Write To Die

Write To Die
By
Raman Jalota


    O.K. Let me see … Jerry walked purposefully towards the girl with the big breasts and pus his hands on her face. " I love you sweets", he murmured as he kissed her and moved his …
   “Don’t do it.”
   “Who is there?” I could hear her distinctly.   There was a hint of a very minute lisp in her voice; overall it was a throaty sexy sound.
   “Marilyn.”
   “Marilyn who? Not Marilyn Monroe?”
   “Yes the very same.”
   Of course! Now I could recognize her voice. Even after all these years!
   “Why are you here Marilyn?”
   “To help you.”
   “To help me?
   “Yes. You are in grave danger, just as I was.”
   “I thought you committed suicide.”
   “That’s what they want you to think.”
   “What happened?”
   “They came into my room and forced drugs into me … they injected me with barbiturates forcibly. When I passed out, they injected a barbiturate and chloride mixture to kill me.”
   “Who?”
   “My own psychiatrist, Dr. Greenson and the FBI agents.”
   “All I heard were stories of you taking your own life, Marilyn.”
   “Norma, call me Norma. I am not Marilyn any more. I am me. Norma.”
   “O.K. Norma. Why are you telling me all this?”
   “Writing is evil. All it does is, it gets you killed. Bobby loved me. He would have loved me all of his life. It was the writing that killed me.”
   “You wrote?”
   “Yes, after I met Bobby.”

…..

   Bobby Kennedy walked down the driveway, glancing over his shoulders. The shiny, new, big black Lincoln sat just outside the house. Bobby rang the bell and a houseman answered it.
   “I am Bobby Kennedy, is Miss Monroe in?”
   “Yes sir. Please come in, I will go and get her.”
   Bobby went over the plan. He recited the notes he had written silently - Talk to her nice and sweet. She can’t be seen with the president of the United States. Besides he is married and deeply in love with Jackie. This has to end. We have talked it over and this is exactly how he wants to …
   A bolt of lightning struck him. Marilyn walked down the stairs and smiled at him.
   “Hi Bobby. Didn’t expect to see you. Is Jack O.K?”
   “I … I … I came to talk to you … er … about Jack. My God this is so hard. Can I sit down?”
   “Sorry, this way Bobby. Do you want something to drink? Jack never returns my calls anymore, why?”
   He felt much better with the bourbon in his hand. He took quick sips drinking it half way down, while staring at the heavenly Marilyn sitting across from him. He was losing his mind. He had never believed he could feel the way he felt at that moment. He had met her at the White House a few times. But she had never made him feel this way before. She seemed to be absolutely the most beautiful woman in the world. There was no other word for it. He was captured by her magic and was a willing prisoner.

…..

   Marilyn sat stunned. Bobby had said all those things but she didn’t mind it. He was such a charming man. Even his nervous mumbling and bumbling didn’t lower his image in her eyes. She kept thinking of his rugged features, the college kid looks and the absence of all the wrinkles that Jack had.
   Jack’s face is so sweet but every time I touch him or he kisses me, I get turned off. His eyes are always squinting shut, I can’t seem to see inside of him. There is no real connection with him. I was overpowered by his charisma but Bobby … oh Bobby is the real gem.
   But now, it was all over. She had agreed to not talk about Jack with anyone, nor to call him or anything. She was under Bobby’s spell and would have granted him anything. She sighed with the weight of loneliness that the night was bringing on and reached for another gin and tonic.
   Almost two hours later, half-dizzy with the gin, she walked to the neighborhood corner store. She stopped at the phone booth and pulled out a coin from her purse.
   “Norma?”
   “Yes Becky, it’s me. Can you come and get me. I fell terrible and don’t want to be alone.”
   “Where are you calling from?”
   “From the corner store.”
   “Why, what’s wrong with your phone.”
   “I don’t care what anyone says. It’s bugged. The FBI bastards are listening on my phone and have stuff in my house.”
   “How do you know?”
   “I know.”

…..

   She awoke with a start. The doorbell was ringing insistently. She grabbed a robe and walked to the front door. She opened it and stood staring.
   “Bobby?”
   “Marilyn … I … er came by to talk to you about last week and to make sure everything is fine and that …”
   Marilyn put her arm on his shoulder and stared in his eyes, “Oh! Bobby, how I dreamed about you. You have come to see me!   What a wonderful thing to happen to me.”
   Bobby was overwhelmed by her nearness, “Oh Marilyn … I have thought about you constantly. You are so exhilaratingly wonderful.”
   She leaned over and kissed him on the lips. They remained locked in an embrace, rocking slowly and murmuring sweet nothings.
   She broke off and holding onto his shoulder led him to the living room. She sat him on the sofa and snuggled up next to him. She looked in his eyes and melted.   They kissed and fumbled with their clothes till they were naked and locked in a passionate embrace. They stumbled on the bed, giving of themselves and taking of each other. As if to bless the event, the heavens parted and a heavy rain fell on the roof playing some obscure African lovemaking tune on a muffled drum made out of the skin of an extinct animal.

…..

   “I can’t do this.” He screamed sitting in the Air Force One.
    The hostess handed him another martini. He squinted at his aide, “Bart, never did I dream it will come to this. Hell, I am lying. This is exactly what I hoped would happen. I had no reason to see her. I am smitten by her and I had to get near her no matter what excuse I had to make. Damn, damn, damn.”
Bart smiled sheepishly, “What about Ethel?”
    “When you have a vision imprinted on your mind … a vision like Marilyn, you don’t remember who Ethel is … hell, I don’t remember who I am when I am with her.”
    “Yes sir. What about the Monday meeting agenda? Do you want to go over the draft?”

…..

    “But sweetie, you come to Chicago. I will be there Friday for some movie awards presentation stuff and will stay at the Sheraton. Why don’t you fly down and spend a night with me?”
    “What time will you be back from your award presentation party?”
    “What time do you want me Bobby?”
    “Shucks … I want you right now! I will probably make it out of here by 9:00. I can see you around midnight. Make sure you are back by then.”

…..

    Marilyn was half-tipsy by the time she got back to her hotel. She looked out the window, went down to the lobby, came right back as the crowds recognized her and started gathering around her. She ordered another bourbon and soda and sat thinking about Bobby and his deep blue eyes and the magic that seemed to happen every time they were together. A knock woke her out of her daydreaming.
An FBI agent in a blue suit was outside her door. “Ma’am, I have orders to escort you to Senator Kennedy’s hotel.”
    “Where is he staying?”
    The agent took her to the basement and into a dark limousine. Within twenty minutes she was in the presidential suite in the Ritz-Carlton   hotel. Bobby sent his aides out of the room and they embraced passionately.
    “It’s so good to see you, sweetie.”
    “Oh! Marilyn, you don’t know how hard it has been to be away from you. But our country needs what I am doing. We have to get to the bottom of organized crime to stop it for once and for all. I have made that my personal goal – to rid our country of all organized crime. And then there is Castro.”
Marilyn looked at him demurely. He is so precious. I must remember and ask him about all these things he is doing next time we meet.
    When she awoke the next morning, Bobby was gone. She took the notepad from the hotel and started scribbling all the things he had talked about. She read it and smiled.
    Good! Next time I will have these notes to read and I can ask him about the organized crime families, Castro, the NASA program, the Russian spies … oh my. His head is so full of all these wonderful and important issues he is involved in. I imagine he thinks the country will shrivel up and die without him. Sure as hell, I would. I can never get enough of his sweet smile, the intense way he talks, that intimate smile and his eyes. I could stare at his face forever.

…..

    Becky stared at Marilyn incredulously. What a woman! She was having an affair with the president, and now Bobby Kennedy too.
    “Why … why do you think they have your phone bugged?”
    “Ever since I started seeing Jack they did things to my phone and the house too.”
    “Are you sure, Norma?”
    “I can hear clicks on the phone sometimes. I think someone listens in whenever I get a call or make a call.”
    “What else?”
    “I know people have been in my house, things get moved and stuff like that.”
    “But you have a housekeeper and a cook.”
    “Yes, but they won’t always tell me what’s going on. They are scared too. Oh! Becky, I am petrified.”
    Becky put her arms around her. Marilyn broke down and started sobbing. Her body shook with fear.
    “Can I stay with you tonight? Please.”
    “Norma … you have to stop doing this. Don’t run away from everything. You can deal with it. I am here for you, but the best way I can help you is to insist that you must deal with it on your own. Do not reach for another shoulder to cry on. I will talk you through all you want. Stay at home, you have to deal with it there, not here.”
    “I feel so lonely. Well if I can’t stay with you … will you at least give me some of your sleeping pills?”
    “You know Dr. Greenson has told you to stay away from sleeping pills. You have a tendency to get addicted.”
    “Please … please … please Becky.”
    “No I won’t give you any pills but you can stay with me tonight.”

…..

    Marilyn sat up in her bed; bleary eyed from last night’s drinking. Damn I wake up alone again! I always wake up alone. Why do I always end up alone? Everyone loves me and yet no one loves me.
She picked up a pillow and hugging it she started crying uncontrollably. Where is the love that I need? I am alone here, alone, unloved and desperate. My heart is not cold and hard, why does everyone treat me this way? Everyone I love, everything I touch seems to want to run away from me. It’s as if I have a disease like leprosy or something. Every day I wake up alone. Every day … every day … every damn day.
    When the housekeeper brought her the morning coffee, she was rocking herself, holding on to her pillow, tears on her cheeks, her eyes red with pain, fear and anxiety.
    “Good morning, are you alright ma’am?”
    “No, I am not alright. Can’t you see I … oh hell … leave me alone.”
    Sipping her coffee, she drifted into the past few days and made up her mind. I will write down everything I know about Jack and Bobby and everything they told me. I will write it all down and use it for …. I will just write it all down and see when and how I can use it. Damn the world! Damn everyone! Damn you!

…..

    Dr Greenson looked up suddenly, “What are you writing?”
    “Oh this and that. Every little detail I can think about our president, and his little brother.”
    “What do you mean when you say every little detail?”
    “Oh! I do know a lot about what the president was saying and wanting to do. I also know what Bobby was trying to do and what he forgot to do or what he did even though he didn’t mean to.”
    “Marilyn, why do you want to write stuff like that?”
    “That’s the only way to make it real, I can give it words and breathe life into them, make my life not a dream …. Ha ha ha …”
    Dr. Greenson sat staring as Marilyn went into a hysterical laughter that ended in loud sobs as her body shook.
    “Are you O.K. now? Do you want to stop?”
    “Oh! Ralph; is it O.K. if I call you Ralph? I need to talk to someone … I need someone to listen to me … you are the only one who ever listens to me.”
    “I am here for you Marilyn. You were saying …” He referred to his notes. My God! Now I am in deep trouble. I have to call Jim and tell him all this.
    “All my life seems like a dream, Dr. Greenson ... or rather like a nightmare. By writing everything I make it real, it’s there in black and white … it’s concrete … no one can deny the facts of my life … no one can call my life a lie then. And you know what … I can use what I know.   If these bastards won’t treat me the way I deserve to be treated … this is not how they should have treated me. Bastards, God damned bastards everyone of them.”

…..

    “Jim?”
    “Yes? This is special agent Jim Bailey.”
   “Dr. Ralph Greenson … I am Marilyn Monroe’s psychiatrist.”
   “Yes Dr. greenson, what do you have for us?”
   “Listen, I remember what you had asked me … and I shouldn’t … but I know things may be getting out of hand … so I called you.”
   “What’s going on?”
   “Marilyn came in for an extra session today … er … I see her once a week but she wanted to have another session, so I said yes. She is getting very hysterical, she feels the president and his brother didn’t treat her right. She is writing down things they said or did. And she is not in control of her emotions … one minute she laughs, then starts crying again. She is overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness.”
   “What exactly has she written down?”
   “Well she didn’t tell me what, but she said she knows things and is going to use what she knows. She is very unstable, you know.”
   “You mean she can’t be trusted!”
   “I am afraid so. Her mental state is very dangerous. She is emotionally on a roller coaster, sometimes up sometimes down, mostly down. She is not thinking rationally and is liable to do something drastic.”
   “Like what?”
   “I don’t know, but it bothers me that in her state of mind she blames everyone for how they have mistreated her and how they are trying to manipulate her and how she can exact her own revenge on them.”
   “Do you know where she keeps all these papers?”
   “I would imagine somewhere in her home.”
   “We have to make sure. Thanks Doc, I will be in touch. We may need your help.”

…..

   Bobby shook his head, “No, I don’t think we have much choice. But I do think I can talk some sense into her. Maybe she can see her way past this stupid need for exacting revenge.”
   Peter Lawford just nodded his head and stared ahead as he drove to Marilyn’s home. He parked the Lincoln outside the home and stayed in the car. Bobby and the two FBI agents walked to the house.
   Jim whispered and pointed towards the road, the housekeeper and the cook left hurriedly. He shouted after them, “Not before three hours. Remember that.”
   Bobby walked into the living room where Marilyn sat with a gin and tonic in her hand. “Fancy seeing you here. What have you done to my housekeepers?”
   “Marilyn, this is very serious. You can not threaten the president of the United States.”
   “Threaten him with what? The truth? I am not making up anything. All I know is what Jack told me and you, you have said plenty of things to me.”
   “Marilyn, we … I was just trying to impress you with what kind of things I deal with on a daily basis. How big a role I … we have in shaping this country.”
   “Don’t give me that crap. I know plenty and can tell everyone what I know.”
   “Don’t say things like that Marilyn. You don’t know how dangerous it is to even hint at something like that.”
   Agent Jim Bailey walked in the living room, he held a red diary in his hand, “Sir, I believe this is what we were looking for.”
   Bobby thumbed through the pages, his eyes widening slowly in bewilderment, rage and ultimately a cold finality.
   “Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn … think about what I have said. Be very very careful. I will call you later.”
   As they walked out the door, she screamed, “You can take my diary but I know everything I wrote in there … and more. I am not afraid of you. I know people. And I am Marilyn … the world will listen to me. You can not shut me up.”

…..

   Bobby hung the phone up slowly, he had tears in his eyes, “Jim, you have to do it tonight. She told her friends about calling a press conference … tomorrow. She is way past redemption. This is it. Tonight.”
   The two agents walked to the green Cadillac. Dr. Greenson stepped out.
   “I am Jim, Dr. Greenson. You have the barbiturates?”
   “Yes.”
   They knocked on the door. The housekeeper froze in fear.
   “Remember me? I was here this afternoon!”
   “Yes sir, oh hi Dr. Greenson.”
   “This is 10:00 O’clock, I don’t want to see you till 2:00 in the morning. O.K?”
   The two left hurriedly, repeating what they had done seven hours earlier. Marilyn walked to the front door and froze.
   “Dr. greenson … ah, you too?”
   “Marilyn, you   are not well. I am here to help you. Believe me I will never hurt you. I just want you to take this small shot of pheno-barbitone, it will calm you down. We can talk … we can work it all out.”
   “You bastard. You will not get a needle into my arms.”
   She ran to the back of the house and locked herself in the guest cottage. Jim walked confidently up to the door and within two tries had the door open. He pushed her down on the bed and held her as Dr. Greenson filled a syringe with the barbiturate and gave her the injection in her right arm. She kept screaming and crying uncontrollably till the barbiturate hit her system. She collapsed like a broken doll.
Jim shouted at the doc, “O.K. now you go back in the house. I will deal with her now.”
He carefully took the two syringes that the other agent gave him and slowly injected her arm with the pentothol, pheno barbiturate mixture and then the potassium chloride.
   Her body started convulsing, twisting uncontrollably in the agony of death. Finally there was no movement, no breath and no pulse. They sat smoking cigarettes for two hours. Jim nodded to the other agent and lifted Marilyn in his arms, he carried her to the main house and into her bedroom. He straightened out her body, making her look as if she was lying in a peaceful, sleepy position, breaking bones in the process.
   "O.K. call the maid in. We need to get everything cleaned up, before we call the LAPD."

…..

   As Marilyn faded, I looked around the room. The evening shadows seemed somehow darker and sinister. The two bulbs in the ceiling light were throwing a deadly yellowish light on the pieces of paper I was writing on. Poor Jerry and the girl with the big boobs!
   My hands shaking with an inner fear, I walked into the kitchen and turned on the burner. Slowly the bluish orange flame ate up the thirty-seven pages of my writing … my great American novel lay in blackened charcoal and gray ashes, contorted in its dying throes it lay twisted just as the body of Marilyn had lain twisted in her bed in the guest cottage.

The End           3535 words

Copyright © 2004 Raman Jalota. All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

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