Marilyn took the Coke can in her hand and swirled the contents. She knew it couldn’t be more than one swift gulp or she wouldn’t get it down. She also knew that along with the coke, the can already contained enough chloral hydrate to put her to sleep. She set the can down by the sink in the guest bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Did a frightened Norma Jeane just watch as a determined Marilyn opened the Nembutal bottle and then slowly, painstakingly pull apart a capsule, empty the contents into the small opening at the top of the can, discard the empty pieces of capsule into the toilet, then repeat the whole process over and over again until the Nembutal bottle was empty?
“Drink it down and you can sleep with your babies tonight.”
Marilyn dropped the empty coke can in the wastebasket, flushed the toilet and made sure to take the prescription bottle so housekeeper, unwanted companion, and Dr. Greenson spy, Mrs. Eunice Murray would be none the wiser. Marilyn also grabbed the slip of paper that she had been clutching for the previous few hours and left the bathroom. She noticed the house phone wasn’t in the changing room. She had called Dr. Greenson to tell him about her call from Joe’s son, then she had taken the phone out to the guest house. A phone jack had been installed in the guest house so the house phone could be used there. She realized she must have left it there after her game of fetch with her dog, Maf. She didn’t want to think about that. She loved her little dog but she still hadn’t come to terms with what had just happened outside. She was still unsure if it was real or imagined.
After Frank had given Maf to Marilyn, Patricia Newcomb had been one of the first to meet the new dog. Newcomb tried to hide her annoyance that Marilyn planned to tell everyone (especially Joe) that the dog had been a gift from her, and not Frank. She was happy to do something for Marilyn but did not want to encourage her relationship with Sinatra. When she asked about the dog’s name, Marilyn said, “Mop.” The little white fur ball resembled a mop top. “Mop?” Newcomb asked. Then poking fun at Sinatra’s connection to Mafia figures, she exclaimed, “With hidden ties to Frank, you should call him Maf, Honey!” A few of the women in Marilyn’s close social circle often called each other Honey, and Marilyn knew that’s how she meant it, but decided to have a little fun of her own. “Maf Honey,” Marilyn said, “Yes, that’s it.” Maf for short, the name stuck.
Margaux and Harlow. In more playful times this is what the dynamic duo, Margot Patricia Newcomb and Marilyn Monroe called each other. Newcomb preferred the fancier French spelling, Margaux. Newcomb had reappeared in Marilyn’s life in late 1960, near the end of filming on the movie The Misfits, and had been a feature player in her life ever since. Not only Marilyn’s press agent, she soon became a friend, companion, confidant and sometimes even, a kind of life manager.
The two had met when Newcomb briefly worked for Marilyn in 1956, during the filming of Bus Stop. There was a sexual tension between the two and Marilyn had to let her go. This tension is usually described as a “sexual rivalry,” like they were both after the same man. But this is just before Marilyn’s marriage to Arthur. The only rivalry may have been the one between Miller and Newcomb. Marilyn had become disenchanted with her “experiments” with women. Natasha, Crawford and Dietrich all let her unfulfilled. She was going in a decidedly different direction with her life and almost desperately wanted to build a family. There was no room for Newcomb in her life then, but now they were loyal friends. At least that’s what Marilyn assumed.
What had Margaux done? Marilyn tried to put the pieces together. She was angry when her friend sided with Bobby over her. Her mind drifted back to earlier in the day. Marilyn peered out one of the front windows and looked out on the courtyard of her home. Bobby had just left and Newcomb was walking him out. The two stopped to talk. Peter raced ahead towards his car. Marilyn was furious. Flushed with anger, she had demanded RFK and Lawford leave her home. She almost had to physically kick them out. She was tired of being a pawn in some insane game between Frank and Bobby. She was sick of being passed around like a piece of meat, given no more regard than a side of beef. Bobby had been so free with his promises when he wanted something from her. Now he had come over and tried to barter between threats and demands.
Bobby had his back to Marilyn but she could see Newcomb clearly. Marilyn could read lips, a skill she acquired as a child when she would spend hours in movie theaters, intently watching the actors over and over. It came in handy because sometimes Marilyn had trouble hearing. Newcomb told Bobby, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Marilyn wasn’t really surprised by this. She knew Newcomb’s infatuation with Bobby bordered on hero worship. It’s what Marilyn saw next that surprised her. Just after Newcomb said she’d “take care of it,” she discretely moved her hand towards Bobby’s hand, just as Marilyn had done with Pat on the tarmac. Bobby reacted just as Pat had. He momentarily recoiled then he grabbed Newcomb’s shoulders in much the same way Pat had grabbed both of Marilyn’s hands. There was more to Newcomb’s relationship with Bobby than Marilyn had ever suspected. “This explains so much,” Marilyn said out loud to no one that could hear.
Marilyn found herself in her changing room. She looked around. How long had she been daydreaming? She wished the whole day had been a nightmare she could awake from. What was she doing? The phone. She needed a phone. She had left the main phone in the guest house and she would have to use her private line. Her private phone was on a long cord and could be carried around the house. She walked towards the phone, picked it up and brought it out into the hallway. She spotted Mrs. Murray and told her she decided against a drive and was going to turn in. She opened her bedroom door and then saw the last of Eunice Murray as she turned and wished her good night.
Marilyn brought the phone into her room and placed it on the bed along with the little slip of paper that had a Kennedy phone number on it. She then closed her bedroom door. The carpet was so thick that sometimes the phone cord would not go under the door. Trapped between the frame and door it would prevent the door from completely closing. That would be the case on this night and Marilyn either didn’t realize or didn’t care.
She was going to try and call one last time. Maybe fate would finally intervene. But first she wanted to hear Frank sing. Frank seemed so angry when she left Cal-Neva one week before. Would he even speak to her, let alone go through with the movie projects they had planned? It didn’t matter now. She put on some records. Slowly swaying to the music, she slipped off her clothes. She sat on the bed and dialed the Hyannis Port number. She just wanted to talk to Pat, at least one last time. It seemed like an eternity and she lost count of how many times the phone rang but finally someone answered. Momentary elation quickly turned to despair as the person immediately hung up. Marilyn hid her face in her pillow as she began to cry.
The chloral hydrate acted even faster than she had anticipated. She felt she was on the verge of passing out. If the family wouldn’t let her talk to Pat, then she would do the next best thing she could think of. She would say goodbye through Peter. She dialed the Lawford beach house. As the phone rang Marilyn thought of Bobby offering Peter as some kind of consolation prize. Telling her she could continue to see Peter and go to the beach house when Pat wasn’t there. “Jerk!” Marilyn said out loud. Peter answered and seemed relieved to hear from her. He probably thought she had come to her senses and was going to come and do what Bobby had asked. After all Bobby had promised he could make the whole problem go away. All she had to do was give him the photo. But she wanted answers first.
Frank wanted her to destroy it. He had just wanted her to see it as some kind of wake up call. He may have been right, maybe she needed the help only a hospital could provide, but she also needed to know what was going on and why nobody would tell her what was happening.
But now, she was beyond all that. She was not going to capitulate to Bobby’s demands unless he explained to her what was going on. The last times she had talked to Pat, both in person and on the phone, she told Marilyn they would have to do exactly what Bobby said and let him handle it. But when Marilyn refused his demands that afternoon he became angry, just as he had in New York. Did Pat know Bobby would forbid Marilyn to have contact with anyone in the Kennedy family, including her? Did Bobby know how devastating to Marilyn it would be to hear that?
On the phone Peter turned hyper when he couldn’t understand Marilyn and tried to verbally slap her into a response he could understand. When she told him she had taken the last of her Nembutal he made a joke thinking she was just seeking attention or sympathy. Marilyn let him rant. She had called for just one reason, to get a message to Pat. It was the only thing on her mind. So when Peter paused, Marilyn said with as much clarity as she could still muster, “Tell Pat… tell Pat… always.” Peter was almost yelling into the phone, “Marilyn. You’re not making sense. Always what?”
Marilyn flashed back to the last time she saw Pat. They had talked on the phone since but Marilyn preferred to think of their last moment together, face to face, when Pat mouthed the word that meant so much, “Always.”
“Always too,” Marilyn said softly into the phone. Lawford bellowed, “Tell Pat always to what?” Marilyn had grown weary of Peter. She put the phone down on the bed and drifted away… But only for a moment. The squawk of an old crow awakened her. Lawford was still talking. When he stopped for a breath Marilyn let him know the conversation was over by saying, “Say goodbye to Pat… and say goodbye to the Prez…… and Charlie… say goodbye to yourself ’cause you’re a nice guy.” With that she put the phone down beside her on the bed and laid her head on her pillow. She had said the only important thing on her mind, the only thing that really mattered anymore, she had said goodbye to Pat.
Marilyn woke with a gasp. She would frequently wake with a fright, sometimes hours sometimes even just minutes after passing out. She couldn’t judge how long it had been, she was still so very groggy. The light in the room was still on but it was quiet now. Too quiet. She had to have Frank with her, even if only his voice. She pulled her self up and shuffled to the record player. It was just then Mrs. Murray was coming into the house. She had been in the guest cottage putting the dog down for the night when she had received a phone call from Marilyn’s lawyer Milton Rudin. He had inquired as to how Marilyn was doing and Eunice Murray had told him she was fine. He was rather insistent that she check so she was coming into the house to do just that.
When she reached Marilyn’s room she was about to knock, but because of the phone cord, the door was slightly ajar and she could see movement in the room. Plus she heard the sound of the records beginning to play again. Murray turned and went back to the guest house to finish her call with Rudin. Marilyn stood alone, naked in her room, rocking back and forth to the sound of Frank’s voice. When she turned to walk back to her bed she must have turned her head too quickly because she became lightheaded and stumbled backward into the door. The door knob struck her in the side as she tried unsuccessfully to catch her balance by leaning on the door. She crumbled, winching in pain, and tumbled to the floor. Knees bent, with her hips and lower torso against the door, she lay with her chest on the floor, her face buried in the thick carpet. She passed out and as she started to drift away, she began to dream… She is standing with Pat and Frank in his apartment… Peter has just left to find some juice… Witchcraft begins to play…
For more scenarios that may explain Marilyn Monroe’s death better please continue reading Did Pat Newcomb Kill Marilyn Monroe?