Marilyn Monroe Meets Dick Tracy

6/12/04

She was beautiful in a sort of fluffy-brained blonde way. No one could see it but me.

She wanted to Be Free.

So I sat and ordered a cup of coffee and some cherry pie.

“Listen Babe,” I said, “you gotta pull yourself together. Get out of this joint.

How long do you think you’ve got? Forever?”

She was working as a waitress in this quiet diner.

She spoke kindly, with an undertone of sadness. She was too pretty.

That was her problem. No one took her seriously.

She told me her name was Marilyn.

“Dick Tracy,” I said, “I’m a plain clothes cop, a detective.”

I shook her hand.

“It’s been a long strange story,” she said. “Movie cameras, newspapers, televison.

It’s lost all its charm. I’m tired of all the hype and hoopla.

At least in here I’m doing some service. I serve pie, cake, a few sandwiches,

and an honest cup of good hot coffee.”

“Listen to me,” I told her, looking over my shoulder so no one could hear.

“You’re trying too hard. Take off all the makeup and let your hair go natural.

That’s when you’ll get what you’re looking for. You have alot of beauty inside you.

No one likes a sex symbol, you know.

They’re too intimidating.”

“You know, Dick,” Marilyn responded sadly, “I tried all that.

I came to work with no lipstick one day, and my boss threatened to fire me.

He said I was ‘like an ice cream sundae with no cherry on top.’

He told me to look my best because lots of football players come in here

and some other celebrities. He wants his joint to be Classy.”

“OK Kid,” I told her, “Now I know we’re on the same wavelength.”

She said she was going to night school and working days.

She looked tired and fed up.

“I used to be famous,” Marilyn said. “I’ve been hiding out in here.”

“Fame’s a hard act to follow,” I told her, looking down into my coffee cup,

“I know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her soft cheek. “No privacy, and everyone

wants to use you for something.”

Just then my two-way wrist radio quietly beeped.

I put it to my ear and signed out.

“Look,” I gotta go,” I whispered to Marilyn. “Here. Take this.”

I reached inside my suit’s secret pocket and pulled out another two-way wrist radio.

“And Don’t Tell Anyone! This will be our little secret,” I continued in a soft whisper.

“I want to be in constant communication with you. Don’t ask me why. Just take it.

If you ever need anything, call me and I’ll take care of it.”

“What’s in it for you?” Marilyn asked me.

“Babe, just hearing your voice will make my day. You can be My Muse.

A Muse is someone who Inspires, who Helps, with no visibility.

You can just remain Invisible, undercover, just like me.

Just keep serving your sandwiches, cherry pie and fresh brewed coffee,

while I go out and Help The World. I need someone like you To Inspire Me.”

She smiled a knowing smile.

“Come on in for lunch and we can take it from there. Every good detective needs a place

to hang out for a few minutes and enjoy the simple things of life,” Marilyn agreed.

“So it’s a deal?” I asked her.

“Deal,” Marilyn said.

We shook on it, and laughed.

Tracy Out!

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