Marilyn & Me Read Online Free Page B

her shielding Marilyn from the vulture-like photographers who gathered around when she emerged from that psychiatric hospital in New York. I was having a hard time reconciling these two images. With me, Marilyn seemed so tough anddetermined, and yet she needed so much medical care. It was as if she was a wounded animal constantly looking for a way out of the darkness.
    “Well, Marilyn,” I said, standing up, “you’re already famous. Now you’re gonna make
me
famous.”
    “Don’t be so cocky,” she replied, wiping the smile off my face. “Photographers can be easily replaced.”
    I looked over at Pat, who was finally smiling. “Larry,” Pat said as I made my way out the door, “don’t forget that Marilyn has approval of all your photographs.”

    I was driving home when it occurred to me to wonder about Billy Woodfield. Had Marilyn or Pat also talked to Globe? Had they made a deal with Woodfield too? And then there was Jimmy Mitchell, the studio photographer. What would happen with his photos? Marilyn didn’t want a situation with a lot of different photographers milling around the set, but there were going to be three of us shooting there at the same time. Three sets of photos. That meant that none of us would have exclusivity. The value would increase only if there was just one set of photographs.
    Day and night, all I could think about was how I could get better shots of Marilyn than Woodfield or Mitchell. As a photojournalist, I was there to tell a story as much as to capture an image, and once we started shooting, I knew my competitive instincts would kick in and I’d get my shots.But the business side of me knew that Marilyn Monroe had not appeared nude since some calendar shots of her were published in 1952, and that if she was willing to show the world her body at age thirty-five, then those pictures would be worth a fortune—if only one person could control the market, that is.

    Knowing that I needed time to ingratiate myself, I got to the set a few days before the shooting of the pool sequence. Each motion picture was like a new love affair. A friend of mine once described them as “short sweet love stories.” I started my assignment by shooting Marilyn with her entourage and Dean Martin. They were decent shots and a good warm-up for me to get known around the set and, little by little, zero in on Marilyn. In the afternoon Pat Newcomb arrived and began clowning around with Martin. In between setups I had an opportunity to be in Marilyn’s dressing room, even though I was not part of her entourage of Agnes, Whitey, and Paula Strasberg, the wife of Marilyn’s drama coach, Lee Strasberg.

    Marilyn had two dressing rooms on the lot, one on the set and one in a bungalow next to the studio commissary. In the bungalow, where Paula practiced lines of dialogue withMarilyn, I captured their relationship. Marilyn would often sprawl out on the couch wearing a white robe, her bare legs tucked up under her. One day, she sat there as Paula walked into my frame to put something on the coffee table. It was already covered with food and a cake. The composition was perfect, and I pressed the shutter release. The picture said it all: Paula was there to serve Marilyn.

    Paula Strasberg was an enigma to me. She was there, but she was always in the background. Marilyn needed her advice and had insisted that the studio hire her as a personal acting coach. Since Marilyn couldn’t have Lee Strasberg on set, because he was working with needy actors in New York, his wife, Paula, would do as an extension of him. Paula was like a Svengali to Marilyn. At work, her mother hen, her shadow. She never left Marilyn’s side. She seemed to be able to anticipate her moods and desires. Paula believed in Marilyn, and that allowed Marilyn to believe that she could become a great actress. Directors feared Paula because Marilyn didn’t listen to them and listened to Strasberg instead. Every time I saw Paula, she was wearing a black cape