Zsa Zsa Gabor, one of the four hundred invited guests, recalled that the guest list featured some of Hollywood’s most recognizable names, including Gregory Peck, Cary Grant, Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, Charlton Heston, Jimmy Stewart, Yul Brynner, David Niven, Shelley Winters, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Gary Cooper, Rita Hayworth, and Kim Novak. Elizabeth Taylor was there with her then husband Eddie Fisher, and they were seated opposite Debbie Reynolds, of all people, the woman Fisher had dumped to marry Liz. Nina Khrushchev, wife of the Russian premier, sat between Bob Hope and Sinatra, and showed them snapshots of her grandchildren. Sinatra looked bored. Marilyn Monroe entered via a side door on the arms of a pair of Fox security guards and was placed at a table near the dais, between Josh Logan and producer David Brown. Khrushchev gave a very long and angry speech, in Russian, which was then translated into English by an interpreter. “It contained all the usual and expected attacks on the sins of capitalism,” said Gabor, “and was followed by a few lighthearted comments by Darryl Zanuck.”
When the luncheon ended, Khrushchev headed straight for Monroe. He spoke to no one else. “To everyone’s amazement,” said Gabor, “Marilyn addressed him in Russian, having worked out a little welcoming speech with Natalie Wood, who spoke fluent Russian. Khrushchev seemed impressed, all the more so because Marilyn smiled sexily and wiggled her hips. In broken English, Khrushchev told her how popular she happened to be in Russia. If his wife hadn’t been there, I don’t doubt for an instant he would’ve enjoyed going off with her someplace.”
• • •
Returning to Twentieth Century–Fox for her next film, Marilyn Monroe decided on Let’s Make Love, a romantic comedy directed by George Cukor and produced by Jerry Wald. Shooting had been scheduled to begin in the fall of 1959, but as was commonplace on most Monroe films, there were problems. In the first place, Marilyn was unhappy with Norman Krasna’s film script; she insisted that Arthur Miller be brought in to “doctor” the script, though he’d already begun working on a script for Marilyn’s next film, The Misfits, based on a short story he’d written. In need of money, Miller was only too glad to turn his attention to Let’s Make Love.
And then there was the question of whom to cast in the romantic male lead opposite Monroe. Initially cast in the role, Gregory Peck withdrew when he read Miller’s rewrite. Cary Grant and Charlton Heston turned it down as well. Arthur Miller suggested his old pal Yves Montand, and Marilyn may well have recalled the discussion they’d had about working together on a film. Familiar to French film audiences, Montand remained a relative unknown in the States. Monroe convinced Darryl Zanuck and George Cukor to offer him a contract, assuring them that he was a first-rate actor.
“I could tell Marilyn felt something for Montand, at least physically,” said Lena Pepitone. “After Twentieth Century–Fox offered him a contract, and before she left for Hollywood, she said, ‘He’s great looking. He looks just like Joltin’ Joe. If Joe could act and sing, he’d be Yves Montand.’ ”
Arthur and Marilyn departed for California in early November, nearly a year to the day after shooting ended on Some Like It Hot. They checked into the same bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel they’d occupied during Some Like It Hot. “Marilyn arrived armed to the teeth with every drug imaginable,” said Whitey Snyder, who was again working with her. “Her psychiatrist, Dr. Kris, prescribed drugs, and Paula Strasberg’s doctor also prescribed medication for her. And if she wanted additional drugs, she’d go see some local quack. In those days, they were only too happy to oblige.
“Her dressing room for Let’s Make Love looked like a pharmacy. I remember seeing bottles of Amytal, Tuinal, Nembutal, Doriden, Luminal, and Seconal. I thought she probably had more of the same back at the hotel. I made a list of the drugs to show to my own doctor. I also noticed she’d arrive on the lot in the morning and swallow a handful of pills with a glass of ice tea laced with gin. And then she’d continue, another additional effect on her mood swings. The large quantities of medication caused chronic constipation, so that by the end of 1959, she’d subject herself to occasional enemas. I regret I didn’t say anything to her about her drug and alcohol use. Neither did Arthur Miller. He seemed content to let her consume whatever it took to get through the day.”
Although Whitey failed to address Marilyn’s drug issues, he did mention Joe DiMaggio: “I asked if she’d heard from him recently, and she looked at me as if I knew something I shouldn’t know. In truth, I hadn’t spoken to Joe in nearly a year. I learned later they were having a secret affair, but at the time, I knew nothing. Marilyn smiled and said, ‘Joe’s my personal lifeguard. He’s always there to look out for me. And when he sees I’m drowning, he swims out and pulls me to safety.’ ”
Toward the end of 1959, Marilyn learned that Carl Sandburg was in Hollywood writing the film script for The Greatest Story Ever Told. Owning a copy of his biography of Abraham Lincoln, she sought him out and the two met. One evening Arthur Miller and Marilyn took Sandburg out to dinner at Chasen’s. They were eating when the door to the restaurant opened, and in walked Joe and Dom DiMaggio. Joe was in Los Angeles on behalf of the Monette Company, and Dom had flown in to get together with his brother. The restaurant meeting with Marilyn was purely a chance encounter.
“Marilyn saw us from across the room and waved,” said Dom DiMaggio. “We went to her table. She stood. Joe took her hand and pressed it. I kissed her on the cheek. She introduced us to Arthur Miller and Carl Sandburg. Strange as it may seem, Sandburg knew my brother from some charity event they’d both attended years before. Marilyn seemed impressed. ‘You know everyone, Joe,’ she said. We remained standing while Miller and Sandburg half stood and shook our hands. This marked the one and only time Joe came face to face with the playwright. I can’t say Miller was all smiles, but he certainly wasn’t unfriendly. On the whole, he seemed almost pleased to have finally met Marilyn’s previous husband. Perhaps he felt sorry for Joe because he knew firsthand how difficult it sometimes was to be with Marilyn—it was like living with a hurricane, only you never knew in which direction the wind might blow.”
In early 1960 Yves Montand and Simone Signoret arrived from France. They were placed first at the Chateau Marmont and were then moved into bungalow 22 at the Beverly Hills Hotel; the Millers occupied bungalow 21. As work progressed on Let’s Make Love, Marilyn became friendly with Signoret, who the year before had won an Oscar for her performance in Room at the Top. Every evening after filming ended, Monroe would appear in the Montand bungalow to talk and sip champagne with the French actress. Signoret soon noticed what everyone else had sensed for weeks: Marilyn’s mood shifts were becoming increasingly erratic—so erratic she began to feel that Marilyn might be suicidal.
Whitey Snyder noticed as well. “Marilyn seemed deeply depressed one minute,” he said, “and almost giddy the next. She’d slip in and out of these moods very rapidly. One moment she’d be talking normally, and the next she’d become extremely agitated and upset. She thought, for example, that Fox had bugged her dressing room and that they were transmitting the tapes to the FBI. She insisted on hiring a private detective to sweep the room and ascertain whether there were any hidden recording devices. The investigator found nothing.”
While Agnes Flanagan styled Marilyn’s hair for the movie, the film studio hired hairdresser George Masters to work with her on publicity appearances. Masters was astounded to find the actress in such an utter state of disarray. “My first meeting with Marilyn Monroe is etched in my memory,” he said. “She was a mess. She was waiting for me in her bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel . . . in a terry cloth robe, one shoulder torn, her yellow hair hanging down around her neck, no makeup, champagne and caviar everywhere. Thus began my adventures with the world’s greatest sex symbol.”
Rob Saduski, a Hollywood costume designer and faithful friend of Masters’s, recalled the hairstylist talking about his initial reaction to Marilyn and how he took her in hand and tried to restore the glamour that drugs and her damaged self-image we
re slowly eroding. “She didn’t want people to know she had a hairdresser,” said Saduski. “She wanted people to think she just looked that good. She was as calculating and vain as she was innocent and confused. Whenever Marilyn had to make a personal appearance during the making of the film, George would have to duck down in the car so nobody knew he was there. He’d work on her hair, and when they reached their destination, she’d emerge from the backseat looking resplendent, and the press photographers would start blazing away with their cameras. He remained her private hairstylist on and off until the end of her life. She gave him a brand-new white Lincoln Continental as a gift. Suffice it to say, she was enormously generous and thankful to anyone who reached out to her.”
In an ironic twist of fate, the title of the picture—Let’s Make Love—soon became a moniker for a personal escapade that, in the end, created more interest among the press and public than the humdrum film that eventually emerged. Despite Marilyn’s apparent alliance with Simone Signoret, the distinguished French actress soon became a victim of Monroe’s promiscuous nature. Called back to Paris to discuss a new film project, Signoret found herself out of town at the same time that Arthur Miller happened to be in New York. Left alone, Montand and Monroe began an affair. Montand, naturally, blamed Marilyn for initiating the relationship, claiming she seduced him in her bungalow over vodka and caviar, his favorite repast. “After we ate and drank,” he reportedly told friends, “she laid her head in my lap. What was I supposed to do?”
For roughly six weeks, Montand and Monroe were a couple. They were seen together at several Hollywood house parties, such as the poolside bash given by studio executive David Selznick. Gregson E. Bautzer, an entertainment lawyer and California socialite, spotted the pair at the party and walked over to them. Confronting Marilyn, he accused her of being ungrateful to Joe Schenck, her early benefactor. If she cared about him, spouted Bautzer, she would visit him in the hospital. He was seriously ill and quite possibly wouldn’t make it. Marilyn burst into tears and pleaded ignorance—nobody had told her about Joe. She went to see him the following day and spent two hours by his bedside.
Not long after the affair ended and while production on the film wound down, Montand told Hedda Hopper about his fling with Monroe. Montand’s “confession” resulted in a slag heap of predictable headlines. When Rupert Allan, Marilyn’s publicist, asked Montand why he’d gone public with the story, Montand responded, “Because too many people have speculated about it. Boo-hoo, I’m sorry.”
In a follow-up interview with Hopper several months later, Montand offered further commentary on the scandal: “Marilyn is a simple girl without any guile. I was too tender and thought she was as sophisticated as some of the other ladies I have known. Had Marilyn been more sophisticated, none of this would have happened. Perhaps she had a schoolgirl crush. If she did, I’m sorry. But nothing will break up my marriage.”
Rupert Allan pointed out that when Yves Montand accepted the role to play opposite Monroe in the film, he was ecstatic: “A well-known actor in Europe, he’d been searching for a vehicle to establish himself in the States. The Montands and Millers became close friends. Then Arthur found out his ‘friend’ was fucking his wife. It goes without saying Arthur was deeply hurt. When I spoke with him, he said, ‘You know, Marilyn and I are breaking up.’ ”
When the movie finally wrapped, Montand called Rupert Allan and asked him to become his publicist. “Once again,” said Allan, “he began chatting about his affair with Marilyn, as if this was his strongest selling point. He was a real prick—ungallant and indiscreet. He said when Marilyn came on to him, it was her time of the month, and it was awful. She smelled awful. She was dirty and unkempt. ‘That’s more information than I need,’ I told him. ‘Besides, I thought you Frenchmen were so liberated. Frankly, I’d take Marilyn Monroe with or without her period if I could have her.’ ‘First of all, I’m an Italian,’ said Montand. ‘But, anyway, hygiene is important to me.’ I told him to fuck off and find himself another publicist. I don’t know who ended up representing him, but I can safely and happily say that instead of Let’s Make Love enhancing his career, the film and the scandal attached to it all but buried him, at least in this country.”
Prior to Marilyn’s affair with Montand, Lotte Goslar went to dinner with Marilyn and Arthur Miller. “They’d just started the picture,” said Goslar. “That evening I saw a side of Marilyn I’d never noticed before. She acted very bitchy toward Arthur. First of all, she began talking about Joe DiMaggio and what a great dresser he was. ‘Arthur only owns two suits,’ she said. As we were leaving, she started ordering him around: ‘Get my purse, Arthur, I checked it.’ When he got back with the purse, she said, ‘Where’s my mink coat? They were on the same claim check. Get me my mink.’ She practically called him an idiot. She began yelling at him as he went back to the cloakroom to retrieve her mink. She treated him like a slave. She absolutely degraded him. It was terrible. And a little later, she conducted that very flagrant infidelity with Montand. I knew how audacious and bold she could be if she wanted something. Arthur Miller, by comparison, seemed an innocent, completely out of his depth. I felt for him. Everyone did. It was almost as if Marilyn had wanted to hurt him. I think she felt he hadn’t supported her emotionally. When we were alone, she said he was a great writer but a lousy husband. She remarked that the only reason he stayed on with her was to collect a paycheck for writing the screenplay to The Misfits, Marilyn’s next film.”
Monroe’s treatment of her third husband grew even harsher when she learned that he’d telephoned Simone Signoret in Paris to discuss the romance. “What does his wife have to do with it?” Marilyn asked him. “Instead of Simone Signoret, why didn’t you call Yves Montand? Why didn’t you belt him in the mouth? That’s what Joe DiMaggio would’ve done. Or why didn’t you slap me around? You should’ve slapped me.”
Simone Signoret’s only public comment regarding Yves Montand’s liaison with Monroe came after the filming of Let’s Make Love ended: “If Marilyn fell in love with my husband,” she said, “then she has good taste.”
• • •
“Can you believe this?” Joe DiMaggio asked George Solotaire one evening over drinks at Toots Shor’s. Joe had a copy of Hedda Hopper’s newspaper column in hand and was waving it in George’s face. “Why would Marilyn sleep with this guy?” Joe asked, not expecting an answer. “I don’t get it. Is she that insecure?”
Bernie Kamber, DiMaggio’s PR buddy, also present on this occasion, recalled Joe’s somewhat dramatic outburst—dramatic, that is, for Joe. “The first thing I did every morning,” said Kamber, “was read the New York, LA, and Washington, DC, papers. In my business, you had to know what was going on. So I’d already read about Marilyn and Yves Montand. But I hadn’t expected it to upset Joe to such an extent. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time that they were in touch again. I knew about some of his other ladies, including Phyllis McGuire, the youngest and prettiest of the McGuire Sisters, the popular singing trio. Phyllis had several other boyfriends, among them Sam Giancana, the Chicago Mob boss, a guy you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley—or anywhere else, for that matter. So she and Joe were bosom buddies, if you know what I mean. The truth is that half the eligible women in New York were after Joe, and a large number of the ineligible ones were as well. But Joe was obsessed with Marilyn. He was in love with her, plain and simple. In any case, I said to him, ‘Well, Joe, at least Yves Montand looks like you. That should give you some satisfaction.’ I was kidding, but Joe wasn’t. Within five minutes or so, he knocked off about a half dozen shots of scotch. George Solotaire and I had to practically carry him home that night.”
DiMaggio evidently made no mention of Montand to Marilyn. They continued as before with telephone calls and infrequent meetings at Paul Baer’s Central Park West apartment. Art Buchwald remembered seeing “quite a bit of DiMaggio in 1960. That’s the year Edward Bennett Williams made arrangements to purchase the Washington Redskins. He paid around four m
illion dollars for the franchise. A bunch of his buddies, including DiMaggio, bought shares in the team. I think Joe anted up a hundred thousand dollars. He’d come to Washington on weekends to take in the home games. He’s the only guy I ever knew who insisted on wearing a business suit to a football game. Besides myself and DiMaggio, the regulars in the group included Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee, Senator Edmund Muskie, John Daly, Chief Justice Earl Warren, Williams’s law partner Colman Stein, and Ethel Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy’s wife. This was the year John F. Kennedy ran for president, and it was before JFK became involved with Marilyn Monroe. But even though nothing had happened as yet, Joe couldn’t stand the Kennedys. Ethel didn’t realize this, and she kept trying to sit next to DiMaggio at the games. ‘You sit next to her,’ he’d say to me under his breath. It turned out to be kind of prophetic, I thought, given Marilyn’s death a few years later. Among those DiMaggio held responsible for her death were the Kennedys. He accused Jack and Bobby Kennedy of having ‘killed’ the woman he treasured and loved. ‘They might as well have put a loaded gun to her head,’ he told me, ‘and pulled the trigger.’ ”
Chapter 16
DURING THE FILMING OF Let’s Make Love, following the termination of her affair with Yves Montand, her marriage to Arthur Miller all but over, Marilyn Monroe called Milton A. (Mickey) Rudin, her new West Coast attorney, and asked if he could provide the name of a Los Angeles psychiatrist. Deeply depressed and sedated to the point where she could barely speak coherently, Marilyn somehow managed to explain that Dr. Marianne Kris, her New York therapist, had gone to a medical conference in France and couldn’t be reached. Rudin felt he could help. His brother-in-law, Dr. Ralph Greenson, lived in the area and happened to be one of the nation’s foremost practitioners of classic Freudian psychoanalysis. The lawyer offered to arrange an appointment for Marilyn, setting in motion a doctor-patient relationship that would ultimately become a contributing factor in the patient’s untimely death.
Joe and Marilyn: Legends in Love Page 28
