Marilyn's return to the West Coast marked the first time she'd set foot in California in more than a year. There was at least one person more than a little anxious to see her: Natasha Lytess.

It had been just a few weeks into Marilyn's stay in New York that Lytess had a strained telephone conversation with her. "Marilyn told her she needed a 'new beginning,' " recalls an actress friend from New York. "She had been feeling constricted by Natasha, and Lee was trying to loosen her up."

Marilyn made no secret of the fact that Natasha had unrequited feelings for her, and most everyone in Marilyn's New York world saw that as a roadblock to growth. "If your goal as an actress is to be as authentic as possible, imagine how difficult it would be to rehea.r.s.e scenes with someone who's told you she's in love with you," actress Maureen Stapleton once observed. "Every role Marilyn played was s.e.xy. I can't imagine how she could have felt comfortable exploring her own 's.e.xiness' with a woman who actually had a s.e.xual attraction to her. Any actor would agree that would be a recipe for a superficial performance."

Whatever Marilyn's reasoning, over time it became clear that Natasha Lytess's usefulness in her life, and at 20th Century-Fox, was drawing to a close. The time Marilyn had spent in New York was humiliating for Natasha. The few friends that Lytess had at Fox had begun to drift away, and her regular paychecks from the studio were suspiciously late. On one occasion, she went to the studio to have the bookkeeping division issue her a check that was overdue, and she saw for herself that word had been spreading about her-not just word of her difficulty with Marilyn, but much more. From the giggles Lytess heard while on the lot, it wasn't difficult for her to recognize that people at the studio knew more than she would have liked.

Natasha, a woman who had been well-respected as a dramatic scholar, was now feeling the chill of her disappearing welcome at the studio. It wasn't long before it was made official. She would no longer be on the payroll of 20th Century-Fox. Since her calls and letters to Marilyn were not being answered, if she wanted an immediate response from Marilyn, she would have to go to New York and confront her. However, Natasha must have known that her sudden appearance in New York would only solidify people's image of her as a pathetic woman obsessed with a movie star. Therefore, she chose to wait in Los Angeles and began to tutor clients privately, if through clenched teeth. To a woman who had once wielded the power to halt production of a multimillion-dollar film, it must have felt humiliating to now be handed cash as hopeful actors left her apartment, maybe with dreams of being the next next Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe.

Despite the awful circ.u.mstances in which Natasha found herself, she loved Marilyn dearly and was concerned for her former friend's well-being. She had been a stabilizing factor for Marilyn, even if some may have viewed their dynamic as somewhat bizarre. She worried that whoever Marilyn would find to replace her wouldn't have the ability to navigate her out of her complex emotional disturbances. Her career hopes and income aside, Natasha couldn't help but view Marilyn as a helpless soul. Without her, Natasha believed, Marilyn would spiral downward.

Now back in Hollywood, Marilyn appeared to be a changed woman in many ways. She had gone to New York with every intention of leaving the past behind. Grace G.o.ddard's death, the divorce from Joe DiMaggio, and a seemingly endless string of misery as far back as she could remember made that "new beginning" a requirement. Her time in New York was well spent, she believed. She had aligned herself with Lee Strasberg, which she viewed as a positive move, even if it may have led her down the dangerous road of self-exploration. She now had her own production company with Milton Greene-and she owned 51 percent, incidentally, a controlling interest. She'd been in intensive therapy. Strasberg's wife, Paula, had become one of her best friends, and also her new personal acting coach. Paula and Marilyn would go over the script to Bus Stop Bus Stop line by line, working on it day and night-much the way Natasha and Marilyn had worked on line by line, working on it day and night-much the way Natasha and Marilyn had worked on Don't Bother to Knock. Don't Bother to Knock. Indeed, the last year had been one of sweeping changes for Marilyn Monroe-out with the old and in with the new. Unfortunately for Natasha Lytess, she had fallen into the former category. "She was a great help to me," Marilyn concluded during a c.o.c.ktail party at her new home, possibly understating Natasha's importance in her life. "Whatever road leads to growth, you take." Indeed, the last year had been one of sweeping changes for Marilyn Monroe-out with the old and in with the new. Unfortunately for Natasha Lytess, she had fallen into the former category. "She was a great help to me," Marilyn concluded during a c.o.c.ktail party at her new home, possibly understating Natasha's importance in her life. "Whatever road leads to growth, you take."

When Natasha became aware that Marilyn had returned to Los Angeles, she wanted desperately to see her. She drove to the studio and convinced an employee from the press office that she had misplaced Marilyn's new phone number, and she left the studio with what she needed. She then called the new Westwood residence dozens of times-to the point where it could have been viewed as, if not outright stalking, then certainly hara.s.sment. Marilyn had made a firm decision, however-she wanted nothing to do with Natasha Lytess. In the last year, she had done very well without Natasha, and even managed to get Fox to do for her what, arguably, Natasha had never really done: take her seriously as an actress.

"I think Marilyn, on some level, felt that Natasha had been largely responsible for her earlier, sillier performances," Marilyn's friend Rupert Allan once said. "Natasha wanted Marilyn to be some cutesy doll, and she was kind of sickened by it."

But in Natasha's defense, history views these performances as near perfection, and it was Natasha's direction that made them so specifically innocent and childlike. It was as though she took Marilyn's vulnerable, sensitive essence and magnified it to near caricature. It's a great testament to Marilyn's onscreen presence that we, the audience, found her so engaging. For example, her appearances before she met Natasha, such as in Ladies of the Chorus Ladies of the Chorus, for example, might be considered provocative, but not the least bit "childish or naive." Even while singing "Every Baby Needs a Da Da Daddy" there's a come-hither maturity to her performance. Compare that to the first film on which Natasha coached her, Asphalt Jungle. Asphalt Jungle. In that one, Marilyn's character seems wide-eyed and vapid. Though not yet the fine-tuned, baby-talk performances that followed, as in In that one, Marilyn's character seems wide-eyed and vapid. Though not yet the fine-tuned, baby-talk performances that followed, as in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and and Seven Year Itch Seven Year Itch, her acting in Asphalt Jungle Asphalt Jungle shows that Natasha was beginning to mold Marilyn more and more into a childish performer. Even after Marilyn's a.s.sociation with Natasha ended, directors wanted "that Marilyn," and she would grudgingly deliver-but none of those performances would be as precisely honed as the ones that Natasha had helped create. shows that Natasha was beginning to mold Marilyn more and more into a childish performer. Even after Marilyn's a.s.sociation with Natasha ended, directors wanted "that Marilyn," and she would grudgingly deliver-but none of those performances would be as precisely honed as the ones that Natasha had helped create.

Now, with a year away from her career and a few concurring opinions about Natasha's influence on her, Marilyn believed that her New York colleagues were right-that, in a sense, Lytess had probably been carving Marilyn into Lytess's own fantasy. Now Marilyn was left to reverse the image and change the way Hollywood viewed her, if she could. She certainly wanted to try.

Natasha continued to pursue contact with Marilyn. Finally, when she simply would not back off, Marilyn had her attorney, Irving Stein, telephone her. Stein told Lytess in no uncertain terms that she should not call or visit Marilyn Monroe under any circ.u.mstances. In response, according to the attorney's notes, Natasha delivered this soliloquy to him on the telephone: "My only protection in the world is Marilyn Monroe. I created this girl. I fought for her. I was always the heavy on the set. I was frantic when I called the house and she would not speak to me. I am her private property, she knows that. Her faith and security are mine. I'm not financially protected, but she is. I'm not a well person. I would like very much to see her even with you, if only for one half-hour."

The answer was no.

"She's surrounded by these people who don't let her do anything by herself," Natasha said-and one could argue that she would know. "They're afraid to lose her. She never goes anywhere alone; they're stuck to her like glue."

In a very interesting letter to her former student Helena Albert, Natasha put it this way: "I, for years, have seen Marilyn's ability to cut people out of her life. I have even encouraged it. Imagine my dismay in finding that I am now one of those people. I suppose it was inevitable, yet it pains me so much I can't bear it another moment."

In one last-ditch effort, Natasha revealed that she was dying of cancer. When Marilyn's lawyer told her the news, Marilyn appeared to be unmoved by it. However, later, she discreetly sent Natasha a check for a thousand dollars, at least according to a correspondence from Lytess to Albert. "It is very generous of her, yet it does not take the place of a simple and courteous telephone call," she wrote. Indeed, when she received that money, Natasha must have known it was Marilyn's farewell gift-but she may also have seen it as suggesting that Marilyn still cared. On March 5, despite the attorney's warning that there would be "trouble" if she continued her pursuit of Marilyn, Natasha showed up unannounced at the Beverly Glen home. MCA agency president Lew Wa.s.serman, who represented Marilyn, happened to be there, meeting with Milton Greene. He refused to allow Natasha entry into the house, telling her that Marilyn didn't want to see her and had no plans to intervene on her behalf with the studio.

"You don't understand, Marilyn needs me," Natasha told him.

"Marilyn Monroe needs no one," Wa.s.serman snapped, slamming the door in her face.

Dejected, Natasha walked back to her car. When she turned to open her vehicle's door, she noticed a quick flash in an upstairs window of the house. There, next to a curtain, was Marilyn, staring down at her with a vacant expression. The two women looked at each other for a long moment. Then Marilyn closed the drapes. * *

PART SIX.

Voices

The Misery of Arthur Miller.

One of the major components in the Arthur MillerMarilyn Monroe relationship was that Miller loved how well Marilyn Monroe listened to him, the way she hung on his every word. One mutual friend of the couple's put it best: "She was all about listening and receiving and he was all about talking and sending. He lectured her constantly. She was mesmerized by him. She drank him in like a sponge and let him affect her through osmosis."

Arthur Miller could do no wrong, as far as Marilyn was concerned. He was smart and interesting. He was invested in social change and had a real conscience. He was also supportive of her ambition-unlike her last husband. However, despite all of his good qualities, she was reluctant to marry him. In fact, she didn't want to encourage him to divorce his wife-even though his mind was made up about that. She didn't want him to break up his family for her, because she wasn't sure she was right for him. He could continue to dazzle her with his intelligence, but on some level she must have known that he would eventually need some input from her. How did she she feel about literature, about culture... about the world? She was a smart woman, smarter than even she knew. However, she was so insecure in herself, she never thought of herself as intelligent. She always felt that she was less than... whoever she was with at any given time. She confided in friends that she didn't think she had the tools to really meet Miller at his intellectual capacity, "and what will he do when I'm found out," she fretted. "I'm a good actress, but I don't know that I'm feel about literature, about culture... about the world? She was a smart woman, smarter than even she knew. However, she was so insecure in herself, she never thought of herself as intelligent. She always felt that she was less than... whoever she was with at any given time. She confided in friends that she didn't think she had the tools to really meet Miller at his intellectual capacity, "and what will he do when I'm found out," she fretted. "I'm a good actress, but I don't know that I'm that that good." Her great fear was that he would wake up one day and believe that he was with someone who didn't know a lot about anything that mattered to him. good." Her great fear was that he would wake up one day and believe that he was with someone who didn't know a lot about anything that mattered to him.

During production of Bus Stop Bus Stop, she leaned on him during times of great stress. That he was there for her meant the world to her. Desperate late-night telephone calls had become a recurring theme to their relationship. She could never seem to sleep, no matter how many pills she took, so inured had she become to their effects. Sometimes she would wash them down with champagne, and then not only was she wide awake, she was also inebriated. There was no telling what she might say in such telephone calls. "I can't do it. I can't work this way," she cried to him in one call during production of Bus Stop Bus Stop. "I'm no trained actor. I can't pretend I'm doing something if I'm not. All I know is real. I can't do it if it's not real." She was talking about her role in the movie, but it also seemed as if she were referring to her role in his life.

On weekends, the two would meet at the Chateau Marmont Hotel in Hollywood for a romantic rendezvous. For days afterward, she was miserable. "I don't know what is happening to her at this time," Berniece wrote to another relative. "She thinks too much about every little thing. She doesn't seem to want to just jump in and live, like Norma Jeane used to. Instead of making her more courageous, all of that therapy has made her more timid. I am definitely worried about her."

Berniece may not have been a highly educated woman, but she knew her half sister well and she had pinpointed a major problem in her. "All of that therapy" had definitely caused Marilyn to want to think and rethink every move she made-whether in real life or her reel life. Nothing seemed left to chance anymore. Everything had to be the orchestrated result of looking within in a quest to develop her inner life. That would have been fine had she not at the same time been constantly coached to conjure up bad memories. As a result, she was miserable much of the time. Ironically, from outward appearances, anyway, she had little reason to be in pain at this time in her life. She was on top of the world. She was a success. She had money. She had an interesting and challenging role in what could become a very good movie. However, she also had a new therapist on the West Coast-and that was the problem. She would constantly ruminate over her sad childhood, her troubled relationship with Gladys, her arranged marriage to Jim Dougherty, the nightmare of Joe DiMaggio, and anything else that could be dredged up from her past. Whether drawing from it as an actress for her role in Bus Stop Bus Stop or as a woman for her self-improvement, she always found herself in a terribly dark place, never moving past it. Now she was also faced with the prospect of being involved with someone she knew was intellectually superior to her, and that, too, hurt. Whether looking backward or ahead, attached to it was a sense of dread. She or as a woman for her self-improvement, she always found herself in a terribly dark place, never moving past it. Now she was also faced with the prospect of being involved with someone she knew was intellectually superior to her, and that, too, hurt. Whether looking backward or ahead, attached to it was a sense of dread. She was was her pain, now-there seemed no escaping it. her pain, now-there seemed no escaping it.

Marilyn and Arthur Marry.

Interest by the House Un-American Activities Committee in Arthur Miller came to a head on June 21, 1956, the day he was summoned to appear in Washington and answer questions about his alleged a.s.sociation with certain Communist front organizations. The committee had done everything it could to find some kind of link between Miller and the USSR, even calling upon J. Edgar Hoover in the hope that maybe some of Hoover's rumor-filled files would hint at something that could be used against him-but to no avail. If Hoover couldn't come up with at least some kind of innuendo, Miller was definitely clean. Still, he was compelled to appear, and he dutifully did to address all concerns. Not much came of the hearings, though. He didn't name names-mostly because he didn't know any "names." For instance, he confirmed that back in the 1940s he had attended a few Communist Party writers' meetings, but he would not provide the names of anyone he ever saw there, risking a contempt of court charge.

The testimony was a little dull-Miller wasn't exactly charismatic-but he did say a few things of interest. He mentioned that he wanted to have his pa.s.sport returned to him because "I have a production which is in the talking stage in England, and I will be there with the woman who will then be my wife." This was a big surprise to everyone-including Marilyn, who was sitting home watching on television. (In the end, Miller did get his pa.s.sport back.) During a break in the proceedings, Miller was told that a pending contempt charge against him that had been spearheaded by Congressman Francis E. Walter could very easily "go away" if Miller did one thing: Persuade Marilyn to take a picture with Walter. That this was even suggested says a lot about these hearings. Miller refused, of course. (Congress would issue a contempt citation against him in July.) Marilyn wasn't sure how she felt about the proposal of marriage Miller had made on national television during the very strange HUAC proceedings. On one hand, she was impressed that he felt so strongly about her he would make a point of it on national television. However, she also wished he had discussed it with her first. His audacity bothered her. He hadn't taken her feelings into consideration at all. How could he be so presumptuous? She was was Marilyn Monroe, after all, and she could have any man she desired. Was he so c.o.c.ky he just a.s.sumed he was the one for her and that was the end of it? "He does have a lot of nerve," she told Milton Greene. "I mean, I wish he had told me of his plans to marry." No matter how conflicted she was, though, she also didn't want to be alone any longer. She so loved being in love, she said, that she just hoped what she was feeling for Miller was the real thing. It felt like an obligation now. She'd been told what was expected of her, and-proving perhaps that Norma Jeane was still alive and well-she was going to do it. On June 22, she held a press conference in which she said that, yes, she would marry Arthur Miller. Just prior to this press conference, a car traveling behind Marilyn and Arthur had crashed into a tree, killing the New York bureau chief of Marilyn Monroe, after all, and she could have any man she desired. Was he so c.o.c.ky he just a.s.sumed he was the one for her and that was the end of it? "He does have a lot of nerve," she told Milton Greene. "I mean, I wish he had told me of his plans to marry." No matter how conflicted she was, though, she also didn't want to be alone any longer. She so loved being in love, she said, that she just hoped what she was feeling for Miller was the real thing. It felt like an obligation now. She'd been told what was expected of her, and-proving perhaps that Norma Jeane was still alive and well-she was going to do it. On June 22, she held a press conference in which she said that, yes, she would marry Arthur Miller. Just prior to this press conference, a car traveling behind Marilyn and Arthur had crashed into a tree, killing the New York bureau chief of Paris Mat Paris Match magazine, Princess Mara Scherbatoff. Marilyn was very shaken by the accident. It was everything she could do to get through the press conference.

That night, during a very quick and perfunctory private service-four minutes long!-Marilyn and Arthur were married before a judge at the Westchester County Court House in White Plains, New York. Then, on July 1, a second ceremony was planned, this one a Jewish ceremony performed before friends. Unbeknownst to most people, Marilyn took a quickie course in Judaism, which allowed her to marry in the faith (though she would never really practice it.) In the two days that pa.s.sed after the first ceremony, Marilyn began to have serious reservations about the wisdom of her decision. "She wasn't sure that she loved him," said one of her relatives, "but she wasn't sure that she didn't. At the core of her confusion, though, was her sense that she was in over her head with this man. Her insecurities were running wild by this time. She couldn't help but wonder what this intellectual wanted with her, and it was driving her crazy. Was he just looking for a trophy wife, as Joe [DiMaggio] had? What was really going on here?"

Before the second ceremony, which was to be held at the home of Arthur's agent, Kay Brown, Marilyn was in bad shape. Tears sprang to her eyes whenever anyone would offer her congratulations. She was not at all the happy bride. Milton Greene told her that she didn't have to go through with it if she didn't want to. The guests would be told to go home, he said, and everyone would just have to deal with it. The embarra.s.sment was better, he suggested, than another bad marriage. Marilyn agreed. The second ceremony would not take place, and the first one would be annulled. For about a minute, she felt better. Then she realized she couldn't do it-she couldn't let Arthur Miller down and also humiliate him that way. So the second ceremony went forward. Afterward, Marilyn was all smiles at the wedding reception. Indeed, she was was a good actress. a good actress.

The Prince and the Showgirl.

Most of the summer of 1956 would be devoted to filming Marilyn's next movie, The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl, which would star her with Laurence Olivier and be set in London. Marilyn and her new husband, Arthur, would be ensconced in Parkside House, a large manse in Englefield Green. Rehearsals for the movie began on July 18 and continued until August 3. Filming would commence on August 7 and continue through November.

Laurence Olivier's original connection to the movie was when he appeared on the London stage in the Terence Rattigan play The Sleeping Prince The Sleeping Prince, on which the film was based. Sir Larry starred with his wife, Vivien Leigh, forever remembered as Margaret Mitch.e.l.l's beautiful, resourceful heroine Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. Gone with the Wind.

Set in London in 1911 during the coronation of King George V, the plot has us spend an evening with Grandduke Charles (Olivier), the prince regent of Carpathia, who's come to town for the royal proceedings to take place the following day. Taking advantage of his one evening off, the grandduke, a notorious womanizer infamous as a seducer of chorus girls for one-night stands, attends a musical at the Coconut Girl theatre and is immediately charmed by a beautiful American understudy, Elsie Mariner (Monroe). He orders his British attache to invite her to the emba.s.sy for a private supper. It plays like a French farce disguised as a Victor Herbert operetta, with neither the s.e.x of the former nor the music of the latter. Elsie is led to believe she's being invited to a party, not a one-on-one, intimate late-night repast. Foreplay consists of the grand-duke's attempts to get Elsie sloshed and then in bed. He succeeds in the first and fails in the last. The sub rosa political shenanigans going on behind closed doors, involving the compet.i.tion between the grandduke's seventeen-year-old son, Nicolas, the king-in-waiting, and the grandduke, are too complicated to go into. What is important to know is that despite all odds, Elsie and Charles manage to fall in love, but their future plans must be put on hold while Carpathia fights for its survival in the Balkan Wars.

Marilyn's longtime friend Milton Greene executive produced the film, along with Marilyn. It would be the second project for Marilyn Monroe Productions, following Bus Stop Bus Stop, and would be filmed at Britain's Pinewood Studios. There was widespread speculation as to how Marilyn's well-known neurotic behavior-tardiness, absenteeism, ill-preparedness, insecurities-would play against the professionalism and discipline of the cla.s.sically trained Olivier. Those who predicted the worst got it right. Olivier, as director and leading man, bore the brunt. He reveals in his 1983 autobiography, Confessions of an Actor Confessions of an Actor, that preparatory to beginning production on the movie, he was convinced he was going to fall in love with Marilyn. During the shooting of the picture, he must have wondered where he ever got such a notion. However, he was very enthusiastic about her, admitting she was "wonderful in the film, the best thing in it," her performance overshadowing his own and the final result worth the aggravation. (This is essentially what Billy Wilder said after his experience with Marilyn in Some Like It Hot. Some Like It Hot.) Olivier goes on to say, "There are two entirely different sides [to Marilyn]. You would not be far out if you described her as a schizoid, the two people that she was could hardly have been more different. She was so adorable, so witty, such incredible fun and more physically attractive than anyone I could have imagined, apart from herself on the screen." Of her acting, Olivier called her "a professional amateur."

Also interestingly, regarding this film, James Haspiel observes, "[In this film] Marilyn is as close to being her off-screen self as she ever was. That is her real voice. It's the way she spoke in person. Her hair is the real color of her hair. I think that's what's most fascinating about this one movie."

Mable Whittington, who worked at Parkside House as a maid under the direction of the main housekeeper, Dolly Stiles, recalled of this time, "There was a great excitement about the arrival of the Millers. I remember that someone [Milton Greene] had the walls of the master bedroom painted white in Marilyn's honor. There was an increase in all security measures. We were all on alert, so to speak. What did I think of them? I thought Mrs. Miller was a bit pampered. She was used to a certain way, let's just say. Everything had to be just so. I remember she complained about the pillowcases being too starched, but what she required was minor. Too many pills, though. I remember being surprised by the number of bottles on her nightstand. I didn't know what they were for, exactly-but there were a lot of them. There were always empty bottles of champagne in her room, too. Also, I have to say that she was a bit untidy. She would step out of her clothes and there they would lay on the floor until I or someone else picked up after her. The bathroom was always a sight-makeup everywhere, personal belongings everywhere. I recall that she had a way of transforming herself that was almost magical. She was lovely but not necessarily glamorous in her day-to-day. But at night, if they were to go to a show-which they did often-or if she needed to be dressed for a dinner, she would become an entirely different person. It wasn't just the makeup and beautiful gowns and gloves and furs, though they were a big part of it. It was the att.i.tude. When she dressed like Marilyn Monroe she acted acted like Marilyn Monroe. The star quality was there, I guess-in the Marilyn persona. Her personality as Marilyn Monroe was entirely different than as... I don't know... the like Marilyn Monroe. The star quality was there, I guess-in the Marilyn persona. Her personality as Marilyn Monroe was entirely different than as... I don't know... the real real her, maybe. her, maybe.

"Arthur Miller? I found him to be insufferable. He didn't want to speak to the help and, in fact, would get angry if we even looked at him. He would say, 'Must you look at me?' I recall that two household employees were approached to give secrets about the Millers to the press. When he found out about it, he became raving mad. 'I demand that they be fired,' he kept saying. Of course that was to be the case, anyway-though I don't recall that they actually sold their stories. Marilyn wasn't very upset about that turn of events. I recall that she said, 'What else is new?'

"As a couple, they seemed happy at the start but as the months wore on, less so. He was constantly nagging her about one thing or another, usually how he felt she should prepare for the day's work. I remember that there were a lot of press conferences during their stay and that, afterward, he would tell her that she had answered this or that question in the wrong way. He picked on her a lot. She seemed to really want to know his opinion, though. However, I think that there was a point when she'd had enough of it, especially when he began to criticize her acting when she was practicing from her script. I recall her having trouble memorizing her script. I remember thinking, goodness, for an actress who has made so many movies, I can't understand how she can't remember her lines. She would walk around the house trying to remember a simple line, repeating it to herself over and over. I remember that he was annoyed by the way she was trying to memorize something and he kept correcting her. She snapped at him and said, 'When you begin making pictures, we can discuss this. Until then, let me act, and you just do what you do.' "

Possible evidence of marital discord at this time comes from a letter Marilyn sent to Berniece from England. In it, she never once even mentions Arthur Miller, and refers to herself only in the singular, from "I am having a wonderful time," to "I have been sightseeing," to "I am staying very busy."

Also at this time, Marilyn continued to receive letters from her mother, Gladys, even while in England. Gladys seemed somewhat better judging from one she wrote, dated July 25: "I am very unhappy, daughter. I wish there was some way to join you in England where I am sure we would have a lovely time. May G.o.d be with you and may He find a way for us to be together again very soon. Love, Mother." However, a week later, on August 2, she seemed to be not as well: "I have decided that the sooner I am able to leave here the better. I know I am a big topic of discussion here and it's not because of you, Marilyn. There seems to be a lot of interest in me, as well. Perhaps when I am released I will tell you about it though I doubt you would be interested in anything that has to do with me, your only Mother. Love, Gladys Baker Eley." It's not known if Marilyn responded to any of the mail she received from Gladys while in England. However, it is known that she was informed by the sanitarium staff that Gladys had also begun writing letters to J. Edgar Hoover at the Justice Department. This Marilyn found quite disturbing. As soon as she heard about it, she called Inez Melson long distance and asked her to look into the matter. Marilyn certainly didn't want Gladys giving any information about her to Hoover. In fact, she didn't like that Hoover knew where Gladys was, and how to communicate with her. Melson quickly reported back to Marilyn that when she asked Gladys what was going on, Gladys told that she was just sending Christian Science literature to Hoover, just as she had also sent some to the president of the United States. She said that she believed Marilyn to be friends of those two government officials and that she felt she could use Marilyn's name as an entree to them. She wondered why every time she attempted to reach out to people, her daughter was always "the first one to try to stop me." She also demanded that Melson tell Marilyn to stop thwarting her attempts to have communication with "the people running our country." Again, all of this was very disturbing. Gladys didn't realize that anything she said to someone like Hoover could be used against her daughter somewhere down the line. Marilyn shot off a letter to Melson telling her that any missive sent to any government officials written by her mother should be immediately confiscated by the sanitarium officials and not mailed. She wrote that she didn't want to censor her mother's communication, but that she felt she had to "draw a line somewhere, and this is as good a place as any, I think."

Meanwhile, while Marilyn was dealing with her mother, preproduction negotiations for the film continued. There was one surprise in this regard that, in retrospect, maybe shouldn't have been so surprising. Lee Strasberg-Marilyn's new acting guru-demanded that his wife, Paula-Marilyn's new on-set acting coach-receive what was then a huge amount of money for her work with Monroe: $25,000 a week for ten weeks' work, plus expenses and double that amount for overtime. This was more than most of the actors were making. Donald Spoto, in his Monroe biography, published a corporate memorandum from Irving Stein, Marilyn's lawyer, regarding the demand. It said, "Lee doesn't care that this money would really come from Marilyn's pocket. Joe [Carr, Marilyn Monroe Productions accountant] and Milton carefully explained the shaky finances, but Lee was adamant. He kept emphasizing Marilyn's emotional weakness-and then he said he would be willing to settle for a percentage of the picture! He also wanted George Cukor to direct, not Larry. Paula, he said, is more than a coach-therefore he doesn't care what other coaches get. He absolutely rejects Paula's Bus Stop Bus Stop salary." salary."

When Marilyn heard about the demand, she decided to allow some of the money to come from her own salary because, as far as she was concerned, Paula was absolutely necessary on the set at all times. Thus, after all was said and done, Paula Strasberg would be making more than anyone else involved in the picture besides Marilyn and Laurence Olivier! It would seem that Marilyn had replaced one Natasha Lytess with another, especially given Arthur Miller's feelings about Paula. Like DiMaggio before him, who loathed Natasha, Miller had this to say about Paula: "She was a hoax, but so successful in making herself necessary to people like Marilyn that she created this tremendous reputation." He also said she was "poisonous and vacuous." * *

Moreover, to Arthur Miller's great dismay, Marilyn's psychiatrist-Dr. Hohenberg, who had been sanctioned by Lee Strasberg-somehow ended up involved in the negotiations for The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl, and saw to it that Paula received the money that had been demanded by her husband. One wonders how much the doctor may have received in return. Moreover, since when did acting teachers like Lee Strasberg have a say in who directed a movie starring one of their students? Marilyn may have thought she was in charge when she started Marilyn Monroe Productions, but she continued to fall under the sway of domineering colleagues.

Arthur Miller's d.a.m.ning Journal.

In July 1956, shortly before filming was to begin on The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl, something happened that would change the course of Marilyn's new life with Arthur Miller. She happened to see a journal of his on a table in the living room, glanced at it-and then decided to read the pages that were opened. She was in for a terrible shock. On those pages, Arthur confessed that he had second thoughts about having married her. She wasn't what he'd thought she was-she was just a child, not a woman. She wasn't as intelligent as he had hoped and, in fact, she was someone he pitied. Moreover, he thought his own career might be jeopardized by his new a.s.sociation with her, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. He had heard that Laurence Olivier thought she might be a spoiled brat, and he didn't know how to respond to that since he basically agreed. Olivier had been hired by Marilyn-the movie was being produced by her company-but wasn't exactly grateful. He couldn't have been any less patient or understanding. Of course, that Miller seemed to be siding with him was devastating to Marilyn. It was the realization of her worst fear-that she would be "found out," that she wasn't as smart or as talented as she had made him think she was, and now he knew the truth about her.

"It was a terrible thing for her to find, that journal," Susan Strasberg would say many years later. "It would set her back a great deal. She lost so much confidence in herself when she read that. The question in my mind was this: What was it doing out? Everyone is ent.i.tled to their private thoughts, of course. But to leave it out and open like that? It made me wonder when I heard this... it made me wonder."

It felt to many people at the time that Miller had left the journal open and available to his wife on purpose. As a playwright, he certainly recognized the power of the written word. He had to have known how much his thoughts, once committed to paper, would hurt Marilyn. Some thought he was acting like a coward who was afraid to divorce her and just hoped she would leave him instead. One does have to wonder about Miller's character. After all, he married Marilyn after having convinced himself that he and she were a good match, and mere weeks later he made the decision that she was not for him. It suggests an enormous immaturity on his part and lack of judgment. Whatever the case, it seems safe to say he left the diary out on purpose. Why he did so would be a question only he could have answered-and he didn't. Marilyn would later tell her half sister, Berniece, that the marriage was never the same from the moment she read the journal. When she told her that Miller had written that she was "a b.i.t.c.h," Berniece was shocked. She couldn't believe, she said, that Arthur would be so cruel. However, Marilyn then clarified that what he wrote was that he agreed with Olivier that she could could be a b.i.t.c.h. Somehow that didn't seem much better to Berniece-nor to Marilyn. Marilyn told her that she wished she could get past it, but she was certain she would never be able to do so. She wanted to tell Arthur that he should try acting with the capricious Olivier and see how that worked out for him, and she would sit on the sidelines and write about it, but "I don't have the nerve." be a b.i.t.c.h. Somehow that didn't seem much better to Berniece-nor to Marilyn. Marilyn told her that she wished she could get past it, but she was certain she would never be able to do so. She wanted to tell Arthur that he should try acting with the capricious Olivier and see how that worked out for him, and she would sit on the sidelines and write about it, but "I don't have the nerve."

As upsetting as the discovery was, it still would not be the catalyst for Marilyn to actually leave Arthur. "She had decided that no matter what happens, I'm staying married to this person," said her friend Rupert Allan. "I don't think she realized it was going to have to kick in so soon. If something like this had happened after her first marriage, she would have divorced him. But I think she felt she had something to prove with this third marriage. But I also think she decided, [Miller] will never again get all of me. He will only get the part of me I will allow him to get. Now, I will be careful around him and that shall be his punishment. He will now be getting a percentage of who I am. The rest that he would never again see would be the part of her that was vulnerable."

Mable Whittington recalled an incident that occurred at around the time Marilyn found Miller's journal. "I knew about the incident with her finding the diary, or whatever it was. Everyone in the household knew about it. We didn't know what had been in it, only that Mrs. Miller saw it and read it and was very, very upset about it. That same week, I heard a sound in the kitchen and went down to investigate. There was Mrs. Miller, sitting alone at the kitchen table, having a cup of tea and a good cry. I just peeked into the kitchen and stood there watching for a long while. I thought many things. First of all, I was struck by just how beautiful she was. She had on a pink robe with marabou feathers at the neck and sleeves. Her hair, so blonde... just so pretty, I thought. I decided not to go into the room, to just leave her to her privacy. Then, I thought, my, how sad she is. There was a deep sense of sadness about her, and that's what I remember most. The sadness. I distinctly recall that, one day, her psychiatrist showed up from New York. I went into the living room and there was a strange woman in there reading. I asked someone who it was and was told, 'That's Mrs. Miller's a.n.a.lyst.' She did seem somewhat better when the doctor arrived, that was certain.

"I can also say that she was nicer to people when she first arrived. With the pa.s.sing of time, she became more brittle and snappish. She seemed to never have a nice expression on her face around the house... she was always deep in thought, frowning. Also, I recall that she was late to the set almost every day. Hours late, in fact. The reason I know is that this was a never-ending source of annoyance to Mr. Miller. There were many arguments about her being late. Also, she didn't get along with Laurence Olivier and, I have to say, from my vantage point-which was, admittedly, on the outside looking in-it seemed that she disliked him a lot. I also remember that Mr. Miller felt that she didn't understand Olivier and wasn't trying hard enough to fit in with him. So, there was a lot of turmoil."

Just three weeks into the marriage and, as far as Marilyn Monroe was concerned, it was over. How could she remain with this man now? She would have to focus her energy on making the movie and do what she could to put in a good performance. However, with her heart broken, it would be very difficult. "It seemed to be raining the whole time," she would later say of her experience in England. "Or maybe it was me."

Quiet Before the Storm.

After returning to the United States following production of The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl, Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller took a lease on a s.p.a.cious thirteenth-floor apartment in New York on 57th Street. They'd recently purchased a large farmhouse in Roxbury, Connecticut, but it was being refurbished. Meanwhile, they would live in the city and spend the next few months trying to get their marriage back on track. In her spare time, during the first part of 1957 Marilyn fancied herself a housewife, preparing meals for her husband-breakfast every morning had become a specialty of hers-as well as grocery shopping and running errands that made her feel, as she put it in an interview at the time, "as if I have a real purpose in this world. I don't mind it at all. In fact, lately, I think I prefer this kind of more simple life." (One wonders what Joe DiMaggio might have thought if he'd read that comment from his ex-wife.) Often the couple would retire to a summer cottage they rented on Long Island where Marilyn would go horseback riding or spend her time painting with watercolors. It was actually a very pleasant year, 1957, perhaps the quietest she'd ever had in her life. Her career wasn't that far from her mind, though. She was still studying with the ever-present Strasbergs, but she did have a new psychiatrist, Marianne Kris, recommended to her by Anna Freud, daughter of Sigmund and also the founder of child psychoa.n.a.lysis.

Marilyn saw Dr. Kris as many as five days a week, which at this time most people believed was too much. "Every single day she would sit in that office and lament her childhood or her marriage," said one person who was close to Marilyn at the time. "Afterward, she would be upset for hours. Then, just as she was regaining her equilibrium, she would be back on that d.a.m.n couch. Some thought she was on a quest to learn more about herself, to set right the past. I didn't. It was, I thought, a form of self-abuse. She simply would not allow there to be any peace in her life. If there was a lull in the drama, she would create something new upon which to fixate, and most of those creations at this time came from her sessions with Marianne Kris. That, along with Strasberg's constant nagging of her to draw upon her childhood for her acting... well, it's no wonder she was not an emotionally well woman. As Berniece used to put it, 'Why can't she just leave well enough alone?' "

Why? Because Marilyn Monroe wanted nothing more than to, once and for all, come to terms with the sadness of her childhood. She knew she had significant emotional problems stemming from her youth, from not being wanted, not feeling loved-and she felt it necessary to explore those areas and see what she could learn from them, or at the very least find a better way to confront her demons. The constant stream of letters from Gladys-at least one a week-probably didn't help matters. It was as if Marilyn always had one foot firmly planted in the distant past, the other in the uncertain present. The problem was that there were never any new revelations. There was never a sense of closure. Rather, the same questions were asked time after time, with the same answers being given and no progress ever made. Perhaps it was, as many people believed, a case of too much therapy. Perhaps she needed to live the present rather than constantly a.n.a.lyze the past.

Also at this time, Marilyn and Milton Greene-partners in Marilyn Monroe Productions-ended their relationship. The two had been having problems for many months with Greene attempting to control, at least in Marilyn's view (shared by many observers), too much of her business affairs. Money was always an issue with Greene-he never seemed to have enough and always seemed to be looking to MMP to bail him out. Also, there were any number of creative issues between them over The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl. When he suggested that he be recognized as executive producer of the film, Marilyn balked. That she took issue with it suggested she was really finished with Milton Greene by this time, because he, by rights and by contract, had every right to be recognized as an executive producer. In the end, Greene blamed Arthur Miller for any problems, not Marilyn. The two men didn't like or trust each other. Greene felt that since Miller had Marilyn's pillow-talk ear, there was nothing he could do to redeem himself from whatever Miller had accused him of at any given time. Moreover, Greene couldn't stop himself from criticizing Miller in Marilyn's presence, which made her uncomfortable and left her feeling that she had to take sides. Once she decided that she had to choose her husband, there was nothing Greene could have done to rectify the situation. After some wrangling, Marilyn made a decision to eject him from the company on April 11. She issued a very unkind statement saying that he had mismanaged MMP and had even entered into secret agreements about which she knew nothing. When Greene acted as if he didn't know what had happened to cause such a schism, Marilyn issued another statement that sounded suspiciously not like her-but a lot like Arthur Miller: "As president of the corporation and its only source of income, I was never informed that he had elected himself to the position of executive producer of The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl. My company was not formed to provide false credits for its officers and I will not become a party to this. My company was not formed merely to parcel 49.6% of all my earnings to Mr. Greene, but to make better pictures, improve my work and secure my income." After much legal wrangling, Marilyn settled with Greene for $100,000, which was just the return of his original investment in MMP. She never spoke to Milton about what had happened, simply refusing his telephone calls much as she had with Natasha Lytess. These decisions were not like Marilyn. It was as if she were doing anything she could do to impress Arthur Miller, who had made his loathing of both Lytess and Greene quite clear.

In June 1957, The Prince and the Showgirl The Prince and the Showgirl opened at Radio City Music Hall. Marilyn, of course, attended with Arthur. The reviews were favorable and it seemed as if there might be a new appreciation of her ability as an actress, which somehow made all of the angst in England worthwhile, or at least most of it. What's perhaps most interesting about this film is the active role Marilyn took in its production and how far she had come as a thoughtful and, indeed, imaginative artist with a keen eye toward filmmaking. When she was unhappy with Fox's final cut of the film, she expressed her dissatisfaction to Jack Warner, MCA, and Laurence Olivier's production company. What she had to say and how she expressed it says so much about who she was at the time: "I am afraid that as it stands it will not be as successful as the version all of us agreed was so fine. Especially in the first third of the picture the pacing has been slowed and one comic point after another has been flattened out by subst.i.tuting inferior takes with flatter performances lacking the energy and brightness that you saw in New York. Some of the jump cutting kills the points, as in the fainting scene. The coronation is as long as before if not longer, and the story gets lost in it. American audiences are not as moved by stained gla.s.s windows as the British are, and we threaten them with boredom. I am amazed that so much of the picture has no music at all when the idea was to make a romantic picture. We have enough film to make a great movie, if only it will be as in the earlier version. I hope you will make every effort to preserve our picture." Does that sound like the critique of an empty-headed movie star? In the end, no changes were made to the picture. It came out as Fox and MCA saw fit, but not for lack of trying on Marilyn's part. opened at Radio City Music Hall. Marilyn, of course, attended with Arthur. The reviews were favorable and it seemed as if there might be a new appreciation of her ability as an actress, which somehow made all of the angst in England worthwhile, or at least most of it. What's perhaps most interesting about this film is the active role Marilyn took in its production and how far she had come as a thoughtful and, indeed, imaginative artist with a keen eye toward filmmaking. When she was unhappy with Fox's final cut of the film, she expressed her dissatisfaction to Jack Warner, MCA, and Laurence Olivier's production company. What she had to say and how she expressed it says so much about who she was at the time: "I am afraid that as it stands it will not be as successful as the version all of us agreed was so fine. Especially in the first third of the picture the pacing has been slowed and one comic point after another has been flattened out by subst.i.tuting inferior takes with flatter performances lacking the energy and brightness that you saw in New York. Some of the jump cutting kills the points, as in the fainting scene. The coronation is as long as before if not longer, and the story gets lost in it. American audiences are not as moved by stained gla.s.s windows as the British are, and we threaten them with boredom. I am amazed that so much of the picture has no music at all when the idea was to make a romantic picture. We have enough film to make a great movie, if only it will be as in the earlier version. I hope you will make every effort to preserve our picture." Does that sound like the critique of an empty-headed movie star? In the end, no changes were made to the picture. It came out as Fox and MCA saw fit, but not for lack of trying on Marilyn's part.

In July, Marilyn would learn that she was pregnant. She wanted nothing more than to have a baby, but now she wasn't sure how she felt about this child's father. However, she had to admit that the last six months with Arthur had been very relaxing. She wasn't sure that she had his respect, but she knew he cared about her. Still, it was difficult for her to get past what she'd read in his journal. "My little girl is always going to be told how pretty she is," Marilyn said when she learned of the pregnancy. She was sure it would be a girl. "When I was small, all of the dozens and dozens of people I lived with-none of them ever used the word 'pretty' to me. I want my little girl to smile all the time. All little girls should be told how pretty they are and I'm going to tell mine, over and over again."

Unfortunately, on August 1, Marilyn would be diagnosed as suffering from an ectopic pregnancy. She was about five or six weeks along at that point. She was extremely saddened by the loss of the baby. "My heart is broken," she told her half sister, Berniece, in a telephone call from the hospital. She could, she said, "try again," and she intended to-"but not now."

The first six months of the year had been peaceful, but that changed after Marilyn lost the baby. Some in the family say that a letter she received from Gladys set in motion a chain of events that could have proven deadly. Apparently, Gladys sent a heartless note to her daughter in which she in effect said that, in her view, Marilyn wasn't ready to be a mother. She told her that along with motherhood came certain responsibilities, "and you, dear child, are not a responsible person." One relative recalled, "Marilyn was, I think, as upset about that letter as she was about losing the baby. She began to drink a lot more after that, and with the pills it all got to be too much. She started to say that she was hearing voices in her head. This was very scary and very reminiscent of her mother and grandmother. 'I could never be like them,' she said, 'because at least I know the voices are not real.' She was acting very strangely. Arthur told me that he was at a restaurant one night and the maitre d' came over to tell him that he had a phone call. It was Marilyn. She was out of it and asked him to come home to save her. Luckily, he rushed home. She had taken an overdose. I don't know if it was on purpose, or not. No one ever knew. Afterward, no one ever discussed it, which is why there's a lot of mystery around it. It simply was never discussed."

Marilyn's Depression.

The year after Marilyn Monroe's ectopic pregnancy was difficult. August 1957 through about July 1958 found her in perhaps the deepest depression of her entire life. In her mind, she had already failed as a mother just by virtue of the miscarriage. Her marriage was not fulfilling. She had lost interest in her career, and especially, it would seem, in Marilyn Monroe Productions. Arthur Miller spent the year writing-or attempting to write-a screenplay, The Misfits The Misfits, based on one of his short stories. He believed that it would have a plum role for his wife, if only he could pull it together. But faced with writer's block, he found it impossible to break through, one draft after another ending up in the trash can. Frustrated with the work and exasperated with himself, he took it out on Marilyn. He was short and temperamental with her, despite regular visits to his psychotherapist to try to work his way through his own emotional problems. Marilyn-now thirty-two-gave as much as she got, if not more.

"It doesn't overstate it to say that she was never the same after the miscarriage," said Edward Lovitz, a struggling screenwriter in New York at this time, who had known Arthur Miller for many years. "Arthur told me that he thought she needed psychiatric help, that she would start to scream at him for no apparent reason. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs she was taking, the alcohol she was drinking, or just her mind breaking down on her. He told me that she had stopped going to her psychiatrist after she lost the baby. He wanted to try for another baby, but that was difficult if they weren't even getting along. He slept in a guest room, he said, many nights if not most nights."

"The fact that Arthur was not able to write at this time is probably not surprising, given the stresses in his life," added Rupert Allan. "However, Marilyn blamed herself for his lack of vision. She told me that she feared she no longer inspired him. 'If I inspired him at all, he would have finished by now,' she told me after a few months of nonproductivity on his part. 'Oh, the h.e.l.l with it,' she decided. 'It doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm sick of him.' What I think she was really sick of was his judgment against her. She felt it strongly."

The longer this cold war continued between spouses, the deeper into her depression Marilyn seemed to sink. Nothing had worked out for her the way she had hoped, she said. She desperately wanted this marriage to be a success. She told one relative that she believed there were "people out there" who felt they had "won" when her marriage to Joe DiMaggio had failed. " 'Ah-ha! See, she's not happy at all,' they said about me," Marilyn observed bitterly. " 'She's stupid and talentless and she can't keep a husband.' But this one is going to last," she continued, "because I don't want people to have the satisfaction of seeing me suffer." She also wanted to prove to herself, as well as to the public, that she could be a good wife and mother. However, it now appeared that she could be neither. Her disappointment in herself combined with the drugs she was taking to sleep and then to awake caused her to exist in a clouded state of mind that made it impossible for her to reason out her problems. Add alcohol to the mix-champagne for the most part since most other drinks made her sick to her stomach, though that didn't always stop her-and the combination was potentially lethal. She had gotten to the point where she would pour herself a gla.s.s of champagne with trembling hands, snap open a capsule, and then pour the contents right into the gla.s.s for a quicker high. Or, for an even faster effect, she would just pour the crystals under her tongue. Because she had lost interest in so much in her life, she began to gain weight. She didn't care. She had been struggling to stay thin for so many years, she felt she deserved the right to be fat. She gained about twenty pounds during this time.

There was no telling how one might find Marilyn-seeming happy and content or morose and depressed. Still, people obviously wanted to be around her, wanted to be in her presence.

Two separate visits at this time tell differing stories: The first involved Marilyn's half sister, Berniece. Marilyn called her one day seeming desperate. "I tried all day to call you, yesterday," she told her when she finally reached her. "And this morning I tried three times!" She made it clear that she needed to see Berniece. In speaking to her, she kept talking about how much she admired Berniece's marriage to Paris Miracle. It was clear to Berniece, as she would later tell it, that Marilyn was having problems in her marriage. Berniece made plans to go, but then, at the last minute, her husband forbade her to travel alone. Paris later said that he had a trip planned for New York, where Marilyn lived. Berniece wanted to go with him, of course, and use that opportunity to visit Marilyn. Paris said no. It was a business trip, he said-no wives allowed. But then while he was in New York, he he went to visit Marilyn, and took his business a.s.sociates with him! At any rate, Marilyn could not have been nicer to Paris and his friends. She appeared after having bought flowers, her arms full of dogwood blossoms. Everyone had c.o.c.ktails, which she served, and she signed pictures for the entire group-"Love and kisses from your sister-in-law to Paris." One of Paris's friends tried to sneak out of Marilyn's home with a highball gla.s.s, which was apparently too large to fit under his jacket. In the midst of all this, Marilyn seemed fine. went to visit Marilyn, and took his business a.s.sociates with him! At any rate, Marilyn could not have been nicer to Paris and his friends. She appeared after having bought flowers, her arms full of dogwood blossoms. Everyone had c.o.c.ktails, which she served, and she signed pictures for the entire group-"Love and kisses from your sister-in-law to Paris." One of Paris's friends tried to sneak out of Marilyn's home with a highball gla.s.s, which was apparently too large to fit under his jacket. In the midst of all this, Marilyn seemed fine.

A couple of days later, Marilyn's psychiatrist, Dr. Marianne Kris, came to visit. The story was a very different one, as told by Barbara Miller (no relation to Arthur), the daughter of a friend of Dr. Kris's. She, her mother, brother, and Dr. Kris all arrived at the same time to visit Marilyn and Arthur. "It wasn't pleasant," she recalled. "I was about twelve, but I remember it well. I was a big fan of Marilyn Monroe's and couldn't wait to meet her. She was a lot heavier than I thought she'd be, but still she was very beautiful. She came swooping into the living room to greet us in a floral-printed caftan that was just lovely. She had her hair long, to her shoulders-very blonde. I remember she had the most delicate hands with tapering fingers, her nails painted red. She was very nice, but seemed... I guess tipsy would be the word."

Barbara Miller recalls what happened after everyone was seated in the living room: "Would you like a b.l.o.o.d.y Mary?" Marilyn asked the adults. "And a soft drink for you?" she offered, looking at the young girl. The adults said they would all prefer soft drinks. "Fine," Marilyn said with a smile. "I generally don't like to drink alone, but I'll make an exception today." She then called out the name of their maid. When no one appeared, she called again. Finally, she screamed out, "Arthur, where is the G.o.dd.a.m.n maid?" Still, no answer. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "My secretary, Mary [Reis], isn't in today and my husband is somewhere trying to write," she said, according to Miller's memory. "He's having a difficult time, though."

According to Miller, Dr. Kris studied Marilyn carefully and said, "Dear, is there someplace where you and I might talk? I'd like to speak to you alone."

Marilyn eyed the doctor suspiciously and said, "I think we've done enough talking, Doctor, don't you? I'm fine, really I am. All I need is a b.l.o.o.d.y Mary if I could just get the G.o.dd.a.m.n maid to come in here. Jesus Christ," she concluded. "I'll go get it myself, and the soft drinks too." She rose.

"You don't seem fine," the doctor said, while the other two guests sat in awkward silence.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it," Marilyn snapped, now standing and facing the doctor, her eyes blazing. "Why can't you leave me alone? I've had it with you. I'm sick of going over and over and over the same things. I'm not going to do it anymore I'm not going to do it anymore." With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving her guests in stunned silence. They wondered whether or not she would return. Or should they just go? Ten minutes later-just as everyone was preparing to depart-Arthur Miller appeared. "My wife asked me to apologize to you all," he said, looking very contrite. "She's not been well. It's just been awful, and I hope you'll accept our sincere apologies and come back another time." Then, turning to the doctor, he said, "Could you please call me later? I must speak with you. It's urgent." Dr. Kris said that she would certainly make the call. Everyone then agreed that it was best for the visit to end. However, just as the small group got to the front door, Marilyn came walking out from one of the back rooms. In her hands was a tray of drinks. "Wait," she said, gazing at them with astonishment. "You're leaving? But I have drinks! Wouldn't you like to sit down and talk?"

"She was a totally different person," said Barbara Miller. "She was smiling and chee