sheâs about to come crashing, and no one in her circle has the strength to keep her from shattering. He says he can come out in the morning, but then the six weeks will be broken, and they donât give you credit. Theyâve got rules, the state of Nevada. He and Marilyn will have to start the wait all over again. Another six weeks.
She says, âWeâll keep it quiet. We can meet somewhere in the valley. What are the chances? Itâs worth the risk.â
He says itâs a risk, but heâll think about it.
âThat means you wonât come, doesnât it?â
âNo,â he says. âIt means I need to think about it. Figure it out.â
âSo youâre coming?â She doesnât try to hide the excitement in her voice.
âIâm thinking on it.â
The following afternoon heâs in LA. Itâs safe for only an evening; heâll have to be gone by the following morning. Arthur tells her he decided to come because heâs concerned about her, unable to admit that coming was also for him. But she lets him have that. They donât talk about committees or divorces or movie sets, and hardly of marriage. They mostly stay silent. A sense
of surveillance still hovers. Together, she and Arthur sit in her room, number 41 at the Chateau Marmont, listening to a reel-to-reel tape of Mr. Strasberg that Paula dropped off, saying it had to be heard. On the recording, Mr. Strasberg lectures on the acting techniques of Eleanora Duse. His voice comes through the machineâs speaker, clear and distinct; anybody eavesdropping through the walls would think it was he who lived there. Mr. Strasberg doesnât so much talk about Duse as pose questions about why she was so revered. There is authority in his tone, yet still Mr. Strasberg speaks with wonder; in a way itâs like religion, the very sense of structure Marilyn sometimes craves. She rubs Arthurâs thigh, occasionally glances over to him, looking for his reactions. She suspects that were she to stop the tape and ask him what Mr. Strasberg just said, Arthur wouldnât be able to answer. His expression never changes. And when she does stop the tape, and Mr. Strasbergâs voice slows down and trails off, she senses Arthur snap awake. She says sheâs hungry. She suggests a café she knows up the street, as old-world European a place as one can find on the Sunset Strip, where the walls are papered in thick browns, and the lightbulbs glow a dingy yellow, and the air moves only when the front door opens. She asks, âShould we go now? Or did you want to hear the end of the lecture?â And the way in which he offers the choice back to her, despite his blatant lack of interest in Lee Strasbergâs opinion about Eleanora Duse, makes her love him just a little bit more.
A moist evening air blows off a horizon thatâs starting to wilt into the haze. For the first time all week she doesnât think about being watched. They move up the strip without speaking, until they reach the European restaurant and are greeted at the door by a host named Henri who speaks to them only in French. The European restaurant is even more ridiculous than she made it sound, with its piped-in cabaret music and an interior meant to replicate a street café. But she doesnât say anything, other than how safe she feels to be there with him.
Â
The restlessness returns the next morning, once heâs gone. The car will be arriving shortly at the Chateau Marmont to take her to the set. Sheâs already dressed, her hair tied back under a scarf. For once ahead of schedule. Paula Strasberg waits in the room next door. They agreed to meet out front when the car arrived.
She sits on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the bedspread. Then turns on the radio, adjusting the volume to a whisper. And she faces the wall and tries to breathe in. Hoping to fill her chest. When he left, Arthur told her he would see
She says, âWeâll keep it quiet. We can meet somewhere in the valley. What are the chances? Itâs worth the risk.â
He says itâs a risk, but heâll think about it.
âThat means you wonât come, doesnât it?â
âNo,â he says. âIt means I need to think about it. Figure it out.â
âSo youâre coming?â She doesnât try to hide the excitement in her voice.
âIâm thinking on it.â
The following afternoon heâs in LA. Itâs safe for only an evening; heâll have to be gone by the following morning. Arthur tells her he decided to come because heâs concerned about her, unable to admit that coming was also for him. But she lets him have that. They donât talk about committees or divorces or movie sets, and hardly of marriage. They mostly stay silent. A sense
of surveillance still hovers. Together, she and Arthur sit in her room, number 41 at the Chateau Marmont, listening to a reel-to-reel tape of Mr. Strasberg that Paula dropped off, saying it had to be heard. On the recording, Mr. Strasberg lectures on the acting techniques of Eleanora Duse. His voice comes through the machineâs speaker, clear and distinct; anybody eavesdropping through the walls would think it was he who lived there. Mr. Strasberg doesnât so much talk about Duse as pose questions about why she was so revered. There is authority in his tone, yet still Mr. Strasberg speaks with wonder; in a way itâs like religion, the very sense of structure Marilyn sometimes craves. She rubs Arthurâs thigh, occasionally glances over to him, looking for his reactions. She suspects that were she to stop the tape and ask him what Mr. Strasberg just said, Arthur wouldnât be able to answer. His expression never changes. And when she does stop the tape, and Mr. Strasbergâs voice slows down and trails off, she senses Arthur snap awake. She says sheâs hungry. She suggests a café she knows up the street, as old-world European a place as one can find on the Sunset Strip, where the walls are papered in thick browns, and the lightbulbs glow a dingy yellow, and the air moves only when the front door opens. She asks, âShould we go now? Or did you want to hear the end of the lecture?â And the way in which he offers the choice back to her, despite his blatant lack of interest in Lee Strasbergâs opinion about Eleanora Duse, makes her love him just a little bit more.
A moist evening air blows off a horizon thatâs starting to wilt into the haze. For the first time all week she doesnât think about being watched. They move up the strip without speaking, until they reach the European restaurant and are greeted at the door by a host named Henri who speaks to them only in French. The European restaurant is even more ridiculous than she made it sound, with its piped-in cabaret music and an interior meant to replicate a street café. But she doesnât say anything, other than how safe she feels to be there with him.
Â
The restlessness returns the next morning, once heâs gone. The car will be arriving shortly at the Chateau Marmont to take her to the set. Sheâs already dressed, her hair tied back under a scarf. For once ahead of schedule. Paula Strasberg waits in the room next door. They agreed to meet out front when the car arrived.
She sits on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the bedspread. Then turns on the radio, adjusting the volume to a whisper. And she faces the wall and tries to breathe in. Hoping to fill her chest. When he left, Arthur told her he would see
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