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

9am

9:00am

Black, Anglo-American glasses hung from her large, middle aged ears, as she forked the dry soil. Her lips were thin and were of a light red color, she clamped them together as she stared at the soil which spread across the cold terracotta tiles. High in the sky, the suns heat grew more intense, the blue sky grew lighter and the trees absorbed the sunlight, as they swayed in the light breeze.

Leaves floated in the cool water of the swimming pool, Eunice continued to dig holes in the soil and fill them with colorful plants. The large palm tress provided little specks of shade, as the tiles grew hotter and absorbed the heat. She wore a white blouse and a flowery shawl while she placed another plant into its desired hole.

Marilyn lay peacefully in her bedroom, catching up on lost sleep. White walls provided a bleak contrast to the colorful Marilyn who tossed in the equally white sheets. A reddish brown earthen jug stood on the on the chest of draws on it there was an inscription which read as “Un recuerdo de mexico” which she was given after her visit to the tropical land in the south. Mexico, was a harsh contrast to the pruned streets of Brentwood; there she felt as though she’d escaped from the world she lived in, she met many interesting characters and her love for communism grew stronger. She reveled in the idea of equality, no more working your way up; couch to couch. Those at the head of the communist party were different, they didn’t look at her as a sexual stimulant, but as a human, as an equal.

Beams of light shone in from the roughly closed curtains, her hair luminous in the early morning glare. On the floor lay a cacophony of books, under the table, on the wooden chest of draws, pushed to the window. Their text controversial, of the equality she longed for, of Russia, of the soviet, of the enemy.  

***

She lay silently in the small room, on her bed. The white bungalow, was a kind contrast to her previous location, there she was strictly raised by the Bolenders. Religion was a serious matter to the Bolenders, they were devout, they made little Norma promise not to drink or swear, to follow god and his holy attributes.

But now she had escaped, it wasn’t that she did not like the Bolenders, it was that they didn’t let her dream, they refused to allow her to dance and sing as she longed to, or to wish of life "more interesting than the one I had."

Ida Bolender was a kind lady, however somewhat imposing. She would often say to young Norma “Now remember I’m not your mother”, but Norma didn’t need reminding, she knew her mother "the lady with red hair" who she used to come and visit every Saturday. However, now she was with her mother constantly. They lived on a small estate, with green lawns and pruned hedges.

She watched the cars go by, along the winding road, past bungalows similar to the one she lived in. The sun was bright, and so Norma squinted, so she could continue to watch without the painful glare. Her head poked out through the gap in the net curtains, her tousled brown hair unable to get through.

No more cars travelled along the winding road and so Norma turned away from the glass and back into the darker room. As she turned she noticed the door was ajar, a fresh faced man looked in at her. He was a lodger, an English man, who stayed in the house with his wife. They worked in the pictures, which her mother would cut. He opened the door, and walked in.

Norma looked up from the beige, teddy she was stroking and regard him un-easily. He rested the palms of his hands on the wooden footboard.

“Hello, Norma” he said gently, staring at her with intent.

She didn’t reply, she clutched her teddy closer watching the man before her with wide eyes. He walked around, and sat on the end of the bed, and stroked her outstretched legs. She reacted, quickly pulling in her legs holding them close to her chest, the teddy being crushed between them. She tucked her head in the gap between her knees and body, hoping that if she could not see him, he could not see her.

It was all to no avail, he picked her up and rested her on his lap. He stroked her hair. Ran his finger down her spine. Caressed her tear stained cheek.

***

Marilyn awoke, her eyes wide terrified, the room was light, no cars passed by the window. No net curtains hung from a cheap wooden rail. She was safe, alone. Her blond hair, messy after tossing and turning, her eyes red due to lack of sleep, the table covered with books, tissues, a lamp and tablets. The carpet and walls white, reality swept back into her mind, she was away from history, from the past and back in the present. Back to peace.