The Blonde by Anna Godbersen

Author:Anna Godbersen [Godbersen, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Weinstein Publishing

TWENTY-TWO

New York, November 1960

A long day passed in which Marilyn did not bother getting dressed in anything more than her old bathrobe, and the whole world seemed to forget her. Then the telephone did ring, and she was so relieved by this proof that somebody out there knew she existed that she picked up straight away.

“It’s me,” Alexei said. When she heard his voice so brusque like that, she knew she hadn’t ever really believed he’d stay away. But her mind was too sluggish with sorrow to register a threat. “Are you ready? To put this foolishness behind you, and get back to work?”

“No. I’m sorry,” she replied, with as much emotion as she might have given an encyclopedia salesman, and put the receiver back in its cradle.

Another day passed in much the same way, except she thought a great deal about what she might say to Alexei when he called back—messages for her father, questions about where he was located. If her father was as Alexei had described him, if he was worth meeting, he must have some power, and surely he would eventually come looking for her. But none of that really mattered. Even if Jack didn’t care anymore, still her heart wouldn’t let her spy on him, although that seemed too tender to share with the member of a shadow organization, whose real name she might not even know. But when he did call back, she felt no desire to explain herself, and hung up the moment she heard his voice.

Then it occurred to her that, while Jack’s victory meant he would no longer see her, it had at least put the rest of the country in a jubilant mood, with an infinite appetite for news about the magnificent Kennedys, and how they’d pulled this miracle off, and what it portended for all America’s futures. Nobody cared particularly about an aging movie star, and she might as well get the divorce announcement over with now, while the world’s attention was elsewhere.

So she called her friend Earl at the Post and gave him the scoop, and then sent a telegram to Arthur that read:

Happy Armistice Day. Best of luck with your German. She certainly knows how to take a picture. Love, Marilyn

Afterward, she closed the blinds and poured herself the last of the scotch and got back into bed. She did little, and ate nothing, over the weekend, and might have gone on that way had her maid Lena not arrived with groceries on Monday morning. By then Marilyn had remembered how it was—falling in love will slim a girl down, but nothing finishes the job like getting dumped. Lena stood in the doorway, matronly forearms crossed over her cotton housedress, and sniffed the room—which did, by then, have the ripe odor of depression—and declared that she was going to make egg salad sandwiches.

“You know you got company downstairs, don’t you?” she called as she retreated to the kitchen.

“What kind of company?” Marilyn pulled the sheet from her face and shivered, even though the radiator had been going for days.

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