Synopsis: a young Marilyn Monroe impersonator auditions for the role of Sugar Cane in a remake of Some Like It Hot. "If I'm a star, then the people made me a star."

Like a Candle in the Wind
by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Part 3

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Before a performance on the Civic Holiday weekend, the first Monday in August, Heather handed me a tabloid newspaper. On the front cover was a picture of Marilyn Monroe.

"You've made the big time," Heather said with a smile. "You're on the front page of the Star Enquirer."

"What?"

"That's your photo."

I took a second look. I couldn't tell if it was photo of Marilyn Monroe or me.

"Are you sure it's me?"

"Yes. Look on page 3. You're the feature story."

I quickly flipped to the article. There was another large photo. This showed Marilyn standing together with Heather, clad in the dazzling red sequined gowns we wore for the Diamonds number.

"You're right," I gushed. "Wow! My first cover!"

"Don't get too excited. Look at the title. 'Is This Marilyn's Clone?' The writer claims that Marilyn Monroe has been cloned! That's right. They claim somebody got hold of a cell from Marilyn's body, cloned it in a laboratory, and now it's performing in Niagara Falls!"

If I hadn't been sitting in a chair, I'd have fallen down laughing.

"I'm a bit of a clown," I giggled, "not a clone."

"Gee, somebody sure did a lot of research to get the facts right for their story."

"Why let the facts stand in the way of a good story?" I quickly scanned through the article. "Well, at least they spelled your name correctly. They got the name of the Wax Museum incorrect though. It's called Robertson's here."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"What can I say? Next thing you know, I'll find out I'm the granddaughter of Marilyn Monroe."

"That's a possibility. After all, she was Norma Jeane Baker. You're Roger Baker."

"Marilyn didn't have any children. She miscarried. And she was born Norma Jeane Mortenson, her mother's name."

"As I said before . . . "

Together we chimed, "Why let the facts stand in the way of a good story?" Then I got to my feet and gave her a big bear hug.

"Marilyn, I can't hold it in any longer.” She looked very excited. "I've got some really good news."

"Better than this cover story?"

"Yes. Much better," Heather paused. "According to your agent, you've got an offer for a movie role."

"You're kidding me." If I hadn't been standing, I would have jumped out of my chair.

"No, really."

We hugged again.

"What do you mean by 'according to your agent'?" I asked, as we separated. "You're my agent."

Heather had been appointed my agent since the first night we performed at the Niagara Casino.

Heather continued. "As your agent, I got a call from MGM. They are going to do a remake of Some Like It Hot. They want you to fly down to Hollywood for an audition."

"You're kidding me," I said again.

"No -- it's the truth."

We both squealed and hugged.

I spoke first. "Amazing! Unbelievable! How did we ever luck into this?"

"Apparently a Hollywood film executive was on a trip through the Niagara Falls area scouting locations. He dropped by the Wax Museum, the hottest ticket in town, and loved our show."

"Wonderful! What do we do? Where do we go? What will I wear?"

"Settle down," she said slowly, "and let your agent handle everything."

We both laughed at the authoritarian tone she'd used.

She continued. "Next Sunday evening, we'll catch the red-eye out of Toronto to Los Angeles. We'll meet with the studio executives on Monday. Then we'll leave early Tuesday morning. We'll have to fly into Toronto on a late flight. We'll be back just in time for our noon show on Tuesday. I know it's going to be hectic. We could've flown out of Buffalo at a cheaper price, but those flights would've involved stops either in Phoenix, Chicago or Baltimore."

"Uh huh." I could hardly believe my ears and felt a little dizzy.

"Yes, I know it's a whirlwind schedule, but we have commitments to all those bus tours. Our shows are all sold out. As much as I'd like to, we don't want to cancel, although I've told the bus tour companies there will not be a 7:00 o'clock show on Sunday. Also, I've told the Niagara Casino we won't be able to perform there on Monday."

"I see." I could just imagine how tired we would be next Tuesday. I thought about suggesting that Pete could substitute for us.

"And don't forget, on the following Monday, we're committed to shooting those television commercials for the Niagara Falls Chamber of Commerce."

"Yes. I haven't forgotten." That gig was ironic. If I hadn't made up that promotional commercial for school, none of this would have happened.

"You know, this could be your big break."

"Maybe. Hopefully. Let's cross our fingers. . . . Who are we meeting with?"

Heather checked her notes. "The producer . . . Harriet Neal," said Heather.

"Never heard of her."

"I went online and checked her out. She's an up and comer at MGM. They call her Dirty Harriet. . . . I think they borrowed that nickname from a Sandra Bullock movie."

"So who's being considered for leading roles?" Part of me didn't know what to think and another part of me wanted to make sure the role and production was 'worthy' of my talent. Omigosh, I'd never even been on TV and I wanted to make sure my potential co-stars were big enough names --- and why not?

"Well, Tom Hughes for one."

"Wow! That will ensure success for the film."

"Also, Brendan Forrester."

"I desperately want the role now. Finding Forrester in this film is an unexpected bonus."

Heather groaned in reaction to my play on words. "Yes, I know, sometimes you can't find the forester for the trees."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I wonder if Sean Connery would appreciate that."

"Yes, Hughes and Forrester are rumored to have signed with MGM, but don't sell yourself short. You will be the key to the film's success. After all, you're Marilyn's exact double. And, considering the plot, you fit the bill in more ways than one."

As Some Like It Hot is the best loved comedy about cross-dressing males, I had to agree. I tried to picture Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester wearing beautiful dresses. That made me giggle.

"How'd you like to kiss Tom Hughes?" Heather asked.

"It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. It might as well be me." I giggled again. Kissing Tom Hughes would be a blast.

I hugged Heather.

This time however, when we looked at each other, I could see indecision in her eyes. I yearned to kiss her and make love to her. I closed my eyes. Then magically, we kissed each other on the lips. I made myself as soft and cuddly and seductive as I could. We pressed together in a long glorious embrace. 'I love her,' I thought to myself, 'with all my heart.'

Kissing Tom Hughes would be nothing compared to kissing Heather.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel had once been one of Marilyn Monroe's favorite haunts. The grand old lady was located on Hollywood Boulevard, near Mann's Chinese Theater and was fronted by the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It immediately seemed familiar to us because it was featured in many films, including Mighty Joe Young, Internal Affairs, Beverly Hills Cop II, Sunset and Catch Me If You Can. The Cinegrill, its restaurant-nightclub, was the setting for a memorable number by Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. Also, in 1929, the hotel was the site of the first-ever Academy Awards ceremony.

Standing 14 stories high, the Roosevelt underwent extensive renovation in the 1980s and was restored to its original grandeur.

Upon arrival at the front driveway, a bellhop greeted us and loaded our light luggage onto a cart. A car valet accepted our car keys to park our BMW335i in the hotel lot. As the porter rolled our bags through the majestic front doors to the front desk, I felt as if I was walking into a dream world. Stepping into the elegant lobby was like a trip back to Hollywood's glamorous past. We looked around the sunken lobby to its bubbling fountain, potted palms, wrought iron chandeliers, and rounded archways. A musician working her magic on the baby grand added to the atmosphere of this grand old dame of Hollywood.

Heather introduced herself to the hotel staff at the front desk. MGM Studios had made all the arrangements. As Heather was given electronic passkeys to our room, I tried unsuccessfully to blend into the background. Eyes popped in what had to have been a response to my resemblance to Marilyn Monroe. Whenever I was dressed as Marilyn, I was 'on stage.'

We were led down a wide, high, arched corridor lit by wrought iron chandeliers. While we waited in front of a bank of elevators, I paused to check my appearance in a full-length mirror. Dressed in a silk pearl-colored blouse with a charcoal pinstripe tailored jacket and a matching skirt that came to just above the knees, I could see why I had caused a stir in the lobby. My svelte figure and facial resemblance to Marilyn even surprised me sometimes! I looked for evidence of Roger in the reflection, but he was nowhere to be found! There was a ping sound and then the polished gold doors of the lift opened. Moments later, we were on the second floor.

The porter led us down the hall, opened up our room, and took our bags over to a large closet. He hung up our two garment bags and placed my suitcase at the base of the closet door.

Heather thanked him, and then offered a generous tip.

He declined, saying that the Studio had taken care of everything.

A smile came to our faces. MGM Studios wanted to impress us.

When MGM arranged the interview/screen test and made travel arrangements, they had offered to have a chauffeur pick us up at the airport, but we had said we wanted to do some sightseeing and rented our own vehicle. Of course, sightseeing hadn't been the only reason we wanted our own transportation.

I pulled open the drapes and looked out the window. Our comfortable suite featured a balcony that overlooked a large swimming pool. I undid a latch, slid back the sliding glass door, and found a gentle, soothing night breeze. Floodlights illuminated the swim tank's serene blue waters. Beside the Olympic size pool were the Tropicana Bar, a waterfall, a Jacuzzi, and lounging space for sun worshippers.

I found out later that Marilyn Monroe posed for her first-ever ad on the pool's diving board. The ad had been for suntan lotion.

Rather than the usual bland 'hotel' art on beige walls, framed movie posters collided with warm tropical colors. Citizen Kane, The Wizard of Oz, and It's a Wonderful Life competed for our attention.

Both Heather and I were exhausted. We had performed three shows earlier in the day, traveled to Toronto, jetted across the continent in four and a half hours, and then danced the baggage claim-shuttle bus-car rental tango.

Then we drove around the airport hotel-motel jungle in search of an inexpensive motel room. I had traveled as Roger Baker and when I arrived at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, I needed to look like Marilyn Monroe. Deception had its price.

I hadn't traveled as Marilyn because I didn't have a birth certificate in Marilyn's name or any other female name; no passport, no credit card, no driver's license, no records of any sort that would have served as proper feminine airport identification.

Consequently, we needed a motel that didn't have police state security cameras everywhere to record my arrival as Roger and my subsequent departure as Marilyn. Eventually we found a Comfort Inn just off Highway 101 that fit the bill.

I needed about ninety minutes to transform myself from nerd to goddess.

Hopping into our BMW, we did a whirlwind tour of La Cienaga, Melrose Avenue, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica Boulevard, Vine and Hollywood Boulevard -- some of the street scenes I recognized from television shows and movies. I felt like a little boy in a candy store.

We had arrived at the Roosevelt at the crack of midnight.

I needed time in the bathtub to shed my Marilyn panels and then straight to bed. Heather was already asleep. We had a big day ahead of us. Although it was only 12:30 a.m. LA time, it was 3:30 in dear ol' Niagara.

I went to sleep dreaming about Heather and what if . . .

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A black Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the Hollywood Roosevelt at precisely 10:00. The driver greeted us with a friendly hello and acted surprised that big shots like us would meet him at the curb. It had never occurred to us not to. We chit-chatted for a moment or two in the morning sun about the hotel accommodations and our flight, and then we sped away to the MGM Studios executive offices in Santa Monica.

As we drove by an office building on Broadway, the chauffeur, named Alex MacDougall, pointed out that some of the MGM corporate offices were located there. Within minutes, we came up to the main Studio complex. MGM's Headquarters was located in a beautiful campus-like setting in Santa Monica, in the heart of a flourishing arts and entertainment district.

After driving through a security check at the front gate, Alex parked the vehicle in a VIP reserved parking spot near an office complex. Led by Alex, we approached a blue-pillared gateway crowned by a roaring lion -- the MGM trademark symbol. The chauffeur-guide led us into the modern sprawling structure, down an airy corridor and into the outer office of the Producer, Harriet Neal.

She came out of her private office to greet us. Smartly attired in a well-tailored navy blue power suit, 'Dirty Harriet' epitomized the corporate female executive. In her late thirties, with mid-length brunette hair, a pleasing countenance, a fit trim body, and a firm handshake, she made a good first impression.

"Hello Miss Robinson and Miss Monroe!"

"Hello," Heather said as she shook hands.

"A pleasure to meet you," I said in my best Marilyn voice.

"My goodness," Ms. Neal said. "You really are the exact double of Marilyn."

She looked me over carefully.

I was very confident about my appearance. Heather and Mrs. Robinson had spent the last week assembling a dazzling wardrobe for me. I wore an off the shoulder gold lame gown that drew attention to my sensuous arms, bare shoulders, elegant neck, and my breathtaking bosom. It accentuated the V shape of my thin waist and flattered my shapely, womanly hips. The slit on the left side of the lower part of the dress showed enough of my curvaceous leg to tantalize and excite. At least that's how Heather had described it to me when she convinced me to wear it.

"Thank you, Ms. Neal," I cooed.

Ms. Neal snuck a second peak at my bosom.

I simply smiled graciously.

I carried myself as Marilyn Monroe would have. She posed well. She had great posture. She never slouched. She always held herself proudly.

"That is a dazzling dress, my dear. And you wear it well."

"Your compliments are much appreciated. Thank you. Actually, Heather and her mother deserve the credit. They worked hard this past week to create additional costumes."

Ms. Neal regarded Heather for a moment. "You have many talents, Miss Robinson."

"In a family business, you learn to wear many hats."

"Well, I know you two have a busy schedule, so let's get down to the business at hand."

Ms. Neal told her secretary to hold all calls. Then she led us into her private office.

Her room had a nice view of a spectacular, cascading water fountain at the front of the building. Natural light, streaming in through beige vertical blinds, reflected off the sky blue walls and gray carpeting.

Extending her arm, she invited us to sit down in the armchairs in front of her large glass and chrome desk.

As she sat down, she reached over to a pile of papers and removed a light booklet from the top.

"Here we have the script for Some Like It Hot," Ms. Neal said, as she passed a copy to me.

"Have you ever seen the movie?"

"Yes. I love it."

"The black and white film was shot in 1959. Billy Wilder directed it. It starred Jack Lemon, Tony Curtis and, of course, Marilyn Monroe. . . . We have appointed a director. She's Gloria Miller. You may have seen her latest hit, The Combat Acrobat."

"Yes, I've seen several of her movies. I'm a fan of her work." I nodded in agreement, as I looked at the script for a moment. The title Some Like It Hot was embossed on the front cover in raised gold letters.

"We've signed Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester to play the roles of the musicians who dress up as women to escape the mob."

I smiled. So the rumors were true. That would mean the remake would be a big budget film.

"That sounds wonderful. I've admired the work of Tom Hughes for a long time." Usually Tom Hughes did action movies, but I thought he could handle this role. Not enough critics gave him the credit he deserved. Also, I thought his handsome pretty boy looks were suitable for the role. "And Brendan Forrester has had a string of hit comedies." I was less sure of Brendan's suitability to play a girl, but he would more than make up for it with his comedic talents.

"Right now, the plan is to be faithful to the original film. We thought about adapting it to the present, but after much thoughtful consideration, we have decided to stick with the 1929 time frame and the St. Valentine's Day Massacre premise."

"It worked in 1959. And the film still works today," Heather said agreeably.

Although Heather and I were many years younger than Ms. Neal and short on experience, she treated us as equals.

Ms. Neal brought her hands together in front of her and placed her chin on her knuckles, as she stared at me intently. "However, we have looked long and hard for somebody to play the part of Marilyn Monroe. We considered Madonna. We looked at Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman, Cameron Diaz, and Scarlett Johansson. Then we heard about you. So, at the moment, the role is still open."

"Well thank you for considering me. I hope I won't disappoint you."

"So far, you have impressed me very much, my dear."

"I try my very best at all times."

"Ms. Neal," Heather interjected, "we've brought along a DVD of the complete show that we perform. It's a musical tribute act. Marilyn performs all of Miss Monroe's famous songs. She sings. She dances. We do some audience participation routines. There are four costume changes. It's the complete package."

"My, you came prepared. I'd very much like to see your DVD later. Thank you Miss Robinson."

"You're welcome. My pleasure."

"Good. I think we're ready to get on with the next phase. I'd like you to do a reading for us, Miss Monroe."

"That would be great," I replied.

Ms. Neal got on the phone and contacted her audition staff. They were all set to go.

We had a five-minute drive by golf cart over to another part of the sprawling beautifully landscaped grounds.

The studio sound stage was huge! It resembled an airplane hangar. Upon entering, I gawked at the ceiling's girders and struts. It was quite a wide span to bridge without supporting pillars.

After getting my mind out of the clouds, I focused my attention on a set straight ahead of us. It stood out like an oasis in a sea of shifting sand. A hotel room-sized space was decorated like the interior cabin of a yacht. A camera crew had been assembled, and were apparently -- all ready to shoot.

Ms. Neal introduced the screen test director, Jake Harrison. Then she went on give the names of the cameraman, the sound technician, the set decorator, and the wardrobe gal. If there were a test afterward, I would've failed, but I was impressed Ms. Neal knew everyone.

She guided me toward the wardrobe lady -- a thirty- something fashion wizard who led me away to a temporary dressing room near the set. She handed me a white cotton summer dress. When I tried it on, not surprisingly, it fit perfectly. Matching shoes in size 8C were presented to me as well. Heather had advised MGM about my sizes.

When I returned to the set, Ms. Neal introduced an actor.

"Marilyn, please shake hands with Tom Hughes."

What a surprise!

The smiling hunk stood about 5' 10", had dark hair, and was as cute as anyone I had ever seen.

"Pleased to meet you," I said, trying not to make goo-goo ga-ga noises.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied. "It's not often I get to work with a legend."

"If I'm a star, then the people made me a star."

"Wow! I'm impressed," Tom said. "You not only are a dead ringer for Marilyn, you can quote her in context."

I smiled, happy that line had jumped into me out of nowhere. "Why thank you," I said, although part of me was offended by his insensitive use of the word 'dead' in the same sentence with 'Marilyn Monroe.'

"I can't get past the resemblance. You look exactly like her; the hair, the make-up, the dress…"

"It's all make believe, isn't it?" Another Marilyn line. Mentally I crawled all over his body.

"Usually I wouldn't be involved in the screen test," Tom began, "but I happened to be in L.A., so curiosity got the better of me. Casting is usually up to the 'suits' rather than the actors."

Ms. Neal smiled.

"If I'd observed all the rules," I began, "I'd never have got anywhere." I wanted Tom to make love to me. He was the hottest actor in Hollywood.

"You're good, really good," Tom said with a smile, knowing it was another Marilyn line.

The director stepped in and explained the scene. The character Joe, originally played by Tony Curtis, has lusted after Sugar, Marilyn Monroe, but cannot get anywhere with her. In the recent past, male musicians have loved her and left her. She couldn't trust any man.

Joe pretends to be wealthy. He arranged to take Sugar onto his yacht, although the yacht doesn't really belong to Joe.

Sugar's worried about being alone with Joe, but is curious and wants to see what the luxurious yacht is like. Joe assures Sugar that she has nothing to fear. He claims to have a psychological complex about women. Because of a terrible tragedy in his past, women can't excite him anymore. He's supposedly emotionally crippled.

"Are you familiar with the scene," the screen test director, Jake Harrison, asked, "or will you need a teleprompter?"

"I studied the script all last week. I know all the scenes," I said confidently. I'd watched the movie scene at least twenty times to see how Marilyn handled all the nuances. If Tom would be true to the original movie and follow the script, I was ready.

"Okay . . . I want Tom to sprawl across this bed. You should be standing beside him. Let's roll."

A technician, holding an electronic clapboard, stood between the camera and our scene.

"And mark," the technician said, as the clapboard sounded.

"There are certain men who would try to take advantage of a situation like this," I said, sounding as naíve as possible and showing vulnerability.

"You're flattering me," Tom/Joe replied.

Good. He was playing the scene as Tony Curtis had.

"Of course, I'm sure you're a gentleman." I looked at Joe with worry in my eyes.

"Oh, it's not that, it's just that I'm, umm, harmless."

"Harmless? How?" I asked with surprise etched on my face.

"Well, I don't know how to put it -- but I've got this thing about girls," Joe muttered, as he lay board stiff.

"What thing?" I asked, as I sat next to Joe on the narrow bed.

"They just sort of leave me cold," Joe said, with the stuffed nose intonations of Tony Curtis.

I found the camera over Joe's shoulder and made sure I was looking into it as well as at him. "You mean like frigid?"

"Well, it's more like a . . . a mental block. When I'm with a girl, it does absolutely nothing to me."

"Have you tried?" I asked, as I moved my face closer to Joe's lips. I wanted so much to make love to him.

"Have I? I'm trying all the time."

I put all the fire and desire I had into kissing Joe. Our lip lock could've melted Greenland's glaciers. He tried not to respond to stay in character, but I heard a soft moan before he spoke his line.

"See. Nothing," he managed to say.

"Nothing at all?" Disappointment dripped all through my question.

"Complete washout."

"That makes me feel just awful." In a way, it did. I wanted him to find me irresistible and make mad passionate love to me.

"Oh, my dear, it's not your fault."

"Cut!"

We got up from the bed.

"That was great," Tom said. "I thought I was looking at the real McCoy. . . . It was really funny! I wish you luck in getting the part. I'd sure like to work with you someday."

"Thank you, I enjoyed doing the scene with you."

"You're a great kisser. I wanted to grab hold of you and show you how I would have reacted."

I laughed. "I'm glad you're a professional. Thank you," I gave him a playful hug.

"That was brilliant," Jake Harrison said. "Both of you nailed it."

"Don't get a swelled head, Marilyn," Tom said with an impish grin. "Harrison's nickname is 'First Take Jake.' "

"Congratulations," Ms. Neal added.

Heather came over and gave me a hug too.

From then on, events were just a blur.

I do remember I performed a song for Ms. Neal -- I Wanna Be Loved By You. I thought I was in fine voice. I had performed that song hundreds of times and the challenge was to make it seem fresh and vibrant.

Then Heather and Ms. Neal got down to some serious negotiating, while the chauffeur/guide gave me the glamorous grand golf-cart tour around the seemingly limitless studio grounds.

Later on, during the ride back to the hotel, Heather told me that we settled on a million dollars as the fee.

A million dollars. A voice in my head said I was playing in the big leagues and wanted to know if I belonged.

Of course, Heather reminded me, the million dollars would be minus her agent's fee.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Theodore's Restaurant was an elegant and integral part of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel.

Heather and I chose to dine there after we had concluded our business with MGM.

I decided to tone down my appearance by wearing a brunette wig, dark sunglasses, a white blouse, and dark pants. Heather dressed in a sleek black pantsuit. She was as sexy as hell; and I didn't mind being outshone.

The hostess led us over to a secluded area of the spacious, well-appointed room. With high frescoed ceilings, ornately framed windows, soft, subtle coloring, it felt classy in a European way.

In some ways, I was disappointed. I hoped to find some Hollywood memorabilia in the restaurant; some feel for the history of the hotel. After all, the original owners of the hotel were some of the most famous people in Hollywood: Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Sid Grauman and Louis B. Mayer.

Marilyn Monroe had also frequented the Roosevelt's Cinegrill and Cybill Shepherd 'moonlighted' there as a singer.

When it came to décor, understated elegance had triumphed over Hooray for Hollywood.

The sumptuous menu had a wide choice. I settled on Fettuccine Alfredo, and a Caesar salad. The Caesar salad had been invented in Tijuana to satisfy the hunger of Hollywood actors in the 20's, so at least I was paying homage to the past.

Heather ordered sautéed Dover Sole in lemon butter sauce with rice, and a garden salad with Italian dressing. We split a bottle of Beringer Chardonnay Private Reserve, 1997 on Heather's recommendation. Luckily no one asked for identification to prove we were old enough.

Over dinner we talked about the negotiations that Heather had conducted with Ms. Neal.

"We didn't have a strong negotiating position. You're an unknown actress. The big proven stars, Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester, are getting mega-contracts. Also, Ms. Neal claimed to have several high profile women ready, willing and able to play the role. When you consider Mira Sorvino, Charlize Theron, Ashley Judd, Madonna, and Lisa Marie Presley have all posed as Marilyn and/or played Marilyn in films or television mini-series, it's not like there aren't enough choices available. Everything here is about box-office draw."

"There's no doubt that's true. However, none of those ladies looks exactly like Marilyn Monroe . . . and who has more box office appeal than little ol’ me?"

Heather warmed my heart with her laugh.

"If you were the producer," she asked, "who would you choose? I mean, if we exclude you for the moment."

I had to think about that for a moment. "Charlize Theron. She's won an Oscar and has some box office appeal."

"My choice would be Scarlett Johansson. I saw her on the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Her gorgeous figure, barely contained within an exquisite red gown, was stunning. Her career's on the rise and she's a great actress too."

"Yes, I guess the competition is pretty good," I conceded. For a moment, I felt like a fraud . . . well, a bigger fraud than I already was.

"I agree."

"Some Like It Hot was one of the funniest films ever made. And yet, it's dying for a remake."

"I suppose the biggest reason it has never been remade is there is only one Marilyn Monroe."

"Until now," I said and then immediately felt bad for saying it. Marilyn had such fame. All others would suffer by comparison to her.

"Well," I said, "whether the salary is fair value or not, I should be happy. After all, a million dollars is a million more than I had a few hours ago."

Heather laughed. "Don't count it yet. Wait 'til it ends up in your bank account."

"My bank account? I hadn't even thought about that. MGM doesn't even know my real name. Won't that be a problem?"

"Ms. Neal pushed me for your real name, but I put her off. The first payment of the funds will be electronically transferred to the Robinson's Wax Museum account. From there, I'll transfer it to you."

I shrugged. "Okay. I trust my agent."

"Which brings us to an important question. How would you like to be billed? Do you want to be known as Marilyn, Marilyn Monroe II, or Marilyn Baker?"

"Marilyn Baker," I replied without hesitation. "Baker feels the most comfortable," I thought back to a conversation I'd had with Dolly.

"Are you ready to reveal your identity to Pete? If you take the name Baker, don't you think he'll guess who you really are?"

"He probably will. Gee, I wonder if he's ready for the shock? He's kind of an emotional guy."

"But he's also resilient. I'm sure he'll understand. He actually might feel relieved."

"Why do you say that?"

"He was deeply dejected when you wouldn't go out on a second date with him," Heather said, with a serious look.

"I suppose you're right."

"Yes. In fact, I talked to him about it a few times. He said he could never make any headway in getting to know you. You put up a wall and kept him out. He thinks you regard him merely as the 'piano player.' "

That was sobering. I was so wrapped up in my own situation. I should've been more sensitive.

"I'll have to do something to show him that I respect him as a person and that I really do like him."

The waitress passed by our table at that moment, carrying a tray of food to another table.

I picked at my Fettuccine Alfredo.

"You know, before we get into the production, it would be nice to find out more about the film, don't you think?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"We've watched the film already. What else did you have in mind?"

"Some of the people involved in the film must still be around. Like Tony Curtis. But Jack Lemmon passed away, didn't he?"

"I think so."

"I saw Tony Curtis being interviewed a long time ago. I think it was with Pamela Wallin."

"Uh huh, her old interview show."

"Yes. Tony reminisced about filming Some Like It Hot. Apparently it was very difficult to work with Marilyn Monroe. She was notoriously late. There were a lot of delays because Marilyn couldn't get herself ready to face the cameras. Pamela Wallin brought up an old quote where Tony supposedly said kissing Marilyn was like kissing Hitler."

"I guess Marilyn was having problems with the pills she was taking."

"I think so. Nevertheless, in spite of his annoyance, Tony Curtis admitted he did have an affair with Marilyn when they were young, before Marilyn became the most famous movie star in the world. Anyway, many years later, he was in Europe; and he was mingling with a rich and famous guy in European society. The gentleman had lots of questions about Marilyn Monroe and the filming of Some Like It Hot. The gentleman adored Marilyn Monroe and wanted to find out everything he could about her. Later on in the evening, Tony Curtis had to go to the washroom. The gentleman went along with him. They we're both standing at the urinals. The gentleman leaned over and looked at Tony's equipment.

"'You made love to Marilyn Monroe.'

"Tony said, 'Yes.'

"The gentleman asked, 'Can I touch it'?"

Heather shrieked! "That's outrageous. Tony Curtis told that story on national television?"

"Canadian television."

"Yes, I suppose you can get away with more on our TV shows than you can on American TV."

"Yeah, because nobody watches," I quipped.

Heather smiled. "Besides Tony, I wonder who else would still be around from that film?"

"I guess we could get a list of the whole cast. And the crew as well."

"We'll have to do some research. I'm sure MGM would be able to help us out."

"You know, I'd like to see if Marilyn Monroe's make-up man is still around."

"Do you know his name?"

"I remember his nickname was Whitey."

Heather couldn't help me out there. I recalled that I had found his name on the Internet when I was doing some research to prepare for my role, but the name escaped me.

We switched the conversation to a discussion about the movie's co-stars, Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester. Heather admitted that she liked Brendan's cute looks and his clumsy on-screen presence.

"Life with Brendan would be loads of fun," Heather claimed. "There's a certain adorable charm about guys who are human enough to be imperfect. Then they can't expect perfection out of their wives."

"Nobody likes to be henpecked about insignificant matters. But Brendan Forrester? He wasn't a star I idolized. On the other hand, every guy would like to be an action star like Tom Hughes. He's so wild. He performs all of his own stunts."

"But everyone has to live in the real world." Heather's eyes turned sad. "What you see on the movie screen, I'm sure, is not the real Tom Hughes. You take my father, for example. He was a charming, persuasive, flamboyant man. To other people, he seemed like the life of the party. But, beneath the public plastic exterior, he had no heart. No soul. No loyalty."

"I've never heard you talk about your father before. How come you've never mentioned him?"

"We don't get along. He cheated on my mother. He ran off with another woman when I was thirteen."

"Sorry. I didn't know."

"The only good thing he did was he left us with the wax museum. Mind you, he's still a rich man, even though he gave my mother the business as part of the divorce settlement. Actually, I think he was getting tired of it. He felt trapped. He wanted out of his old life. He wanted some excitement."

I took a chance with my next question. "So I guess Brad Adams was a big disappointment, huh?"

Heather looked at me with surprise in her eyes. "I took that one really hard. I had no idea that he was cheating on me. Guys can be such rats. . . . No wonder there are so many single women and lesbians in our society. And the divorce rate is shameful."

"Not all guys are like that. Look at my parents. They've been together for twenty-five years. They're relatively happy. I know my father doesn't cheat on my mother. For goodness sake, he's a genetically engineered couch potato."

Heather howled with laughter. "That's some choice -- either the guy is an adulterer or he's a brain dead vegetable."

"Oh, be kind. I wouldn't go that far. There has to be a happy medium somewhere." I chuckled to myself as the words 'happy medium' again reminded me of Dolly.

"Well, what do you look for in a girl?"

"That one's easy," I said in a soft voice because I didn't want others at the next table to hear it. I gazed straight into Heather's eyes and described what I saw in Heather. "I look for beauty -- but not just physical beauty because long after the looks have faded, all that will be important is who she really is on the inside. I'm looking for a girl who has an inner beauty; someone who is kind-hearted, caring and fun to be with -- a girl who has a good sense of humor. She should be smart, morally grounded, compassionate, and nurturing."

"Wow. It sounds like you've given this some thought. Those are high standards."

"I think, ideally, that a couple should fit together in at least four ways -- physically, intellectually, spiritually, and humorously."

Heather laughed. "Humorously doesn't fit with the other words."

"What are you? A grammar Fascist?"

She giggled. "No. Besides, that's not so original. There is a resort called Hedonism II. It claims to cater to the pleasures of the mind, body, spirit and soul."

"Gee, and here I thought I was getting into deep territory. It turns out I'm still at the shallow end of the gene pool, swimming around in search of a better advertising slogan. . . . Maybe I should've gone with my other inclination."

"What was that?"

"I'm just looking for true love."

"What is true love?" Heather asked.

"True love is your soul's recognition of its counterpoint in another."

"I've heard that somewhere before. What movie did you steal that line from?"

"The Wedding Crashers."

Heather laughed. "I'm glad you went with your first inclination."

At that point, the waitress interrupted us, asking if we were enjoying the meal.

Heather said the food was fine and I agreed.

When we were leaving Theodore's, I felt very positive about my relationship with Heather. I had learned more about her innermost thoughts during the past hour and a half than I had in the previous month.

As we made the trek back to our room, I couldn't help but think of the interesting history of the Roosevelt Hotel.

As we approached the elevators, I was trying to recall the name of Marilyn Monroe's make-up man.

Heather pressed the up button, while I was lost in thought.

Then I heard a soft girlish voice behind me.

"Allan 'Whitey' Snyder," she said with an impish giggle.

I turned around . . . and saw Marilyn's reflection in the mirror. Dressed in an elegant black evening dress, her mirth-filled smiling face looked back at me!

I looked over to Heather. She was still facing the elevators.

There was an annoying ping sound, and then the elevator doors opened. I looked back at the mirror. Marilyn wasn't there anymore. And Heather couldn't have heard the voice because she never reacted to it.

My heart raced with excitement! She had spoken to me! Marilyn had spoken to me!

Heather stepped into the elevator.

I was dumfounded. Did I just see a ghost? Or was I imagining things?

I looked into the mirror, hoping Marilyn would reappear, but I saw only my own reflection. Reluctantly, I stepped backwards slowly, deliberately, into the waiting elevator, still stunned.

Either I was losing my mind or . . .

When the elevator door closed, I wrestled with my thoughts about the supernatural. Should I tell Heather about the 'ghost'?

I had no proof. Heather was right beside me and she hadn't seen it.

The lift doors opened -- and we stepped out.

As we reached our room, Heather came up with a surprise of her own.

"You know, our room, overlooking the pool, is the one Marilyn Monroe liked to stay in when she was here at the Roosevelt."

"No kidding? How do you know that?"

"Ms. Neal told me. She said MGM reserved the room especially for us."

Suddenly I felt tingly all over.

Should I tell Heather?

I quickly decided that our relationship needed to be on firmer ground before I would make disclosures of the strange kind.

"What an incredible day!"

I gave Heather a hug.

We were both tired. However, we wouldn't be staying very long in this suite as we were supposed to catch a flight at midnight.

I took a long leisurely bath to rid myself of my Marilyn prosthetics and the scent of Chanel No. 5 I'd worn all day. Actually, I found the bath routine to be enjoyable. It gave me time to reflect on the day's happenings. It had been an action-packed wonderful glorious day! Wonder of Wonders! Pinochle of Pinnacles! I had seen the spirit of Marilyn Monroe!

It was like a deaf man hearing the Song of Joy!

When I came out of the bathroom, Heather passed by me, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as she went in.

If only Heather knew the effect she had on me. My body absolutely ached for relief.

But, there was little I could do about it. The final decision was Heather's -- especially given what she had told me about her dad.

I put my head down on a very comfortable king size bed, under warm, cozy covers. I closed my eyes for a moment and daydreamed of making love with Heather.

After a quick shower, Heather emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white cotton towel.

Heather smiled and looked at me lovingly. She dropped her white towel. There was an iridescent quality or glow to her skin. My jaw dropped in shock and I wondered if I should avert my eyes. Then she jumped onto the bed.

"It's time, Sugar," she said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

After a whirlwind weekend in L.A., all of the next week was pure bliss. Life couldn't get any better! I was in love with Heather and Heather was in love with me! We couldn't get enough of each other, finding excuses to spend moments alone between our performances 'rehearsing.'

We were also so unbelievably excited about the prospect of signing a movie contract!

The only downside to my existence was getting enough rest. Between the performances and the sex, sleep had become harder and harder, so I took the pills, sometimes two. To wake up in the morning I took another pill. In order to get myself ready to give a good performance at the seven o'clock show, I took another.

I felt like Alice in that Jefferson Airplane drug anthem, White Rabbit.

"One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice
When she's ten feet tall

"And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
Call Alice
When she was just small."

I knew I shouldn't, but I took the pills because I had to, to fulfill all my commitments.

I was in my dressing room after the last show when Heather and her mother barged in without knocking.

"You got it!" Heather screamed. Ms. Robinson had chilled a bottle of champagne and we toasted each other's luck.

The next day, MGM film studio contacted us and asked if I could make an appearance at the Toronto International Film Festival. Ms. Neal would announce the signing of Marilyn Baker for the lead role in Some Like It Hot. Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester would be introduced as well.

When the big day arrived, I was very nervous. I had attended the Toronto International Film Festival before. Not only did the fans come out in droves to see the best films in the world, but also the world press came to interview the stars and preview the films.

Film premieres happened every night during the ten days of the festival. Parties and press conferences were an important part of TIFF. Roy Thompson Hall was TIFF central -- the site chosen for the world premiere of Superzeroes, a super-hero comedy. Since it was MGM's property and Brendan Forrester was the leading man, Ms. Neal decided to take advantage of the opportunity. After the Superzeroes press conference, the casting for Hot would be announced.

Our limousine pulled up in front of the concert hall. Ahead of us, Brendan emerged from the stretch version of a black Lincoln Town Car, much to the delight of an enthusiastic throng. He and his wife were gracious in stopping to chat with various television reporters.

When the back door of our limo opened, Tom Hughes lent me a helping hand and we were greeted by screams and applause from film fans. As I walked down the red carpet, arm-in-arm with Tom, the photographers were like sharks at a feeding frenzy. The overkill kinda made we wish my blue-gray contact lenses could act like sunglasses to protect me from the blinding flashes. We'd pause occasionally -- smiling and posing for some of the more polite paparazzi. Polite paparazzi -- was that an oxymoron?

My dress was a copy of the flashy, Jazz-Age black gown Marilyn Monroe wore in Some Like It Hot. I worked Marilyn's 'Jell-O on springs walk' on the red carpet.

We sat through ninety-four minutes of collaborative comedic genius. Superzeroes spoofed the super-hero genre in much the same way as the Scream films had made fun of horror films. Superman, Fantastic Four, Spiderman, Supergirl, Batman, Catwoman, The Incredible Hulk, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Wonder Woman, X-Men, Heroes, and many other films/TV shows/comics were skewered mercilessly. TIFF exposure would generate tremendous positive press for Superzeroes. Judging from the way the film critics interacted with the cast and director at the question and answer session after the screening, it couldn't have gone any better.

As the Superzeroes press conference drew to a close, Ms. Neal stepped up to the podium to assume the role of MC.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm producer Harriet Neal of MGM Studios. Back in 1959, Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis, and Jack Lemmon starred in Some Like It Hot -- a film ranked number one on the American Film Institute's list of greatest comedies. It is my pleasure to introduce the stars of the new Hot -- Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester."

Hollywood has no secrets. It was obvious everyone in the room knew about the casting already.

Both Tom and Brendan stood up and smiled for the media cameras. Brendan waved to the press audience as Tom whispered something to Brendan.

Harriet continued. "How do you find someone to play Sugar Cane Kowalczyk, the role made famous by the one and only Marilyn Monroe? Before I introduce our leading lady, let me say that we conducted an exhaustive search. We must've screen tested every blonde, natural or bleached, in Hollywood, the continental United States, Europe, the known world, and the nether reaches of the infinite universe. We were ready to give up and shelve the project. Then we looked where we should've started our search . . . in Canada. Lo and behold, we found our Marilyn a stone's throw from here, working at a wax museum, of all places, in Niagara Falls. Here is the star of Hot, Marilyn Baker."

I stood up with a big smile on my face and waved to the audience. I couldn't contain my enthusiasm. It couldn't get any better than this.

It was a good thing that I'd taken one of Pete's 'helpers.'

"The storyline for Hot," Harriet said, "will be similar to the original. However, we will try to tell the story in a fresh way. The public doesn't want a mere colorized version of the old film, so there will be some surprises, great music, and new comic possibilities."

Reporters stepped up to ask their questions at microphones placed at the front of the two aisles in the conference room.

"I'm Jeff Lehman of ET Canada," the young, wannabe hip reporter said. "This question is for Tom. Did you feel at all reluctant taking on a role that required you to wear a dress?"

"I have to wear a dress? My agent never told me that."

"Then I'll ask my question of Brendan. Do you have any concerns about dressing up as a girl?"

"Wearing a dress doesn't worry me. Fortunately, I have great legs."

Tom interjected. "My only concern is that the nickname for this film will be 'Ugly Brendan.' "

"You're just jealous 'cause I'll look more beautiful than you," Brendan countered.

"Will not."

"Will too."

"You're gonna look like a guy in a dress."

"Compared to Marilyn, we're both gonna look like guys in dresses."

"To answer the original question," I said, taking the role of big sister to two bickering brothers. "I just hope the dresses will be fabulous."

Another reporter stepped up to the microphone. "Colin Taylor, CITY TV. Marilyn, knowing Tom's reputation with the ladies, do you have any concerns about doing the love scenes?"

"Love scenes? My agent never told me about any love scenes."

"Yes, there are love scenes. Any concerns?"

"If I remember the original film, Sugar tries to help Jerry with his impotency problem. I'll do whatever I can do."

Tom jumped in. "Yes!! There is a god in heaven!"

"I hear garlic is a cure for impotency," I added. "I'll chew on a few cloves before every kiss."

A tiny female journalist stood on her tiptoes to speak into the microphone. "Anne Farber, New York Globe. At a recent Academy Award ceremony, three films among the many nominees included Capote, Transamerica and Brokeback Mountain. Is Hot part. . . ."

Tom interrupted. "Yeah, but another deserving film, like White Chicks, was blacklisted."

"A few years back," Brendan added, "Connie and Carla never got a sniff."

"All right, let me try another tack. Do you think the Academy Awards should create a new category for best comedy film?"

"If it helps us win, yes," Tom said.

"No," Brendan said. "The category should be even more specific, such as best comedy remake of a classic film involving guys in dresses."

Anne looked at me.

"I'll do whatever I can to sway the Academy's voters."

"Whatever?"

"Did she just say 'whatever'?" I looked at Tom. "Was she 'dissing' me?"

Tom put his arm around me. "That's okay, Sugar. I'll still respect you in the morning."

The audience laughed.

"I'm sorry, Marilyn," Anne Farber said icily, "it's great that you're a Canadian girl and all, but no one's ever heard of you. How do we know you have any talent?"

"A career is born in public -- talent in privacy."

"Didn't Marilyn say that?" she asked.

"Yes, I did." I smiled at her in a way that said I was done with her and moved on to a man -- someone I could take to bed, in my mind.

"You guys are supposed to play musicians," another reporter began. "Brendan's on the sax, Tom plays the bass fiddle, and Marilyn is supposed to be a singer and ukulele player. Do any of you have a musical background?"

Brendan said, "I enjoy a little sax in the afternoon."

"When I play the bass fiddle," Tom began, "it sounds like B-52s -- I mean the bombers, not the rock group."

"My mother's an actress and singer," I fibbed. "When she did a guest spot on The Sopranos, she sang the mob's hits to the authorities."

A familiar face spoke into the microphone. "Steve Chapin, Toronto Times. This is for Marilyn. Are you at all intimidated by taking on the role of Sugar? Do you feel the pressure of filling Marilyn Monroe's big shoes?"

"It's a matter of perspective. Marilyn wore size 7AA. Seven isn't big . . . in shoe sizes."

He laughed as I continued.

"As far as the pressure is concerned . . . being a sex symbol is a heavy load to carry, especially when one is tired, hurt, and bewildered."

Steve laughed. He always recognized a Marilyn line.

"Marilyn, are you bewildered?"

"I only get bewildered late at night in museums in the arms of sexy men who write for big T.O. newspapers."

All the reporters could see I was playing with Steve and enjoyed our exchange.

When the press conference ended, one of Ms. Neal's assistants handed me a package.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's a new line of cosmetics that will be sold under the MGM trademark."

"Thanks," I said, "but I already have plenty of my own. You know how we girls are about our make-up."

Ms. Neal came up as I was speaking.

She frowned. "Legal tells me you haven't sent in your signed contract."

"I . . . I haven't had the time to read it yet." I wanted to take a few hours and think things through. I also wanted to talk everything over with Mom and Dad. I had to find the right time to tell them and make sure they were okay with me doing the movie. Heather was full-speed ahead and I didn't have a clue.

"Get it in." Her tone left no doubt that I had to take action. "Before you sign it, read it carefully. Once you sign you're property of the studio. When I say bark, you will do your canine best to please me. When you receive a box of make-up from the studio, you will wear it. Do you understand?"

My main concern at that moment was that I'd displeased her. She had been so nice to me. "Yes, I'll get right to it."

"Yes, you will. The studio will be investing millions into the film and many millions more into the development of your signature line of cosmetics. When that kind of money is involved, we can't take chances. I will know what you eat and where you eat it. Every time you have a bowel movement the boys in accounting will measure your stool."

I gasped.

Ms. Neal laughed. "That's 'Hollyweird' for you, but don't concern yourself, you're a big girl. You are a big girl aren't you Marilyn?"

All words seemed beyond my grasp. Marilyn had said 'Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.'

I simply nodded.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After the press conference, Tom persuaded me to come to the TIFF party.

While a band called Metric rocked the Underground room of the trendy, refurbished Drake Hotel, I tried as much as I could to blend in with the Superzeroes party-goers. But when you look like Marilyn Monroe, it's kinda difficult.

"They're pretty good," Heather said as she shook her head to the Metric beat.

"Uh huh," I agreed, as the female lead singer wailed out 'Dead Disco, Dead Funk, Dead Rock n' Roll!' The song had a quick pace and great energy. "Dare I say Metric is electric?"

"What did you say?" Heather held her hand up to her ear indicating she had trouble hearing me.

"Metric's frenetic!" I yelled.

Heather's head bobbed up and down. I wasn't sure she had heard me. Heather was so into the music. So was Tom Hughes. Looking at the crowd, everyone seemed enthralled. Hell! Even the walls seemed to throb to the band's vibes.

Nodding my head in rhythm to the beat, I felt like a fraud, even though Dead Disco was a rousing Underground favorite. I thought back to the film Night at the Roxbury in which Chris Katttan and Will Ferrell shook their heads in exaggerated fashion to Haddaway's What is love? I switched to stealth mode, keeping my noggin nodding to a minimum.

Most of the models MGM had hired to wear super-hero uniforms from Superzeroes were dancing up a storm on the dance floor. There were Superman, Supergirl, Wonder Woman, Buffy, Catwoman, and Spiderman all boogeying the night away. The 'A list' party crowd consisted of the rich and beautiful. I'd never seen so many fine-looking people in one place, all smiling, all having a good time. Their joy looked genuine.

Brendan Forrester and his leading lady, Linda Lee, were somewhere out there.

"C'mon Marilyn," Tom suggested with an inviting smile. "Let's dance."

For a moment I stood there not knowing what to do. . . . Brain fart! When a Hollywood leading man asks you to dance, you dance. I nodded and smiled.

Tom grabbed me by the hand and led me onto the dance floor. Then I remembered, I had never danced at a club as a woman.

My 'Jazz Age' black gown stood out in contrast to the Spandex super-hero costumes of the models sprinkled around us.

I responded to the beat, shook my booty, and let my Marilyn 'spirit' move me.

Heather also jumped into the fray. Who was that cute guy she was with?

Next to us, Wonder Woman had wrapped up Superman in her golden lasso. Was Superman confessing to an indiscretion under the influence of the Lasso of Truth? Whatever he did, Wonder Woman rewarded him with a kiss even as they moved together in rhythm to the beat.

Tom did attract some attention because of his celebrity status. A few photographers captured the Tom/Marilyn moment for tabloid posterity.

Tom Hughes showed me he could move and groove too. He was a creative dancer. He spun variation upon variation from an initial basic step. His confident smile was infectious.

I didn't want to disappoint him. As the next song started up, I tried to get in synch with his steps. Also, I looked to Heather to copy her inventive mix of disco, hip-hop, and house.

Pretty soon I was so caught up in the music and dance, I forgot who I really was. I was just having a good time. It was weird. The music seemed to choreograph the arm movements, the stomach undulations, the hips shakes, and the booty quivers all on its own. It was a dreamlike out-of-body experience except I was enjoying the dancer's high.

We must have been up there for four or five songs. Tom kept showing me new moves. Then I remembered he had performed a memorable solo dance in one of his early movie roles, Old Time Rock and Roll.

It was time for a break. Having expended a lot of energy, I was perspiring. I needed a drink.

Tom suggested we cool off on the rooftop patio. Being used to climbing three flights of stairs for every performance, I found the ascent to be no problem in my high heels.

The covered patio was a pleasant surprise -- a breath of fresh air: bold colors, communal tables, and subdued lighting. Under a bamboo overhang, we found a cozy love seat.

"This is nice," I said. Unlike the downstairs room, we could have some privacy. Tight security at the entranceway kept out the party crashers. The background music was light, the ambience idyllic, and the company quite wonderful.

"As rooftop patios go, I hear it's one of the best in Toronto. Quite a change from the dance party atmosphere, huh?"

I nodded in agreement. Moonlight and starlight suited my intentions with Tom.

"I enjoyed dancing with you," Tom said, as we settled in. "I like the way you move on the dance floor."

"I was just following your lead," I replied. "You're a great dancer."

"Thank you. . . . You dance and sing in your show, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You move so fluidly and effortlessly."

"Thanks." I could listen to Tom's compliments all night.

A waitress came by promptly. I asked for a strawberry daiquiri while Tom ordered a Molson draft beer. She appeared to be in awe of Tom. She bumped into a chair as she was walking away.

"How long have you been doing this tribute act to Marilyn Monroe?"

"Since May." I slipped my shoes off. What a relief!

"That's amazing. You look and sound so much like her."

"It's all an illusion. Obviously, I'm not the real thing."

"Out on the dance floor, everybody was watching you."

"Not everybody. You had your share of admirers. I think all the girls were feasting their eyes on you."

"I don't know if you fully realize the effect you have on guys," Tom said as he glanced at my bosom.

"I think I understand a little bit of what Marilyn Monroe went through. Guys tend to think of me as a sex object because I impersonate her. I guess that comes with the territory." Tom's eyes darted down again to my breasts peaking out from the black satin. "What about you? How do you handle the fact everybody knows you? I bet you can't walk down a street anywhere in North America without drawing attention."

"It's the curse of celebrity. However, it won't last, so I might as well enjoy it while I can. And you? Do you draw similar attention?"

"I suppose if I dressed as Marilyn all the time, it would bother me. When I take off the wig, make-up and gowns, nobody knows who I am, so it's different for me."

"I usually wear a baseball cap and sunglasses to blend in. However, I still get recognized, so I try to keep moving. The paparazzi can be relentless."

"Your pictures are in all the magazines, newspapers, and tabloids," I said as I slipped my legs under me to get more comfortable in the love seat.

"A part of me wishes I could just be a normal guy."

"Uh huh, aren't you the one who signed on to dress up in women's clothes?"

Tom looked at me straight in the eyes. Was that a look of anger?

"You're right. I have no one else to blame but myself." His expression softened.

"Are you prepared to take the kidding? The ridicule?"

"I'm pretty secure about my sexuality. Hot is going to be a great comedy. An actor needs to take on a variety of roles. It'll be a big stretch for me, so I'm actually looking forward to the challenge."

"Are you doing any special preparation?"

"I've lost weight. I'm doing some special exercises to reduce my biceps and waist size. The studio has hired a drag artist to advise me on movement, mannerisms, and make-up. With MGM's wardrobe and make-up crew, we've been doing some testing of make-up, wigs, body padding, and costumes already."

"How's it working out? Will you make a convincing woman?"

"I won't be a beauty queen, but I think I can pull it off."

"I can't wait to see you in drag."

"You will and I'll be fabulous."

I laughed. "Cocky too. . . . I'm sorry. Was that in my out loud voice?"

"I will look good." Tom fished in his pants pocket for his wallet. Then he extracted a small photo from one of the plastic card/photo holders. "Here, have a look."

I adjusted the angle of the picture to capture enough of the patio light to see it properly. "You're right. You look really good." He looked like a doll! A little muscular, but gorgeous! I looked at the photo and then his face. Was it the same shape? The high cheekbones were similar. Were the eyes and nose the same or was he trying to trick me? "You're beautiful."

"Thank you. That photo was from the first makeover attempt a few months ago. Hollywood make-up artists are magicians. Since then, we've done a lot of experimenting. It looks even better now."

"How about your voice?"

"Why Marilyn," Tom began in a much higher register, "there's no doubt about it. I can and will be believable."

"Impressive."

"I have a vocal coach."

"It's working."

"I hope so, but there's more. I did some research."

"What sort of research?"

"The first thing I did, of course, was watch the film. There are advantages and disadvantages to doing that, but I think the pros outweigh the cons."

"I agree. It's worth seeing."

"Then I read the Tony Curtis biography by Barry Paris."

"Anything about Some Like It Hot?"

"He had some interesting stories to tell."

"Such as?"

"The studio hired a female impersonator named Barbette to help Curtis and Jack Lemmon prepare for their roles as Josephine and Daphne. Barbette gave them some tips on posture. For example, the way a man in drag should hold his hands. If you hold your palms up, your arm muscles show. If your palms are down, the biceps are less noticeable."

"That makes sense."

"Barbette said they should thrust their chests forward and keep their buttocks underneath them."

"Of the two, I think Tony Curtis looked more feminine."

"Jack Lemmon drove Barbette crazy. Jack wanted to play his role for laughs. He didn't want to take her advice, so Barbette went back to Europe in frustration. She caught the first available ocean liner home."

We were interrupted briefly by the arrival of our drinks. The beautiful waitress, attired in bright tropical colors, placed the beer and strawberry daiquiri on the table and moved on quickly.

"Let's have a toast to the success of our movie," Tom said as he held up his beer stein.

"To success!" we chimed as our glasses clinked together.

I took a sip of the delightful strawberry daiquiri through a straw while Tom gulped down a few mouthfuls of the beer.

"Did Tony Curtis say much about Marilyn Monroe?"

"I'm afraid it was pretty harsh," Tom said.

"Everybody complained about waiting for Marilyn day after day? Right?"

"Yes. She was always late, she had trouble learning her lines, and she drank too much. Her mentor, Anna Strasberg, always accompanied her. That bothered the director, Billy Wilder, because Marilyn always looked to Anna for advice."

"Marilyn took acting lessons from Anna's husband, Lee Strasberg."

"Yes. Tony Curtis said, before every scene, Anna was always telling Marilyn to relax. It was like her mantra."

"Really?" I took a sip of the daiquiri.

"According to Curtis, prior to every scene Jack Lemmon did, he'd repeat the words 'magic time' over and over."

"Jack Lemmon was amazing."

"Do you know what Tony's mantra was?"

"I haven't a clue." Thinking that might be construed as an insult, I said, "I give up."

" 'Keep your pecker up.' "

I burst into laughter. "That's outrageous."

"Yes. That was Tony. He was irreverent."

"Ah, poor Tom. You have Tony's peccadillo to live up to."

"Peccadillo?"

"Immoral behavior."

"Whew. For a moment I thought I'd have to carry a concealed . . . pecker/dildo in my underpants."

He had me in tears.

Tom said, "I've got an old familiar tongue twister-riddle for you."

"Okay, twist away," I said.

"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked;
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where's the peck of pecker/dildos Peter Piper picked?"

I slid my hand onto his thigh for a moment. "Tom, is that a pecker/dildo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Tom laughed. "I think the movie shoot for Hot is going to be a barrel of laughs."

"You know Marilyn once said, 'If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything.' "

"Is that true?"

I had repeated Marilyn's 'laugh' line many times before. Did I believe it? "She also said, 'A wise girl kisses but doesn't love, listens but doesn't believe, and leaves before she is left.' "

"Marilyn was a player, huh?"

"Aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Me? I'm idiom proof."

"That can be taken two ways. You're proof the saying is correct. Or none of the idioms are applicable to you."

"As noted baseball sage Yogi Berra once observed, 'If you come to a fork in the road, take it.' "

"Do you have any other Yogi-like pearls of wisdom?"

"If you ask me a question I don't know, I'm not going to answer."

We were both winging it. Maybe it was the effect of alcohol. Maybe we just clicked together.

The night air had cooled me off fairly quickly. In my whisper thin gown, I snuggled up to Tom for warmth.

Tom, ever the gentleman, took off his jacket and offered it to me. I accepted and said thank you with a grateful hug. He had a nice scent.

"Were there any other insights Tony Curtis offered about playing a woman?"

"Oh yes. He said the biggest problem was going to the bathroom. After putting on all the padding and undergarments, taking a pee was a real chore. Tony invented a device to capture his urine so that he didn't have to waste time doing his business. Since he always had to wait for Marilyn, he never knew when he'd be called upon to begin shooting."

"I thought you were going to say Tony didn't know which bathroom to use."

"Something like that happened too. Tony and Jack did a test with their make-up and hairstyles. First, they tried a subdued make-up and then they tried a more glamorous look. When they entered the ladies' room on the Goldwyn Studios lot the first time to fix their make-up, nobody noticed. With a glamorous look, they couldn't pull it off. They were outted immediately. So the actors decided on the subdued make-up and hair. The director, Billy Wilder, chose to shoot in black and white largely because he thought it would be kinder to the look of the men as women. Color would show their flaws."

I thought about my own situation. Glamorous worked for me. Or did it? In the screen test, no matter how much 'oomph' I put into kissing Tom, it had no effect on him. As I rested my head on his shoulder, I hoped tonight would be different.

"What about Brendan Forrester? How do you think he'll look?"

"Okay, but he doesn't have to look beautiful. He's going to play it for laughs."

"I think Jack Lemmon got the biggest laugh in the film. Remember, at the end, when Daphne tries to talk Osmond, played by Joe E. Brown, out of marrying her. Daphne said she wasn't a natural blonde, she smoked too much, she lived in sin with a saxophone player, and she couldn't have children. Osmond said none of it mattered. Finally, Daphne was so exasperated, she pulled off her wig and said, 'I'm a man.' "

" 'Well, nobody's perfect.' "

"Yes, that line got the biggest laugh. Were you tempted to go for the role of Daphne?"

"I'm happy being Joe or Josephine. After all, I get to kiss you. If I was Daphne, I'd have to kiss a guy."

Tom's arm encircled me as we cuddled. I had to control my pent up laughter. I buried my face in his chest 'til the laugh reaction subsided.

When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was ready.

In spite of my inner gaiety, when Tom kissed me, it was magical. The kisses were sweet, tender, and very loving. If kisses were lollipops, his were all day suckers. No fuzzy end of the lollipop for me. That man was marvelous!

Tom loved women. He worshipped them. He adored them.

'Keep your pecker up.'

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.