Incognito

She was tired of being Ms. Monroe.  The cameras always flashing.  The mob of fans everywhere she went.  The constant tabloid articles.  The men who always broke her heart.

She tucked her trademark blond curls under a colorful scarf, slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and walked to the beach, enjoying the feel of the blistering hot sun against her bare legs.  There was a woman sitting nearby, completely oblivious to her presence, engrossed in a tattered magazine that had Marilyn on its cover.  Marilyn Monroe’s Secret Tragedy, the headline screamed.

Marilyn spread out a blanket and relaxed for a bit, enjoying the silence.  Until it was too quiet.  The emptiness at her core threatened to swallow her whole.

She sat up and pulled off the scarf, shaking out her golden locks.

“Ms. Monroe!  Oh my goodness!”  The woman rushed over, spraying sand in her wake.  “Will you sign this for me?”

“Of course I will, doll,” Marilyn responded in her affected breathy tone.  “I always have time for a fan!”

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 

A scene featuring Marilyn from the film Some Like It Hot.  If you haven’t seen it I highly recommend it!

 

Advertisement

TELE-FICTION – Interruptions

New feature – fictional stories involving some of my favorite female television characters – Tele-fiction.  Hope you enjoy!

“So why do you want to work here?”  The woman sits across from me behind a huge mahogany oak desk.  The room is dark.  Her chair sits so high I have to look up to see her.  I’m a chastened girl called to the principal’s office for running in the halls. She’s gorgeous.  Smooth ebony skin, dark hair in a short tousled bob, makeup expertly applied.  The violet color of her perfectly tailored suit gives her a royal air.  She takes a sip of the coffee just delivered by the mousy, nervous associate who’d scowled at me before leaving the room.

“Well, I have a great deal of experience in the legal field…”

“I didn’t ask you about your experience,” she interrupts, slamming the coffee mug down and standing from her desk.  “I asked WHY you wanted to work here!”

“Well, I type 80 words per minute.  I know Word and Excel…”

“If I called you in the middle of the night and asked you to run an errand for me.  Would you do it?  No matter what it was?”

“Errr…”

“Or would you do it and then blab your little negligent mouth about it later…”

Just then, the door flies open, a young brunette stumbles in, breathless, dark circles under her eyes, stuffing something in her purse.  I spy dots of red on the hem of her long skirt.  She doesn’t seem to notice me.

“Please!  Help me!”

I rise from my chair, backing toward the door.  “Ummm…I don’t think this is the right place for me.  I’ll show myself out.”  Neither of them look up as I scurry out of the room, nearly knocking over my chair in the process.

“Don’t let her leave!  She’s a liar!”  The mousy associate yells after me.  A handsome bearded man with dark hair seems to appear out of nowhere, blocking the front door.

I wanted to find out what happened to my best friend.  The last thing on her schedule the day she went missing was an appointment here.  As the man approaches me slowly, a gleam of pleasure in his eye, I finally know.   What makes me angriest of all as his hands close around my neck – they’re going to get away with it.

TELE-FICTION – Watch Me

“Hey! Jenn!”  The sofa I’m dozing where I’m dozing with my dog, Quinn, is rocked violently.  “Time to get up!”

I wipe my eyes and look up to see a stunning woman wearing a glorious white coat leaning over me. Her penny-brown skin is makeup free, her jet black hair swept back in a bun.  Clearly she’s come here in a rush. Quinn cocks her head and observes the woman with curiosity before laying her head back on the couch and returning to sleep.

“Get up, why?”

“Why?”  She looks at me incredulously.  “Jenn, you called me.”

“I did?”

“Yes, and I came here.  At 2 am.  Because that’s what I do.  I fix things.  So what about you needs fixing?”

She frowns and brushes a few strands of Quinn’s white hair from the couch before sitting.

“Ummm…” I try and remember why I called.  I must have done it in my sleep.  What had I been dreaming about?  Then it comes back.  The nightmare.  The flashbacks.  The recurring one I’ve had every night for the past 20 years.  The face I could never forget.  I retell the story.  “You can’t do anything about him…can you?”

“Watch me.” She stands, taking out her phone and stepping out onto the balcony.  She makes a whispered phone call, then strides confidently back into my living room.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll let myself out.”

“But…”  The door shuts, and she’s gone.

In the morning, the leading story on all the news channels is his arrest.  I watch as two officers escort him to a waiting police car, his head bowed in shame as reporters scream questions he can’t ignore any longer.  I smile to myself, call in sick to work,  lay back down and fall into a peaceful sleep.  Quinn nuzzles into my neck.

It’s handled.