Like a Candle in the Wind, Part 2

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Synopsis: "I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it."
Marilyn Monroe

Like a Candle in the Wind
by Laurie S. aka l.satori

Part 2

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

All of our audiences were so enthusiastic! Standing ovations! The crowds demanded encores at each performance! The Marilyn Show's success went above and beyond our expectations.

If there was a downside it was that the crowds paid too much attention to me . . . and not enough to Heather's portrayal of Jane Russell. She did a great job, but I was getting the benefit of Marilyn's vast popularity.

After the third triumphant show of the opening day, we got all of the employees from Robinson's Wax Museum together for a reception at a nearby Chinese Restaurant called the Golden Dragon.

The Golden Dragon was a fairly large restaurant with a few special touches. You entered by crossing a bridge over a goldfish pond. Some coins had been tossed into the shallow decorative pond -- perhaps for good luck? There was also an unusual statue of a golden dragon. From its menacing mouth, the dragon shot water into a catchment tube twenty feet away. Until seeing it, I had thought dragons breathed fire--not water.

Robinson's had reserved a private banquet room on the second floor. From that height, through the glass tower of the stairwell, we had an unobstructed view of Clifton Hill; and we could see the spray above the mighty Falls in the distance.

Mrs. Robinson had said it would be strange if I didn't attend, being the 'star.' She said I had to stay in character so that people wouldn't figure out who I was. At first I thought she wanted me to wear the white dress. Even though it was pretty sexy, it was the least revealing choice of the three. She surprised me with a blue female outfit and accompanying shoes and lingerie she'd bought for me to wear to the celebration. Her confidence in me was amazing and reassuring, and I thanked her profusely.

Opening Day had been a huge hit! We were sold out for all three shows! And, more importantly, we were a critical hit. Word of mouth and favorable publicity would keep us busy for the whole summer. At least, that was what I hoped.

As Pete and I talked about the show, he hung on every word I said. Dressed in the turtleneck and jacket he had worn in the show, Pete clearly intended to impress Marilyn. I had never seen Pete wear a sports jacket. I laughed to myself about his changed attitude toward me, but didn't want to give him too much time to talk to 'Marilyn' because there was a chance he'd recognize me underneath the mask. My plan to avoid detection was to stay as far away from him in rehearsal as possible.

Mrs. Robinson came up to talk to us. She had a message for Pete from his friend Roger Baker, who couldn't make the party. Per our pre-arranged story, Roger had decided to change his job description. He was going to work the night shift as a security guard. He'd receive higher pay, although he'd also work longer hours. Pete seemed surprised, but also appeared to buy the alibi I'd asked Mrs. Robinson to come up with to keep him from wondering why he never saw me, even though he worked at the same place.

Mrs. Robinson had to say hello to a few other employees, so she left me alone with Pete. To deepen my cover, I asked Pete about his interests outside of music. His answers surprised me. I'd known Pete for years and he'd never opened up to me like he did to 'Marilyn.'

A few minutes later, Brad Adams entered the room with Heather Robinson on his arm.

"Do you know that guy who just entered with Heather?" Pete asked. "The one dressed in the beige Polo shirt, brown slacks, and loafers."

"I believe that's Heather's boyfriend," I replied, surprised by Pete's interest. "His name is Brad Adams."

"Really? Her boyfriend?"

"Yes. Why?" The look on Pete's face told me he remembered Brad from the golf course lounge, but I had to play it straight.

"I've seen him before." Pete spoke from behind hooded eyes.

"At the wax museum?"

"No. Somewhere else."

"Marilyn!" Heather cried out as she came toward us.

"Heather!"

We hugged and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. "Fabulous outfit!"

She wore a flowing figure-hugging black velvet dress.

"Thanks. You look great too."

It was the first time I had worn any female clothing outside of the wax museum. The dark blue pinstripe pantsuit Mrs. Robinson had bought for me gave me a professional, business-like air, but at the same time, the tailored jacket also was sexy as hell.

"Pete!"

Heather hugged Pete for what seemed an eternity, or did jealousy make me exaggerate?

"You were great today, Pete. It couldn't have gone any better."

"Thanks Heather," Pete said, as he wrapped his arms around Heather.

"How are you, Brad?" I asked. I stood back from him, offering no hugs.

"Good. And you?" Brad asked.

"Fine."

"Pete," Heather said, "I'd like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Brad Adams. This is Pete Winslow, our one man-band."

Pete's expression was kind of dour. "I believe I know you, Mr. Adams. You belong to the Niagara Country Club, don't you?"

"Yes," Brad said with a puzzled look.

"I've seen you at the Niagara Country Club Inn. I perform there most evenings. In fact, I recall seeing you there recently."

"Really?" There was a look of genuine worry in Brad's expression, as he seemed to place Pete.

Pete spread his feet a bit and stuck his jaw out toward Brad. "But the lady you were with Monday night wasn't Heather Robinson."

"You must be mistaken."

Brad oozed slime as his eyes begged Pete to go no further.

"No. I'm absolutely certain," Pete said with additional anger in his face. "You came up and requested a Barry Manilow song -- 'Mandy.' You said it was your girlfriend's name."

"No, Heather is my girlfriend. Mandy is just a friend."

Heather's face registered a mix of emotions. Would she throw her support behind Brad and stand by her man? Or would she believe Pete?

"Perhaps you are mistaken, Pete?" Heather suggested, but without much enthusiasm.

"No, I'm absolutely certain. This jerk isn't worthy of being your boyfriend. I haven't known you very long, Heather, but I know you deserve better than this pond scum."

Brad blustered, trying desperately to pull himself out of a deep hole. "You freakin' asshole! Who do you think you are? Heather, is all your hired help so rude?"

Heather stepped in between the two. I attempted to hold back Pete from Brad.

"Stop this!" I pleaded with Pete, in my best Marilyn voice.

"I know what I saw!" Pete claimed.

"You don't know squat!" Brad countered.

I pulled Pete away to a neutral corner. Since he thought it was 'Marilyn' tugging on him he didn't fight me as he would have Roger. Heather nudged Brad toward the entranceway.

It took awhile for me to cool Pete down. Actually, I think I realized I had gotten through to him when I looked down at my hands -- our hands clasped together. I quickly removed them. I didn't want Pete to think of me as a possible future girlfriend. Complications like that I didn't need.

After I had persuaded him to chill out, I suggested he talk with Tom and Gord about a small change I wanted in our third number, and then I went to look for Heather. We needed to talk.

I found Brad and Heather at the ground floor entranceway, standing on the bridge over the goldfish pond. It appeared that they were arguing. Her eyes were moist and her mascara had smeared.

I touched her shoulder. "Heather, could I speak to you in private, please?"

She looked like she was about to burst out in a torrent of tears.

"Please, I need to speak with you for a moment," I pleaded.

She nodded. I put my arm around her waist and gently guided her toward the door.

I spoke over my shoulder as we left. "Brad, don't make the situation worse. Please wait here. We'll be back in a minute or two."

Thankfully he said nothing. He had no real reason to be angry with me.

After we stepped through the glass doors at the entranceway, I gave Heather a supportive hug. In a whisper, I said, "I know Pete is telling the truth. I went to watch Pete perform in Niagara-on-the-Lake, and I saw Brad with a redhead at the Lounge. Brad was kissing her." I paused. "Actually, Brad was all over her."

Heather gave me a pained look. "When?" she asked, as she looked back toward Brad.

"On the first day that Pete rehearsed with us. However, I wasn't dressed like this. I was plain old Roger Baker, but I saw Brad with that girl."

"But if you knew Brad was cheating on me, why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't sure it was my place. And, how would you explain how you found out? Roger Baker has never even met Brad Adams." I paused before continuing, not knowing how much I should say about my own feelings. "Besides, you might have thought I was making up a story because I was jealous of Brad. Heather, from the first day we met, I liked you. And I was hoping that someday I'd have a chance with you. . . . That's the truth."

Heather looked like she had been struck by a lightning bolt.

"Oh Roger, I never knew you felt that way."

"Yes."

"Oh my god!"

"Yes. I know it must seem strange, seeing as I look like Marilyn Monroe."

Heather wrapped her arms around me. As she squeezed the air out of me, I felt ecstatic!

Brad Adams burst through the doors.

"What the hell's going on here? Are you two lesbians?"

Heather turned to face him. "We're finished Brad. I don't care what you think! I don't care what you say! You cheated on me! Goodbye! Good riddance!" Heather put her arm around my shoulder. "C'mon Marilyn. Let's get back to the party. And Brad, you aren't invited anymore! I hope I never see you again!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To help prepare for my tribute to Marilyn Monroe, I watched many movie videos. Some Like It Hot, The Seven Year Itch, and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes were all in my collection.

Being a native son of the Falls, I had to buy Niagara! The film Niagara was a rare serious role for her. Shot in June 1952, the movie also starred Joseph Cotton and Jean Peters. Marilyn played the part of Joseph Cotton's unhappily married wife. In order to escape her desperate situation, Marilyn schemed to murder her husband, with the help of a young lover.

The film certainly helped launch Marilyn's career. One scene from the video that I replayed over and over was a famous and memorable 116-foot walk that reportedly was one of the longest solo strolls in cinematic history. Her swivel-hipped alluring gait was permanently etched in my memory, but her provocative wiggle was not easy to emulate. I practiced it over and over again in front of a full-length mirror within the confines of my bedroom.

The biggest difficulty was walking the thin line between a realistic portrayal and parody. The exaggerated sway of the hips was had been done intentionally by Marilyn during that scene. The camera followed her walking toward the American Falls. She knew that by making the stroll sexy and sizzling, she would carry the whole scene.

I was afraid I'd wear a hole in the carpet with my high heels, but I wanted to make it natural, something I could do without thinking. Finally, I took a brief rest, flopped onto my bed, and closed my eyes for a few minutes.

I tried to imagine how my performance would go later in the day. I visualized the opening number, Pete playing There's No Business Like Show Business, Heather and I, attired in dazzling red sequined gowns, entering the stage together as Pete switched to the music for Two Little Girls From Little Rock. From there I went on to visualize Bye Bye Baby.

The ring of the cell phone interrupted my daydream.

"Hello," I said in my own voice.

"Hi, Roger.

"Hey Pete. How's it going?"

"Great! How are you?"

"Pretty good. So, I guess you know The Marilyn Show is big news in Niagara Falls. You must be happy about that."

"The show's been terrific! We've been drawing big audiences."

"I've seen some of the write-ups in the newspapers. They've been really positive. Also, there were a few photos of 'Marilyn' as well. So who is this Marilyn look-alike?"

"Actually, I don't really know much about her, but she really is amazingly realistic. She looks gorgeous and her vocal impressions are incredible. . . . Why, I'd say she is as good a mimic as you, little buddy."

Omigod, he's guessed. "Thanks Pete, but how come you don't know much about her?" I had to move on and hope I was mistaken.

"She and Heather are really close. It's not like they are unfriendly or anything. It's just that we don't have much time between shows and the girls have to mingle with the fans after the shows. And then they retreat to their dressing rooms to recuperate during the short amount of time between shows. We just don't get to spend much time together."

"Well, what do you do between the shows?"

"Not too much. I usually shoot the breeze with Tom and Gord, the guys who handle the technical stuff. Along with Mrs. Robinson, we've been planning improvements to the sets we've been using. The wax museum has a small staff that works on displays or sets for their 'star' wax figures. So far, we've been managing with painted screens that drop down from the top of the stage. They're pretty good because we don't need to move heavy stuff around, but we're always looking for ways to improve the production."

"What about your synthesizer? What about the quality of the sound?"

"A large tent doesn't have the best acoustical properties, but I think the sound is carrying pretty well. It isn't too huge a space to fill with our top notch JBL sound system."

"How about adding additional musicians or dancers?" I had to be careful not to 'know' too much.

"Not yet. I don't know if it makes economic sense. And the summer season is pretty short." Pete paused for a moment. "So, how come I haven't seen you down at the museum? Don't you work there anymore?"

"Actually, I switched to the night watch shift for reasons of a better wage." I knew that I had to come up with a better excuse for not being around. "However, I just got a job in Montreal."

"Montreal?"

"Yeah, I'm working for my Uncle Ned. It's his company and I'm going to be staying there in La Belle Province at his house for the summer."

"So what type of work will you be doing?"

"It's an advertising company. I'll be doing some graphics work and photo layouts for magazine ads." I hoped Pete would believe my fabricated story. "It's the kind of stuff I've been preparing for in one of my courses at Niagara Community College."

"Wow! Sounds great. Montreal is a great party town, especially in the summertime. I'm sure you'll love Montreal. Maybe, if I have time, I'll come visit you. I'd love to check out some of the clubs there."

"Sure Pete. We'll have to see how things work out first, however." Keeping in touch with Pete could present a problem. I couldn't very well give him the phone number of my uncle in Montreal. "I'll call you on my cell or email you once I get settled."

I hated lying to Pete. However, if I didn't come up with some kind of believable story, it'd be like Clark Kent trying to explain to Lois Lane why he was never around at the same time as Superman.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In my heart, I was hoping that Heather would fall madly in love with me, we would get married, and that we would live happily ever after. What can I say? I'm a dreamer.

The Marilyn Show was going even better than I could have hoped. We were sold out for every show. Travel agents were booking bus tours to stop off at the wax museum to take in the concert. We were doing shows at 12:00, 2:00, 4:00 and 7:00. We had busloads of Germans, Brits, Japanese, Italians, Brazilians and so on. We could have added a 9:00 o'clock show, but as it was, the hectic schedule was wearing out all of us.

After the evening show I needed sleep and often couldn't get my eyes shut until well after midnight, if then. Mrs. Robinson said it was because of all the adrenaline in my body. She gave me some of her sleeping pills to help me take the edge off, so sleep would come easier. I didn't want to take them, but did, for the good of the production.

Heather was getting over the loss of Brad. I suspected she missed him in some ways. I surmised from some of Mrs. Robinson's witty remarks that Brad had been quite the sexual athlete in bed. Heather and Mrs. Robinson treated me like one of the girls; I quickly realized that ladies talk about sex as much as the guys do. In fact, they'd go into more detail. They'd even compare bedroom performances. From 5-star rating to a 'dead fish' score.

Heather and Roger -- a budding romance? No.

Heather hadn't worked out all her feelings about me. The vast majority of the time Heather saw me, I was dressed as Marilyn Monroe. Sex symbol. Goddess. Still idolized by millions of people years after her death. As a guy, I was still a nerdy little runt.

In doing my research for the role of Marilyn, I found out that she was not considered beautiful when she was a child. Marilyn said, "No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they are pretty, even if they aren't." Perhaps it led to a lack of confidence. Certainly the lack of confidence applied to me. In my case, I had never been considered handsome as a young boy. And now I was adored as Marilyn and virtually invisible as Roger.

Six days a week, I'd perform with Heather onstage. We were so close. Yet, I never got anywhere with her. Any time I suggested doing something, she came up with an excuse. After the fourth try, I decided to stop asking. I got the message. I was not about to try a fifth time.

I got a little depressed about the whole thing -- performing as Marilyn, keeping my identity a secret, and having no love life while being adored by all sorts of people who had seen the show.

As Marilyn said, "A career is a wonderful thing, but you can't snuggle up to it on a cold night."

She had experienced many bouts of depression. Some of the other quotes attributed to Marilyn on the Internet were quite revealing:

"I was never used to being happy, so that wasn't something I ever took for granted. You see, I was brought up differently from the average American child because the average child is brought up expecting to be happy."

When talking about her mother, Marilyn said: "To me, she was just that red-haired woman."

Marilyn offered a few insights into her struggling years as an actress.

"I think if other girls know how bad I was when I started they'll be encouraged. I finally made up my mind I wanted to be an actress--and I was not going to let my lack of confidence ruin my chances."

"There were dozens of us on the set, bit players, with a gesture to make and a line or two to recite. A few were young and had nice bosoms; but I knew they were different from me. They didn't have my illusions. My illusions didn't have anything to do with being a fine actress. I knew how third-rate I was. I could actually feel my lack of talent, as if it were cheap clothes I was wearing inside. But, my God, how I wanted to learn, to change, to improve. I didn't want anything else. Not men, not money, not love, but the ability to act. I strove to look like Betty Grable, but I thought Alice Faye had more class to her looks."

When Ladies of the Chorus was released, Marilyn said: "I kept driving past the theatre with my name on the marquee. Was I excited? I wished they were using 'Norma Jeane' so that all the kids at the home and schools who never noticed me could see it."

Regarding the casting of the movie Love Happy, Marilyn said: "In Hollywood a girl's virtue is much less important than her hairdo. You're judged by how you look, not by what you are."

Knowing that Marilyn Monroe, the most famous movie actress of all time, suffered wasn't much consolation. It, if anything, deepened my feelings of insecurity and despair. At times I felt like crying, simply thinking about how she must have felt.

Was I becoming manic-depressive? Talk about bipolar bi-personality disorder!

I decided to throw myself into my career, or was it Marilyn's career? If I kept myself busy, I wouldn't have the time to wallow in self-pity.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

In between shows, on the slow days when the sun wasn't shining or the weather was cool, Heather and I would get out onto the street, in costume, to try to drum up business. In some ways, I felt like a sideshow freak at a country fair or the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto. I'd meet with the tourists who clambered up Clifton Hill looking for something interesting or memorable to pass their time in Niagara Falls.

We'd meet people from all over the world: Americans, Germans, French, British, Japanese, Australians, New Zealanders, Chinese, Indians, Egyptians, Moroccans, Brazilians, Russians, Swedes -- you name it, they came from all around. I learned how to say hello and goodbye in probably twenty different languages.

Sometimes I'd guess where they were from just by their lovely accents. It was a little game Heather and I played. After awhile, it was amazing how accurate both of us could be just from brief conversations with them. Of course, their clothing tastes sometimes gave them away and their T-shirts sometimes had writing or illustrations that indicated their origins.

With the Canadians or Americans, it was more a case of guessing their province or state. I felt like Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady. Wouldn't it be 'loverly' if I got 'em all right, guv'nor?

One thing that constantly amazed me was the tourists' misconceptions about Canada. For example, some Americans, more likely from the south, figured that as soon as they crossed the border, they'd be in a land of ice and snow. Where were all the Eskimos, igloos and polar bears? Where were the Mounties in red tunics on horseback? Not one Inuit lived in the local area, no igloos, no bears of any sort in Niagara Falls -- but we did have a few Mounted Police on display just to keep the tourists happy.

The one thing all of these people had in common was their love of Marilyn Monroe. They couldn't get enough of talking to 'her.' I did my level best to stay in character and to use her quotes whenever possible.

I had to get accustomed to the drawing power of beauty. When Heather and I stood in front of the wax museum, we drew a crowd immediately. It was very flattering and a big boost to my ego. I never tired of hearing the compliments. Quite often guys would ask me out to dinner or for a cup of coffee. Some would even proposition me. There were even some girls who asked me out.

It was mind-boggling, but at the same time some of the lines some of the guys used were insulting; and I got sick and tired of blonde jokes. For example, one amateur comedian told me this one:

A trio of gorgeous blonde girls wandering through a desert in Persia came upon a lamp half-buried in the sand. When they rubbed the lamp to brush off the sand, a magic genie appeared.

"Thank you young ladies for freeing me from the lamp. I am a djinn and I have been trapped in the lamp for over two hundred years. As thanks, I will grant you three wishes -- one for each of you. But I warn you, choose your wish carefully."

The first blonde said, "All my life, people have been making fun of me for being dumb. I want to be smarter."

"Your wish is my command."

The first blonde was suddenly enveloped in a puff of smoke. As the smoke cleared, the blonde's hair color had changed. She was now a happy redhead.

Looking at the second blonde, the genie said, "It is your turn."

"Please make me even smarter than her."

A puff of smoke surrounded the second blonde. When the smoke cleared, she was now a smiling brunette.

The djinn turned to the third blonde. "Be careful what you wish for."

"I want to be even smarter than the other two."

There was an explosion of smoke. When the dust cleared, there was an outraged cry. "What have you done?"

"I changed you into a man."

Heather burst out in laughter.

The guy who told me that joke laughed at me, not with me. If he only knew the truth. I smiled at him and from somewhere inside me I found an appropriate Marilyn quote. "I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it."

Heather doubled over in a laughing fit and the man stared at my breasts. I don't know if he'd even heard me.

The work and the interaction with the public was exhausting. I felt like I had to be on full alert every waking moment so as not to do something to embarrass the museum or to besmirch the memory of Marilyn . . . or to totally ruin my chances with Heather.
Doing four shows a day was hard on the whole cast. I thought of something I had seen at Disney World on a family vacation several years before. In many of the buildings, there were animated talking figures. There were times during my performances I wished an animatronic figure could take my place.

One night when I returned home late, before crawling into bed, Mom handed me a letter from Niagara Community College.

Mom placed a glass of chocolate milk and a bran muffin in front of me. The whole summer seemed to be going by at breakneck speed. Sitting at the kitchen table for an evening snack had become a ritual for me -- a moment of respite in a hectic day.

"So what's the news from the College?" Mom asked after I opened up the envelope.

"It's my marks."

"How'd you do?"

"Great! I aced the Media: New Productions course. I got a 95 percent. I did pretty well in all the other courses. The Theory course was low, only 81 percent. My overall average was 88.3 percent." I handed Mom the letter.

"Excellent! All your hard work paid off. How come you did so well in the Media: New Productions course?"

"That was the course where I created the commercials for Niagara Falls."

"Oh right, I remember you worked on a Marilyn Monroe project with Pete."

"It helped me get the job at the wax museum. . . . Say Mom, did you ever see it?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"I'd love to."

"Okay. I'll go get my laptop."

I went upstairs to my bedroom to get the computer, the 'commercial' DVD, and a script among my school stuff.

Back in the kitchen, Mom was putting away her juice glass in the dishwasher. I placed the laptop on the table in front of her seat. I pressed the on switch and inserted the DVD as she sat down.

"The Marilyn Monroe commercial is the first one," I said as I picked up my bran muffin.

Claymation Marilyn burst onto the screen. Mom seemed fascinated as the plasticine figure sang Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend. The dazzling red-sequined evening gown drew attention to the clay figure's movements. The Marilyn Monroe voice over: "Come to my favorite movie location, Niagara Falls -- the city of romance. Come for a weekend of fun, frolic, and frisky business. Fall in love all over again." The next line was in musical form. "I wanna be loved by you alone." It was from a different song but it fit in well with the voice over. There were things I would change after learning much more about Marilyn and improving my impersonation.

"That was great, Roger! I can see why you did so well. You did the voice so pitch perfect. And Pete's music was amazing."

"Thanks. It was a lot of work, but I was really happy with the result."

"To move the clay figures must have taken you forever."

"It did take a long time. In the cinema, films are shown at a speed of twenty-four frames per second. That's the speed I was going for to make the dancing look fluid rather than herky-jerky."

"It looked very professional."

"I also did a Jim Carrey commercial. It was a shortened scene from the film Bruce ALMIGHTY."

"Oh, the one from the Maid of the Mist?"

"You guessed it. The scene where Jim Carrey has a meltdown."

"That was funny. I suppose all the people from the Falls loved that scene."

"And I also did a Letterman's Top Ten Reasons to Visit Niagara Falls."

"Can I see that too?" Mom asked.

"We won't need the computer. I brought along the script," I said as I looked down at the page in front of me. "Here are Letterman's Top Ten Reasons to visit Niagara Falls:

10. Niagara Falls. Slowly I turned. Step by step. Inch by inch. It's Three Stooges heaven.

9. Cross into Canada and you'll be frisked by Mountie Dudley Do-Right.

8. The sound of gushing liquids from the Falls keeps the Incontinent Senior Citizens away.

7. It's the Honeymoon capital of the world -- a tradition started by Jerome Buonaparte, Napoleon's smarter brother.

6. From above, the Horseshoe Falls look like the world's biggest toilet bowl.

5. After visiting the Falls, ladies and metrosexuals can demand the money-back guarantee on their moisture barrier hairspray.

4. Niagara Falls sends the city of Buffalo its electricity. In return, Niagara Falls receives an assurance from Buffalo that its residents will stay in Buffalo.

3. If you hang around the bottom of the Falls long enough, you can get a good deal on a used wine barrel.

2. The glow from former Love Canal residents cast a lovely light around the Falls.

1. Canadians can brag to Americans, 'My falls are bigger than your falls.' "

I pretended to fling a cue card toward the fake windows of the Late Show set, but I couldn't replicate the sound of breaking glass.

"That was good," Mom said, "although I liked the Marilyn Monroe commercial more. You sound more natural doing her songs than you do trying comedy."

I smiled, wondering what she would think if she knew I felt much more natural as Marilyn.

"Have you been feeling okay lately?"

A Marilyn line popped into my head that seemed to fit. "I'm trying to find myself as a person; sometimes that's not easy to do."

Mom reached out and touched my face. "We're all trying to find ourselves. That never stops."

"I'm lucky to have a mother to help me."

"Thank you, Roger. That was a sweet thing to say."

"No really," I almost shouted, "Growing up without a mother would be absolutely horrible."

"Roger," she said quietly, "have you found a girlfriend?"

"It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone." I'd mouthed another Marilyn quote without thinking first thinking it through, but it did fit how I felt.

"Oh Honey, you sounded so sad." Her eyes glistened, and I was sorry to have burdened her with some of my inner feelings.

"Why did you ask?"

"Twice, last week, I thought I smelled a woman's perfume on you when you came home late after work."

"I'm always bumping into tourists," I said. It even sounded lame to me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In between a late afternoon and seven o'clock performance, Pete approached me with an idea regarding the show. He said he had a new song that he was thinking of trying out.

While Pete sat at his keyboards and tinkled the ivories, I leaned over his synthesizer for support. I had been on my feet for three performances already.

"Marilyn, I want your opinion on this. I was wondering how you'd feel if I expanded my role a little."

I fell deep into my Marilyn persona and purred to him, "Will you make my act more naughty?"

Pete stammered, "I…ah…wasn't…"

"Because if you were, I'd like that. I love to do things a censor won't pass."

"Mrs. Robinson would give an okay to what I want to add."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked as I adjusted the folds of my white backless Seven Year Itch dress as I sat down beside him on the piano bench. I now had seven of those white dresses; they were horribly hard to keep clean.

Pete played chords to Elton John's Your Song.

"I've been working on an Elton John impersonation and I wanted to know your opinion on it."

"Okay. That sounds intriguing. Sure, I'd love to hear it."

Pete nodded and played a few more bars before he began singing.

"It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you . . . "

An absolutely dead solid perfect Elton John. I closed my eyes and dreamed that I was sitting beside the real Reginald Kenneth Dwight. Your Song was one of my favorite Elton John tunes; it launched his career in North America.

After Pete concluded the piece, I gave him a hug. "That was great! You sound just like him." Then, I gave Pete a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks Marilyn."

Pete returned the hug and the kiss on the cheek.

Whoops! I shouldn't have started something.

"I'm glad you like it," Pete said with a broad smile. Suddenly I felt a little uncomfortable in my revealing dress. I hoped that Pete's hormones wouldn't get the best of him.

As if reading my mind, Pete removed his arm and began to play the synthesizer again. He played a few chords of Don't Go Breaking My Heart. It was a song that Elton John had performed with Kiki Dee.

But, instead of singing the lyrics, Pete said, "Marilyn, I've always been curious about you. I don't know anything about who you really are. I don't know your name, or even what you really look like. You are a mystery to me."

"Oh, I don't mean to be a mystery. . . . I just want to keep my private life private. I don't want the public invading my personal life."

"Well, what about your co-workers?"

He had a sweet puppy dog look about him.

"I suppose we'll have to get together sometime," I said. "Then, I'll show you another side of me." I was stalling for time. I didn't know what to say next.

"Well, we have a day off on Monday. How'd you like to get together for dinner then?"

I thought quickly about what a real girl would do in my spot. "Sure. It sounds like a good idea," I said with an outward smile while my innards were churning. "I'll look forward to it."

I gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He hugged me warmly and kissed me on the cheek, again.

"Until next Monday then," Pete said, as he closed up his Wurlitzer.

I got up to leave, a little unsteady on my high heels. What the heck was I doing? Was I insane? In an attempt to cover my secret I'd done the one thing I couldn't.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mrs. Robinson took quite an interest in my dilemma.

"So Pete finally got up the nerve to ask you out? I wonder why it took him so long," Mrs. Robinson said as she helped me put on the red sequined gown for the opening number.

"This is crazy. I have to create an alter ego for Marilyn. What am I going to do?" I asked, as I got up from my chair and began pacing around the limited space in my dressing room.

"You've created quite a predicament for yourself. . . . Maybe you should just tell Pete the truth, then you wouldn't have to go through with your date."

"Please, don't call it a date. We're just going to go out for dinner. It wouldn't be a big deal except that I can't go out looking like Marilyn Monroe. I'd attract too much attention."

"Well, we could easily change your hair style and hair color. . . . We could diminish your bra size a little. . . . We could change your eye color. Just nod when you hear an idea you like."

I was kind of lost in thought, looking ahead to the many probable pitfalls of the situation. Like what would happen at the end of the date when he tried to give me a goodnight kiss.

"Oh, sorry. What did you say? Change the hair? That sounds good." Maybe I could just leave town.

"You would be a lot less recognizable. Even the real Marilyn Monroe got a lot more attention in Hollywood when she dyed her naturally dark hair platinum blonde."

"Maybe we could go with red or auburn hair." I couldn't believe I'd said that. The whole situation was spinning out of control.

"In a short style," she suggested, "without the widow's peak hairline?"

"Yes. That would work well," I replied. My mouth continued to work ahead of my brain.

"And green eyes. We could get the cosmetic lenses to replace the blue ones."

"Yes." If I was going to do it, I wanted to have a good disguise. "Red hair and green eyes would help me look different from both Marilyn and Roger."

"How about your body dimensions? Should we downsize your breasts a little bit?"

"I don't know about that. I think that as long as I wear conservative clothes, I can hide my bosom. I don't think I should change too much -- or Pete will figure out that Marilyn's figure can be artificially altered."

"What about your facial features?"

"Could you make me look different without changing the structure of the mask?" All of a sudden it seemed like less of a disaster and more of an adventure -- something I should do.

"Certainly. We could alter the eyebrows to change their shape and thickness. We should get rid of the mole. The lipstick could be toned down. We could eliminate the false eyelashes. With those changes alone, you'll look like a completely different person."

"That would be great!"

"However, even without much make-up, you'll still look fabulous. And that could be dangerous."

I wanted to look beautiful. I enjoyed being a gorgeous girl. Dangerous? Pete isn't dangerous.

"What will you wear?"

"Wear?" I hadn't given it a thought.

"Part of you is still a boy," she said in a teasing way. "A girl would've thought of that first. Let's you and I go shopping tomorrow. You can shop in that suit I bought for you to wear to the first celebration."

There was no turning back now. I was going to dinner with Pete, but who would I be?

I couldn't have him pick me up at my home and I didn't want too many people from the museum to know I was having dinner with him, so I met Pete on Monday at six p.m. at the Skylon Tower Restaurant. It was a site favored by tourists for its magnificent view of the Falls. In years past, the Skylon Tower might have been described as a space needle. Constructed in 1964, it was a forerunner of Toronto's famed CN (Canadian National) Tower.

As I approached the entrance, I could see Pete's tall, lanky figure. He wore a light blue sports jacket and beige pants; very summery and quite out of character for the Pete that Roger knew.

"Hello, Pete."

"Hi!" His eyes traveled over me. I knew how he felt from looking in the mirror after I'd gotten ready. I was still very much Marilyn, but in a more approachable way. Mrs. Robinson had given me a short auburn hairstyle, which she said matched my 'sparkling green eyes.' She said the 'natural' look of 'no' make-up and my figure hugging, jade-colored silk blouse and white skirt with open-toed white high-heels made me look like a young professional.

He picked me up in his arms like I was some long lost friend. After all, I hadn't seen him since yesterday.

"You look terrific!" he said, setting me back down on the ground.

"Well thank you for the compliment." I hadn't realized his strength. He hadn't strained at all lifting me.

"Wow! I hardly recognize you," he said, as he took my hand to line up for the elevator ride to the top.

"It's me," I assured him. Me? What me? Marilyn-me. Roger me? Who me?

It was quite a ride to the top. The 'Yellow Bug' glass-enclosed elevators zipped up the exterior of the free-standing concrete column at a rate of close to ten feet per second. My ears popped several times during the ascent. I wanted to take in the magnificent view, but a person of basketball player proportions stood in my way. Instead I read the placard on the wall.

The Skylon Tower stood 520 feet high. Near the top was a Revolving Dining Room that made one complete revolution per hour. The panoramic view was breathtaking. I quite enjoyed being able to look out over at Goat Island, the grandiose Fallsview Casino, the powerful Horseshoe Falls, the majestic American Falls, the picturesque Rainbow Bridge, the Sheraton Hotel, the Tower of the Niagara Casino, Clifton Hill, and the rooftop tent of Robinson's Wax Museum.

Pete wasn't bothering with the 'panoramic view.' He seemed to be mesmerized by the girl in front of him. "I can't get over how different you look. I mean, on stage you look exactly like Marilyn Monroe. You still are absolutely gorgeous, but you look amazingly different. How do you do it?"

For some reason his compliment made me feel weak. "It's the wig, make-up, and the costuming. On stage, we create an illusion."

"It's a great illusion! I can see that you are the same person, the facial features are the same, but the coloring is so different."

At that moment, the song title Karma Chameleon by Boy George flashed through my mind.

"Mrs. Robinson and Heather are magicians with the make-up. After all, they've been creating wax duplicates of movie stars and singers for a long, long time."

"True, but when you are Marilyn, you really look exactly like her. It's not just a strong resemblance, you are Marilyn's twin."

"Well thank you."

"By the way, I still don't know what to call you."

"Oh, Laura is my name. As in Laura Secord, the War of 1812 heroine."

"You're kidding me."

"Yes, I suppose I am. The last name isn't Secord. I'm not sure where all this Marilyn stuff is headed, so I'd rather keep my last name private."

"Okay Laura, but I'm surprised I never met you before."

"Oh, I grew up in St. Catharines, but I live closer to the Falls now, at least for the summer," I said, as I scrambled to keep the story believable.

For the purposes of our dinner, I had arranged to be a 'lodger' at the Robinson's home in nearby Queenston. Just in case Pete dropped me off at 'home,' I didn't want to be a person of no fixed address.

A waitress came to our table.

"Good evening. My name is Mary and I am your hostess for tonight."

"Hello," I said as I looked up to a pretty brunette with a delightful smile.

"Hi," Pete said. He didn't flirt with her, which was nice.

Mary's uniform was a white lace peasant blouse with a navy blue skirt and a matching vest. I should get a blouse like that.

"We have some excellent entrees from the regular menu," continued our hostess as she handed us the menus. "Le Plat du Jour is whole fresh Atlantic Lobster sautéed with garlic, fresh herbs and fresh Tomato Concasse, served with Linguini Crown."

"I don't think we're ready to order the entrees just yet. Could we please get some drinks first?" Pete asked.

"Certainly. What would you like?"

Pete looked at me.

"Could I have a glass of white wine please?"

"Actually, Laura, would you be willing to share a bottle of Inniskillin Icewine?" Pete asked.

"Oh, I'd love to try that! So many people have told me that it has a sweet delightful taste. But it's a dessert wine. Maybe we could try it after our meal."

Pete nodded in the direction of our young server. "Then a carafe of the house white wine, please . . . and later we'll try the Inniskillin Icewine."

"Very good," the hostess said, as she wrote down our order.

"Thank you," Pete said, as the waitress moved away toward the kitchen located at the center part of the revolving restaurant.

"I've never tried that wine," I said.

"It's terrific. As you know, it's from the Niagara Peninsula. It is a mixture of frozen grapes, nectarine, papaya, litchi, tangerine and orange blossoms. It's very complex."

Pete knows about wines! What next?

We looked over the menus for a moment. The prices were all very expensive. Our dinner would cost Pete a small fortune.

One of the items in the entrée list caught my eye. La Poitrine de Poulet Forestiere Cordon Bleu. En francais, it sounded much better than Boneless and Skinless Chicken Breast with Black Forest Ham and Swiss Cheese and Pink Peppercorn Sauce. Never mind that the price was sky-high. I would also ask for a side salad.

Pete decided on the Roast Prime Rib of Beef with baked potato, but without a salad.

"So, where were we?" Pete asked.

"I think we were talking about where we were from."

"Oh yes. You were saying you grew up in St. Catharines."

"And you?"

"I've lived in Niagara Falls all my life."

"Have you performed in many places before? You seem quite professional for a guy so young."

He twitched a little when I commented on his age. Geez! I had to be careful. He tasted every morsel of every word I said.

"Well thank you for the compliment. I used to have a regular gig at my uncle's establishment in Niagara-on-the-Lake, a lounge at the Niagara Country Club." Pete paused and looked deeply into my eyes, as if he was trying to decode hieroglyphics etched in my irises. Are the eyes really the windows to the soul? Were my eyes a direct access to my Roger soul, or did they go even deeper to that part of me that had become Marilyn? Or had Pete simply noticed I was wearing cosmetic contact lenses? "A person with your show business talent must have performed before somewhere else?"

"Oh, nothing much really. I just got out of High School a year ago, so I don't have that much professional experience. This is my first real job as a performer."

"How did you develop your act?"

"Most of that is due to Mrs. Robinson and Heather. I applied for a summer job. Immediately they noticed a physical resemblance to Marilyn Monroe. At first, they were going to have me dress up as Marilyn and sit at the front ticket booth, but after further thought, they persuaded me to try stretching it out into a full act. Make-up and proper costuming can make such a difference." It was almost the truth.

"But, your voice is eerily similar to the voice of Marilyn Monroe."

I felt I had to cover. "A lot of people can sound like Marilyn. My older sister is really good at it. Even Jane Russell did a good Marilyn imitation in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes."

If Pete only knew the real story. The voice of 'Laura' was much more difficult for me to do. I had struggled to find a voice for her that was unlike my 'Roger' voice, but at the same time similar to Marilyn's.

"I guess you're right. I even know a guy who can do a Marilyn Monroe impression."

"Really?" I had to stifle a laugh.

"Yes. Roger Baker is his name. However, he doesn't dress the part. And he does a whole bunch of different voices; male and female."

For a brief moment, I thought about telling Pete the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Instead I said, "I guess, for some people, the ability to mimic comes naturally. And what about you? How did you create your Elton John imitation?"

"I guess it was quite by accident. When you hear a song on the radio, you sing along with it. You learn the words, the phrasing, the timing, and you try to get the right pitch. I didn't try to sound like Elton John intentionally. One of my friends, actually it was Roger, heard me perform an Elton John song and claimed that I sounded exactly like him. It was no big deal. When I play the piano or synthesizer exactly the same way a pop artist does, nobody considers that to be so unusual. The voice is just another musical instrument."

"I guess imitators are found all over the place, but show business gathers similar talent together." I hoped Pete would stop mentioning or thinking about Roger. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get another tribute artist in our little troupe." In his emails to Roger, Pete had indicated that he was working on developing an Elton John tribute act.

"Heather does a pretty good Jane Russell, doesn't she?"

"She sure does. And Heather has great talent as a dancer. She taught me how to do all the dance routines we do in the show."

Mary returned to take our dinner selections.

Pete ordered our dinner as casually as he would have had we stopped for soup and a sandwich at Tim Hortons. As he did, I looked around at the neighboring tables.

Judging by the accents of the people around us, the Skylon revolving restaurant had a high foreign content.

Much later on, after enjoying excellent food and an absolutely delightful view, we went for a leisurely stroll. From the Skylon Tower, there was a staircase down a rocky limestone ledge to the Niagara Parkway, the road that offered a close-up view of the Falls. Pete was concerned about me managing the stone stairway, so he offered me his arm as we descended the steps. Somehow it felt so comforting to hold onto Pete. My mind played a trick on me as it went back in time to when I was held by my father. . . . only it was when I was a little girl.

In the fading sunlight, by the roaring cascade of the astounding cataract, there was a magnificent luminous rainbow on display. Even though I had seen this kaleidoscope of color many times before in walks along the Niagara Recreation Trail, this time was different. In the open air, my Chanel seemed especially intoxicating. There was something very enticing in the caress of a gentle breeze on the bare legs beneath my skirt.

And . . . there was a seductive joy derived from knowing that my curvaceous 'to die for' body drew admiring glances as I wiggled and jiggled my way along the most popular of scenic lookouts, especially for lovers.

Although the throng of sightseers had diminished from the afternoon peak, there were still many people on the walkway, gazing in wonder at the powerful Falls.

A gentle mist enveloped us as we walked. I snuggled up a little closer to Pete to fend off the dampness.

We stood by the stone wall atop the Niagara Gorge and looked anew at a sight we had seen thousands of times before.

When Pete gathered me in his arms and hugged me, I held him tightly. It seemed so absolutely right. And then Pete kissed me. I wanted to resist, but I wanted more not to.

My magnificent Laura/Marilyn body fit so neatly into the contours of Pete's frame it had to have been made for that. In our brief kiss there had been a connection I hadn't felt before, except with Heather.

Until that moment, I had always considered myself to be heterosexual. I had not anticipated getting carried away by the emotion of the moment. But as Marilyn, I was drawn to Pete and Pete was definitely attracted to me . . . I meant to Marilyn.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Whenever I saw the sign for The Marilyn Show up on the marquee in front of Robinson's Wax Museum, I was filled with pride.

For some reason, the next few days seemed to go extremely well. The weather was great, the Rooftop Theater was filled to capacity for every performance, and audiences were appreciative. As performers, we gave it our all. Things just couldn't have been better.

Pete gave inspired performances. Heather never missed a step and was always in harmony with me. Everything seemed right with the world.

However, later in the week, the weather turned cooler and overcast. That meant the crowds would be down. Niagara Falls was a fair weather town. Tourists wanted pleasant memories of seeing one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World.

Clifton Hill had many attractions all trying to grab the tourists' dollars. Across the street was Ripley's Museum. The Great Canadian Midway had just opened up. Other competition included the FX Thrill Ride Theatre, Ghost Blasters Dark Ride, Falls Tower Ride, Sports Zone Bar and Games, Dinosaur Park Mini Golf, and another wax museum.

Between shows, Heather and I prostituted ourselves. We stood in front of Robinson's and tried to drum up business.

Dressed in the famous white dress, I found that many passersby would stop and try to chat me up. I pretended to be interested in the guys sexually. It came to me so easily. Almost everyone I talked to bought a ticket.

The gals were interested too. They admired my figure and my outfits. There were times when some of the bolder girls touched the fabric of my dress or put their arms around me and hugged me tight when they posed for photos.

I loved it. We are all sexual beings, so I just couldn't help but enjoy the attention, adoration, and maybe even love?

There was a sameness about Clifton Hill from day to day. Yet every day was somehow different. Sure it was a trashy place. The loud music bombarded the crowds of people trying to entice them into various venues. The outdoor advertising pollution and the garbage assaulted the senses. The tourists looked for an instantaneous memory of Niagara that they could tell friends and family when they returned home.

The ebb and flow of the sidewalk traffic also affected my emotions. The affectionate attention lifted my spirit, but tired me out. When my energy sagged, I felt sad and vulnerable.

One of the tourists had the audacity to ask me to pose like I was a prostitute leaning up against a lamppost trying to entice a 'john' in a passing car. Sure, why not?

What a contrast. As Roger, I wasn't lucky in love. Roger couldn't get lucky if he flashed a thousand dollar bill around the biggest whorehouse in Texas.

That's when I noticed the poster on the lamppost. It looked like a Want Ad from a newspaper.

WANTED:

SOMEBODY TO LOVE. Someone who will love me for who I am. A person who is honest and trustworthy. Someone who is a good listener. A person who will respect my views. Someone who loves to have fun and who laughs easily. A person who will not pick at my faults and nag me. Someone who will accept and love me unconditionally.

At the bottom of the poster in a marker scrawl, a passer-by had written:
Look in the mirror. Start by loving yourself.

That was my problem. When I looked in the mirror, I wasn't seeing the real me. It was easy to love Marilyn, but who would love Roger?

CHAPTER TWENTY

While it was nice to get a great response from an audience, I never really felt totally satisfied with my performance. As word spread about the Marilyn Show, I felt greater and greater pressure to keep improving.

On my day off, my parents were going to an Anglican Church function in Toronto. I decided to watch a Marilyn Monroe movie marathon. I was going to look at The Seven Year Itch, How to Marry a Millionaire, and Some Like It Hot. On my bedroom computer, I could watch the films and look for Monroe nuances that I could add to my repertoire.

Truth to tell, I preferred Marilyn in her dumb blonde roles rather than in serious parts in films such as Don't Bother to Knock, Niagara, River of No Return and The Misfits.

Since my parents were going to be gone all day, I had brought my 'Marilyn' paraphernalia home so that I could practice her walk, her mannerisms -- and mostly, try to develop her sex appeal -- her incredible magnetism and charisma. I had found that easier said than done.

After breakfast, my parents left for their meeting. The Anglican Church was facing a crisis. How would the Church deal with gay marriages? Since parliament had legalized gay marriages and chose not to reverse the policy in spite of widespread protest, would Anglican Church ministers perform gay marriage ceremonies? There were many traditionalists within the Church who opposed the decision of the Canadian parliament.

From my bedroom window, I watched as my father's old Ford Taurus pulled out of the driveway. I got out the luggage containing the bodysuit, mask, wig, clothing, shoes, accessories, and make-up that I'd need to do the complete change. I even had my Laura wig and clothing so that I could practice 'her' mannerisms in case I had to go someplace as Laura again.

The dresses, in garment bags, were spread out on my bed. I placed the Marilyn body panels and mask on the dresser. There was room for the wigs and brushes on the desktop. Then I took the make-up case into the adjoining bathroom.

I began the transformation as I usually did at the wax museum dressing room. It went like clockwork. From applying the first body panels to finally donning the gown and high heels, it took slightly more than an hour.

Then I shoved Some Like It Hot into the computer DVD drive.

One scene in particular stood out. Marilyn Monroe made her entrance in the film walking down a railway platform, snuggly attired in sexy 'Jazz Age' threads. A blast from the locomotive's engine drew attention to her incredible hourglass figure.

While Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon stared at her undulating derriere, Lemmon observed, "Look how she moves! It's just like Jell-O on springs. She must have some sort of built-in motor or something. I tell you, it's a whole different sex."

Marilyn knew how to accentuate her feminine attributes. Her skill as a seductress stood in sharp contrast to the attempts of Lemmon and Curtis to emulate sexy women.

During the course of the film, Marilyn wore many flashy outfits. However, from the garment bags, I selected a replica of the low cut silver dress she wore while singing to a nightclub audience. It hugged my body and it was oh so sexy.

Marilyn employed all sorts of little gestures that drove men crazy. Her 'bedroom eyes' was a submissive look that suggested mystery and romance. She'd lower her upper eyelids, raising the eyebrows slightly, increasing the distance between the eye and the eyebrow. It was the kind of look a woman might have just before experiencing orgasm.

Another special Marilyn look was the 'parted lips' gesture. The jaw was relaxed and the lips parted as if she was expecting to be kissed. I'd practiced that so often in the mirror it hurt my face just to think about it.

Marilyn liked to tilt her head back and to one side. Exposing her neck made her look both vulnerable and sexy. Similarly exposing the inside part of the wrist also suggested acceptance and trust. Combined with a submissive shoulder lift gesture, parted lips and bedroom eyes, Marilyn knew how to turn men on.

A very obvious seductive weapon she used was the dumb blonde act. Men love to feel superior to women. Men feel threatened by intelligent women. A dumb blonde appeals to men's egos. The soft, breathy, cooing voice of Monroe was comforting and delightful. I felt humiliated being a man, knowing how stupid we could be, but then I wasn't really a man, I was . . . Marilyn.

As the movie went on, I noticed that Marilyn laughed easily at men's jokes, further stroking their egos. Her effortless laughter was like foreplay.

Any touch initiated by a man was immediately reciprocated. Also, any movement by a guy was met with a synchronous response. It was like watching skilled dancers onscreen. Marilyn would move in rhythm to whatever the man was doing. Sometimes it would be a matter of matching movements, sometimes the posture. At other times, Marilyn knew how to touch objects. She could caress a wine glass lovingly or eat food suggestively.

Marilyn was a master of self-touching too. At a dinner table, she might lean forward with her palms supporting her chin, fingers on her cheeks, framing her face.

She was a great tease. Marilyn knew how to flirt. She knew the art of the compliment. Marilyn was always lively and animated.

More importantly, Marilyn knew what not to do. Looking away from a man's gaze showed a lack of interest. Yawning during conversation was a turn-off. Frowning, sneering, head shaking, sniffing, or crossing her arms sent rejection signals.

After watching the Some Like It Hot all the way through, I went back to the 'like Jell-o on springs' scene and replayed it over and over again. I practiced walking in front of the mirror in my high heels until I had the gait and the hip sway down pat. I was in love with my reflection.

I thought back to the first time Ben Sadler had put the corset and body panels on me. I had come a long way. In fact, because of all the dancing and the use of the corset, my body dimensions had changed. I was thinner than before. I didn't need the Ultrashape technology to melt away love handles. At 118 pounds, I was the same weight as Marilyn Monroe in her prime -- probably thinner than she had been in Some Like It Hot.

Using the remote, I skipped ahead to the scene where the gals arrive at the hotel. It was time for a costume change. What else could I wear? There was a sexy black gown that she wore during one of her singing performances. I slipped off the high heels and started to take off the silver gown.

Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a car door slamming in the driveway.

I rushed over to the window. Through the sheer curtains, I could see my parents walking quickly toward the house.

How could they be home so soon? I looked at the clock radio on the end table. It was only 11:20. What the heck?

I looked around my room as I pulled up the silver gown over my bosom and straightened it. What could I do?

My parents were probably at the front door. I needed to act fast.

Fortunately, the costumes were still in the garment bags. I gathered all the bags in my arms as quickly as I could and stuffed them into the closet.

I could hear them in the kitchen.

"Roger, are you still home?" My mother's voice called to me as she ascended the stairs.

I couldn't hide in my room. There wasn't any lock. "Yes Mom," I called out.

Hell! The wigs. I rushed over to the desk, opened the large drawer, shoved in the blonde and the auburn wigs, and then closed it shut.

Mom was almost at the top of the stairs. I didn't have time to reach the bedroom door, but I dashed toward the bathroom and closed the door just as Mom reached the upstairs hallway and turned toward my room.

"Where are you, Roger?"

I looked down at my feet and realized my high heels were still in the bedroom. I opened the door a crack. They were just a few steps away by the bed.

"I'm in the bathroom."

"Oh, I shoulda known. You probably just got up." Her footsteps stopped and then retreated toward the stairs.

"Right," I called out. "How come you're home? I thought you were going to be in Toronto?"

She stopped again and came back toward my voice. "We were, but one of our parishioners, Mrs. Harper, phoned us. Her husband, Blake, was involved in a serious car accident."

I could see through the crack that my mother was at the bedroom doorway. If she stepped into my room, she'd see the high heels.

From the ground floor, I heard my father's distant voice. "Charlotte!" he shouted.

My mother turned and took a few steps toward the staircase.

"Yes, dear."

"Do you know where the phone list is?"

She was looking downstairs.

Quickly I opened the door, took two steps toward the bed, snatched the shoes away and retreated to the safety of my bathroom.

"I think it's beside the phone in the family room."

"Thanks, dear."

I slumped against the door, my heart pounding.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ten minutes later, I was alone again in the house.

That near disaster had convinced me my personal life was a mess. I was paying a high price for living a fantasy.

Plus . . . I'd actually kissed a man . . . and liked it.

I needed to talk to someone. I found the business card for the psychic.

Dolly Shearer could fit me in within the half hour, due to a cancellation, if I wanted it. I said yes. Next, I phoned a taxi company and arranged to be picked up in fifteen minutes.

As I stood in front of the mirror, I almost decided to phone Dolly back and cancel my appointment. I couldn't transform myself back into Roger that quickly. Soaking in the bathtub to rid myself of the body prosthetics and mask would take too long.

I couldn't go out in the low-cut flashy silver gown. Perhaps I could borrow a kerchief, sunglasses, and overcoat from Mom.

Then I had a better idea. I'd go in my Laura disguise. I donned the short auburn wig, changed the contact lenses to green, and put on the jade-colored silk blouse and white skirt plus the white high heels I had worn for my date with Pete.

What else would I need? I put a change of Roger's clothes into a knapsack: just a T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. I'd go to the wax museum and change in the 'Studio' before returning home.

I barely had enough time to make all the changes before the taxi pulled up in front of the house. Hopefully the neighbors wouldn't guess that the beautiful girl leaving the Baker home was, in fact, Roger Baker. With Mom's sunglasses on, maybe it would help minimize the family resemblance. Oh, what was I thinking?

When I walked into Dolly Shearer's office ten minutes later, I was still in a state of high anxiety. I needed to talk to someone. I needed advice.

As I sat in the waiting room, I wondered how I should introduce myself. After all, I had arranged the appointment for Roger Baker.

"Thank you so much Dolly," an elderly gentlemen said to her as the office door opened.

"You're welcome, John."

"I will call again next month."

When the gentleman turned to leave, he greeted me with a smile and then strode to the door. Was he the same guy that had been here the last time?

Dolly looked at me. "Well, well. What have we here?"

"Hi Dolly," I said in my Laura voice. "I spoke to you over the phone about a half hour ago. My last name is Baker."

She nodded. "You didn't need to tell me that. I had a feeling something like this was going on."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she could make sense out of what was happening.

"Please come in. And how should I address you?"

As I stepped into Dolly's office, she indicated with an arm gesture that I should sit in the rattan chair.

"I am Roger Baker," I said in my own voice. "I spoke to you about a month ago." I took out my driver's license and showed her the photo.

"Yes. I remember you very well."

Dolly had to be much older than the fifty years I had guessed before. She looked very relaxed in her frilly white blouse, dark blue skirt, and leather sandals.

"This is an illusion," I said in my Laura voice.

"I sensed your dual nature in our first meeting. You're not merely a guy who dons girl's clothing. Your disguise is amazing. How do you get those breasts? Even your facial features look quite different."

"It's a mask and the breasts are prosthetics. The skin is all artificial -- the best money can buy."

"You're a performer in show business."

"Yes." She seemed to know everything.

"The last time we met, I talked about your amazing aura."

"Right."

"It's noticeably weaker today."

"No surprise to me. I haven't been getting enough sleep. I've been working too much and . . . I'm emotionally upset."

"You need more rest, although I sense you are going through a crisis at the moment. Is that why you have come today?"

"Yes. My mother and father almost discovered my secret."

"What happened?"

I explained to Dolly all the events of the morning: my parents' trip, the dressing up, watching the movie, practicing my walk, and my parent's early return.

"Even if your parents had discovered your secret, your parents love you. They will accept you and still love you."

"I hope so, but I just don't want to bring embarrassment to my family. His congregation might not understand."

"There are many intolerant people. If your identity becomes public, there will be consequences. That will be the difficult part. Your father, being a minister in the Anglican Church, will face some difficulty."

"But will he still accept me?"

"You mentioned the purpose of the Anglican Church meeting in Toronto was to discuss gay marriages?"

"Yes."

"Had your father attended that meeting, he would have thrown his support behind gay marriages."

"I think you're right."

"Your parents will always love you."

I shrugged because I didn't know what to say.

"The last time I mentioned a spirit hovering around you. She is telling me your future looks bright."

"Really?"

"Your guardian spirit is very strong. She's guiding you. She feels that her life was cut short prematurely. She wishes she could live again through you. However, I must caution you. You are not her. She is not you."

"Has she been influencing me? Dolly, does she have the ability to speak to me?"

"Have you been hearing voices inside you?"

"I think so. In a way, yes. I don't know. It's all so confusing. I'm trying to 'be' her and she seems to be trying to 'be' me. Do you understand?"

"That kind of thing can happen, but only if your spirit is looking for completion."

"My spirit?"

"Yes. Your guardian spirit is envious of your family life. It is much better in comparison to hers. She led a very troubled life. You have caring parents and they're very supportive."

"I do feel fortunate in that regard."

"She's also worried about you. She thinks you're making some of the same mistakes she did."

"I am?"

"There are other spirits around you. There are both male and female spirits who influence us. Most of them have enough wisdom to realize that you do not need much advice or guidance."

I nodded.

"Spirits are not necessarily wiser than you," Dolly continued. "Perhaps it is better to think of them in the following way. They can see our world and the spirit world. They have greater freedom and more awareness than any sentient being. However, even though they have greater knowledge, they cannot predict with certainty how the many different forces at work will play out."

"I guess I can understand that."

"Are you feeling lost?"

"Yes. I'm not sure what to do."

"When looking toward the future, it is not a matter of finding yourself. You are not lost. It is a matter of deciding what you want to be. You are the creator of your future. To a certain extent, there is a destiny. For example, your DNA decides what kind of body you have: your looks, your intelligence, your voice, and personality. But there are many different forks in the road that determine your future. You have free choice. By your decisions you can affect your future. But too often, people only see their trivial problems and lose sight of the bigger picture. Consider the whole of humanity and you are just a drop in the ocean. The world has many problems and many positive opportunities. As Ghandi said, 'Be the change you want to see in the world.' "

"One of my problems is that, dressed as I am, men take an interest in me. It's difficult for me to play the role of a girl and not disappoint people. I can't return their affection. For example, my friend Pete wants to be my boyfriend, but he doesn't know about Laura's big secret."

"Do you like Pete?"

"He's a great guy, but I don't like him in the way he wants me to. . . . I can't."

"That's quite a dilemma. Your friend Pete is enthralled by your female illusion. He suspects Roger is Laura, but doesn't want to believe it. He'd rather believe that Laura is real rather than an illusion."

"He suspects?"

"Many people suspect, but they are convinced it can't be so."

"Good. Also, he doesn't know that a high tech device can create such a perfect disguise."

"Many very wise and knowledgeable people have said 'Life is illusory.' Pete has his own problems, but we are all interconnected."

"The big question is: 'Will Pete still be my friend if he finds out that Laura is really Roger Baker?' "

"I can't tell you the answer. To some extent, it will depend on the circumstances and the way it is told to him."

After leaving Dolly's office, I decided to go for a walk down by the Falls.

The sun was shining and the temperature was just right.

During the course of my walk, I passed by some of the big high-rise hotels. Unfortunately, I thought the tall buildings had kinda spoiled the atmosphere, overshadowing the Falls. I wished that the city planners and politicians had put in a height restriction to limit their size.

The sun had gone behind a cloud. But it couldn't dampen my rising spirit.

As I walked, the smiling faces of many tourists greeted me. Beauty could be both a blessing and a curse.

I had gazed at Niagara Falls thousands of times during my lifetime. Yet, I never tired of it. Niagara was a magical place to me. It was the roar of the incomparable cascade, the fine water droplets suspended in the air enveloping the visitors, and the joy on the faces of the children discovering the Falls for the first time.

As I gazed down through the spray, I saw the tour boat the Maid of the Mist bobbing up and down in the swirling rapids. I thought back to the scene from Bruce ALMIGHTY. But then as the sun came out from behind a cloud, I spotted a beautiful rainbow above the falls. What a wonderful world!

I abandoned my male instincts and allowed Marilyn's hips to swing as she had years ago. Even dressed as Laura, it felt incredibly sexy to move like that.

My body shivered for a moment. It was an odd sensation. I didn't know what caused it. Then I wondered about the spirits Dolly mentioned and I felt much better.

I would listen more intently to those 'voices' now that I knew they were guiding me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Getting enough rest was becoming a real problem. After the last show of the day, I was on an adrenaline high. The thrill of performing interfered with me falling asleep. I kept seeing the faces of Heather, Pete, and the audience. The music played around and round in my head as did all the dance steps, the jokes, and the audience interplay.

Four shows a day was exhausting -- plus, the in between shows work on the street.

When my clock radio came on, it was so tempting to hit the mute button and get ten more minutes of precious rest and continue my pleasant dreams.

"Roger! Roger! Mom yelled, as she shook my arm."

"I'm not Roger," I said. "I'm . . . "

I opened my eyes. Where was I? The ceiling was familiar -- my bedroom.

"Wake up, Roger. You're going to be late for work. How could you sleep right through the music?"

I looked at the clock radio. It was just before eleven. "Thanks, Mom, for waking me up." I'd be late for the noon show. "Do you think I might be able to get a ride from you?" I asked as I rose from the bed.

"Sure, no problem. You're lucky I noticed your bicycle was still here when I came home."

When I jumped from the bed into the shower, I was still groggy, but the invigorating spray brought me to life. After slipping into a T-shirt and shorts, I rushed out the bedroom, down the stairs, and outside to the waiting car.

While my mother drove, I munched on a muffin, thoughtfully supplied by Mom. I washed it down with the orange contents of a juice box.

I still had to change into my Marilyn mask and bodysuit. That would take at least an hour.

Mrs. Robinson didn't scold me when I came in late, but she was one person I never wanted to disappoint. I knew she had a lot of money riding on me.

On the stage monitor in my dressing room, I could see Heather was frantic, but she was also resourceful. She told Pete he'd have to keep the audience entertained with his music and songs.

Also, Heather went on stage and did a little improvisation. In her Jane Russell outfit, she interacted with the audience. Was someone celebrating a birthday? Was anybody celebrating an anniversary? She asked where the people had come from.

Heather then selected two gentlemen from the audience for a bit we had in development that she pressed into service. They were both young good looking guys in their twenties. The volunteers were well dressed -- at least by the standards of summer casual wear.

Offstage, in a small area within the Studio workspace, they were quickly shown a video clip of a scene from Some Like It Hot. Then Heather's mom went through a mini-rehearsal with them using a teleprompter. She played the Marilyn Monroe role. The younger volunteer became 'Josephine' and the other 'Daphne.' The first guy was tall and handsome. He looked like Josh Duhamel on the TV show Vegas, the actor who played Danny. The other college age kid was shorter, but also good-looking. He looked quite enthusiastic, even though both had to wear wigs and dresses.

Heather played our little game of 'Guess where they're from?' with the audience. She was as good as I was at identifying the tourists' origins from their accents and style of dress -- 'a regular Henry Higgins, guv'nor.'

When I was finally ready, Heather and I did our regular opening songs from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

When the volunteers were led onto the stage, Mrs. Robinson gave me a big 'thumbs up' to indicate the rehearsal with the volunteers had gone very well. I disappeared offstage for a quick costume change. Heather, acting as MC, introduced our volunteer actors. They got a nice hand from the crowd. Then Heather gave a brief recap of the film plot for Some Like It Hot.

"Two musicians are witnesses to the St. Valentine's Day Massacre during the late 1920s in Chicago. Fearing for their lives, they decide to get out of town before the mob kills them. However, the band the musicians join on a train bound for Florida, is an all-girl band, so the two men disguise themselves as women. Marilyn Monroe portrays Sugar Cane, the singer."

The stage curtains opened, revealing the painted backdrop of the interior of a train.

Heather continued. "Here, the two musicians, Tony Curtis as Josephine and Jack Lemmon as Daphne, have just been introduced to the beautiful gals in the band. They cannot believe their good fortune."

On the large video screens on either sides of the stage, the scene on the train started up. All of the gals in the band were gorgeous and blonde.

Then, as Josephine and Daphne moved onto the next train car in the video, our volunteers stepped onto the stage wearing wigs, frumpy black dresses, overcoats, and high-heels. They were greeted by howls of laughter. Neither of them moved very well in the unfamiliar footwear, striding forward with all the grace of frat boys dressed for Halloween.

Using a teleprompter at the front of the stage, the volunteers read their lines.

"Look at all that talent. Like fallin' into a tub of butter," Daphne said in a falsetto voice.

"Watch it, Daphne," Josephine replied in a lower tenor.

"When l was a kid, Joe, l used to have a dream l was locked up overnight in a pastry shop. And there was goodies all around. There was jelly rolls, mocha éclairs and Boston cream pie and cherry tarts . . . "

"Listen to me: no butter, no pastry. We're on a diet."

"Oh yeah, sure, Joe." Then the shorter guy playing Daphne, tried to hang his/her coat onto a long cord above a window of the train car. He looked to the stage directions in square brackets on the teleprompter.

"Not there. That's the emergency brake." Josephine grabbed Daphne before she/he could reach the 'hook.'

"Now you've done it. Now you have done it," Daphne said.

"Done what?" Josephine looked at the teleprompter, searching for his/her next line.

"You tore off one of my chests." As Daphne tried to adjust one of the huge falsies, the audience laughed.

" 'Adjust falsies. Oops.' " Josephine said, wrongly reading the square bracketed stage directions. The crowd laughed at the faux pas. "You'd better go get it fixed."

"Well, you'd better come help me."

"This way, Daphne."

They walked toward the men's washroom, stage right. Before Daphne could enter the men's room, Josephine grabbed him/her.

"Now you tore the other one."

Pete played a sexy sax riff on his synthesizer. As Daphne and Josephine slid open the ladies' room door and curtain, they were surprised to find me sitting on a seat by the sink in the large bathroom. I was adjusting my black dress, having just taken a small metal flask from the top elastic of my stocking under my skirt. As I looked up, the two visitors startled me.

"Terribly sorry," Daphne said.

"It's okay. I was scared it was Sweet Sue." I took a quick sip from the metal flask. "You won't tell anybody, will you?"

"Tell what?" Josephine asked.

"If they catch me once more," I said, "they'll kick me out of the band."

Daphne and Josephine shook their heads. They looked so cute in their wigs and dresses.

I asked, "Are you the replacement for the bass and sax?"

"That's us. And I'm Daphne. This is Joe... sephine." Daphne had a short blond wig and Josephine was a brunette.

"Come in. I'm Sugar Cane."

Daphne and Josephine teetered toward me.

"Sugar Cane?" Josephine asked.

"Yeah, I changed it. It used to be Sugar Kowalczyk."

"Polish?" Daphne asked in a strained falsetto.

"Yes. I come from this musical family. My mother's a piano teacher. My father was a conductor."

"Where did he conduct?" Josephine asked.

"On the Baltimore and Ohio." The audience burst out in laughter.

"Oh," Josephine responded, trying to suppress his/her laughter.

"I play the ukulele, and I sing, too."

"Sings too," Daphne repeated.

"Oh, I don't have much of a voice, but this isn't much of a band, either. I'm only with them 'cause I'm running away."

"Running away from what?" Josephine asked.

"Oh, don't get me started on that. Hey, you want some?" I held out the small metal flask. "It's bourbon."

Daphne replied, "I'll take a rain check."

"I don't want you to think I'm a drinker. I can stop anytime I want to," I said, as I took another sip, "only I don't want to. Especially when I'm blue."

"We understand," Josephine said.

"All the girls drink. But I'm the one that gets caught. Story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop." As I leaned against the sink, I tucked the flask beneath the elastic top of my nylon stockings, stood up and turned the back of my legs to Josephine and Daphne. "Are my seams straight?"

Distracted by a close-up view of my legs, Daphne's eyes bugged out. Josephine nudged him/her, causing Daphne to look at the teleprompter. "Uh, I'll say." Daphne's delayed delivery caused some in the audience to snicker.

"See you around, girls."

Josephine said, "Bye, Sugar."

I worked my Jell-O on springs walk as I made my way offstage.

"We have been playing with the wrong bands," Daphne said.

"Down, Daphne."

"See the shape of that liquor cabinet?"

The crowd laughed.

Josephine tried to help adjust the bra strap and false breast Daphne wore beneath her flapper dress.

"Forget it," Josephine said. "One false move and we're off the train. Then it's the police, the papers, and the Mob in Chicago.

"Boy, would I love to borrow a cup of that Sugar." Again the audience laughed.

A look of anger spread across Josephine's face as she/he grabbed Daphne's front. "Look . . . No pastry, no butter -- and no Sugar."

"You tore 'em again," Daphne said as he felt his bosom.

Then I came back on stage and announced to the crowd, "Let's have a really big hand for our volunteers! Weren't they great!"

The jam-packed house erupted in thunderous applause.

We curtseyed. Heather and I extended our arms to Daphne and Josephine. They bowed once more. The enthusiastic crowd kept clapping. There was whistling, hooting and hollering! The boys took the wolf-whistles good-naturedly.

Pete Winslow came in on cue with I Wanna be Loved by You as Daphne and Josephine headed toward the wings to remove their costumes.

"I wanna be loved by you, just you,
And nobody else but you,
I wanna be loved by you, alone!
Poo-poop-bee-doo!

"Wow!" I said to Pete as we met offstage after the show. "That could've been a disaster."

"Why were you late?" He looked concerned, but not accusatory.

"Sometimes in the morning I have a tough time getting going." At times the sleeping pills seemed to work too good.

"I've got a friend who can get you some help for that. I've met a lot of musicians who take a little something to help them when they need energy."

"Do you mean caffeine drinks? I can buy them at the store."

"No, something stronger."

"Ephedrine?"

"Stronger. . . . Look, maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. People can get screwed up messing with pills."

"I'm a big girl, Pete."

I vowed never to be late again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When Mrs. Robinson got a call from the Toronto Times newspaper to do a story on the wax museum, she agreed immediately.

Reporter Steve Chapin, whom I had met at the debut performance, wanted to do a story inspired by the film A Night at the Museum starring Ben Stiller. Steve would wander through the wax museum at night with Marilyn Monroe to accompany him. I was to give him tidbits of information about the wax figures on display.

As preparation, I went through the wax museum with Heather and Mrs. Robinson. They wanted to make sure I was fully prepared to handle any question. I didn't want to appear to be a complete airhead, although I did want to project the famous Marilyn Monroe personality as best I could.

Hopefully, I could keep myself together. After Pete offered me more pills, I started thinking that maybe I'd gotten too dependent already on the sleeping pills I'd been taking, so the last two nights I'd stared at my bedroom ceiling trying to sleep without them. I was pretty jittery having gone nearly three days without sleep.

I missed it. The nicest thing for me is sleep. Then, at least, I can dream.

To cope during the working day, I'd been drinking coffee and Coke. I thought about taking Red Bull, but worried that it might arouse my male libido. My back ached and my feet hurt, but I owed the Robinsons so much for giving me a chance. I couldn't let them down.

After a Sunday night performance, when all the spectators had cleared out, I was to do a midnight tour of the wax museum with Steve. Since Monday was my day off, I'd have a chance to sleep in the next morning so I wouldn't be too stressed by the late night.

I went to the front entrance of the wax museum exactly at midnight.

"I was hoping you'd be here," he said, a look of delight on his bearded face. "I'm Steve Chapin, Toronto Times."

"I am delighted to meet you again, Mr. Chapin," I said, as I extended the back of my hand for him to kiss it.

He responded as elegantly as a middle-aged, slightly over-weight gentleman could. "My pleasure."

As he kissed my hand, his eyes were locked onto mine.

"I'm Marilyn Monroe." I decided that I would play the evening in character. "Welcome to Robinson's Wax Museum."

He couldn't take his eyes off me.

"I like your dress," he said.

He stared at the whisper thin, flesh colored, sequined dress that Marilyn Monroe wore when she sang for President Kennedy. It seemed to have the desired effect.

"Thank you."

"When my editor suggested doing this 'Night at the Wax Museum' story, I jumped at the chance."

"We appreciate all the publicity you can give us." I clasped my hands in his. As shaky as I was, having someone to hold onto might just keep me from falling over.

"I hear you're really packing them in. I hope the Robinsons are paying you enough."

As had become second nature, I answered with a Marilyn quote before I'd thought it through. "I don't want money. I just want to be wonderful."

He laughed in a way that suggested he knew that I'd quoted Marilyn. "But, you're a good actress."

Okay, if he was going to set me up like that, I could play the quote game. "I am trying to prove to myself that I am a person. Then maybe I'll convince myself that I'm an actress."

He really laughed at that one. He obviously was a huge Marilyn fan.

"Marilyn," he said, appearing to relish the opportunity to engage in conversation with a legend, "what would you like to do with your life?"

I wanted to say, "Have a normal life" and was mildly surprised when I heard myself say, "I'm going to be a great movie star someday." I couldn't stop quoting Marilyn.

At the ticket counter, I picked up two flashlights. One I gave to Steve. The other was for me. The Robinsons warned me there were a lot of dark corners that might spook us late at night.

"Well, where would you like to begin?"

"Perhaps we should begin with a little history?" He clicked on a pocket-sized recording device.

Fortunately, I was prepared for this question. "There have been wax museums in the Clifton Hill area since 1949. Louis Tussaud's Waxworks was the first. Robinson's has only been here for about ten years."

"Was Louis Tussaud related to Madame Tussaud, the lady who created wax museums in Europe?"

"Yes, he was her great grandson. I've been to Madame Tussaud's museum in New York. Robinson's is starting to get into her league."

"I'm happy to hear that. Whenever I've dealt with the Robinsons, they've been so sweet and generous."

Other than the sound of our voices and my heels clicking on the tile floor, the museum was eerily silent as we strolled away from the front lobby. Although there was no one else around, the wax museum was fully lit and operational for this special tour.

"How about Clifton Hill itself?" Steve asked as we moved toward the Niagara history section of the museum. "I know it's home to Ripley's Believe It or Not! and the Guinness World Records Museum, but has the street been a tourist destination for a long time?"

"Yes. One of the first United Empire Loyalist settlers acquired a land grant in 1782 and the Clifton Hotel, no longer in existence, was built in 1833. Of course, the natives have been in the area for about 12,000 years. By the way, the Iroquois name for the river was Onguiaahra, the strait, which became shortened to Niagara."

The first display in the history section was a wax figure of Father Louis Hennepin, a French Franciscan missionary, the first European to see the Falls. There were figures of the Iroquois as well as they gazed at the Falls.

"Who is the 'Maiden of the Mist'?" Steve asked, as he focused on the sign in bold letters.

"She is Lela-wala, an Iroquois Princess, daughter of Chief Eagle Eye. The Iroquois believed the sound of the waterfall was the voice of the spirit of the waters. To please the spirits, Princess Lela-wala was sacrificed. She was sent over the Falls in a white canoe. Her distraught father soon followed Lela-wala over the Falls. After their deaths, according to legend, they became the spirits of strength and goodness. Chief Eagle Eye became the ruler of the cataract. Lela-wala is the maiden of the mist." I felt like a real museum docent conducting a tour.

"I hate to say it, but the wax figures here don't look that realistic," Steve said, sounding like the typical cynical reporter. "Chief Eagle Eye here looks as real as a cigar store wooden Indian."

"These figures are among the oldest we have. The newer ones that you'll see later are much more life-like. They'll look as real as me."

Steve laughed. "I doubt it."

"No really. The technology has changed so much. The Roswell Replicator II will produce an exact replica of a person. And the artificial skin, with a little paint or make-up, looks very real."

"How much does it cost to create one of these wax figures?"

"It can cost about $60,000."

"Wow!"

"Yes. The overhead is high." My voice reverberated through the museum, echoing my breathy, squeaky tones.

"Ah, the Great Blondin," Steve said as he gazed at the daredevil who walked a tightrope that stretched 1,100 feet across Niagara Falls.

"Yes. Blondin even carried his manager on his back across the tightrope -- both ways. They say that's the first time in history the manager earned his ten percent."

Steve chuckled. "You've really done your homework."

I almost said I grew up in Niagara Falls, so I should know my local history, but it wasn't the kind of thing Marilyn Monroe would say. I'd just finished a Coke before Steve showed up and already I was beginning to feel tired.

I took Steve past the other historical figures. "Joel Robinson captained the Maid of the Mist II. In 1861, he guided the ferryboat down the white water rapids of the Niagara River from the Clifton Hill location to the town of Queenston, a distance of three miles. The problem was he had to pilot it through the Great Gorge Whirlpool and the dreaded Devil's Hole Rapids. Robinson and his crew of two were fortunate to survive. They earned five hundred dollars for their death-defying journey."

I wondered if Heather and Mrs. Robinson were related to him. "Shaken by his experience, Robinson gave up a career he loved and died two years later."

We passed by the figure of a short lady standing beside a wooden barrel. "Annie Edson Taylor, in 1901, was the first person to ever go over the Horseshoe Falls in a barrel. She did it to become rich and famous, but when she died twenty years later, she was penniless."

Suddenly, a noise came from a display down the hallway to our right.

"Did you hear that?" Steve asked. "It sounds like a girl singing."

I grabbed Steve by the arm, maybe a little too hard. "Perhaps it's just the wind." I didn't really believe it when I said it.

"Let's go have a look." Steve turned on his flashlight, and then led down the dark corridor leading to the Movie Mania section.

I knew whose figure was just ahead, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise.

"Look. It's you, Marilyn." The wax replica wore the famous white dress.

A blast of air caused Marilyn's dress to billow out as the simulated sound of the rumble of a subway train came from the grill beneath Marilyn's feet. Her arms moved to attempt to hold down the fluttering fabric.

Steve laughed. "You knew what was coming, didn't you?"

I nodded. I still hadn't released his arm and decided I needed his full support. "There's a sensor in the floor. We must have tripped it as we approached."

"But you're right. She does look very realistic." Steve looked at me, then at the wax figure. "You're identical twins."

"Right. We're identical in every way -- except I'm smarter."

"There's a blonde joke in there somewhere."

"Why do men love blonde jokes?" I moved my face inches from his, and made those eyes at him that suggested I didn't know anything and he was the smartest man in the world.

"Because we can understand them." Steve gave me that big, bad wolf smile I'd received from so many men since becoming Marilyn.

"Okay, here's one for you." I would show him my playful side. Mrs. Robinson had told me to work him a bit so he'd write a favorable story.

"All right."

"A beautiful blonde is sitting at a bar in Hollywood when another gorgeous blonde sits down beside her. The first blonde asks, 'Can I buy you a drink?'

" 'Certainly,' the second blonde says. 'I never refuse a drink.'

" 'Where are you from?'

" 'Ireland.'

" 'No kidding. I'm from Ireland too.'

" 'What part of Ireland?' the second blonde asks.

" 'Tipperary.'

" 'No kidding. Me too.'

" 'So what brings you here to Hollywood?'

" 'I'm an actress. My career has realty taken off. In fact, I just finished shooting a commercial.'

" 'That's amazing. I just did a commercial too.'

" 'Which one?' the first blonde asks.

" 'I just did a shoot for Wrigley's Doublemint Gum.'

" 'Wow! That's amazing! Me too.'

"A bar patron, who had just sat down, leaned over to the bartender. 'What's going on here?'

" 'Oh, nothing much. The O'Hara twins are drunk again.' "

Steve laughed politely. "That was a long, long way to Tipperary."

"Touché."

"Speaking of long ways to go, Marilyn, didn't you film a movie here in Niagara Falls?"

"Uh huh, it was called Niagara. "

"Time has been kind to you."

"I'm ageless." At that moment, I felt like I really had starred in that 1952 film. Every cell in my body was crying out for rest.

Steve turned away from me for a moment and looked to his right. "You know, I swear I can smell salt."

"Yes. Step this way."

About fifteen feet around a bend, was the Titanic display. Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet stood at the bow of the ship. Jack was holding Rose's arms out as they stood perched over the railing, the wind blowing in their faces.

"I'm king of the world!" Steve yelled.

Not to be outdone, I broke into song. "Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on." I struck my chest with my right hand in Celine Dion style.

Steve Chapin laughed as he shook his head. "You are unbelievable. You even sound like her."

"I couldn't resist the temptation."

"You know, I've interviewed James Cameron. He is a very demanding director. Titanic could have been a colossal failure but he really pulled it all together."

"It was a great film."

We strolled through the rest of the movie section arm in arm. We passed displays for Bruce ALMIGHTY, Gone with the Wind, Wedding Crashers, Million Dollar Baby, Forrest Gump, Chicago, Lord of the Rings, Gladiator, Pirates of the Caribbean, and many more. Steve had anecdotes for most of the films. He really knew his business. I could tell he was impressed by what he saw.

When we got to an elevator, I pressed the up button.

A moment later, the door opened. I must've jumped a foot when I saw The Terminator Arnold Schwarzenegger's half metal/half skin face greet us. Arnold's muscular body, was clad in a black leather jacket and dark T-shirt, and looked menacing.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't know they were going to play that old gag on us." I'd jumped into his arms and it took a second or two to untangle. As strange as it seemed, it was nice to have a man like Steve around to protect me, even though the museum was about as safe as anyplace in the Falls.

"The night watchman, Dave Ross, told me that someone played that trick on him his first shift at the wax museum. I'll bet he did it to us."

Steve tried to peer through the sunglasses that hid the Terminator's eyes. The eyes of all the figures in the Movie Mania section looked so real. They glinted because they were acrylic, with silk threads to simulate the veins.

We entered the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor.

"Did you ever see the old Vincent Price film House of Wax?" I asked.

"Yes, I think I did when I was a kid."

Since he didn't sound too sure I explained the plot. "Vincent Price played a horribly disfigured sculptor who opened up a wax museum in New York. The figures in the museum were victims of his killing spree. Of course, all the bodies were covered in wax."

When the elevator doors opened, we were in the Chamber of Horrors.

"The film was ahead of its time," Steve said. "There's an exhibition traveling the country called Bodies. It's been to the Ontario Science Centre in Toronto. Real corpses were on display -- a case of anatomy meets art. The bodies were preserved with a liquid plastic."

"It sounds gruesome."

"But fascinating."

Straight ahead of us was the wax figure of Vincent Price, Professor Henry Jarrod in the House of Wax.

As we stepped out of the elevator that feeling I had as a small child entering a dark room came over me.

To our left was a guillotine display for the French Revolution. Beautiful Marie Antoinette was about to be beheaded.

We were moving toward the guillotine when Steve yelled, "Get back!" He pulled me close to him as the shiny metal blade swooped down, slicing off the beautiful head of Marie Antoinette.

Blood spattered as the head rolled onto the floor.

"Ahh . . . that's not supposed to happen," I said nervously. "Let's get outta here."

Steve and I turned back the way we came, but the elevator doors had closed behind us.

From the other side of The House of Wax display, two zombies, with ashen, scarred, horribly disfigured faces, emerged.

"Oh shit!" Steve yelled.

"Let's take the stairs." I pulled Steve's arm in the opposite direction. We scurried to the stairwell. My heart pumped a hundred miles a minute.

A shriek of familiar laughter came from behind me.

I turned back to see the two zombies had stopped the chase.

"Wait a second, Mr. Chapin. I think we've been had."

Steve stopped dead in his tracks and he held me tight to his body.

"Is that you Heather? Mrs. Robinson?" I called out.

The two zombies, swathed in rags, reached up to their heads simultaneously. Their horrible latex masks were lifted off and beneath were their beautiful, laughing faces.

"Did we ever scare you!" Heather shouted.

"Did you see her jump?"

"Very funny," I said. "Not!"

"It's what happens normally every day in the Chamber of Horrors," Heather insisted.

I looked toward the blood splattered around the guillotine blade and the head of Marie 'Let them eat cake' Antoinette. "You can't tell me that's normal."

There was a worried look on Mrs. Robinson's face.

Suddenly the guillotine blade lifted back up and flashed downward with lightning speed. The 'thwack' noise as the razor sharp blade struck the wood frame shook me.

The hooded figure of the executioner stepped forward.

I grabbed onto Steve's arm and moaned.

"Got'cha." The night watchman, Dave, lifted his black hood.

Everyone wanted to get into the act.

After sharing a few laughs with our tormentors, Steve and I continued our tour. I think Steve could sense my fatigue. Besides, he had enough material for his story.

On the way out, as Steve and I passed by the display for Lela-wala and Chief Eagle Eye once more, I felt a chill in the air. It sent a shiver down my spine. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been wandering around the wax museum in a nearly- not- there dress for well over an hour. Or maybe the cool night air had penetrated under the front door. Perhaps it was a change in humidity. I could swear the wax figures of Lela-wala and Chief Eagle Eye looked much more realistic than I had remembered. The texture of the skin looked less like wax and much more like real flesh. I had a sudden urge to touch the face of the Maiden of the Mist, but I resisted, just in case her spirit really had come back to life.

"Marilyn," Steve said when we reached the front lobby. "Forgive me, but I've dreamed of kissing Marilyn Monroe for years and I can't leave without asking your permission."

After having him 'protect' me for the last hour and a half, how could I refuse?

I nodded.

He swept me up in his arms and kissed me full on the lips.

I'd thought he'd peck me on the cheek. Although I was totally shocked, I didn't resist. Melting in his arms, I was hot butter to his popcorn.

We held each other for what seemed like a long time.

"Sorry Marilyn, I couldn't resist," he said as we broke apart.

"Don't be silly. I enjoyed it." I had. I really had. A kiss from a man twice my age had not only been pleasant, but had actually excited me.

"So much for reporter objectivity," Steve said, as he opened the exit door.

"I won't hold it against you."

"Goodnight."

"Nighty night."

As I pressed the door closed, I breathed a sigh of relief. I waved my hand in front of my face, trying to cool down. My heart was racing just as fast as it had been when the zombies were chasing us.

A moment or two later, I began the stroll back to my dressing room. As I looked toward the wax figure of Lela-wala again, she had a smile on her face whereas I could swear it had been stoic before. Were her eyes following me?

I hurried back to my dressing room as fast as I could.

I couldn't get out of the wax museum fast enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

On my day off, I liked to sleep in.

It was around the crack of noon when I finally dragged myself out of the bed to go to the washroom. Considering I crawled into bed at about three in the morning, I was happy that I had actually fallen asleep and had had pleasant dreams.

However, the reflection staring back at me from the mirror had bags under its bleary eyes. Also, the whites of the eyes were red -- courtesy of the irritating contact lenses. Overall, the gaunt face showed the strain of the exhausting performance schedule.

It was fortunate the Marilyn mask and make-up would hide all traces of tiredness.

But there was something Roger had to do today. Although I had kept in touch with Pete via email, I hadn't phoned him for awhile.

It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to Pete. I talked to him every day as Marilyn. I just didn't feel comfortable lying to him.

I had to make up stories about my work experiences in Montreal. I had to tell him what it was like living in Uncle Ned's place in suburban Pointe-Claire. Then there were the lies about the new people I had met, the places I had discovered in Montreal, and the social activities I had enjoyed.

As I sat down at my computer, I knew that Montreal was known for its summer festivals. I needed to look up the Montreal Grand Prix and the Juste pour Rire (Just for Laughs) Festival on the Internet. Then, armed with the details, I'd be able to spin a few yarns about imagined friends and lovers on the phone.

Lovers? I didn't want to hear Pete talk about his amazing co-worker who looked like a sex goddess.

Guilt -- what a beautiful thing.

Not!

The next day, the weather turned cool with overcast skies, resulting in a rather small crowd for the first show.

So Heather and I would have to go out onto Clifton Hill.

Before joining Heather outside to promote the show, I swallowed one of Pete's pills with a little Mountain Dew.

Meeting people was both enjoyable and degrading at the same time. On the one hand, people who had seen the show sang their praises. Also, many of the tourists and passersby complimented me on my beauty. On the other hand, it sapped a lot of my energy to talk to so many people. Plus, there were the odd, strange moments when people insulted me or made clumsy passes at me.

I was really, really tired of hearing dumb blonde jokes.

'What do you call a blonde babe with half a brain? Gifted.'

I'd heard that one a hundred times.

Meeting some of the tourists, after they had been walking around for hours on a hot, humid summer day, could be a little unpleasant to the senses. Let's just say some of them could've used some fresh 'arm charms.'

"Hey sexy!"

The loud voice sounded familiar. It was Nate Jackson -- my nemesis from grade school. I tried to smile, but I wasn't going to be heartbroken if I didn't succeed. He had been a terrible bully, who had made life miserable for everyone until several of us figured out how to stand up to him in the seventh grade.

"You're the bomb!" Nate yelled.

Nate wore the City of Niagara Falls green coveralls and work gloves. He held a broom in one hand and an elongated dustpan contraption in the other. A large litterbag was slung over one shoulder.

"Thanks for keeping it clean," I said, trying to stay non-committal. He was the kind of guy who would make a scene if he recognized me, which might not be good for business.

I turned back to face Heather for a moment. She usually had a sixth sense about things. She could tell when I needed to be rescued, even when I didn't say it in words.

"Do you want to head back in?"

"Yes. I need to do a costume change before the next show." I lied.

There was a loud wolf whistle behind me, undoubtedly from Nate.

I couldn't resist turning back briefly to face Nate. "If you want to impress a pretty girl, that's not the way to do it."

Heather put her arm around my waist and ushered me back into the wax museum.

"Lesbians!"

As we entered the lobby of the wax museum, Heather asked, "Who was that?"

"Unfortunately, it's somebody I've known since elementary school -- a bully named Nate Jackson."

"I guess in everyone's life, a little rain must fall."

Would Nate put two and two together? The last time he saw me at the library, I had been holding three Marilyn Monroe books in my hand.

When we got back to the dressing room, I told Heather about my last unpleasant encounter with Nate. Also, I told her a few childhood stories of how Nate had tormented me and others.

"I wasn't the only one Nate bullied. There was a kid in grade seven named Eric. He had an older sister in high school, a real fox, named Diane. She was a cheerleader. One Halloween, Diane persuaded Eric to wear one of her cheerleading outfits. They went door to door trick or treating. Eric looked amazingly good as a girl. I mean twelve-year old guys don't have facial hair or big muscles or low voices. Eric hadn't gone through puberty. When Diane put a wig, make-up, and the cheerleading outfit on 'Erica,' she looked really cute. Eric had the time of his life that Halloween. It was like he was born to the role."

"So where does Nate come in?"

"When Eric showed up for school the next day, someone had a photo of 'Erica' and passed it around. Everybody picked on 'the little girly-man' or 'the cheerleader.' Even Eric's closest friends had a hard time trying to stick up for him. In gym that day, during a ball hockey game, big Nate body-checked 'Erica' up against a wall. 'Erica' lost four teeth from that 'accident.' Nate was reprimanded by the vice-principal and given a two- day suspension. Or as Nate called it, 'a holiday.' Eric ended up with very costly bridgework, pain, suffering, and ridicule."

"I can see why you don't like Nate, but you know, junior high was a mine-field for everyone."

"That's not the worst part."

"It gets worse?"

"Eric lost all of his friends. If anyone hung around with Eric, they were ostracized too."

"No one was brave enough to stick by him?"

"If anyone did, they got called 'Erica's boyfriend,' faggot, gay boy or something worse."

"What a sad situation."

"Even Eric's very popular sister couldn't help him. Eric ended up eating all alone in the cafeteria. He spent the rest of the school year friendless."

Heather looked at me closely for a moment. "Are you sure Eric wasn't an imaginary friend of yours? Was Eric really Roger?"

"No. It's a true story." However, I left out the part about me not sticking by Eric because Nate would've beat the crap out of me.

"You aren't the only boy who gave in to peer pressure at school."

"I know, but I could've done something."

"So what eventually happened to Eric?"

"He transferred to another school. I never saw him again."

"Guys. They can be real assholes," Heather stated matter-of-factly, as she grasped me by the hand to comfort me.

"I hope you don't think all guys are like that."

"There are some nice ones. In fact, appearance to the contrary, I'm looking at a nice guy right now."

"Thank you. You know, the last time I saw Nate he called me a faggot. This time he called me a lesbian. I wish he'd make up his mind."

"Alleged mind."

"I suspect he's a latent blonde." Heather knew how I felt about dumb blonde jokes.

"What goes around comes around -- the law of Karma. I'm sure Nate will get what he deserves someday."

"Perhaps he already has," I said, thinking of his present and likely future job prospects. "After all, somebody has to keep the streets clean. Those irresponsible red-coated Mounted Police, when they make their daily rounds, leave disgusting horse apples behind wherever they go."

Heather smiled. "Horse apples?"

"You know, Dudley Do-Right's horse doodoo." I felt uncomfortable discussing someone else's cycle of cause and effect. I shouldn't have taken a shot at Nate. "Anyway, I'm not entirely convinced that my Karma is good."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's complicated. I've kept my Marilyn identity a secret from my parents. When secrets get exposed, the shit hits the fan. Since my father is a minister in the Anglican Church, I could be a source of embarrassment for him."

"Nobody's going to learn your secret from me."

"Thanks. I knew that from the moment we first met I could trust you. You're just such an open, honest person. I could see that from the way you interacted with your mom."

"You are the same as me in that respect."

"I'm glad you feel that way. But the other person I'm really concerned about is Pete."

"That's a tough one."

"We're such good friends. Yet, I can't tell him that I'm really Roger. I can see that he's really torn apart by the fact I won't date him again, but I don't want to risk losing his friendship."

"I know."

I wanted to tell Heather that I really liked her and I was hoping she'd feel the same way about me, but I couldn't risk having her turn me down again. Instead I said, "Life's much too complicated for me."

"Maybe some day I'll get over my disappointment with Brad."

"Brad doesn't represent the whole male sex."

"No. I know that, but it still hurts a lot. I thought I was going to get married to him."

"Really?"

"Yes. When I fall for a guy, I fall hard."

"At least you've experienced love."

"And heart ache -- it's not something I can recommend."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Between the end of the late afternoon show and the seven o'clock show, we had enough time to take a break for supper.

I always stayed in character between shows and I'd found that going out for dinner attracted a crowd, so I usually ordered a meal from a restaurant that delivered. Fortunately, I liked Chinese or Italian food. At other times, Pete, or Gord, or Tom would pick up orders for Heather, Mrs. Robinson, and me.

Pete had volunteered to pick up the take-out from Swiss Chalet. So I greeted him at the front entrance and caught him by surprise because Heather and I usually waited in the Studio where we would have dinner. Pete appreciated the offer of assistance in carrying six dinners.

As we walked through the wax museum, we passed through the Movie Mania section. Of course, we were both quite familiar with all of the displays. However, when we passed by the old Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis wax figures in front of the Top Gun background, I happened to slip as I stepped on an ice cream bar wrapper. Fortunately Pete caught me before I could fall to the floor.

"Thanks." Luckily neither of us spilled our food.

"Glad to be of help," Pete said.

"I think Tom Cruise is laughing at me," I said as I noted Pete still had me in his grip.

Pete looked at the wax figure for a moment. "Maybe we should be laughing at him or maybe with him."

"Why is that?"

"Don't you remember Tom Cruise trying to sing in Top Gun?"

"Uh huh."

"When Tom tried to pick up Kelly McGillis in the bar, he sang You've Lost That Loving Feeling and all the other pilots in the bar joined in with the chorus, giving a fellow flyer a helping hand."

"Yes, it was a great moment."

Pete looked at me for a moment. Ever since our date, I had been trying to avoid him. He had asked me out again and I sensed he was about to do it again.

"Hey Pete, I've got a musical idea I'd like to run through with you."

"Sure."

"Right after we eat, could I get some help with your musical talent?"

"Certainly."

When we reached the Studio, I went over to the computer and got on the Internet. I keyed in search parameters and when I found the pages I was looking for, I printed out two copies.

Then I persuaded Pete to pick up his chicken dinner and come upstairs with me.

Although I had never intended to hurt Pete, I knew he was unhappy. He wanted Marilyn to be his girlfriend. Pete had revealed that to Roger in his email messages.

When we sat down at the synthesizer under the Big Top Tent, I showed him the music I had downloaded.

"Oh, the lyrics for You've Lost That Loving Feeling. You didn't have to do that. It's one of my favorites."

Roger knew that already, but Marilyn/Laura wouldn't have. "Would you like to do a duet?"

"Sure. It sounds like fun."

Immediately Pete launched into the old Righteous Brother's hit.

"You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.
And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips.
You're trying hard not to show it, (baby).
But baby, baby I know it...

When Pete got to the chorus, I joined in.

"You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling,
You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Now it's gone...gone...gone...wooooooh.

I let Pete sing the next part solo.

"Now there's no welcome look in your eyes
when I reach for you.
And now you're starting to criticize little things I do.
It makes me just feel like crying, baby.
'Cause baby, something in you is dying.

I joined in with the chorus again.

"You lost that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling,
You've lost that lovin' feeling,
Now it's gone...gone...gone...woooooah

"Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you.

Pete, with his eyes and a nod of the head, indicated I should sing the next line.

"If you would only love me like you used to do, yeah.

We sang the rest of it together.

"We had a love...a love...a love you don't find everyday.
So don't...don't...don't...don't let it slip away.

"Baby (baby), baby (baby),
I beg of you please...please,
I need your love (I need your love),
I need your love (I need your love),
So bring it on back (So bring it on back),
Bring it on back (so bring it on back).

"Bring back that lovin' feeling,
Whoa, that lovin' feeling
Bring back that lovin' feeling,
'Cause it's gone...gone...gone,
and I can't go on,
noooo...

We were great as a duet.

I leaned over to Pete and kissed him on the cheek.

I think Pete was disappointed that I didn't kiss him on the lips.

"Pete, I've been looking for a way to tell you my feelings for you."

"I think you just have," he mumbled, his eyes saddened.

"The truth is, I like you very much as a friend and I don't want to ever lose that friendship." I paused for a moment and looked him straight in the eyes. "However, I think I'm in love with somebody else. Unfortunately, that person hasn't returned the love yet, but I'm hopeful a loving relationship will develop."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On the next Monday night, our usual day off, we put on a show at the Niagara Casino, literally a hop skip and a jump from Robinson's Wax Museum. The venue was Marilyn's Room, a restaurant. Incredibly, more than fifty-five years after shooting the film Niagara, Marilyn Monroe was still a big name in the Falls.

Mrs. Robinson thought it would be good for business for us to have more exposure. It was her opinion that people who like tribute shows like to see them multiple times. Moreover, the casino clientele were probably a different market segment than the Clifton Hill mob. As long as Robinson's Wax Museum received a cut of the proceeds, Mrs. Robinson was all for it.

The casino management gave us first-class treatment. They erected a platform as a temporary stage. Their technical staff was very helpful in putting the whole show together. Heather, Pete, Tom, Gord, and I agreed to do this extra show because we felt we were building a fan base, but, more importantly, we realized that the Rooftop Theater was a temporary venue. If we wanted to keep working after the summer season, we'd need to find another home.

Instead of performing in front of seven hundred people under the Big Top, we were in a much more intimate setting. There might have been 250 patrons in the SRO crowd of Marilyn's Room. Well actually, if you counted the people standing, there were probably another fifty people, breaking the fire code regulations. Unlike the sightseeing tourists at the wax museum, these customers were at the casino to gamble. Also, since Marilyn's Room was a restaurant, we had a new challenge to deal with -- the distractions of food and drink while we performed. We were simply an added frill for the gambling and dining experience.

Marilyn's Room overlooked the bustling casino floor below. In a sense, it shared something in common with our usual home, the Rooftop Theater, only this one had windows and an interesting view.

We planned to perform our usual show, except for one big difference. Due to space limitations, we did not have the video screens. To allow Heather and I sufficient time to change costumes, Pete was called upon to 'fill' for us. No problem. Pete 'Wurlitzer' Winslow reached back to the earlier eras of Hollywood musicals. He sang Singing in the Rain, The Sound of Music, and They Call the Wind Maria from the musical Paint Your Wagon to his own accompaniment on the synthesizer. Pete had told me that Mariah Carey was named after that song, even though her name is spelled differently.

Heather was in great form. She really belted out her songs. She could have done the show without microphones her voice carried so well. Feeling right at home in 'my' own room, I gave one of the best performances I've ever given. Perhaps it was because the acoustics were so much better than the voluminous tent. It was, in a sense, like our Opening Day all over again. We were so excited and wanted to impress everyone.

Fortunately, we did! Our show was very well received. We were accorded a rousing standing ovation! In this intimate setting, we just seemed to connect so much better with everyone.

It was a great 'second' opening night!

Afterward, we had an opportunity to mix with the audience. Apparently, only Niagara Casino's regular high rollers had been invited to the show as a 'comp.' If I ever took after the gold digging Lorelei Lee of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, it was my opportunity to strike it rich.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that rich guys had a lot of confidence. Ten guys or so must have hit on me while Heather and I chatted with the patrons.

All that time, I could see Pete standing nearby, doing a slow burn.

Earlier in the week, after we had performed our duet You've Lost That Loving Feeling, I told him that I wouldn't go out on a date with him again. It was a very difficult decision to make, given my feelings for Pete, but his 'love' for Laura/Marilyn was based on an illusion.

I'd told Pete that my heart belonged to another person, and he pressed me for a name, but I would not reveal it to him. I couldn't very well tell Pete that the person I loved was Heather. Consequently, he didn't believe me totally, even though I insisted that my love for another was the truth.

All through the rest of the week, things had been quite cool between Pete and me. In fact, I could feel his resentment. Perhaps he had changed his view of Marilyn/Laura. The admiration was no longer there. He no longer put me on a pedestal to be worshipped.

Not being an expert on breaking up with guys, I made another wrong decision. To make things easier on him, I wanted to make Pete believe that I was not deserving of his love and devotion.

When mingling with our fans after the show, I tried to be overly friendly and flirtatious. To be true to my Marilyn character, I tried to seduce all of the males, especially the handsome ones, and sometimes the married ones. Flirting was an art Marilyn Monroe had mastered, so it was something I tried to emulate.

The gentleman would approach, say hi and then he would compliment me on the show. I'd thank him and smile. Then he would praise me for the quality of the whole production, for getting all the details exactly right. I'd give him an enticing smile and ask him where he was from. He'd tell me he was from someplace like Okefenokee Swamp in Florida. I'd reply with a supportive comment about how he had traveled so far to visit beautiful Niagara Falls.

Next he'd say the magnificence of the Falls paled in comparison to my splendor, loveliness, or dazzling beauty or some such exaggeration. I'd step a little closer, lower my eyes and give him my most seductive smile. In my mind, I'd imagine what it would be like to kiss someone as 'wonderful' as him.

He'd lavish praise on me for looking like an angel or a goddess. Blah, blah, blah. I'd tease him by asking if he had had much success with those pick up lines before. He'd reply with a funny come on. I'd laugh. Then I'd say, "That's much better than the line I'd heard from the previous gentleman. He said, 'Marilyn, you are a goddess. Can I worship at the temple of your body?' "

In my mind, I'd imagine what it would be like to make hot passionate love to him. Then I'd ask how long he was going to be in town and what his plans were. When he'd reply about being flexible for at least the next few days, I'd offer a sexy double entendre about how I appreciated 'being flexible.' I found myself saying things that made me blush.

At that moment, usually Heather would step in and rescue me by introducing the next patron in the line or she'd pull me away and remind me that we had to get ready for the next show. Or at other times I'd hold up my hand and show him a plain gold ring. I'd tell him if I hadn't committed myself to another, I'd have loved to have gotten to know him on a more intimate basis.

I think the key to flirting was to give the impression that the gentleman had a real chance with me.

One very persuasive patron caught my attention. Actually, he wasn't a customer. He was one of the ownership partners of the Niagara Casino, William Longboat.

A member of the casino's technical staff introduced us and Mr. Longboat invited me to his management office for a private conference.

I graciously accepted.

"You were an absolute delight tonight," Mr. Longboat said, as he pulled out a chair for me.

"Why thank you very much for the compliment, Mr. Longboat," I replied, as I sat down in front of a large oak desk. Behind him, through the special one-way floor-to-ceiling mirrored glass, I had a superb view of the flashing lights of the slot machines, the throngs of people around the craps, roulette, poker, and blackjack tables.

"Please call me Bill," he said with a smile, as he circled around to the other side.

Mr. Longboat was a tall, ruggedly handsome man in his mid-forties. He had longish dark hair, high cheekbones, almond shaped brown eyes, crooked front teeth, and a prominent nose that looked like it had been in a fight and lost. He was a nouveau riche North American aboriginal with a delightful smile.

"Bill Longboat, please call me . . . Marilyn." I was flirting again. Would he believe I had asked him to give me a call?

He smiled. "I've seen your show before at Robinson's. When I saw how good it was, I knew I had to book you into our casino in Marilyn's Room."

"Well thank you. It's been a pleasure for us."

"Did you know that was the first time we have booked a cabaret act into what is normally a restaurant for our VIPs?"

"No. Actually I had not set foot in that restaurant until tonight."

"Well, it was meant as a compliment to you."

"On behalf of the whole cast I'd like to thank you for this opportunity."

"You deserved it. You people have put a great deal of care and attention into the whole performance. From the singing, the dancing, the costumes, the make-up, the video sequences under the Big Tent, you've got the whole package."

"We've enjoyed it so much. It's been a real pleasure working there this summer."

"So where have you performed before?"

"This is my first professional job in the entertainment field."

"Really? You're a natural."

"I wouldn't go that far. Everybody with the show has put in a lot of hard work."

A man walked in with a tray of chips and asked for Mr. Longboat to extend credit to a certain gambler. Mr. Longboat immediately signed the chit.

"I am sure you have. . . . Where are you from?"

"I grew up in Niagara Falls. And you?"

"Brantford."

"The home of Wayne Gretzky."

"Yes."

"A couple of local kids who made good."

"Yes," Bill said with a laugh. "He took a gamble and made it big in hockey, while I played 'hooky' and learned how to gamble."

I could tell he had delivered that line many times before, but I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard.

"You know, casinos have been a real Bonanza for the native peoples."

"That's what I've heard." I had learned to be passive and let men lead the conversation.

"It sure beats the old transporting contraband across the border routine we used to do."

I laughed. Bill was very straightforward and honest.

He waited for me to speak, so I offered a 'Timbit' of information. "Well, last summer I worked at Tim Hortons, serving donuts, coffee and sandwiches, so I'm very appreciative of what I'm doing now."

"Is Robinson's Wax Museum paying you well?"

"As the show's success has grown, I've been doing better and better. Heather, our Jane Russell in the show, and Mrs. Robinson have treated me so well. I've been told I'll receive a large bonus at the end of the summer. The Robinsons put so much money into starting up the show: the Rooftop Theater, the stairways, the costumes, the equipment, and advertising. The whole production had enormous start up costs."

"What happens after the end of the summer? Will you be performing somewhere else? Taking your show on the road?"

"I'm not sure. Certainly we can't continue in the Rooftop during the winter. If nothing else works out, I'll go back to school as I had planned to do originally."

"Well then, after the summer season, how would you like to work here for us, at the Niagara Casino? We'd like you to perform here as our regular nightclub act throughout the fall, winter, and spring."

What a surprise! "That sounds great! Absolutely wonderful!" I paused for a moment. "Oh, but I'd better not commit to this until I've talked to Heather, Mrs. Robinson, and Pete."

"Who's Pete?"

"He's the musician."

"He's very talented!"

"Yes. We value him highly."

"Well, I want all of you. The whole cast then."

"It sounds very tempting. As I said, I'll have to talk it over with the others."

"I understand, but if they can't make the commitment, I'd be interested in hiring you by yourself. I think I could build a show around you, or even just having you here at the casino to be our greeter, a hostess, would be tremendous. Also, I'd like to feature you in some commercials to promote the Niagara Casino. You are very photogenic. Sex sells and nobody in the history of planet Earth was sexier than Marilyn Monroe!"

Wow! "The offer is terrific! Overwhelming!" I paused to think. "My gut reaction is to say yes, but as I say, I need to discuss this with the others."

"The others are very talented too, but you are the special one!"

"Why thank you again. . . . Just out of curiosity, did you have all this in mind before I came here to your office?"

"Well the nightclub idea was in place, but a lot depended on this meeting. Often, I go with my gut feeling too. You are even more impressive up close. On stage you project a hot, sizzling sexy personality! I wondered what you would be like at close range on a personal basis. I wondered if the Marilyn Monroe illusion would hold up?"

"And your judgement is . . . ? "

"I think that's obvious." Bill got up out of his chair to move closer to me and then he grasped my hands. "You're certainly the best Marilyn Monroe I have ever seen. I've seen female impersonation acts before, but you're the absolute best!"

"Female impersonation act?" I almost choked. I stood up, angrily shaking his hands away from me.

"Well yes. You are a boy under that wig, make-up, and glamorous gown, aren't you?"

"You think I'm a boy! Why Mr. Longboat, I am shocked!"

He leaned forward and looked me straight in the eyes. "Nevertheless, I'm correct, am I not?"

My whole world was falling apart. How did he know? The Marilyn act had been so successful that I hadn't given any thought to somebody guessing my secret. I decided to bluff it out.

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to prove to you that I am a woman?"

"I believe you're a boy." He appeared to be losing his patience.

"How did you ever reach that conclusion?"

"You have a boy's spirit. Although you have a strong feminine presence, you're a boy in spirit. We have a term 'agokwa' in our culture for a person of two spirits. The French-Canadians used the term 'berdache.' I can sense that duality within you, in spite of your beautiful appearance."

He was a perceptive man. Damn him! "Mr. Longboat, we all have male and female aspects to our personality, but my body is that of a female. As Marilyn said, 'I'm very definitely a woman, and I enjoy it.' "

"You are a boy," he said with finality.

I focused all my loving energy on him and reached up to the shoulder straps of my gown and freed the tethers. Then I pulled the body-hugging evening gown out and over my breasts. The gown slid easily past my waist. I did a little shimmy as I pushed it over my hips and it dropped to the floor.

He hadn't moved, nor had he blinked since I'd slipped the straps off my shoulders.

Next, I reached up to the body stocking and pulled it down over my bare bosom. I spread my hands over my waist and then slowly, sensuously slid the nylon over my wide hips. With a slow bump and grind wiggle, I slipped out of the body stocking.

I stood completely 'naked' before Bill in all my glory. My legs were spread shoulder width apart. I shook my breasts and fanny to show him that it was all real!

"I can't believe it," was all he could mutter.

THE END OF PART 2 OF A THREE PART STORY

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Comments

Candle in the wind

WOW!

What can I say? I would never have done what Maralyn did. That was gutsy.

All I have to say is well done. Looking forward to your next installment.

Hugs
Joni W

A Great Story of Finding One's Self

...continues as Roger falls evermore into being Marilyn. I love this in depth adapting that Roger is doing and is interesting to explore. The idea od realizing what you are maybe is not what YOU ARE supposed to be. Sometimes one has to find who they are. This story fits that niche perfectly!

Laurie, This story is fabulous and I have been enjoying myself the entire way through it :) You have done a outstanding job and I wanted to just thank you for this experience you are letting me live within your words.

*hugs*

Sephrena Lynn Miller

Oh what a tangled web we weave...

Hope Eternal Reigns's picture

Hey Laurie,

Great story. Well written and filled with conflict.

Thanks.

with love,

Hope

with love,

Hope

Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.

Just outstanding

This is such an absorbing story. I was on the edge of my chair when she started the sleeping pills starting down the same path so many other talented people had found nothing but pain. I so want a happy ending but I fear tragedy is more likely. Wonderful writing!
Hugs!
grover

wonderful!

Hi, this is the first of your stories that I've read, but it certainly won't be the last. I was completely captivated and I read this and the previous part through in one sitting.

I can't wait to see how the duality is settled eventually.. though given what site this is, I imagine it'll pan out the way I hope :)

The sections that detail Marilyn's history and some of her scenes were a bit too disconnected, but that's mostly because I'm not a particular fan of Marilyn Monroe. Of course, that I still loved your story so much despite that is a testimant to how well done the story is! I'd like to see more emphasis on Roger's private life, but I'm sure that'll emerge more with time.

Anxiously awaiting the next segment! Thanks again.

~ev

Roger

Laurie,

The one thing I have been thinking about in your story, Roger was trying to tell Pete nicely that he is not the girl Pete thinks he is, and does it by flirting with other men. Which is the wrong way to do things. Which means when Pete finds out who Maralynn really is, he is really going to be pissed, or relieved, but I see that Roger is playing with fire.

If Roger doesn't back off, the fuel in the fire will end up consuming him. He doesn't really know how to control this fire he has started. This could lead to rape and other serious things.

Working for the casino will also cause different problems, for most mangers at consino's are ruthless, and will use pretty girls to perform sexual favors and acts to entice big spenders. This Indian boss, Sees Roger/Maryilyn for who he is, and now we see Roger denying his male sex by showing he is female? Is this because he fears being outed, or that he is so immersed in the Marilyn roll, even he is forgetting what sex he is. I am not talking gender, but the true birth sex?

I am truely waiting to see your final installment. I do hope there is a happy ending coming, but I fear that the ending may be much like Marilyn's ending, tragic.

When one play's with fire, be prepared to get burned.

This is a fabulous tale and I am looking forward to more.

Hugs
Joni W

Love the story, however I

Love the story, however I don't really feel or believe that the real Marilyn would have stripped to prove she was a female. I know I certainly would not do so, ESPECIALLY in front of a strange man; who knows what would happen then? That is sooooooo tacky and besides what business is it of the Casino partner what she is or is not. J-Lynn

This part has left me swinging

There have been a number of complete reversals in his character, and also in his maturity levels.

eg. at home hiding in the bathroom so Mum doesn't catch him!
in the casino, dropping his gear and exposing himself in front of the casino manager!

from young boy to experienced actor, dancer, singer, in a few short weeks is not entirely believable?

Still, it's a good read but part 1 beat it by far.

LoL
Rita

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

And so...

erin's picture

And so Miss Baker sows the seeds of her own destruction. She's burning her candle at both ends, will it last the night?

So good.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.