Free The Blonde by Anna Godbersen

kiss on the lips from her husband.
    “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” Kay demanded, arm around her husband’s middle.
    “That would be wonderful,” Marilyn breathed.
    “Children, come meet Miss Monroe!” Kay shouted up the stairs.
    Their feet thundered across the second story, and then a boy and a girl came hustling down into the foyer. They were handsome children, tall but not yet teenagers, and someone had put a great deal of care into dressing them.
    “I like your ribbons,” Marilyn addressed the girl, a little shyly.
    When she heard the timidity in the movie star’s voice, the girl managed to raise her eyes. “I’m Jane,” she blurted.
    “Well. It’s nice to meet you, Jane.”
    “And this is Bunker,” Clark said. The boy flicked his eyes up at her. Though he was as preternaturally blond as his sister, his sapphire gaze was purer and more assertive; he had a bold self-regard that she recognized, and it softened her heart to him. He was so young and beautiful, and it made her realize Clark was old, his skin cracked and his chest thinning; that his body had already absorbed too many blows.
    Clark shooed away the children and brought her into the living room. The walls were paneled in pine, and a pyramid of wood had been erected in the fireplace, although it wasn’t lit and may have been there a long time already. It occurred to her that movie stars are always their own best customers.
    “Why do you call him Bunker?” Marilyn asked as she sank onto the floral sofa and curled her pumps underneath herself.
    “Because he’s a sadist.” Clark’s back was to her, focusing on the bar, and she wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. When he turned, a tumbler of amber liquid in either hand, he was wearing his Rhett Butler face, and for a moment she felt as though she’d just been told that she should be kissed, and often,and by someone who knows how. “His name’s Adolph, after his father—you didn’t think they were my children, did you?”
    She shook her head.
    “I’d have been a lousy father, I guess. But as a stepfather, I think I do all right. Anyway, yes—Adolph after his father, Mr. Adolph Spreckels the Second. You’d have thought the war killed their taste for the name, but no. So they call him Bunker because that’s where it ended for the great dictator. Cute, ain’t it?”
    “I’d think that would be a hard name to hear all the time.”
    “I suppose.” He passed her a drink and sat down, propping an ankle on the opposite knee and drinking long. She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.
    “They seem like sweet children.”
    “Sure.”
    “And you and Kay, you’re happy together?”
    “I’ve been married five times, so I don’t expect much from the institution, but yes—we’re happy, after a fashion.”
    “That’s nice.” She let her lids sink and sipped the whiskey that Clark Gable had brought her. She was beginning to enjoy the faux simplicity of his place, the good-looking children, and the meaty aroma that was wafting from the kitchen. “I guess happiness isn’t perfect any place …”
    “So.” She opened her eyes when she heard his voice, newly hard. “You want me to make this picture of your husband’s, is that it?”
    “That’s right.” She lowered the glass from her face. “John Huston is set to direct, and … we think you’re the only one to play Gay.”
    “Gay?” His eyebrows did a dance. She felt a surge of anger at Arthur for being so stupid and obvious. She’d heard the stories of what Clark had done to get ahead, and knew that when stories like that persisted they were often true.
    “Oh, well, you know … it’s just a name.”
    He shook his head. “Sure. I don’t mind that. Listen, kid, you and me, we’re the same, more or less. So you have a pretty good idea what kind of things I did in the early days, just like I know without asking what you’ve done. And I know all the tricks you use to stay in this business, too, and why