A Storm Came Up

 It was a beautiful early summer day. At least it began as that.

Marilyn and Arthur had been deluged with their mutual careers, and Arthur had decided they both needed a break and some private couple time. 

Just this morning, he had told his exhausted wife that they were having a weekend of retreat. He'd booked an old inn in upstate New York for a relaxing weekend. They would enjoy a leisurely drive there, complete with a picnic lunch. 

 About halfway into the leisurely drive in their convertible, Arthur pulled the car to the side of the road, and parked. He got out and came around to open the door for his Marilyn. She got out, kissing his cheek as she did so. He smiled, that under-stated smile of his. But it told her that he was happy.

He turned to get the picnic basket and the wine out of the back seat. Marilyn came up behind him, and slid her arms around him in an affectionate squeeze. 

He retrieved the picnic basket and wrapped an arm around his wife. 

They walked a few feet, towards a driftwood picnic table. 

Marilyn sat on the bench, and Arthur began unpacking the picnic basket. He had ordered from his favorite Brooklyn deli. Once the contents were on the table, he uncorked the wine: a hearty red for himself, and a French Chardonnay for his Marilyn. 

There was crusty bread, salami, pastrami, swiss cheese, and an assortment of other condiments. The deli had included a small Meditteranean salad as well.

Just as the couple had finished their meal, a large raindrop hit the center of the worn picnic table. 

Before the couple knew it, they were being pelted with large raindrops. Unless they found shelter, and very quickly, they'd be soaked in the downpour of sudden rain.

Marilyn squealed as the pelting rain wetted her cotton dress. 

It molded the light fabric to her feminine curves, and left nothing to the imagination. Arthur smiled ; he liked seeing his beautiful wife thus....as long as it was for him alone. 

They hurried to the car. Marilyn opened the back door, and climbed inside, face first into the seat. Arthur seemed to fall on top of her.

She didn't mind. 

He dropped the picnic basket into the floorboard, and turned his wife so that she faced him, underneath him. He kissed her, and ran his hands over her lithe body. She was so beautiful; it never ceased to amaze him that she was his, and his alone.

Marilyn giggled her soft feminine laugh as Arthur's hands roamed intimately over her curves, and slowly, pleasurably removed her clothing from her body. She sighed in pleasure. She liked when he undressed her. 

Outside the rain became a full-fledged storm. 

Arthur kissed her lips hard, even as he began to make love to her.

The storm that raged outside paled in comparison to the one in the backseat of their connvertible. She could sware that she felt the car vibrating with Arthur's thrusts deep inside her. It was wonderful1 She'd never experienced anything like this, before Arthur!

One Last Try

 Marilyn Monroe Miller tried to relax and close her dry eyes and maybe even sleep on the flight to Reno. She was tied up in knots about even having to do this film. She had tried to think of a way to get out of it, but she hadn't   succeeded, and so here she was on a plane with her estranged husband, Arthur Miller, on a plane to Reno to make The Misfits. Oh, they were still married, at least legally, but they were estranged, just the same. The press, their mutual career issues, as well as their personal ones had all combined into such pressure and weight that it was virtually impossible that any marriage could have survived. It appeared they had not been the exception. Marilyn just hated having to face the inevitable, and so here she was, on the plane with Arthur.

She was exhausted already, and needed to rest before the press bombarded them at the airport. Marilyn was so tired. She wished that Arthur had not agreed to do the screenplay for the film. She knew he hated Hollywood, and that his heart was in New York, as a playwright. He'd done it for her....and for the money. She'd agreed because of her production company agreement with Milton Greene. If she backed out, everyone would have blamed Arthur. 

Marilyn knew that Arthur had tired of her. He didn't like her emotional temperament, and he didn't like the publicity that surrounded her wherever she went. Not only that, she secretly felt that he was ashamed of her sex symbol image, and was embarrassed that he had wanted to be with her. The constant publicity since they had been together had brought their marriage to its breaking point. Even though she knew he now had a relationship with Inge, she hadn't yet been ready to give up on their marriage. Maybe while they were in Nevada on the set, she would be ready. She hoped so. Arthur had kind of made it clear that there was no chance for them. It devastated her, but she was trying to accept his choice. She could not be who or what he wanted, no matter how much she wanted to be, or how hard she tried. It was just learning to live with the fact that she was trying to accept now. Arthur seemed to have already dealt with it, and had embarked on a relationship with Inge Morath. And everyone knew it. Everyone also knew that Marilyn had not accepted that fact yet. Were they sympathetic? Far from it. It seemed as though people looked for every possible way to use it to their own advantage, never mind how it affected Marilyn. 

At this point, even trying to converse with Arthur led to curt, awkward exchanges. She'd really stop trying, and so had he, unless they were on public display. Unfortunately, that happened all too often. People said that Arthur had written The Misfits "for" her. What a sick joke! It was not "for" her. Never for her. For the money. The fact that he had been willing to write the things about her and some of the other individuals portrayed in The Misfits in the manner he had wounded her. It forever altered the way she viewed the man that she had fallen in love with. But there was little that she could do about it, except try to survive. 

That's where Marilyn Monroe Miller was as she tried to rest on the flight to Reno. 

Not only did she have her strained relationship with Arthur to deal with, she had the Cal-Neva crowd expecting The Blonde Girl performance from her. Frank and Joe would be there at some point, maybe even Bobby. She was "the girl". Arthur, her husband, looked the other way and let it continue, like he always had. How could he say he loved her, and let them do what they did to her?! She would never understand it. In some ways, she was glad she didn't understand. 

Why wasn't very human Marilyn good enough for anyone, except in bed, or as a punching bag? She was a pretty, broken toy, and it seemed to her at this point that no one wanted a broken toy. She was tired of being a pretty plaything. 

She was offered champagne, and she took it.. Arthur was simply turned away from her, looking out the window. 

Maybe she should establish residency in Reno, and get a divorce. Then it would be over and done with. The filming would surely take longer than six weeks, and it was not as though she and Arthur were sharing accomodations. At this point, every time he even had to talk to her or touch her, even publicly, she saw his revulsion.

Who would want to be married to someone who repulsed them?

Marilyn's eyes were closed, but they were filled with unshed tears. WHY had she ever agreed to face this? She should just fly home to California and let Milton and Paula and Arthur sue her.

She didn't have any money anyway; what would it gain them?

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Arthur was tugging her sleeve impatiently to awaken her. They had arrived in Reno. SIGH. At least she would have a span of time to change clothes and have her hair and makeup done before they faced the press. Happy happy joy joy.....

Marilyn searched Arthur's face with her eyes, and she wondered why she had ever truly thought that he loved her. How wrong she had been. In that moment, she mourned her marriage to him, as well as the children they had not been able to have together. The ones that she had carried had only been wanted by her. It broke her heart, and she had never recovered. Not one person, including Arthur had cared. She was expected to pretend as though the children had never been conceived, and he had hated her because she didn't. Everything was always her fault.

She was out of tries with Arthur.

Friday, August 3, 1962

 Marilyn was rushing around her hotel room frantically, finding the remaining items she needed to get ready for her date with Joe. He'd be here in five minutes, and she wasn't ready (as usual....she ALWAYS ran late!), and she knew that he hated that about her.

She shrugged. He might not like the wait, but he usually liked how she looked well enough when she finished.

But things had been so great between them lately; she really wanted to please him. She always had wanted to please him, really. It's just that this time around, it seemed like she actually was. Imagine that! She was very unused to the idea of anyone being pleased with her. Marilyn was truly happy that it was Joe who was.

As she put a pearl stud earring in each ear, she surveyed her appearance in the hotel mirror, and slipped her feet into white leather high-heeled pumps. Her dress was polished white cotton. 

It fit her slender form perfectly. The low, draped neckline accentuated her swan-like neck. At the base of her throat sat a large pearl, suspended on a platinum chain. No other jewelry. It was a really hot night, and she decided that less was more with the dress, anyway. A white leather clutch purse in hand, red Chanel lipstick, and a dab here and there of Chanel No. 5, and Miss Monroe was ready for her dinner date. 

Just in time too, because Joe was knocking on her hotel room door right this minute.  Marilyn hurried over to the door, and opened it happily. She laughed as Joe lifted her up against him for a kiss.

"Ready?", he asked. 

She smiled and nodded. 

"You look really nice, Marilyn.", he said softly. But the light in his eyes told Marilyn before his words did.

"Where are we going for dinner?", she asked, as he opened the car door for her, and helped her in. 

Joe grinned. "It's a surprise. Humor me." He teased, "Don't worry. There's champagne."

"Oh, well, it's alright then.", she giggled.

She slid closer over to Joe as he cranked the car and started to drive. He slid an arm around her waist and squeezed, and she laid her head against his shoulder. 

She wasn't really watching where they were going; she was just enjoying being with Joe.  But she was a little surprised when they arrived at Yankees stadium. Maybe Joe had something he needed to do before they went to dinner. He came around and opened the car door for her. 
"New suit?", she asked him. "I don't think I've seen you in it before, have I?"

"You haven't.", he said. He seemed amused by something, but happy, so she didn't pursue it.

Imagine her surprised when they reach the baseball field. 

An elegant table for two , set in the center of the field, just for them. Candles already lighted , ice bucket with a bottle of champagne chilling and everything. Dozens of white roses flanked the table; red ones too. There was a violin player, readying his bow.

"Wow!", Marilyn said breathlessly. "You did this for us?", she whispered disbelievingly. 

"For you", Joe said softly. But when Marilyn looked at him in her special way, it was for him too, and they both knew it.

He reached for the bottle of champagne to open it. Marilyn giggled as he pulled the cork from the bottle, and a little of the champagne bubbled out and over his fingers. 

He filled two glasses for them, and handed one to her with a smile.

"To us", he said simply, as they touched the glasses together lightly.

"Only the best now", Marilyn said.

They took a few sips of champagne, and the violin played started to play. Marilyn tugged Joe's sleeve playfully.

"Let's dance."

Joe rolled his eyes, but he didn't have to be prodded to get up and wrap Marilyn in his arms for a slow dance.  With her head on his shoulder like it was at the moment, he'd have danced all night with her if she wanted.

"More champagne", Joe said, when they'd finished their dance. 

They dined on lobster and drawn butter, and grilled New York strip steaks. Dessert was fresh strawberries half-dipped in chocolate, and cheesecake, with more champagne. 

Joe slipped one hand inside his jacket, and pulled out a small Tiffany blue Italian leather box. He placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Marilyn. 

Marilyn gulped; she was breathless. Before she opened the box, she KNEW what it was. 

"Will you?", Joe asked her quietly.

"Really?!", Marilyn whispered.

"Yes, really. For keeps, this time."

"Promise?", she asked wistfully.

"Word of honor.", Joe replied. 

"YES!!!!", Marilyn squealed. She grabbed the blue box, and was sitting in his lap before he knew it.  She kissed his face all over, leaving red lip prints everywhere. He laughed, and tried to open the box, even as there was a squirming blonde wiggling on his lap.

He took out the diamond solitaire and slipped it on her hand.

"I'll never take it off!", she promised.

"I won't let you.", he said. 

Joe looked at his watch. "One more champagne, then we've got a plane to catch."

Marilyn blinked. "Plane?"

"To Florida. Before midnight, you'll be Mrs. Dimaggio again. It's all handled. All we have to do is show up.", he told her. 

"As for the honeymoon.... I thought we might stay in Florida, rather than worrying about traveling. "

Marilyn loved the idea of some private time alone for them, but she was a little worried about what would happen if the press found out. "Reporters?", she asked. 

Joe saw the anxious look on her beautiful face. He caressed the side of her face with one hand, and then kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Everyone thinks we're headed to California, and that you'll be holding the press conference as planned. They won't find us in Florida.", he assured her. "Trust me."

"I do.", Marilyn said, breathing a sigh of relief that he was taking care of her. "I love you."