Crypt 33

by Adela Gregory

  Openly protesting, Hedda Hopper threatened to resign rather than watch an avowed communist receive an Academy Award. Simone used the excuse that she had to return to Europe because of a prior film commitment. Although it was common knowledge within the film community that Signoret had long suspected infidelity between her husband and Marilyn, she wanted to make her last “power play” by delivering the “she or me” ultimatum to Yves just before she left. Even before Monroe and Montand had actually made love, the hounds were already conjecturing about their cozy setup at the hotel. The affair was a time bomb ready to explode.

  Miller was fuming over Monroe’s unwillingness to facilitate his big “break.” Her attraction to Montand was obvious, and he felt ill equipped to compete. But his film was nearly in the bag, so he left his marriage to its own devices.

  Montand basked in Marilyn’s attention. Yet privately he confided in his friend Doris Vidor, Warner heiress and wife of director Charles Vidor, “[Marilyn] does whatever I ask her to do on the set. Everyone is amazed at her complacency.”

  The accomplished George Cukor had more difficulty directing the actress than he anticipated and in the end used choreographer Jack Cole as his mediator. Even Cole eventually grew impatient with Monroe, at one point telling her to “stick a finger up your ass!” Monroe went white as Paula Strasberg dotingly hovered over her. Though Cukor would have loved to be the one hurling the insults, he warned Cole about inciting the weary actress, asking him to hold on for another month until the picture was finished.

  On a Sunday, their day off, Montand and Monroe were invited to a dinner party hosted by David Selznick and his wife, Jennifer Jones. Mrs. Vidor was asked to go along. Marilyn spent most of the evening following her new lover around “like a puppy dog.”

  A few days later Billy Wilder invited Mrs. Vidor to the premiere of his film The Apartment. Vidor asked if Montand and Marilyn could come along. After a few minutes, Wilder agreed, but insisted that she be on time. Montand smugly retorted, “She’ll be anywhere on time with me.” Without an incident, the couple was invited afterward to Romanoff’s, where a charming Marilyn congratulated Wilder on his latest film, which was to win the Oscar for Best Picture in 1960. Trying hard to forget the past injustices done to her by Wilder, Monroe endeavored to wipe the slate clean, even expressing her hope that they would soon work together again.

  The start of filming of The Misfits was further delayed by an actors’ strike over residual payments. In sympathy, the Screen Writer’s Guild also went on strike. Producer Jerry Wald urged Arthur Miller to finish the changes on the screenplay anyway. In exchange for $25,000 and in keeping with his opportunistic character, Miller’s “principles” succumbed as he quietly broke the strike. Though Miller was called upon to save the ailing script, as a novice screenwriter he was being asked to do the impossible.

  Marilyn thought she had the perfect solution to everyone’s problems. Arthur needed a woman like Simone, an intellectual whom he could really talk to. Plagued by his troubled marriage, Yves needed someone like Marilyn, especially since he was already on the brink of “making it” and would no longer need to kowtow to his wife. The thought of switching spouses excited her. Finally, after months of dreaming, plotting, and conniving, Montand “surrendered” to her feminine wiles. Although the rumormongers had been gossiping about the “affair” for months, in truth Marilyn and Montand made passionate love only once!

  The press had a field day with the tryst, calling Marilyn a home-wrecker and repeating the same charge leveled against her during Miller’s first marital breakup. It was a rough period for her image despite her publicist’s insistence that Marilyn and Yves were just “good friends.” Ironically “friends” was about as close as they were destined to be.

  While Marilyn was later filming The Misfits an anxious Hedda Hopper was handed a golden opportunity to get the “skinny” on Monroe, who notoriously ignored Hopper. Eager to announce his triumph to the press, Montand invited Hedda to break the story. The columnist was unmerciful, quoting Yves as describing Marilyn’s affections as a “schoolgirl crush” and calling Marilyn an unsophisticated lady, unlike others he had known.

  After Marilyn heard about his interview, she screeched in embarrassment, “How could he?” Montand explained to a friend that Hopper had misquoted him, and that he had not understood her questions since his English was so poor.

  Simone was busy listening to her supportive friends in Paris urging her to “hold out” until the filming was over. Miller was also waiting purposefully in the wings, knowing that “his film” was set to go into production and her commitment was secured.

  Although Marilyn had set her sights on another marriage to replace the one that was dangling by a string, Montand was more interested in maintaining her support for his American film debut. After Love wrapped, Marilyn flew back to New York, assuming Montand would follow her. But Montand treasured his freedom to do as he liked. With Signoret’s full knowledge, he had merely been playing with the capricious Marilyn; he had no intention to divorce. In short, he took all that she gave and planned to leave her flat.

  Marilyn made one more desperate attempt to make love to her leading man. Knowing he was due to return to Paris via New York after filming, she discreetly planned a rendezvous by booking a hotel room near Idlewild Airport and ordering flowers and several magnums of champagne. She planned to pick up her “lover” at the airport between flights and seduce him. Instead she encountered Montand with his press agent and a couple of reporters asking questions. Like a comedy of errors, the plan was defused. A bomb scare threatened the airport. The stars met briefly in the VIP lounge. Dressed in all beige and dark sunglasses, she made her play. “I have a limo, a chauffeur, and caviar.” The four-hour delay made the situation more grim. Marilyn was politely and succinctly told that the fling had been nice, but he had no intentions of leaving his wife. Montand wished her well, kissed her good-bye, and offhandedly invited the Millers to their home in Paris as the ultimate slap in the face. With his film career on the move, so the French idol thought, he had no more time for Miss Monroe.

  Still Marilyn pined for his acceptance, only to be further hurt when he snubbed her again in New York. There to complete dubbing on the film, he had Signoret make the call to inform her that he would not be seeing her.

  True to her pattern, the actress buried herself in lasagna, hamburgers, chocolate pudding, and champagne. Ever mindful of how the press would tear her to shreds, tears welled in her eyes as she recounted the latest events to her maid. What a stupid fool she had been.

  Was her fling with Montand an attempt to resurrect her lifeless marriage by making Miller jealous enough to want her again? A similar chain of events recurred through the remainder of her days. The pattern would haunt her all her life, garnering poor results and a string of wounded egos.

  12

  The Misfits—Misfitted

  The only way Marilyn stopped overeating was by thinking about playing opposite her childhood dream father, Clark Gable. Like bait, Miller had plotted the very motivation that would drive Miss Monroe to commit to the film. Her overeating slowed down, but not quite enough to achieve her desired slimness.

  Let’s Make Love was a huge disaster. Most critics despised it, panning it as too “downbeat.” Justin Gilbert of the New York Daily Mirror wrote, “Miss Monroe, basically a first-rate comedienne, doesn’t have a single bright line. Of course, the famous charms are in evidence.” The script alterations by Miller missed the mark; her wardrobe by Dorothy Jeakins was too bohemian; and Montand was not at all believable as the multimillionaire. The vain attempt to update the film by throwing in an “Elvis Presley imitator” to capture a young moviegoing audience failed miserably. The only memorable sequence in the film was “My Heart Belongs to Daddy.” Wearing a dark wig and sunglasses while watching the film incognito in a theater, she glowered at her own image during the song “Heart.” She felt good about her performance, though, and quietly sang along. The instant her lead and she wer
e married on screen, Marilyn began cowering in her seat and sobbing. It was so humiliating—to think that both Montands were back in Paris laughing at how gullible she was, so easily swept off her feet just for the sake of the film.

  Things went from bad to worse. Miller bitterly complained to his wife about her bad habits: being chronically late, needing the detestable Paula on the set, her lack of professionalism, which he had to make excuses for. He demanded that she change her behavior so that his two years of hard work would not go down the drain. The shock that he was actually speaking to her that way—as if her career was merely incidental to his, was mind-boggling. Pounding on his study door, she screamed, “It’s not your movie, it’s ours! You said you wrote it for me! You lied.” There was no reply from Mr. Miller.

  Whenever her verbal retaliations were ignored, which was nearly all the time, Marilyn would fly into a rage. When she was right, which was most of the time, he simply could not or would not defend himself. Facing the sad truth about the relationship was more difficult and painful than ever. Her analysis had made few inroads, other than to break the dam of her repression. The bottled-up anger and hostility was erupting with increasing frequency and Miller’s mute impotence only confirmed to her that he did not really love her or care about her at all. One night, grabbing the always nearby champagne, she hurled it against the mirror over his head. Like her marriage, the bottle shattered into hundreds of pieces and, like her fury, the bubbly liquid sizzled all over her sheets. Miller wasted no time in gathering up his belongings, leaving her sobbing in despair. He did not sleep in the same room again for a long time.

  Just before filming of The Misfits was to commence in Nevada in mid-July 1959, Frank Sinatra contacted Monroe and requested her presence at the next year’s Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles, reminding her of John Kennedy. Back in 1955 Peter Lawford had invited Marilyn to his Malibu beach house to meet Kennedy and she had been impressed with his many charms.

  Little did Marilyn realize then how much he had wanted to meet her. During his convalescence from back surgery he had hung a poster of Marilyn Monroe over his hospital bed to keep from being lonely at nights. Kennedy was determined to make a lasting impression on her, to be sure she would not forget him. All those nights of “having” her by his side was the ultimate fantasy for the rich boy who grew up thinking he could have anything he wanted.

  The time was ripe for Monroe to find a new involvement. Bitterly disappointed by the “intellectual community,” she felt that most had the morals of alley cats. She rejected their highbrow ideals, their communist leanings, and their disdain for the free enterprise system. She had had enough of their hypocritical rhetoric, then preaching of one thing and then doing another, such as bad-mouthing America while letting it pay their way. She was ready to try supporting democracy and Democrats. Frank Sinatra had already raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for Joe Kennedy and gone to bat for the Democratic hopeful to woo Marilyn Monroe. The only political career she had thus far invested in was her husband’s, and keeping him out of jail had cost her plenty. She had carried Miller throughout their marriage, spent hundreds of thousands of dollars of her income on his dubious beliefs. Marilyn would take a chance on something new, and, confident that Sinatra would keep her on the inside track, she donated $25,000 to the Kennedy presidential election campaign. She could afford it—she would bank a bundle from Hot, and she rationalized that with Sinatra around there would be lots of fun.

  The plans for her involvement in Kennedy’s campaign were loosely set into motion. On July 15, she attended the fund-raiser at the Los Angeles Coliseum, and later joined Peter Lawford, the Rat Pack, and assorted actors and actresses, including the “man of the hour,” John Kennedy, for a late-night pool party. This affair was immediately followed by another celebration held in John’s honor at Romanoff’s. Joseph Kennedy planned the party as a cover for John and Marilyn to spend more time together, in reward for his son’s cooperation. The presidential candidate was having so much fun with Marilyn that he paid little attention to the controversy surrounding the choice of Texan Lyndon B. Johnson as his running mate.

  Jack returned to Boston the next day, satisfied by both his new position and his new sexual partner. His wife, Jackie, was waiting in the wings, unaware of his interlude with Marilyn Monroe. The presidential nominee settled in for more campaigning.

  Four days later, Marilyn would fly to the one-hundred-degree blistering heat of Reno, Nevada, to commence filming The Misfits, of course pretending she was still Mrs. Arthur Miller for her cast and crew. But her head was obviously elsewhere. Marilyn had to bite her tongue, keeping inside all the hurt she had endured during her marriage. She needed her therapist’s guidance now more than ever. Instead of taking some time out between relationships, she had initiated yet another affair with all the earmarks of more disaster to come. The last thing she really needed was a man like John Kennedy.

  The Millers, by now open combatants, were forced by the studio to sleep in the same suite for the sake of appearances.

  On the defensive and fully aware of Miller’s attempts to get the upper hand on the set, Marilyn became ever more difficult. Knowing that Gable adored her, she warmed up to him as she never had before to a leading man. He was the “love” of her life, and he reciprocated in kind. Having had so many famous leading women, Gable was astute in recognizing the many attributes of his costar. He genuinely liked Marilyn, understood her feelings about not having a father, and felt honored that she had fantasized about him as her father figure.

  Gable, too, had had a difficult childhood. Leaving home at fifteen, he had found a love for theater and worked for nothing to break in.

  While still married to his third wife Ria, Gable met and courted actress Carole Lombard, finally divorcing in 1936 so that the two could wed. His happiness with Lombard was usurped by her untimely death in a plane crash. Never fully recovering, he blamed himself for allowing her to go on the government fundraising tour that had resulted in her death. For years afterward he wallowed in his sorrow.

  Gable immersed himself in active service in the United States Army Air Force, rising from lieutenant to major and receiving the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal for flying several bombing missions over Germany. But he returned from service overweight and with a drinking problem. When Judy Garland had sung in a 1938 film the Broadway melody “Dear Mr. Gable—You Made Me Love You,” she had expressed the sentiments of millions of fans. But his grief over the loss of Lombard was still very much evident.

  No doubt in an effort to find a replacement for Lombard, he had married a lookalike named Sylvia Ashley in 1955. Since Hollywood had changed its brand of tough guy from the aging rogue of Clark Gable to the younger, sexless look of Randolph Scott and John Wayne, his contract with MGM was not renewed. He then tried his hand at his own production company, Gabco,! which came out with a string of unsuccessful films. Still drinking heavily, he divorced Ashley and married Kay Spreckels, who became pregnant with his child. Bragging about his wife’s pregnancy, he would joke that the combined age of the parents was over one hundred.

  Robert Mitchum had attempted to dissuade Gable from working on The Misfits because he knew Gable was drinking up to two quarts of whiskey a day; he had a traceable heart condition; and fighting with horses in the Nevada heat might be the death of him. But Gable knew that working with a star of Marilyn Monroe’s magnitude might set him back on the fast track.

  Gable was kind and considerate toward Monroe throughout the filming of Misfits. He never raised his voice to her; never reprimanded her for being late or for blowing her lines; and he would lovingly ask, “Why is it that sexy women are always late?” He would pinch her, wink at her, and encourage her to “get to work, beautiful,” affectionately calling her “chubby” or “fatso.” He was a constant gentleman, the best she had ever known, and everybody on location knew it too. With a deep affinity for each other, they seemed drawn together by forces that were not entirely conscious. Gable
could be a father to her, offering guidance from his vast experience. The compassion between them did not threaten his current wife; she understood the alliance that developed between the two. And Monroe was indeed one of the best actresses he had ever known, her talent matching Lombard’s. Gable comprehended Monroe’s true character.

  Unfortunately for Marilyn, the set would be divided into two camps, one backing Monroe, the other backing Miller; John Huston landed on Miller’s side. Always intimidated by powerful women, perhaps he was impressed that Miller had been able to sustain a four-year marriage with the world’s leading sex symbol. And Huston probably harbored some residual anger toward Marilyn since he felt that she had chosen Olivier over him as director of Prince. He could get even by siding with her feuding husband on Misfits.

  John Huston had actually wanted Robert Mitchum for the lead. Later, after Monroe’s death, Mitchum would state that his acceptance might have saved Clark’s life and perhaps Marilyn’s as well. Mitchum remembered how well he and Monroe had gotten along on the set of River of No Return, where he had been able to help the actress deal with her insecurities and lateness. He also recalled how much Marilyn had trusted him.

  Besides not favoring Gable for the lead, Huston did not want to film in Nevada. He preferred to shoot in New Mexico, with its similar terrain. But the accessibility of gambling and the variety of women made the proficient director accept the Nevada location. With Huston’s drinking problems, Gable’s shakes, and Marilyn’s inability to sleep without pills, the lot seemed headed for disaster.