I last saw Marilyn alive on 1 June 1961. I was working outdoors when I suddenly remembered it was her birthday. I had read somewhere that she was at the Beverly Hills Hotel and, on the off chance, I dialed the number. They put me through to her room immediately. Without saying who I was, I started humming ‘happy birthday…’. She interrupted me, sounding overjoyed. ’
'André is that you? Come on over at once, let’s celebrate!’
She was alone. On a little table beside some flowers she had placed a jar of caviar and two bottles of champagne. She seemed in a very good form.
'What a relief,’ she sighted. 'It’s so good to have some peace and quiet.’
Fox had organized a cocktail party in her honor at the studios but she had only stayed a few minutes before pleading tiredness and leaving. No one had tried to stop her. They were used to her unpredictable behavior.
'They’re all against me. When I just can’t take anymore they think I’m being temperamental. They can’t understand what it’s like to be so tired that it’s impossible to get out of bad in the morning.’
I knew only too well how badly she was sleeping, her whole nervous system was giving way. What really upset me about her wrecked life was her bitterness: her success was a sham, her hopes thwarted; she had been let down repeatedly, even by the man who had said they loved her. Her money had been squandered; fame had become a burden.
'They’ve all exploited me and now I’ve got nothing.’
But she was a star. People would help her go even further, attracted by her fame. Others would profit by her success. This is the way things are.
I could see that the cover had been thrown back from the bed in the next room. I took her in my arms, searching for her lips. I lost my head. She cried out, protesting:
'Oh, please, don’t ! I am so tired of that… Don’t ask anything of me, you of all people!’
Her eyes were full of tears. I felt I had been a brute. I knew she had only just left hospital after a major operation. I was ashamed of myself. I said goodbye and left her in peace.
The next day I sent a basket of her favorite fruit and before she left for Hollywood she left a bouquet outside my door: A selection of her latest photos. Smiling, radiant… and totally misleading. I little guessed that this was our last goodbye. - André de Dienes
Can I get a scenario with Ignis and his s/o dancing to a slow song? ❤️ btw;; you complete me, 😚