Being told by Levathes that the studio problem would be taken care of, Marilyn believed him. When she was alerted that even Bobby and his excessive language had not budged the executives, Marilyn decided that since she not only had committed personally to Jack but had spent more than $15,000 of her own money for the dress, she would be damned if she’d be dissuaded. Even though she was still ailing, she had her doctors rev her up with injections of vitamins from B-complexes to straight B12 and amphetamines. With her contract with Twentieth on its last leg and her apparent future lying with the President, she considered the risk worthwhile. Her chances with Jack seemed even more promising; after all, his kid brother was supporting her appearance. And with the whole Kennedy clan’s approval of the affair, her chances improved daily.
With misgivings, the producer of the show, Richard Adler, appealed to JFK not to use Marilyn in the celebration. His request was to no avail: The president’s girl would appear.
A feud between Jackie and Jack was brewing in another part of the arena. Humiliated that his current mistress was indeed the famous Marilyn Monroe, Jackie pleaded with him to cancel the act. Expecting over twenty thousand in attendance at the Garden, she declared that she did not want to be embarrassed or upstaged by her husband’s lover. Some of their close associates already knew about the affair, but if the romance were to become common gossip it would devastate the mother of his children. She reminded her husband of Joseph Kennedy’s promise to her that she would not have to suffer public humiliation in their marriage in regard to other women. The pronouncements of the Kennedy patriarch had the utmost significance. No matter what one did in private, Joe would preach, appearance was important. Jackie tried everything; and even her threat that she and the children wouldn’t attend failed to dissuade John Kennedy. His decision was final. Marilyn would stay and Jackie would go. So go she did, to Virginia for a weekend of horseback riding, a trip she often took, and she took daughter Caroline, and son John Jr. along with her.
Jackie had gotten the ultimate slap in the face from JFK, but she had plans to speak with her father-in-law. Joseph Kennedy didn’t have enough time to change anyone’s mind by then. But the wheel was set in motion for a major event in the Kennedy administration, an event that Marilyn believed would be the pinnacle of her power.
By noon on May 17, just after Whitey Snyder made up Marilyn’s face, Peter Lawford retrieved her from the Twentieth-Century Fox lot along with her staff, Pat Newcomb, and Paula Strasberg in tow. She was whisked away to be presented before her lover. After she departed, Cukor fumed that she had defied the studio and willfully abandoned “his” movie.
The moment Monroe appeared on stage, illuminating the darkened Garden, the audience roared with delight. Electricity flew through the rafters; Marilyn’s beauty was absolutely captivating. Wrapped in white ermine purchased for the occasion, and after hours of rehearsal, Marilyn threw the wrap into the arms of a friend in order to display the extraordinary gown and the woman inside it. Catcalls, wild whistles, and shrieks reverberated throughout the auditorium, as the adoring crowd reacted to the vision that was Marilyn Monroe. JFK reacted only to her behind, as he remarked to a friend, waiting and watching for ever scintillating gyration.
Marilyn Monroe sang her heart out for the man she had fallen for and was honored beyond compare at being his “lady” for the evening. The rendition of “Happy Birthday” was precisely what the President had ordered, breathy, sexy, and ever so vulnerable. When JFK finally reached the podium in front of the ecstatic audience, he said, “I can now retire from politics after having had ‘Happy Birthday,’ sung to me in such a sweet, wholesome way.” Never had Marilyn felt so adored.
All America loved Marilyn Monroe. But even knowing that did nothing to temper her soaring fever. After the concert, her maid and masseur attempted to put her to bed in her apartment, but she would not hear of it. Wanting to share the President’s exhilaration and his bed, Marilyn made her way to the party hosted by United Artists President, Arthur Krim. Marilyn’s formal date for the evening was her former father-in-law Isadore Miller. Once there, JFK and Bobby huddled around Monroe congratulating her and thanking her for her appearance. Robert and Marilyn danced together several times, while Ethel Kennedy seethed in anger.
The close of the glorious evening was spent in the President’s private duplex in the Carlyle Hotel while the Secret Service kept guard.
19
Fall From Grace
By the time the seats and podium were broken down in Madison Square Garden, Bobby Kennedy’s “Get Hoffa Squad,” a special team of sixteen lawyers and more than thirty investigators, had done just that. Jimmy Hoffa was arrested and indicted under the Taft-Hartley Act for allegedly accepting employer payoffs to settle a strike. A photo of the handcuffed Teamster chieftain appeared in the nation’s newspapers, landing on the front page of the New York Times. Enraged that Bobby finally had something to “nail” him with, Hoffa stepped up surveillance on the attorney general and the President, vowing to “get Kennedy.”
The President was coming off the high of his birthday bash, but his family and political advisers had not been amused. Papa Joe was especially upset over the television coverage of Marilyn’s “Happy Birthday Jack, Bobby, and Teddy understood their wives’ positions, but they were surprised the old man did not approve.
Joseph Kennedy had a difficult time with the division at Hyannisport. He had often flaunted his own mistresses in the past. Gloria Swanson had even vacationed with him and his family. But Joe had not then been concerned about reelection to political office.
While Jack attempted to contain the bad press about Castro and the Bay of Pigs, the ambassador turned his diminished sights to the November 1964 presidential campaign. Kennedy’s opponents most certainly would use the news clips of him and Marilyn Monroe as ammunition for character assassination.
The relationship had to end or there would be “hell to pay later.” Public opinion polls had shown that JFK’s support was dropping. Bobby’s fervent effort to “clean out corruption” was winning points, but not enough to outweigh the negative reaction to the President’s foreign policy. Jimmy Hoffa, whose arrest had been a feather in the attorney general’s cap, had not yet gone to trial. Time would still tell. Even Bobby finally had seen the light. No matter how feverishly he had defended Marilyn’s appearance, the overwhelming repercussions were obvious. Marilyn had to go. Bobby volunteered to be the purveyor of bad news.
Appearing on soundstage 14 at Twentieth, Marilyn reported back to work for Cukor. Energized by the thrill of the adulation and front-page notices and photographs with the President, the actress entertained new hopes for her future, even though her fragile health continued to plague her. Dean Martin was still ailing, and the studio staff doctor, Lee Siegel, felt the star should continue to avoid contact with him.
Although she was visibly exhausted, her next big scene was scheduled for shooting on May 23. In it, she was to attempt to seduce her screen husband away from his new wife by swimming in the buff. Jean-Louis had designed an invisible swimsuit that fit like a body stocking. With her penchant for realism, Marilyn toyed with the possibility of doing the scene nude.
A plan came down with Cukor and Monroe in cahoots: She was to start the filming wearing the suit, then, when told that the body suit’s lines were apparent to the camera, she would quickly, “like it was unrehearsed,” remove the garment and swim in the nude. Hoping to boost the publicity of the film, the staff had planned the spectacular shooting well. Larry Schiller, a free-lance celebrity photographer then working for Life, hired another photographer, William Woodfield, to cover what Schiller would later call the “historic” event. They hoped to upstage every other woman in the world, especially the somewhat younger Elizabeth Taylor and her Cleopatra.
Marilyn was proud to be in perfect shape at thirty-five, and once stripped down, enjoyed the sensation of freedom and the attention. Once, she stopped by the side of the pool with one leg hugging the edge, another moment l
ifted herself out of the water and sat on the steps. With her back to the camera, she made a special effort to avoid showing her nipples or pubic hair, not wishing the photos to be too racy. The azure-tinted water was a perfect backdrop to her blond hair and blue eyes. She performed well and endured at least twenty different takes. The word got out through the studio grapevine that Marilyn Monroe was doing a nude scene, and pandemonium broke out.
Monroe and Pat Newcomb had negotiated with Twentieth to release the rights to Schiller’s photos on condition that he place them on “every magazine cover in the world.” The beautiful star wanted to ensure she still had the allure of a twenty-year-old model. The session had produced sensationally sensual photographs and editors of seventy-two international magazines chose Marilyn’s nude shoots over pictures of Taylor, or anyone else.
By the weekend the negative reaction to her appearance at the President’s party worsened her already shaky health. There were no more urgent calls from Jack Kennedy. There was no Presidential follow-up on the promises to smooth the hurt feelings of Fox’s executives. Instead, Bobby called and told her that he wanted to speak to her seriously. Flying into town, he met with Marilyn in her Brentwood house. He filled her in on the reaction to the affair. He said that the CIA had advised the President that their relationship had to cease in the interests of national security, and that Hoover, too, had told the President the relationship had to end. JFK’s advisers had warned him not to even contemplate divorce while getting in gear for reelection. He told her anything and everything that could possibly excuse the swift and final decision. Marilyn went into shock. She had given herself privately and sexually to the President; she had publicly donated her essential popular appeal to him.
Marilyn Monroe was baffled. “How could he?” she asked, while she called Frank Sinatra for understanding. Frank had already gotten the ax from the Kennedy clan and was himself bitter, but he reminded Marilyn that he had warned her often not to get too close to the President.
It wasn’t long before Marilyn fell into the arms of one she believed could truly console her for the ravaging hurt of the President’s rejection. She was comforted by Bobby’s assertion that it was the office of the presidency, rather than the man who held it, that forbade JFK from divorcing. That made sense, and in defeat Marilyn allowed herself to get close, emotionally and sexually, to Bobby Kennedy. The attorney general was in his element. Continuing his self-selected title job of Mr. Fix-it, he delighted in coming to the rescue of the damsel-in-distress. Perhaps moved by Monroe’s vulnerability, he generated a good deal of compassion and understanding interspersed with sexual play.
But Marilyn Monroe still would not give up on the President. She continued to call his private number and could not reach him. He would not return her calls. Repeatedly and through different avenues, the actress attempted to speak to him. She wanted him to explain directly to her why he had distinctly led her on. She would soon write letters; then tried poems. His total unavailability struck at the very core of her emotional difficulties. Her fear of abandonment had once again resurfaced, even as Bobby made love to her on “Jack’s behalf.”
When Marilyn arrived at the set on a Monday morning, the cast and crew could see that she was in a deep, profound depression. Whether the sleeping pills were doubled, or she had been crying for days, her eyes were swollen nearly shut. She barely got through her scenes. While filming ten takes of her entrance on the stage, Cukor observed her through the lens and ordered the film destroyed.
By the next day, Marilyn had regrouped and buried herself in her work. After many more therapy sessions and sleepless nights and those old recurring nightmares of being abandoned, the actress believed that Bobby would do his best to console her. But even her therapist warned her about the Kennedys.
June 1, her thirty-sixth birthday, was another letdown. Marilyn was used to spectacular events on her own birthday—suspended filming, extravagant gifts—the set usually turned into a lavish celebration. But hostile Cukor refused to allow even a small party until all the shots were done for the day. Marilyn’s stand-in, Evelyn Moriarity, was busying herself raising the money for a cake. Fortunately for Marilyn, flowers, telegrams, and gifts had arrived. Marilyn suspected something was brewing. The complicated filming of Dean Martin and Wally Cox’s scene with her went off well. Once filming suspended, Monroe’s stand-in assembled the display of birthday favors, including champagne and a cake with a Marilyn-like bikini-clad centerpiece and sparklers. In the arms of producer Weinstein and photographer and friend George Barris, Marilyn approached the cake aglow with sparklers. Photographer Larry Schiller caught the despair in her eyes.
She let those around her pay their respects and posed for the cameras with Barris, then was off for the evening to another event at Dodger Stadium to “throw out the first ball” for a cerebral palsy benefit. Henry Weinstein was worried about Marilyn’s health getting worse; he appealed to the crew doctor to at least stop her from appearing in a light suit, but they failed to persuade her to cancel.
Schiller caught a photo of Marilyn in her limousine on the way to the stadium, off in another world, perhaps thinking of her disastrous love life.
By Monday, June 4, the actress’s flu and fever was in full bloom again, and she was a no-show. Weinstein could have predicted the renewed onslaught of infection, but the studio’s problems were far greater than those caused by Marilyn Monroe. They were floundering in the face of their imminent disaster, the filming of Cleopatra. With absurdly high living expenses, excesses in exotic foods and special culinary delights, and ever mounting champagne bills, the production was out of director Joseph Mankiewicz’s control. Nearly unable to pay weekly cast and crew salaries, executives Levathes and Gould considered finishing up production without Elizabeth Taylor and her consortium. Having enough footage of her they felt justified in expelling the actress for her wild antics on the set, which had caused horrendous and expensive time delays. Her costar, Richard Burton, had initiated a love affair, though both were married. Taylor begged Burton to marry her. Elizabeth’s drugs and Richard’s alcohol heightened their emotions to a fever pitch. In a drunken attempt to get rid of her, Burton slapped her until her face was black and blue, and filming had to be delayed until the bruises healed.
The studio’s discernible loss of control troubled the financial heads. When the decision came down after analyses that neither star had enough footage and so could not be dismissed, the dilemma heightened. Saving the $35 million already spent on the film was the first consideration. Repeated warnings were directed at Taylor, but she dismissed them. The greatest financial risk was losing the Cleopatra battle, but the money men turned their attention to the smaller Monroe film. Considering Marilyn’s consistent illness, real or imagined, her disruptive trip to New York, and the physical results of her apparent breakup with the President, the attorneys advised the studio executives they had the grounds to dismiss Monroe.
Cukor fought vigorously to fire her. Twentieth gambled that Elizabeth Taylor would immediately straighten up once she found out that the studio had fired the star who provided the greatest box-office revenues in their history. Brass might not hesitate to fire her either.
The dictum came down and documents were drawn by attorneys in New York. Despite the notion that Marilyn was indeed nursing a broken heart, Levathes devised a plan to get rid of her. Philip Feldman, who had been negotiating with Milton Rudin and who believed that Marilyn’s illness was feigned, finally asked the pointed question: Could Rudin guarantee her delivery? If not, the studio would have to resort to dismissal. Rudin didn’t know that Marilyn was at that moment being treated at Cedars of Lebanon for a severe case of the flu, so he could not use that fact to defend her, but he did know her contract was hanging by a thread.
Dr. Greenson was out of town and unable to negotiate on his patient’s behalf. Without Marilyn’s psychiatrist’s guarantees assuring her appearance on the set, on Tuesday Henry Weinstein did not make an official call for Wednesday. Word quic
kly spread throughout the Hollywood community that Feldman had already placed calls to find a replacement for Marilyn. With the lawsuit now pending against Marilyn, Levathes ordered a full-scale assault against her, including character assassination and charges of professional misconduct citing her morality clause. Ironically the same publicity department that had virtually created the giant now had wheels set in motion to destroy her.
Twentieth had little to lose. They knew that Marilyn Monroe no longer wanted to stay with the studio but would nevertheless soon be calling for a much higher salary, triple perks, and larger box-office participation. In its attempt to outmuscle her, Twentieth was hedging its bets by firing her. It was a perfect move, backed up by a slanderous publicity campaign, so they thought. Cukor, struck the final blow after reviewing the six weeks of rushes, declaring the footage completely worthless. In the ultimate power play, the director, whose opinions were held in high regard, told Feldman that Monroe should be replaced and that her performance was not worth the celluloid on which her vision was placed. Without even a shred of the director’s support, Marilyn’s fate was sealed.
The executives took the position that Marilyn was in breach of her contract and could thereby be fired. Feldman and attorney Ferguson met with Rudin and Greenson, representing Miss Monroe’s interests, to see if a settlement could be worked out. The studio representatives demanded the impossible: the expulsion of Strasberg and Newcomb from the set and a reduction in perks. At first it appeared that her attorney and psychiatrist were making headway, but within two hours of the luncheon meeting, any hopes for a settlement disappeared. Marilyn was to be fired and sued for breach-of contract damages set at $500,000.
Back home, under severe stress, Marilyn Monroe called upon her masseur. Ralph had already heard about her firing, but resisted telling her. Instead Marilyn broached the subject herself, but somehow, she couldn’t believe the gossip. She had often been threatened with dismissal, and in defense of herself, she used her favorite line, “It’s what’s on screen that counts.” The consensus was that she had been performing admirably in Something, and although the film was behind schedule, some of the most difficult scenes were already in the can. Her job had to be secure.
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