Like a Candle in the Wind

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Part 1

  

CHAPTER SEVEN

One last check in the mirror proved to me that my new image was flawless! I was getting much better at gluing the mask and appliances onto my body and putting on make-up. Over our two-week period or preparation, my comfort level had grown to the point that I now had confidence in my impersonation. After all, everyone would know I wasn't the real Marilyn Monroe. All I really had to do was avoid a huge gaff that would remind them too much.

Another thing that helped build my poise was that I had taken some time to do more research on Marilyn. I had looked at many photographs of her on the Internet. There were a lot of sites. Mostly I was interested in her make-up. I wanted to perfect the way she looked—er—the way I looked being her. I'd even read a little bit about her personal make-up man, Allan 'Whitey' Snyder. He told a story on one site about doing Marilyn's make-up for her funeral. If I had time in the future, it would be interesting to meet with him and learn his make-up secrets, although I wasn't even sure if he was still alive.

Someone knocked on the door of my newly constructed dressing room.

"Come in, please," I called out in my Marilyn voice.

When the door opened a crack, a voice called out, "Are you decent?"

"Would you prefer me to be indecent?" My banter with Heather had come to the point of open and pleasant teasing. I'd never had a friendship with anyone so quickly that had developed to be so strong.

I was just finishing my transformation with a final touch of Chanel No. 5 on my wrists, the perfume Marilyn wore. A reporter had asked her what she wore to bed. She had replied, "Why, Chanel No. 5, of course." All I knew was that its scent made me feel enchanting.

"Hi!" Heather said cheerfully as she stepped inside.

She was dressed in a body-hugging dancer's leotard, but there was something wrong with her complexion. "What happened to your face? It's all red and puffy."

"Remember I said I might give the Jane Russell impersonation a shot?"

"Uh huh."

"Using the Roswell Replicator, yesterday afternoon, I had Ben come in and do a full work up for me."

"The whole process? Three dimensional mapping, mask, body panels, wig, artificial skin, and glue?

"Yes.

"So what went wrong?"

"I have very sensitive skin. Apparently I'm allergic to the artificial skin. One of its layers is made from bovine collagen."

"And your skin reacted to the collagen?"

"My face ballooned like the Goodyear blimp."

"Did you go to a doctor? Are you on any medication?"

"Yes, the swelling has gone down, but mostly it's just a matter of time. The calamine lotion has helped a little. It seems to cool things down."

"Are you allergic to other things?"

"Pollen, dust mites, cat fur, and food such as prawns, nuts, and peanuts."

"Peanuts?"

"I'm extremely allergic to peanuts. Even touching a peanut can cause hives. If I ingest peanuts, I start to cough and wheeze. I have difficulty breathing. I can go into anaphylactic shock. It can be life threatening."

"So what precautions do you take?"

Heather held out her right arm. "I carry this medic alert bracelet. In my purse, there is an EpiPen. I can jab myself with the needle containing epinephrine. Also, I'm very careful about what I eat."

"What if I ate something like Reese's Peanut Buttercup? Would that affect you if I breathed on you? Or kissed you?"

"Yes, it could."

"I knew somebody in high school. He almost died when he tried to eat a chocolate bar. He didn't know it had peanuts in it. There was no indication of it on the package label."

"Usually I can smell it or sense it. But, no matter what I do, I just have to be aware of the danger."

"Okay, I'll avoid peanuts from now on. That's too bad the Jane Russell suit didn't work out. I would've liked to have seen you as a full-figured gal."

Heather smiled. "You may look like Marilyn and sound like Marilyn, but I have to remember there's still a Roger Sasquatch under there."

I looked down toward my crotch. "It's more like Roger's Sasquatch squashed," I said in my own voice with a painful grimace.

Heather laughed. "I don't know where you hide it."

"Believe me, it's not easy." I avoided the 'It's hard' pun.

She clearly wanted to change the subject. "How do you like your new digs?"

"It's great! I love the changes. Lots of mirrors, space for costumes and make-up, a luxurious bathtub—a star couldn't ask for any more. And I love the fact that you've got this hidden, well-ventilated walk-in 'closet' for drying out the masks and appliances." A lot of changes had taken place in the days since my encounter of the rude kind with Brad.

"Well, the studio space isn't going to be needed as much, now that we have the Roswell Replicator II to create the wax figures."

"Still, I know all these changes have to be expensive."

"Yes. We've invested a lot of time and money into this project, but I guess if it doesn't work out, we'll have a tax loss claim for Revenue Canada. But you know, things are starting to fall into place. I think this is exactly what we needed to revive the Wax Museum. Ever since 'The Hall of Fame' wax museum opened up, our business has gone down hill."

"But you've got a location advantage. They're further away from the Falls."

"True. But they've really hurt our bottom line. If the investment in the latest Roswell Replicator and our Marilyn Monroe Show doesn't pan out, we're in big trouble."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure it succeeds." I smiled at her and touched her arm. I'd learned during the last week that touching was an essential part of consoling others.

Worry etched Heather's face. I would work even harder to make sure the Robinsons hadn't spent their money foolishly on our project.

"Have we got the full cast and crew ready to rehearse?" I asked.

"Yes. Finally, we've got all of the personnel assembled. Your friend Pete is on the keyboards. We'll see if he can make that synthesizer sound like a full band. I'm going to take the Jane Russell role in the 'Diamonds' song and dance routine, although I'm not going to be her identical double. Also, we've got an experienced person to handle the lights. And we've got a veteran stage manager who has got all the video screens, microphones, and sound equipment set up and ready for your performance."

"Wonderful. I can't wait." I gave her a hug. I was getting more used to being involved in a girl-to-girl hug. My breasts sort of bounced strangely off Heather's. "Thank you for everything you've done." Strange feelings, but wonderful!

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't made the climb from here on the ground level up to the rooftop. When you have to do that three times a day in high heels, you might not think you're being treated like a superstar."

"I promise not to complain. Besides, I'm more concerned about performing to the best of my ability. That tent that you've erected on the rooftop must have put you back a ton of money."

"Yes, but we didn't have enough room inside. Besides, have you ever seen Cirque du Soleil? They do all right every summer in Toronto in a tent."

Within a few minutes, we were ascending. Two new wide staircases on either side of the new stage had been constructed to allow easy access from the second floor to the rooftop of the building. I resolved to take off my high heels and use slippers in the future. Marilyn had said, "I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot." She hadn't been talking about comfort.

As we approached the Big Top Tent, I could hear the familiar refrain of 'There's No Business Like Show Business.' I remembered that Marilyn Monroe had a part in that film, although most people remembered Ethel Merman for the title song. Marilyn had sung 'After You Get What You Want, You Don't Want It Anymore,' but not very many fans remembered that one.

The Big Top was quite impressive. Its beige-colored waterproof canvas canopy rose three stories high, and spanned an area that could hold an audience of seven hundred people. Much to my relief, the enclosed space had an air-conditioning system. It would be going full blast during the summer months.

Heather assembled the new crew. She introduced Tom Austin, the lighting man; Gord Mountford as the sound technician/stage manager; and my buddy Pete Winslow on the synthesizer.

All the guys seemed star-struck! I had never seen Pete Winslow lost for words before, but he was virtually unintelligible. I tried not to show any sign of recognition when we were introduced. With the incredible disguise I was wearing, the only way Pete could possibly identify me was from my voice. He had heard me do my Marilyn voice on many occasions and if he'd closed his eyes and listened he'd know who I was. Given his demeanor, there was no fear he was going to quit staring any time soon.

Heather was the director, and she had all the sheet music ready for Pete to play. She had worked out the lighting and sound set up before hand. She had a wonderful feel for the whole process of producing a show. Heather prepared well and made decisions based on information gathered from many sources.

One of the first things we had to resolve was the use of wireless microphones and transmitters. To be able to sing and dance properly, we didn't want to be encumbered by microphones, although we could use very small microphones, with transmitters the size of cigarette packs. Nonetheless, they wouldn't fit into a figure-hugging gown very easily. One possible solution, suggested by Gord, was to use a large hand microphone that had both the microphone and transmitter in one unit. That was fine for some numbers, but the dance numbers were another matter. We considered lip-synching for the dance numbers. It was something we needed to work through.

We began with three songs from 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes': 'Diamonds,' 'Two Little Girls From Little Rock' and 'Bye Bye Baby.' While Heather and I sang and danced, Tom controlled the lighting from his position at the far end of the Big Top, beyond the tiered temporary seating. Sitting right beside Tom was Gord. He set the sound levels. During the first song, once or twice we had trouble with terrible ear-splitting sound feedback, but it was soon fixed.

By the end of the second song, Pete Winslow had proved to Heather that he was a musical genius. His fingers flew across the keyboards. He compensated for any changes in tempo that the performers created, and made the synthesizer sound like a big band—as advertised.

For the next hour of rehearsal, we put in a lot of perspiration, but for me, Heather was an inspiration. She was such a dynamic, charismatic person. I was consumed by lusty thoughts; she was so close and yet so far. To her, I suppose I was just another co-worker—and a female one at that. Besides, she already had a boyfriend. Now, if only I could be Harry Houdini instead of Marilyn Monroe, I could make Brad Adams magically disappear.

After rehearsal, I soaked in a warm bath with the special solvent for ten minutes. Magically, the Sokui adhesive bond loosened and the body panels came off just as Ben had said they would. The Marilyn mask fell away just as easily. After placing the various body parts on plastic-coated wire frame drying racks, I changed back into my Roger Baker secret identity. It felt good to be back in my own skin.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Later that evening, I borrowed my dad's old Ford Taurus to go over to Niagara-on-the-Lake. Pete Winslow had a steady gig at the Niagara Country Club Inn. Overlooking one of the oldest golf courses in North America, the Country Club Lounge was a cozy venue located in 'the prettiest town in Canada.' Pete's uncle owned the Niagara Country Club Inn. A little nepotism never hurt any member of the Winslow family.

The Georgian style architecture of the sprawling historic Inn, beside the lush green fairways, made for an impressive setting. Also, the town of Niagara-on-the-Lake was, by itself, a tourist attraction. Situated where the Niagara River flows into Lake Ontario, this lovely old Victorian town has been a Mecca for sightseers for a long time. Visitors have fallen in love with the Shaw Festival, the winery tours, the quaint shops on Queen Street, a multitude of historic buildings, and the scenic Niagara parklands.

From my seat near the sliding glass doors of the Lounge, I could see, in the fading light, the immaculate green of the 18^th hole beside the gently lapping waves of Lake Ontario. The Lounge was a 1950's era addition to the Inn. The wood paneled walls of the cavernous room were decorated with photos of club members posing with tournament championship trophies. The golf memorabilia was mixed in with photographs of celebrities who had visited the Niagara Country Club—mostly NHL hockey players and Shaw Festival actors. I looked around, but noticed no celebrities among the current evening's gathering. Mondays rarely attracted large crowds. Some of the Inn's guests probably had dropped by in search of entertainment after a full day of sightseeing—or golf.

Pete played mostly ballads. He had a mellow voice that lent itself to the styles of many pop stars. Pete played the hit songs of singer-pianists from the 1970s and onward—Paul Williams, Carole King, Stevie Wonder, Barry Manilow, Carly Simon, Al Stewart, Vangelis, Marvin Hamlisch, and Elton John. His synthesizer could sound like a grand piano for Carole King's soulful 'You've Got a Friend' or he could make it sound like a full band for Al Stewart's soaring 'Year of the Cat'—complete with saxophone solo. Pete's voice was capable of great range too. He had a habit of phrasing the lyrics in much the same way as the original singer. I don't know if it was intentional, but Pete was like a human jukebox. He knew so many songs—not just the musical arrangements, but the lyrics too.

Pete was to music what Bubba Blue was to shrimping. According to Bubba, in 'Forrest Gump,' there were countless ways to prepare those succulent pink delicacies from the ocean. "Shrimp is the fruit of the sea. You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, sauté it. Dey's uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp Creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep-fried, stir-fried. There's pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich."

Whereas Pete Winslow had an amazing Memorex for songs and lyrics, I had always been a movie buff. I often liked to entertain friends and classmates by imitating actors 'doing' their famous lines—including obscure Bubba Blue.

While Pete tinkled the ivories, some of the aging Baby Boomer crowd would come up and request their favorites. They'd put a loonie, a toonie, or a blue five-dollar bill in a large pickle jar on top of his vintage Wurlitzer synthesizer. Pete was able to get the people into a good mood. I had a feeling Pete was headed for fame and stardom beyond the 'Golden Horseshoe'—as they called our area of the world.

Someone requested Simon and Garfunkel's 'Bridge Over Troubled Water.' Pete's skill in performing that tune moved me tremendously. The song transported me to a completely different state of mind.

"When you're weary, feeling small,

When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.

I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough and friends just can't be found,

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down…

"When you're down and out, when you're on the street, When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you.

I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes and pain is all around,

like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

"Sail on silver girl, sail on by.

Your time has come to shine, All your dreams are on their way.

See how they shine, oh and when you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind."

At the very end of the song, it amazed me that Pete could hit the high notes of the closing refrain "I will ease your MI…I...IND."

Then, when Pete followed it up with 'Mrs. Robinson,' the theme song from the film 'The Graduate,' I really got caught up with the music. One key phrase, especially, grabbed my attention.

"Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio,

Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson.

Jolting Joe has left and gone away,

"(Hey hey hey, hey hey hey)."

My mind started to ramble. Joltin' Joe DiMaggio. Mrs. Robinson. Marilyn Monroe?

That got me to thinking about our rehearsal earlier. It had gone so well. Pete fit in like he had been there practicing with us from the very beginning.

Then it struck me. I held up my right wrist to my nose. The scent of Chanel No. 5! What was I going to do? Pete would smell it on me.

What was the cliché? Necessity is the mother of invention? I quickly poured some of my Coca-Cola onto a napkin. Then I placed the damp napkin on my wrist. I hoped the Coke would dilute the scent. About nine hours had passed since I applied the perfume. Maybe the fragrance had dissipated enough that it wouldn't be noticeable. Fortunately, I had only dabbed the perfume on my wrists. Otherwise, I would have looked even stranger holding a wet napkin up to my neck or ears.

After a few minutes of soaking in the pop, my fears subsided. Pete went on to play Louis Armstrong's 'What a Wonderful World.' It was one of my all-time favorites that we sang in elementary school. Pete did it so well. I soon forgot about Mrs. Robinson, Joltin' Joe DiMaggio, and Marilyn Monroe.

Near the end of his first set, even I summoned up the nerve to make the trip across the plank floorboards, in front of the onlookers, to request John Lennon's 'Imagine.' Pete gave me a wink as he launched into the spirited intro. I could feel the mood change as the tune reverberated through the high-ceilinged clubroom. Pete deviated from his usual Memorex take. Instead, he gave a spiritual blues version of the Lennon classic. In my opinion, Pete's interpretation was even better than the original.

" . . . You may say that I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one . . . "

A song or two later, Pete ended his set with a crowd favorite—Stevie Wonder's 'I Just Called to Say I Love You.'

After a smattering of applause, Pete thanked the small but supportive gathering. He pulled his lanky frame up from his bench and strode over to my table.

"Hi Roger! Good to see ya."

"Great set, Pete. 'Imagine' was fabulous! Brilliant! You always knock me out with your talent. The human jukebox—Pete 'Wurlitzer' Winslow!"

"Oh, I don't know if I've ever deserved that nickname," Pete said in his typical 'ah shucks' manner. He looked just like a modest Chuck Norris when he did that.

"When you did Elton John's 'Your Song,' you sounded exactly like him."

"Well, thanks again," he said sheepishly. "It's my favorite Elton John number."

" 'Your Song' is great, but I prefer 'Candle in the Wind' as my favorite Elton John tune."

"Which version? The one for Princess Di or the original Goodbye Norma Jeane?"

"Either one. They're both great."

"Yeah, I agree. They are classics . . . but, some day I'd like to do my own material. I hope in the not too distant future my own compositions will make me rich and famous."

"I'm sure that will happen someday soon," I said as I gave Pete a slap on the back. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure can, buddy. Actually I should buy you a drink."

"Any time you feel the urge—just go with the flow."

Pete laughed. That was one of Pete's charming traits. He laughed easily and often. "I love the new gig at Robinson's Wax Museum. Thanks a million, Roger, for giving me that lead."

"Well, after all, I am working at the 'candleworks' as a guide. I heard they were looking for a good musician and you're the best I know." I could see from Pete's happy expression that he truly was thankful.

A waitress stopped at our table to take our order. I asked for a Coke again while Pete opted for his usual Labatt Blue. The pretty young lady, Sandra, already knew what Pete liked.

"So how's your new gig working out?" I asked.

"Great! We had our first rehearsal today. You just wouldn't believe what we're doing there!"

"Oh, like what?"

"We have a great tribute act!"

"A tribute act?" I had to watch what I said, but I was super curious as to his impression of Marilyn.

"Yeah, you know, a tribute act, like Elvis Presley impersonations."

"Oh, not another Elvis impersonator. 'I'm all shook up.' "

"No, not Elvis. We have an incredible girl who is a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe."

"Really?"

"She is drop-dead gorgeous. I swear I can't tell her from the real thing. It's as if Marilyn Monroe came back to life and is singing and dancing at the wax museum in Niagara Falls."

"There's no such thing as a true-to-life Marilyn Monroe impersonator."

"Until now, there hasn't been anyone who could come close. But the Marilyn Monroe I saw today looks exactly like the real Marilyn. Not only that, she sounds the same, moves the same, and also has that special charisma that few performers have."

"Like you would know," I said skeptically. "You weren't even born when Marilyn Monroe passed away."

"But everyone has seen a Marilyn Monroe film. Her pictures and posters are still around. I tell you this person that I saw today is absolutely amazing! She is Marilyn Monroe—the ultimate sex symbol!"

"You say she sounds like Marilyn and moves like Marilyn?"

"Yeah. We were rehearsing some song and dance routines from her movies."

"You did songs from old musicals?"

"I was provided with sheet music for all the songs. The whole set-up is amazing. We've got a huge rooftop canopy, a new stage, and stairway entrances. You've probably seen it. We've got seats for seven hundred people or more. We have large video screens set up to entertain the crowds when our live performers do their costume changes. We'll show clips from those vintage musicals. But, I have to tell you; I couldn't take my eyes off this Marilyn look-alike. She's the real deal!"

That made me feel warm and tingly inside. "Thank. . . . What about my boss, Heather Robinson? Isn't she involved in the show too?"

"Oh yeah, Heather was there. She actually did the choreography, the direction, and the producing. She's really hot too! Heather's a real talented, energetic dynamo!"

"But you say this other performer looks like Marilyn Monroe?"

"It was like Marilyn got cloned! You know, like in that old movie 'Jurassic Park,' they used the DNA from dinosaurs and brought them back to life. Well, somebody must have dredged up Marilyn Monroe's DNA. This girl is amazing! I stood three feet away from her. She oozed sex from every pore! She's so gorgeous, when I was introduced to her, I almost came in my pants."

I laughed at his gross remark. "Well Pete, I think you must have 'waxmuseumitis.' That deadly strain has drained your brain of all rational thought."

A young couple, locked in an embrace, brushed by our table, momentarily disrupting our conversation. After they passed by, I continued, "Also, you're seeing clones everywhere—Jane Russell, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, the dinosaurs from 'Jurassic Park' . . . Never mind about John Lennon's 'Imagine.' The next song I request will be Judy Collins' 'Send in the Clones.' "

"Okay, clown around all you want. But see her for yourself. Drop by the rehearsal tomorrow and watch her. I'd be willing to bet you that this Marilyn will knock you out!"

"I'll drop by sometime, but I can't tell you exactly when." How could I manage to be two people at the same time? "I guess 'til then, I'll have to take your word for it. This 'Marilyn' must really be someone special."

"You've got that right . . . but you know, I find it a little strange that you were working on a 'Claymation Marilyn' commercial for one of your college courses. I mean, I played 'Diamonds' as the background music for your mock commercial. And here I am, a month later, playing the same song for a new tribute show. I didn't even have to look at the sheet music."

Would Pete put two and two together and discover that Marilyn Monroe equaled Roger Baker?

"Yes, by the way, that 'Diamonds' theme was great! It helped me get an A+ on that project. So, thanks for all your help. It's also one of the reasons I thought of you when the accompanist role came up. As they say, 'what goes around comes around.' The Law of Karma."

"I guess good things happen when you do a good deed."

"Now you sound like a Boy Scout. By the way, where did the Robinsons find this girl? Do you know?"

"Well, I heard she came in to interview for a summer job. It coincided with Heather Robinson's plan to offer some live entertainment at the wax museum. Heather took one look at this Marilyn look-a-like and asked her if she'd be willing to audition for the tribute act. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Pete repeated that story just the way Heather and I hoped he would. But I knew, in the future I needed to expand on the made up background or 'legend' for my Marilyn character.

Sandra, the waitress, returned with our drinks. I had a ten dollar bill ready for her and told her to keep the change.

"Thanks for the beer, Roger."

"You're welcome."

"A toast to good times!" Pete said as he raised his beer stein.

"To good times!"

Our glasses clinked together. Then we both took sips from our drinks.

"You know," Pete continued, "it's great to hear about somebody getting a break and taking advantage of it. Sometimes I think luck is more important than talent. But when you have that rare combination of talent and good luck, well those are the people who become superstars."

I considered Pete's comment for a moment. I looked around, through the beer and darts atmosphere of the Lounge. My jaw must have dropped in amazement! The young couple that had passed by our table—the guy was Brad Adams, Heather's boyfriend! But—the gorgeous redhead he was groping and probing was not Heather Robinson!

Handsome, rugged Brad, casually attired in dark blue Dockers and a tan-colored Nike golf shirt, had hungry eyes. The redhead, dressed in a white halter-top with tight black pants, was stacked, and did I mention she was hot?

"What is it?" Pete asked as he turned around to see what I was seeing. "What are you looking at?"

Brad and his girl were all lovey-dovey. Then Brad and his date were necking. Brad was tonguing her to death. The open mouthed kiss! I squirmed in my seat at this revolting reminder of Brad's sleazy passion. I wondered if he enjoyed the invasive kiss with Marilyn more than the kiss with the redhead? Next Brad was trying to give her a hickey on the neck. He could have been auditioning for the part of vampire number one on a 'Buffy' revival. If only a sharp wooden stake would magically appear in my hand.

How could Brad do this? Heather is an angel. She doesn't deserve a philandering reanimated corpse like Brad.

On the other hand, behind every dark cloud is a silver lining. If Heather and Brad were to split, I might have a chance at a relationship with Heather.

"Oh," I said, unable to say anything because 'I' didn't know Brad, "I just think that public displays of affection are kind of . . . "

"Ghetto? Trashy?"

Pete knew how to push my laugh buttons. "No, even in the city slums and trailer parks, I think they learn manners. Maybe vulgar or sleazy would be more like it."

"Well, what do you expect? Niagara's known as the honeymoon capital of the world."

I didn't want to even think about Brad, it just burned me up. I needed to change the subject. I didn't want to let Brad's cheating heart spoil the evening. "Hey Pete, speaking of vulgar displays, I've been working on a new impression. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure, little buddy," Pete said, seemingly intrigued by the 'vulgar' description.

"You've seen 'Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan'?"

"Oh no, you're gonna do Borat?"

"Remember at the beginning, Sacha Baron Cohen introduced movie audiences to that little known country of Kazakhstan?"

Pete nodded.

I launched into my loud, high-pitched Borat braggadocio. "Jagshemash? (How are you?) My name uh Borat. I like you. I like sex . . . is nice! This is my country of Kazakhstan—is locate between Tajikstan and Kyrgyzstan and assholes, Uzbekistan."

Smiling broadly, I made arm gestures, pointing to the imagined Uzbeks.

"This my town of Kuzcek. This is Urkin, the town rapist." I pointed in the direction of Brad Adams. "Naughty naughty. Over here our town kildergarten. And here, live Mukhtar Shakhanov—our town mechanic and abortionist."

As Pete sipped his beer, he laughed. The beer spewed out his nose.

"This my house. Entry, please. . . . He is my neighbor Nursultan Tuyakbay. He is pain in my assholes. I get a window from a glass; he must get a window from a glass. I get a step; he must get a step. I get a clock-radio; he cannot afford. . . . Great success!

"This is Natalya." I imagined Borat in a passionate kiss with a sultry blonde. "She is my sister. She is number-four prostitute in all of Kazakhstan. . . . Niiice! This is my mother—she oldest woman in whole of Kuzcek. She is uh forty-three. I love her. And this—my wife Oksana. She is uh boring. . . . "

At this point in the film, there was an angry exchange in the Kazakh language between Borat and his wife. In the subtitled translation, Oksana compared Borat unfavorably to a skinny piece of shit and suggested he do something useful like dig his mother a grave.

I continued with Borat's tour. "This is where I live. . . . My bed . . . and this is a VCR recorder and this uh play cassettes." I waved my arm toward Pete's synthesizer.

"Now I show you outside from my houses. My hobbies: ping-pong . . . sunbathe (in a lime-green slingshot thong) . . . uh disco dance . . . and on weekends I travel to capital city and watch uh ladies as they make uh toilet."

With a big smile, Pete held up his hand. "High five!" We slapped hands together.

It was the first time I had tried out the Borat Sagdiyev impression. It felt good!

"That movie was disgusting," Pete began, "and so funny!"

"I felt a little guilty when I laughed at some of the sick sexual humor. I just couldn't help myself."

"Me too—'the town rapist,' as if every Kazakh town had one."

We both looked in the direction of Brad Adams. He was still kissing his girlfriend passionately.

I shook my head, signifying my disapproval.

Pete shrugged his shoulders and then he checked his watch. "Roger, you are an amazing mimic. I wish we could continue chatting, but I have to take a washroom break and then it's back to being the Piano Man." Pete gulped down the remaining contents of his beer stein and pushed his chair back from the table. "I'll talk to you later, 'Rocket' Roger."

My nickname dated back to our childhood days watching the Toronto Blue Jays when Roger Clemens won two Cy Young Awards, although I was never much of a pitcher. I used to try to imitate Clemens' Texas drawl when he was interviewed on TV.

"Later, piano player," I replied with a friendly salute.

While Pete visited the facilities, I returned to the continuing saga of Brad and his new playmate. It was like watching a nauseating soap opera—As the Stomach Turns. I know that was an old familiar twist on the soap opera title, but Brad's lewd display was no Guiding Light for proper behavior.

For a moment, I was tempted to stick around and spy on the two lovebirds, but the longer I watched the public debauchery, the angrier I got, so I decided to leave. I walked over to the waitress, Sandra, stuck five dollars in her hand, and asked her to refill Pete's glass—the beer stein perched on top of his classic Wurlitzer synthesizer, right beside the 'bread' jar. When I walked out of the Niagara Country Club Lounge, the fresh night air revived me back into the world of the unBrad.

Somehow Brad Adams would pay for what he did.

CHAPTER NINE

All through rehearsal the next day, I couldn't help but think of that scumbag Brad. It was tearing me apart. Whenever I would look at Heather, I felt like blurting out the truth.

I was so distracted by my dilemma that during the 'Diamonds' dance routine I actually fell down doing a spin that I had performed countless times before.

Should I tell her about Brad and his cheating ways? I wanted to tell her, but nobody likes a snitch. Also, she might have wanted to kill the messenger. Another factor to consider was that I had seen Brad in my Roger Baker guise. Brad didn't even know Roger, his accuser. I know that was a tenuous excuse. And . . . I wanted Heather to get rid of Brad, so that I would have a shot at a relationship with Heather, but I couldn't persuade myself to be a snitch.

I remembered coming across a line Marilyn Monroe said to actress Shelley Winters. "Wouldn't it be nice to be like men, just getting notches in your belt, having affairs with the most attractive men . . . and not getting emotionally involved?"

After the rehearsal had finished, I didn't hang around to talk with Heather as was my usual habit. I withdrew quickly to the dressing room on the ground floor. I ran the bath water, removed my wig, clothes and make-up, and then hopped into the bathtub. I soaked myself for ten minutes, letting the special Sokui Biosynthetic rice glue dissolve with the aid of the special solvent, while I pondered my moral dilemma.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I hung up the special girdle and the prosthetic attachments to dry. I quickly donned my Roger clothing and left the museum as quickly as possible.

Whenever life would get me down, I'd try to get out for a nature walk. I'd go down by the river along the Niagara Recreation Trail. It was a beautiful 56-kilometer route, stretching from historic Fort George (Niagara-on-the-Lake) in the north to the town of Fort Erie in the south. The Niagara Gorge was a spectacular sight. The Niagara Parks Commission kept the parkland in immaculate condition. I'd see the Falls, the Maid of the Mist bobbing through the swirling rapids beneath the Falls, the rainbows cast by the spray of the Falls meeting the bright sunshine, and so much more.

At other times, while at home, I'd go up to my bedroom and crank up the stereo. I'd put five of my favorite CDs into the CD player, lie down on the bed, close my eyes, and contemplate the meaning of life. Enya, the Moody Blues, Supertramp, Springsteen, Tina Turner, and the Doors—the classic oldies my parents grew up on, they'd do the trick. There was a state somewhere between consciousness and dreaming that was pure bliss. At these particular points, right on the edge, I could 'jump' out of my physical body and elevate my consciousness to the ceiling of the room and look back down at my prone form lying on the bed. I was afraid if I wandered too far away, I wouldn't be able to return to my physical body. Consequently, I never let my mind stray too far.

So, I'd hear the Moody Blues proclaim the psychedelic guru "Timothy Leary's dead. No, no, no, no. He's outside, looking in. He'll fly his astral plane." Or did he fly his ass through flame? "Takes you trips around the bay, Brings you back the same day, Timothy Leary. Timothy Leary."

I didn't need drugs to get high. To be truthful, I've never even tried hallucinogenic drugs. My dreams and my meditative music sessions were enough to lift me out of my painful existence.

Besides, it has been proven that music does improve the mind. For some unknown reason, math students who listen to Mozart prior to a test do better than students who don't.

At other times, I'd read some books on philosophy. 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' was one I picked up. It got me into reading some of the works by the Dalai Lama of Tibet. 'The Art of Happiness' was a good guide to a more fulfilling life. Then I went on a movie-renting binge. I saw movies like 'Lost Horizon,' 'The Razor's Edge,' 'Seven Years in Tibet,' 'Kundun,' 'Little Buddha,' and 'Monty Python's The Meaning of Life.' I even read Shirley MacLaine's 'Out on a Limb' because I couldn't find a movie version of it. I went on a search for enlightenment I guess because love had eluded me.

However, none of my usual remedies for depression seemed to have any appeal today. I wanted to try something else beyond contemplation and introspection.

On my way home from the wax museum, I passed by a psychic's home. I had passed by many times. I thought someday, I'd like to try it, to see whether it had any value, or if it was a scam. The lure of the unknown spiritual underworld called out to me. The sign on the railing of the veranda, above the small front lawn, advertised 'Genuine Psychic Readings.'

I was so depressed. Brad, a dirty rotten scoundrel, did not deserve a beautiful angel like Heather. But another voice told me that all psychics were scam artists. Nevertheless, I succumbed to the temptation.

When I entered the converted two-story Victorian home, there was an 'office' to the immediate left of the entrance hallway. Actually, it was the waiting room. There was another room that could be accessed from the waiting room. Since the waiting room was unoccupied, I considered leaving without having seen anyone. The psychic must have been busy with a client. I was filled with doubt.

Just as I turned to leave, a middle-aged lady peeked into the office from the middle room of the home.

"One moment please. I'll be with you in one minute. We're just finishing up in here. Okay?"

"All right," I replied. I sat down on one of the padded rattan armchairs. The waiting room was kept neat and tidy. From the front window, through the Venetian blinds, I could see the street traffic that generated a constant stream of noise. On another wall was a bookcase jammed with dusty hardcover books. Beside the shelves was a cork bulletin board display with photographs.

There was a shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor in the next room. The lady I had seen earlier and an elderly gentleman emerged.

"Okay John, I'll see you two weeks from today at the usual time."

"Thank you. Goodbye," the man said as he made his way out of the waiting room. A few moments later, I heard the door close.

"Welcome. My name is Dolly Shearer. And your name?"

Should I give her my real name? IF she was a psychic, wouldn't she know when I lied? "My name is Roger Baker."

"Please come into my office."

She led me into the next room. The middle room was a cozy space. It had very little natural light, as the large stain-glassed window behind Dolly's desk looked out to the side wall of the next house three feet away. However, the cheerful flowery wallpaper helped to brighten up the chamber.

I sat down on another padded rattan armchair.

I studied Dolly for a moment. She had curly medium length red hair and looked to be a well-preserved fifty-year old. Dolly was slightly shorter than I was and she wore a creamy white knit-top with a green-gray tartan skirt or kilt.

"Well, I suppose I should tell you a little about myself since this is your first time here."

I nodded.

"First of all, I am not like your stereotypical psychic. I do not read palms and I do not look into crystal balls. Also, I charge $70 for the first visit and all subsequent visits as well. Usually a session will last twenty minutes, but the first session usually takes longer."

I nodded again.

"Feel free to interrupt me at any time if you have a question. Now, I have a flash card in this video camera. It has been running since we sat down. At the end of the session, you will have a recording of our discussion or I can send it to you over the Internet. So, you will not have to take notes. Also, later on, you can consult the recording any time you wish."

I shrugged my shoulders. Would there be any value to this session at all?

"You seem to be a person of few words today."

"I am not sure what to expect in this reading."

"When I was a young girl, it took awhile for me to realize that I had unusual abilities. . . .You see, I can sense auras around people. I didn't realize that other people couldn't do this."

"What do you mean by auras?"

"Have you ever read 'The Celestine Prophecy' by James Redfield?"

"No, but I have heard the title before."

"Okay, here's what is suggested in that book. Hold your forefinger and thumb close together. Close one eye. Then look at your digits carefully. Your perception will be a little fuzzy. You will see a kind of outline around the edge of your skin."

I held my thumb and forefinger close together, following Dolly Shearer's lead. Wow. I could see an aura. "Yes. I see it."

"Now, when I see an aura around people, the aura is much bigger and brighter. Also, it has colors. And it can expand or shrink according to the person's energy level."

"When you look at me, what colors do you see?"

"You have three strong colors. You have a yellow, then a green, and a blue aura. Also, in the last minute, the auras have gotten stronger or larger. You are more energized than when you were simply nodding your head. . . . Now your aura is shrinking again."

I shrugged. "What does this mean?"

"In your case, one thing I can tell immediately is that you are in excellent physical health."

A doctor could tell me that.

"Also, you have a strong inner conflict that is tearing you and your aura apart."

"How do I know that you aren't just reading my reactions, my body language, and working off those keys?"

"All right. That is a possibility with most psychics. Then let's look at the proof within familiar culture. Have you ever taken Tai Chi classes?"

"No."

"Translated from the Chinese, Tai Chi means harmony of the energies. Through a series of movements, the energy flow of the body or chi is enhanced. Health is promoted and the well being of the person improves. Also, you will note that Tai Chi is practiced together with others. The flow of energy is enhanced by a group of people working together. Also, it works even better outdoors on the ground or soil. Tai Chi is enhanced by the earth's energy."

"Is Acupuncture at all similar?"

"Yes. There are key points on the skin that can be stimulated with needles. Acupuncture helps to free energy blockages and stimulate the body's critical energy flow. Moxibustion and Acupressure operate under a similar theory. There are certain key points or nodes in the body. Chinese medicine evolved differently from western medicine. The Chinese did not do autopsies and dissect human organs. The chi, the body's healing energy, can also be enhanced by herbs like ginseng."

"So what has this to do with auras?"

"Practitioners of Tai Chi, Moxibustion, Acupuncture and Acupressure can sense the energy. They can feel it. But, I can see the energy as an aura around the body."

"How might I be able to feel it?"

"Perhaps you could take Tai Chi lessons. Or, you might be capable of feeling it now. If you know a family that has a young baby, offer to hold the youngster for awhile. I think you might be able to feel the baby's strong chi. Just contrast that to helping an elderly person across the street. You will sense a much weaker energy field emanating from an older person."

I could just picture myself testing the auras of babies and old women. "So what about when you get sick? How does that affect the chi or auras?"

"The auras shrink. They don't have the same healthy glow. The chi becomes weak. As I said before, the chi and auras are the same thing. It's just that they can be sensed in two different ways."

"Then how about some convincing proof from my own experience?"

"Okay. You have been to live theater, or perhaps you have performed in front of an audience yourself."

I nodded.

"When a charismatic performer connects with the audience, you can sense that connection. There's a subtle perceptible change within everyone. It is almost as if the performer is sending out a strong invisible signal from his or her heart. And this outpouring of love or energy or, call it whatever you will, is being sensed by the audience. And the audience sends back its energy. It feeds the performer. The audience-performer interconnection can build and strengthen, but it is a fragile link that can change almost instantaneously and be felt by everyone at the same time. . . . And you know this to be true because you, as an artist, have felt this on many occasions."

That caught me by surprise. "How did you know?"

"Because you have tremendous energy. I have only seen this strong an aura among real showmen. Real stars. You have that kind of aura."

"But nobody knows who Roger Baker is. I am not a star."

"You're an actor. You're headed for stardom. It's your destiny, but you have an unbelievably strong duality within your personality. That conflict is tearing you apart. You are hiding a great part of the self. You need to unify your spirit and let the performer grow unhindered by false restraints and unnecessary stress."

"You must be more specific. I don't want to reveal my innermost thoughts and secrets unless you can give me proof that you have genuine powers."

"All right. Do you have a piece of jewelry that you wear all the time? A watch or a ring perhaps?"

"I have a watch."

"Okay. I need to hold it. I can get impressions from it."

I took off the silver counterfeit Cartier and handed it to Dolly Shearer.

Dolly clutched the watch face in between the fingers of her right hand. She closed her eyes.

"I see that you have a very strong female side to your personality and it has been growing in strength. . . . Also, there is a beautiful young lady in your life. You yearn for her, but she does not return the feeling. . . . And yet, you think she loves the other half of your personality. You think she loves your female side, but rejects the male side. . . . Her name is Heather. Am I right?"

Right on. She was right on. I could only nod. How did she do it?

"I need something else of yours. You don't wear this watch all the time. Perhaps you could wear a ring from now on. If you were to wear a ring full-time, that would help me get a more complete reading on everything that's happening to you."

"I'll consider it."

"There is something else I should mention."

"I hope it's something good."

"You have a kindred spirit. She has been around you at all times lately."

"A relative?"

"No. This is somebody you admire greatly; somebody very close to you. However, she died a long time ago."

"Uh huh."

"You feel a strong connection to her. Some of the things that troubled her are also troubling you."

"Yes." I needed to know more.

"For example, many people admired her. Yet, she felt very lonely and unloved, primarily because of a troubled childhood."

"Yes. I think I know what you mean and whom you mean, but can you tell me her name?"

"She has several names—one of which you share in common. Your last name. She wants you to continue on this path. She believes that you will resolve your conflict soon."

"Keep going." That was incredible! Baker! My name and her name.

"This spirit doesn't believe you're ready to see anymore at this time. She believes you must keep seeking the truth. We must conclude this session now. I have another client waiting in the next room."

My head spun. I wanted to know more, but already felt like I'd heard too much. When Dolly handed me the flash card video recording of our session, I stuck it in my wallet. I was going to analyze my session as soon as I got home.

CHAPTER TEN

When I arrived at work the next day, Mrs. Robinson was in her work studio, which was where the entrance to my dressing room was located.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning." I engaged the kickstand of my Supercycle mountain bike and leaned it up against a wall.

"Hi Roger!" Heather called out from the far end of the workspace.

I waved hello.

Mrs. Robinson had a tube of glue in her hand. Apparently one of the wax figures needed some maintenance work.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Occasionally there's some vandalism." Mrs. Robinson didn't look very happy.

The Jim Carrey wax figure had been placed on top of a worktable.

"It looks okay to me."

"I believe a jacket is missing. Also, the pinky finger fell off when the thief removed the jacket."

The detached finger lay beside Jim Carrey's right hand.

The Jim Carrey figure had stood in the fabulous 'Bruce ALMIGHTY' display. Jim, as reporter Bruce Nolan, was aboard a mock-up of Niagara Falls' Maid of the Mist tour boat. The humorous scene, shot at Niagara Falls, was one I had used in one of my New Media: Production course commercials.

"Come here, Roger," Mrs. Robinson said. "I'll show you on the computer monitor."

Mrs. Robinson set aside the tube of glue. She played with the keyboard and mouse of the Roswell Replicator II for a moment and opened a picture file. Photos of the wax museum display for 'Bruce ALMIGHTY' appeared on the screen. Also, there were stills from the actual movie. A side-by-side comparison with the wax museum display demonstrated that the museum's model was incredibly accurate.

"We definitely need to replace the jacket," Heather said, as she peered over my shoulder.

Bruce Nolan, as portrayed by Jim Carrey, wanted to be the new anchorman of WKBW Eyewitness News, replacing the retiring Pete Fineman. While Bruce was on the tossing deck of the Maid of the Mist, surrounded by the roar of Niagara's Horseshoe Falls, the station delayed switching to the 'live report' to announce the coveted anchor job had gone to Bruce's rival, Evan Baxter, played by Steve Carell.

Bruce waited in his multicolored umbrella hat and green waterproof jacket until co-anchor Susan Ortega 'threw' to a stunned and severely disappointed Bruce Nolan. He did what in the news industry is called 'a Walt Disney'—Bruce froze solid: a deer in the headlights. The raging cascade's fury provided a stark contrast to Bruce's stone cold silence. Finally, he came out of his coma to interview elderly Irene Dansfield, whose mother rode on the tour boat's maiden voyage 156 years ago.

I picked up the umbrella hat and microphone prop from the worktable. What better time for my well rehearsed Jim Carrey impression?

"Hi Susan, Bruce Nolan here aboard the Maid of the Mist in fabulous Niagara Falls, New York. First off, let me just add another congratulations to Evan Backstabber … pardon me—bastard—Baxter rather. It is good to see what someone with real talent can do when great opportunities are given to them instead of me." I quoted the movie with a maniacal smile and a forced laugh.

There were happy grins on the faces of both Heather and her mom.

"Anyway, I'm here with Katharine Hepburn's mom. Tell me, why did you throw the blue 'heart of the ocean' jewel over the railing of the Titanic?"

I shoved the microphone in front of Mrs. Robinson. She was substituting for the bewildered old woman, Irene Dansfield, onboard the Maid of the Mist. Of course, she didn't know what to say.

"Did you feel bad at all letting Leo Di Caprio drown while you were safe floating on the big door? Could you have taken turns, or were you just too afraid to freeze your BIG FAT ASS OFF?"

I mugged for the imaginary camera.

"Well, I guess that's how life is, isn't it? Some people are drenched, freezing to death, on a stupid boat, with a stupid hat . . . while others are in a comfy news studio, sucking up all the glory! Oh well, no big deal." I wrenched off the umbrella hat and pretended to crush it.

"Oh, look, it's the owner of the Maid of the Mist! Let's have a talk with him, shall we?

Come on in here, Bill." I grabbed the forearm of Heather, pretending she was the owner. I steered the reluctant Bill/Heather toward the imaginary camera.

"No, no, no, come on, let's have a talk. . . . Bill, you've been running the Maid of the Mist for twenty-three years now. Tell me: Why do you think I didn't get the anchor job?"

Bill was supposed to say a line, so I moved behind Heather and did the voice for Bill, holding my right hand in front of Heather's mouth, flapping my thumb and fingers like they were my mouth opening and closing in unison to the words. "Hey man, I don't want any problems."

Then I moved back to Bruce's position beside Heather.

"Is it my hair, Bill?" I shook my head violently like a dog trying to rid itself of water.

"Are my teeth not white enough? Or like the great Falls, is the bedrock of my life, eroding beneath me? Eroding! ERODING! Ero-o-o-o-ding! Ero-o-o-o-ding." The prolonged meltdown was reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.

"I'm Bruce Nolan, for Eyewitness News. Back to you, fuckers!"

Mrs. Robinson and Heather started applauding.

Then Heather opened her arms to me and we hugged. "That was great! You're such a good mimic."

Mrs. Robinson put her arms around both Heather and I. "You have so much talent," Mrs. Robinson said. "You're really funny. I am so glad I hired you."

In the film, because Bruce Nolan's tirade culminated with the ultimate 'F-word' expletive, WKBW (Wimpy Kiddy Baby Whiners) decided to play the Trump card: 'You're fired!'

"Thanks for the compliments." I looked at the smiling faces of Mrs. Robinson and Heather.

"Hmmm. If this Marilyn Monroe impersonation doesn't work out, you might give stand-up comedy a shot," Mrs. Robinson said. "Jim Carrey started out in stand-up doing impressions."

"Alrighty, Mrs. Robinson, I'll keep it in mind," I said in the Jim Carrey voice. "In the meantime, I'll just get back into my Marilyn body, mask, wig, and dress and try to revive her career."

I began walking toward my dressing room.

"Any idea of where I can find a duplicate jacket?" Mrs. Robinson asked of Heather.

The jacket was one of those hard to define green shades. It had a hood and was waterproof.

I stopped for a moment and turned around. "Perhaps you could try Hudson's Bay, Eddie Bauer, or Tilley Endurables."

"Endurable? This kind of headache I don't need to endure—as if I didn't have enough troubles already."

Mrs. Robinson seemed to be under a lot of stress. Heather gave her mom a consoling hug.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After a complete run-through of the whole program with Heather, Pete, and the technical crew, we seemed ready.

Tomorrow would be a dress rehearsal, so we needed to go through costume changes. I'd be wearing three different sets of costumes. To put my mind at ease, Heather told me her mom had volunteered to be my dresser. That made me feel really good. The boss, Mrs. Robinson, would be my dresser! Also, it was a big relief knowing that I wouldn't have to worry about someone accidentally discovering my deep dark secret.

Heather carried on about how ads had been placed on CFAL, a local radio station. She had contacted newspapers in Hamilton, Buffalo, and Toronto. The mayor and other local dignitaries had been invited. She had hired a camera crew to make a DVD recording of our stage act. A banquet hall had been booked for a party for the staff. Heather had all the angles covered.

At times like this, I felt lucky to have fallen into a dream job—to be an entertainer and to work with such a lovely person! Was she even aware of what impact her presence had on me?

Heather and I retreated to the ground floor studio where my transformation room was located and reviewed the whole rehearsal from start to finish. There were a few minor timing concerns. Pete had been great in responding to the visual hand signals we had worked out for our cues. The wireless microphone problem had been resolved. For the dance numbers, we settled on use of a Velcro strap around the upper thigh. The small cassette size transmitter would be strapped to the inner thigh, just below the crotch. The cut of the gown hid the upper thigh and for the opening dance numbers, we didn't have to do high leg kicks. For other routines, we could use the old wire microphone set up that Marilyn Monroe would have used.

We went through each song, each dance routine, and all the technical aspects of lighting and sound. Intuitively I knew that Heather felt something was missing. Call it a sixth sense, but sometimes I had a sensitivity to reading people's emotions or even their inner thoughts. She had something on her mind that needed to be spilled.

Heather got up from her chair and slid back the closet mirror panel behind her. The gowns we would be using in the show were all hanging there. There were two copies of each of the four sets of costumes. Heather had said I might need more of the white dresses so that we could rotate them through the cleaners—and that one would be hard to keep spotless.

Heather took down the gown that Marilyn Monroe had worn the night she had sung 'Happy Birthday' to John F. Kennedy at Madison Square Garden.

"Marilyn, could you try this gown on, please?" Heather asked. "Let see how it hangs on you."

"Sure thing, Heather." I stripped off my dancer's leotard without hesitation. Heather had seen Marilyn 'naked' many times before.

I put on a nylon body stocking first, and then slipped into the whisper thin, diaphanous gown, pulled the body-hugging material over my bountiful bosom, and I looked into a full-length mirror. If I hadn't put on the body stocking, you could have seen my nipples right through the gown material. If you looked closely, you could have seen . . . .

"That is such a sexy gown," Heather gushed. "There are very few women who could do justice to it."

I looked in the mirror and examined my body as objectively as I could. The male side of my personality was turned on by it. The female side admired the perfection of its form.

"It is spectacular."

"But, I think there's still something missing."

I looked around me for whatever it was she meant. "You mean the accessories like the jewelry? I can put it on if you like."

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Then what?" I didn't have a clue where she was going.

"It's about Marilyn's personality."

"Uh huh."

"Marilyn had a 'Je ne sais quois' sex appeal that nobody else could duplicate."

I loved it when she talked French . . . or any other language. I thought about what Marilyn has said in an interview. "It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone." I felt like that about Heather.

"Je ne sais quoi means I don't know what in French." Francais had been my worst subject in High School.

"Right. Marilyn's sex appeal was hard to define or explain. Even so, we need to try to get you to emulate it."

"That will be very hard to do. Remember, I've only been a girl for a short time."

"Well, some of it can be learned. And it can develop too. I think we can improve on what you have now."

When Heather looked at me with her doe-like eyes, she always made me feel so special.

"You know, Marilyn Monroe had a special quality that few other Hollywood stars could project. It was that sexual attraction that she could turn on. People could sense it. It is one of the reasons she became the most popular movie star in history." Heather tried to pull me into a different mindset—an emotional one. She relaxed her body and spoke in a more seductive and playful tone. "Marilyn had a kind of hard to explain appeal—there's just something about her that makes her likable on the movie screen. It's not just the fact that she was beautiful." Heather looked at me with hunger in her eyes. "Well, I have a theory on that. I think people can send out signals or vibrations that affect others. I think Marilyn Monroe had a golden glow about her, an appeal, a gentle radiance—and people could sense it."

"I don't know that I've ever experienced it, except maybe with you." Oh jeez, I hadn't meant to blurt out that. When I got in Marilyn mode I sometimes became too candid.

Heather smiled at me. "I like you to. We've become good friends."

Good friends. The last thing any boy wanted to hear from a girl.

Heather got right back to business. "When you see a live theatrical performance, you can sense when a performer establishes a link with the audience. It isn't about just the appearance, the expression, the voice—there's an allure about the person. Marilyn Monroe personified glamour. Seductiveness. Love. People liked her immediately. They adored her."

"But how does a performer develop it?"

"I think you look, sound, and move like Marilyn Monroe. The rehearsals have gone so well."

"But?"

"You need to work on one tiny element."

"What's that?" I hoped she didn't think my 'element' was tiny.

"Sex appeal."

Sex! "That's a pretty tall order considering I'm a guy imitating the sexiest woman in history."

"Believe it or not, right now I think you have enormous sex appeal as Marilyn."

"I do?" I had thought I looked pretty good in the mirror, but it made me tingle to hear her say it.

"However, I think you just need to become aware of your allure—and enhance it."

"How?" Maybe the Roswell Replicator had a button we could push to add a little sex to my performance.

"First of all, you have to believe you're sexy."

"Okay." I do believe. I do believe. Was that mantra from 'The Wizard of Oz' or 'Peter Pan'?

"You can communicate sexiness by means of body language. Through subtle gestures and nuances, you can be very enticing."

"Well, as Marilyn, I have noticed that Pete, Tom, and Gord treat me completely different from the way I've ever been treated as Roger."

"Yes, they sometimes seem overwhelmed by your beauty. When I'm the other girl in the room, I can tell you that you're too much competition for me."

"Not for you, Heather. My goodness . . . you're lovely." My hands flew to my mouth to stop me from saying anything else that was clearly stupid.

Heather giggled. "Marilyn, sometimes I love you to bits. You take the nicest parts of Roger and blend them with a bit of Monroe magic and it all comes out sweet."

My head reeled. Had she just paid me a compliment, or Marilyn, or Marilyn-me?

"If they only knew the truth," I replied with a laugh.

"Actually, I felt extremely jealous when Brad stuck his tongue in your mouth."

"I'm sorry. I should've been more careful." I touched her hand and pleaded with my eyes for her to forgive me.

"It wasn't your fault. It was simply one of my bad ideas that went entirely wrong."

"I didn't enjoy that at all." I considered again telling Heather about the Niagara Country Club Inn and Brad's date with the redhead.

"Seriously, when you're Marilyn, you have to forget that you're a boy. I think when you meet people as Marilyn—if we want this impersonation to be as successful as possible—I think we have to work on your interactions with other people. You have to exude sex appeal, vulnerability, and intimacy."

"Kinda like the way you do?"

"Thank you, but I think all attractive girls have had some experience at seducing guys." Heather nudged me with her shoulder and gave me a come-get-me look.

"Uh huh, I think you're very seductive." I thought she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Heather put her arm around my waist and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Now what do you think?"

Think? "I'm a pushover for you. Do whatever you want with me."

"Oh c'mon. You're no challenge at all."

"All right. I'll resist your advances."

Heather paused for a moment, as if considering her choices. "Let's try this again. Only this time, I want you to be the seductress . . . but there are two rules. You can't touch me, and you can't say anything."

"Challenge accepted." What did I have to lose?

I smiled and looked down at my voluptuous curves, taking a personal inventory of what I had to work with—which was plenty. I moved up closer to her and willed my body to be soft, cuddly, and inviting. I thought only of loving Heather with a smoldering, burning passion. I looked into her eyes and dreamed intensely of how gorgeous she was. Of her perfect sensuous body. Her soft supple curves. Her intoxicating scent. I thought of how beautiful a union with her would be—soulmate to soulmate.

And then it happened. Heather wrapped her arms around me lovingly and kissed me deeply.

"I think you've got it," Heather whispered.

CHAPTER TWELVE

On opening day, Heather and I stood nervously in the wings offstage, fully made up, and dressed in our costumes for the first number.

There was an air of excitement under the Big Top. The Rooftop Theater was jam-packed with seven hundred eager spectators.

I looked at gorgeous Heather. She had used her make-up skills to imitate Jane Russell's face and had additional padding to give herself a 'full-figured' silhouette under her glitzy red sequined gown. The dress was slit down the middle, with a flesh colored fabric from the neck to the waist, separating 'Jane's' prominent breasts. I should have known it wouldn't be too hard for someone as sexy as Heather to mimic a movie star . . . with or without the Roswell Replicator.

'Jane' showed lots of leg. There was another tantalizing slit down the left side of the gown. The shoes were matching red high heels. Four 'diamond' bracelets over the left sleeve, two bracelets on the right, a diamond brooch at the top of the leg slit in the dress, and a dazzling diamond necklace completed the look of the evening gown. Her long 'Jane Russell' tresses held up a matching red cap topped by a white feather headdress, with the plumes combed from left to right. The complete ensemble was a replica of the costume from the film 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.' I was dressed in the exact same attire.

At precisely noon, Pete struck up 'There's No Business Like Show Business' and we began. From there, I think I did the whole show on autopilot. It all seemed to go by so fast.

At first I consciously oozed sex toward Heather, which was easy given how I felt about her. As the performance went on and the audience showed their love for what we were doing, I started to romance them. 'Sex is part of nature. I go along with nature.' Where had that thought come from?

We began by marching on stage together singing the opening line, "We're just two little girls from Little Rock" and continued on, followed by 'Bye Bye Baby.' I didn't have to think at all about the dance moves. We had rehearsed so well and so often. Even Tom, Gord, and Pete, in spite of far less preparation time, hit all the cues. The lights, the sound, and the music were perfect!

Then, while Heather and I exited stage left to change our costumes, the video screens took over.

A scene from the 'Gentlemen' movie flashed to life. Young Mr. Augustus Esmond, played by Tommy Noonan, came backstage, calling on Lorelei Lee, played by Marilyn Monroe. Gus was supposed to be the son of a wealthy businessman. Lorelei Lee was a gold digging showgirl. When Lorelei greeted Gus with a hot kiss at the dressing room door, he stood there for a long time—with a stunned, stupefied look on his face. Dorothy Shaw, portrayed by Jane Russell, quipped, "I don't know what you do honey, unless you use Novocaine in your lipstick."

Backstage, Mrs. Robinson helped me change costumes. My hot sequined gown from the opening numbers was off in less than thirty seconds. Together we pulled on my pink, off the shoulder sheath gown, with a wide bow or 'bustle' at the back, plus long velvet opera gloves. Within two minutes, I was all ready for the next number.

The video screen faded to black. Pete struck up the chords of the introduction. I entered stage right, strutting in time to the military cadence of the 'Diamonds' opening.

"The French are bred to die for love.

They delight in fighting duels.

But I prefer a man who lives

And gives expensive jewels.

"A kiss on the hand

May be quite continental,

But diamonds are a girl's best friend.

"A kiss may be grand

But it won't pay the rental

On your humble flat

Or help you at the automat.

"Men grow cold

As girls grow old,

And we all lose our charms in the end.

"But square-cut or pear-shaped,

These rocks don't loose their shape.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

"Tiffany's!

Cartier!

Diamonds! Diamonds!

I don't mean rhinestones!

But diamonds are a girl's best friend!"

Music by Jules Styne and lyrics by Leo Robin, it was a timeless classic. My favorite Marilyn Monroe song! The audience loved it too. The intense vibes going back and forth between them and me nearly knocked me over. It wasn't quite sex, but it wasn't quite NOT sex.

Another video interlude entertained the audience while I changed into the most famous dress in cinema history. The scene with Tom Ewell from 'The Seven Year Itch' came on screen.

Before I knew it, I was back on stage. I stood on a New York City sidewalk, clad in a classic white dress. Suddenly, a rumble of a subway passing below street level caused a strong breeze to blow up through the street grate. I stood above the vent. The strong breeze caused my dress to billow up. I stood with my legs apart, my arms akimbo, holding the sides of my dress down; struggling to protect my modesty. The white skirt billowed like a parachute in the wind. My legs and panties were fully exposed! I closed my eyes, smiled, and enjoyed the feel of the breeze on my gorgeous legs.

The affect on the audience bounced back and forth between them and me and I sighed, which caused them to 'ohhhh.'

Then the city set, on top of a huge turntable, slowly rotated, hiding me from view. The crowd burst out with thunderous applause!

Next, Jane Russell took over. Heather sang and danced to 'Ain't There Anyone Here for Love?' Unfortunately, we didn't have a bevy of male studs to pose as members of the U.S. Olympic team, but Heather sang it hot and sassy to the guys in the front row. It was a huge hit.

When I returned to the stage, I sang 'Do It Again' from the film 'French Doll'; 'River of No Return' from the movie of the same name; and 'After You Get What You Want, You Don't Want It Anymore' from 'There's No Business Like Show Business.'

As I strolled off the stage to a rousing ovation, Heather came back and did some audience participation schtick. She asked the crowd where they were from. There were many that had come from outside of North America. People had come from all over the world—from Europe, Australia, South-East Asia, and the Middle East. You name a continent—they were all covered—except for Antarctica.

When she asked, "Who's celebrating a birthday today?" she got all sorts of responses. One friendly guy from Miami, traveling with his wife, was honoring his 75^th year of blissful existence. Heather asked him to come onstage.

I came out behind him, dressed in my diaphanous gown. The audience gasped when they saw what I was wearing and guessed what I was going to do. I poured my heart into singing a sultry sexy version of 'Happy Birthday,' using the kind gentleman as my 'Jack.' He grinned with delight throughout the song as I focused pure lust on him. When I kissed the birthday 'boy' on the lips to conclude the song, the audience exploded!

I curtsied several times as they gave me a standing ovation. The gentleman, no fool, gave me a celebratory hug, and kisses on both cheeks.

Next, we brought up to the stage a young couple celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. I launched into Bob Hope's signature song 'Thanks for the Memories.' Marilyn had sung that song for JFK as well. And this time, when I embraced the couple, Heather joined in too.

Then I concluded the set with 'My Heart Belongs to Daddy' from the film 'Let's Make Love,' the one that starred Yves Montand. Finally, I waved goodbye, with both hands over my head in a way that drew full attention to my curves.

The audience went wild. They stood and applauded for at least a minute straight. They wouldn't let me go.

It felt wonderful. I was absolutely flying on air. My body tingled all over. It felt better than multiple orgasms.

Mrs. Robinson and I set some sort of time-lapsed record for changing clothes so that I could return for an encore wearing a dazzling gold evening gown. I sang my final song from the film 'Some Like It Hot.'

"I wanna be loved by you

Just you and nobody else but you

I wanna be loved by you alone

pooh pooh bee doo!

"I wanna be kissed by you

Just you and nobody else but you

I wanna be kissed by you alone

"I couldn't aspire

To anything higher

Than to fill the desire

To make you my own

paah-dum paah-dum doo bee dum, pooooo!"

This time when I blew kisses to the audience and waved goodbye, I wasn't going to return until the two o'clock show. The lights came up, signaling the end of the performance.

From start to finish, the complete show had lasted one hour and ten minutes. Just over an hour to change me completely. 'I'm very definitely a woman, and I enjoyed it.' I thought, as I walked down the stairs in my high heels, as if I'd worn them all my life.

However, Heather and I weren't finished yet. We stood near one of the exits and shook hands with the audience as they filed out. Over the next twenty minutes, we received heart-warming compliments from virtually everyone who took the time to talk to us.

"The lady at the ticket wicket said your show would last seventy minutes," a young man with impressive biceps said—his girlfriend didn't look as eager to talk with me. "You were right on time."

"I've been on a calendar," I replied, using a Marilyn line, "but I've never been on 'Time.' "

A woman in her sixties looked me over like I was an organism being examined under a microscope. "When I was young I used to dream about being you."

Again I answered with a Marilyn quote, "Dreaming about being an actress is more exciting than being one."

Everyone laughed at whatever I said. I could've read the phone book and they would've thought I was witty. All I had to do was look at where on my body the men's eyes were focused to know what they were thinking. I probably should have been repulsed, but instead I did what Marilyn would have done and I played with them.

Some of the more audacious men actually asked me out and one 'gentleman' even proposed marriage, but the most outrageous comment came from a daredevil who suggested that I join him in a barrel ride over Niagara Falls.

"Silly boy, I'm Marilyn Monroe—not Kathleen Turner." I hoped they would get the oblique reference to 'Romancing the Stone.' They laughed; whether they got it or not, I'll never know.

A man, who had been waiting patiently for twenty minutes while the line shrank, introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Steve Chapin." He extended his hand; and I shook it lightly. "I'm with the Toronto Times. I am a feature writer. Would you mind if I asked a few questions?"

"No, not at all. I'd be happy to answer your questions."

For a reporter, he seemed a little tentative. Perhaps he was intimidated by Marilyn's beauty. He was perhaps thirty something, average height, with a heavy beard, and suffering from a mild case of middle-age spread. Why have a six-pack when you can have a keg?

"Well, could we start with some background questions?"

"Yes. Go ahead."

"What's your name?"

"Marilyn. Just the first name. It's my stage name. My real name I'd like to keep private. If you'd like, you can call me Norma Jeane."

He grinned. "I understand. Where are you from?"

"At the present time, I am living in the Niagara area." He could be fun. "Are you going to be one of 'those' reporters?"

He stared at me in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I struggled to remember the full Marilyn quote and delivered it as she would have. "Some people have been unkind. If I say I want to grow as an actress, they look at my figure. If I say I want to develop, to learn my craft, they laugh. Somehow they don't expect me to be serious about my work."

He looked at me in a way that said he definitely knew where my quote had come from.

He laughed. "Marilyn, it's great to have you back." He then went on asking his questions.

"Is this your hometown?"

"Well, I have spent most of my formative years here or at least in this vicinity. Also, I spent a few years out west, but I consider Niagara Falls to be home now."

"Where did you go to school?"

"I attended Niagara Community College."

"What did you study there?"

"I was in the Communications program."

"So, how did the students at your school react to having a blonde bombshell in their midst? You must have been very popular on campus."

"Actually, when I'm not performing, I try not to attract attention, Mr. Chapin. In fact, I doubt that you'd recognize me out of make-up."

"Are you saying that without make-up you don't look like Marilyn Monroe?"

"Let's just say that part of this," I indicated by outlining my head and body with my arms, "is an illusion. But which part is real and which is an illusion, I will not tell."

His eyes nibbled at my figure so I threw him another line Marilyn had said. "It's all make-believe, isn't it?"

I wiggled my hips a bit as I made an adjustment in the way my gown hung, that hadn't been needed. Remembering what Heather had taught me I tried to think of the reporter as a sexual partner—for Marilyn. I proceeded to seduce him.

"Have you performed elsewhere as Marilyn Monroe?"

"Actually, this is the first time I've ever performed in public. I'm trying to find myself as a person, sometimes that's not easy to do. Millions of people live their entire lives without finding themselves. But it is something I must do. The best way for me to find myself as a person is to prove to myself that I am an actress."

"Did Marilyn say that?"

I tried my best to look perplexed, "I just did . . . didn't I?"

"Nicely done. You have a lot of potential, young lady."

"Thank you."

Heather had been listening patiently. She stepped in at that opportune moment.

"Marilyn, we need to take a break. We need to prepare for the next show. In a few minutes, the staff will be letting in ticket holders. We need to review our performances and change costumes."

"I'm sorry Mr. Chapin, but I have to go. Perhaps another time."

"Thank you. I enjoyed your performance."

I nodded acknowledgement of his compliment and smiled seductively. I then reached out and straightened his tie, and then kissed him lightly on the cheek, enough to leave a little lipstick. As we left, I worked that distinctive Marilyn walk.

Once we closed the door, Heather and I giggled and hugged like best girlfriends, which I supposed we were at that moment.

"Amazing! How did you remember all those Marilyn quotes?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "They just were in my head when I needed them."

When I sat down in front of the dressing room mirror and took some deep breaths Marilyn Monroe's reflection looked back at me. Wow! I had a hard time believing it wasn't just a fantasy.

"I guess I am a fantasy." Another Marilyn quote! Where were they coming from?

 

THE END OF PART ONE OF A THREE PART STORY

  

  

  

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