The failure was rationalized by Marilyn, who figured that Milton Greene was most responsible for it. Padding a bad screenplay with talent never worked, and Prince was no exception. Marilyn was also resentful toward Lee Strasberg for naively advising her that Olivier could direct comedy.
As predicted by a number of her peers, under Milton Greene’s artistic guidance, Marilyn Monroe Productions suffered from too many management problems to survive. Inexperienced and inept regarding film production and literary quality, Greene was increasingly at odds with Monroe. Since Monroe felt he had let her down and was not even contributing one-tenth of what she was, she had made several attempts to buy out his shares, offering him a half million dollars. Still having high hopes for Prince and his future with Marilyn Monroe Productions, he had turned her down. But now with Prince already a fading bomb and his own funds waning, he accepted $85,000 to relinquish his shares. Greene’s influence had been at best marginal. Ready to move on, Marilyn wanted to control her own film career. Furthermore, she wanted to spend some time attempting to have the baby she yearned for.
Arthur Miller did not enjoy the New York social scene. As a result, he and Marilyn declined the many invitations to private dinner parties, movies, and theater. As both a theater lover and movie buff, Marilyn was stifled by her husband’s lack of sociability. Other than a rare jaunt over to Brooklyn to see his parents or an occasional dinner with the Rostens, the Millers were homebodies. Marilyn needed more excitement, more than she got while Norman Rosten stared at her as he chatted with his best friend, or while Hedda fulfilled her own fantasies by trying on Marilyn evening gowns. Otherwise, she had little social outlet, as Miller scarcely uttered a word to her for hours and days on end. Though she desperately hungered for his attention, she believed he was in the midst of creating his next masterpiece, so she resigned herself to obeying his dictum that she not disturb him or dare break his concentration.
Hattie, a black cook with a British accent, was called from an agency to cook for them. Though Marilyn attempted to oversee the domestic help and went to great lengths when his parents were over to look like a proper housewife, the truth was that she relished being served and waited on. After all, she was paying the bills, studying acting, and undergoing Freudian analysis every day, hard work in and of itself. Hattie would present Miller his lunch only to find the writer staring aimlessly at the wall with his typewriter and blank pages in front of him. A thank-you was barely audible. The tiny refrigerator most often contained splits of champagne, leaving little space for perishable food. As a result, frequent grocery orders were necessary. Eggs for breakfast were usual, although Arthur ate early around 7:30 A.M. while Marilyn would awake around 11 A.M. for her breakfast in bed.
Distressed over the federal prosecution that once again was forcing him to testify before a Washington judge, Miller faced a possible jail sentence for contempt of Congress. Then Federal District Court Judge Charles McLaughlin and Prosecutor William Hitz succeeded in reframing his case as the misuse of a United States passport by a known Communist. Miller was banking on a small fine and a suspended sentence, but, with his recent marriage to Marilyn Monroe, he knew the judge might use his notoriety as justification for making a public example of him.
Attorney Joe Rauh pursued Miller’s defense in rigorous fashion. Prosecutor Hitz claimed that Miller had “knowingly gone into Czechoslovakia in 1947 fully aware that by his passport, he had been forbidden to do so.” The assumption was that since Czechoslovakia was a Communist country, Miller was traveling without permission of the United States government.
Fortunately for the Millers, Rauh had done his history homework and discovered that in 1947 Czechoslovakia was still a free country and that the President, Edward Beneš, had been a friendly leader. Bingo! Though the anticipated dismissal was not forthcoming, Judge McLaughlin’s light sentence was, and Miller was handed a $500 fine and a one-month suspended sentence.
The Millers needed a change of pace for the summer and rented a comfortable cottage in Amagansett, Long Island. Marilyn felt the urge to cook for her husband. The maternal part of Marilyn was surfacing, as she became pregnant with Arthur Miller’s child. After the recent Prince debacle, Monroe was reveling in the prospect of being a mother. But this glimpse of contentment would abruptly end, like her past pregnancies. Her doctor determined that her pregnancy was ectopic. The inseminated egg had not traveled toward the uterus and implanted safely in its blood-rich walls. Termination of the pregnancy was necessary as the fetus could never develop fully inside the fallopian tube.
Marilyn had waited too long to see her doctor, and she felt gravely disappointed and guilty. All her feelings of inadequacy surfaced once again, and an unprecedentedly severe depression overcame her. She procrastinated about terminating the pregnancy until one day she collapsed in excruciating pain, screaming that she was losing “her.” Fraught with anxiety, Miller made the call for the ambulance from their cottage. She had to be rushed the considerable distance to emergency surgery at the Polyclinic Hospital near the theater district in Manhattan.
The surgery included removal of one entire fallopian tube. The procedure was simple, but reduced Marilyn’s chances of conception by 50 percent. For several days, she lay in solitude. She had wholeheartedly wanted this child; her body had betrayed her. The regrets of all the other abortions, especially the last one with DiMaggio, flooded her with guilt and despair.
Lena Pepitone, her recently hired Italian cook and lady-in-waiting, brought Marilyn homemade chicken soup to console her. Lena had shopped for sexy and feminine nightgowns, telling the hospital staff untruthfully that Marilyn wore such beautiful nightgowns at home. Detesting the garments, Marilyn succumbed and wore them while in the hospital but anxiously waited to strip them off. Her pale and tired complexion reflected her feelings of defeat. She confided in Lena that her hopes for a child had been torpedoed for good.
During her hospital stay, her friend, photographer Sam Shaw, visited and lifted her spirits. Personally unfamiliar with Shaw, Miller found his company enjoyable as he was a sincere man. Miller and Shaw left the hospital to take a long leisurely walk along the East River. Complimenting the distraught husband for his recently published short story in Esquire magazine, “The Misfits” (which Miller had written in England), Shaw suggested turning the story into a movie. Jumping into an artistic endeavor might ameliorate the pain of losing their child and resuscitate Miller’s career. It was not long before Arthur was sketching out the screenplay to the story.
After a few more days recuperating at the hospital, Marilyn’s strength came back and she was released. She had requested that Lena purchase a coat and dress so that she could fulfill the expectations of the army of reporters gathered outside the hospital. Her hairdresser, Kenneth, shaped her favorite hairstyle, straight but parted on one side with a flip at the ends. Wearing beige always highlighted her blond tresses. Looking radiant, she neared the waiting crowds and sadly joked, “One would think I’m going to a premiere... instead of a funeral.” She then broke into tears and had to put on sunglasses. Then she summoned up her celebrated smile, all the way to the limousine, but no sooner had the limo pulled away from the hospital than she again broke down. Marilyn craved the unconditional love that she believed only a baby could bestow.
When Lena and Marilyn reached home, a tired and somber Miller came to the door to acknowledge his wife’s return, then quickly retreated to his study. Marilyn was heartbroken. She ran to the bedroom, ripped her clothes off, and jumped into bed, where she drowned herself in tears of hurt, anger, and disappointment. When Lena Pepitone came in, Marilyn began apologizing. Still weeping, she kept repeating, “It was my last chance; she was my last chance!”
Despite Marilyn’s unhappiness, Arthur was determined to finish his screenplay for “The Misfits.” The story of a divorcee who gets involved with a Nevada cowboy germinated from his own “divorce” experience near Reno. As Miller completed the final stages of the script, he entertained aspirations that Jo
hn Huston would direct it. Marilyn adored the ingenious Huston for respecting her own brand of genius and both she and Miller agreed that he was the ideal man for the job. But they clashed over Arthur’s insistence that she play Roslyn, a character she intensely detested because it seemed to her just another dumb-blonde role. But she went along with the idea anyway, ostensibly because he had written the part for her. With John Huston in place as director, could this be the screenplay of her dreams? Could Miller have written an Oscar-winning movie for his wife? (Unfortunately Marilyn’s intuitive sense was initially right. The character was unclear and unattractive, nothing that would further endear her to fans, but against her better judgment, she allowed her husband free rein over the project, hoping to build his self-confidence.)
Any couple who loses a baby faces severe adversity. A shaky marriage like the Millers’ had even lower odds of surviving. The ever widening gulf between Arthur and Marilyn was exacerbated by his mother’s overt hostility toward her for not being able to bear a child for her son. The elder Mrs. Miller reacted to her own disappointment by lashing out at Marilyn.
In retaliation for his mistreatment, Marilyn would repeatedly call Miller a Communist behind his back. She publicly attributed their unhappy times overseas to his being labeled a Communist sympathizer. She had had neither a honeymoon nor the long, peaceful holiday she needed to recover from her miscarriage. Marilyn began openly resenting and criticizing her husband for his inability and unwillingness to meet her needs. Fights were becoming more frequent, often starting over little things like his requesting that “her” maid run errands for him. Soon enough deeper resentments would surface. How Arthur had passively sat by while Olivier made fun of her, how he had allowed her to take on another dumb-blonde role.
As a way of coping with the misery of her depression, Marilyn ate her troubles away. Pepitone observed how much she loved Italian cuisine and made certain her appetite was more than satisfied. On a typical day, Marilyn devoured three eggs, toast, three hamburgers, three plates of home fries, two chocolate milk shakes, a big veal cutlet, two helpings of eggplant parmigiana, and four cups of chocolate pudding while sipping champagne throughout every course. She especially craved chicken cacciatore and spaghetti drowned in spicy tomato sauce.
All the signs were there. Marilyn was overeating to numb her grief over the loss of her child as well as the loss of her husband’s love. In a short time, she gained twenty-five pounds. What she needed the most was time off for mourning her losses. But grieving was risky, since it would undoubtedly bring up Marilyn’s most deep-seated fears and traumas, particularly the loss and abandonment of her own mother, which she never came to terms with. So, true to her pattern, she turned to concentrating on her career and fame.
Fortunately, in spite of the Prince bomb, scripts kept coming in. Arthur and her secretary May Reis would screen them, then give Marilyn what they believed was best. She would instantly react, “Another stupid girl, I can’t stand it!” Miller did find one that he liked and pitched it heavily to his wife. She read the seven-page outline about the lead singer in an all-girl band during Prohibition. What impressed her most about the script for what became Some Like It Hot was that Billy Wilder would direct! Having worked with Wilder on Itch, she praised him as “the best director in Hollywood. He’s funny and smart. He appreciates me more than any other director in town.”
Marilyn also loved the part because she would get to sing. Although naturally terrified of singing, two belts of whiskey erased her apprehensions completely. Another compelling reason for her interest was the hint that Frank Sinatra might costar. Known for being fun on and off the set, Sinatra partied with style and always made Monroe feel elegant. His prowess as a ladies’ man was legendary.
Marilyn had known Sinatra back when she was married to DiMaggio. Joe and Frank were best friends then. The fun she had had in Sinatra’s company was a large part of her attraction to the current project. Since both she and Frank had parted ways with DiMaggio, she hadn’t seen much of Frank.
The story has it that while the divorce was still in court, Joe grew jealous over the possibility that Marilyn might be involved in an affair. Prompted by Sinatra, Joe hired private detectives Barney Ruditsky and Phillip Irwin. Sinatra had long been carrying a torch for Ava Gardner, and Joe was smitten the same way. Here the two macho men were on their knees to their estranged wives! Frank employed investigators to follow Ava to determine if she was in love with another man. Rumor has it that he found Ava in the arms of another woman, actress Lana Turner. Sinatra was aghast, his ego singed beyond repair. It is one thing to compete with a man—and Sinatra’s inflated male ego would never hesitate to try—but to compete with another woman was more than Sinatra could handle. So when his best friend was suffering over his lost wife, Frank was quick to help out. He organized a raid on the apartment that Marilyn was supposedly occupying with someone else.
The hired door bashers included Bill Karen, the maitre d’ of the Villa Capri, Hank Sanicola, and Joe DiMaggio, with Sinatra waiting in the wings. When they kicked open the door to Florence Kotz’s home, the unsuspecting woman almost went into shock, and she subsequently sued.
Confidential magazine published the story. After Sinatra and DiMaggio’s names were released, California State Senate investigators issued two subpoenas to explain the trespass. At first, Frank refused to appear, threatening to sue the Los Angeles police chief and everybody connected with the investigation. Finally he submitted, but when questioned, Frank insisted he had stayed at least a block away from the raid, and Detective Ruditsky corroborated his story.
Under oath the young Irwin refuted Sinatra’s claims, stating that he was in fact present during the raid, that Sinatra was lying about nearly every detail, and that Irwin was afraid of him. Sinatra immediately suspected Irwin of leaking the story to the press. Irwin charged that he had been beaten black and blue by Sinatra’s “boys.” He also showed numerous welts on his back allegedly from belt straps and kick marks.
The landlady of the apartment building also accused Frank of being there and said the four had run out of Kotz’s apartment the night of November 5, 1954.
With so much contradictory testimony, the Los Angeles County grand jury decided to investigate. Frank hired Martin Gang and Mickey Rudin of Gang, Kopp & Tyre along with Chicago Mafia lawyer Sidney Korshak to build a defense sufficient to thwart further damage to his reputation. By March 1955, Frank’s pals finally got their stories straight in time for the hearing. When the district attorney asked Frank why Irwin’s story should not be accepted as the truth, Frank astutely shifted the focus onto the jurors by asking who would ever believe a private eye who made a living breaking down apartment doors.
Sinatra escaped trial for perjury but lost DiMaggio’s friendship in the process. Unwittingly brought into the limelight through his apparent jealousy of his soon-to-be ex-wife, a humiliated DiMaggio severed all ties with Sinatra. Joe was especially angry that the rumor around town had it that Sinatra engaged his “boys” to do his bidding. This affair was far too sleazy for the All-American hero’s taste.
Though Sinatra came away clean, he blamed Joe for not backing his story and felt betrayed by him. Joe wanted only to make headlines in sports sections! The incident, forever after known as the “Wrong Door Raid,” was an excruciatingly public embarrassment to both DiMaggio and Sinatra.
Flattered by Joe’s apparent jealousy, Marilyn was not truly angry with his attempt to invade her privacy; deep down she still loved him. In her own insidious way, she reestablished ties with Sinatra to infuriate the Yankee Clipper, rationalizing that the more jealous Joe became, the more likely he would try to rescue the distressed damsel.
Her fantasies disappeared after reading the entire screenplay. The story actually revolved around two musicians who had witnessed a gangland murder. After escaping the mob at the scene of the crime in Chicago, they flee and disguise themselves as women in an all-girl band. Marilyn concluded that the film’s premise was ridiculous.
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Miller was more concerned about the potential income from the film than its credibility, and he tried to convince Marilyn that the opportunity was too great to be missed. The producers were granting her a percentage of the profits in lieu of a mere salary. In Miller’s efforts to sell the project, any mention of money ignited her wrath, as she now openly suspected that he was interested only in her money. She suggested he write a play that he hated and see if he liked it!
Her rage only intensified her overeating; if she gained enough weight, Billy Wilder would not even want her to star. What ultimately motivated her to sign the contract was the prospect of singing and then learning and playing the ukulele. The actress adored the lyrics to “I Wanna Be Loved by You,” and “I’m Through With Love,” singing them incessantly. Then she learned Sinatra was out of the picture when Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis were cast as the leads. Though not familiar with either performer, she was attracted to Tony’s boyish good looks. The tantalizing effect of working with him was matched by a dread of returning to Hollywood. Miller gradually persuaded Marilyn that she would be instrumental in making the film a success. She didn’t care about the money; she had already learned that nothing could buy her happiness. She wanted a multifaceted career. She wanted respect. She wanted friends. She wanted a family, too. But everyone seemed to laugh at her simple desires.
A meeting was arranged between Marilyn, Wilder, Curtis, and Lemmon. Knowing how meticulous and aware Wilder was of every facet of a woman, Marilyn fussed all day to be certain that her hairstyle and makeup were just right. She changed blouses every other minute. When the men arrived, all three were fidgeting and acting nervous. Though Wilder was short, fat, and wore glasses, Marilyn was nonetheless awed by him. When she questioned how her character could possibly believe that the men were women, they replied that a great actress could make the audience believe that she believed. After the meeting, in accordance with Hollywood tradition, they kissed and hugged. Monroe pretended enthusiasm, but later complained to Miller that “they chose me only because no one else is considered dumb enough to actually believe that the two women are really men!”
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