Marilyn Monroe (21 page)

To make matters worse, to some extent both her agent and her husband fundamentally shared the studio’s view. Feldman didn’t see why Marilyn didn’t just sign the papers and get on with her career. DiMaggio, to her horror, agreed. A contract that gave Marilyn enough money, as this one did, was good enough for Joe. Marilyn, furious and feeling betrayed, had to face the fact that, when it came to the most important issues, the people closest to her were not on her side.

Three days later, Feldman called with what he thought was great news. He had struck a deal with Zanuck; he was to make
The Seven Year Itch
at Twentieth after all. Feldman assumed that Marilyn would be delighted. Instead, she angrily told him that she suspected him of having sold out her interests to push through his own deal. Feldman laid out his entire deal with the studio for Joe and Marilyn. He certainly didn’t want it said that he’d won concessions for himself at a client’s expense. In fact, the offers he’d had to produce
The Seven Year Itch
at Warner Bros. and United Artists would have been better for him financially. He’d agreed to a less lucrative deal at Twentieth only because of Marilyn’s eagerness to work with Wilder.

On May 20, Feldman’s attorney informed him that Marilyn seemed happy again. This may have been true, but it was not because of anything Feldman said or did. That month an important new player had quietly entered the fray. Feldman didn’t know about him. Neither did DiMaggio. Yet Milton Greene, a thirty-two-year-old fashion and portrait photographer, had begun to exert considerable influence on Marilyn. Though successful in New York, Greene was desperate to break into the movies. Not as a cameraman, however. His dream was to produce.

Richard Avedon called Greene “the greatest photographer of women” he’d ever encountered. Before meeting Marilyn in September 1953 on assignment for
Look
magazine, Greene had produced memorable images of Judy Garland, Grace Kelly, Marlene Dietrich, and other movie stars. His pictures appeared in
Life, Look, Harper’s Bazaar
, and
Vogue.
Among publicists and magazine editors, he had a reputation for being particularly effective with “needy” women. He knew how to handle the divas.

Greene was said to resemble a slim Peter Lorre. He dressed in black from head to foot, with a red kerchief round his neck. Like Marilyn, he was a nail-biter. Careful never to raise his voice, he came across as shy, sensitive, idealistic, and sympathetic. His speech was laced with Brooklynese. He had a disarming smile, boyish and seductive. He made a star feel calm, comfortable, and secure. He showered her with admiration and respect. He made her feel she was the center of the universe. He made her want to pour out her troubles to him.

Greene turned up in Los Angeles in May 1954 at a moment when Marilyn was feeling intensely isolated and confused after the debacle of the contract. It was their third encounter, Greene having brought his wife, Amy, to meet Marilyn in October. Feeling comfortable in the warmth of his company, Marilyn complained bitterly about her studio, about her inability to control the kinds of pictures she made, about the roles that Zanuck insisted she play. She didn’t understand why stardom had failed to give her what she wanted, nor did she understand why neither her agent nor her husband seemed to hear what she was saying.

Greene’s response was to take pictures. It was Sunday and the studio lot was empty. In the wardrobe department, Greene dressed Marilyn in Jennifer Jones’s costume from
Song of Bernadette—
a close-fitting jacket, a full skirt, heavy black stockings, and black wooden shoes. Then he steered her to the French village set for
What Price Glory?
, where she posed as a peasant girl in a series of dramatically lit, richly textured images that resembled paintings.

Marilyn was delighted. Greene had photographed her as one might have photographed Greta Garbo. He had provided Marilyn with an image of herself as she longed to be seen. He didn’t confuse her with the dumb blonde she’d created on screen. He perceived something in Marilyn that all the others did not. He seemed to understand where her dream had gone wrong. He helped clarify matters: Perhaps stardom wasn’t the problem, so much as the particular kind of stardom she had attained.

Marilyn had been drawn to Hollywood outsiders before. Arthur Miller had been an outsider. So had DiMaggio, until he became so entangled with her agents and lawyers that, much as he despised the film industry, his perspective seemed little different from theirs. Besides, DiMaggio never thought that Marilyn had any acting talent; the
husband’s principal concern, like that of her agents and lawyers, was to maximize her income.

Milton Greene was the first man since Johnny Hyde who appeared to believe in Marilyn unreservedly. The others were interested in money. Greene was interested in her being allowed to develop her talent. He told Marilyn what she wanted to hear. At a moment when Twentieth was refusing to give her any control over the films she made, Greene insisted that creative control was precisely what Marilyn must have. Feeding off each other’s enthusiasm, they were eager to take their collaboration a step further. Before Greene returned to New York, they made plans. In the naïve belief that still photographs would be accepted as proof that she could play different kinds of parts, Greene and Marilyn talked about doing a picture book that showed her in a variety of character roles. And they talked about making movies together.

Meanwhile, attorneys for Twentieth Century–Fox and Famous Artists met at Loyd Wright’s office to go over the first draft of Marilyn’s contract. Marilyn, furious at Zanuck’s refusal to give her even the most minor approvals, had insisted that all her original demands be revived. Wright sent Frank Ferguson back to Twentieth with Marilyn’s demand for a clause permitting her to approve scripts, directors, and cameramen.

Marilyn began filming
There’s No Business Like Show Business
on May 28. By that time, returning to Twentieth without a signed contract seemed much less good an idea than it had in March. She had only agreed because she’d been assured that her basic demands had been met. With Marilyn back on the lot, the pressure was off Twentieth to keep her happy.

Convinced that Zanuck wouldn’t budge, Marilyn’s agents urged her to compromise again. At first, Marilyn was adamant that she would not. Then she called Hugh French late at night to say that she was willing to discuss giving up approval of her cameraman and director. On two points, however, she remained firm. She would never sign a contract that failed to give her the right to approve her choreographer and her dramatic coach. If Zanuck insisted on controlling the films she appeared in, so be it. At the very least, Marilyn expected to control the details of her own performances. That meant having Jack Cole and Natasha Lytess. Marilyn wanted her agents to understand that, though she certainly hadn’t forgiven Natasha, she continued to require a coach. Until she found someone better, Natasha would have to do.

On June 15, French went to Lew Schreiber. Despite Marilyn’s willingness to compromise, the studio general manager wasn’t in a conciliatory mood. Schreiber, known as Zanuck’s right hand, said that Twentieth would never give Marilyn any creative approvals whatsoever. Afterward, Gordean and French visited dressing room M. Marilyn, livid, refused to back down. Finally, Gordean proposed that their only hope was to go around Schreiber. Skouras was due in Los Angeles at the end of the week. He’d always had a soft spot for Marilyn. Gordean advised her to present her demands to Skouras personally.

The night before Skouras flew out to the coast, Feldman conferred with him in New York. That way Marilyn could work her magic without having to explain exactly what she wanted. Skouras arrived in Los Angeles on Friday morning, June 18. He saw Marilyn that evening. As arranged, Hugh French came in as the meeting was about to break up. By that time, Marilyn certainly appeared to have brought the old man around. Skouras made no commitments, however. Obviously, New York had to clear matters with the Coast. Skouras asked Marilyn to visit him at the Beverly Hills Hotel on Sunday afternoon to continue their discussions.

By Sunday, Skouras, presumably having talked to Schreiber, was singing a different tune. Marilyn knew something was wrong the minute she walked in. The indulgent father had metamorphosed into a stern father. He insisted that Twentieth had given her all it could. When Marilyn made a scene, Skouras panicked. He called Feldman in New York. But Feldman couldn’t be found and Marilyn stormed out before anything could be settled.

The following week, Marilyn collapsed on the set. After she was rushed home, a studio spokesman announced that Marilyn had been in poor health since her bout with pneumonia in Japan. Reached by telephone, Marilyn herself denied reports that she was pregnant.

“I’m not expecting a little baseball player yet, but that doesn’t mean that Joe and I don’t want one.”

Skouras sensed that her remarks were directed at him. Marilyn seemed to be saying that if he failed to give in, she could always get pregnant and stay away for the duration. Skouras called Loyd Wright with a new offer. Marilyn and the studio would share the right to approve her choreographer and dramatic coach; in the event of a disagreement, however, Twentieth would have the final say.

Marilyn’s lawyer and agent concurred that she should sign. Marilyn disagreed. She vowed that if she didn’t get what she wanted, after completing
There’s No Business Like Show Business
she’d “sit out” the remaining four years of her studio contract. She mysteriously alluded to other plans that would permit her to “come out smelling like a rose.” What other plans, Charlie Feldman wanted to know. He was in New York building the entire production of
The Seven Year Itch
—basically a two-character piece—around Marilyn. If matters weren’t settled soon, his picture might be without a star. Darryl Zanuck was in Paris at the moment. Feldman intended to fly there immediately to appeal to him to give Marilyn all she was asking for. When Hugh French told Marilyn about the trip, he added that Feldman was not optimistic.

“In that case, I’ll see you in four years!” she gleefully replied.

Feldman was en route when Gordean and French went to dressing room M with his suggestion for a compromise. His idea was for Marilyn to prepare a list of coaches and choreographers she’d like to work with. Marilyn cut the agents off. She wasn’t interested in any of this right now. To Gordean’s astonishment, she said that she couldn’t sign a contract before Zanuck came back from Europe. Upon his return, she needed to see Zanuck alone to discuss several confidential matters. When Gordean asked what those might be, Marilyn refused to say. The agent was taken aback. Didn’t Marilyn realize that Feldman was about to meet with Zanuck? If she had a proposal of her own, they had to know. Marilyn snapped that if Feldman couldn’t wait until she had seen Zanuck, that was just too bad.

Gordean lost patience. He told her that her demands were impractical. After Marilyn signed her contract, if she didn’t like a coach or a choreographer, all she had to do was refuse to appear. Marilyn retorted that she didn’t want to refuse pictures anymore, because the publicity hurt her career. She was tired of having to fight the studio. Gordean replied that no matter how many points were spelled out in Marilyn’s contract, she’d always have to fight. And she could always rely on her agents to fight for her. Marilyn wasn’t so sure. Still, no sooner did the agents leave than she called Loyd Wright. She said she’d sign the contract if Twentieth would promise to let her have the last word in the event of a dispute. The studio didn’t have to put it in writing; all she sought was an oral agreement. Wright and Gordean, eager to settle, went to Schreiber.

As everyone knew, Zanuck had to say yes before the number two man gave a final answer. Feldman worked on him in Paris, and Zanuck agreed in time for a July 8 meeting between both sides at the studio. Across a conference table, Schreiber assured Wright that Marilyn would have the approvals she wanted. Wright called Marilyn, who promised to come to his office the next day to sign. The lawyers on both sides, the studio executives, and the agents breathed a sigh of relief.

To everyone’s horror, Marilyn failed to show up at her lawyer’s office. When Wright finally reached her by phone, she said she needed a few more days. Marilyn stalled until Monday, July 19, when a call from her persuaded Wright that he’d have her signature by the end of the week.

Meanwhile, Milton Greene had wired Sidney Skolsky to set up a telephone conversation with Marilyn on July 20. When Marilyn cryptically spoke about other plans, she meant her ongoing discussions with Greene. When she declared that she was tired of fighting the studio, the subtext was Greene’s proposal to set up an independent production company. More likely than not, their first film would be the life story of Jean Harlow that Skolsky hoped to produce—thus his willingness to act as a go-between. But Greene needed time to put some money together. The moment Marilyn signed her new studio contract, his dreams would be short-circuited.

Frantic to keep her from settling with Twentieth, Greene obviously couldn’t call Marilyn at home. DiMaggio, as was his nature, would be deeply suspicious of what Greene wanted. Joe, satisfied with the $100,000 per picture fee and the $225,000 price tag for
Horns of the Devil
, had been ready for Marilyn to sign in March. So long as Marilyn intended to remain in motion pictures—and DiMaggio would have preferred that she didn’t—at least she’d be making decent money. He had steered clear of all the back-and-forth over creative approvals that had preoccupied Marilyn in the intervening months.

Two days after her conversation with Greene, Marilyn arrived at Wright’s office in a rage. Suddenly, she was suspicious again about Feldman’s deal at Twentieth. Marilyn remained eager to make
The Seven Year Itch
, but insisted that she didn’t owe the studio “a damned thing” and would sign the contract when she was good and ready. She instructed the attorney to arrange for her to meet Zanuck, with no one from Famous Artists present.