to sing “Happy Birthday, Mister President” at Madison Square Garden. Knowing what I knew, it was an eerie moment. Peter Lawford introduced her, and of course Marilyn was high and couldn’t find the right entrance and didn’t get onstage until her third cue.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Lawford said, “the late Marilyn Monroe.”
The audience thought it was really funny. Apparently Jackie didn’t see the joke, and neither did anyone else three months later when she was found dead in her Brentwood home.
It was all everyone talked about in Hollywood for weeks; they said she died of an overdose. I thought about that sad face in the mirror. “If you want to find something that lasts, don’t look in Hollywood.”
So if things continued to go my way, and I live the dream, like she did, what then? What if I reached for the moon and my hand came down empty?
A Hot Day in Winter was rushed through for release in October, and it attracted a lot of attention because it was Marilyn’s last film. I got a lot of attention too, even though my role was a cameo. A reviewer gave me the nickname “Madeleine Monroe,” and suddenly the trade papers were calling me a starlet. I even got excellent notices from one of the New York Times” leading film critics: “Madeleine Montes shows great promise. Her cameo as Sinatra’s goofy former girlfriend is a gem.”
I moved into a new apartment in West Hollywood near Beverley Hills. I was on my way. Nothing was going to stop me now. I couldn’t stop thinking about Reyes, and I never gave up hope.
Then one day the agent Reyes had found for me handed me a postcard that had arrived for me at his office. There was a picture of a pagoda and a postmark from some place I’d never heard of. There were five words on the back: Don’t dent the car. R.
The Formosa near Santa Monica and La Brea wasn’t much from the outside and not that much better on the inside. It had a black and white metal awning and a logo that looked like Chinese chopsticks. But the celebrity clientele didn’t go there for the chicken chow mein but for the convenience; it was right across the road from Warner Studios.
When I walked in, Sinatra was having lunch with a couple of Warner executives. He even acknowledged me with the faintest of smiles as I walked past.
“Nice car,” he said.
“Thanks.”
My agent, Ted Levine, was waiting for me in one of the red leather booths, dimly lit with red-tasselled Chinese lanterns. “Do you want lunch?” he said.
“I’ve eaten.”
“Great, because the food here is not good.” He ordered himself a whisky sour and a mojito for me.
“I got some good news, Maddy.” he said.
I hated him calling me that. I even flirted with the idea of calling him “Teddy.”
“I got you an audition for a movie called Wings of Eagles .”
“A war movie?”
“It’s going to star Steve McQueen. You’ve heard of him, right? He’s going to be the next big thing. And you’re not just getting a few lines. This is a supporting role.”
I tried not to look too impressed; it was the one thing Reyes had taught me about Hollywood: no matter what anyone said, always make a face like you were being cheated at poker.
“You think I should take it?”
Ted shook his head. “Jesus H. Christ, I got a hundred actresses who would die for this part.”
“So you think I should take it.”
“I think, you get this role, get some good reviews, I can make you a big time star, Maddy.”
I made a face like he was cheating me at poker.
“I mean it.”
“Let’s get the part first, Teddy.” He raised his whisky sour in a toast and I smiled but I didn’t pick up my own glass. I needed a drink but I could feel my hands trembling under the table and I knew I would spill it over my new André Courrèges skirt.
It was all happening so fast. My dreams were coming true, it was so close I could almost smell it.
Metro’s studios were over in Culver City, and this was where Levine
“Ladies and gentleman,” Lawford said, “the late Marilyn Monroe.”
The audience thought it was really funny. Apparently Jackie didn’t see the joke, and neither did anyone else three months later when she was found dead in her Brentwood home.
It was all everyone talked about in Hollywood for weeks; they said she died of an overdose. I thought about that sad face in the mirror. “If you want to find something that lasts, don’t look in Hollywood.”
So if things continued to go my way, and I live the dream, like she did, what then? What if I reached for the moon and my hand came down empty?
A Hot Day in Winter was rushed through for release in October, and it attracted a lot of attention because it was Marilyn’s last film. I got a lot of attention too, even though my role was a cameo. A reviewer gave me the nickname “Madeleine Monroe,” and suddenly the trade papers were calling me a starlet. I even got excellent notices from one of the New York Times” leading film critics: “Madeleine Montes shows great promise. Her cameo as Sinatra’s goofy former girlfriend is a gem.”
I moved into a new apartment in West Hollywood near Beverley Hills. I was on my way. Nothing was going to stop me now. I couldn’t stop thinking about Reyes, and I never gave up hope.
Then one day the agent Reyes had found for me handed me a postcard that had arrived for me at his office. There was a picture of a pagoda and a postmark from some place I’d never heard of. There were five words on the back: Don’t dent the car. R.
The Formosa near Santa Monica and La Brea wasn’t much from the outside and not that much better on the inside. It had a black and white metal awning and a logo that looked like Chinese chopsticks. But the celebrity clientele didn’t go there for the chicken chow mein but for the convenience; it was right across the road from Warner Studios.
When I walked in, Sinatra was having lunch with a couple of Warner executives. He even acknowledged me with the faintest of smiles as I walked past.
“Nice car,” he said.
“Thanks.”
My agent, Ted Levine, was waiting for me in one of the red leather booths, dimly lit with red-tasselled Chinese lanterns. “Do you want lunch?” he said.
“I’ve eaten.”
“Great, because the food here is not good.” He ordered himself a whisky sour and a mojito for me.
“I got some good news, Maddy.” he said.
I hated him calling me that. I even flirted with the idea of calling him “Teddy.”
“I got you an audition for a movie called Wings of Eagles .”
“A war movie?”
“It’s going to star Steve McQueen. You’ve heard of him, right? He’s going to be the next big thing. And you’re not just getting a few lines. This is a supporting role.”
I tried not to look too impressed; it was the one thing Reyes had taught me about Hollywood: no matter what anyone said, always make a face like you were being cheated at poker.
“You think I should take it?”
Ted shook his head. “Jesus H. Christ, I got a hundred actresses who would die for this part.”
“So you think I should take it.”
“I think, you get this role, get some good reviews, I can make you a big time star, Maddy.”
I made a face like he was cheating me at poker.
“I mean it.”
“Let’s get the part first, Teddy.” He raised his whisky sour in a toast and I smiled but I didn’t pick up my own glass. I needed a drink but I could feel my hands trembling under the table and I knew I would spill it over my new André Courrèges skirt.
It was all happening so fast. My dreams were coming true, it was so close I could almost smell it.
Metro’s studios were over in Culver City, and this was where Levine
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