Diamonds Were A Girl's Best Friend - Marilyn Monroe Bio/Fic

8am

"Leave bobby alone you bitch"

"I'm sorry...I"

"He doesn't need you, he doesn't love you, leave him alone"

Through the small holes in the cream telephone, Marilyn, could hear a high monotone note resonating through the plastic. The woman was gone. It had been the 7th phone call she had received that morning, and it wouldn't be the last.

She reached out her hand and rummaged through a mass of pill bottles, some full, some half empty. She looked through the pile of bottles, searching for something that might wake her up. She lay naked, a white duvet clung to her skin, wrapping itself around her as she dragged her body across the mattress towards, the small, dark brown table. She found the bottle she was looking for, it was filled with small white pills, of a circular shape.

She was tired. Last night she had, had little sleep, and when her body finally succumbed to the pills, she was re-awoken by an angry woman ringing her telephone. She poured the contents of the bottle out onto her pale hand, she murmured to herself that 'bobby does love her' as a reassurance.

"He loves me, and he's going to leave his wife and come to me, and we'll be happy" she said as a way to coerce herself into believing it. She knew it was true however, he had told her himself; she was to be his new wife.

She was child like a she swallowed the two pills, her eyes glazed, and her hair messy.

She un-tangled herself from the white duvet, getting frustrated as she rolled around the bed to no avail. She let out a deep little sigh, slid across the bed and stood up.

The duvet fell to the floor and clustered at her feet, like deep snow. She looked remembering the times she'd seen the snow. She admired it, the way it was free and floated round blissfully. She stepped out of the creased duvet and picked up an equally white toweled night gown. She wrapped it around her body carefully and stared at the pile books with a dark brown leather bag on top of them. The door was unlocked so she found ease in opening quietly. She didn't want to wake Pat, her press secretary who was sleeping in the spare bedroom, as she knew the pains of a lack of sleep. She walked slowly and quietly as the pain pulsed at the top of her head due to the indulgent, drinking of alcohol the night before. The phone began to ring she cursed and ran to her bedroom and quickly answered the phone.

"Hello" Marilyn says, tired yet awake. 

"Hello, darling, are you okay?" Asked Mr. Kennedy cool and un-caring

"Of course, why? I'm a little sleepy but apart from that fine" Marilyn replied, pushing her fake, breathy voice through realizing who had phoned her.

"Oh good, have you gotten any phone calls?" he asked, stressing the latter phrase. He put it firmly with strength, clearly needing an answer.

"What's with all the questions” her voice became raised, she was angry with the sheer lack of concern he was showing, she knew he didn't care.

"I just"

"What do you want John, I thought you'd had enough of me" she cut him off, irate, moaning down at him on the phone. Letting out all the anger, she felt for him, and which had built up that morning, with all the mysterious phone calls and the lack of sleep.

"Darling, I couldn't go on with it" he responds truthfully, but back to his cold, smooth voiced self.

"I know, have you heard from Bobby he's not answering the telephone" she replies, with urgency 

"No, No I haven't" 

"Well if you do tell him I need to speak with him"

"Alright, sweetheart" he says. 

"Don't call me that Johnny, I've got to go" her voice slightly breaks, she nostalgic, she still holds something for him, but that bond is weak and worn. 

"Marilyn please"

"No, I have to go John, bye"

"Goodbye, darling"

She hung up, before he could protest again. She'd had enough of him, he didn't care for her, only for her body. She thought that he'd of been different being the president an' all, but it wasn't the case he was just as bad as the men, at the casting couch, all they wanted was sex. 

Marilyn hated sex, she often wondered why any woman liked it. She only ever had sex with people to connect with them, by having sex she knew she could keep them, without it everything fell apart. However, with it, relationships were ruined, how could she love anybody who'd had sex with her. 

"Bobby" she asked sweetly, once again with her trademark breathy, sensual voice. 

"Honey what is it" he asks, with real concern.

"I've had phone calls, telling me to leave you alone" she says worriedly, breaking into a state of anxiety wrapping the white sheet around her once again. 

"Oh..."

"Was it your wife, I thought you were going to leave her" she becomes angry once again, but, with an underlying note of worry.

"Well about that"

"What bobby, you do love me don't you" she tests him; needy for his comforting 'I love you' that makes her feel safe.

"Of course, I just have to talk to you" he pushes. 

"Yes" she replies, urging him to speak. 

"Well, can I come to your place?" he says firmly, eager for a reply he can make sense of. 

"Yeah, sure what time?" she pushes, her fake voice back to sweeten him.

"I dunno, 'bout 8" he replies, his accent strong. 

"Alright, I'll see you then baby" she replies happily, looking forward to seeing him.

"Okay, darling, bye" he replies coolly, 

"Bye, I love you Bobby" she says, trying to make him feel guilty, for forgetting to say he loves her. She lies on the floor waiting for the response, wrapped in the white sheet, pulled from the bed. 

"Bye, love you too" he says, un-easily.

She stares up at the plain ceiling, saddened by his lack of compassion, he's only compassionate in bed she thought.

***

Sitting on the tree line, the sun shone brightly, illuminating Marilyn’s white hair. She sat alone, wrapped in a loose, white toweled dressing gown. On the dirty-orange tiles beneath her, sat a big jug full a mixture of fruit juices. She carefully poured the juice, into a high ball glass, and reveled in the sound of it sloshing around in the cup. Her toes splashed, in the chlorinated water of the swimming pool, and she watched as the ripples swam along the smooth surface of the blue pool. She sipped the orange juice happily, watching as the sun rose high into the light, almost white, blue sky. She felt happy, as the sun caressed her face with warmth and kissed her legs, browning them. 

For now all was bliss.