Like a Candle in the Wind

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Part 2

  

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ten minutes later, I was alone again in the house.

That near disaster had convinced me my personal life was a mess. I was paying a high price for living a fantasy.

Plus . . . I'd actually kissed a man . . . and liked it.

I needed to talk to someone. I found the business card for the psychic.

Dolly Shearer could fit me in within the half hour, due to a cancellation, if I wanted it. I said yes. Next, I phoned a taxi company and arranged to be picked up in fifteen minutes.

As I stood in front of the mirror, I almost decided to phone Dolly back and cancel my appointment. I couldn't transform myself back into Roger that quickly. Soaking in the bathtub to rid myself of the body prosthetics and mask would take too long.

I couldn't go out in the low-cut flashy silver gown. Perhaps I could borrow a kerchief, sunglasses, and overcoat from Mom.

Then I had a better idea. I'd go in my Laura disguise. I donned the short auburn wig, changed the contact lenses to green, and put on the jade-colored silk blouse and white skirt plus the white high heels I had worn for my date with Pete.

What else would I need? I put a change of Roger's clothes into a knapsack: just a T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. I'd go to the wax museum and change in the 'Studio' before returning home.

I barely had enough time to make all the changes before the taxi pulled up in front of the house. Hopefully the neighbors wouldn't guess that the beautiful girl leaving the Baker home was, in fact, Roger Baker. With Mom's sunglasses on, maybe it would help minimize the family resemblance. Oh, what was I thinking?

When I walked into Dolly Shearer's office ten minutes later, I was still in a state of high anxiety. I needed to talk to someone. I needed advice.

As I sat in the waiting room, I wondered how I should introduce myself. After all, I had arranged the appointment for Roger Baker.

"Thank you so much Dolly," an elderly gentlemen said to her as the office door opened.

"You're welcome, John."

"I will call again next month."

When the gentleman turned to leave, he greeted me with a smile and then strode to the door. Was he the same guy that had been here the last time?

Dolly looked at me. "Well, well. What have we here?"

"Hi Dolly," I said in my Laura voice. "I spoke to you over the phone about a half hour ago. My last name is Baker."

She nodded. "You didn't need to tell me that. I had a feeling something like this was going on."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she could make sense out of what was happening.

"Please come in. And how should I address you?"

As I stepped into Dolly's office, she indicated with an arm gesture that I should sit in the rattan chair.

"I am Roger Baker," I said in my own voice. "I spoke to you about a month ago." I took out my driver's license and showed her the photo.

"Yes. I remember you very well."

Dolly had to be much older than the fifty years I had guessed before. She looked very relaxed in her frilly white blouse, dark blue skirt, and leather sandals.

"This is an illusion," I said in my Laura voice.

"I sensed your dual nature in our first meeting. You're not merely a guy who dons girl's clothing. Your disguise is amazing. How do you get those breasts? Even your facial features look quite different."

"It's a mask and the breasts are prosthetics. The skin is all artificial—the best money can buy."

"You're a performer in show business."

"Yes." She seemed to know everything.

"The last time we met, I talked about your amazing aura."

"Right."

"It's noticeably weaker today."

"No surprise to me. I haven't been getting enough sleep. I've been working too much and . . . I'm emotionally upset."

"You need more rest, although I sense you are going through a crisis at the moment. Is that why you have come today?"

"Yes. My mother and father almost discovered my secret."

"What happened?"

I explained to Dolly all the events of the morning: my parents' trip, the dressing up, watching the movie, practicing my walk, and my parent's early return.

"Even if your parents had discovered your secret, your parents love you. They will accept you and still love you."

"I hope so, but I just don't want to bring embarrassment to my family. His congregation might not understand."

"There are many intolerant people. If your identity becomes public, there will be consequences. That will be the difficult part. Your father, being a minister in the Anglican Church, will face some difficulty."

"But will he still accept me?"

"You mentioned the purpose of the Anglican Church meeting in Toronto was to discuss gay marriages?"

"Yes."

"Had your father attended that meeting, he would have thrown his support behind gay marriages."

"I think you're right."

"Your parents will always love you."

I shrugged because I didn't know what to say.

"The last time I mentioned a spirit hovering around you. She is telling me your future looks bright."

"Really?"

"Your guardian spirit is very strong. She's guiding you. She feels that her life was cut short prematurely. She wishes she could live again through you. However, I must caution you. You are not her. She is not you."

"Has she been influencing me? Dolly, does she have the ability to speak to me?"

"Have you been hearing voices inside you?"

"I think so. In a way, yes. I don't know. It's all so confusing. I'm trying to 'be' her and she seems to be trying to 'be' me. Do you understand?"

"That kind of thing can happen, but only if your spirit is looking for completion."

"My spirit?"

"Yes. Your guardian spirit is envious of your family life. It is much better in comparison to hers. She led a very troubled life. You have caring parents and they're very supportive."

"I do feel fortunate in that regard."

"She's also worried about you. She thinks you're making some of the same mistakes she did."

"I am?"

"There are other spirits around you. There are both male and female spirits who influence us. Most of them have enough wisdom to realize that you do not need much advice or guidance."

I nodded.

"Spirits are not necessarily wiser than you," Dolly continued. "Perhaps it is better to think of them in the following way. They can see our world and the spirit world. They have greater freedom and more awareness than any sentient being. However, even though they have greater knowledge, they cannot predict with certainty how the many different forces at work will play out."

"I guess I can understand that."

"Are you feeling lost?"

"Yes. I'm not sure what to do."

"When looking toward the future, it is not a matter of finding yourself. You are not lost. It is a matter of deciding what you want to be. You are the creator of your future. To a certain extent, there is a destiny. For example, your DNA decides what kind of body you have: your looks, your intelligence, your voice, and personality. But there are many different forks in the road that determine your future. You have free choice. By your decisions you can affect your future. But too often, people only see their trivial problems and lose sight of the bigger picture. Consider the whole of humanity and you are just a drop in the ocean. The world has many problems and many positive opportunities. As Ghandi said, 'Be the change you want to see in the world.' "

"One of my problems is that, dressed as I am, men take an interest in me. It's difficult for me to play the role of a girl and not disappoint people. I can't return their affection. For example, my friend Pete wants to be my boyfriend, but he doesn't know about Laura's big secret."

"Do you like Pete?"

"He's a great guy, but I don't like him in the way he wants me to. . . . I can't."

"That's quite a dilemma. Your friend Pete is enthralled by your female illusion. He suspects Roger is Laura, but doesn't want to believe it. He'd rather believe that Laura is real rather than an illusion."

"He suspects?"

"Many people suspect, but they are convinced it can't be so."

"Good. Also, he doesn't know that a high tech device can create such a perfect disguise."

"Many very wise and knowledgeable people have said 'Life is illusory.' Pete has his own problems, but we are all interconnected."

"The big question is: 'Will Pete still be my friend if he finds out that Laura is really Roger Baker?' "

"I can't tell you the answer. To some extent, it will depend on the circumstances and the way it is told to him."

After leaving Dolly's office, I decided to go for a walk down by the Falls.

The sun was shining and the temperature was just right.

During the course of my walk, I passed by some of the big high-rise hotels. Unfortunately, I thought the tall buildings had kinda spoiled the atmosphere, overshadowing the Falls. I wished that the city planners and politicians had put in a height restriction to limit their size.

The sun had gone behind a cloud. But it couldn't dampen my rising spirit.

As I walked, the smiling faces of many tourists greeted me. Beauty could be both a blessing and a curse.

I had gazed at Niagara Falls thousands of times during my lifetime. Yet, I never tired of it. Niagara was a magical place to me. It was the roar of the incomparable cascade, the fine water droplets suspended in the air enveloping the visitors, and the joy on the faces of the children discovering the Falls for the first time.

As I gazed down through the spray, I saw the tour boat the Maid of the Mist bobbing up and down in the swirling rapids. I thought back to the scene from 'Bruce ALMIGHTY.' But then as the sun came out from behind a cloud, I spotted a beautiful rainbow above the falls. What a wonderful world!

I abandoned my male instincts and allowed Marilyn's hips to swing as she had years ago. Even dressed as Laura, it felt incredibly sexy to move like that.

My body shivered for a moment. It was an odd sensation. I didn't know what caused it. Then I wondered about the spirits Dolly mentioned and I felt much better.

I would listen more intently to those 'voices' now that I knew they were guiding me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Getting enough rest was becoming a real problem. After the last show of the day, I was on an adrenaline high. The thrill of performing interfered with me falling asleep. I kept seeing the faces of Heather, Pete, and the audience. The music played around and round in my head as did all the dance steps, the jokes, and the audience interplay.

Four shows a day was exhausting—plus, the in between shows work on the street.

When my clock radio came on, it was so tempting to hit the mute button and get ten more minutes of precious rest and continue my pleasant dreams.

"Roger! Roger! Mom yelled, as she shook my arm."

"I'm not Roger," I said. "I'm . . . "

I opened my eyes. Where was I? The ceiling was familiar—my bedroom.

"Wake up, Roger. You're going to be late for work. How could you sleep right through the music?"

I looked at the clock radio. It was just before eleven. "Thanks, Mom, for waking me up." I'd be late for the noon show. "Do you think I might be able to get a ride from you?" I asked as I rose from the bed.

"Sure, no problem. You're lucky I noticed your bicycle was still here when I came home."

When I jumped from the bed into the shower, I was still groggy, but the invigorating spray brought me to life. After slipping into a T-shirt and shorts, I rushed out the bedroom, down the stairs, and outside to the waiting car.

While my mother drove, I munched on a muffin, thoughtfully supplied by Mom. I washed it down with the orange contents of a juice box.

I still had to change into my Marilyn mask and bodysuit. That would take at least an hour.

Mrs. Robinson didn't scold me when I came in late, but she was one person I never wanted to disappoint. I knew she had a lot of money riding on me.

On the stage monitor in my dressing room, I could see Heather was frantic, but she was also resourceful. She told Pete he'd have to keep the audience entertained with his music and songs.

Also, Heather went on stage and did a little improvisation. In her Jane Russell outfit, she interacted with the audience. Was someone celebrating a birthday? Was anybody celebrating an anniversary? She asked where the people had come from.

Heather then selected two gentlemen from the audience for a bit we had in development that she pressed into service. They were both young good looking guys in their twenties. The volunteers were well dressed—at least by the standards of summer casual wear.

Offstage, in a small area within the Studio workspace, they were quickly shown a video clip of a scene from 'Some Like It Hot.' Then Heather's mom went through a mini-rehearsal with them using a teleprompter. She played the Marilyn Monroe role. The younger volunteer became 'Josephine' and the other 'Daphne.' The first guy was tall and handsome. He looked like Josh Duhamel on the TV show 'Vegas,' the actor who played Danny. The other college age kid was shorter, but also good-looking. He looked quite enthusiastic, even though both had to wear wigs and dresses.

Heather played our little game of 'Guess where they're from?' with the audience. She was as good as I was at identifying the tourists' origins from their accents and style of dress—'a regular Henry Higgins, guv'nor.'

When I was finally ready, Heather and I did our regular opening songs from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

When the volunteers were led onto the stage, Mrs. Robinson gave me a big 'thumbs up' to indicate the rehearsal with the volunteers had gone very well. I disappeared offstage to for a quick costume change. Heather, acting as MC, introduced our volunteer actors. They got a nice hand from the crowd. Then Heather gave a brief recap of the film plot for 'Some Like It Hot.'

"Two musicians are witnesses to the St. Valentine's Day Massacre during the late 1920s in Chicago. Fearing for their lives, they decide to get out of town before the mob kills them. However, the band the musicians join on a train bound for Florida, is an all-girl band, so the two men disguise themselves as women. Marilyn Monroe portrays Sugar Cane, the singer."

The stage curtains opened, revealing the painted backdrop of the interior of a train.

Heather continued. "Here, the two musicians, Tony Curtis as Josephine and Jack Lemmon as Daphne, have just been introduced to the beautiful gals in the band. They cannot believe their good fortune."

On the large video screens on either sides of the stage, the scene on the train started up. All of the gals in the band were gorgeous and blonde.

Then, as Josephine and Daphne moved onto the next train car in the video, our volunteers stepped onto the stage wearing wigs, frumpy black dresses, overcoats, and high-heels. They were greeted by howls of laughter. Neither of them moved very well in the unfamiliar footwear, striding forward with all the grace of frat boys dressed for Halloween.

Using a teleprompter at the front of the stage, the volunteers read their lines.

"Look at all that talent. Like fallin' into a tub of butter," Daphne said in a falsetto voice.

"Watch it, Daphne," Josephine replied in a lower tenor.

"When l was a kid, Joe, l used to have a dream l was locked up overnight in a pastry shop. And there was goodies all around. There was jelly rolls, mocha éclairs and Boston cream pie and cherry tarts . . . "

"Listen to me: no butter, no pastry. We're on a diet."

"Oh yeah, sure, Joe." Then the shorter guy playing Daphne, tried to hang his/her coat onto a long cord above a window of the train car. He looked to the stage directions in square brackets on the teleprompter.

"Not there. That's the emergency brake." Josephine grabbed Daphne before she/he could reach the 'hook.'

"Now you've done it. Now you have done it," Daphne said.

"Done what?" Josephine looked at the teleprompter, searching for his/her next line.

"You tore off one of my chests." As Daphne tried to adjust one of the huge falsies, the audience laughed.

" 'Adjust falsies. Oops.' " Josephine said, wrongly reading the square bracketed stage directions. The crowd laughed at the faux pas. "You'd better go get it fixed."

"Well, you'd better come help me."

"This way, Daphne."

They walked toward the men's washroom, stage right. Before Daphne could enter the men's room, Josephine grabbed him/her.

"Now you tore the other one."

Pete played a sexy sax riff on his synthesizer. As Daphne and Josephine slid open the ladies' room door and curtain, they were surprised to find me sitting on a seat by the sink in the large bathroom. I was adjusting my black dress, having just taken a small metal flask from the top elastic of my stocking under my skirt. As I looked up, the two visitors startled me.

"Terribly sorry," Daphne said.

"It's okay. I was scared it was Sweet Sue." I took a quick sip from the metal flask. "You won't tell anybody, will you?"

"Tell what?" Josephine asked.

"If they catch me once more," I said, "they'll kick me out of the band."

Daphne and Josephine shook their heads. They looked so cute in their wigs and dresses.

I asked, "Are you the replacement for the bass and sax?"

"That's us. And I'm Daphne. This is Joe... sephine." Daphne had a short blond wig and Josephine was a brunette.

"Come in. I'm Sugar Cane."

Daphne and Josephine teetered toward me.

"Sugar Cane?" Josephine asked.

"Yeah, I changed it. It used to be Sugar Kowalczyk."

"Polish?" Daphne asked in a strained falsetto.

"Yes. I come from this musical family. My mother's a piano teacher. My father was a conductor."

"Where did he conduct?" Josephine asked.

"On the Baltimore and Ohio." The audience burst out in laughter.

"Oh," Josephine responded, trying to suppress his/her laughter.

"I play the ukulele, and I sing, too."

"Sings too," Daphne repeated.

"Oh, I don't have much of a voice, but this isn't much of a band, either. I'm only with them 'cause I'm running away."

"Running away from what?" Josephine asked.

"Oh, don't get me started on that. Hey, you want some?" I held out the small metal flask. "It's bourbon."

Daphne replied, "I'll take a rain check."

"I don't want you to think I'm a drinker. I can stop anytime I want to," I said, as I took another sip, "only I don't want to. Especially when I'm blue."

"We understand," Josephine said.

"All the girls drink. But I'm the one that gets caught. Story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop." As I leaned against the sink, I tucked the flask beneath the elastic top of my nylon stockings, stood up and turned the back of my legs to Josephine and Daphne. "Are my seams straight?"

"I'll say," Daphne said, as his/her eyes bugged out.

"See you around, girls."

Josephine said, "Bye, Sugar."

I worked my Jell-O on springs walk as I made my way offstage.

"We have been playing with the wrong bands," Daphne said.

"Down, Daphne."

"See the shape of that liquor cabinet?"

The crowd laughed.

Josephine tried to help adjust the bra strap and false breast Daphne wore beneath her flapper dress.

"Forget it," Josephine said. "One false move and we're off the train. Then it's the police, the papers, and the Mob in Chicago.

"Boy, would I love to borrow a cup of that Sugar." Again the audience laughed.

A look of anger spread across Josephine's face as she/he grabbed Daphne's front. "Look . . . No pastry, no butter—and no Sugar."

"You tore 'em again," Daphne said as he felt his bosom.

Then I came back on stage and announced to the crowd, "Let's have a really big hand for our volunteers! Weren't they great!"

The jam-packed house erupted in thunderous applause.

We curtseyed. Heather and I extended our arms to Daphne and Josephine. They bowed once more. The enthusiastic crowd kept clapping. There was whistling, hooting and hollering! The boys took the wolf-whistles good-naturedly.

Pete Winslow came in on cue with 'I Wanna be Loved by You' as Daphne and Josephine headed toward the wings to remove their costumes.

"I wanna be loved by you, just you,

And nobody else but you,

I wanna be loved by you, alone!

Poo-poop-bee-doo!

 

"Wow!" I said to Pete as we met offstage after the show. "That could've been a disaster."

"Why were you late?" He looked concerned, but not accusatory.

"Sometimes in the morning I have a tough time getting going." At times the sleeping pills seemed to work too good.

"I've got a friend who can get you some help for that. I've met a lot of musicians who take a little something to help them when they need energy."

"Do you mean caffeine drinks? I can buy them at the store."

"No, something stronger."

"Ephedrine?"

"Stronger. . . . Look, maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. People can get screwed up messing with pills."

"I'm a big girl, Pete."

I vowed never to be late again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When Mrs. Robinson got a call from the Toronto Times newspaper to do a story on the wax museum, she agreed immediately.

Reporter Steve Chapin, whom I had met at the debut performance, wanted to do a story inspired by the film 'A Night at the Museum' starring Ben Stiller. Steve would wander through the wax museum at night with Marilyn Monroe to accompany him. I was to give him tidbits of information about the wax figures on display.

As preparation, I went through the wax museum with Heather and Mrs. Robinson. They wanted to make sure I was fully prepared to handle any question. I didn't want to appear to be a complete airhead, although I did want to project the famous Marilyn Monroe personality as best I could.

Hopefully, I could keep myself together. After Pete offered me more pills, I started thinking that maybe I'd gotten too dependent already on the sleeping pills I'd been taking, so the last two nights I'd stared at my bedroom ceiling trying to sleep without them. I was pretty jittery having gone nearly three days without sleep.

I missed it. The nicest thing for me is sleep. Then, at least, I can dream.

To cope, I'd been drinking Mountain Dew and Coke. I thought about taking Red Bull, but worried that it might arouse my male libido. My back ached and my feet hurt, but I owed the Robinsons so much for giving me a chance. I couldn't let them down.

After a Sunday night performance, when all the spectators had cleared out, I was to do a midnight tour of the wax museum with Steve. Since Monday was my day off, I'd have a chance to sleep in the next morning so I wouldn't be too stressed by the late night.

I went to the front entrance of the wax museum exactly at midnight.

"I was hoping you'd be here," he said, a look of delight on his bearded face. "I'm Steve Chapin, Toronto Times."

"I am delighted to meet you again, Mr. Chapin," I said, as I extended the back of my hand for him to kiss it.

He responded as elegantly as a middle-aged, slightly over-weight gentleman could. "My pleasure."

As he kissed my hand, his eyes were locked onto mine.

"I'm Marilyn Monroe." I decided that I would play the evening in character. "Welcome to Robinson's Wax Museum."

He couldn't take his eyes off me.

"I like your dress," he said.

He stared at the whisper thin, flesh colored, sequined dress that Marilyn Monroe wore when she sang for President Kennedy. It seemed to have the desired effect.

"Thank you."

"When my editor suggested doing this 'Night at the Wax Museum' story, I jumped at the chance."

"We appreciate all the publicity you can give us." I clasped my hands in his. As shaky as I was, having someone to hold onto might just keep me from falling over.

"I hear you're really packing them in. I hope the Robinsons are paying you enough."

As had become second nature, I answered with a Marilyn quote before I'd thought it through. "I don't want money. I just want to be wonderful."

He laughed in a way that suggested he knew that I'd quoted Marilyn. "But, you're a good actress."

Okay, if he was going to set me up like that, I could play the quote game. "I am trying to prove to myself that I am a person. Then maybe I'll convince myself that I'm an actress."

He really laughed at that one. He obviously was a huge Marilyn fan.

"Marilyn," he said, appearing to relish the opportunity to engage in conversation with a legend, "what would you like to do with your life?"

I wanted to say, "Have a normal life" and was mildly surprised when I heard myself say, "I'm going to be a great movie star someday." I couldn't stop quoting Marilyn.

At the ticket counter, I picked up two flashlights. One I gave to Steve. The other was for me. The Robinsons warned me there were a lot of dark corners that might spook us late at night.

"Well, where would you like to begin?"

"Perhaps we should begin with a little history?" He clicked on a pocket-sized recording device.

Fortunately, I was prepared for this question. "There have been wax museums in the Clifton Hill area since 1949. Louis Tussaud's Waxworks was the first. Robinson's has only been here for about ten years."

"Was Louis Tussaud related to Madame Tussaud, the lady who created wax museums in Europe?"

"Yes, he was her great grandson. I've been to Madame Tussaud's museum in New York. Robinson's is starting to get into her league."

"I'm happy to hear that. Whenever I've dealt with the Robinsons, they've been so sweet and generous."

Other than the sound of our voices and my heels clicking on the tile floor, the museum was eerily silent as we strolled away from the front lobby. Although there was no one else around, the wax museum was fully lit and operational for this special tour.

"How about Clifton Hill itself?" Steve asked as we moved toward the Niagara history section of the museum. "I know it's home to Ripley's Believe It or Not! and the Guinness World Records Museum, but has the street been a tourist destination for a long time?"

"Yes. One of the first United Empire Loyalist settlers acquired a land grant in 1782 and the Clifton Hotel, no longer in existence, was built in 1833. Of course, the natives have been in the area for about 12,000 years. By the way, the Iroquois name for the river was Onguiaahra, the strait, which became shortened to Niagara."

The first display in the history section was a wax figure of Father Louis Hennepin, a French Franciscan missionary, the first European to see the Falls. There were figures of the Iroquois as well as they gazed at the Falls.

"Who is the 'Maiden of the Mist'?" Steve asked, as he focused on the sign in bold letters.

"She is Lela-wala, an Iroquois Princess, daughter of Chief Eagle Eye. The Iroquois believed the sound of the waterfall was the voice of the spirit of the waters. To please the spirits, Princess Lela-wala was sacrificed. She was sent over the Falls in a white canoe. Her distraught father soon followed Lela-wala over the Falls. After their deaths, according to legend, they became the spirits of strength and goodness. Chief Eagle Eye became the ruler of the cataract. Lela-wala is the maiden of the mist." I felt like a real museum docent conducting a tour.

"I hate to say it, but the wax figures here don't look that realistic," Steve said, sounding like the typical cynical reporter. "Chief Eagle Eye here looks as real as a cigar store wooden Indian."

"These figures are among the oldest we have. The newer ones that you'll see later are much more life-like. They'll look as real as me."

Steve laughed. "I doubt it."

"No really. The technology has changed so much. The Roswell Replicator II will produce an exact replica of a person. And the artificial skin, with a little paint or make-up, looks very real."

"How much does it cost to create one of these wax figures?"

"It can cost about $60,000."

"Wow!"

"Yes. The overhead is high." My voice reverberated through the museum, echoing my breathy, squeaky tones.

"Ah, the Great Blondin," Steve said as he gazed at the daredevil who walked a tightrope that stretched 1,100 feet across Niagara Falls.

"Yes. Blondin even carried his manager on his back across the tightrope—both ways. They say that's the first time in history the manager earned his ten percent."

Steve chuckled. "You've really done your homework."

I almost said I grew up in Niagara Falls, so I should know my local history, but it wasn't the kind of thing Marilyn Monroe would say. I'd just finished a Coke before Steve showed up and already I was beginning to feel tired.

I took Steve past the other historical figures. "Joel Robinson captained the Maid of the Mist II. In 1861, he guided the ferryboat down the white water rapids of the Niagara River from the Clifton Hill location to the town of Queenston, a distance of three miles. The problem was he had to pilot it through the Great Gorge Whirlpool and the dreaded Devil's Hole Rapids. Robinson and his crew of two were fortunate to survive. They earned five hundred dollars for their death-defying journey."

I wondered if Heather and Mrs. Robinson were related to him. "Shaken by his experience, Robinson gave up a career he loved and died two years later."

We passed by the figure of a short lady standing beside a wooden barrel. "Annie Edson Taylor, in 1901, was the first person to ever go over the Horseshoe Falls in a barrel. She did it to become rich and famous, but when she died twenty years later, she was penniless."

Suddenly, a noise came from a display down the hallway to our right.

"Did you hear that?" Steve asked. "It sounds like a girl singing."

I grabbed Steve by the arm, maybe a little too hard. "Perhaps it's just the wind." I didn't really believe it when I said it.

"Let's go have a look." Steve turned on his flashlight, and then led down the dark corridor leading to the Movie Mania section.

I knew whose figure was just ahead, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise.

"Look. It's you, Marilyn." The wax replica wore the famous white dress.

A blast of air caused Marilyn's dress to billow out as the simulated sound of the rumble of a subway train came from the grill beneath Marilyn's feet. Her arms moved to attempt to hold down the fluttering fabric.

Steve laughed. "You knew what was coming, didn't you?"

I nodded. I still hadn't released his arm and decided I needed his full support. "There's a sensor in the floor. We must have tripped it as we approached."

"But you're right. She does look very realistic." Steve looked at me, then at the wax figure. "You're identical twins."

"Right. We're identical in every way—except I'm smarter."

"There's a blonde joke in there somewhere."

"Why do men love blonde jokes?" I moved my face inches from his, and made those eyes at him that suggested I didn't know anything and he was the smartest man in the world.

"Because we can understand them." Steve gave me that big, bad wolf smile I'd received from so many men since becoming Marilyn.

"Okay, here's one for you." I would show him my playful side. Mrs. Robinson had told me to work him a bit so he'd write a favorable story.

"All right."

"A beautiful blonde is sitting at a bar in Hollywood when another gorgeous blonde sits down beside her. The first blonde asks, 'Can I buy you a drink?'

" 'Certainly,' the second blonde says. 'I never refuse a drink.'

" 'Where are you from?'

" 'Ireland.'

" 'No kidding. I'm from Ireland too.'

" 'What part of Ireland?' the second blonde asks.

" 'Tipperary.'

" 'No kidding. Me too.'

" 'So what brings you here to Hollywood?'

" 'I'm an actress. My career has realty taken off. In fact, I just finished shooting a commercial.'

" 'That's amazing. I just did a commercial too.'

" 'Which one?' the first blonde asks.

" 'I just did a shoot for Wrigley's Doublemint Gum.'

" 'Wow! That's amazing! Me too.'

"A bar patron, who had just sat down, leaned over to the bartender. 'What's going on here?'

" 'Oh, nothing much. The O'Hara twins are drunk again.' "

Steve laughed politely. "That was a long, long way to Tipperary."

"Touché."

"Speaking of long ways to go, Marilyn, didn't you film a movie here in Niagara Falls?"

"Uh huh, it was called 'Niagara.' "

"Time has been kind to you."

"I'm ageless." At that moment, I felt like I really had starred in that 1952 film. Every cell in my body was crying out for rest.

Steve turned away from me for a moment and looked to his right. "You know, I swear I can smell salt."

"Yes. Step this way."

About fifteen feet around a bend, was the 'Titanic' display. Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet stood at the bow of the ship. Jack was holding Rose's arms out as they stood perched over the railing, the wind blowing in their faces.

"I'm king of the world!" Steve yelled.

Not to be outdone, I broke into song. "Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on." I struck my chest with my right hand in Celine Dion style.

Steve Chapin laughed as he shook his head. "You are unbelievable. You even sound like her."

"I couldn't resist the temptation."

"You know, I've interviewed James Cameron. He is a very demanding director. 'Titanic' could have been a colossal failure but he really pulled it all together."

"It was a great film."

We strolled through the rest of the movie section arm in arm. We passed displays for 'Bruce ALMIGHTY', 'Gone with the Wind', 'Wedding Crashers', 'Million Dollar Baby', Forrest Gump', 'Chicago', 'Lord of the Rings', 'Gladiator', 'Pirates of the Caribbean', and many more. Steve had anecdotes for most of the films. He really knew his business. I could tell he was impressed by what he saw.

When we got to an elevator, I pressed the up button.

A moment later, the door opened. I must've jumped a foot when I saw 'The Terminator' Arnold Schwarzenegger's half metal/half skin face greet us. Arnold's muscular body, was clad in a black leather jacket and dark T-shirt, and looked menacing.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't know they were going to play that old gag on us." I'd jumped into his arms and it took a second or two to untangle. As strange as it seemed, it was nice to have a man like Steve around to protect me, even though the museum was about as safe as anyplace in the Falls.

"The night watchman, Dave Ross, told me that someone played that trick on him his first shift at the wax museum. I'll bet he did it to us."

Steve tried to peer through the sunglasses that hid the Terminator's eyes. The eyes of all the figures in the Movie Mania section looked so real. They glinted because they were acrylic, with silk threads to simulate the veins.

We entered the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor.

"Did you ever see the old Vincent Price film 'House of Wax'?" I asked.

"Yes, I think I did when I was a kid."

Since he didn't sound too sure I explained the plot. "Vincent Price played a horribly disfigured sculptor who opened up a wax museum in New York. The figures in the museum were victims of his killing spree. Of course, all the bodies were covered in wax."

When the elevator doors opened, we were in the Chamber of Horrors.

"The film was ahead of its time," Steve said. "There's an exhibition traveling the country called 'Bodies.' It's been to the Ontario Science Centre in Toronto. Real corpses were on display—a case of anatomy meets art. The bodies were preserved with a liquid plastic."

"It sounds gruesome."

"But fascinating."

Straight ahead of us was the wax figure of Vincent Price, Professor Henry Jarrod in the 'House of Wax.'

As we stepped out of the elevator that feeling I had as a small child entering a dark room came over me.

To our left was a guillotine display for the French Revolution. Beautiful Marie Antoinette was about to be beheaded.

We were moving toward the guillotine when Steve yelled, "Get back!" He pulled me close to him as the shiny metal blade swooped down, slicing off the beautiful head of Marie Antoinette.

Blood spattered as the head rolled onto the floor.

"Ahh . . . that's not supposed to happen," I said nervously. "Let's get outta here."

Steve and I turned back the way we came, but the elevator doors had closed behind us.

From the other side of 'The House of Wax' display, two zombies, with ashen, scarred, horribly disfigured faces, emerged.

"Oh shit!" Steve yelled.

"Let's take the stairs." I pulled Steve's arm in the opposite direction. We scurried to the stairwell. My heart pumped a hundred miles a minute.

A shriek of familiar laughter came from behind me.

I turned back to see the two zombies had stopped the chase.

"Wait a second, Mr. Chapin. I think we've been had."

Steve stopped dead in his tracks and he held me tight to his body.

"Is that you Heather? Mrs. Robinson?" I called out.

The two zombies, swathed in rags, reached up to their heads simultaneously. Their horrible latex masks were lifted off and beneath were their beautiful, laughing faces.

"Did we ever scare you!" Heather shouted.

"Did you see her jump?"

"Very funny," I said. "Not!"

"It's what happens normally every day in the Chamber of Horrors," Heather insisted.

I looked toward the blood splattered around the guillotine blade and the head of Marie 'Let them eat cake' Antoinette. "You can't tell me that's normal."

There was a worried look on Mrs. Robinson's face.

Suddenly the guillotine blade lifted back up and flashed downward with lightning speed. The 'thwack' noise as the razor sharp blade struck the wood frame shook me.

The hooded figure of the executioner stepped forward.

I grabbed onto Steve's arm and moaned.

"Got'cha." The night watchman, Dave, lifted his black hood.

Everyone wanted to get into the act.

After sharing a few laughs with our tormentors, Steve and I continued our tour. I think Steve could sense my fatigue. Besides, he had enough material for his story.

On the way out, as Steve and I passed by the display for Lela-wala and Chief Eagle Eye once more, I felt a chill in the air. It sent a shiver down my spine. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been wandering around the wax museum in a nearly- not- there dress for well over an hour. Or maybe the cool night air had penetrated under the front door. Perhaps it was a change in humidity. I could swear the wax figures of Lela-wala and Chief Eagle Eye looked much more realistic than I had remembered. The texture of the skin looked less like wax and much more like real flesh. I had a sudden urge to touch the face of the Maiden of the Mist, but I resisted, just in case her spirit really had come back to life.

"Marilyn," Steve said when we reached the front lobby. "Forgive me, but I've dreamed of kissing Marilyn Monroe for years and I can't leave without asking your permission."

After having him 'protect' me for the last hour and a half, how could I refuse?

I nodded.

He swept me up in his arms and kissed me full on the lips.

I'd thought he'd peck me on the cheek. Although I was totally shocked, I didn't resist. Melting in his arms, I was hot butter to his popcorn.

We held each other for what seemed like a long time.

"Sorry Marilyn, I couldn't resist," he said as we broke apart.

"Don't be silly. I enjoyed it." I had. I really had. A kiss from a man twice my age had not only been pleasant, but had actually excited me.

"So much for reporter objectivity," Steve said, as he opened the exit door.

"I won't hold it against you."

"Goodnight."

"Nighty night."

As I pressed the door closed, I breathed a sigh of relief. I waved my hand in front of my face, trying to cool down. My heart was racing just as fast as it had been when the zombies were chasing us.

A moment or two later, I began the stroll back to my dressing room. As I looked toward the wax figure of Lela-wala again, she had a smile on her face whereas I could swear it had been stoic before. Were her eyes following me?

I hurried back to my dressing room as fast as I could.

I couldn't get out of the wax museum fast enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

On my day off, I liked to sleep in.

It was around the crack of noon when I finally dragged myself out of the bed to go to the washroom. Considering I crawled into bed at about three in the morning, I was happy that I had actually fallen asleep and had had pleasant dreams.

However, the reflection staring back at me from the mirror had bags under its bleary eyes. Also, the whites of the eyes were red—courtesy of the irritating contact lenses. Overall, the gaunt face showed the strain of the exhausting performance schedule.

It was fortunate the Marilyn mask and make-up would hide all traces of tiredness.

But there was something Roger had to do today. Although I had kept in touch with Pete via email, I hadn't phoned him for awhile.

It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to Pete. I talked to him every day as Marilyn. I just didn't feel comfortable lying to him.

I had to make up stories about my work experiences in Montreal. I had to tell him what it was like living in Uncle Ned's place in suburban Pointe-Claire. Then there were the lies about the new people I had met, the places I had discovered in Montreal, and the social activities I had enjoyed.

As I sat down at my computer, I knew that Montreal was known for its summer festivals. I needed to look up the Montreal Grand Prix and the Juste pour Rire (Just for Laughs) Festival on the Internet. Then, armed with the details, I'd be able to spin a few yarns about imagined friends and lovers on the phone.

Lovers? I didn't want to hear Pete talk about his amazing co-worker who looked like a sex goddess.

Guilt—what a beautiful thing.

Not!

The next day, the weather turned cool with overcast skies, resulting in a rather small crowd for the first show.

So Heather and I would have to go out onto Clifton Hill.

Before joining Heather outside to promote the show, I swallowed one of Pete's pills with a little Mountain Dew.

Meeting people was both enjoyable and degrading at the same time. On the one hand, people who had seen the show sang their praises. Also, many of the tourists and passersby complimented me on my beauty. On the other hand, it sapped a lot of my energy to talk to so many people. Plus, there were the odd, strange moments when people insulted me or made clumsy passes at me.

I was really, really tired of hearing dumb blonde jokes.

'What do you call a blonde babe with half a brain? Gifted.'

I'd heard that one a hundred times.

Meeting some of the tourists, after they had been walking around for hours on a hot, humid summer day, could be a little unpleasant to the senses. Let's just say some of them could've used some fresh 'arm charms.'

"Hey sexy!"

The loud voice sounded familiar. It was Nate Jackson—my nemesis from grade school. I tried to smile, but I wasn't going to be heartbroken if I didn't succeed. He had been a terrible bully, who had made life miserable for everyone until several of us figured out how to stand up to him in the seventh grade.

"You're the bomb!" Nate yelled.

Nate wore the City of Niagara Falls green coveralls and work gloves. He held a broom in one hand and an elongated dustpan contraption in the other. A large litterbag was slung over one shoulder.

"Thanks for keeping it clean," I said, trying to stay non-committal. He was the kind of guy who would make a scene if he recognized me, which might not be good for business.

I turned back to face Heather for a moment. She usually had a sixth sense about things. She could tell when I needed to be rescued, even when I didn't say it in words.

"Do you want to head back in?"

"Yes. I need to do a costume change before the next show." I lied.

There was a loud wolf whistle behind me, undoubtedly from Nate.

I couldn't resist turning back briefly to face Nate. "If you want to impress a pretty girl, that's not the way to do it."

Heather put her arm around my waist and ushered me back into the wax museum.

"Lesbians!"

As we entered the lobby of the wax museum, Heather asked, "Who was that?"

"Unfortunately, it's somebody I've known since elementary school—a bully named Nate Jackson."

"I guess in everyone's life, a little rain must fall."

Would Nate put two and two together? The last time he saw me at the library, I had been holding three Marilyn Monroe books in my hand.

When we got back to the dressing room, I told Heather about my last unpleasant encounter with Nate. Also, I told her a few childhood stories of how Nate had tormented me and others.

"I wasn't the only one Nate bullied. There was a kid in grade seven named Eric. He had an older sister in high school, a real fox, named Diane. She was a cheerleader. One Halloween, Diane persuaded Eric to wear one of her cheerleading outfits. They went door to door trick or treating. Eric looked amazingly good as a girl. I mean twelve-year old guys don't have facial hair or big muscles or low voices. Eric hadn't gone through puberty. When Diane put a wig, make-up, and the cheerleading outfit on 'Erica,' she looked really cute. Eric had the time of his life that Halloween. It was like he was born to the role."

"So where does Nate come in?"

"When Eric showed up for school the next day, someone had a photo of 'Erica' and passed it around. Everybody picked on 'the little girly-man' or 'the cheerleader.' Even Eric's closest friends had a hard time trying to stick up for him. In gym that day, during a ball hockey game, big Nate body-checked 'Erica' up against a wall. 'Erica' lost four teeth from that 'accident.' Nate was reprimanded by the vice-principal and given a two- day suspension. Or as Nate called it, 'a holiday.' Eric ended up with very costly bridgework, pain, suffering, and ridicule."

"I can see why you don't like Nate, but you know, junior high was a mind-field for everyone."

"That's not the worst part."

"It gets worse?"

"Eric lost all of his friends. If anyone hung around with Eric, they were ostracized too."

"No one was brave enough to stick by him?"

"If anyone did, they got called 'Erica's boyfriend,' faggot, gay boy or something worse."

"What a sad situation."

"Even Eric's very popular sister couldn't help him. Eric ended up eating all alone in the cafeteria. He spent the rest of the school year friendless."

Heather looked at me closely for a moment. "Are you sure Eric wasn't an imaginary friend of yours? Was Eric really Roger?"

"No. It's a true story." However, I left out the part about me not sticking by Eric because Nate would've beat the crap out of me.

"You aren't the only boy who gave in to peer pressure at school."

"I know, but I could've done something."

"So what eventually happened to Eric?"

"He transferred to another school. I never saw him again."

"Guys. They can be real assholes," Heather stated matter-of-factly, as she grasped me by the hand to comfort me.

"I hope you don't think all guys are like that."

"There are some nice ones. In fact, appearance to the contrary, I'm looking at a nice guy right now."

"Thank you. You know, the last time I saw Nate he called me a faggot. This time he called me a lesbian. I wish he'd make up his mind."

"Alleged mind."

"I suspect he's a latent blonde." Heather knew how I felt about dumb blonde jokes.

"What goes around comes around—the law of Karma. I'm sure Nate will get what he deserves someday."

"Perhaps he already has," I said, thinking of his present and likely future job prospects. "After all, somebody has to keep the streets clean. Those irresponsible red-coated Mounted Police, when they make their daily rounds, leave disgusting horse apples behind wherever they go."

Heather smiled. "Horse apples?"

"You know, Dudley Do-Right's horse doodoo." I felt uncomfortable discussing someone else's cycle of cause and effect. I shouldn't have taken a shot at Nate. "Anyway, I'm not entirely convinced that my Karma is good."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's complicated. I've kept my Marilyn identity a secret from my parents. When secrets get exposed, the shit hits the fan. Since my father is a minister in the Anglican Church, I could be a source of embarrassment for him."

"Nobody's going to learn your secret from me."

"Thanks. I knew that from the moment we first met I could trust you. You're just such an open, honest person. I could see that from the way you interacted with your mom."

"You are the same as me in that respect."

"I'm glad you feel that way. But the other person I'm really concerned about is Pete."

"That's a tough one."

"We're such good friends. Yet, I can't tell him that I'm really Roger. I can see that he's really torn apart by the fact I won't date him again, but I don't want to risk losing his friendship."

"I know."

I wanted to tell Heather that I really liked her and I was hoping she'd feel the same way about me, but I couldn't risk having her turn me down again. Instead I said, "Life's much too complicated for me."

"Maybe some day I'll get over my disappointment with Brad."

"Brad doesn't represent the whole male sex."

"No. I know that, but it still hurts a lot. I thought I was going to get married to him."

"Really?"

"Yes. When I fall for a guy, I fall hard."

"At least you've experienced love."

"And heart ache—it's not something I can recommend."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Between the end of the late afternoon show and the seven o'clock show, we had enough time to take a break for supper.

I always stayed in character between shows and I'd found that going out for dinner attracted a crowd, so I usually ordered a meal from a restaurant that delivered. Fortunately, I liked Chinese or Italian food. At other times, Pete, or Gord, or Tom would pick up orders for Heather, Mrs. Robinson, and me.

Pete had volunteered to pick up the take-out from Swiss Chalet. So I greeted him at the front entrance and caught him by surprise because Heather and I usually waited in the Studio where we would have dinner. Pete appreciated the offer of assistance in carrying six dinners.

As we walked through the wax museum, we passed through the Movie Mania section. Of course, we were both quite familiar with all of the displays. However, when we passed by the old Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis wax figures in front of the 'Top Gun' background, I happened to slip as I stepped on an ice cream bar wrapper. Fortunately Pete caught me before I could fall to the floor.

"Thanks." Luckily neither of us spilled our food.

"Glad to be of help," Pete said.

"I think Tom Cruise is laughing at me," I said as I noted Pete still had me in his grip.

Pete looked at the wax figure for a moment. "Maybe we should be laughing at him or maybe with him."

"Why is that?"

"Don't you remember Tom Cruise trying to sing in 'Top Gun'?"

"Uh huh."

"When Tom tried to pick up Kelly McGillis in the bar, he sang 'You've Lost That Loving Feeling' and all the other pilots in the bar joined in with the chorus, giving a fellow flyer a helping hand."

"Yes, it was a great moment."

Pete looked at me for a moment. Ever since our date, I had been trying to avoid him. He had asked me out again and I sensed he was about to do it again.

"Hey Pete, I've got a musical idea I'd like to run through with you."

"Sure."

"Right after we eat, could I get some help with your musical talent?"

"Certainly."

When we reached the Studio, I went over to the computer and got on the Internet. I keyed in search parameters and when I found the pages I was looking for, I printed out two copies.

Then I persuaded Pete to pick up his chicken dinner and come upstairs with me.

Although I had never intended to hurt Pete, I knew he was unhappy. He wanted Marilyn to be his girlfriend. Pete had revealed that to Roger in his email messages.

When we sat down at the synthesizer under the Big Top Tent, I showed him the music I had downloaded.

"Oh, the lyrics for 'You've Lost That Loving Feeling.' You didn't have to do that. It's one of my favorites."

Roger knew that already, but Marilyn/Laura wouldn't have. "Would you like to do a duet?"

"Sure. It sounds like fun."

Immediately Pete launched into the old Righteous Brother's hit.

"You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.

And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips.

You're trying hard not to show it, (baby).

But baby, baby I know it...

When Pete got to the chorus, I joined in.

"You've lost that lovin' feeling,

Whoa, that lovin' feeling,

You've lost that lovin' feeling,

Now it's gone...gone...gone...wooooooh.

I let Pete sing the next part solo.

"Now there's no welcome look in your eyes

when I reach for you.

And now you're starting to criticize little things I do.

It makes me just feel like crying, baby.

'Cause baby, something in you is dying.

I joined in with the chorus again.

"You lost that lovin' feeling,

Whoa, that lovin' feeling,

You've lost that lovin' feeling,

Now it's gone...gone...gone...woooooah

"Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you.

Pete, with his eyes and a nod of the head, indicated I should sing the next line.

"If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah.

We sang the rest of it together.

"We had a love...a love...a love you don't find everyday.

So don't...don't...don't...don't let it slip away.

"Baby (baby), baby (baby),

I beg of you please...please,

I need your love (I need your love),

I need your love (I need your love),

So bring it on back (So bring it on back),

Bring it on back (so bring it on back).

"Bring back that lovin' feeling,

Whoa, that lovin' feeling

Bring back that lovin' feeling,

'Cause it's gone...gone...gone,

and I can't go on,

noooo...

We were great as a duet.

I leaned over to Pete and kissed him on the cheek.

I think Pete was disappointed that I didn't kiss him on the lips.

"Pete, I've been looking for a way to tell you my feelings for you."

"I think you just have," he mumbled, his eyes saddened.

"The truth is, I like you very much as a friend and I don't want to ever lose that friendship." I paused for a moment and looked him straight in the eyes. "However, I think I'm in love with somebody else. Unfortunately, that person hasn't returned the love yet, but I'm hopeful a loving relationship will develop."

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On the next Monday night, our usual day off, we put on a show at the Niagara Casino, literally a hop skip and a jump from Robinson's Wax Museum. The venue was Marilyn's Room, a restaurant. Incredibly, more than fifty-five years after shooting the film 'Niagara,' Marilyn Monroe was still a big name in the Falls.

Mrs. Robinson thought it would be good for business for us to have more exposure. It was her opinion that people who like tribute shows like to see them multiple times. Moreover, the casino clientele were probably a different market segment than the Clifton Hill mob. As long as Robinson's Wax Museum received a cut of the proceeds, Mrs. Robinson was all for it.

The casino management gave us first-class treatment. They erected a platform as a temporary stage. Their technical staff was very helpful in putting the whole show together. Heather, Pete, Tom, Gord, and I agreed to do this extra show because we felt we were building a fan base, but, more importantly, we realized that the Rooftop Theater was a temporary venue. If we wanted to keep working after the summer season, we'd need to find another home.

Instead of performing in front of seven hundred people under the Big Top, we were in a much more intimate setting. There might have been 250 patrons in the SRO crowd of Marilyn's Room. Well actually, if you counted the people standing, there were probably another fifty people, breaking the fire code regulations. Unlike the sightseeing tourists at the wax museum, these customers were at the casino to gamble. Also, since Marilyn's Room was a restaurant, we had a new challenge to deal with—the distractions of food and drink while we performed. We were simply an added frill for the gambling and dining experience.

Marilyn's Room overlooked the bustling casino floor below. In a sense, it shared something in common with our usual home, the Rooftop Theater, only this one had windows and an interesting view.

We planned to perform our usual show, except for one big difference. Due to space limitations, we did not have the video screens. To allow Heather and I sufficient time to change costumes, Pete was called upon to 'fill' for us. No problem. Pete 'Wurlitzer' Winslow reached back to the earlier eras of Hollywood musicals. He sang 'Singing in the Rain,' 'The Sound of Music,' and 'They Call the Wind Maria' from the musical 'Paint Your Wagon' to his own accompaniment on the synthesizer. Pete had told me that Mariah Carey was named after that song, even though her name is spelled differently.

Heather was in great form. She really belted out her songs. She could have done the show without microphones her voice carried so well. Feeling right at home in 'my' own room, I gave one of the best performances I've ever given. Perhaps it was because the acoustics were so much better than the voluminous tent. It was, in a sense, like our Opening Day all over again. We were so excited and wanted to impress everyone.

Fortunately, we did! Our show was very well received. We were accorded a rousing standing ovation! In this intimate setting, we just seemed to connect so much better with everyone.

It was a great 'second' opening night!

Afterward, we had an opportunity to mix with the audience. Apparently, only Niagara Casino's regular high rollers had been invited to the show as a 'comp.' If I ever took after the gold digging Lorelei Lee of 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,' it was my opportunity to strike it rich.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that rich guys had a lot of confidence. Ten guys or so must have hit on me while Heather and I chatted with the patrons.

All that time, I could see Pete standing nearby, doing a slow burn.

Earlier in the week, after we had performed our duet 'You've Lost That Loving Feeling,' I told him that I wouldn't go out on a date with him again. It was a very difficult decision to make, given my feelings for Pete, but his 'love' for Laura/Marilyn was based on an illusion.

I'd told Pete that my heart belonged to another person, and he pressed me for a name, but I would not reveal it to him. I couldn't very well tell Pete that the person I loved was Heather. Consequently, he didn't believe me totally, even though I insisted that my love for another was the truth.

All through the rest of the week, things had been quite cool between Pete and me. In fact, I could feel his resentment. Perhaps he had changed his view of Marilyn/Laura. The admiration was no longer there. He no longer put me on a pedestal to be worshipped.

Not being an expert on breaking up with guys, I made another wrong decision. To make things easier on him, I wanted to make Pete believe that I was not deserving of his love and devotion.

When mingling with our fans after the show, I tried to be overly friendly and flirtatious. To be true to my Marilyn character, I tried to seduce all of the males, especially the handsome ones, and sometimes the married ones. Flirting was an art Marilyn Monroe had mastered, so it was something I tried to emulate.

The gentleman would approach, say hi and then he would compliment me on the show. I'd thank him and smile. Then he would praise me for the quality of the whole production, for getting all the details exactly right. I'd give him an enticing smile and ask him where he was from. He'd tell me he was from someplace like Okefenokee Swamp in Florida. I'd reply with a supportive comment about how he had traveled so far to visit beautiful Niagara Falls.

Next he'd say the magnificence of the Falls paled in comparison to my splendor, loveliness, or dazzling beauty or some such exaggeration. I'd step a little closer, lower my eyes and give him my most seductive smile. In my mind, I'd imagine what it would be like to kiss someone as 'wonderful' as him.

He'd lavish praise on me for looking like an angel or a goddess. Blah, blah, blah. I'd tease him by asking if he had had much success with those pick up lines before. He'd reply with a funny come on. I'd laugh. Then I'd say, "That's much better than the line I'd heard from the previous gentleman. He said, 'Marilyn, you are a goddess. Can I worship at the temple of your body?' "

In my mind, I'd imagine what it would be like to make hot passionate love to him. Then I'd ask how long he was going to be in town and what his plans were. When he'd reply about being flexible for at least the next few days, I'd offer a sexy double entendre about how I appreciated 'being flexible.' I found myself saying things that made me blush.

At that moment, usually Heather would step in and rescue me by introducing the next patron in the line or she'd pull me away and remind me that we had to get ready for the next show. Or at other times I'd hold up my hand and show him a plain gold ring. I'd tell him if I hadn't committed myself to another, I'd have loved to have gotten to know him on a more intimate basis.

I think the key to flirting was to give the impression that the gentleman had a real chance with me.

One very persuasive patron caught my attention. Actually, he wasn't a customer. He was one of the ownership partners of the Niagara Casino, William Longboat.

A member of the casino's technical staff introduced us and Mr. Longboat invited me to his management office for a private conference.

I graciously accepted.

"You were an absolute delight tonight," Mr. Longboat said, as he pulled out a chair for me.

"Why thank you very much for the compliment, Mr. Longboat," I replied, as I sat down in front of a large oak desk. Behind him, through the special one-way floor-to-ceiling mirrored glass, I had a superb view of the flashing lights of the slot machines, the throngs of people around the craps, roulette, poker, and blackjack tables.

"Please call me Bill," he said with a smile, as he circled around to the other side.

Mr. Longboat was a tall, ruggedly handsome man in his mid-forties. He had longish dark hair, high cheekbones, almond shaped brown eyes, crooked front teeth, and a prominent nose that looked like it had been in a fight and lost. He was a nouveau riche North American aboriginal with a delightful smile.

"Bill Longboat, please call me . . . Marilyn." I was flirting again. Would he believe I had asked him to give me a call?

He smiled. "I've seen your show before at Robinson's. When I saw how good it was, I knew I had to book you into our casino in Marilyn's Room."

"Well thank you. It's been a pleasure for us."

"Did you know that was the first time we have booked a cabaret act into what is normally a restaurant for our VIPs?"

"No. Actually I had not set foot in that restaurant until tonight."

"Well, it was meant as a compliment to you."

"On behalf of the whole cast I'd like to thank you for this opportunity."

"You deserved it. You people have put a great deal of care and attention into the whole performance. From the singing, the dancing, the costumes, the make-up, the video sequences under the Big Tent, you've got the whole package."

"We've enjoyed it so much. It's been a real pleasure working there this summer."

"So where have you performed before?"

"This is my first professional job in the entertainment field."

"Really? You're a natural."

"I wouldn't go that far. Everybody with the show has put in a lot of hard work."

A man walked in with a tray of chips and asked for Mr. Longboat to extend credit to a certain gambler. Mr. Longboat immediately signed the chit.

"I am sure you have. . . . Where are you from?"

"I grew up in Niagara Falls. And you?"

"Brantford."

"The home of Wayne Gretzky."

"Yes."

"A couple of local kids who made good."

"Yes," Bill said with a laugh. "He took a gamble and made it big in hockey, while I played 'hooky' and learned how to gamble."

I could tell he had delivered that line many times before, but I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard.

"You know, casinos have been a real Bonanza for the native peoples."

"That's what I've heard." I had learned to be passive and let men lead the conversation.

"It sure beats the old transporting contraband across the border routine we used to do."

I laughed. Bill was very straightforward and honest.

He waited for me to speak, so I offered a 'Timbit' of information. "Well, last summer I worked at Tim Hortons, serving donuts, coffee and sandwiches, so I'm very appreciative of what I'm doing now."

"Is Robinson's Wax Museum paying you well?"

"As the show's success has grown, I've been doing better and better. Heather, our Jane Russell in the show, and Mrs. Robinson have treated me so well. I've been told I'll receive a large bonus at the end of the summer. The Robinsons put so much money into starting up the show: the Rooftop Theater, the stairways, the costumes, the equipment, and advertising. The whole production had enormous start up costs."

"What happens after the end of the summer? Will you be performing somewhere else? Taking your show on the road?"

"I'm not sure. Certainly we can't continue in the Rooftop during the winter. If nothing else works out, I'll go back to school as I had planned to do originally."

"Well then, after the summer season, how would you like to work here for us, at the Niagara Casino? We'd like you to perform here as our regular nightclub act throughout the fall, winter, and spring."

What a surprise! "That sounds great! Absolutely wonderful!" I paused for a moment. "Oh, but I'd better not commit to this until I've talked to Heather, Mrs. Robinson, and Pete."

"Who's Pete?"

"He's the musician."

"He's very talented!"

"Yes. We value him highly."

"Well, I want all of you. The whole cast then."

"It sounds very tempting. As I said, I'll have to talk it over with the others."

"I understand, but if they can't make the commitment, I'd be interested in hiring you by yourself. I think I could build a show around you, or even just having you here at the casino to be our greeter, a hostess, would be tremendous. Also, I'd like to feature you in some commercials to promote the Niagara Casino. You are very photogenic. Sex sells and nobody in the history of planet Earth was sexier than Marilyn Monroe!"

Wow! "The offer is terrific! Overwhelming!" I paused to think. "My gut reaction is to say yes, but as I say, I need to discuss this with the others."

"The others are very talented too, but you are the special one!"

"Why thank you again. . . . Just out of curiosity, did you have all this in mind before I came here to your office?"

"Well the nightclub idea was in place, but a lot depended on this meeting. Often, I go with my gut feeling too. You are even more impressive up close. On stage you project a hot, sizzling sexy personality! I wondered what you would be like at close range on a personal basis. I wondered if the Marilyn Monroe illusion would hold up?"

"And your judgement is . . . ? "

"I think that's obvious." Bill got up out of his chair to move closer to me and then he grasped my hands. "You're certainly the best Marilyn Monroe I have ever seen. I've seen female impersonation acts before, but you're the absolute best!"

"Female impersonation act?" I almost choked. I stood up, angrily shaking his hands away from me.

"Well yes. You are a boy under that wig, make-up, and glamorous gown, aren't you?"

"You think I'm a boy! Why Mr. Longboat, I am shocked!"

He leaned forward and looked me straight in the eyes. "Nevertheless, I'm correct, am I not?"

My whole world was falling apart. How did he know? The Marilyn act had been so successful that I hadn't given any thought to somebody guessing my secret. I decided to bluff it out.

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to prove to you that I am a woman?"

"I believe you're a boy." He appeared to be losing his patience.

"How did you ever reach that conclusion?"

"You have a boy's spirit. Although you have a strong feminine presence, you're a boy in spirit. We have a term 'agokwa' in our culture for a person of two spirits. The French-Canadians used the term 'berdache.' I can sense that duality within you, in spite of your beautiful appearance."

He was a perceptive man. Damn him! "Mr. Longboat, we all have male and female aspects to our personality, but my body is that of a female. As Marilyn said, 'I'm very definitely a woman, and I enjoy it.' "

"You are a boy," he said with finality.

I focused all my loving energy on him and reached up to the shoulder straps of my gown and freed the tethers. Then I pulled the body-hugging evening gown out and over my breasts. The gown slid easily past my waist. I did a little shimmy as I pushed it over my hips and it dropped to the floor.

He hadn't moved, nor had he blinked since I'd slipped the straps off my shoulders.

Next, I reached up to the body stocking and pulled it down over my bare bosom. I spread my hands over my waist and then slowly, sensuously slid the nylon over my wide hips. With a slow bump and grind wiggle, I slipped out of the body stocking.

I stood completely 'naked' before Bill in all my glory. My legs were spread shoulder width apart. I shook my breasts and fanny to show him that it was all real!

"I can't believe it," was all he could mutter.

 

THE END OF PART 2 OF A THREE PART STORY

  

  

  

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