Page 20 of The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe

The sixty-eight-year-old man knows everyone. He counts among his friends “the meanest man in Hollywood,” co-founder and president of Columbia Pictures Harry Cohn, and producer Sam Spiegel, whose recent filmThe Strangerstarring Orson Welles has Oscar buzz. Bugsy Siegel, the Mafia-hitman-turned-hotelier who’d recently been acquitted of the murder of fellow mobster Harry Greenberg, is also in Schenck’s circle.

“Very lovely to meet you, Mr. Schenck,” she replies, reaching through the window to shake the tips of his sweaty fingers.

“Are you a new actress on the lot?” he asks. “I haven’t seen your face before … And I never forget a face.”

“I’m a contract player.” Marilyn purses her lips.

“Well, you must be starving,” he laughs. “Contract players are always starving. You guys never have enough money to eat.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir! I have a very generous contract, and I do a lot of modeling.”

“I bet you do.” He looks her up and down. “Any parts yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You should come to my house,” suggests Mr. Schenck, handing her his card. “I’m having a party.”

“You are?”

“And we always need beautiful girls.”

CHAPTER 14

FOX MAKEUP ARTIST Whitey Snyder is doing Marilyn’s hair and makeup.

She’s bought a bright-red low-cut evening gown, “the loudest one I could find,” she tells Snyder.

“Your arrival in that’s going to infuriate half the women present,” Snyder jokes.

But Marilyn is taking a serious approach to the evening that lies ahead.I’m going to Mr. Schenck’s mansion because he is one of the heads of my studio,she reasons.

To Whitey Snyder, she says, “I am sorry in a way to do this, but I have a long way to go and I need a lot of advertising to get there.”

Joe Schenck’s limousine picks Marilyn up from the Fox lot and drives her to the Owlwood Estate, at 141 South Carolwood Drive, in Holmby Hills. Through the imposing gates, she can see the mansion lit up against the night sky.

She steps out of the car, her heels crunching on the gravel of the sweeping driveway. Water flows from a decorative fountain, but her mouth is dry with fear.

They say I’m whistle bait, could be, but I’m forever meeting guys who don’t stop at a whistle. I’ve learned to handle them all.

The double doors open to reveal a large glimmering chandelier illuminating a wide, curving staircase with a wrought-iron balustrade.

“Norma Jeane, is that you?” a woman calls from across the foyer.

Standing at the foot of the stairs is a girl Marilyn knows from her Blue Book Modeling days.

“I am Marilyn Monroe now,” she smiles.

“Well, I’m still June! You look marvelous,” the woman says, coming toward her with outstretched arms. “I love what you’ve done with your hair. The blond suits you.” June links arms with Marilyn and walks her through the hall paneled in dark wood. “Have you ever been here before?”

“Never,” replies Marilyn.

“It’s a gorgeous house!” June squeezes her arm. “They say the property spans ten acres and I believe it. There’s a tennis court and a theater, where Mr. Schenck shows films that haven’t even played in the movie houses yet!” She points toward the sound of laughter and through an open door. “Out there’s a swimming pool.”

“I didn’t bring a suit,” Marilyn says.

“Next time,” June says. “I’ve been invited back more nights than I can count.”

They approach a large rectangular pool full of attractive young women cavorting in the water—some in bathing suitsand others in various states of undress—as well as a few men.

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