Method of Desire

Chapter 61

Every now and again I'd write James, and he'd write back talking about his life. By 1955 he and Marlon cemented their careers and were often out in California together.

They mixed and mingled with stars, and Marlon had another man under his belt.

Montgomery Clift.

I was baffled, I was always under the impression he was dating Elizabeth Taylor. James wrote to me that Montgomery's door didn't swing both ways unlike he and Marlon— and that the studio thought it was necessary to arrange Montgomery and Liz to date.

But one specific letter got me to worry, he wrote a poem and sent it in the mail to me.

Being an actor is the loneliest thing in the world. The stage is like a religion you dedicate yourself to and then suddenly you find that you don't have time to see friends and it's not for them to understand you don't have anybody. You're all alone with your concentration and your imagination and that's all you have. You're an actor.

by James Dean

I wanted to reach out to James, I really did. But I was busy trying to find work in the school system. Days passed, then weeks, and I never called.

I hoped he'd finally see his friends. I hoped Marlon was treating him nicely. Marlon. He'd gained a significant amount of weight since last I saw him. Yet he still had that grip on James, I looked at a photo featured in a magazine of the two.

I wouldn't never thought that he would've done it. James always loved racing, he always loved cars and motorcycles.

When I saw that James had been in an accident of September of 1955, I knew better than to think it was an accident.

I screamed in the apartment, falling to the floor. Paul ran in antically, honestly worried what could've possible invoked that reaction from me.

He picked up the newspaper I dropped and read the headline, then sat on the floor next to me. He held me close as I rocked in his arms, hysterically sobbing.

"It's alright, he's alright now. It's all over now. He's alright." Paul whispered in my ear.

I wasn't invited to the funeral, his family wished that it would just be family and friends. But I still stood outside of that California chapel in all black as they carried out James' small wooden coffin.

Paul stood behind me in all black, holding my hand in support. He didn't know James well, but he knew how much James meant to me.

I wore a hat with a thick veil covering my face, I didn't want to be recognized.

Marlon didn't even show up.

I wanted to shout at Marlon, punch him. He was in California with James in his last days and never once mentioned his sadness. He probably never even noticed it. He was way too selfish to notice other people's hurting.

I couldn't resist going to Marlon's house that night. I saw on television that he was renting a huge Spanish styled mansion in the hills with his father.

I rang the doorbell, and after a few moments Marlon opened it. He looked horrible. He'd obviously had been drinking, and his clothes were disheveled.

"Where were you today?" I asked him. He didn't answer.

"Marlon, James is dead!" I shouted at him, tears coming out of my eyes. "And here you are feeling sorry for yourself."

"Come in." Marlon slurred. I walked past him into the house. He had steps that led down into his living room, and guided me there.

"I didn't deserve James." Marlon said as he picked up a bottle he had on his coffee table.

I looked around the room, it was huge. His living room alone was probably as large as his apartment in New York.

"I know you didn't." I answered as I sat down on the couch across from Marlon. "But neither did I. I never checked on him."

I looked down at the coffee table, and Marlon had multiple papers sprawled out with James's face on the cover.

"The papers keep saying it's an accident." Marlon mumbled. "What do they know?! They never knew him!"

"Did you see the film?" I asked silently. Marlon sat back and finished his beer bottle.

"Yeah." He said in a husky voice. "He deserved more!"

He flung his beer bottle towards the fireplace, and it smashed on the fancy stone mantle.

"He was going to be something! Something great! Now he's underground, cold, and still alone.  No one ever loved that boy the way they should've." Marlon sat back in his seat sadly.

A tear fell down my face.

Marlon and I slept together that night once again. I knew it would be my last time ever going to bed with him. My conscience bothered me every second, but my heart was filled with love.

Once I got home to my husband, he was at the desk in our hotel room. The reason we came to California was not only for James' funeral, but also so Paul could try to get a job.

"They're considering me for one of James' roles." Paul said as he read a booklet under lamp light. "They told me I'm the perfect replacement for him."

"That's a horrible thing to say." I furrowed my eyebrows as I walked to him and placed my hand on his shoulders. He still sat there, his eyes skimming over his papers.

"I couldn't even make it into Hollywood on my own. I had to fill in another man's legacy." Paul pouted. "I break my back everyday trying to get on my feet!"

"You'll make it, I promise." I kissed his cheek. He held my hand and guiding me to stand next to him, then sat me on his lap.

"I'm sorry if I ever hurt you." Paul looked into my eyes. "I only did it because I was hurt myself."

"What do you mean?" I asked softly.

"I never meant to tell you about Joanne." Paul told me. "And I truly did end it with her."

"I don't want to hear her name again." I snapped back.

"I don't blame you." Paul told me. "You're my wife, and I want to respect you."

"And you're my husband." I kissed his lips. Paul grinned and cocked his head to the side.

"Where'd you come from just now?" Paul asked me. I was silent.

"I was with Marlon." I whispered. Paul was silent. He held my hips and stood me up, then slowly walked over to the hotel bed.

He laid down, got under the sheets, and then turned over so his back was facing me. I cried looking at him.

"I'm sorry, Paul. I'm so sorry." I pleaded.