JOHN HERRICK’S NOVEL BETWEEN THESE WALLS
ACCLAIM FOR JOHN HERRICK’S NOVEL FROM THE DEAD
ALSO BY JOHN HERRICK
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
PART ONE AS YOUNG AS YOU FEEL
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
PART TWO GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
PART THREE THE MISFITS
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
EPILOGUE
BEAUTIFUL MESS READING GROUP GUIDE
OTHER BOOKS FROM JOHN HERRICK …
BEAUTIFUL MESS
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
William Shakespeare
As You Like It
Act II, Scene VII
PROLOGUE
THE PRINCE MEETS THE SHOWGIRL
LONDON, 1956
PACK YOUR SUITCASE, they had told him. You’ll depart for Britain in the morning. He’d received fifteen hours’ notice.
“And don’t fuck it up,” the studio staffer had threatened the young man, spewing cigarette smoke in his face.
Eighteen-year-old Del Corwyn had gotten himself hired as an errand boy at Warner Bros., where he had fetched coffee and water, delivered telegrams, endured verbal abuse, and completed whatever other menial tasks arose along the way. Del had gotten the job just a few months ago. He’d shown up and they had hired him. Simple as that. He was young and hungry.
And now, as luck would have it, they had shipped him to London.
The studio folks had assigned him to the set of The Prince and the Showgirl. They had instructed Del to serve Marilyn Monroe’s every whim for the duration of the production. He should consider this an around-the-clock gig, they’d told him. Marilyn calls at midnight? Put your pants on and deliver her a toothbrush.
The current scene took place in what was supposed to be the embassy of Carpathia, a fictional Balkan country. Marilyn Monroe portrayed Elsie, a showgirl who had captured the delight of the Prince Regent.
Marilyn—Elsie—lifted a glass of champagne and toasted President Taft.
“Cut!” yelled a man with a baritone, English accent. Laurence Olivier, the film’s director. “Take five!”
At that, Marilyn wiggled as if to shed the showgirl aura from her body. She strode past the camera to a folding chair, the one with her name affixed to it in block letters, and settled into it. A sheen of perspiration had broken through her powdered brow. The hair stylists had given her platinum-blond hair a classic, sexy appeal. Her snug, light-colored dress accentuated her ample bosom and, in Del’s opinion, her ample rear end.
“I’m parched from those hot lights,” she said to Del as she picked up a script and fanned herself. “Please bring me a glass of ice water, young man. A tall one.”
Without a word, Del fetched a glass from a table of refreshments. The handsome teenager returned to find the actress eyeing him with curiosity. With a word of thanks, she took a few sips with her perfect, red lips and sighed with relief. The ice cubes tinkled against the surface of the glass. Del could smell the actress’s perspiration beneath her perfume.
Setting the glass aside, she furrowed her brow, pursing her lips as she sized him up.
“How old are you, young man?”
“Eighteen, ma’am.”
“Eighteen! Why, you’re but a child!” she replied with a voice that bubbled. Closing her eyes, she went limp, as though she had escaped into her own private wonderland. “Oh, to be so young.” Her eyes shot open. “Not that I’m an old maid. Thirty isn’t exactly ancient!”
“Of course not,” Del ventured, measuring his words, cautious not to overstep his bounds and incur wrath from an actress who could get him fired if he inched out of line. Still new to his job, he’d made it his policy to keep his ears open and his mouth shut as much as possible. “You have happy memories of your childhood, I’d imagine.”
At first, she didn’t respond, and Del detected something askew in her silence. Her countenance lost its sparkle. Had he said something wrong? What would happen if they fired him in London? He couldn’t afford a plane ticket across the Atlantic.
“Happy memories? Oh, I had a few of those, I suppose…”
Narrowing her eyes, Marilyn scrutinized him again, to the point that Del felt self-conscious.
“Your accent—you don’t sound like a boy from the west coast,” she noted at last.
“No, ma’am. I’m from Nebraska. I grew up on a farm near a small town.”
“Nebraska! Well, how’s that for a coincidence!” she blurted. The upper register of her voice possessed the playful tone of a child’s. “I have a half sister who grew up in Kentucky. What do you know! You two were practically neighbors!”
Del tried to estimate how many hundreds of miles lay between Nebraska and Kentucky, then brushed the comment aside. Both smitten and awestruck, he would have agreed with anything this screen icon said. The fact that she seemed to treat him like a human being of equal stature made him lightheaded. If he were to pinch himself, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover this was a dream.
But it wasn’t. Marilyn Monroe was conversing with him like an old friend. Though wary and unsure, Del began to feel at home in her company. Why would a starlet like her want to chat with an errand boy like him?
“You live in Los Angeles, though?” she asked. “You moved there permanently?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All by yourself? All alone?” A flamboyant snap of her fingers. “Just like that?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just like that.”
“Why would a boy from a Nebraska farm town do that?”
Del blushed. His dreams outsized his status quo by a substantial margin. At this point, he couldn’t even see beyond the horizon of his menial errands. All he knew was that a fire burned in his heart.
“Well, ma’am…I’d like to be famous one day. An actor,” he said. “A film star, like you.”
“How grand! A future leading man!” Marilyn’s face lit up again. The overhead lights caused her eyes to twinkle. She reached out and, with the wisp of a feather, touched his hand with her fingertips, which felt creamy on Del’s flesh. Hand lotion, perhaps. “That’s what I shall call you: my bright star. What’s your name?”
“Delbert, ma’am. But everyone calls me Del. Del Corwyn.”
“Young man!” A shout. A female voice with what Del pegged as a New York accent.
Del turned to find a woman in her forties, slender with dark hair twisted into a bun the size of a cinnamon roll, scurrying in his direction. Not only had Paula Strasberg, Marilyn Monroe’s acting coach, joined her student on the film set, but from what Del heard, the woman made more money than everyone except Marilyn and Olivier. The woman seldom left the actress’s side, and crew members referred to her—in hushed tones, of course—as a nuisance. Upon meeting Strasberg, the first qualities Del had noticed were her sharp, intimidating eyes and her perpetual frown. Even when she smiled—another rare occurrence on the set—her teeth remained hidden, for she kept her lips sealed shut, like a tomb filled with centuries of tension. The crew attributed her prima-donna air to her former life as a stage actress. A handful of members in the lighting crew had secretly nicknamed her Bun Bitch.
Strasberg struck Del as possessive toward Marilyn, as though Strasberg were an authority figure, not a hired hand. And now she marched up beside her pupil, w
ho stood several inches taller than the middle-aged coach, and glared at Del as if he were a mouse.
“Young man, leave Ms. Monroe alone! Can’t you see she must focus? She must remain in character between takes.” Sweeping her hand behind her, she added, “These people have already made the production a nightmare for her!” Then, with a dramatic pivot toward Marilyn, Strasberg jabbed a finger at her pupil. “Honey, you practice your lines and let Paula handle this.”
Del retreated a step to escape the harsh woman’s wrath. “I’m sorry, Ms. Strasberg,” he squeaked, “but I—”
“Oh, leave him alone, Paula,” interrupted Marilyn, who lifted her hand with panache. “Can’t you see you’re speaking of a future leading man?” Then, turning to him with a smile that reminded Del of the Pacific waters shimmering beneath the sun, she winked. “Del Corwyn, my shining star.”
PART ONE
AS YOUNG AS YOU FEEL
CHAPTER 1
LOS ANGELES, SIXTY YEARS LATER
DELBERT “DEL” CORWYN AWOKE with the sunrise. Every day, he allowed his body clock to respond to the pink light of dawn that seeped through his window and painted his bedroom wall with its electric glow.
For twenty years he’d started his day like this.
And more often than not, Del had woken up alone.
Not that he had any complaints. He savored his life as an eligible bachelor.
Alone? Yes.
Lonely? Not on your life.
He’d shared his bed with numerous ladies over the years. Young starlets with big dreams. Some had arrived in Hollywood mere months earlier; others had watched doors of opportunity open that suggested a miracle awaited around the corner. Still others, particularly in the days of his prime, were household names—modern legends, even. Kids listened to their exuberant voices on their headphones. Parents watched their films on the sofa. Little did they know, while they discussed those lush women over their meatloaf dinners, one of those young beauties had her mouth around Del’s cock. For reasons not even Del could explain, they found in him the allure of a classic leading man.