Page 19 of The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe

“MR. SCHENCK NEVER so much as lays a finger on my wrist, or tries to,” Marilyn tells Whitey Snyder as she sits in his makeup chair, getting ready for another night at the mansion in Holmby Hills.

“He’s interested in me because I am a good table ornament and because I am what he calls an ‘off-beat’ personality. ”

Marilyn, you have an electric quality, Schenck has told her. You sparkle and bubble like a fountain.

“What’s it like, being in a fancy place like that?” Snyder asks.

“The food is very good,” Marilyn laughs, but she knows her friend won’t be satisfied with that answer.

“I like sitting around the fireplace with Mr. Schenck and hearing him talk about love and sex. He is full of wisdom on these subjects, like some great explorer.”

Snyder believes Marilyn.

Sid Skolsky doesn’t.

In the car, he gives her a stern lecture. The rumor mill is churning with gossip that she’s one of Joe Schenck’s girls.

“I’m not one of his girls,” she replies. “I am his girl.”

Come February 1947, against all the odds, Fox renews Marilyn’s contract.

This time it’s going to be different, she feels. This time when she runs her red fingernail down the Friday call list, she will see her name.

For someone who hasn’t set foot on a sound stage since her screen test, who has yet to be cast and cut, her confidence is bold. But she does start getting some tiny parts.

The Shocking Miss Pilgrim stars Betty Grable. Marilyn plays a telephone operator. It’s not really a part—only a single shot—but anyone who’s looking will see her.

As Marilyn writes to her half sister, Berniece, “For heaven’s sake, don’t blink or you’ll miss me!”

She’s next booked for a two-day shoot in Scudda Hoo! Scudda Hay! The rural romantic comedy follows half brothers who argue about how best to raise mules as they compete for the affections of the same woman.

Marilyn’s first scene is two seconds of her saying “Hi” to 20th Century-Fox star June Haver and eight-year-old newcomer Natalie Wood. Most of her second scene gets cut—only a background shot of her helping to paddle a canoe remains. Marilyn’s name doesn’t make the credits.

She is cast again, in Dangerous Years, as a waitress named Eve.

This time, she gets a few lines of sharp dialogue and a chance to show some comic timing in how she holds a tray and executes a half turn with a flick of her long blond hair.

When the credits roll at the film’s premiere in December 1947, the name Marilyn Monroe does appear, fourteenth of sixteen credited actors.

Maybe the parties, the highballs, and the gin rummy are worth it? Maybe she can play the Hollywood game.

Marilyn entertains Whitey Snyder with tales of her run-ins with predatory men.

“In Hollywood, we have to work overtime to outwit the wolves,” she says. “That’s because wolves of all varieties come from far and near to snare the Little Red Riding Hoods of the movies.”

It seems that every night a man is giving her a line, trying to get her into bed.

Take last night, for instance.

“ I’ve always gone for blondes with brown eyes, ” Marilyn mimics a man who claimed he couldn’t stop thinking about her and why. “ I fall quick when I meet one. That’s why I can’t wait to see you again, so I’ll be right over. ”

“You don’t even have brown eyes!” Whitey laughs, as he curls Marilyn’s lashes.

Fortunately, her protector, Joe Schenck, is not a demanding guy. He’s kind to her, buys her expensive clothes. She chooses a new black dress for an evening at his mansion.

Tonight, Schenck is seated at the head of the long table poolside. On either side of him Marilyn spots two dangerous characters, men who clearly have serious business to discuss.

Handsome Johnny Roselli—the Hollywood point person for the Mob’s Chicago Outfit—is on parole after being convicted of racketeering and extortion during his wartime service in the US Army.

Pasquale “Pat” DiCicco is an actor, talent agent, producer, and part-time mobster, who famously married railroad heiress Gloria Vanderbilt.

The bride was only seventeen years old and rumors of abuse quickly spread.

“He could be in a room full of people and have everybody laughing. He was just funny. He was also scary. And I was very scared of him when I married him,” said Vanderbilt of DiCicco, whom she divorced only four years after their 1941 society wedding.

Marilyn turns toward the pool. Splashing in the water are girls she’s never seen before, each one more beautiful than the next.

“I was hoping I’d see you here coming tonight.”

Marilyn turns around to see her modeling friend June.

“Can you believe all these girls?” June asks through a tight smile.

“They’re all amazing,” Marilyn says. “Where did they find them all?”

“The brothels downtown,” June says bluntly, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Sorry. That sounds meaner than I meant it. But I need your help.” She takes hold of Marilyn’s arm and squeezes it intensely. “I’m having a therapeutic abortion.”

“A therapeutic —?” Marilyn repeats, certain she’s misunderstood.

“Consequences of late nights.” She looks around knowingly. “I need two hundred dollars by Monday.”

Marilyn unclips her purse. “I have a hundred.”

A week’s wages. She has her rent to pay and a flat tire on her car, and she has nothing to eat at home. But Marilyn knows what it is like to go through life without kindness. June needs kindness now.

“You’re an angel,” says June, taking the money.

“Good luck.”

Over at the poolside table, Schenck and DiCicco are so intent on their conversation that neither of them looks up as Marilyn approaches.

“Can I fix anyone a drink? A highball?”

“No,” declares DiCicco, his face twisting as he shares the fate of the man Marilyn met on her first night at the mansion, the one who invited her to Las Vegas on the day after Christmas.

“Bugsy Siegel is dead. He was sitting in his own house, minding his own business, reading the LA Times, when they shot him.”

“I told him not to get involved with the Flamingo,” Schenck says.

“They thought he’d skimmed the money,” DiCicco says, rubbing his forehead in disbelief.

“The million-dollar building overspend! They thought he’d stolen it.

Lined his pockets, given it to his girlfriend.

Imagine bushwhacking one of this country’s finest hitmen from behind a hedge? There’s nothing fair about that.”

“They shot the crap out of Bacchus too,” adds Schenck. “That big white marble statue of the god of wine he kept on the grand piano. It’s riddled with bullets.”

“So is Bugsy, as it turns out.”

Both men shake their heads slowly. Johnny Roselli does the same.

“It’s a shame for Bugsy.” DiCicco sniffs, then snaps his fingers. “Hey, Marilyn, be a doll and fix us all a drink.”