"I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it."
Marilyn Monroe

 

Like a Candle in the Wind

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Part 2

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

All of our audiences were so enthusiastic! Standing ovations! The crowds demanded encores at each performance! The Marilyn Show's success went above and beyond our expectations.

If there was a downside it was that the crowds paid too much attention to me . . . and not enough to Heather's portrayal of Jane Russell. She did a great job, but I was getting the benefit of Marilyn's vast popularity.

After the third triumphant show of the opening day, we got all of the employees from Robinson's Wax Museum together for a reception at a nearby Chinese Restaurant called the Golden Dragon.

The Golden Dragon was a fairly large restaurant with a few special touches. You entered by crossing a bridge over a goldfish pond. Some coins had been tossed into the shallow decorative pond—perhaps for good luck? There was also an unusual statue of a golden dragon. From its menacing mouth, the dragon shot water into a catchment tube twenty feet away. Until seeing it, I had thought dragons breathed fire—not water.

Robinson's had reserved a private banquet room on the second floor. From that height, through the glass tower of the stairwell, we had an unobstructed view of Clifton Hill; and we could see the spray above the mighty Falls in the distance.

Mrs. Robinson had said it would be strange if I didn't attend, being the 'star.' She said I had to stay in character so that people wouldn't figure out who I was. At first I thought she wanted me to wear the white dress. Even though it was pretty sexy, it was the least revealing choice of the three. She surprised me with a blue female outfit and accompanying shoes and lingerie she'd bought for me to wear to the celebration. Her confidence in me was amazing and reassuring, and I thanked her profusely.

Opening Day had been a huge hit! We were sold out for all three shows! And, more importantly, we were a critical hit. Word of mouth and favorable publicity would keep us busy for the whole summer. At least, that was what I hoped.

As Pete and I talked about the show, he hung on every word I said. Dressed in the turtleneck and jacket he had worn in the show, Pete clearly intended to impress Marilyn. I had never seen Pete wear a sports jacket. I laughed to myself about his changed attitude toward me, but didn't want to give him too much time to talk to 'Marilyn' because there was a chance he'd recognize me underneath the mask. My plan to avoid detection was to stay as far away from him in rehearsal as possible.

Mrs. Robinson came up to talk to us. She had a message for Pete from his friend Roger Baker, who couldn't make the party. Per our pre-arranged story, Roger had decided to change his job description. He was going to work the night shift as a security guard. He'd receive higher pay, although he'd also work longer hours. Pete seemed surprised, but also appeared to buy the alibi I'd asked Mrs. Robinson to come up with to keep him from wondering why he never saw me, even though he worked at the same place.

Mrs. Robinson had to say hello to a few other employees, so she left me alone with Pete. To deepen my cover, I asked Pete about his interests outside of music. His answers surprised me. I'd known Pete for years and he'd never opened up to me like he did to 'Marilyn.'

A few minutes later, Brad Adams entered the room with Heather Robinson on his arm.

"Do you know that guy who just entered with Heather?" Pete asked. "The one dressed in the beige Polo shirt, brown slacks, and loafers."

"I believe that's Heather's boyfriend," I replied, surprised by Pete's interest. "His name is Brad Adams."

"Really? Her boyfriend?"

"Yes. Why?" The look on Pete's face told me he remembered Brad from the golf course lounge, but I had to play it straight.

"I've seen him before." Pete spoke from behind hooded eyes.

"At the wax museum?"

"No. Somewhere else."

"Marilyn!" Heather cried out as she came toward us.

"Heather!"

We hugged and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. "Fabulous outfit!"

She wore a flowing figure-hugging black velvet dress.

"Thanks. You look great too."

It was the first time I had worn any female clothing outside of the wax museum. The dark blue pinstripe pantsuit Mrs. Robinson had bought for me gave me a professional, business-like air, but at the same time, the tailored jacket also was sexy as hell.

"Pete!"

Heather hugged Pete for what seemed an eternity, or did jealousy make me exaggerate?

"You were great today, Pete. It couldn't have gone any better."

"Thanks Heather," Pete said, as he wrapped his arms around Heather.

"How are you, Brad?" I asked. I stood back from him, offering no hugs.

"Good. And you?" Brad asked.

"Fine."

"Pete," Heather said, "I'd like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Brad Adams. This is Pete Winslow, our one man-band."

Pete's expression was kind of dour. "I believe I know you, Mr. Adams. You belong to the Niagara Country Club, don't you?"

"Yes," Brad said with a puzzled look.

"I've seen you at the Niagara Country Club Inn. I perform there most evenings. In fact, I recall seeing you there recently."

"Really?" There was a look of genuine worry in Brad's expression, as he seemed to place Pete.

Pete spread his feet a bit and stuck his jaw out toward Brad. "But the lady you were with Monday night wasn't Heather Robinson."

"You must be mistaken."

Brad oozed slime as his eyes begged Pete to go no further.

"No. I'm absolutely certain," Pete said with additional anger in his face. "You came up and requested a Barry Manilow song—'Mandy.' You said it was your girlfriend's name."

"No, Heather is my girlfriend. Mandy is just a friend."

Heather's face registered a mix of emotions. Would she throw her support behind Brad and stand by her man? Or would she believe Pete?

"Perhaps you are mistaken, Pete?" Heather suggested, but without much enthusiasm.

"No, I'm absolutely certain. This jerk isn't worthy of being your boyfriend. I haven't known you very long, Heather, but I know you deserve better than this pond scum."

Brad blustered, trying desperately to pull himself out of a deep hole. "You freakin' asshole! Who do you think you are? Heather, is all your hired help so rude?"

Heather stepped in between the two. I attempted to hold back Pete from Brad.

"Stop this!" I pleaded with Pete, in my best Marilyn voice.

"I know what I saw!" Pete claimed.

"You don't know squat!" Brad countered.

I pulled Pete away to a neutral corner. Since he thought it was 'Marilyn' tugging on him he didn't fight me as he would have Roger. Heather nudged Brad toward the entranceway.

It took awhile for me to cool Pete down. Actually, I think I realized I had gotten through to him when I looked down at my hands—our hands clasped together. I quickly removed them. I didn't want Pete to think of me as a possible future girlfriend. Complications like that I didn't need.

After I had persuaded him to chill out, I suggested he talk with Tom and Gord about a small change I wanted in our third number, and then I went to look for Heather. We needed to talk.

I found Brad and Heather at the ground floor entranceway, standing on the bridge over the goldfish pond. It appeared that they were arguing. Her eyes were moist and her mascara had smeared.

I touched her shoulder. "Heather, could I speak to you in private, please?"

She looked like she was about to burst out in a torrent of tears.

"Please, I need to speak with you for a moment," I pleaded.

She nodded. I put my arm around her waist and gently guided her toward the door.

I spoke over my shoulder as we left. "Brad, don't make the situation worse. Please wait here. We'll be back in a minute or two."

Thankfully he said nothing. He had no real reason to be angry with me.

After we stepped through the glass doors at the entranceway, I gave Heather a supportive hug. In a whisper, I said, "I know Pete is telling the truth. I went to watch Pete perform in Niagara-on-the-Lake, and I saw Brad with a redhead at the Lounge. Brad was kissing her." I paused. "Actually, Brad was all over her."

Heather gave me a pained look. "When?" she asked, as she looked back toward Brad.

"On the first day that Pete rehearsed with us. However, I wasn't dressed like this. I was plain old Roger Baker, but I saw Brad with that girl."

"But if you knew Brad was cheating on me, why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't sure it was my place. And, how would you explain how you found out? Roger Baker has never even met Brad Adams." I paused before continuing, not knowing how much I should say about my own feelings. "Besides, you might have thought I was making up a story because I was jealous of Brad. Heather, from the first day we met, I liked you. And I was hoping that someday I'd have a chance with you. . . . That's the truth."

Heather looked like she had been struck by a lightning bolt.

"Oh Roger, I never knew you felt that way."

"Yes."

"Oh my god!"

"Yes. I know it must seem strange, seeing as I look like Marilyn Monroe."

Heather wrapped her arms around me. As she squeezed the air out of me, I felt ecstatic!

Brad Adams burst through the doors.

"What the hell's going on here? Are you two lesbians?"

Heather turned to face him. "We're finished Brad. I don't care what you think! I don't care what you say! You cheated on me! Goodbye! Good riddance!" Heather put her arm around my shoulder. "C'mon Marilyn. Let's get back to the party. And Brad, you aren't invited anymore! I hope I never see you again!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To help prepare for my tribute to Marilyn Monroe, I watched many movie videos. 'Some Like It Hot,' 'The Seven Year Itch,' and 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' were all in my collection.

Being a native son of the Falls, I had to buy 'Niagara'! The film 'Niagara' was a rare serious role for her. Shot in June 1952, the movie also starred Joseph Cotton and Jean Peters. Marilyn played the part of Joseph Cotton's unhappily married wife. In order to escape her desperate situation, Marilyn schemed to murder her husband, with the help of a young lover.

The film certainly helped launch Marilyn's career. One scene from the video that I replayed over and over was a famous and memorable 116-foot walk that reportedly was one of the longest solo strolls in cinematic history. Her swivel-hipped alluring gait was permanently etched in my memory, but her provocative wiggle was not easy to emulate. I practiced it over and over again in front of a full-length mirror within the confines of my bedroom.

The biggest difficulty was walking the thin line between a realistic portrayal and parody. The exaggerated sway of the hips was had been done intentionally by Marilyn during that scene. The camera followed her walking toward the American Falls. She knew that by making the stroll sexy and sizzling, she would carry the whole scene.

I was afraid I'd wear a hole in the carpet with my high heels, but I wanted to make it natural, something I could do without thinking. Finally, I took a brief rest, flopped onto my bed, and closed my eyes for a few minutes.

I tried to imagine how my performance would go later in the day. I visualized the opening number, Pete playing 'There's No Business Like Show Business,' Heather and I, attired in dazzling red sequined gowns, entering the stage together as Pete switched to the music for 'Two Little Girls From Little Rock.' From there I went on to visualize 'Bye Bye Baby.'

The ring of the cell phone interrupted my daydream.

"Hello," I said in my own voice.

"Hi, Roger.

"Hey Pete. How's it going?"

"Great! How are you?"

"Pretty good. So, I guess you know 'The Marilyn Show' is big news in Niagara Falls. You must be happy about that."

"The show's been terrific! We've been drawing big audiences."

"I've seen some of the write-ups in the newspapers. They've been really positive. Also, there were a few photos of 'Marilyn' as well. So who is this Marilyn look-alike?"

"Actually, I don't really know much about her, but she really is amazingly realistic. She looks gorgeous and her vocal impressions are incredible. . . . Why, I'd say she is as good a mimic as you, little buddy."

Omigod, he's guessed. "Thanks Pete, but how come you don't know much about her?" I had to move on and hope I was mistaken.

"She and Heather are really close. It's not like they are unfriendly or anything. It's just that we don't have much time between shows and the girls have to mingle with the fans after the shows. And then they retreat to their dressing rooms to recuperate during the short amount of time between shows. We just don't get to spend much time together."

"Well, what do you do between the shows?"

"Not too much. I usually shoot the breeze with Tom and Gord, the guys who handle the technical stuff. Along with Mrs. Robinson, we've been planning improvements to the sets we've been using. The wax museum has a small staff that works on displays or sets for their 'star' wax figures. So far, we've been managing with painted screens that drop down from the top of the stage. They're pretty good because we don't need to move heavy stuff around, but we're always looking for ways to improve the production."

"What about your synthesizer? What about the quality of the sound?"

"A large tent doesn't have the best acoustical properties, but I think the sound is carrying pretty well. It isn't too huge a space to fill with our top notch JBL sound system."

"How about adding additional musicians or dancers?" I had to be careful not to 'know' too much.

"Not yet. I don't know if it makes economic sense. And the summer season is pretty short." Pete paused for a moment. "So, how come I haven't seen you down at the museum? Don't you work there anymore?"

"Actually, I switched to the night watch shift for reasons of a better wage." I knew that I had to come up with a better excuse for not being around. "However, I just got a job in Montreal."

"Montreal?"

"Yeah, I'm working for my Uncle Ned. It's his company and I'm going to be staying there in La Belle Province at his house for the summer."

"So what type of work will you be doing?"

"It's an advertising company. I'll be doing some graphics work and photo layouts for magazine ads." I hoped Pete would believe my fabricated story. "It's the kind of stuff I've been preparing for in one of my courses at Niagara Community College."

"Wow! Sounds great. Montreal is a great party town, especially in the summertime. I'm sure you'll love Montreal. Maybe, if I have time, I'll come visit you. I'd love to check out some of the clubs there."

"Sure Pete. We'll have to see how things work out first, however." Keeping in touch with Pete could present a problem. I couldn't very well give him the phone number of my uncle in Montreal. "I'll call you on my cell or email you once I get settled."

I hated lying to Pete. However, if I didn't come up with some kind of believable story, it'd be like Clark Kent trying to explain to Lois Lane why he was never around at the same time as Superman.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In my heart, I was hoping that Heather would fall madly in love with me, we would get married, and that we would live happily ever after. What can I say? I'm a dreamer.

The Marilyn Show was going even better than I could have hoped. We were sold out for every show. Travel agents were booking bus tours to stop off at the wax museum to take in the concert. We were doing shows at 12:00, 2:00, 4:00 and 7:00. We had busloads of Germans, Brits, Japanese, Italians, Brazilians and so on. We could have added a 9:00 o'clock show, but as it was, the hectic schedule was wearing out all of us.

After the evening show I needed sleep and often couldn't get my eyes shut until well after midnight, if then. Mrs. Robinson said it was because of all the adrenaline in my body. She gave me some of her sleeping pills to help me take the edge off, so sleep would come easier. I didn't want to take them, but did, for the good of the production.

Heather was getting over the loss of Brad. I suspected she missed him in some ways. I surmised from some of Mrs. Robinson's witty remarks that Brad had been quite the sexual athlete in bed. Heather and Mrs. Robinson treated me like one of the girls; I quickly realized that ladies talk about sex as much as the guys do. In fact, they'd go into more detail. They'd even compare bedroom performances. From 5-star rating to a 'dead fish' score.

Heather and Roger—a budding romance? No.

Heather hadn't worked out all her feelings about me. The vast majority of the time Heather saw me, I was dressed as Marilyn Monroe. Sex symbol. Goddess. Still idolized by millions of people years after her death. As a guy, I was still a nerdy little runt.

In doing my research for the role of Marilyn, I found out that she was not considered beautiful when she was a child. Marilyn said, "No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they are pretty, even if they aren't." Perhaps it led to a lack of confidence. Certainly the lack of confidence applied to me. In my case, I had never been considered handsome as a young boy. And now I was adored as Marilyn and virtually invisible as Roger.

Six days a week, I'd perform with Heather onstage. We were so close. Yet, I never got anywhere with her. Any time I suggested doing something, she came up with an excuse. After the third try, I decided to stop asking. I got the message. I was not about to try a fourth time.

I got a little depressed about the whole thing—performing as Marilyn, keeping my identity a secret, and having no love life while being adored by all sorts of people who had seen the show.

As Marilyn said, "A career is a wonderful thing, but you can't snuggle up to it on a cold night."

She had experienced many bouts of depression. Some of the other quotes attributed to Marilyn on the Internet were quite revealing:

"I was never used to being happy, so that wasn't something I ever took for granted. You see, I was brought up differently from the average American child because the average child is brought up expecting to be happy."

When talking about her mother, Marilyn said: "To me, she was just that red-haired woman."

Marilyn offered a few insights into her struggling years as an actress.

"I think if other girls know how bad I was when I started they'll be encouraged. I finally made up my mind I wanted to be an actress—and I was not going to let my lack of confidence ruin my chances."

"There were dozens of us on the set, bit players, with a gesture to make and a line or two to recite. A few were young and had nice bosoms; but I knew they were different from me. They didn't have my illusions. My illusions didn't have anything to do with being a fine actress. I knew how third-rate I was. I could actually feel my lack of talent, as if it were cheap clothes I was wearing inside. But, my God, how I wanted to learn, to change, to improve. I didn't want anything else. Not men, not money, not love, but the ability to act. I strove to look like Betty Grable, but I thought Alice Faye had more class to her looks."

When 'Ladies of the Chorus' was released, Marilyn said: "I kept driving past the theatre with my name on the marquee. Was I excited? I wished they were using 'Norma Jeane' so that all the kids at the home and schools who never noticed me could see it."

Regarding the casting of the film 'Love Happy,' Marilyn said: "In Hollywood a girl's virtue is much less important than her hairdo. You're judged by how you look, not by what you are."

Knowing that Marilyn Monroe, the most famous movie actress of all time, suffered wasn't much consolation. It, if anything, deepened my feelings of insecurity and despair. At times I felt like crying, simply thinking about how she must have felt.

Was I becoming manic-depressive? Talk about bipolar bi-personality disorder!

I decided to throw myself into my career, or was it Marilyn's career? If I kept myself busy, I wouldn't have the time to wallow in self-pity.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

In between shows, on the slow days when the sun wasn't shining or the weather was cool, Heather and I would get out onto the street, in costume, to try to drum up business. In some ways, I felt like a sideshow freak at a country fair or the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto. I'd meet with the tourists who clambered up Clifton Hill looking for something interesting or memorable to pass their time in Niagara Falls.

We'd meet people from all over the world: Americans, Germans, French, British, Japanese, Australians, New Zealanders, Chinese, Indians, Egyptians, Moroccans, Brazilians, Russians, Swedes—you name it, they came from all around. I learned how to say hello and goodbye in probably twenty different languages.

Sometimes I'd guess where they were from just by their lovely accents. It was a little game Heather and I played. After awhile, it was amazing how accurate both of us could be just from brief conversations with them. Of course, their clothing tastes sometimes gave them away and their T-shirts sometimes had writing or illustrations that indicated their origins.

With the Canadians or Americans, it was more a case of guessing their province or state. I felt like Professor Henry Higgins in 'My Fair Lady.' Wouldn't it be 'loverly' if I got 'em all right, guv'nor?

One thing that constantly amazed me was the tourists' misconceptions about Canada. For example, some Americans, more likely from the south, figured that as soon as they crossed the border, they'd be in a land of ice and snow. Where were all the Eskimos, igloos and polar bears? Where were the Mounties in red tunics on horseback? Not one Inuit lived in the local area, no igloos, no bears of any sort in Niagara Falls—but we did have a few Mounted Police on display just to keep the tourists happy.

The one thing all of these people had in common was their love of Marilyn Monroe. They couldn't get enough of talking to 'her.' I did my level best to stay in character and to use her quotes whenever possible.

I had to get accustomed to the drawing power of beauty. When Heather and I stood in front of the wax museum, we drew a crowd immediately. It was very flattering and a big boost to my ego. I never tired of hearing the compliments. Quite often guys would ask me out to dinner or for a cup of coffee. Some would even proposition me. There were even some girls who asked me out.

It was mind-boggling, but at the same time some of the lines some of the guys used were insulting; and I got sick and tired of blonde jokes. For example, one amateur comedian told me this one:

A trio of gorgeous blonde girls wandering through a desert in Persia came upon a lamp half-buried in the sand. When they rubbed the lamp to brush off the sand, a magic genie appeared.

"Thank you young ladies for freeing me from the lamp. I am a djinn and I have been trapped in the lamp for over two hundred years. As thanks, I will grant you three wishes—one for each of you. But I warn you, choose your wish carefully."

The first blonde said, "All my life, people have been making fun of me for being dumb. I want to be smarter."

"Your wish is my command."

The first blonde was suddenly enveloped in a puff of smoke. As the smoke cleared, the blonde's hair color had changed. She was now a happy redhead.

Looking at the second blonde, the genie said, "It is your turn."

"Please make me even smarter than her."

A puff of smoke surrounded the second blonde. When the smoke cleared, she was now a smiling brunette.

The djinn turned to the third blonde. "Be careful what you wish for."

"I want to be even smarter than the other two."

There was an explosion of smoke. When the dust cleared, there was an outraged cry. "What have you done?"

"I changed you into a man."

Heather burst out in laughter.

The guy who told me that joke laughed at me, not with me. If he only knew the truth. I smiled at him and from somewhere inside me I found an appropriate Marilyn quote. "I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it."

Heather doubled over in a laughing fit and the man stared at my breasts. I don't know if he'd even heard me.

The work and the interaction with the public was exhausting. I felt like I had to be on full alert every waking moment so as not to do something to embarrass the museum or to besmirch the memory of Marilyn . . . or to totally ruin my chances with Heather.

Doing four shows a day was hard on the whole cast. I thought of something I had seen at Disney World on a family vacation several years before. In many of the buildings, there were animated talking figures. There were times during my performances I wished an animatronic figure could take my place.

One night when I returned home late, before crawling into bed, Mom handed me a letter from Niagara Community College.

Mom placed a glass of chocolate milk and a bran muffin in front of me. The whole summer seemed to be going by at breakneck speed. Sitting at the kitchen table for an evening snack had become a ritual for me—a moment of respite in a hectic day.

"So what's the news from the College?" Mom asked after I opened up the envelope.

"It's my marks."

"How'd you do?"

"Great! I aced the Media: New Productions course. I got a 95 percent. I did pretty well in all the other courses. The Theory course was low, only 81 percent. My overall average was 88.3 percent." I handed Mom the letter.

"Excellent! All your hard work paid off. How come you did so well in the Media: New Productions course?"

"That was the course where I created the commercials for Niagara Falls."

"Oh right, I remember you worked on a Marilyn Monroe project with Pete."

"It helped me get the job at the wax museum. . . . Say Mom, did you ever see it?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"I'd love to."

"Okay. I'll go get my laptop."

I went upstairs to my bedroom to get the computer, the 'commercial' DVD, and a script among my school stuff.

Back in the kitchen, Mom was putting away her juice glass in the dishwasher. I placed the laptop on the table in front of her seat. I pressed the on switch and inserted the DVD as she sat down.

"The Marilyn Monroe commercial is the first one," I said as I picked up my bran muffin.

Claymation Marilyn burst onto the screen. Mom seemed fascinated as the plasticine figure sang 'Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend.' The dazzling red-sequined evening gown drew attention to the clay figure's movements. The Marilyn Monroe voice over: "Come to my favorite movie location, Niagara Falls—the city of romance. Come for a weekend of fun, frolic, and frisky business. Fall in love all over again." The next line was in musical form. "I wanna be loved by you alone." It was from a different song but it fit in well with the voice over. There were things I would change after learning much more about Marilyn and improving my impersonation.

"That was great, Roger! I can see why you did so well. You did the voice so pitch perfect. And Pete's music was amazing."

"Thanks. It was a lot of work, but I was really happy with the result."

"To move the clay figures must have taken you forever."

"It did take a long time. In the cinema, films are shown at a speed of twenty-four frames per second. That's the speed I was going for to make the dancing look fluid rather than herky-jerky."

"It looked very professional."

"I also did a Jim Carrey commercial. It was a shortened scene from the film 'Bruce Almighty.' "

"Oh, the one from the Maid of the Mist?"

"You guessed it. The scene where Jim Carrey has a meltdown."

"That was funny. I suppose all the people from the Falls loved that scene."

"And I also did a Letterman's Top Ten Reasons to Visit Niagara Falls."

"Can I see that too?" Mom asked.

"We won't need the computer. I brought along the script," I said as I looked down at the page in front of me. "Here are Letterman's Top Ten Reasons to visit Niagara Falls:

10. Niagara Falls. Slowly I turned. Step by step. Inch by inch. It's Three Stooges heaven.

9. Cross into Canada and you'll be frisked by Mountie Dudley Do-Right.

8. The sound of gushing liquids from the Falls keeps the Incontinent Senior Citizens away.

7. It's the Honeymoon capital of the world—a tradition started by Jerome Buonaparte, Napoleon's smarter brother.

6. From above, the Horseshoe Falls look like the world's biggest toilet bowl.

5. After visiting the Falls, ladies and metrosexuals can demand the money-back guarantee on their moisture barrier hairspray.

4. Niagara Falls sends the city of Buffalo its electricity. In return, Niagara Falls receives an assurance from Buffalo that its residents will stay in Buffalo.

3. If you hang around the bottom of the Falls long enough, you can get a good deal on a used wine barrel.

2. The glow from former Love Canal residents cast a lovely light around the Falls.

1. Canadians can brag to Americans, 'My falls are bigger than your falls.' "

I pretended to fling a cue card toward the fake windows of the Late Show set, but I couldn't replicate the sound of breaking glass.

"That was good," Mom said, "although I liked the Marilyn Monroe commercial more. You sound more natural doing her songs than you do trying comedy."

I smiled, wondering what she would think if she knew I felt much more natural as Marilyn.

"Have you been feeling okay lately?"

A Marilyn line popped into my head that seemed to fit. "I'm trying to find myself as a person; sometimes that's not easy to do."

Mom reached out and touched my face. "We're all trying to find ourselves. That never stops."

"I'm lucky to have a mother to help me."

"Thank you, Roger. That was a sweet thing to say."

"No really," I almost shouted, "Growing up without a mother would be absolutely horrible."

"Roger," she said quietly, "have you found a girlfriend?"

"It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone." I'd mouthed another Marilyn quote without thinking first thinking it through, but it did fit how I felt.

"Oh Honey, you sounded so sad." Her eyes glistened, and I was sorry to have burdened her with some of my inner feelings.

"Why did you ask?"

"Twice, last week, I thought I smelled a woman's perfume on you when you came home late after work."

"I'm always bumping into tourists," I said. It even sounded lame to me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In between a late afternoon and seven o'clock performance, Pete approached me with an idea regarding the show. He said he had a new song that he was thinking of trying out.

While Pete sat at his keyboards and tinkled the ivories, I leaned over his synthesizer for support. I had been on my feet for three performances already.

"Marilyn, I want your opinion on this. I was wondering how you'd feel if I expanded my role a little."

I fell deep into my Marilyn persona and purred to him, "Will you make my act more naughty?"

Pete stammered, "I…ah…wasn't…"

"Because if you were, I'd like that. I love to do things a censor won't pass."

"Mrs. Robinson would give an okay to what I want to add."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked as I adjusted the folds of my white 'Seven Year Itch' dress as I sat down beside him on the piano bench. I now had seven of those white dresses; they were horribly hard to keep clean.

Pete played chords to Elton John's 'Your Song.'

"I've been working on an Elton John impersonation and I wanted to know your opinion on it."

"Okay. That sounds intriguing. Sure, I'd love to hear it."

Pete nodded and played a few more bars before he began singing.

"It's a little bit funny this feeling inside

I'm not one of those who can easily hide

I don't have much money but boy if I did

I'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no

Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show

I know it's not much but it's the best I can do

My gift is my song and this one's for you . . . "

An absolutely dead solid perfect Elton John. I closed my eyes and dreamed that I was sitting beside the real Reginald Kenneth Dwight. 'Your Song' was one of my favorite Elton John tunes; it launched his career in North America.

After Pete concluded the piece, I gave him a hug. "That was great! You sound just like him." Then, I gave Pete a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks Marilyn."

Pete returned the hug and the kiss on the cheek.

Whoops! I shouldn't have started something.

"I'm glad you like it," Pete said with a broad smile. Suddenly I felt a little uncomfortable in my revealing dress. I hoped that Pete's hormones wouldn't get the best of him.

As if reading my mind, Pete removed his arm and began to play the synthesizer again. He played a few chords of 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart.' It was a song that Elton John had performed with Kiki Dee.

But, instead of singing the lyrics, Pete said, "Marilyn, I've always been curious about you. I don't know anything about who you really are. I don't know your name, or even what you really look like. You are a mystery to me."

"Oh, I don't mean to be a mystery. . . . I just want to keep my private life private. I don't want the public invading my personal life."

"Well, what about your co-workers?"

He had a sweet puppy dog look about him.

"I suppose we'll have to get together sometime," I said. "Then, I'll show you another side of me." I was stalling for time. I didn't know what to say next.

"Well, we have a day off on Monday. How'd you like to get together for dinner then?"

I thought quickly about what a real girl would do in my spot. "Sure. It sounds like a good idea," I said with an outward smile while my innards were churning. "I'll look forward to it."

I gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He hugged me warmly and kissed me on the cheek, again.

"Until next Monday then," Pete said, as he closed up his Wurlitzer.

I got up to leave, a little unsteady on my high heels. What the heck was I doing? Was I insane? In an attempt to cover my secret I'd done the one thing I couldn't.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mrs. Robinson took quite an interest in my dilemma.

"So Pete finally got up the nerve to ask you out? I wonder why it took him so long," Mrs. Robinson said as she helped me put on the red sequined gown for the opening number.

"This is crazy. I have to create an alter ego for Marilyn. What am I going to do?" I asked, as I got up from my chair and began pacing around the limited space in my dressing room.

"You've created quite a predicament for yourself. . . . Maybe you should just tell Pete the truth, then you wouldn't have to go through with your date."

"Please, don't call it a date. We're just going to go out for dinner. It wouldn't be a big deal except that I can't go out looking like Marilyn Monroe. I'd attract too much attention."

"Well, we could easily change your hair style and hair color. . . . We could diminish your bra size a little. . . . We could change your eye color. Just nod when you hear an idea you like."

I was kind of lost in thought, looking ahead to the many probable pitfalls of the situation. Like what would happen at the end of the date when he tried to give me a goodnight kiss.

"Oh, sorry. What did you say? Change the hair? That sounds good." Maybe I could just leave town.

"You would be a lot less recognizable. Even the real Marilyn Monroe got a lot more attention in Hollywood when she dyed her naturally dark hair platinum blonde."

"Maybe we could go with red or auburn hair." I couldn't believe I'd said that. The whole situation was spinning out of control.

"In a short style," she suggested, "without the widow's peak hairline?"

"Yes. That would work well," I replied. My mouth continued to work ahead of my brain.

"And green eyes. We could get the cosmetic lenses to replace the blue ones."

"Yes." If I was going to do it, I wanted to have a good disguise. "Red hair and green eyes would help me look different from both Marilyn and Roger."

"How about your body dimensions? Should we downsize your breasts a little bit?"

"I don't know about that. I think that as long as I wear conservative clothes, I can hide my bosom. I don't think I should change too much—or Pete will figure out that Marilyn's figure can be artificially altered."

"What about your facial features?"

"Could you make me look different without changing the structure of the mask?" All of a sudden it seemed like less of a disaster and more of an adventure—something I should do.

"Certainly. We could alter the eyebrows to change their shape and thickness. We should get rid of the mole. The lipstick could be toned down. We could eliminate the false eyelashes. With those changes alone, you'll look like a completely different person."

"That would be great!"

"However, even without much make-up, you'll still look fabulous. And that could be dangerous."

I wanted to look beautiful. I enjoyed being a gorgeous girl. Dangerous? Pete isn't dangerous.

"What will you wear?"

"Wear?" I hadn't given it a thought.

"Part of you is still a boy," she said in a teasing way. "A girl would've thought of that first. Let's you and I go shopping tomorrow. You can shop in that suit I bought for you to wear to the first celebration."

There was no turning back now. I was going to dinner with Pete, but who would I be?

I couldn't have him pick me up at my home and I didn't want too many people from the museum to know I was having dinner with him, so I met Pete on Monday at six p.m. at the Skylon Tower Restaurant. It was a site favored by tourists for its magnificent view of the Falls. In years past, the Skylon Tower might have been described as a space needle. Constructed in 1964, it was a forerunner of Toronto's famed CN (Canadian National) Tower.

As I approached the entrance, I could see Pete's tall, lanky figure. He wore a light blue sports jacket and beige pants; very summery and quite out of character for the Pete that Roger knew.

"Hello, Pete."

"Hi!" His eyes traveled over me. I knew how he felt from looking in the mirror after I'd gotten ready. I was still very much Marilyn, but in a more approachable way. Mrs. Robinson had given me a short auburn hairstyle, which she said matched my 'sparkling green eyes.' She said the 'natural' look of 'no' make-up and my figure hugging, jade-colored silk blouse and white skirt with open-toed white high-heels made me look like a young professional.

He picked me up in his arms like I was some long lost friend. After all, I hadn't seen him since yesterday.

"You look terrific!" he said, setting me back down on the ground.

"Well thank you for the compliment." I hadn't realized his strength. He hadn't strained at all lifting me.

"Wow! I hardly recognize you," he said, as he took my hand to line up for the elevator ride to the top.

"It's me," I assured him. Me? What me? Marilyn-me. Roger me? Who me?

It was quite a ride to the top. The 'Yellow Bug' glass-enclosed elevators zipped up the exterior of the free-standing concrete column at a rate of close to ten feet per second. My ears popped several times during the ascent. I wanted to take in the magnificent view, but a person of basketball player proportions stood in my way. Instead I read the placard on the wall.

The Skylon Tower stood 520 feet high. Near the top was a Revolving Dining Room that made one complete revolution per hour. The panoramic view was breathtaking. I quite enjoyed being able to look out over at Goat Island, the grandiose Fallsview Casino, the powerful Horseshoe Falls, the majestic American Falls, the picturesque Rainbow Bridge, the Sheraton Hotel, the Tower of the Niagara Casino, Clifton Hill, and the rooftop tent of Robinson's Wax Museum.

Pete wasn't bothering with the 'panoramic view.' He seemed to be mesmerized by the girl in front of him. "I can't get over how different you look. I mean, on stage you look exactly like Marilyn Monroe. You still are absolutely gorgeous, but you look amazingly different. How do you do it?"

For some reason his compliment made me feel weak. "It's the wig, make-up, and the costuming. On stage, we create an illusion."

"It's a great illusion! I can see that you are the same person, the facial features are the same, but the coloring is so different."

At that moment, the song title 'Karma Chameleon' by Boy George flashed through my mind.

"Mrs. Robinson and Heather are magicians with the make-up. After all, they've been creating wax duplicates of movie stars and singers for a long, long time."

"True, but when you are Marilyn, you really look exactly like her. It's not just a strong resemblance, you are Marilyn's twin."

"Well thank you."

"By the way, I still don't know what to call you."

"Oh, Laura is my name. As in Laura Secord, the War of 1812 heroine."

"You're kidding me."

"Yes, I suppose I am. The last name isn't Secord. I'm not sure where all this Marilyn stuff is headed, so I'd rather keep my last name private."

"Okay Laura, but I'm surprised I never met you before."

"Oh, I grew up in St. Catharines, but I live closer to the Falls now, at least for the summer," I said, as I scrambled to keep the story believable.

For the purposes of our dinner, I had arranged to be a 'lodger' at the Robinson's home in nearby Queenston. Just in case Pete dropped me off at 'home,' I didn't want to be a person of no fixed address.

A waitress came to our table.

"Good evening. My name is Mary and I am your hostess for tonight."

"Hello," I said as I looked up to a pretty brunette with a delightful smile.

"Hi," Pete said. He didn't flirt with her, which was nice.

Mary's uniform was a white lace peasant blouse with a navy blue skirt and a matching vest. I should get a blouse like that.

"We have some excellent entrees from the regular menu," continued our hostess as she handed us the menus. "Le Plat du Jour is whole fresh Atlantic Lobster sautéed with garlic, fresh herbs and fresh Tomato Concasse, served with Linguini Crown."

"I don't think were ready to order the entrees just yet. Could we please get some drinks first?" Pete asked.

"Certainly. What would you like?"

Pete looked at me.

"Could I have a glass of white wine please?"

"Actually, Laura, would you be willing to share a bottle of Inniskillin Icewine?" Pete asked.

"Oh, I'd love to try that! So many people have told me that it has a sweet delightful taste. But it's a dessert wine. Maybe we could try it after our meal."

Pete nodded in the direction of our young server. "Then a carafe of the house white wine, please . . . and later we'll try the Inniskillin Icewine."

"Very good," the hostess said, as she wrote down our order.

"Thank you," Pete said, as the waitress moved away toward the kitchen located at the center part of the revolving restaurant.

"I've never tried that wine," I said.

"It's terrific. As you know, it's from the Niagara Peninsula. It is a mixture of frozen grapes, nectarine, papaya, litchi, tangerine and orange blossoms. It's very complex."

Pete knows about wines! What next?

We looked over the menus for a moment. The prices were all very expensive. Our dinner would cost Pete a small fortune.

One of the items in the entrée list caught my eye. La Poitrine de Poulet Forestiere Cordon Bleu. En francais, it sounded much better than Boneless and Skinless Chicken Breast with Black Forest Ham and Swiss Cheese and Pink Peppercorn Sauce. Never mind that the price was sky-high. I would also ask for a side salad.

Pete decided on the Roast Prime Rib of Beef with baked potato, but without a salad.

"So, where were we?" Pete asked.

"I think we were talking about where we were from."

"Oh yes. You were saying you grew up in St. Catharines."

"And you?"

"I've lived in Niagara Falls all my life."

"Have you performed in many places before? You seem quite professional for a guy so young."

He twitched a little when I commented on his age. Geez! I had to be careful. He tasted every morsel of every word I said.

"Well thank you for the compliment. I used to have a regular gig at my uncle's establishment in Niagara-on-the-Lake, a lounge at the Niagara Country Club." Pete paused and looked deeply into my eyes, as if he was trying to decode hieroglyphics etched in my irises. Are the eyes really the windows to the soul? Were my eyes a direct access to my Roger soul, or did they go even deeper to that part of me that had become Marilyn? Or had Pete simply noticed I was wearing cosmetic contact lenses? "A person with your show business talent must have performed before somewhere else?"

"Oh, nothing much really. I just got out of High School a year ago, so I don't have that much professional experience. This is my first real job as a performer."

"How did you develop your act?"

"Most of that is due to Mrs. Robinson and Heather. I applied for a summer job. Immediately they noticed a physical resemblance to Marilyn Monroe. At first, they were going to have me dress up as Marilyn and sit at the front ticket booth, but after further thought, they persuaded me to try stretching it out into a full act. Make-up and proper costuming can make such a difference." It was almost the truth.

"But, your voice is eerily similar to the voice of Marilyn Monroe."

I felt I had to cover. "A lot of people can sound like Marilyn. My older sister is really good at it. Even Jane Russell did a good Marilyn imitation in 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.' "

If Pete only knew the real story. The voice of 'Laura' was much more difficult for me to do. I had struggled to find a voice for her that was unlike my 'Roger' voice, but at the same time similar to Marilyn's.

"I guess you're right. I even know a guy who can do a Marilyn Monroe impression."

"Really?" I had to stifle a laugh.

"Yes. Roger Baker is his name. However, he doesn't dress the part. And he does a whole bunch of different voices; male and female."

For a brief moment, I thought about telling Pete the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Instead I said, "I guess, for some people, the ability to mimic comes naturally. And what about you? How did you create your Elton John imitation?"

"I guess it was quite by accident. When you hear a song on the radio, you sing along with it. You learn the words, the phrasing, the timing, and you try to get the right pitch. I didn't try to sound like Elton John intentionally. One of my friends heard me perform an Elton John song and claimed that I sounded exactly like him. It was no big deal. When I play the piano or synthesizer exactly the same way a pop artist does, nobody considers that to be so unusual. The voice is just another musical instrument."

"I guess imitators are found all over the place, but show business gathers similar talent together. Who knows? Maybe we'll get another tribute artist in our little troupe." In his emails to Roger, Pete had indicated that he was working on developing an Elton John tribute act.

"Heather does a pretty good Jane Russell, doesn't she?"

"She sure does. And Heather has great talent as a dancer. She taught me how to do all the dance routines we do in the show."

Mary returned to take our dinner selections.

Pete ordered our dinner as casually as he would have had we stopped for soup and a sandwich at Tim Hortons. As he did, I looked around at the neighboring tables.

Judging by the accents of the people around us, the Skylon revolving restaurant had a high foreign content.

Much later on, after enjoying excellent food and an absolutely delightful view, we went for a leisurely stroll. From the Skylon Tower, there was a staircase down a rocky limestone ledge to the Niagara Parkway, the road that offered a close-up view of the Falls. Pete was concerned about me managing the stone stairway, so he offered me his arm as we descended the steps. Somehow it felt so comforting to hold onto Pete. My mind played a trick on me as it went back in time to when I was held by my father. . . . only it was when I was a little girl.

In the fading sunlight, by the roaring cascade of the astounding cataract, there was a magnificent luminous rainbow on display. Even though I had seen this kaleidoscope of color many times before in walks along the Niagara Recreation Trail, this time was different. In the open air, my Chanel seemed especially intoxicating. There was something very enticing in the caress of a gentle breeze on the bare legs beneath my skirt.

And . . . there was a seductive joy derived from knowing that my curvaceous 'to die for' body drew admiring glances as I wiggled and jiggled my way along the most popular of scenic lookouts, especially for lovers.

Although the throng of sightseers had diminished from the afternoon peak, there were still many people on the walkway, gazing in wonder at the powerful Falls.

A gentle mist enveloped us as we walked. I snuggled up a little closer to Pete to fend off the dampness.

We stood by the stone wall atop the Niagara Gorge and looked anew at a sight we had seen thousands of times before.

When Pete gathered me in his arms and hugged me, I held him tightly. It seemed so absolutely right. And then Pete kissed me. I wanted to resist, but I wanted more not to.

My magnificent Laura/Marilyn body fit so neatly into the contours of Pete's frame it had to have been made for that. In our brief kiss there had been a connection I hadn't felt before, except with Heather.

Until that moment, I had always considered myself to be heterosexual. I had not anticipated getting carried away by the emotion of the moment. But as Marilyn, I was drawn to Pete and Pete was definitely attracted to me . . . I meant to Marilyn.

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Whenever I saw the sign for 'The Marilyn Show' up on the marquee in front of Robinson's Wax Museum, I was filled with pride.

For some reason, the next few days seemed to go extremely well. The weather was great, the Rooftop Theater was filled to capacity for every performance, and audiences were appreciative. As performers, we gave it our all. Things just couldn't have been better.

Pete gave inspired performances. Heather never missed a step and was always in harmony with me. Everything seemed right with the world.

However, later in the week, the weather turned cooler and overcast. That meant the crowds would be down. Niagara Falls was a fair weather town. Tourists wanted pleasant memories of seeing one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World.

Clifton Hill had many attractions all trying to grab the tourists' dollars. Across the street was Ripley's Museum. The Great Canadian Midway had just opened up. Other competition included the FX Thrill Ride Theatre, Ghost Blasters Dark Ride, Falls Tower Ride, Sports Zone Bar and Games, Dinosaur Park Mini Golf, and another wax museum.

Between shows, Heather and I prostituted ourselves. We stood in front of Robinson's and tried to drum up business.

Dressed in the famous white dress, I found that many passersby would stop and try to chat me up. I pretended to be interested in the guys sexually. It came to me so easily. Almost everyone I talked to bought a ticket.

The gals were interested too. They admired my figure and my outfits. There were times when some of the bolder girls touched the fabric of my dress or put their arms around me and hugged me tight when they posed for photos.

I loved it. We are all sexual beings, so I just couldn't help but enjoy the attention, adoration, and maybe even love?

There was a sameness about Clifton Hill from day to day. Yet every day was somehow different. Sure it was a trashy place. The loud music bombarded the crowds of people trying to entice them into various venues. The outdoor advertising pollution and the garbage assaulted the senses. The tourists looked for an instantaneous memory of Niagara that they could tell friends and family when they returned home.

The ebb and flow of the sidewalk traffic also affected my emotions. The affectionate attention lifted my spirit, but tired me out. When my energy sagged, I felt sad and vulnerable.

One of the tourists had the audacity to ask me to pose like I was a prostitute leaning up against a lamppost trying to entice a 'john' in a passing car. Sure, why not?

What a contrast. As Roger, I wasn't lucky in love. Roger couldn't get lucky if he flashed a thousand dollar bill around the biggest whorehouse in Texas.

That's when I noticed the poster on the lamppost. It looked like a Want Ad from a newspaper.

WANTED:

SOMEBODY TO LOVE. Someone who will love me for who I am. A person who is honest and trustworthy. Someone who is a good listener. A person who will respect my views. Someone who loves to have fun and who laughs easily. A person who will not pick at my faults and nag me. Someone who will accept and love me unconditionally.

At the bottom of the poster in a marker scrawl, a passer-by had written:

Look in the mirror. Start by loving yourself.

That was my problem. When I looked in the mirror, I wasn't seeing the real me. It was easy to love Marilyn, but who would love Roger?

CHAPTER TWENTY

While it was nice to get a great response from an audience, I never really felt totally satisfied with my performance. As word spread about the Marilyn Show, I felt greater and greater pressure to keep improving.

On my day off, my parents were going to an Anglican Church function in Toronto. I decided to watch a Marilyn Monroe movie marathon. I was going to look at 'The Seven Year Itch', 'How to Marry a Millionaire', and 'Some Like It Hot.' On my bedroom computer, I could watch the films and look for Monroe nuances that I could add to my repertoire.

Truth to tell, I preferred Marilyn in her dumb blonde roles rather than in serious parts in films such as 'Don't Bother to Knock', 'Niagara', 'River of No Return' and 'The Misfits.'

Since my parents were going to be gone all day, I had brought my 'Marilyn' paraphernalia home so that I could practice her walk, her mannerisms—and mostly, try to develop her sex appeal—her incredible magnetism and charisma. I had found that easier said than done.

After breakfast, my parents left for their meeting. The Anglican Church was facing a crisis. How would the Church deal with gay marriages? Since parliament had legalized gay marriages and chose not to reverse the policy in spite of widespread protest, would Anglican Church ministers perform gay marriage ceremonies? There were many traditionalists within the Church who opposed the decision of the Canadian parliament.

From my bedroom window, I watched as my father's old Ford Taurus pulled out of the driveway. I got out the luggage containing the bodysuit, mask, wig, clothing, shoes, accessories, and make-up that I'd need to do the complete change. I even had my Laura wig and clothing so that I could practice 'her' mannerisms in case I had to go someplace as Laura again.

The dresses, in garment bags, were spread out on my bed. I placed the Marilyn body panels and mask on the dresser. There was room for the wigs and brushes on the desktop. Then I took the make-up case into the adjoining bathroom.

I began the transformation as I usually did at the wax museum dressing room. It went like clockwork. From applying the first body panels to finally donning the gown and high heels, it took slightly more than an hour.

Then I shoved 'Some Like It Hot' into the computer DVD drive.

One scene in particular stood out. Marilyn Monroe made her entrance in the film walking down a railway platform, snuggly attired in sexy 'Jazz Age' threads. A blast from the locomotive's engine drew attention to her incredible hourglass figure.

While Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon stared at her undulating derriere, Lemmon observed, "Look how she moves! It's just like Jell-O on springs. She must have some sort of built-in motor or something. I tell you, it's a whole different sex."

Marilyn knew how to accentuate her feminine attributes. Her skill as a seductress stood in sharp contrast to the attempts of Lemmon and Curtis to emulate sexy women.

During the course of the film, Marilyn wore many flashy outfits. However, from the garment bags, I selected a replica of the low cut silver dress she wore while singing to a nightclub audience. It hugged my body and it was oh so sexy.

Marilyn employed all sorts of little gestures that drove men crazy. Her 'bedroom eyes' was a submissive look that suggested mystery and romance. She'd lower her upper eyelids, raising the eyebrows slightly, increasing the distance between the eye and the eyebrow. It was the kind of look a woman might have just before experiencing orgasm.

Another special Marilyn look was the 'parted lips' gesture. The jaw was relaxed and the lips parted as if she was expecting to be kissed. I'd practiced that so often in the mirror it hurt my face just to think about it.

Marilyn liked to tilt her head back and to one side. Exposing her neck made her look both vulnerable and sexy. Similarly exposing the inside part of the wrist also suggested acceptance and trust. Combined with a submissive shoulder lift gesture, parted lips and bedroom eyes, Marilyn knew how to turn men on.

A very obvious seductive weapon she used was the dumb blonde act. Men love to feel superior to women. Men feel threatened by intelligent women. A dumb blonde appeals to men's egos. The soft, breathy, cooing voice of Monroe was comforting and delightful. I felt humiliated being a man, knowing how stupid we could be, but then I wasn't really a man, I was . . . Marilyn.

As the movie went on, I noticed that Marilyn laughed easily at men's jokes, further stroking their egos. Her effortless laughter was like foreplay.

Any touch initiated by a man was immediately reciprocated. Also, any movement by a guy was met with a synchronous response. It was like watching skilled dancers onscreen. Marilyn would move in rhythm to whatever the man was doing. Sometimes it would be a matter of matching movements, sometimes the posture. At other times, Marilyn knew how to touch objects. She could caress a wine glass lovingly or eat food suggestively.

Marilyn was a master of self-touching too. At a dinner table, she might lean forward with her palms supporting her chin, fingers on her cheeks, framing her face.

She was a great tease. Marilyn knew how to flirt. She knew the art of the compliment. Marilyn was always lively and animated.

More importantly, Marilyn knew what not to do. Looking away from a man's gaze showed a lack of interest. Yawning during conversation was a turn-off. Frowning, sneering, head shaking, sniffing, or crossing her arms sent rejection signals.

After watching the 'Some Like It Hot' all the way through, I went back to the 'like Jell-o on springs' scene and replayed it over and over again. I practiced walking in front of the mirror in my high heels until I had the gait and the hip sway down pat. I was in love with my reflection.

I thought back to the first time Ben Sadler had put the corset and body panels on me. I had come a long way. In fact, because of all the dancing and the use of the corset, my body dimensions had changed. I was thinner than before. I didn't need the Ultrashape technology to melt away love handles. At 118 pounds, I was the same weight as Marilyn Monroe in her prime—probably thinner than she had been in 'Some Like It Hot.'

Using the remote, I skipped ahead to the scene where the gals arrive at the hotel. It was time for a costume change. What else could I wear? There was a sexy black gown that she wore during one of her singing performances. I slipped off the high heels and started to take off the silver gown.

Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a car door slamming in the driveway.

I rushed over to the window. Through the sheer curtains, I could see my parents walking quickly toward the house.

How could they be home so soon? I looked at the clock radio on the end table. It was only 11:20. What the heck?

I looked around my room as I pulled up the silver gown over my bosom and straightened it. What could I do?

My parents were probably at the front door. I needed to act fast.

Fortunately, the costumes were still in the garment bags. I gathered all the bags in my arms as quickly as I could and stuffed them into the closet.

I could hear them in the kitchen.

"Roger, are you still home?" My mother's voice called to me as she ascended the stairs.

I couldn't hide in my room. There wasn't any lock. "Yes Mom," I called out.

Hell! The wigs. I rushed over to the desk, opened the large drawer, shoved in the blonde and the auburn wigs, and then closed it shut.

Mom was almost at the top of the stairs. I didn't have time to reach the bedroom door, but I dashed toward the bathroom and closed the door just as Mom reached the upstairs hallway and turned toward my room.

"Where are you, Roger?"

I looked down at my feet and realized my high heels were still in the bedroom. I opened the door a crack. They were just a few steps away by the bed.

"I'm in the bathroom."

"Oh, I shoulda known. You probably just got up." Her footsteps stopped and then retreated toward the stairs.

"Right," I called out. "How come you're home? I thought you were going to be in Toronto?"

She stopped again and came back toward my voice. "We were, but one of our parishioners, Mrs. Harper, phoned us. Her husband, Blake, was involved in a serious car accident."

I could see through the crack that my mother was at the bedroom doorway. If she stepped into my room, she'd see the high heels.

From the ground floor, I heard my father's distant voice. "Charlotte!" he shouted.

My mother turned and took a few steps toward the staircase.

"Yes, dear."

"Do you know where the phone list is?"

She was looking downstairs.

Quickly I opened the door, took two steps toward the bed, snatched the shoes away and retreated to the safety of my bathroom.

"I think it's beside the phone in the family room."

"Thanks, dear."

I slumped against the door, my heart pounding.

(continues)

  

  

  

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