Side Affairs
August 3rd, 1962
I tapped along to the beat of the wind knocking on the window as I stared at the portrait of George Washington in the empty oval office. It seemed as if it was the only song in existence at the moment. But it was not.
Two knocks at the door and the door opens with a slow creak.
“Mr. President, Ms. Monroe is here to see you.”
I nodded slowly as a bead of sweat drips down from my cranium and drops onto my grey double-breasted suit. The door opened and revealed a woman on the other side. She was wearing a red dress that barely covered her knees. This wasn’t really a problem considering she had amazing legs. Suddenly realising that I was staring, I quickly looked back at the portrait.
“Hello, Mr. Kennedy,” she said with a small smirk on her face. She had on her signature cherry lipstick.
“Marilyn.”
She quickly locked the door behind her and jumped onto the sofa I was contemplating on. Her leg was suddenly on me and she leaned back to rest her head on the right arm of the monochromatic couch. She reached for the wooden box on the glass table which I had my leg on and took a look.
“Only cubans, no cigarettes? Where’s the hospitality, John?” Marilyn remarked while she pulled out a pack of Marlboro Red from her brown Louis Vuitton bag. She smelled amazing. Honestly, everything about her was mesmerising and she’d like to keep it that way.
“We can’t do this anymore Marilyn. It’s gotten way out of hand, I have people I have to think of. My wife, Caroline, Junior, Patrick, Ara; I can’t do this to them anymore. A lot of people depend on me,” I pleaded. At that point, I had pushed myself towards the opposite end of the couch to avoid any physical contact with her.
I waited for a reply for what seemed about the span of an eternity. I have not been looking forward to this day at all but it was inevitable. It was something I had to do, I was responsible for many people and it was time for me to stop screwing around.
I looked at her. She sat at the edge of her seat, hands on her knees, smiling faintly at the glass bowl underneath the portrait of George Washington.
This went on for about a minute before she got up, slid down her dress to the right proportions and left. But before she left, she looked at me straight in the eye while she thanked me for the congeniality.
This left me in a state of confusion. Just the way she looked at me, it was very — it was spine-chilling, eerie, sinister, you name it. I can’t describe it, it was just bizarre. But it was just something to dwell on for a moment, then I forgot about it.
**
August 3rd, 1962
How dare he. I thought I finally had something worth clutching on to. Son of a bitch.
I stood on the curb under the patio at the back entrance of the White House. The white Buick limo pulled up and I got in the back. Grabbed the Chardonnay out of the cooler/glove box and fancied myself a sip. By a sip, I mean I chugged the thing.
“Ms. Monroe, you alright?”
The stupid chauffeur needs to mind his own damn business and drive the car.
Took around half an hour for the car to get back to the Crowne hotel and I stumbled out of the car. Two people came to help me but who needs help when you’re freaking Marilyn Monroe. God.
I’m still stumbling, but this time into the hotel lobby towards the elevators. Pressed 14 and up we go. Tearing up so I slapped myself, this man was not worth crying for.
1412, I’m here. I grabbed my bag and fumbled around for the room key. Opened the door after finding it and slowly fell on the red couch beside the hotel window.
Stupid couch.
Definitely not going to let this one go.
**
August 7th, 1962
I was standing on the grass with Robert early in the morning. I was woken up by my wife who thought I had a press conference at eight o’clock today. Fortunately, I did not.
Cigarette loosely placed in his mouth, Robert mumbled, “That Monroe, brother. You still going on with that? You got Jacqueline. I mean I’d be happy with just her.”
“No Robbie. I know what you mean. I should be happy. I am happy. Yeah, I ended things with her just the other day, it was crazy. Well, it wasn’t really crazy, it was just… quiet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, never mind. This is not the time to be thinking about women Robert. Cubans are of utmost importance right now and I’m not talking about cigars.”
Missiles have just been found in Cuban grounds and there was reason to believe that these belonged to the Soviets. I had enough problems with these Russians to care about my side affairs right now. Clint my bodyguard walked in.
“Sir, we have some news that you might want to hear.”
I followed Clint, not knowing the news that would ultimately change the lives of millions of people including me.
**
August 7th, 1962
Hands cupped on my knees, I was in a daze. I didn’t know how to feel. I just saw her three days ago. It can’t be my fault, it was mutual. She knew what she was going into. She knew I had my own family and that it couldn’t be serious.
“I have no idea how you must be feeling brother. But we have more important issues to worry about,” Robert consoled me by patting me on the back.
“Yeah. Right. I can’t believe she’s dead Robert. Dead. She’s gone. I just saw her the other day, I feel responsible.”
“It’s going to be fine John, she knew what the situation was. It was Marilyn’s choice to get involved, you can’t do anything about that.”
“I know. I know. But I can’t help but wonder.”
“Come on, John. We have a press conference to go to.”
I gathered my composure and calmly walked across the courtyard towards the 1961 Lincoln Continental. I loved the Continental. I had three different versions of this car in the White House with multiple replicas of each one. Using the convertible for special occasions, today I got into the saloon version of the Lincoln on the right side of the car.
The press-conference was on the “Operation Ranch Hand”. In summation, it’s just an initiative towards defoliation in South Vietnam to deprive the Viet Cong of food and vegetation. This could’ve been a huge step towards the end of this war as well as gaining the trust of the American people to re-elect me as the next presidency. As important as this press-conference was, the only thing on my mind was Marilyn and her lifeless body in her room.
Alone.
**
November 22nd, 1963
These Texans are a whole different country inside a country. Constant bickering and issues coming out of this state and I have to take care of it. The liberals and conservatives need to take care of their own problems without my duty of babysitting. Traveling through downtown Dallas sitting on the right side of the convertible Continental, I had a smile on my face for the cameras. Jacqueline was right beside me in her pink outfit looking beautiful as usual.
“Honey, you look wonderful today,” I noted while simultaneously smiling, wondering how lucky I got with this woman. Her white satin gloves on those beautiful delicate hands were placed on her lap. She was such a lady.
I turned towards the civilians to fulfil my duty as an American icon basically. I don’t like no sugar-coating so let’s just say I was a celebrity. People were waving and shouting my name. Some even had signs with my name on it or just signs from my election with ‘Kennedy for President’ on them.
But there was this one woman. She had a headscarf on which weirdly resembled babushkas that elderly Russian woman would usually wear. A black camera was in her hand and she continually brought it up to her face to take pictures of the people, the officials and mostly, me.
This was just normal behaviour for someone in the crowd. They would take pictures and just kind of stand around.
Yet this woman was different. She looked awfully familiar.
“John, it’s a beautiful day isn’t it,” Jackie said satisfyingly as she grabbed my left hand. Her gloves were extremely soft; to the point where I had to question it’s existence on her hand every time I looked away.
Bang.
A sharp pain struck the right side of my face.
I saw everyone on the side of the car duck onto the ground. Everything was moving in slow motion. Suddenly, my head was on Jackie’s shoulder and I reached up towards my head to see what had just happened.
Blood everywhere; it was on my hands, my grey suit.
My eyes were darting all around the place. Then I finally looked back to the place my eyes were staring at before.
What I saw was a woman. The woman. With a camera glued on her face as she scrambled through the chaos and panic that ensued around her, she remained standing. She stood there as everyone hastened to reach for cover and get down on the ground. She stood there on the grass, camera in hand, with a headscarf draped across her head.
My vision started to fade and everything started to go to black. I could barely hold on as I saw the woman slowly lower her camera to reveal traces of her golden hair and distinct lipstick. Red, hot red, like cherries on top of an ice-cream sundae.
Her revealing her profile made me see the beautiful woman underneath with a small smirk on her face. This was certainly not a stranger, this was someone in my life that I thought I’d never see again.
Marilyn.
A wink was the last thing I saw on her face. A wink was the last thing I saw.
