Like a Candle in the Wind

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Part 3

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The following Monday dawned, and we were doing a commercial for the Niagara Falls Chamber of Commerce. It was going to be a very busy day! The promotional footage involved shooting at seven different locations: the Horseshoe Falls, a horse drawn carriage ride in front of Table Rock, the Minolta Tower, the Niagara Casino, the Maid of the Mist, the Spanish Aero Car and, of course, Robinson's Wax Museum.

I was tired and I felt under pressure. Thankfully, the mask would hide the dark circles under my eyes.

Several days had gone by, I still hadn't signed the contract, but I wanted to get started with the cosmetics MGM had given me. I finally got up the nerve to try a change and thankfully the new make-up seemed to work okay. I used a bit more foundation than normal to make sure my 'skin' looked vibrant for the close-ups.

I hadn't taken a pill to sleep because I had so many things I needed to think about. All night long I'd wrestled with all the complications. If I came clean now, would the studio sue me for fraud—and Heather? If I went through with it and my parents suddenly found themselves the parents of a famous actress, could they live with it? What if the studio wanted to make me tell everyone? What if they wanted me to keep the secret for my entire life? Would people hate me if they knew? Would the owner of the casino sue me? I'd touched a lot of peoples' lives and they'd touched mine. How many would be repulsed? Would Pete?

Heather had contacted Steve, the Toronto Times writer. He was supposed to follow us around with a photographer and do a piece on Marilyn's growing stardom.

The commercial camera crew had already shot the Robinson's Wax Museum sequence in the Rooftop Theater on Sunday afternoon, as they wanted a live audience reaction.

We were picked up at Robinson's early in the morning. A large mobile home, set by the Falls, was going to be our dressing room and refuge for the day.

The trailer was very well equipped and functional. It had all the kitchen appliances, a sink, television, curtained windows galore, a washroom, beds, seats, and, most importantly, a make-up table with a lighted vanity mirror—just what I needed to give the new line of make-up a real test.

The first shot was to be a carriage ride past Table Rock, a picturesque historic stone building housing a gift shop and restaurant, very close to the Falls. In fact, the Niagara Parks Commission didn't want any more buildings close to the Falls because they didn't want to spoil the view.

I was wearing the trademark white dress. As the horse-drawn carriage was a moving subject, the video crew had to move to several different spots for shooting. The camera crew did not have the dolly that was commonly used for a running shot. This scene required at least six different takes before the director, Harold Hanratty, was satisfied. The total elapsed time? Probably an hour.

The spray from the mighty Falls was like a constant rain. I began to get concerned about my make-up. I had to retreat to my trailer while the camera crew set up at the Horseshoe Falls.

While I sat before the make-up table in the motor home, Steve was on hand to interview me. Heather was also along on the shoot to lend me moral support.

During the past week, I had become accustomed to hugging and kissing Heather at every opportunity. With the reporter around, I had to show restraint.

"How are you, Mr. Chapin?" I asked as I used a small towel to dry my hands and exposed skin.

"Good, Marilyn. And please, call me Steve. My nerves have calmed down somewhat since that late night tour of the wax museum."

"Heather and Mrs. Robinson played a nasty trick on both of us."

"We got you good," Heather interjected. "It was a scream!"

"Literally," I added.

"Yes it was," Steve agreed, "and there have been thousands of screaming fans who have loved your show. I've been following the incredible rise of your career. You've had capacity crowds."

"Yes, we've been very fortunate."

"I've seen your show several times. You have a great stage presence!"

"Thank you, Steve."

"You're beautiful. I think everyone falls in love with you."

"Oh Steve, you're very charming. I bet you say that to all the sexy starlets you interview." In light of my damp clothing, wet hair and smudged make-up, I was sure Steve was just being kind.

"I've interviewed quite a few beautiful actresses and models, but none . . ."

I interrupted him. "Speaking of beautiful performers, Mr. Chapin, a great deal of the credit has to go to Heather." I looked over to Heather and Steve followed my gaze. "Heather is both gorgeous and very talented. She put the whole show together. It was her concept. She arranged to put up the tent. She hired the technicians and the musician. Heather and her mom made the costumes. She did the choreography. The Marilyn Show is her creation."

For a few minutes Steve chatted with Heather. She deserved the glory—not me. Maybe the article would feature Heather instead of me. That would make me very happy.

I welcomed the break because I needed to change my wig. Not wanting the reporter, Steve, to discover what was under the wig, I picked up one of the extra platinum 'Marilyn' wigs and stepped into the confines of the small washroom. Once I had secured the latch, I took off the wet wig. There were Velcro tabs on both the underside of the wig and the special wig cap covering my scalp. I dried my own damp hair with a towel, and put on the fresh wig, ensuring that the Velcro tabs matched up properly.

When I emerged from the restroom, I put the damp wig on a stand. Heather helped me brush the platinum blonde wig. It was real human hair, but we had to treat it gently. Then Heather held up the wig in one hand, a hair dryer in the other, and gently stroked the platinum strands with the warm air.

The best thing about the noise from the hair dryer was that we didn't have to talk constantly with the reporter. Both Heather and I needed an occasional break. The Toronto Times photographer, however, took lots of photos of me fixing my make-up and hair. I wasn't sure if the story and pictures were going to appear in the Fashion or the Entertainment Section.

The Horseshoe Falls sequence was of much shorter duration. Thankfully! Mostly I just had to smile and present sexy seductive looks to the lens. Again, I was showered by the heavy spray from the powerful cascade.

Back in the refuge of the mobile home, I felt relieved to be protected from the ever present 'rain.' Briefly I used a hair dryer to restore the wig to its full glory.

While waiting for the next shot, I shared a joke with Steve, Heather, and the photographer. It was the only motor home joke I knew.

"Last summer, I worked at Tim Hortons," I began. "The donut chain occasionally runs contests to attract more customers. They give out prizes in their cups of coffee. On the bottom of the cup, a customer can find a prize coupon. They give out small prizes, so there are lots of winners. At my shop, a dim-witted customer ordered a cup of coffee—a not infrequent occurrence. He found a coupon stuck to the bottom of the cup. 'I won!' he screamed. 'I won! I won a mobile home! It's a Winnebago!'

"The manager heard the screams. He rushed over to the jubilant customer, but he knew that the customer couldn't possibly have won a motor home. There weren't any valuable prizes in that particular promotion. 'What do you mean you won a mobile home? You couldn't have!' the manager claimed.

"The customer said, 'I won a motor home! I won a motor home! See here, it says Winnebago!'

"The manager looked at the coupon for a moment in disbelief. Sure enough, the coupon read, Win a bagel!"

There were groans all around.

Fortunately, the technical crew was ready for the next shoot. The commercial director had improvised a little and was going to throw in extra footage of the American Falls. So, out I went again. However, the sun hid behind some clouds, so we had to delay for a short time. The constant spray from the torrent that was Niagara was really getting to me, but we did the shot in one take.

Inside the Winnebago, again, I needed to repair the make-up and use the hair dryer. I glanced over to Steve Chapin and the photographer. They were busy chatting and weren't watching me for a moment. I unclipped my large pearl earring on the right side. It had slipped and it needed to be adjusted. I massaged my sore ear for a moment before clamping it back on. I never had gotten my ears pierced, likely another thing I'd have to do before shooting 'Hot.'

We moved down the Niagara Parkway a short distance to old familiar Clifton Hill. Here we were at the entrance to The Maid of the Mist. The scenic boat tour in the swirling rapids beneath the Falls had always been my favorite way to see the roaring cataract when I was a kid.

I suppose we must have ticked off some people who had been standing in line waiting to ride on the boat.

But, at the same time, judging by the sounds of all the clicking cameras, they found the opportunity to take pictures of Marilyn Monroe and a video crew to be immensely entertaining.

While we stood on the deck of the Maid of the Mist in the shadow of the Rainbow Bridge, I could see that we would have to wait a few minutes for the sun and the rainbow to reappear. The intermittent cloud was a fickle foe. Also, the wind had picked up noticeably.

The omnipresent spray was easier to bear as a courteous crewman of the Maid of the Mist gave me a much-needed raincoat.

But, when the director said, "Action," the blue, translucent raincoat was removed! Really! Did they think I was doing a shampoo commercial?

The Maid of the Mist drew closer and closer to the Falls. I stood at the bow of the boat as it bobbed up and down! The view of the deafening cascade was spectacular! I grabbed onto the railing at the bow and smiled sweetly to the camera. My skirt was being blown about by the gusting winds. The boat tossed to and fro. With one arm I tried to hold my billowing skirt down!

From the swirling whirlpool rapids, a large wave came crashing over the bow! I hung on for dear life, but the wave absolutely drenched me, almost knocking me over the railing. When I reached up to wipe water away from my eyes, I could sense something was seriously wrong.

My cheekbone prosthetics were no longer there! I tried desperately to cover my face. The wig had slipped off too! The platinum blonde tresses were gone, swept overboard by the power of the whirlpool wave. Heather grabbed one of the translucent raincoats and tried desperately to shield me from inquisitive eyes.

"Stay back!" Heather yelled as she turned me away from the probing cameras, but the damage had been done! The whole world would know I was a fraud!

As I huddled with Heather, I cried! She hugged me for what seemed an eternity.

"The shoot is over!" Heather declared.

There were looks of concern and curiosity from the director, video crew, the photographer, and Steve.

Or . . . were those looks of disgust?

Ten minutes later, we ascended the gorge by means of a steel cage elevator. Heather tried her best to keep prying eyes away, but I could hear the clicks of hundreds of cameras from the onlookers in line for The Maid of the Mist.

"She's . . . a . . . boy."

"He sure is."

Heather used a raincoat to cover my face as she guided me up Clifton Hill toward the Robinson's Wax Museum.

Along the way, Heather screamed at Steve Chapin several times. "Back off! Get lost!"

"I can't believe it."

"Did you see that, Martha? Look . . . Marilyn's really a guy. Get a picture. No one will believe us."

The sixty-meter, uphill walk seemed to take forever. When we reached the protective refuge of the museum dressing room, I was absolutely drained, spent emotionally, and filled with despair about my future.

It was only after cuddling with Heather for quite awhile that I recovered to the point where I could think coherently.

I decided to get out of the wet clothes. Off came the damp white dress, panties, and high heels.

After I stripped, I looked at myself in the mirror. The body was still the perfect Marilyn Monroe body that had inspired countless wet dreams, but the face everyone had seen belonged to Roger Baker.

"I guess I won't be dressing up anymore," I said to myself glumly.

As I put on a white terrycloth bathrobe, I replayed the events in my mind, over and over again. Why had the Sokui adhesive lost its grip?

Sure, there was a lot of moisture from the Falls . . . but I also had tried the new line of make-up supplied by MGM. I wondered if the make-up contained any of the same ingredients contained within the special solvent I used to take off the Marilyn prosthetics. Quite likely.

What had caused the platinum blonde tresses to come off? Prior to the Maid of the Mist shot, I had used the dryer directly on the human hair wig while it was still on my head. It was just for a brief time. Had that caused the Velcro tabs to loosen? Also, the freak wave was so powerful it had almost swept me overboard.

Certainly the force had to be strong enough to pull apart the Velcro tabs.

Or had the spirits around the Falls conspired against me? I hadn't had the integrity needed to come clean with everyone. Obviously I couldn't have signed the MGM contract under any circumstances. They were counting on Marilyn's fans to go to their movie and her fans didn't want to see her played by a male.

It would be a betrayal of Marilyn. In fact, she had stated her view of gender bending roles. "The studio people want me to do 'Good-bye Charlie' for the movies, but I'm not going to do it. I don't like the idea of playing a man in a woman's body—you know? It just doesn't seem feminine." Debbie Reynolds took the part of the reincarnated Charlie Sorel/Virginia Mason. I found it ironic that Debbie's co-star was Tony Curtis.

There wasn't any point in beating myself up over how it happened. Roger and Marilyn's excellent adventure was over.

I had started the whole chain of events by recording a commercial, with Pete's help, as a school project. And now, shooting a real commercial would end Marilyn Baker's acting career.

Heather placed her arm on my shoulder. "C'mon Sugar. It's not that bad . . . Besides, it's about time Roger Baker emerged as a star."

"I guess I'll have to tell everyone who I really am." Then, a Marilyn quote popped into my head. "I always felt I was nobody and the only way for me to be somebody was to be . . . well, somebody else."

"Don't worry, Roger. I'll still love you. No matter what happens."

After some more kissing, hugging, cuddling, and comforting, we settled down to figure out what we were going to do.

"I guess Pete, Tom, Gordo, and you might suffer as well," I said.

"Don't even think about that."

Then suddenly, Heather brightened up.

"I've got an idea! Let me take care of the whole thing," she said as she looked into my eyes sincerely.

"I'm going to put together a press release. . . . Tomorrow you are going to perform one last time as Marilyn Monroe. Your farewell performance! Then we'll hold a question and answer session for the media and our fans. You can tell the whole world about Roger Baker, the Roswell Replicator, and the whole damn thing!"

I shrugged. "All right. If you think that's what's best."

"You'll only say what you feel comfortable revealing about yourself. Don't worry Sugar. I'll take care of everything." Heather paused as she considered what to do. "You go soak in the bathtub and take off those appliances. I've got some phone calls to make."

Then she smiled.

For some reason, I felt better. I had faith in Heather.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I needed to face my public. It was my moment of reckoning. Judgment day.

Ms. Neal called Heather. She said I could forget about an acting career with MGM. The contract offer was rescinded. She said the studio legal department wanted to pursue damages, but Ms Neal had convinced the lawyers to forget about it. She'd told Heather that the kind of publicity my stunt was gathering for the movie was worth millions. The studio was now targeting Scarlett Johansson for the role.

I spent the night at the museum to stay out of the public's eye and to try to figure out how to tell Mom and Dad.

There was none of the usual exhilaration I felt preparing for a show as I put on the panels, clothes, and make-up for one last time.

In the next ten minutes, I had to gather enough courage to go out and perform on stage.

I expected the response to be hostile. That was inevitable.

Someone knocked on my door.

"Roger? It's me, Heather. Can I come in, please?"

I couldn't keep myself locked in the dressing room forever. I walked over to the door and opened it a crack. I could see Heather. She was by herself. I opened up wide to allow her in.

"Oh Roger!" She wrapped her arms around me. We hugged for a long time. I felt like crying on her shoulder.

"Ah shoot! I don't know what to do, Heather. Things were going so well. I wish I could go back in time and change the last twenty-four hours."

"Unfortunately, that's not possible."

"Do you know if the studio signed anybody to replace me yet?"

"There's been no announcement that I know of, but I haven't been listening to the radio." Heather paused for a moment. "By the way, I spotted a rumor circulating on the Internet that Tom Hughes was an executive producer for 'Hot'? Is it true?"

"He never mentioned that to me. In fact, at the screen test, I remember he said casting was up to the 'suits' as he called them."

"Well, maybe he just has some extra pull because of his star power. There's a report that he'd still like you to be in the film."

"That's a surprise." Was there still hope?

"I guess I might as well tell you about something else that appeared in a large number of newspapers around North America."

"Bad news or good news?"

"Photos were taken of you and Tom Hughes at the film festival."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"Pictures of you dancing with Tom."

"Yes, we danced. You were there too."

"And there were photos of you and Tom kissing."

That was like a kick in the stomach. "I'm sorry, Heather. I know it looks bad, but I assure you we just kissed." This was going to be hard to explain. I looked directly in her now watery eyes. "During the screen test, when I kissed Tom, he didn't respond at all, even though I put as much passion into the kisses as I could. At the film festival party, I wanted to see if I could get a reaction from him."

"I take it you were successful."

"Yes, but it wasn't like we were starting an affair. It was more a matter of finding out whether we could work with each other. In fact, Tom was telling me all about the progress he was making with his make-up and vocal training to play his role in drag. I was trying to hold back my laughter when we kissed." I hoped she would understand, although part of me believed that the spirit of Marilyn influenced me.

Was there still doubt in her eyes?

"It's okay, Roger. I forgive you. I know I can trust you," she said as she hugged me. "Besides, now that Tom knows about your real identity, his perceptions have undoubtedly changed."

True. Would Tom ever speak to me again? "Heather, I need you more than anything else in life. I love you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're precious to me too."

We kissed. I didn't ever want to lose her love.

"C'mon Sugar," Heather said as we parted. "It won't be so bad. We have to perform. You have to meet your adoring public."

"Adoring public?" I stepped back from Heather.

Heather shrugged. "I hope they'll respond favorably."

"I suppose I can't hide forever. Making them wait won't help matters."

"Just a moment." Heather pulled a tissue from the box on the make-up counter. "I need to touch up your lipstick." She reached for a lipstick tube and liner. "This will only take a second or two."

I held still while she did the repairs. Then Heather placed her hand around my waist and nudged me so that I looked directly at the full-length mirror.

"You look gorgeous today. Absolutely radiant," she said with her million-megawatt glow.

As I looked in the mirror at the shimmering ruby red sequined gown, I noted the heaving bosom that was trying to burst through the enticing front slit of the gown. My eyes fell to the sensuously thin waist and shapely hips, my tantalizing legs were revealed through another strategically placed slit in the drape of the dress. A dazzling diamond necklace decorated my thin elegant neck. Diamond bracelets and earrings completed the diamond theme. A ruby red cap with white feather plumes adorned my soft wavy platinum blonde tresses.

I looked closely at my mesmerizing blue-gray eyes, my long eyelashes, my arching eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the pert feminine nose, sensuous pouting lips, and the distinctive mole on my left cheek. Altogether, it was a beautiful, uplifting magical illusion. Thankfully, Heather had thought of providing Visine so my eyes weren't red.

"I think I'm ready. Now or never."

Heather guided me toward the door as we walked hand in hand. Up three flights of stairs to the Rooftop Theater. The long climb in high heels was one thing I wouldn't miss.

I should've been on stage fifteen minutes ago. A feeling of dread gripped me. Undoubtedly, the crowd would be angry!

Then I heard music playing. It was getting louder and louder as I approached. Then there was thunderous applause! Hooting and hollering!

What was going on?

As I approach from a wing of the stage, I could see a grand piano and . . . Elton John!

Elton was wearing a dark turtleneck and a tailored jacket, and glasses.

Heather, with a supportive squeeze of my arm, said, "We have a new star to assist Marilyn Monroe."

Elton John started into the intro for the next song.

"Goodbye Norma Jeane

Though I never knew you at all . . . "

The packed to capacity crowd was enthralled.

I listened intently.

Then, in the wings on the other side of the stage, I saw Mrs. Robinson, Ben Sadler, Bill Longboat . . . and who was that guy wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses?

I was almost in shock. Tom Hughes!

Beside them stood my parents—the Reverend Ian Baker and my mother, Charlotte Baker. A lump formed in my throat. Mom and Dad were supporting me, even after I'd embarrassed them.

Elton's voice. It was the human jukebox! Pete 'Wurlitzer' Winslow!

I stepped onto the stage.

The crowd began to cheer and applaud. By the time I reached center stage, the crowd was on its feet! Wave after wave of thunderous deafening applause, screams, yells, and whistles washed over me!

I had to acknowledge their love! I held my right arm high above my head and waved to the crowd! I blew kisses to my adoring fans! I curtsied, and then I acknowledged Elton John, extending my arm in his direction. There was more wild applause. As I approached the piano, the crowd suddenly became still.

They had come to hear a performance.

Pete smiled at me as he moved over to provide some space for me. "You sure had me fooled," he said, in way that conveyed all was forgiven. He then picked up the melody again.

I joined him on the piano bench. He hugged me with one arm as he struck the piano keys with his other hand.

Pete whispered over the music, "Marilyn, the casino wants you and me to sign a long-term contract. Are you ready to be Marilyn today and as far into the future as you want?"

I laughed and put my arm around him. I leaned on him, cheek to cheek. My eyes started to tear up in . . . laughter, joy, and sadness.

No more pills. No more deceit. No more hiding.

I looked off into the wings and saw a blonde who looked like my double floating just above the stage at a spot where, apparently, only I could see her. She blew me a kiss and waved as only Marilyn could before disappearing.

It hadn't been the new make-up, the water, or the spirits of the Falls. Marilyn had helped me avoid a life filled with problems.

I turned to the job at hand and sang with Pete:

"Goodbye Norma Jeane

Though I never knew you at all . . .

And it seems to me you lived your life

Like a candle in the wind

Never knowing who to cling to

When the rain set in

And I would have liked to have known you

But I was just a kid

Your candle burned out long before

Your legend ever did

Goodbye Norma Jeane . . . "

THE END

 

"Let my journey end here, Eternal." An inscription on the portico of Marilyn Monroe's home.

A BIG THANK YOU TO: ANGELA RASCH. She contributed many creative ideas to the writing of the story. Also, Angela provided extensive editing help for "Like a Candle in the Wind." Any errors are not her fault since many changes have been made since late February. A large proportion of the story should be credited to her. For example, the use of Marilyn Monroe quotes was her idea. Another plot element, the parallel between Roger's sleep disorder problems and Marilyn's, was Angela's doing. Overall, the additions made the story much better.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2007 by Laurie S.. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.