Marilyn would later tell her half sister, Berniece, that people would shout at her from pa.s.sing cars as she walked down the street in Manhattan, "How does it feel to be a murderer?"

"It upset her so very much," said Diane Stevens from the John Springer office. "This was the last thing she needed. I called her when I heard the news about Clark because I knew how she'd probably react. She picked up the phone-she was back in New York by this time-and sounded like a sh.e.l.l of her old self."

"I'm not doing so well," Marilyn told Diane, according to her memory of the conversation. "I feel so responsible. I know it's my fault he's dead."

"But it's not," Diane told her. "You have to stop thinking that, Marilyn. It will just make you worse."

"I don't see how things can get any worse," she responded, her voice sounding heavily medicated. "My marriage is over. I have no one. Now this. I don't think I can go on." With those chilling words, Marilyn hung up the phone.

"Frantically, I tried to call her again, but she never picked up," said Stevens. "I was scared. I called my boss, John [Springer], and told him about the conversation. He said, 'My G.o.d, what now?' as if he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He then called May Reis and asked her to check on Marilyn. She told him, 'Oh, no, I recently quit. I no longer work for her. I just couldn't take it.' I swear, not a thing seemed to make sense in Marilyn's world. There was always a surprise right around the corner. He said, 'I don't care if you work for her or not, get your a.s.s over there and find out if she's still alive.' Finally, he called me back about an hour later and said May had told him Marilyn was sleeping and that all was well. John and I knew better. 'All is not well,' he told me. 'I'm becoming very afraid as to how this whole thing is going to end.' I shared his fear."

It would seem, though, that all Marilyn needed was a break from the pressure of her life in order to turn things around. "She seemed a lot better once she got to New York," says one relative. "I know she called Gladys as soon as she got to New York."

After Marilyn received another very strange Christmas card from her mother-she had one every year-this one signed, "Loving good wishes (whether or not they are warranted), Gladys Pearl Eley, your mother," she felt compelled to reach out to her.

"Gladys had been calling the office for weeks trying to reach Marilyn," recalled Diane Stevens. "I so dreaded hearing her voice. She always said, 'This is Mrs. Eley calling for Miss Mari-lyn Monroe-she p.r.o.nounced it like Mary-lynn.' John's position was always the same: If she calls, be polite but firm that Marilyn would call her back when she was ready to do so-and then tell her to call Inez Melson, who was really responsible for dealing with Gladys. However, the last time I spoke to Gladys-when she heard that Marilyn was in the hospital and was trying to track her down-she became very irate and accused me of not pa.s.sing her message on to her daughter. In fact, I hadn't pa.s.sed those messages on because I felt that Marilyn was already under so much strain. When I finally told her that Gladys had been calling, she sighed and said, 'Oh, gosh. I have been meaning to call her, really I have. But I just haven't had the strength to cope with her right now. I haven't called Berniece back, either, and I feel terrible about it.' Then she said, 'Have you told anyone at Fox about this?' I hadn't. She said, 'It's so funny because they are trying to keep it a secret from the press about Mother, and we're trying to keep it a secret from Fox. Where my mother is concerned, I would say there are enough secrets to go around, wouldn't you?' I had to agree. I know there was always concern at the studio that someone would track Gladys down again and she would say or do something that would cause a scandal. It was one of the reasons we tried not to antagonize her. We didn't want one of her voices telling her to do something that would be totally destructive to Marilyn's career or reputation."

Coincidentally, just before Christmas, Marilyn finalized her new will-which would be signed in January 1961. In it, she provided a $100,000 trust fund for Gladys-up from the previous will's $25,000 allocation (and so much for those who have claimed over the years that Marilyn had no interest in her mother). However, she only bequeathed $10,000 to Berniece, whom she was a lot closer to than Gladys. Interestingly, she also wished to bequeath her psychiatrist, Marianne Kris, with a full 25 percent of her estate and-more surprisingly-Lee Strasberg with the other 75 percent. * *

"Finally, she called Gladys when she got back to New York," says Diane Stevens. "From my understanding, it was a fairly good conversation. Gladys seemed a little better to Marilyn and, in fact, Marilyn said she enjoyed talking to her. She had avoided visiting her when she was last in Los Angeles and said that she would definitely see her when she returned. 'She's a very strange link to a past I have worked so very hard to forget,' she told me. 'But, still, she is my mother, isn't she?'

"I think that her miscarriages made her feel somehow more warmly toward Gladys. She also told me, 'You know, my mother's children were kidnapped from her by her ex-husband. I think I can now understand how terrible that must have been for her. I actually don't know how she could have survived such a thing. I wonder,' she said, 'if that's what made her lose her mind. I think I would lose mine if that ever happened to me.' The interesting thing to me about Marilyn, though, was that just when you thought all was lost with her, she would rally. By Christmas, she looked and sounded better to me."

During this period, Marilyn renewed her friendship with a publicist named Pat Newcomb, a woman who had worked with her on Bus Stop Bus Stop and whom Marilyn rehired at the end of 1960. Rupert Allan, a good friend of Princess Grace Kelly, had decided to spend more time with the princess in Monaco. Newcomb would take his place as Marilyn's personal publicist. "At the core of her, she was really much stronger than all of us," Pat Newcomb recalls of Marilyn, "and that was something we tended to forget, because she seemed so vulnerable, and one always felt it necessary to watch out for her." and whom Marilyn rehired at the end of 1960. Rupert Allan, a good friend of Princess Grace Kelly, had decided to spend more time with the princess in Monaco. Newcomb would take his place as Marilyn's personal publicist. "At the core of her, she was really much stronger than all of us," Pat Newcomb recalls of Marilyn, "and that was something we tended to forget, because she seemed so vulnerable, and one always felt it necessary to watch out for her."

Marilyn actually spent Christmas with Pat, gifting her with a mink coat for the holiday. She also decided to rekindle her relationship with Joe DiMaggio after he sent her poinsettias for Christmas. When she asked him why he had sent them, he said that he did so because he knew she would call him to thank him. "Besides," he said, "who in the h.e.l.l else do you have in the world?" When Marilyn allowed him to visit her on Christmas evening, some in her circle were concerned about it. After all, it had not ended well with DiMaggio. Most people felt that he was the last thing she needed at this desperate time in her life. (In just a short time, DiMaggio would turn out to be a savior in her life.) Marilyn's divorce from Arthur Miller would be the first order of business to be taken care of in January 1961. Along with her publicist, Pat Newcomb, and attorney, Aaron Frosch, Marilyn would fly to Mexico on January 20-picking the day of John Fitzgerald Kennedy's inauguration specifically because it was sure to have the attention of all media-where the divorce would be quickly granted. There would be no alimony for either party and the house they owned in Roxbury would go to Miller since he used the money from the sale of his previous home to buy it.

With another marriage over, and especially after the affair with Montand, Marilyn's image was now, maybe more than ever, that of a hussy, a homewrecker. The perception was that she had used Arthur Miller to write movies for her-Let's Make Love, for example-then dumped him. Considering that it was because of Miller's alleged ties with Communists that Marilyn would be forever tailed by the FBI, maybe it was appropriate that even the Russian media got into the act. "When you speak of the American way of life," commented the Russian magazine Nedyela Nedyela, "everybody thinks of chewing gum, Coca-Cola and Marilyn Monroe. She found in Arthur Miller what she lacked. She exploited him without pity. He wrote scripts for her films and made her a real actress. Marilyn paid him back. She left him. Another broken life on her climb to the stars."

When a reporter read that commentary to Marilyn, she couldn't contain her anger. "Listen!" she exclaimed. "I know Arthur Miller better than the Russians and I've learned from Arthur Miller more than the Russians. I've learned from Arthur Miller that he does not believe in a Communist State. That's what I've learned from Arthur Miller. The Russians can talk all they want about my climb to the stars, his broken life and what I've done to somebody. But I know the man. They're talking about an idea. They can have their ideas. I had the man."

Earlier, Marilyn had told Joe DiMaggio, when he visited her, that she was looking forward to returning to Los Angeles so she could continue her treatment by Dr. Ralph Greenson. At the end of the month of January, as if to bid a final and respectful farewell to Arthur Miller and her life with him, she would happily attend the New York premiere of The Misfits The Misfits with Montgomery Clift. with Montgomery Clift.

Marilyn Is Committed.

I opened my living room window as wide as I could and I leaned out. I knew that I had to make up my mind inside the room. If I climbed out onto the ledge, someone below would be certain to recognize me and there'd be a big spectacle. I squeezed my eyes shut at the open window, clenched my fists. I remembered reading somewhere that people who fall from heights lose consciousness before they hit the ground. Then when I looked down, I saw a woman walking along the sidewalk near the building awning. She was wearing a brown dress and... opened my living room window as wide as I could and I leaned out. I knew that I had to make up my mind inside the room. If I climbed out onto the ledge, someone below would be certain to recognize me and there'd be a big spectacle. I squeezed my eyes shut at the open window, clenched my fists. I remembered reading somewhere that people who fall from heights lose consciousness before they hit the ground. Then when I looked down, I saw a woman walking along the sidewalk near the building awning. She was wearing a brown dress and... I knew her. I knew her."

Those were Marilyn Monroe's words to her friend Ralph Roberts, when she described to him her decision to commit suicide in February 1961. It was a startling admission. Marilyn told Roberts that she had been so depressed about any part she might have played in the death of Clark Gable that she had considered leaping from her thirteenth-floor apartment window. Luckily, she changed her mind at the last moment.

After her divorce from Arthur Miller, Marilyn began once again to sink into the deepest of depressions, some of which were so bottomless it seemed to those who knew and loved her that there was simply no reaching her. Clearly she wasn't eating much, and by the beginning of 1961 she looked gaunt and sickly. She wasn't even washing her hair, once so vibrant and luxurious but now dull and lifeless. It was as if she no longer cared about anything. With the exception of her daily visits to her psychiatrist Dr. Kris's office, she secluded herself in her New York apartment, refusing most guests and expressing no interest in socializing. Socializing had become an ordeal for her especially as she got older. Monroe historian Charles Casillo explains it best this way: "There was no place for lines in her face with that kind of persona. Let's face it, we all want to look nice when we go to a party, but imagine every person you meet inspecting every inch of you, judging you on your appearance only? Does she have freckles? Is she tired? Is she thin? Is she really that that beautiful? Marilyn had to face that kind of scrutiny every day, with every person who faced her. She knew what her major attraction was. She even admitted that at times she was invited to a party 'to dress up the dinner table.' Would the invitations keep coming if the dessert wasn't so appetizing?" beautiful? Marilyn had to face that kind of scrutiny every day, with every person who faced her. She knew what her major attraction was. She even admitted that at times she was invited to a party 'to dress up the dinner table.' Would the invitations keep coming if the dessert wasn't so appetizing?" * *

Those who managed to reach her by telephone couldn't help but note the abject despondence in her voice. She had taken such a sharp turn for the worse, there was genuine concern about leaving her alone, yet she refused to allow anyone to stay with her. Though Dr. Kris had been trying to find a proper pharmaceutical strategy for managing not only Marilyn's depression but also her increasing anxiety, nothing seemed to work. She had been taking so many drugs for such a long time, it had become difficult to find one that would have a true impact on her condition.

During a session, Marilyn relayed to Dr. Kris the same chilling story she told Ralph Roberts about her near suicidal leap. Obviously, it piqued the doctor's concern. After all, sitting before Dr. Kris was an important patient she had been trusting to follow her orders when it came to proper drug dosage and frequency. Kris was well aware that if Marilyn had genuine interest in killing herself, she could easily do so with the pills already in her possession. She wouldn't have to leap out of a window to get the job done. There was no question about it-the doctor needed to take action.

Dr. Kris suggested to Marilyn that she check into a private ward at New York Hospital for some rest and relaxation under medical supervision. Reluctantly, Marilyn agreed. Therefore, on Sunday, February 5, Dr. Kris drove her to Cornell UniversityNew York Hospital. Marilyn checked in using the pseudonym of "Faye Miller," in order to keep her presence there unknown. However, when it came time to take her to her room, she was mysteriously escorted to another clinic on the expansive premises.

From the moment Marilyn entered this strange new wing, it was obvious to her that there was something very different about it. She had been to hospitals over the years, and none of them were quite like this one. For one thing, the orderlies escorting her seemed distant and forceful. Her journey deeper into the ward involved pa.s.sage through numerous steel doors, most of which required a key from both sides. Suddenly, it all became clear, and fear swept through her at the realization: Those doors were meant to keep people in in, not keep people out.

Marilyn realized that Dr. Kris's description of what awaited her had been misleading: "a place to relax and rest," she had said in a soothing voice. Yet this place, these people, this environment-all of it felt uncomfortably familiar to Marilyn. In fact, this was exactly like the sanitariums where her mother had spent so many years of her life. Indeed, she was in the Payne Whitney Clinic, the psychiatric division of the hospital.

If Dr. Kris had had any notion that Marilyn would relax in this place, she had been sorely mistaken. In fact, for starters, Marilyn threw an emotional tantrum, screaming to be let go, crying that she was frightened and insisting that it was all a big mistake-which, of course, only served to make her appear even more disturbed. "What are you doing to me?" she hollered out as she was dragged down a long hallway. "Where are we going?" She shrieked in horror as she was forcibly thrown into a spa.r.s.e padded room with barred windows and, in the corner, another smaller room with a sign on it that said simply "Toilet." A steel door closed with a terrible sound, and was locked. She would later recall the cell as being "for very disturbed very disturbed [her emphasis] depressed patients, except I felt I was in some kind of prison for a crime I hadn't committed... the violence and markings still remained on the walls from former patients." [her emphasis] depressed patients, except I felt I was in some kind of prison for a crime I hadn't committed... the violence and markings still remained on the walls from former patients."

"You Are a Very, Very Sick Girl"

How had it come to this? Had she gone completely mad and not realized it? Was she destined to spend her last days in an asylum, just like her grandparents, and maybe her mother, too?

Though Marilyn Monroe screamed for someone to come and release her, it was useless. Finally, she broke down into wracking sobs, as she later recalled it, feeling now more than ever that all hope was lost. Then she began to repeatedly bang her fists against the hard metal door until finally both were battered and bruised. At last, two nurses entered Marilyn's cell, their eyes blazing. If she persisted, they warned her, she would be put into a straitjacket. They then stripped her of her clothing and forced her into a hospital gown. Their angry work done, they took their leave, but not before turning off the light, leaving their stunned patient in total blackness with her confused thoughts and desperate fears-and without her medication.

The next day, Marilyn was told that she would be allowed out of her room if she agreed to mingle with other patients and "socialize." She complied, knowing by now that it would be the only way she'd ever be able to obtain her freedom from the padded cell. Once in the hallway, she happened upon a young, sickly-looking woman standing in the hallway who, as she later recalled, "seemed such a pathetic and vague creature." The patient may have viewed her visitor in the same light because she suggested that Marilyn would be much less depressed if she could talk to someone on the telephone, a friend perhaps. Marilyn agreed but said it was impossible since she was distinctly told that there were no telephones on the floor. The woman's face registered surprise and she said, "But that's not true. Who told you such a thing? In fact, I'll take you to one." She then escorted Marilyn to a pay phone, reached into her pocket and gave her a nickel. However, when Marilyn reached out to make a call, a security guard suddenly grabbed the receiver from her hand. "You can't make any phone calls," he told her. can't make any phone calls," he told her.

Not knowing what to do next, Marilyn headed back to her room and, as she later recalled, tried to imagine how she would handle such a situation if she were doing an improvisational sketch in one of her acting cla.s.ses. After giving it some thought, she knew what she would do in that situation, which was to make the biggest noise she could make in the hope that someone new would be summoned, someone who might actually take pity on her and help her. To that end, she picked up a chair and, with everything she had left in her, hurled it against the gla.s.s on the bathroom door. It didn't break. She picked up the chair and hurled it against the door again and again until, finally, the double-thick gla.s.s cracked. She then reached out and carefully extracted a small, sharp sliver from the cracked window. Because she had made such a racket, an entire team of doctors and nurses burst into her room. And there she sat before them on the bed, holding the jagged gla.s.s to her wrist. "If you don't let me out of here, I'll kill myself," she threatened. Later, she would rationalize this horrifying moment by explaining that she was actually just playing out a scene from her movie Don't Bother to Knock Don't Bother to Knock-"only [in that movie] it was with a razor blade." It didn't appear to the medical staff, though, that she was playacting. The staff took quick and decisive action. Two large men and two hefty women lifted the wriggling patient from the bed right into the air, kicking and screaming, until she dropped the shard of gla.s.s. They then carried her to the elevator stretched out and facedown as she fitfully sobbed the entire way, her tears leaving a small trail. Once in the elevator, they took her to another floor. There, after she calmed herself, she was commanded to take a bath, though she had taken one that morning. "Every time you change floors you have to take a bath," she was told. Finally, after what seemed an endless time, a young doctor came in to see her.

Through her tears, Marilyn told the intern that she had been betrayed by her psychiatrist and admitted to this mental hospital "even though I don't belong here." "Why are you so unhappy?" he asked her, ignoring what she had just told him. Marilyn looked at him squarely and answered, "I've been paying the best doctors a fortune to find out the answer to that question, and you're asking me me?"

After speaking to Marilyn for a while longer, the doctor studied her face carefully and, as if making a profound statement, said with great authority, "You are a very, very sick girl. And you've been very sick for a long time." Marilyn didn't know how to respond to the obvious. After all, she had been hearing voices for years. She had also felt paranoid-always suspecting that someone was watching her or was after her-for just as long. It had been a secret shared by just a few, such as her first husband, Jim Dougherty; her lover and Svengali, Johnny Hyde; her acting teacher, Natasha Lytess; and, most certainly, her psychiatrists. However, her secret was out of her control now-and this doctor, a total stranger, seemed to know it.

The doctor, his brow furrowed in concentration, continued, "You know, I don't see how you ever could have made a movie being so depressed. How can you even act?" Marilyn was astonished by his obvious naivete. After all, she had been doing just that for as long as she could remember, concealing her true feelings-portraying a reality very different from the one in which she existed from day to day. "Don't you think that perhaps Greta Garbo and Charlie Chaplin and Ingrid Bergman had been depressed when they they worked?" she asked him. She'd recently had a conversation with her half sister, Berniece, along these same lines. She had asked Berniece if she ever became depressed. Of course, Berniece said, she had experienced the blues in the past. Marilyn wondered what she did about it if she didn't take pills-and Berniece didn't. Berniece told her that she prayed. That sounded like a good answer. It just never worked for Marilyn. How could Berniece, a housewife in Florida living a peaceful existence with her husband of many years, ever truly relate to Marilyn's extraordinary problems, or to the vastness of her depression? The doctor had no answer to Marilyn's question. So he ignored it. Instead, he jotted into his notes that, in his view, Marilyn was "extremely disturbed" and also "potentially self-destructive." Then he left her without giving her any indication that he would ever return. That evening, she couldn't sleep. The sounds of shrieking and wailing and moaning and sobbing echoed all night long through the hallways-anonymous voices, the mentally ill. She would never be able to forget these sounds. She would never forget this awful night. worked?" she asked him. She'd recently had a conversation with her half sister, Berniece, along these same lines. She had asked Berniece if she ever became depressed. Of course, Berniece said, she had experienced the blues in the past. Marilyn wondered what she did about it if she didn't take pills-and Berniece didn't. Berniece told her that she prayed. That sounded like a good answer. It just never worked for Marilyn. How could Berniece, a housewife in Florida living a peaceful existence with her husband of many years, ever truly relate to Marilyn's extraordinary problems, or to the vastness of her depression? The doctor had no answer to Marilyn's question. So he ignored it. Instead, he jotted into his notes that, in his view, Marilyn was "extremely disturbed" and also "potentially self-destructive." Then he left her without giving her any indication that he would ever return. That evening, she couldn't sleep. The sounds of shrieking and wailing and moaning and sobbing echoed all night long through the hallways-anonymous voices, the mentally ill. She would never be able to forget these sounds. She would never forget this awful night. * *

On Tuesday morning, another doctor showed up in Marilyn's cell and suggested that she spend the day with the other patients in what he referred to as "OT"-occupational therapy.

"And do what?" Marilyn asked.

"You could sew or play checkers," he suggested brightly, "even cards, and maybe knit."

Marilyn shook her head at his pathetic presence. "The day I do any of that," she said through gritted teeth, "will be the day you'll really really have a nut on your hands." have a nut on your hands."

"Why is it you feel you are so different from the other patients?" he asked.

She simply stated, "I just am."

"I'm Locked Up with These Poor Nutty People"

The rest of Marilyn Monroe's experience at Payne Whitney was more of the same-a story characterized by one indignity after another, all heaped upon a woman used to being treated with much more reverence. It felt to her as if she'd been locked away simply because no one knew quite what to do with her. Doctors and nurses would stop by her door and peer into the little square window as if she were a caged animal at the zoo. Some seemed astonished, as if they simply couldn't believe their eyes. At one point, out of frustration, Marilyn ripped off her hospital gown and stood before them naked, just to give the sightseers "something to really look at."

Marilyn spent most of Wednesday begging anyone who would listen to her for a piece of paper and a pen so that she could write a note to someone, and so that her plea for release could be heard. It must have struck her that she was now in a situation eerily similar to one in which her mother, Gladys, often found herself. How many rambling manifestos had Gladys written over the years explaining why she shouldn't have been inst.i.tutionalized, pleading with the disinterested to intervene on her behalf and obtain release? Finally, a young nurse agreed to allow Marilyn to make contact with someone by mail. But who? Marilyn would later recall thinking that Berniece would be too stunned to know what to do, and besides, she was out of state. She also didn't feel close enough to any of her ex-husbands to ask for help, and besides, it would have been too humiliating. Certainly, Natasha Lytess would have come to her aid, but that bond was long broken, and besides, she was in California, too. Who? Finally, she decided to appeal to her friends Lee and Paula Strasberg. She sat down and wrote this letter to them: Dear Lee and Paula, Dear Lee and Paula,Dr. Kris has put me in the hospital under the care of two idiot doctors. They both should not be my doctors. You haven't heard from me because I'm locked up with these poor nutty people. I'm sure to end up a nut too if I stay in this nightmare. Please help me. This is the last place I should be. I love you both.MarilynP.S. I'm on the dangerous floor. It's like a cell. They had my bathroom door locked and I couldn't get their key into it, so I broke the gla.s.s. But outside of that I haven't done anything uncooperative.

The note was delivered that same day. Lee Strasberg, when he received it, immediately called Dr. Kris. He was told that Marilyn had been suicidal and that this was the reason for her hospitalization. That was all he needed to hear to make the decision that his star student was exactly where she needed to be. Neither of the two Strasbergs would interfere with her doctor's orders.

On Thursday morning, once Marilyn at least acted as if she was calm, she was allowed to make one phone call. At a loss as to whom to call, she knew she would have to contact someone who would move heaven and earth to get her out of that place. Who was the most obstinate man she knew? Who would not take no for an answer? The answer was clear to her: Joe DiMaggio. Their marriage hadn't ended well, that was true. However, based on the kind of man he was and the way he reacted when faced with defiance, she knew she would be able to count on him. So she placed the call to him in Florida.

His friend Stacy Edwards recalled, "I believe Joe was in Florida because he used to coach the Yankees down there during training. He told me, he's sitting in his motel room having a cold beer and watching TV when the phone rings. It's Marilyn, sobbing that she's in a nut house in New York and she needs him to get her out of there. He thought it was a joke. He said she was making no sense, at all, and he thought, surely, it was a prank, or she was high on pills and delusional. But then, after he calmed her down, she told him the whole story. She needed him. How she ever tracked him down in a fleabag motel in Fort Lauderdale, I'll never know, but she needed him. That was all he needed to hear. He jumped on the next plane."

Joe DiMaggio showed up at Payne Whitney that very night and demanded that Marilyn Monroe be released in his custody the next morning. He said that he didn't care who had to authorize the matter, he just expected it to be done. He was told that only Dr. Kris would be able to obtain her patient's release. "I don't care who does it," Joe said brusquely, "but if someone doesn't get her released from this place, I swear to Christ, I'll take this hospital apart brick by brick." He was then put on the phone with Dr. Kris, who had locked away her patient four days earlier and hadn't come by to say h.e.l.lo or ask how it was going. The doctor said that if Marilyn was unhappy at the facility, perhaps she would feel more comfortable in another hospital. Joe would later say that he couldn't believe his ears, or as he told Stacy Edwards, "I got to thinking the doctor was the one who shoulda been locked up. She was acting like Marilyn had her choice of resorts. To get what I wanted from her, I said, yeah, fine, we'll do that. But let's just get her out of here, first. Please." The release was hastily arranged for the following day.

"How Dare You Betray Me!"

Early Friday afternoon, February 10, Ralph Roberts, Marilyn's good friend and ma.s.seur, picked her up from a back entrance of Payne Whitney and then secreted her away, with Dr. Kris in the backseat. In the car on the way back to Marilyn's apartment, she let Dr. Kris have it. "How dare you betray me!" she shouted at her. "I trusted you. How could you do that to me? And you didn't even visit me? What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you?" Roberts recalled, "Marilyn was screaming at the doctor as only she could. She was like a hurricane unleashed. I don't think Dr. Kris had ever seen her like that, and she was frightened and very shaken by the violence of Marilyn's response.

"We dropped Marilyn off, and I wound up driving the doctor home. There was a lot of traffic, so we inched down the West Side Highway overlooking the river, and Dr. Kris was trembling and kept repeating over and over, 'I did a terrible thing, a terrible, terrible thing. Oh G.o.d, I didn't mean to, but I did.' "

Some people question Roberts's recollection of Marilyn's release. As a close friend of Marilyn's, he may have had a vested interest in portraying the psychiatrist as remorseful. He may have known that Marilyn would have wanted this short bit of her history minimized. If Dr. Kris admitted to doing something terrible, then perhaps Roberts could believe Marilyn had been of sound mind the entire time and shouldn't have been hospitalized at all. In any case, this is how Roberts recollected it, and therefore many people have chosen to view the Payne Whitney chapter in Marilyn's life as just a tremendous mix-up, or a misdiagnosis from an incompetent doctor.

"Once Joe got Marilyn situated in her apartment, he realized that perhaps Marilyn's shrink may have had the right idea-just the wrong way of going about it," said Stacy Edwards. "Marilyn wasn't well. She was crying and disoriented. Without her pills for those few days, her entire system was out of whack. He also could not believe how thin she'd gotten. After calming her down, he convinced her to allow him to take her to another hospital, Columbia University Presbyterian. She said she would go but he had to promise her that he would not leave town and would come to visit her every day she was in there. He agreed to that."

At about five 'o clock that afternoon, Marilyn was admitted to the Neurological Inst.i.tute of the Columbia UniversityPresbyterian Hospital, where she would remain for more than three weeks, until March 5. The first thing she did, once settled into her new hospital room, was to contact her attorney, Aaron Frosch. She demanded that he draft a doc.u.ment that would prevent any one person from ever having the power to commit her again without first consulting Joe DiMaggio.

When she was finally released from the second hospital, Marilyn was descended upon by such an excited mob of reporters and photographers that the scene became riotous. What was perhaps the most revealing element of such chaos, though, was how much she seemed to relish it. Except for a few occasions in the past, such as when she announced her divorce from Joe, Marilyn generally lit up whenever the media was present. She loved the public's rapt attention, even if her private life was falling apart. Moreover, she knew what her job as a movie star entailed, which was to look and act like Marilyn Monroe, even when she didn't much feel like her. No matter the present travail, she usually managed to play the part. In fact, by this time-1961-it had become second nature to her.

When she got home, though, Marilyn was in for a shock. First of all, she got a telephone call from Doc G.o.ddard, Grace's husband. She hadn't heard from the man in many years. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had talked to him. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he said that he was tired of reading in the press that it had been Grace's idea that Marilyn marry James Dougherty. He was going to write a book, he said, tell the truth-which, he said, was that Marilyn had been the aggressor in that relationship, and in fact had asked Grace's help in convincing Dougherty to marry her. He was tired, he said, of being blamed for that first marriage since it was due to his job transfer that the G.o.ddards had to leave Norma Jeane behind. Marilyn truly didn't know what his angle was, but she didn't like it. She told him that if he wrote a book about her, she would sue him. She also told him that Grace would be very disappointed to hear that he was planning such a venture. The conversation ended in an unpleasant way with Marilyn hanging up on him.

Gladys's Sheets, Soaked with Blood.

The very week that Marilyn Monroe was suffering through her experiences at Payne Whitney in New York, her mother was having similar problems in the Rock Haven Sanitarium in California.

Gladys Baker Eley, who was now sixty, had by this time been officially diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic. It had been clear for many years that this was the case with her. She was extremely unhappy at Rock Haven; indeed she had never been happy at any sanitarium over the years. No one at Rock Haven seemed to believe in or understand Christian Science, which was something Gladys simply could not accept. She was as devout about the religion as ever, sending pamphlets and brochures about it to everyone she knew on a weekly basis, including her daughters, Marilyn and Berniece. Now, with her mental illness affecting her intensely, she'd become firmly convinced that the doctors at Rock Haven had been poisoning her food. She wrote to her daughters that she needed to be released very soon or, as she noted to Berniece, "I will most certainly die in here from all of the poison." She also believed she was being sprayed with insecticides while she slept. Moreover, because of her faith, she steadfastly refused to take medications that had been prescribed to control her schizophrenia. Therefore, there was no relief for her; her mental state worsened with each pa.s.sing day.

One evening during the time that Marilyn was in Payne Whitney, Gladys saw a news account of her daughter's apparent mental breakdown on the television that was watched by the patients at the sanitarium. Apparently upset by what she had seen, she retired to her room. When nurses went to check on her a couple of hours later, her bedsheets were soaked with blood. Gladys was unconscious. Apparently, she had slit her left wrist with a razor blade-where she got it would always remain a mystery. However, instead of slicing her wrist horizontally, which would cause the most blood flow and thus result in a quick death, she cut it in the other direction. Therefore, the bleeding was slower and eventually led to her unconscious state. She was rushed to Huntington Hospital in Pasadena, where she spent three days. Berniece was called. However, she asked that the hospital not contact Marilyn because she felt her half sister already had enough to worry about. Berniece didn't want to burden her.

Rose Anne Cooper, a nurse's aide at Rock Haven, recalls, "I personally tried to contact Marilyn Monroe to tell her what had happened. I somehow ended up talking to a man named John who said he was her manager. [Note: Likely this was John Springer, Marilyn's publicist.] He was very abrupt with me. 'Is she alive?' he wanted to know. I said she was. 'Fine,' he told me, 'then Miss Monroe doesn't need to know this news right now. She has enough problems.' He told me to call Inez Melson [Marilyn's business manager]. I did. She was worse. 'You are being paid handsomely to make sure Mrs. Eley does not hurt herself,' she said angrily. When I told her that we couldn't monitor her twenty-four hours a day, she asked, 'Why not? I would think you would be able to do that. If not, then why are we paying you?' It was all very unpleasant. Finally, I asked if she would please tell Marilyn that her mother had tried to commit suicide, and she said, 'I most certainly will do no such thing. I am not going to upset her with this news.' She told me that it was inc.u.mbent upon me to keep very secret anything having to do with Gladys being in Marilyn's life. She said, 'This is a secret we have been trying to keep for years, and we expect you to act with great discretion where this is concerned because the studio will otherwise be very upset with the sanitarium.' I didn't know what she meant by that and before I had a chance to ask, she hung up. Eventually, I tracked down Gladys's other daughter, Berniece. She was a lot more sympathetic, but even she said she was not going to give Marilyn the news. 'I don't think she could handle it right now,' she told me. Then she told me to contact Fox's publicity department. That made no sense to me. If I was supposed to keep this a secret, why would I call the studio's publicity department? It felt like no one knew what they were doing... so I dropped it."

When Gladys was finally returned to the sanitarium, she remained heavily sedated for many weeks, never leaving her room. Much later, when she was no longer sedated, she was taken on an outing. Rose Anne Cooper recalled, "A group of women-including Gladys-had been authorized to leave the premises with two nurses as chaperones in order that they may shop for some personal items at a local drugstore. At one point, a nurse realized that Gladys was missing."

A frantic search commenced to find Gladys. Luckily, a half hour later, they found her sitting at a bus stop. Gladys explained that she was headed to Kentucky. "I need to find my children," she said. "My husband has kidnapped my children."

Returning to the Safety of Sinatra.

In the months following her release from the hospital, Marilyn Monroe reconciled with the man she now considered a savior, Joe DiMaggio. Both decided, however, not to make their relationship official but rather to keep it informal and without strings. Over the years, it has been reported in biographies that the two planned to wed again. It simply isn't true. In fact, a major obstacle between them was that Marilyn was interested in reviving her career at this time, and Joe was still steadfastly against her having one. No one in Marilyn's life at the time felt she was going to revisit that problem with him. It would only be many years after the fact that certain people who didn't know her well began to speculate that she would have remarried DiMaggio. As we will later see, she even began to date Frank Sinatra again during this time, so clearly she wasn't thinking of marrying Joe. Moreover, none of the baseball great's friends or a.s.sociates interviewed for this book felt that he was interested in another marriage to her, either. However, that said, he had definitely changed in certain ways. Whereas in their marriage he was cold and distant and even abusive, now he was caring and loving and seemed to want to do whatever he could to make her happy. He told her that if he had been her a few years back, he would have divorced him, too. Moreover, he said that it was because of a psychotherapist that Marilyn had recommended that he was able to become a better and more well-adjusted person. Still, at times he could be alarmingly possessive and-as in old times-jealous of the attention she received everywhere they went together. Also, he was still quite invasive of her privacy. For instance, according to Berniece Miracle, he would go through her trash, looking for receipts to see just how much she had paid for certain items. Always the penny-pincher, if he thought the amount was too high, he would angrily confront her about it, receipt in hand. Inevitably, Marilyn would s.n.a.t.c.h the paper from his hand and tell him to mind his own business. "How dare you go through my trash!" she'd say, very upset. This exchange usually ended in a loud argument. Marilyn tried her best to ignore such moments, but it was difficult for her.

In March 1961, the couple took a relaxing vacation to a secluded resort in Redington Beach, Florida. Marilyn certainly needed the break. Just before they left, she became very upset about an article that was published that quoted Kay Gable (wrongly, as it would happen) saying that she believed Marilyn was responsible for her husband's death. "John [Springer, Marilyn's publicist] told me, 'Do not send this to Marilyn, whatever you do. If she sees this, I don't know what she'll do,' " said Diane Stevens. " 'So, just send it over to Aaron [Frosch, her lawyer.]' That's what I did. Then, somehow or another, Marilyn saw the clipping. I think she was in Aaron's office and it was on his desk. She became unglued over it. 'How dare you keep this from me!' she asked me on the phone. 'I need to know what is going on. I'm the only one who doesn't know what the h.e.l.l is going on! You tell John that I am very, very angry about this. I should fire him over this.' I tried to explain that we were just concerned about her, but she didn't want to hear it. 'G.o.d d.a.m.n it,' she said. 'Everyone is so concerned about poor, screwed up Marilyn. Poor, poor Marilyn is going cuckoo and can't handle her own press. I don't want to hear it. I just don't want to hear another word about it. I just don't want to hear another word about it.' Then she slammed the phone down. By that time, I was shaking. I told John and he called her right away. Then she let him have it. It was clear that she was very much on edge and not well at all."

Shortly after, Marilyn received a letter from Kay Gable. It was clear that Gable did not blame Marilyn for her husband's death. In the letter, dated April 11, 1961, she wrote, "I miss Clark each day more, I'll never get over this great loss, but G.o.d has blessed me with my three great children and precious memories.... Went to confession after 24 years (hope the priest did not call the cops), seriously, you do not know how much this has helped me." Marilyn would soon visit Kay as well; there were certainly not hard feelings from Kay, though that didn't seem to a.s.suage Marilyn's own sense of guilt.

At the end of April, Marilyn decided to take another apartment in Los Angeles. It was then that she learned the news that her friend Pat Kennedy Lawford was pregnant with her fourth child. "I remember Pat saying, 'I don't even know how to tell Marilyn this news, considering what's going on in her life. I'm afraid it'll make her even sadder,' " said a relative of Pat's. " 'I already have three kids. She just wants one.' Of course, she had no choice but to tell her when Marilyn was back in Los Angeles. By that time she was about six months pregnant. She told me later that when Marilyn laid eyes on her, she jumped into the air with excitement. Then she wrapped her arms around Pat and started to cry, she was so happy. It added another dimension, I think, to Pat's friendship with Marilyn when she realized that Marilyn was able to put aside her own sadness, at least in the moment, and share in Pat's joy. She told me, 'I think she's a wonderful woman and would make such a great mother. I pray every night that she has a child soon. I know it would change her life if she had someone else to be worried about.' "

During this time, as mentioned earlier, Marilyn rekindled her romance with Frank Sinatra. It's not known how Joe DiMaggio felt about Marilyn and Frank, or even if it mattered. Clearly, Joe and Marilyn had an understanding about their relationship as it stood at this time, because Marilyn would likely not have been dating Frank if Joe had strenuously objected to it. For his part, though he was dating Juliet Prowse at the time, Frank was still attracted to Marilyn and, according to those who knew them well, couldn't resist her. "He was in love with her, no doubt about it," said Milt Ebbins, who was a good friend of Sinatra's and also vice president of Peter Lawford's production company, Chrislaw.

"By 1961, though, his feeling about her was more protective than pa.s.sionate. I remember that there was an incident involving President Kennedy, who was new in office at the time. Peter and I arranged a luncheon for Kennedy, and Frank was invited. We had a special chef flown in from New York to cook fettuccine Alfredo, veal picatta, and a salad and ice cream at the end. Sinatra's secretary called at the last minute and said he couldn't make it, that he had a cold. I was astonished. This is JFK. He can't stand up JFK. I knew Frank loved that guy, had campaigned for him, organized his inaugural entertainment, so it seemed strange. I found out later that what happened was that Marilyn was staying with him for the weekend and had left the house without telling him where she was going. He was frantic with worry. So he spent the day driving around trying to find her, and he did. She was out shopping. So that shows you how much he cared about her, if he was willing to miss a luncheon with the president so that he could figure out what the h.e.l.l happened to Marilyn."

Rupert Allan confirmed, "I always thought of Frank and Marilyn as star-crossed lovers. In a different time and place, they would have been together. He loved her a lot. However, by 1961, she was in so much turmoil, I think he was annoyed with her a lot of the time. He just thought she should have worked harder to pull it together so, yes, sometimes she p.i.s.sed him off. Also, Sinatra certainly didn't want to be involved with anyone who would be considered weak or vulnerable."

Indeed, women like Marilyn were usually too much trouble for him. He liked his "dames" to have more inner strength and self-reliance, like Ava Gardner and his mother, Dolly Sinatra, both of whom represented his ideal of the total woman. He often didn't have the patience necessary to deal with someone as conflicted as Marilyn. Just recently released from a mental hospital, Marilyn was not on sure footing when she was with Sinatra, and he wasn't exactly tolerant with her. For instance, at one gathering at his home, Marilyn began to become emotional, was sharing sad childhood stories to guests. She seemed on the verge of an intense crying jag, only to be cut off by Frank. "Look, Norma Jeane," he said, "we don't want to hear it. Toughen up, baby, or get the h.e.l.l out. I ain't no babysitter." She got up and bolted to her bedroom.

Some people in Sinatra's circle thought that the only reason he was with her was because he felt sorry for her. "If Marilyn Monroe wanted s.e.x, and she did constantly to make herself feel desirable, Mr. S. would play Sir Galahad and rise to the occasion," said his longtime valet, George Jacobs. "He would rarely turn a good friend down. It fit in with his padrone self-image to give rather than receive. [However,] Mr. S. had a ton of misgivings about Marilyn. She was a total mess."

People who were in his circle back then still talk about what happened on June 7, 1961-six days after her thirty-fifth birthday-when Frank invited Marilyn to Las Vegas. He was appearing at the Sands and was also planning a party for Dean Martin's forty-fourth birthday that day. From the Sands interdepartmental correspondence between Jack Entratter, president; Al Guzman, publicity director; and Al Freeman, advertising and promotional director, we can glean that there was a great deal of preparation for the Dean Martin party, some of it concerning Monroe and Sinatra.

One memo, from Entratter to Guzman and Freeman, dated June 6, 1961, states, "Please be advised that under no circ.u.mstances is any backstage photographer permitted to photograph Mr. Sinatra and Miss Marilyn Monroe together at the c.o.c.ktail reception to follow the performance on 7 June. Any photographer who attempts to do so will be permanently barred from the hotel. Be advised that this is not only a Sands requirement, it is a requirement of Mr. Sinatra's and, as such, will be absolutely enforced. Thank you."

Another memo, from Entratter to "All Concerned," also dated June 6, 1961, states, "Marilyn Monroe will be Mr. Sinatra's guest. It is Mr. Frank Sinatra's intention that Miss Monroe be accorded the utmost privacy during her brief stay here at the Sands. She will be registered in Mr. Sinatra's suite. Under no circ.u.mstances is she or Mr. Sinatra to be disturbed by telephone calls or visitors before 2 p.m."

Marilyn's friend Pat Kennedy Lawford brought her sister, Jean Smith, to Vegas for the opening night. It's not known whether Pat was aware of what was going on between Marilyn and Frank. Pat and Jean spent the day with Marilyn, getting facials and manicures while gossiping, so perhaps Marilyn mentioned it. "Pat told me she was most concerned about Marilyn," says Pat Brennan. "She said she was already pouring herself gla.s.ses of champagne by noon. Pat was a drinker, too, but at least she waited until c.o.c.ktail hour. In Vegas, though, Pat wasn't drinking at all because she was eight months pregnant. 'When you're not drinking,' she told me, 'you see what everyone else is like when they're loaded, and it's not pretty.' " According to what Kennedy Lawford relayed to Brennan, she pulled Marilyn aside and told her that she believed her drinking was getting out of hand. "Marilyn, as your friend, I think you should know that when you're drunk you're not very becoming." At first, Marilyn was insulted. But after a few moments, she seemed to realize that Pat was right. "It's the only way I can keep the voices in my head from getting too loud," she told her. Pat's reaction to that startling admission is not known, but likely she was concerned. However, it didn't stop her and Marilyn's good time.

Pat had her two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Victoria with her in Las Vegas. Her other three children were to arrive the next day. She was having them carted by stretch limousine from California to Nevada. That day after their beauty treatments, Marilyn and Pat took Victoria gambling. Of course, children weren't allowed in the casino, but overlooking this rule was the least of the perks afforded the Kennedys whenever they were in Vegas. To Marilyn's fascination, Pat sat the little girl right on top of the blackjack table and said, "Okay, here's the deal. If I lose, I'm leaving this kid right here. But if I win, I'll take her as my prize." She sat down and played a hand, with Marilyn standing directly behind her. When she lost, she said, "Okay, that's it. You get the kid." And she rose and walked away. "But Pat... Pat! Pat!" Marilyn shouted after her, very alarmed. Of course, Pat turned around and retrieved her daughter. "She loved doing things like that just to get a reaction from Marilyn," said Pat Brennan. "She liked to keep it light and easy when she was with Marilyn because she knew Marilyn had so much sadness in her life."

Also present for Sinatra's Las Vegas opening that evening were Elizabeth Taylor and her husband Eddie Fisher, as well as, of course, the birthday boy Dean and Jeanne Martin, with whom Monroe sat. "What can I say about Marilyn that night?" Eddie Fisher remarked. "We all knew that she was having a thing with Sinatra, so it was definitely hands off. But she was so drunk that night, I can tell you that she was an embarra.s.sment to him. It wasn't good."

"She was beautiful, a vision with a great smile, lots of teased blonde hair, and a dress that was so low-cut you couldn't take your eyes off her bosom," said a Las Vegas photojournalist who, along with a photographer for Wide World Photos, was one of the few reporters granted access to the opening-night party in Sinatra's suite. "From a distance, it was wow, she's a knockout. But up close it was... oh, no, she's knocked out! She didn't look well, and she also acted very strangely. She seemed a little crazy to me.

"At the party, I remember her whining, 'Oh, Frankie, c'mon, let's make out for the photographers. I love you, Frankie. I want the whole world to know.' I remember that she was standing behind him and had her hands around his waist, almost as if she was leaning on him for support."

According to the journalist, when Frank pulled away rather than be photographed with her, Marilyn almost lost her balance. After giving her a concerned look, he told one of his bodyguards, "Keep an eye on her. I don't like the way she's wobblin'. Let me know if she faints, or something."

The reporter continued, "Marilyn still wanted a picture taken with Frank. She sidled over to him like a kitten and motioned my photographer with her index finger, indicating that he should take the shot while Sinatra wasn't looking. She was being very playful and coy.

"Just as my photographer was about to take the picture, Frank's bodyguard grabbed the camera. He gave it to Frank and whispered something in his ear. Then Frank walked to where we were standing and hissed, 'Next time you try that, I'll crack your skull open with this G.o.dd.a.m.n camera, the both of ya.' I remember that he talked out of the corner of his mouth, like a gangster.

"At that moment, Marilyn came over and, with wild eyes, said, 'Frankie, I'm gonna throw up.' He looked alarmed and said, 'When?' and she said, 'Now. Right now. I mean it, Frankie. I'm gonna throw up I'm gonna throw up.' He said, 'Oh, Jesus Christ, Marilyn, not again.' And he got her out of there, quick."

Elizabeth Taylor, who happened to be standing right next to the reporter, observed the entire scene. Afterward, she turned to the photojournalist and said, "Marilyn shouldn't drink if she can't hold her liquor. Now, me," she added, sounding confident, "I know how to hold my liquor." With that, Elizabeth flashed her famous violet eyes and threw back a martini. However, when she saw that the reporter had written her comment on his notepad, she grabbed the pad out of his hand, smacked him playfully on the back of the head with it, and said, "Now, know how to hold my liquor." With that, Elizabeth flashed her famous violet eyes and threw back a martini. However, when she saw that the reporter had written her comment on his notepad, she grabbed the pad out of his hand, smacked him playfully on the back of the head with it, and said, "Now, that that was strictly off the record, buster." was strictly off the record, buster."

A Reunion with Berniece.

At the end of June 1961, Marilyn was diagnosed with gallstones and an inflamed gallbladder. There seemed no end to the physical and emotional crises she was facing at this time. The operation on June 29 was successful. Joe DiMaggio was at her bedside when she awakened, looking down at her with devotion. It was decided that her half sister, Berniece, would come to New York and be present for Marilyn's recovery. Joe wasn't particularly happy about it, though. Marilyn would later learn that he was very suspicious of Berniece and her husband. "What if they want money from you?" he asked Marilyn. "I think that's what's going on here." His suspicion was shared by Marilyn's secretary, May Reis, who was now back on the job with Marilyn. Marilyn couldn't believe Joe would think such a thing about Berniece. "I've known her a lot longer than you," she told him angrily. "And besides, if she did want my money, she can have it. What am I going to do with it when I'm gone?"

Despite Joe's ambivalence about Berniece, Marilyn seemed almost desperate to reconnect with her after her gallbladder operation. Therefore, as soon as Marilyn was released from the hospital, Berniece flew to New York from Florida and checked into the Park Sheraton Hotel, where she was to await a phone call from May. When told the coast was clear of reporters, Berniece was to take a cab to Marilyn's apartment on East 57th Street. Berniece's husband had been against the visit. He was always very strange when it came to the subject of Marilyn. He wanted to be around her as much as possible-thus his recent trip to see her behind his wife's back-but didn't seem to want Berniece to have time with her. For his part, Joe was also unhappy about the sisterly plans-for his own reasons, having to do with Marilyn's money, but also because he was afraid that Berniece might go to the press with details about his and Marilyn's life together. Berniece knew better, of course. Still, it had to bother her that, after all of this time, Marilyn kept reminding her not to talk to the press. It didn't escape Berniece that Marilyn still concluded every telephone conversation with that very warning.

When Berniece arrived at Marilyn's thirteenth-floor apartment, she was greeted by May Reis. May could not have been more chilly. However, it would seem that Berniece took her aloof att.i.tude to be professional rather than rude. When Marilyn appeared, the reunion was noisy and exciting. "I can't believe you're finally here," Marilyn squealed. "Finally! We're together again!" After embracing, they stood back and took a long look at each other. They'd known each other since they were young women. Now Marilyn was thirty-five and Berniece forty-one. However, both agreed that they'd only gotten better with age, even though Marilyn was clearly weak from the surgery and not at all well. She was wearing a cream-colored summer dress and high-heeled sandals. She'd had her hair styled before leaving the hospital because she knew she'd be photographed on her way out and wanted to look her best. So when she saw her half sister, she looked very put together.

Marilyn's life was anything but ordinary, and Berniece must have gleaned as much when she learned that the first order of business every day for Marilyn's maid, Lena Pepitone, was to hand wash the beige lace bra Marilyn had worn the previous day. When recalling this visit, Pepitone had an interesting observation about Berniece-whom she described as being "blonde, even blonder naturally than Marilyn... slightly shorter and thinner, yet her figure was definitely on the voluptuous side": "In a way, Berniece seemed far shyer than Marilyn, who was now in an outgoing phase. All the hustle and glitter of Manhattan seemed to scare Berniece. She seemed in a daze, caused by New York as well as Marilyn.... Yet the way Marilyn sat at attention holding Berniece's hand and listening to every detail about where Berniece shopped in Florida, what she cooked, how she ran her home, and raised her sons [Note: Berniece did not have sons, just a daughter] made me think that Marilyn could easily be tempted to trade in all her fame and become a housewife, too."

After just a few days with her, Berniece was concerned about all of the drugs Marilyn was taking. People who were around her all the time had grown accustomed to the constant pill-taking, which usually resulted in unsure footing about an hour or so later. She was never quite coherent. She always seemed a little... off. Marilyn's friends and daily a.s.sociates were used to this troubling demeanor, but newcomers were always stunned by it.

Every night, Marilyn's doctor would come by the house to check on her. This, too, was odd. Every night? Was that really necessary? During each visit, Marilyn would fix him a stiff drink, which he enjoyed-again, odd. Then he would begin to dispense all sorts of pills to Marilyn in what could only be considered "generous" quant.i.ties. Sometimes he would give her an injection of who-knows-what, but she definitely enjoyed its effect on her. Berniece seized the opportunity, while the doctor was present, to ask him about the pills. "Truly, does she need all of these sleeping pills?" Berniece asked him. "This is extreme, don't you think?" The doctor didn't have time to answer before Marilyn glanced at her sharply. "Yes, I do do need these pills," she said, her temper quickly rising. " need these pills," she said, her temper quickly rising. "I need my sleep. So, the answer is So, the answer is yes, yes, Berniece. That's the answer Berniece. That's the answer. Yes." There was an awkward silence. After a moment, the doctor continued with his offering of different pharmaceuticals without missing a beat.