New York was a metropolis where skyscrapers numbered in the hundreds, tearing up into the sky as far as the eye could see. And they were still being built; indeed, the city was about to inaugurate its latest addition – taller, more spacious, and more imposing, the tower would stand as a symbol of the country’s economic might. New York, the Big Apple, the majestic; a volcano in constant eruption, unsleeping. The vastness of a population confined only by the immensity of its buildings. New Yorkers loved their city, and Marilyn Monroe did too. Here, she could live life to the fullest. She could hail a yellow cab on Fifth Avenue without being photographed and followed by the paparazzi. She could walk through Little Italy without being harassed, or get lost in Manhattan and relax in Central Park. She would give a few autographs here and there, of course. A few people waved at her, and some men (and women) turned their heads as she passed. Inevitably, cameras flashed from time to time, but overall she felt she could breathe easy here. She could lose herself in a daydream, wander the streets and bask in the city’s electric air. In New York, Marilyn Monroe could blend in with the crowd. It was not like the other place; not like in LA, the City of Angels where she had to disguise herself as Zelda Zonk. On the West coast, people only saw her as a pin-up, a bimbo, a sex symbol. Yes, she had dated Joe DiMaggio. And she had spent a night with the future president, John Fitzgerald Kennedy. True, she was a movie star and the muse of many a photographer – the most beautiful woman in America, some said. Today, Orphan #3463 felt invisible amidst the sound of the rotors as her helicopter flew over the skyscrapers. Officially it was illegal to fly between the buildings at this hour, but exceptions could always be made. Today, New Yorkers were inaugurating the Rockefeller Center’s Time and Life building, on which construction had just finished. Today, the star was Marilyn Monroe.
The helicopter landed on the roof of the skyscraper, and a man hurried to open the rear door to assist Marilyn Monroe. “No need, thank you!” she called to the pilot. No need for what? For all this fuss, she thought. No need for the ladder, the stepstool, the red carpet, the reporters, the photographers, the builders, the architects, the workers. The list was infinite. Eventually, the Time and Life building’s developers understood that Marilyn Monroe wanted her appearance to be a simple affair, far from the projectors and her bodyguards. They brought her down to the ground floor by elevator. She was impressed by the building’s height. “Congratulations, it’s really something!” she told the realtors, who had welcomed her with a bunch of roses. Some of the workers wept openly upon seeing the actress with their own eyes. Marilyn Monroe was their idol, their fantasy. They pressed to get closer to her, drawn uncontrollably to the beauty of her form in its white satin dress. She was perfect, unreal, a fallen angel. “Miss Monroe, can we get an autograph, please?” asked one worker, who was turning thirty-one that day. “Is it OK if I hug you?” asked the foreman.
“Miss Monroe! Are you ready to go?” The pilot started up the helicopter’s engine. Marilyn Monroe arrived on the landing pad on the top floor. Her dress fluttered under the gust of the blades, and men rushed to help her into the chopper. She was ready to leave. Her next destination was unknown, but here in New York she was free – here, she was Marilyn!
Alan Alfredo Geday