One final cut and the editing would be finished! I pressed down on the stop button one last time at precisely the right instant. Finally! Done like dinner! I could exhale. The sixty-second commercial was complete. As I replayed the musical message one more time in the computer's DVD drive, I felt some satisfaction. My creative blend of famous voices and songs was sure to get me a good mark in my New Media: Production course.

The instructor had asked for a series of commercials to promote tourism in Niagara Falls. I think I had delivered -- with the help of my good friend Pete Winslow, a musical genius, who had provided me a great arrangement of one of Marilyn Monroe's most famous songs -- Diamonds (are a Girl's Best Friend).

A quick glance at my watch told me I had just enough time to make my noon appointment. I quickly popped out the disc from the Pioneer DVD 'burner,' gathered up my belongings, and headed out of the Niagara Community College Media Center.

Over to the bicycle rack by the rear door of the main building, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, and then I quickly unlocked the chain on my old Supercycle mountain bike. As I hopped on the saddle, I used my free hand to strap on my helmet and I was off.

After dodging a few vans in the parking lot, I headed down the Niagara Parkway. I was thankful that I wore a windbreaker as I rode into a strong headwind coming from the Niagara Gorge on a cool, overcast April day. Although the traffic was slow, I flew by the cars and sightseeing buses as I headed toward the town center. Nearing the Rainbow Bridge, I could feel the spray from the Falls on my face and in my hair.

At Clifton Hill, I turned up the street. As I passed the Haunted House of Horrors, an arcade, and some fast food restaurants, I thought about my impending interview in Clifton Hill -- the junkiest, ugliest, tourist trap in Niagara Falls. 'The Hill' or 'the Hole,' as some of the natives called it, was the armpit of the scenic seventh wonder of the natural world, but that was where I hoped to find a summer job. Tourism was the number one employer in town. Dollars took precedence over beauty, especially when the Canuck buck was strong against the American dollar.

I hopped off my bike and leaned it up against one of the bicycle hitching stands. After I took off my helmet and secured the lock, I finger-combed my flattened helmet hair, using the reflection from a storefront window to check my appearance. As I approached Robinson's Wax Museum, I glanced at my counterfeit Cartier watch. It was 11:58 as I walked up to the entranceway of the museum. I wasn't really sure I wanted the guide/security guard position, but I didn't want to be late and create a bad first impression. On either side of the double doors were posters of famous people who were honored inside.

A pretty girl at the ticket wicket told me to go on through to an office on the right. A few strides down a wide corridor led me to the reception area of the office.

I knocked on the open door. "Are you Mrs. Robinson?" I asked in a cheerful voice.

"Yes," she replied, as she extended her hand. "And you must be Roger Baker."

"That's right. I am here to apply for the job." She had a firm, warm handshake and a kind face. Somehow I'd expected her to be tough looking, like a carnival barker, given her place in the tourist industry.

"Please have a seat over here," she said, as she indicated a padded chair in front of her desk.

Mrs. Robinson appeared to be in her mid-forties. She had mid-length brunette hair, a friendly smile, and must have been a knockout when she was younger. She still had a great figure that looked nice in her white blouse and dark blue leather pants. She was a petite woman, just a little shorter than my 5' 6".

Mrs. Robinson retrieved my application from her desktop. Quickly she scanned the details on the form.

"I see that you worked at a fast food restaurant last year."

"Yes. I really enjoyed my job at Tim Hortons. I learned how to make a variety of sandwiches, operate a cash register, and how to serve the customers."

"Well, that experience should be helpful in this job because you will be meeting tourists all the time."

"I'd like to get into a job where I interact with the public. I'm a student at Niagara Community College right now. Eventually, I'd like to get into either radio or television."

"In what capacity?" She seemed to be actually interested in me. My boss at Tim Hortons hardly knew my name. He'd called us by the job we did. The fellow who washed the floors was called 'Bucket.' He called me 'Donut' and not because I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

"I'd either like to become a DJ or radio announcer. Failing that, I'd like to become a radio producer." I didn't tell her that I really wanted to be in television, but I didn't think I was good looking enough to be in television. I always felt that being vertically challenged, having a slim, unimposing build, and lacking matinee idol looks would hold me back. I'd even dreamed of being an actor or singer before reality set in. As for radio, none of the stations I applied to had even given me an interview. All I got were emails thanking me for submitting the job applications.

"You have a flair for show business, eh?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I was working on a television commercial just before I came here." I read some disbelief in Mrs. Robinson's expression. "Oh, it's not a real television commercial. It's for an assignment in my media course at the Community College, but I think it sounds really professional. The video aspect is, at least, original. In fact, I've got it right here in my backpack."

"That sounds interesting," Mrs. Robinson said, seemingly intrigued. Maybe she thought there was a possibility I might have some useful talents. "Could I please watch it?"

My interest in working in her museum had increased. "Certainly." Looking over at her office computer, I asked, "Is the DVD drive on that Dell in working order?"

"Yes."

I fished the commercial out of my green canvas pack. "Here." I passed the DVD to Mrs. Robinson.

She pushed off with her foot, using the rollers of her chair to slide a few feet over to the computer terminal.

The screen saver disappeared as Mrs. Robinson clicked open the disk drive and inserted the commercial. A few moments later, the computer reacted to the inserted DVD and came to life.

On the screen, a detailed modeling clay figure of Marilyn Monroe launched into a song and dance routine. Mrs. Robinson smiled as she watched 'Claymation Marilyn' perform Diamond's are a Girl's Best Friend. She strutted, she kicked, she pirouetted, she sang, and she moved her arms up and down and all around.

"This is really quite good," Mrs. Robinson said with a smile of approval. "How did you do the claymation figure?"

"I started with a wire skeleton, a doll figure, some plaster of Paris, and made a mould of the doll. Then, I fashioned the plasticine around the wire to make the body, legs, head, hands, and feet. The mould really helped to refine the features, especially the face. Although it took awhile, I was able to create a pretty good likeness. Actually, there were two almost identical figures, with slight differences in the face. One had the mouth closed. The other showed the teeth because I needed to show her singing."

"Very good! It's just like what we do here at the wax museum, although not as detailed."

"Also, I created a background poster. Using a digital camera mounted on a tripod, I took two photos of the American Falls from the Maid of the Mist dock. Then I took a series of action photographs of Claymation Marilyn. I alternated the dolls so that I could simulate the mouth opening and closing for her singing. Similarly I switched the background poster of the Falls so that it might look like the water was actually falling."

"That must have taken a long time."

"It did, but I enjoyed doing it. I tried to copy Marilyn Monroe's song and dance from the movie 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.' I had to move the arms and legs precisely to replicate a whole minute of the song and dance routine."

"Where did you get the music?"

"Actually, we weren't allowed to use any previously made recordings for this assignment. So, I had my good friend, Pete, create a karaoke version of 'Diamonds' on his synthesizer. I provided the macho announcer's voice and I also sang the song."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You mean to say that was you singing?"

"Yes . . . I can do a variety of vocal impersonations; both girls and guys. You know -- Jack Nicholson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jim Carrey, David Letterman, Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Britney Spears. . . ." It embarrassed me that I actually could do girls' voices better than the guys', although I didn't offer that opinion.

"But that sounded exactly like the real Marilyn Monroe."

"A kiss on the lips can be quite continental, But diamonds are a girl's best friend," I sang in a breathy, velvety Marilyn Monroe imitation. "A kiss may be grand, but it won't pay the rental -- on your humble flat, or help you at the automat."

Mrs. Robinson smiled with delight. "Impressive, but why Marilyn?"

"There haven't been too many 'Hollywood' films shot at Niagara Falls -- and only one entitled Niagara. Besides, I'm into old films. One of my high school teachers told me you needed to have a sense of the past and an eye for the future to live properly in the present."

She nodded and I continued.

"It didn't take me long to find Marilyn Monroe on the Internet or at the video stores. She was the biggest sex symbol in history."

"Do you admire her?"

"She had such an interesting life. I've memorized some of her quotes. She said, 'There was my name up in lights. I said, 'God somebody's made a mistake.' But there it was, in lights. And as I sat there and said, 'Remember, you're not a star.' Yet there it was up in lights.' "

"Wow," Mrs. Robinson said, "you sound just like her."

I shook myself. Sometimes when I thought too hard about a person's feelings while I tried to impersonate them, I actually felt their joy, or in Marilyn's case her sadness. I had empathy for her sadness. I wanted to be an entertainer, but my parents thought I should do something much less 'frivolous.'

Someone knocked on the open door of the office. I turned to see a tall, stunningly beautiful young lady, who was about my age, smiling, as she came in, and then looked my way.

"Sorry to interrupt Mom, but what's going on here? When I passed by your office a moment ago, I thought I heard Marilyn Monroe singing and just now I thought I heard her talking."

"You did, dear. . . . Well, that wasn't really Marilyn. It was the talented young man sitting right here."

A look of surprise graced the girl's gorgeous face.

"Heather, I'd like you to meet Roger Baker. Roger is here to apply for a summer job."

As I stood up, beautiful Heather smiled at me and held out her hand.

"Glad to meet you," she said. An unmistakable spark of electricity passed between us as we touched.

"My pleasure. . . ." I struggled to find more to say. All thoughts about the importance of the interview had become secondary to learning about HER.

I took a moment to carefully take her in. Heather was tall, lithe, and athletic looking. She wore a dark-red halter-top and tight fitting Calvin Klein jeans. She kind of resembled a brunette version of a young Daryl Hannah, without the Kill Bill eye-patch. Her beauty mesmerized me. Was it possible there'd been an extra friendly squeeze in her handshake?

"Oh, before I forget, Mom, the sales guy from Roswell Replicators is here."

"Darn it. He's late. He was supposed to be here an hour ago."

"He said he got tied up at Customs when he was coming across the Peace Bridge."

Mrs. Robinson headed toward the doorway. "Pardon me young fellow. I need to talk to this salesman. . . . Heather, could you show our new employee, Mr. Baker, around the premises, please?"

Did I hear that right? Had she said 'our new employee'?

"Yes, you have the job," Mrs. Robinson said with a broad smile. She must have read my mind.

"Great!" My face ached from my ear-to-ear grin. After talking to Mrs. Robsinson and especially after meeting Heather, landing the job carried huge significance. "When do you want me to start?"

"As soon as possible."

"Hmmm. . . . The final exams for my college courses end this coming week. Could I start next Saturday?"

"That would be fine."

Mrs. Robinson had left to find the salesman but Heather stood in for her and gave me a firm but gentle handshake to seal our agreement.

"Well then, shall we go for a little tour of the museum?" Heather asked.

"Cool."

Mrs. Robinson ducked her head back in the door. "Before you go, Heather, what's the name of the salesman again?"

"Here's his business card, Mom."

Mrs. Robinson glanced at the name. "Ben Sadler."

"Yes. You met him two weeks ago. Only this time, there isn't a big team of salespeople with him. I think he's the technical expert -- he's a sales engineer."

"Okay, thanks. Now, you show young, talented Roger Baker around."

Heather grabbed me by the hand and led me down the dark corridor into the depths of the wax museum -- it wasn't a tour of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood.

CHAPTER TWO

I hadn't been in the wax museum since I was about eleven years old, so I wondered if I would form a different opinion of it now. Back then I had thought it was a dull, lifeless place. Sure there were famous people on display, but some of the faces didn't look real. I might as well have been looking at mannequins in the Hudson's Bay department store.

Touring the museum with Heather was bound to put it in a more positive perspective. The first section we wandered through was Movie Mania and the first wax figure to greet us was . . . Marilyn Monroe. Her lifelike statue wore a revealing white dress from the film The Seven Year Itch. She had worn it in that famous scene where she stood over a subway vent. The moving trains below caused an updraft that lifted her dress high above her legs, revealing her underwear. The 'Marilyn' wax figure actually moved in response to the updraft, trying to hold the billowing skirt down. At first I thought it might be a real girl, but when the wind suddenly stopped, the wax figure froze. It was an enchanting surprise, but at the same time, it was kind of spooky to have a visit from the ghost of Hollywood past.

"You've made a few changes. I don't remember 'Marilyn' moving the last time I was here," I said to Heather, who looked good even in comparison to a woman named the 'Sexiest Woman of the Century.'

"When was the last time you were in here?"

My silence shamed me.

"We try to keep it fresh," she said, absolving me with a smile. "We're always adding stars. Over the last few years we added Angelina Jolie, Sandra Oh, Brad Pitt, Jude Law, Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp, Jim Carrey and music personalities like Jennifer Lopez, Shania Twain, Justin Timberlake, Beyonce, Gwen Stefani, Britney Spears and Avril Lavigne. Also, whenever something happens locally, we try to make an exhibit for it. When director James Cameron was in Niagara Falls, we introduced Leonardo Di Caprio and Kate Winslet to the public."

"That happened around the time I last visited the wax museum." I had driven my bike past Cameron's boyhood home nearly every day on my way to high school.

And there it was, just a few steps past the New York street scene of The Seven Year Itch. Leonardo had stood at the bow of the Titanic and proclaimed himself King of the World. Then he helped 'Rose' (Kate Winslet) stand up on the wire rigging and spread her wings. In the background was a beautiful orange sunset above the breakers of the Atlantic Ocean. The display had it all. In fact, you could hear the waves and smell the salt of the sea air. Again, I was blown away. Definitely not dull and lifeless.

Heather beamed, showing her pride in her museum.

As we moved on, a few Japanese tourists posed for a photo in front of the Titanic display.

"Did you get to meet James Cameron?" I asked Heather.

"Uh huh. That was quite an afternoon. We had all sorts of press, radio, and television coverage. After all, he's probably the best-known celebrity from Niagara Falls -- an Academy Award winner for directing Titanic."

"I loved that film. There was such attention to detail."

"I agree. Attention to detail is important. Actually, it's the key to success of our wax museum. We have to make the wax figures exactly right or the illusion falls apart. People are willing to suspend their disbelief to the point of an ocean liner existing in a museum, but there's a point where they will no longer enjoy the experience. Unfortunately for us, they are more demanding every year."

I nodded. I'd read in my media books that everyone in communication was feeling the need to get better.

"I guess the museum got a lot of publicity from James Cameron's visit." I could hardly believe that someone as pretty as Heather was spending so much time with me.

"Yes, but I kinda wish we could get Celine Dion to visit too."

"I'd come to see her. I've never seen her in concert."

She pointed toward the next figure. "Another recent addition to our Music section is Avril Lavigne. Of course, she's really popular among our Canadian visitors. Also, we have others in our Canadian wing: Mike Myers, Pamela Anderson, Gordon Lightfoot, Kiefer Sutherland, William Shatner, Keanu Reeves, Matt Perry, and Eric McCormick."

Perhaps it was the lighting, but the Avril figure seemed to have a glow about her. My eyes became fixated on the dazzling pop music star. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but the Avril wax figure looked like she was alive, and ready to come over and shake hands with me. Or spit on me if she thought I was paparazzi.

"Somehow these wax figures seem to be much more realistic than I remember from my last visit," I observed.

"There's a reason. The technology has changed; and we can now produce much more exact replicas."

I looked into the deep pools of Heather's eyes. She was more beautiful than any of the stars on display. I was really looking forward to working with her. . . . Does she have a boyfriend?

"What kinds of technological changes?" I asked as I averted my eyes from my stare at her, which was getting impolite.

"We used to use nothing but wax, but now we make use of a thin layer of latex painted on the wax base to replicate the texture and color of skin. At our peak usage of wax as our sculpting media, we must have had the equivalent of 6000 twelve-inch candles contained within our three hundred or so wax figures."

"You must have worn out a lot of bees."

"I never thought of that . . . honey." We laughed.

"But speaking of changes, the salesman my mother went to meet is delivering a new machine that we will be using to make even more lifelike replicas."

"I thought the wax figures were created by hand?"

"Computer aided design has arrived in architecture, engineering, animation, and any artistic field you can mention. It can save a lot of time and money."

"Well, I think the Marilyn, Shania, Leonardo, and Kate figures look amazingly real."

"The 'state of the art' technology is the reason. Also, it saves us incredible amounts of time and money. You know how much time it used to take to make a new figure from scratch?"

"Haven't a clue."

"Six months. Even when I was small I loved to watch the craftsmen work. We used to make a clay sculpture from as many as two hundred photographs of a famous celebrity. That was the first step. Then we'd make plaster moulds from the sculpture and pour beeswax into the moulds. This would create a facemask. The bodies were fairly easy to do. We'd use fiberglass for the body with a thin layer of beeswax on the exterior. You can't use wax for the whole body because the weight of the wax would cause the torso to fall apart. In fact, we'd mix a little bit of rubber into the beeswax to make the 'skin' more durable. Next, we'd have to match the color of the hair and eyes. The hair always took a long time. All the strands at the hairline were put in by hand. For the teeth, if possible, we'd get dental casts to be absolutely accurate. Then, an artist would use oil paint to get the texture and skin tones precisely right."

"It sounds like a painstaking procedure."

"It certainly was. I made a pest out of myself until my mom taught me the basics of each phase . . . but there was one more critical step involved. We had to get the right costumes. Sometimes, with the co-operation of the celebrities and studios, we would obtain the outfits they'd actually worn in their films. Otherwise, we would make the wardrobes ourselves. Besides being time-consuming, the creation of the wax figure cost about $60,000 Canadian to do the complete, whole process."

"I never realized there was so much involved."

"Well, that was the old way. We have a new way of doing things now . . . I'll show you. C'mon. Let's go see Mom and that salesman from Roswell Replicators."

Heather led me toward the back of the museum. "We invested heavily in high tech a few years ago to keep pace with our new competition," Heather said on the way.

"You mean 'The Hall of Fame' up the street?"

"Yes. When they opened up, they took a big chunk out of our revenues and profits disappeared. There was a great deal of curiosity to see the new kid on the block. Tour buses that had directed tourists to us were getting kickbacks to steer them to 'The Hall of Shame.' "

In a corridor that led to an emergency exit, there was a heavy security door with a red sign that said, 'Private.' The green metal door was equipped with a number combination pad. Heather punched in four digits. The door buzzed while we heard the sounds of a locking mechanism releasing. Heather indicated that I should push on the metal bar that would open the hatchway.

Behind the green door was a large workspace that was used to make and maintain the wax figures. In the center of a high and spacious studio stood Mrs. Robinson and a gentleman in a white lab coat, who was working on a machine that looked like a prop from a science fiction film.

They both greeted us with sociable smiles.

"Hi Mom, I thought I'd show Roger our workspace."

"Glad you could join us," Mrs. Robinson said. Then, with a gesture of her arm, she introduced me. "Roger, this is Ben Sadler. He's the sales engineer from Roswell Replicators. Ben, this our newest employee, Roger Baker."

We shook hands.

Ben was a bald, bespectacled man in his late forties, with a strong grip. In appearance, he reminded me of my high school physics teacher, Mr. Johnston, whom we had dubbed the 'Mad Chemist' because of his volatile lab demonstrations.

"I've been showing Roger around the museum," Heather explained to Ben.

"I've been quite impressed by the life-like figures." I added, "They look so real."

"Well, that might be because of machines like this one." Mrs. Robinson pointed to the large chrome dome apparatus in front of us.

Ben touched the machine with obvious pride. "This is the Roswell Replicator II, our newest model can do much more than the original version."

"Such as what?" Heather asked, although I was sure she already knew and was asking only for my benefit.

"Well, so far, you have used the original version to make wax figures for your displays. The type II program can go a step further. We have a new compound that replicates human skin. It feels like real skin, it breathes like real skin, it is flexible, and can be used as a mask on live actors."

"You mean we could put a mask on a person and that person could pretend to be a celebrity?" Heather asked.

"That's right," Ben said. "In Hollywood films like Charlie's Angels, Austin Powers, or various Mission Impossibles, masks have been used to create alternate personas for the films' stars. Similarly, we could put you in a mask and you could walk around the museum looking like Bruce Willis, Jim Carrey, Charlize Theron, or Britney Spears."

"That opens up a lot of possibilities," Mrs. Robinson added. "A few of our wax figures move now, like Marilyn Monroe, but this could be much more interactive."

"Yes, instead of having the visitors pose for photos beside a wax figure, they could talk to the 'stars,' " Heather said. "Maybe the pop music stars could even perform songs."

"Kind of like a Legends in Concert show, " Mrs. Robinson suggested.

"Yes, there are many possibilities," Ben said. "The Roswell Replicator II can give you all this and more."

"More?" Heather asked.

"Yes, the facemask is only the start. We have special figure shapers and adhesives that can help alter your actor's body dimensions to make them even more convincing. Plus, on our Digital Video Discs, we have complete body dimension information, photographs, film clips, and biographical backgrounds to help you transform a normal person into a 'star.' "

"Can we afford it?" Heather asked.

Given what she had said earlier about the museum's finances, her question seemed right on target.

"As I see it," Mrs. Robinson said, "it's an investment we have to make."

"It will help your bottom line," Ben said with enthusiasm. "As I told you, I'm trying to convince the guys in the ivory tower to sink more money into my division. This new machine is a prototype; and unless I can demonstrate real world practical applications -- it could be the last of its kind."

"What about the voice?" Heather asked.

"Unfortunately, we don't have a voice changing device . . . but you can lip sync if you are going to put on an impersonation type show."

"Actually, we have a person on our staff who can do vocal imitations," Mrs. Robinson said cheerfully.

First Mrs. Robinson, and then Heather, and lastly Ben turned toward me.

"Yes, I suppose I can do imitations, but I don't look like anyone famous."

"The Roswell Replicator II can change you into any star," Ben said. "However, it works best with somebody who has the physical dimensions of the original star -- someone who is about the right height and thinner than the real celebrity."

"Why thinner?" Heather asked.

"It's much easier to add padding than it is to compress somebody's body shape."

"How about Marilyn Monroe?" Mrs. Robinson asked.

"Could you change Roger into Marilyn Monroe?"

What? Me looking like Marilyn Monroe?

"Yeah! That's a great idea, Mom!"

Great Idea? I couldn't even look at Heather. Did I strike her as that much of a wimp?

"Perhaps," Ben said, with a look of surprise in his expression. "How tall are you?"

"I'm 5 feet 6 inches," I replied without much enthusiasm.

"How much do you weigh?"

"Exactly 123 pounds on my bathroom scale this morning." At 123 pounds I was one of the smallest male students in my college.

Ben went over to the Roswell Replicator II. He moved the mouse and keyed in some information.

"It says here that Marilyn Monroe was 5 feet 5 1/2 inches in height. However, you're a little heavier than she was. She weighed 118 pounds and her vital statistics were 37-23-36 . . . Do you know your measurements?"

"I have a 26-inch waist. Yes, I know I'm skinny. I'm not sure about the chest but I take a size 36 suitcoat and my pant size is 30-32. My inseam is more like 31 inches, but cotton pants shrink when they're washed. Usually I have to buy pants with a 30-inch waist. I need the width for my hips. I find it really difficult to get clothes small enough around the waist to fit me in the Men's department. And I hate shopping in the Boy's section."

"I think we have a pretty good match here!" Mrs. Robinson chimed in. "A corset or a little bit of dieting and exercise will get that waist down to the right size in no time."

"Wait a minute! You can't be seriously considering turning me into Marilyn Monroe?" I checked Heather's reaction out of the corner of my eye. Being sized up as a grade A candidate to pass for a woman like Marilyn Monroe wasn't the kind of thing that would impress a girl like her . . . or was it? Heather's face was lit up with energy.

"Why not?" Mrs. Robinson asked, also looking quite excited. "You have the right physical dimensions. We know you can do the voice. And you're searching for a way into show business."

"Yeah, but if you haven't noticed, I'm a guy."

"We know that," Heather said kindly. "You’re a very good-looking guy. But look, if I tried to look like Marilyn Monroe, I'd be too tall and too heavy. Also, more importantly, I don't sound like her. So you are the logical choice. It's Kismet. The day you walk into our place, Roswell Replicators arrives with a new machine . . . and a new star is 'reborn'!"

Heather had said I'm good-looking.

"We can pay 'Marilyn Monroe' a lot more money than Roger Baker," Mrs. Robinson said wryly. "You could become our star attraction!"

From what Heather had said about the museum's need for profit, I could be a hero in her eyes.

"Would I really look like Marilyn Monroe?" I asked Ben.

"The Roswell Replicator II will make you an exact duplicate of the original. Marilyn Monroe's former husband, 'Jolting' Joe DiMaggio, if he were alive, couldn't tell you from the real thing."

The 'jolt' would be on him. No, I had to tell them before things got out of hand. "I won't do it."

"Why?" Heather said with more disappointment than I'd expected.

"It would be too embarrassing," I said, surprised they didn't see the obvious.

"If impersonating Marilyn is embarrassing for you," Mrs. Robinson asked, "why did you make the commercial for your class with you singing 'Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend' in perfect Marilyn voice?"

I blushed at the compliment before responding. "That was different."

"Different how?" she demanded in a friendly, yet persistent way.

"No one would see me singing like Marilyn. Without anyone seeing me, I wouldn't be humiliated."

Mrs. Robinson smiled broadly. "Then there's no reason for you not to impersonate her. No one would see 'you.' "

"That's right," Heather said. "Unless you chose to tell everyone, no one would ever know it was you under the costume. It would be just like Halloween and you'd never take off your mask."

I was trapped. Either I went along or run the risk of Heather thinking I lacked courage. "Okay, okay, but assuming this works and I play the role of Marilyn for the summer, I don't want anyone to know that 'Marilyn' is really me, Roger Baker. I don't want anyone, outside of this room to know our secret. Okay?"

"Do you want that in writing?" Mrs. Robinson asked, seemingly ready to agree.

"No, not really. But, if the secret comes out, I think it could ruin my life, so please don't tell anyone."

Ben raised his hand in an oath. "I wouldn't tell anyone. I need this to work to save my division. I wouldn't do anything to upset the apple cart."

"We won't tell anyone," Heather said with sincerity. "You could become our star attraction. It would be in our best interests to keep you happy."

"Well, what do you say?" Mrs. Robinson asked.

"C'mon, seize the day."

I couldn't pass up the opportunity for my Robin Williams impression. He was the teacher John Keating in Dead Poets Society. "They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you." I thought about the irony. "Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary."

Heather, Ben, and Mrs. Robinson applauded me.

"That was wonderful," Heather said. "Robin Williams, right here in our museum."

"All right. Let's give it a shot," I said. The whole idea was absolutely insane! But so was I. There was zero chance that it would work, but I would look good in Heather's eyes for giving it a try.

CHAPTER THREE

The Robinsons didn't let any grass grow under their feet. Within five minutes they had me ready to try a transformation. Thankfully they agreed to give Ben and me some privacy.

After I stepped into the black rubber interior of the Roswell Replicator II chamber, the floor started to move on a turntable beneath the chrome dome. A red laser beam, mounted on a movable measuring standard, scanned me slowly from head to toe, combing over every nook and cranny of my naked body, creating a complete 3D record of my whole system from stem to stern.

When I stepped out of the chamber onto the worn plank board floor of the studio, Ben gave me a white terrycloth bathrobe to cover myself. Then I followed Ben over to the front of the high tech apparatus and looked over at the computer screen to see what had happened. There, on the display, was a 3D diagram of my body side-by-side with the 3D representation of Marilyn Monroe's form. Ben moved the mouse and left clicked the control. The Marilyn image was superimposed on top of mine on the display. Then, Ben compensated for the slight height discrepancy by punching in a vertical exaggeration factor of 1.015. This increased Marilyn's height a half-inch to bring her up to my height while expanding her horizontal dimensions by the same miniscule factor.

But Ben wasn't completely happy with the result. "You know, the half-inch difference in height is due to your legs. They are one-half inch longer than Marilyn's are. Let's try keeping the torso dimensions the same. The extra half-inch difference in leg length may be helpful because we have to hide your male genitalia and give you some female 'plumbing.' "

I nodded in dubious agreement.

"Also, see here," Ben said, as he pointed to my midsection on the panel. "You’re wider than Marilyn at the waist. We have to compress your stomach a little bit --- just give me a moment. I need to get a few things out of my box of supplies in the truck."

Ben's little walkabout left me all alone for a moment. Where were the Robinsons? I'd expected them back sooner.

While Ben was gone, I looked carefully at the representations of my body and Marilyn's. My chest was less prominent than Miss Monroe's was. Also, my genitalia stuck out like a sore thumb. My shoulders were slightly wider than hers, but, for the most part, our profiles matched. And my skinny legs were the same length, but needed a little padding. Overall, the resemblance was uncanny.

Facially, I would have to rely on the mask to alter any dissimilarity. Our foreheads were very comparable. Her cheekbones were higher than mine, but the good news was that my nose and jaw line were not so large that they would ruin the illusion. Thank goodness I had had my wisdom teeth out a few months earlier. My front teeth looked, as far as I could tell, very much like Marilyn's winsome smile.

'You'll do just perfect, Sugar,' I said/thought to myself. The tone of my voice and the choice of vocabulary surprised me. It was as if someone else had said it through me, but I did see a possibility for this to work if Ben's machine was as good as advertised.

I had to do something about my eyes. I'd need to get cosmetic contact lenses to turn my brown eyes blue-grey like Marilyn's.

When Ben returned, he handed me a cardboard box containing a number of different items. "I needed to get you a corset type of undergarment. And I thought you might want to look at the artificial skin material and the adhesive we'll be using."

"Yes. I'd like to see what the mask material looks like." I moved in close for a careful examination of what he'd brought.

"Well then, let's start with the 'skin.' It consists of two very complex layers. The bottom layer consists of interwoven collagen, derived from cattle, and, in layman's terms, a sticky sugar molecule that imitates the fibrous pattern of the dermis. The surface layer is made of flexible silicon. With the proper pigmentation, it can be matched to either Marilyn Monroe's skin tones or yours. I think that it would be better to match the artificial skin to your tones. For one thing, there isn't a major noticeable difference between your light skin tone and Marilyn's. Secondly, the artificial skin will not be used everywhere. A lot of your own skin will be exposed. So, we might as well go with what will work best."

"What's this?" I held up a translucent plastic bottle.

"That's a special adhesive that will be used to bond the artificial skin to either your skin or a Spandex corset. What is special about this glue is that it has a negligible scent and it is water-soluble when mixed with a special catalyst. You can soak in a bath tub all day long and it won't come loose until you add the solvent."

"Will I be able to sweat in this to cool off my body?"

"For sure, it will act like gore-tex to wick moisture away from your body and won't come loose."

It appeared Ben's company had things thought out.

He continued his explanation. "The proper pigmentation will allow us to seamlessly bond the artificial skin to your body without any detectable ridge or line. It's a Japanese product, Sokui Biosynthetic Glue, that is derived from rice. The rice material is porous and can be shaped or molded easily. The beauty is it's a natural product that will not cause any chemical damage to your skin and can be worn indefinitely. You soak the artificial skin in water, add the special solvent, the adhesive will liquefy and the mask or body panels will come off easily and quickly."

"And what is this nylon thing?"

"Please try it on, Roger. Although the 'corset' looks very thin, our special waist cincher is made from a super high strength Spandex. Basically, it's like the panty part of pantyhose, only it covers you all the way to your ribs. It will shrink your waist, flatten your intestinal area, and, unfortunately, crush your genitalia. You'd better do something about your testicles and penis or it will be painful."

Do something with my testicles and penis? I wasn't ready for that.

"What can I do?" I certainly don't want crushed nuts with my cherry sundae.

"Well, I worked with the U.S. government once and they had me perform a male to female transformation on one of their agents. Although I can't reveal much about the details of the case, I can tell you that a man can retract his testicles. Apparently, it's an old Ninja assassin's trick. Before they would do battle, Ninjas would put their family jewels out of harm's way to protect them. So, please give it a try."

I had noticed, on occasion, when I had . . . ah . . . masturbated, that sometimes one of my testicles would retract when I was extremely excited. It was time to recreate that odd feeling and see if I could retract both testicles on purpose.

"Did that government agent suffer any long-term damage?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Ben added, not making me totally comfortable.

After a few minutes of probing self-exploration, I had succeeded. However, it was not accomplished without a little bit of pain.

Ben then handed me a roll of a skin-colored fabric bandage. He told me to cut off a strip, pull my penis back and tape it to make it lie flat against the crotch area.

Ben explained how the male genitalia would be transformed into a facsimile of a female's private parts. A catheter would be attached to the penis and that a false, shallow vagina would be created. I would urinate apparently in the 'normal' way, but 'real' sex would not be possible unless more extensive modifications were made. I thought about asking further, but decided against it. After all, I didn't think I'd ever have to simulate sexual intercourse.

Then I slipped into the super-Spandex corset with the 'false bottom.' Although it was tight, it was not horribly painful. My waist had compressed to a more Marilyn-like shape.

Once more I stepped into the Replicator chamber. The red laser beam scanned over every crook and nanny of my reshaped body.

I stepped out of the chamber and looked at the comparison between my body and the Marilyn image.

"We can work with these results," Ben announced, confirming what I was seeing on the monitor. "We can make moulds of your body and Marilyn's body. This will work!"

CHAPTER FOUR

On the way home, I decided to stop in at the public library. Located on Victoria Avenue, the building was designed with nature as the theme. Water ran through it forming fountains and pools with hundreds of plants surrounding the rustic walkways. Also, the Children's Woodland Garden, located at the back, added to the garden/nature feel.

Near the entrance stood a row of computers. Typing in the words 'Marilyn Monroe' on the catalogue computer produced an overabundance of book titles. I looked at the Dewey Decimal numbers and jotted down numbers 791.43 and 927.92. They would get me in the vicinity of some of the biographies.

After browsing for a few minutes, I selected books by Donald Spoto, Eve Arnold and George Barris.

Then I hurried to the circulation desk, extracted my library card from my wallet, handed it to a librarian, and was processed almost immediately.

Stepping through the electronic scanning gate, I wanted to take a final glance at the Marilyn books before putting them in my knapsack.

"Hey Runt!"

'Oh shit,' I thought to myself. 'There's only one Neanderthal who calls me that. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away.'

"Hey Runt!"

Finally I turned around to face 'the voice.'

"Yeah, I'm talking to you!"

"I heard you the first time, Nate, but I'm kinda in a hurry."

Nate Jackson, a schoolyard bully I had the displeasure of knowing since elementary school, looked at me with that ever-present menacing sneer on his face. His only talent was an over-active pituitary gland, which had made him bigger than any one else around him.

"What you got there, Runt?"

Nate's long, muscular arms reached over and snatched the books from my hands.

"Hey, it's a library. You don't need to steal books from me. Really, they've got shelves full of them inside."

"Well, well, looky here at these." Nate scanned the covers of the three biographies. "I knew you were a faggot. Marilyn Monroe, she's like the idol of all faggots."

"I'm not a faggot. The books are for school. I'm doing research for my college course." I didn't want to take the chance Nate might ever find out about my new role at the wax museum.

"Yeah right."

"What are you doing here at a library anyway?" After I said it, I wondered why I would provoke him.

"Oh, you think you're so smart 'cause you go to college?"

"I never said that. But I've never seen you here before." I wasn't sure if Nate had graduated from high school, but it was unlikely he would be at the library doing actual research.

"I'm doing some work here, Runt."

"Work? You work here at the library?"

"I'm doing the landscaping outside."

"Oh, you're maintaining the garden? That's cool. The garden here is one of the best in the city."

"It's THE best," he said with indignation. "Yeah, my cousin got me into working for the City of Niagara Falls. So I do the yard work for a lot of the public buildings and parks."

"Good for you. Now, if you'd be so kind as to give me the books back. I'm kinda in a hurry. Isn't it time for your shift to end anyway?"

Nate looked at the clock in the lobby. "Right. I just finished. I came in here to use the washroom . . . but do you remember what I did to you back in grade six?"

"What're you talking about?" I had a bad feeling about where Nate was going with our conversation. Most of the sixth grade had been something I purposely forgot.

"Remember when we were in the schoolyard at recess. I grabbed you up in my arms and tossed you into a garbage can?" Nate laughed. His smile had a mocking twist to it. "I think I'll just deposit these books in the trash container for old times' sake."

"Nate, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Why the hell not? Are you a man or are you a chicken?" Nate stepped closer to me and took a threatening stance. Even through his green coveralls, I could tell his muscles had tightened and he was ready for action.

"You work for the City. The books are public property. If you look up on the ceiling, beneath that black dome object is a security camera. I doubt that your employers would be impressed if you trashed their books."

"Huh?"

While Nate struggled to think things through, I quickly snatched the books back. "I'll see you when I see you." Hopefully never again. I walked away before Nate could decide his job wasn't worth not being able to bully people.

Since it was 'rush hour,' I stuck to the side streets as much as I could.

Although I tried to focus on the traffic and riding the bike, I couldn't get my encounter with Nate out of my mind. Had it been a preview of the grief I'd face as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator? If so, it was a bad omen.

Niagara Falls was too small a town for keeping secrets. Everybody knew your business. Sure there were millions of tourists in the summer time, but among the permanent residents, it seemed like everybody knew somebody who knew somebody. Would I be able to keep my Marilyn identity a secret?

Ten minutes later, I wheeled my mountain bike into our driveway, lifted the garage door, parked my bike, and locked it. All the while I brooded over my dilemma. In spite of the extra money I could earn as Marilyn, sticking to being a wax museum guide or security guy seemed like the best alternative.

Since it was around 5:15, I knew both my parents would be home. As I walked into the kitchen, Mom was placing the silverware at each plate, and Dad was already sitting at the dinner table, reading his newspaper.

"Hi Mom, Dad."

My dad glanced up from the Niagara Falls Review and nodded back at me, before resuming his reading.

"Roger, I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it on time for supper," Mom said.

"I would've phoned if I was going to be late. I stopped by at the library before coming home."

"So how did your job interview go?"

"It was great. I got the job." I put all thoughts of Nate and my other concerns aside, as best I could.

Mom gave me a congratulatory hug. "Good for you."

"Mrs. Robinson is a really nice person," I began. "She asked me a few questions about my work experience. Then I showed her some of the work I did for my media course, and she seemed quite impressed. So you're looking at a new guide for Robinson's Wax Museum."

"Is the pay better than at Tim Hortons?" Dad asked.

"I think it will be." I wasn't really sure how much I'd be making if my Marilyn Monroe experiment worked out as planned.

"You didn't ask?" My father peered above his reading glasses as he shuffled his newspaper -- shooting me a look of mild surprise.

"The pay will depend on my duties. I have to finish my exams first. Then we'll see what my job description involves." I quickly decided I didn't want to mention that I'd be dressing up as a girl. "But if things don't work out, I'm sure I can always go back to Tim Hortons. It's just that I want to try something else -- vary my work experience."

"It's too bad you didn't get an interview with the radio station," Mom said. "That would've been nice."

"Or with the Review, " Dad added, "although we're both pleased that you have a job lined up. It sure will help to pay your tuition."

"Not to mention my student loan." The extra money I could earn as an impersonator was tempting and suddenly seemed more important than any possible taunting from Nate.

My parents were ambivalent, at best, about the career path I had chosen. As a kid, I had wanted to be an actor or a singer. However, whenever I auditioned for roles in plays at school, I never got significant roles. The highlight of my acting career had been in the musical Into the Woods. I played a tree.

At Niagara-on-the-Lake, when I auditioned for a role in a Shaw Festival production, I never got a call back. When a movie production came to the Falls, I appeared as an extra. I was among the hundreds of tourists gazing at the Falls. However, the film production ran out of money. It was never finished, never released, and I never got paid.

After tryouts for Canadian Idol were announced, I traveled to the Metro Toronto Convention Centre in T.O. What a zoo! Hours and hours of waiting to get a number, a return visit a few days later for a brief thirty second shot at glory, and ultimate rejection because the day of the audition, I had laryngitis.

My parents had encouraged me to go to university to prepare myself for a respectable career as a doctor, lawyer, engineer, accountant, or even as a teacher. Pursuing media studies at community college was a compromise. They were pushing me to get good grades and shift to university in something 'solid.' Work as a female impersonator at a wax museum was hardly the big break I had hoped for and was potentially embarrassing for my dad as a minister.

"I hope you feel like having pasta tonight," Mom said.

I looked at the lasagna warming up in the oven. "It looks good and smells great." The Parmesan cheese was melting on the tomato sauce. My mom was a great cook. "Do you need any help, Mom?"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd pour some coffee for Dad and me. And get whatever juice you'd like from the fridge."

"Okay."

Mom placed a large salad bowl in the middle of the dinner table while I poured the coffee for Dad, and then Mom. I got out the chilled Tropicana orange juice.

When we sat down to eat, my father said grace. After all, he was Reverend Ian Baker of St. Mark's Anglican Church.

Mom was Ms Baker to her elementary school students and 'Charlotte' to everyone who worked with her for the District School Board of Niagara.

While we said grace, I wondered what people would think of my parents if it became public knowledge that their son was a Marilyn Monroe impersonator. I doubted that my parents, especially my father, would be pleased with the gender bending. Potentially, it could be a source of embarrassment for him. 'Your son is a drag queen?' At some point I had to tell Mom and Dad.

"…For what we are about to receive, let us be truly thankful. Amen."

CHAPTER FIVE

I returned to Robinson's Wax Museum early the next morning. It was a sleepy Saturday. I had exams coming up on Monday, so I was hoping that the morning fitting of my Marilyn Monroe mask would go smoothly. I needed the time to study.

Apparently, the body moulds and the artificial skin material of the mask needed some time to dry. Thus, I had not been able to see the results the previous afternoon.

I felt a little strange. The Robinsons told me to get rid of all of my body hair. Never before had I shaved away all the pubic hair around my crotch. Never before had I shaved my legs and armpits -- not that there was much to shave. I'd been ultra-careful with the razor. I used a lot of shave gel and I took my time. And after I washed away all the foam, I was shocked by how sensually stimulating it was to have such silky, smooth skin.

When I timidly stepped into the workspace at the back of the wax museum, Heather, Mrs. Robinson and Ben were all waiting.

"Good morning 'Marilyn'!" they all called out at the same time.

"Hi there," I replied softly, somewhat overwhelmed by their 'in unison' greeting. I was anxious and in a toe-in-the-water mood, while they were apparently eager to dive in.

"Are you ready to be transformed?" Heather asked. She had grown even more lovely overnight.

"As ready as I will ever be." My tone carried my lack of fervor for our project.

Heather came over and hugged me, an extremely pleasant way to start a work shift. "Don't worry, you're going to be great."

To tell you the truth, I looked forward to the upcoming ordeal. I really wanted to see if it would work, but I had not slept well. I kept thinking about 'being' Marilyn Monroe. My middle of the night tossing and turning conclusion was I could do it, but I couldn't expect it to come naturally.

Ben led me over to where a few Japanese shoji screens had been set up to provide temporary privacy. Behind the protection of the white paper panels, I stripped off my clothes, and then placed them on top of the screen's black frame. At Ben's urging, I put on the special corset, going through the very private penis preparation procedure I'd learned yesterday. When I stepped out into the workspace again, I felt completely naked -- especially in front of the ladies -- even though I was as modestly dressed as anyone on the beach. My skinny, corseted body must have been a weird sight to Heather and Mrs. Robinson.

Ben, looking much like a 'mad' scientist in his long white lab coat, led me over to the 'operating table' in his 'lah-bore-ahhh-tory.'

"Now this is going to take a little while," Ben said. "So, just relax."

"Maybe I can catch up on my sleep," I mumbled.

I settled back down on the padded table and looked up at the light gray rafters of the high ceiling. Part of me wanted the experiment to be a disastrous failure. That little segment of my brain would've liked nothing less than a totally crestfallen Ben to throw up his hands in despair, pronouncing me much too manly to ever look like a woman.

"Roger, I need you to turn over."

I grunted as I complied with his request.

"You know," Ben began, "technology is an amazing thing. If you really wanted to avoid using the corset, there's a new medical procedure that targets 'stubborn' body fat."

"Liposuction?"

"No," Ben said, "the latest is an ultrasound device developed in Israel called Ultrashape."

"What does it do?"

"It's similar to the ultrasound technology used to destroy kidney stones, except it blasts away the fat."

"Hasn't ultrasound been around for awhile?"

"Yes, but the problem in using ultrasound to eliminate fat was the possible damage to blood cells and nerve cells surrounding the fat. The Israelis have invented a sophisticated, precise, three-dimensional tracking system. The procedure will feel like a normal scan, with the transducer being gently smoothed across the stomach or love handles. The acoustic waves rupture the fat cell membranes. Then the liquefied fat is excreted naturally by the body. Unlike liposuction, the procedure is non-invasive."

"How come you know so much about Ultrashape?”

"Roswell is a huge conglomerate. We're hoping to become the North American distributor for Ultrashape."

"It sounds pretty amazing," I said. "If I understand you correctly, I could lose that hard to get rid of fat without dieting or exercise?"

"That's true, although dieting and exercise is still recommended as preparation for the procedure."

"Wow! Sounds like you've got a winner there. Every horizontally challenged person in the world will love it."

"Ultrashape isn't Roswell's property yet. We're still negotiating for the distribution rights. There's a lot of competition as you can well imagine."

I wasn't thinking of the corporate competition. Instead, I was thinking of what could happen if Ultrashape was combined with the Roswell Replicator. Then, almost anyone could get into a bodysuit and mask and become somebody else. Suddenly I had visions of 'Marilyn' starring in a remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Ben continued to work. Using the Sokui Biosynthetic Glue, he started to attach skin-colored 'panels' to my body and to the special Spandex corset. There were 'panels' placed around my rear end, my crotch, over my hips, on my legs, and on my chest. I was sure that I had been given womanly curves, although I did not have a good view of them yet, since I was lying supine.

It was surprising how quickly everything came together. Ben had planned his work well.

Next came the facemask. Ben spread his adhesive over my face and then the mask was pressed into place. The holes for the nostrils, mouth, and eye socket area fit perfectly. The 'skin' material felt amazingly thin and flexible. The mask covered the area from just below the chin and jaw line, over the face, up to the hairline. From there, the mask extended into a mesh, scalp cap covering my hair. A neatly fitted overlapping seam on the back of the ultra-thin scalp cap drew the mask together.

Ben stood back and proudly stated, "Use of the Roswell Replicator's face recognition software to create a perfect 3-D Marilyn Monroe mask to fit on top of your facial features is a marvel of modern technology."

I was in no position to judge. I'd hold my opinions until I saw the end product.

After allowing five minutes or so for the adhesive to dry, Heather began applying make-up to my face. She took about fifteen minutes to use eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, blush, and finished by applying a 'mole' to my cheek with a dark pencil. Next, Heather delicately glued on false eyelashes.

I was not supposed to talk or move during the whole procedure. Ben said movement while the glue was setting would ruin the bond between the mask and my skin. This was particularly important at the edges of the mask, below the chin and jaw line, where the Sokui glue was used to blend the mask with the skin seamlessly.

Finally, I was allowed to sit up. A platinum-blonde wig was placed on my head, and attached to the scalp cap with matched sets of Velcro tabs sewn into the underside edges of the wig.

The transformation complete, I was led over to a full-length mirror.

There before me stood the sex goddess . . . Marilyn Monroe in her birthday suit! Even down to a false vagina -- although there wasn't any hair. My knees buckled slightly and I sucked in a great deal of air.

When I moved, she moved. When I turned to the side to look at my profile, Marilyn turned to the side . . . and what a profile! Her breasts were astonishing. Her waist was tiny, broadening out to what the boys in high school had called 'child-bearing' hips. What sexy legs! I looked over my shoulder at her cute rear end in the mirror and felt a twinge of pain as my penis tried to spring to life beneath its confinement.

Then I stepped up closer to the mirror.

Her platinum blonde curls framed the most famous face in the world: the high arching eyebrows, the sensuous eyes, the high cheekbones, the mole on the left cheek, and the pouting red lips. They had made me Marilyn Monroe in the flesh.

The warmth from Heather's body alerted me as she stepped up close behind.

I turned to face her, with her face inches from mine. Her arms encircled me and she hugged me warmly, snuggling cheek to cheek.

"You look wonderful!" she said breathed into my ear. "And you feel amazing!"

"You too," I whispered into her ear, so softly that Ben and her mother wouldn't hear. "You too."

CHAPTER SIX

All through the next week of studying and writing exams, I felt distracted by thoughts of my new job.

Who wouldn't be -- at the daunting prospect of impersonating Marilyn Monroe? In a way it seemed like I wasn't only going to impersonate her, but because of the amazing technological costume . . . I was actually going to become her. In the past, when I'd practice voices in my room recording them on my computer, I would allow my self to float into the person. That was my way of getting my mind into character. When I did women's voices I felt absolutely feminine. At times it would creep me out, even though no one was around. My new job would go way beyond a few moments of intense play in my room.

All through my childhood, I had been teased about being a skinny little kid. One time, when I was at the beach, a friend looked at my protruding ribs and cruelly called me 'xylophone bones.' I had been called a wimp, a coward, a nerd, a runt, an idiot, and a gay boy -- and those were just the names that I'm willing to repeat. There were times I was told that I looked like a girl. Some kids labeled me a faggot, even though I had never exhibited homosexual tendencies that I knew of. The taunting tore at my self-image. Maybe I was over-sensitive, but I always wanted to prove to the bullies that they were wrong. So, to suddenly agree to dress up as Marilyn Monroe went against my better instincts -- against every fiber of my being.

On the other hand, I knew that I had a gift of mimicry. My Dad preached often about the sin of wasting our talents, but would he support this particular 'nurturing'? Becoming an entertainer was a gamble. For every star, there were tens of thousands of wannabes. So far, my show biz experience was pitiful, but I was still hopeful.

My impressions had started back in elementary school, imitating my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Bond. Or, as we liked to call him, Bond . . . James Bond. Actually, he sounded a lot like the Elmer Fudd. He was easy to imitate.

I went on to work on imitations of cartoon characters: Inspector Gadget, The Jetsons, The Flintstones, Scooby-Doo and The Simpsons. I could do Fred, Wilma, Daphne, Scooby-Doo, Bart, Homer, and Marge. Inspired by shows like MAD TV and Saturday Night Live, I tried to imitate celebrities. I graduated to movie stars like Jack Nicholson, Jim Carrey, Tom Hanks, Eddie Murphy, Mike Meyers, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn. Then somebody said I sounded like Madonna when I sang along to her songs. Consequently, I started doing singers too. My talent became a way of escaping. I wanted to be a comedian, a movie star, a hockey player, a singer, a radio announcer, and so on; anything but Roger Baker -- the skinny little runt.

The more success I enjoyed, the more I practiced. It compensated for being chosen last when teams were picked for football games. It made up for being bullied. When I was really good at imitating someone, my classmates treated me like a hero.

"Some time, Rock, when the team is up against it, when things are wrong and the breaks are beating the boys -- tell them to go in there with all they've got and win just one for the Gipper. I don't know where I'll be then, Rock. But I'll know about it, and I'll be happy." My Ronald Reagan voice needed work. His speech patterns had changed over his lifetime. It was hard not to always do him as he was during his last few years.

So when I showed up at Robinson's Wax Museum the following Saturday, I was both excited and full of doubt. I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing.

I met with Heather in the 'Studio,' as she liked to call it -- the large workspace at the back of the museum. Ben and Mrs. Robinson had turned the project over to the two of us.

After changing out of my street clothes, she propped me up again on the operating table, and then I went through the extensive transformation procedure once more. Although I felt a little uncomfortable that Heather was doing the whole procedure, she handled the 'operation' in a professional manner. Heather spread special adhesives over my body and face. The realistic looking skin-colored panels were bonded to my own features. A wig was attached and make-up applied. When I stood before a full-length mirror, I was overwhelmed once more by my amazing transformation into the diva of sex.

"Oh, I forgot one minor detail." Heather retrieved a small plastic case from the counter. "You'll need to put these contact lenses in."

I opened the small case and inspected the thin blue-gray films within their liquid-filled cup like enclosures.

Then Heather gave me a lesson on how to insert the lenses. Apparently she had experimented with cosmetic contacts before.

It was my first time wearing contact lenses. They felt like foreign objects in my eyes. I had to constantly bat my eyelashes -- but it wasn't an affectation designed to attract the attention of a love-hungry men.

"Just call me 'Blinky' Monroe," I grumbled.

Heather smiled. "You'll get used to it. After a short time, you'll even forget that you're wearing them."

Next, I tried putting on the false eyelashes by myself. Somehow, I got it right the very first time. Heather showed me that the key was not using too much glue. Checking in a mirror, I found I needed to use eyeliner to hide the adhesive.

The Marilyn illusion was absolutely amazing! My eyes had become her mesmerizing eyes. The wavy platinum hair with the widow's peak, the high cheekbones, the sensuous lips, the distinctive mole on the left cheek, and a body to die for -- I was the definition of narcissistic love.

"It's about time I looked like this. . . . " Why on earth had I said that?

Thankfully, Heather giggled. "Are you ready to put on some beautiful gowns?"

I had been standing with my arms crossed in front of me grabbing my shoulders. "As much as I admire my new body, I feel very uncomfortable without clothes on. I mean, I know I'm not really naked, but my eyes tell me something else." Could Heather see my deep blush through the artificial layers on my face?

"Let's try a few things," Heather said with eagerness that was infectious.

I found myself actually staring at my new wardrobe with fascination and desire.

"Yes . . . let's," I said in Marilyn's breathy, squeaky voice.

Heather jumped, and then caught herself. "Oh my. That voice is going to take some getting used to, but it's a good idea for you to get into your role."

Unlike the previous week, outfits had been prepared for me. The Robinson wardrobe staff had been hard at work sewing costumes during the past seven days.

My natural impersonation skills went into overdrive as I found myself talking and moving like I'd seen Marilyn do in all those old films. Heather acted professionally by accepting my new 'character' for what it was and not freaking.

First came the revealing white dress from The Seven Year Itch. The yards and yards of slippery fabric felt like a billowing cloud around my newly rounded body. Looking at things from the inside out, I could see how the dress showed off every bit of Marilyn's . . . and now mine . . . femininity.

The dress required that I wear a bra. "It feels good," I said, as the strange piece of clothing lifted the weight off my 'breasts' and eliminated the discomfort of them pulling against my chest skin.

Then I tried on the red-sequined gown from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It was harder to put on because it was much less forgiving. When Heather pulled up the zipper in the back, it felt like they'd made it too small, but in the mirror I could see it was a perfect fit and looked very 'hot.' An urge came over me to purr like a kitten, which I fought back. There was only so much I wanted to subject Heather to.

"The gowns fit perfectly," I smiled at Heather as I imagined a woman would, waltzing out of a department store dressing room with a perfect choice, "and so do the high-heeled shoes!"

"The shoes are a women's size 8C," Heather said, "not the size 7AA that the real Marilyn wore. Your feet are slightly bigger than hers, but not so much that anyone will ever notice. In a pinch, you could wear her shoe size."

"No, no, you know what they say about a guy's shoe size?"

"I haven't a clue."

"No, the bigger the shoe, the bigger the 'package.' "

"Oh, that package."

"Yes, although I don't have big feet or a hairy chest, everyone calls me Sasquatch."

Her laughter was music to my ears. She had the kind of laugh that made you want to hear it again, every day for the rest of your life.

"If you can make a girl laugh -- you can make her do anything," I said to myself. Where had that come from? I normally would never think a thing like that.

Heather looked at my ears for a moment. "Speaking of size, I've heard the same thing said about big earlobes. We're going to have to have to pierce your Buddha sized earlobes." Heather had my face in her hands and turned me from side to side appraising my appearance.

My hands flew to protect my lobes. "Why?" My voice -- not at all squeaky -- had been a pure Roger Baker whine.

"All of Marilyn's earrings were made for pierced ears," Heather said. "The costume jewelry we've found for you is just like hers."

"I'm not going to do it. How would I explain that to my friends? People will see the gaping holes in my ears. That's too much to ask."

Heather took out her earrings and showed me that her holes weren't gaping, but I dug in my heels -- high as they were.

"I draw the line at pierced ears," I said, making sure she knew that was my final answer, "although I do like the jewelry you picked out. 'Real diamonds! They must be worth their weight in gold!' " I'd quoted Marilyn from Some Like It Hot, but my joke had gone over Heather's head.

"It's a good thing you like diamonds," she said. "If we have to staple them to your ears, you'll be wearing them."

I gave out a loud, Marilyn-like squeak and hid my ears with my hands, earning for me another of her perfect laughs.

"We'll figure out something," Heather said. "You're being so great doing what you're doing. I'll let Mom and Ben know that they shouldn't be so demanding." She stopped and took my hand. "I hope you understand how much your doing all this means to Mom and me. You could really help us draw in more customers, and we really need them." She squeezed my hand lightly before letting go.

I looked away and stepped out of the gown in order to change into a dancer's leotard; a stretchy ruby red Spandex material that hugged 'my' curvaceous contours. When I looked in the full-length mirror, in spite of my attempt to create a Zen moment of emotional detachment, I almost had an instantaneous orgasm.

Had Marilyn felt like that when she looked at herself? Why would've she, she wasn't a boy in a woman's body.

I wanted to spend the next few hours looking at Marilyn-me in the mirror, but we had to rehearse.

With the aid of several movie videos, a DVD player, and a giant television screen, I began to learn the dance routines. For the purposes of our first rehearsal, Heather was the instructor. Fortunately for me, Heather had taken dance lessons for many years. Her trim body hadn't been the result of aerobics classes. She had taken ballet, jazz, and modern dance lessons.

Heather had practiced the Marilyn Monroe dance routine many times already, having had a week to prepare. After a brief stretching warm-up, Heather led me through each step of the choreography.

Large mirrors had been set up along one wall of the Studio to help us master the dances.

It took me quite some time to get used to the high heels. In fact, after stumbling for the umpteenth time, Heather recommended that I take them home and get used to walking in them. Other than that, my body seemed to push me to move exactly like Marilyn's had. When I didn't think about what I was doing and went on a sort of autopilot, my dancing was at its best.

I had to adjust to learning the distinctive Marilyn Monroe walk. Rolling my hips was totally new. It was like a graceful stripper's bump and grind. Sexy, classy . . . and with more jiggles than a Hawaiian hula dancer. Working in front of the mirror I quickly found ways to make my new curves bounce -- ways that looked almost sinful.

We rehearsed Diamonds from the film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Also, we put some practice time into I Wanna Be Loved by You from the movie Some Like It Hot.

"Have you seen the entire movies," I asked, "or did you just look at the dance numbers?"

"I watched all of Some Like It Hot," Heather laughed. "Of course, I've watched it about ten times before. Mom loves that movie."

"I'm glad I don't look like either Tony Curtis or Jack Lemmon," I said.

"What do you mean? They were both handsome men."

"Uh huh," I said, in perfect Marilyn voice, "but I don't want to look like a man in a dress, like they did."

"You don't have to worry about that. We'll make sure you're perfect, no matter how long it takes."

Suddenly I felt like being a little silly. "It's not how long it takes, it's who's taking you," I said quoting Marilyn as Sugar in Some Like it Hot.

It didn't surprise me that Heather knew exactly what I was doing. She smiled broadly and fed me a line from the movie. "Look, are you interested in whether I am married or not?" She said it exactly like Tony Curtis had said it as 'Junior.'

"Oh, I'm not interested at all," I simpered as Marilyn had done.

"Well, I'm not." She had captured the hoity-toity fake nasal tones Curtis had used to mock Cary Grant.

"That's very interesting!" I said with the same excitement used by the gold-digging Sugar in the movie.

We both laughed and Heather once again embraced me, as one woman would do to another. This time it felt right and I returned her embrace as I thought Marilyn would have.

As we broke, I said another line from the film. "What is it?" Heather didn't seem to remember the scene so I added. "That fish hanging on the wall, what is it?"

That did it, she remembered. "It's a member of the herring family."

"A herring? Isn't it amazing how they get those big fish into those little glass jars?" I held my eyes wide open with the amazing innocence only Marilyn could portray.

"They shrink when they're marinated," Heather deadpanned, as Curtis had in the movie.

We laughed again as if we both were being tickled.

Then Heather's visage turned from a smile to a more serious look. "Although I've enjoyed the repartee, we need to get back to work," Heather said with authority.

"Ah, do we really have to?"

"Yes. All play and no work makes for a bad show."

"Wasn't it all work and no play . . . ?"

As the dance routine began to take shape, I felt encouraged by my reflection in the mirror. It was as if Marilyn Monroe had started to take control of my body. Roger Baker had never been as graceful as that wondrous woman in the mirror. I couldn't believe how well the rehearsal was going. After one solid hour of things Heather called step ball changes, pirouettes, turns, high steps, lifts and lunges, we were ready for a break.

"You're a natural," Heather said. "Are you sure you've never taken dance?"

"No," I replied in my breathy Marilyn voice, "but I've got an excellent teacher."

"Thanks."

"But you know, this whole thing is somewhat surreal."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, unreal. I look in the mirror as we're dancing, and I can't believe it's really me."

"I know what you mean. There have been times, when I look at you, I've had to remind myself that there's a guy named Roger behind the Marilyn Monroe façade."

My inner voice suggested that the spirit of Marilyn was moving me. It certainly felt as if someone else was guiding my muscle memory. The few girls who had agreed to dance with me had often been critical of my efforts. Why would I suddenly be able to learn a dance routine so quickly?

"Well, maybe I'm learning so quickly because I'm following your lead, but what would happen if you weren't here? Could I do it from memory? I don't know. At some point, I guess I'll have to try it on my own -- to see if I really know it."

"I wouldn't worry about that right now. We have plenty of time to get this whole show put together. . . . For one thing, we don't even have a proper venue ready for you."

"I was wondering about that. Where will I perform? Surely not here in the studio?"

"Hopefully no. I had a chat with my mother just this morning. We've been holding preliminary discussions with the owners of the building next door, but they want too much rent and they'd like at least a one-year lease. That would be quite a gamble. The other alternative is to put up a tent covering on the rooftop of this building. We could put in temporary seating. The advantage would be a fairly low cost. The disadvantage would be that it would be a fairly short season. Although, in truth, the only profitable season for the Museum is the summer. As you know, not many tourists come to see Niagara Falls in the winter. Although the new casinos have led to more visitors coming in the off-season, they come to gamble. I don't know if we could get enough gamblers to come to our show through the winter months."

"Will there be any other performers?" I wasn't eager to be the whole show, but I also selfishly wanted to be Heather's only white knight riding in to help out their financial condition.

"Oh, perhaps. We'll have to see about hiring some male dancers, but we have to keep costs down. However, we may need to hire several musicians."

"My friend Pete Winslow is terrific on the keyboards. With his synthesizer, he can sound like an entire orchestra."

"Good. We'll have to bring him in and see if it'll work out. . . . But I thought you didn't want anybody in on our little secret."

"We don't have to tell him either. That is, unless he figures it out."

"Okay. But won't he recognize you?"

"When I look in the mirror, I don't see any trace of Roger Baker," I cooed in Marilyn's little girl voice.

"I know there's a guy in that get up somewhere, but all I see is Marilyn Monroe too."

"What about other celebrity performers? Do you want to bring in Elvis or Elton John or Britney Spears impersonators?"

"Not yet, unless you have other voices you want to bring to life."

"I hadn't even thought about that." Heather was forgetting that I'd have to be a lot taller to fit inside an Elvis costume.

"I could use the Roswell Replicator to see if I could impersonate Jane Russell."

"That would be great!"

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I guess when I dream, I'm not afraid to dream impossible dreams," I said, thinking of Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha.

"Neither am I. I'm willing to take risks."

"I can see that."

"You're a risk taker too," she said, with something that sounded like admiration.

The body panels held me from developing what would have been an embarrassing lump in my leotards. "Right . . . I guess we have a few things in common," I said hopefully.

"Agreed. But, enough talk. We'd better get back to work. We'll have to wrap it up within the next half-hour . . . I've got a lunch date with my boyfriend, Brad. He's been out of town for the last week, and I've been dying to see him."

Boyfriend? Brad? My head spun. Heather has a boyfriend. The romance I'd been imagining had taken a severe hit. "Then let's get going," I said trying to hide any trace of disappointment.

For the next fifteen minutes, we polished up the I Wanna Be Loved By You song and dance that Heather had choreographed. Then, we switched back to the Diamonds routine from earlier. Heather took the Jane Russell part. I could see real joy in her performance as we mimicked the dazzling production number from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I had to fake any joy, still reeling under the shock of her being attached to some guy named 'Brad.'

Heather glanced at her watch. "Oh Marilyn, I think it's time for a costume change."

"But I thought you said you had to meet your boyfriend," I replied.

"I think we'll have just enough time for this. I want you to change into that sexy sheer gown that Marilyn Monroe wore when she sang Happy Birthday to President John F. Kennedy."

"Okay," I said with a shrug.

While the movie DVD from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes kept playing, I stepped behind the Japanese rice paper screens and took off the dancer's leotard. The garment was so thin that it was almost transparent. After I slipped into it and stood in front of the mirror, I swore to myself that I would never wear it in public. It was scandalous.

"The body is meant to be seen, not all covered up." A voice inside me said. I was starting to talk to myself in Marilyn's voice.

"It's exactly the kind of dress the President had wanted to see me in," my subconscious admonished me.

Okay. Things were getting weird. I had never before identified so closely with anyone I was impersonating. On the other hand, I'd never been enhanced as I was by the panels and mask from the Roswell Replicator.

I shuddered, but then thought about ways to wear the dress that wouldn't be so bad. I took off the gown, and then put on flesh-colored tights so that at least Marilyn's private parts would be hidden from view. When I put on the gown again, I was pleased it appeared a little more modest, although the brown areas around my exquisite breasts were only partially hidden by strategically placed sequins. I knew from the Marilyn Monroe episode on A&E's Biography that Marilyn Monroe had been reluctant to wear the gown on the evening she sang to Jack Kennedy at a packed Madison Square Garden.

I heard some voices behind me. Heather's boyfriend, Brad, must have arrived.

Due to the active dance rehearsal, I needed to fix my make-up. I wiped away a little bit of smeared mascara, touched up the eye shadow, and applied some lipstick. This was the first time I had ever done it, but I had watched my mother do it many times. It wasn't at all like a totally alien act.

Finally, I pulled on my long white opera gloves. They were a nice classy 60's touch!

One last check in the full-length mirror. Perfect!

I stepped out from behind the screen and onto our 'pretend' stage once more.

In the middle of our rehearsal area was a blindfolded man sitting on a wooden chair. Beside him stood Heather, still dressed in her red dancer's leotard. She beckoned me to come over to her. The grin on her face begged me to play along with whatever she wanted.

She put her arm around my shoulder and whispered into my ear, "This is my boyfriend Brad Adams. It's his birthday today. Would you do me a favor and sing Happy Birthday to him as Marilyn?"

I was absolutely shocked!

Before I could give her an answer, Heather whispered again, "I'd like you to stand behind him. Then I want you to take off the blindfold and sing Happy Birthday. Don't worry! He won't move. I've told him that if he moves from that chair, you will end the performance. Touch him seductively on the shoulder, on the cheek, and then sit on his lap. Try to make him believe you're Marilyn Monroe and he's President Kennedy. Be just like Marilyn and tease the heck out of Jack."

Still in a state of shock, I nodded.

Heather scurried away to watch, hidden from view, behind the Japanese screens.

I stepped up to Brad. As I touched his cheek, Brad jumped a little, startled by the touch. I cuddled his cheeks for a moment with my soft gloves.

"Hello Brad," I whispered in Marilyn's sweet little girl voice. "I understand it's your birthday." I undid the knot and removed the blindfold.

"Uh huh." There was a look of shock and pleasure on Brad's handsome face when the covering was removed. He quickly looked around for Heather and appeared pleased, for some reason, when he didn't see her.

Heather had good taste in men. Brad was a real hunk! He kind of reminded me of a young Matthew McConaughey. Brad had a lean and muscular frame, but short, dark hair -- not the longer curly locks of Matthew.

"Happy birthday to you," Marilyn sang slowly and seductively. I stroked Brad's neck and squeezed his upper body as I wrapped one leg over his shoulder, resting my high heel between the V of his parted legs. "Happy birthday to . . . you." I switched my position again, sitting on his lap and putting my arm around his waist. My other hand reached up to touch his lips. "Happy birthday . . . dear Brad." I undid Brad's shirt and, raked his chest hair with glove-encased fingernails. "Happy birthday . . . to you."

Everything I did felt right, including when I concluded by delicately nudging my smooth soft cheek up against his cheek, and then turning slightly and kissing Brad gently on the mouth.

Instantaneously, I knew I'd pushed it too far. Brad responded by wrapping his gorilla arms around me. Then he clamped his lips upon mine. I resisted as vigorously as I could, but Brad was much bigger and stronger. He could suck face like a vampire vortex. Brad's tongue pushed through my teeth and probed my inner sanctum. I gave up struggling against his superior strength. A moment of passion stretched to what seemed like a minute of unadulterated embarrassment! I could feel his penis spring to attention, pushing into my upper thigh while I sat sidesaddle on his lap.

I should have known better! I knew what it was like to be a guy turned on by a beautiful girl. I had had a bit of experience at wishing and hoping and groping and probing!

When Brad relaxed his hold momentarily, I broke the kiss. I pushed him away and sprang to my feet; so angry I wanted to slap him!

"That was some birthday kiss!" Brad exclaimed with a self-satisfied smile. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you can kiss me anytime you want!"

"Even a blind man would know who I am, Brad." Guys could be such pigs!

"She's our new star attraction!" Heather called out as she stepped out from behind the cover of the screens.

I turned to face Heather as she advanced toward us.

"I'm sorry Heather, but I couldn't hold off your boyfriend."

Heather eased my fears with her smile. "Don't be sorry, hon. You did exactly as I asked. . . . As for Brad, I should have known he couldn't keep his hands off you."

"Well, what did you expect me to do? I thought she was your idea, so I didn't want to ignore her. And when a girl kisses me, I do the polite thing and return the kiss."

I was afraid that Heather was going to embarrass Brad with the truth -- that the sexy girl Brad just kissed was really a guy!

"A kiss is fine Brad, but violating a complete stranger is tacky, even for you." Heather paused to gather her thoughts. "I was hoping you could show some self-discipline! I was hoping you could resist her. I was hoping you could be faithful! However, the French kissing, Brad, was taking the entertainment a step too far! "

Brad countered with an attempt to blame Heather for putting "some sexy bimbo" up to singing Happy Birthday to him.

Heather accused Brad of having wandering eyes and hands.

Brad complained about Heather being too high-maintenance.

While the two argued, I slipped away to my dressing area to sort through my disjointed and troubled thoughts.

CHAPTER SEVEN

One last check in the mirror proved to me that my new image was flawless! I was getting much better at gluing the mask and appliances onto my body and putting on make-up. Over our two-week period of preparation, my comfort level had grown to the point that I now had confidence in my impersonation. After all, everyone would know I wasn't the real Marilyn Monroe. All I really had to do was avoid a huge gaff that would remind them too much.

Another thing that helped build my poise was that I had taken some time to do more research on Marilyn. I had looked at many photographs of her on the Internet. There were a lot of sites. Mostly I was interested in her make-up. I wanted to perfect the way she looked -- er -- the way I looked being her. I'd even read a little bit about her personal make-up man, Allan 'Whitey' Snyder. He told a story on one site about doing Marilyn's make-up for her funeral. If I had time in the future, it would be interesting to meet with him and learn his make-up secrets, although I wasn't even sure if he was still alive.

Someone knocked on the door of my newly constructed dressing room.

"Come in, please," I called out in my Marilyn voice.

When the door opened a crack, a voice called out, "Are you decent?"

"Would you prefer me to be indecent?" My banter with Heather had come to the point of open and pleasant teasing. I'd never had a friendship with anyone so quickly that had developed to be so strong.

I was just finishing my transformation with a final touch of Chanel No. 5 on my wrists, the perfume Marilyn wore. A reporter had asked her what she wore to bed. She had replied, "Why, Chanel No. 5, of course." All I knew was that its scent made me feel enchanting.

"Hi!" Heather said cheerfully as she stepped inside.

She was dressed in a body-hugging dancer's leotard, but there was something wrong with her complexion. "What happened to your face? It's all red and puffy."

"Remember I said I might give the Jane Russell impersonation a shot?"

"Uh huh."

"Using the Roswell Replicator, yesterday afternoon, I had Ben come in and do a full work up for me."

"The whole process? Three dimensional mapping, mask, body panels, wig, artificial skin, and glue?

"Yes.

"So what went wrong?"

"I have very sensitive skin. Apparently I'm allergic to the artificial skin. One of its layers is made from bovine collagen."

"And your skin reacted to the collagen?"

"My face ballooned like the Goodyear blimp."

"Did you go to a doctor? Are you on any medication?"

"Yes, the swelling has gone down, but mostly it's just a matter of time. The calamine lotion has helped a little. It seems to cool things down."

"Are you allergic to other things?"

"Pollen, dust mites, cat fur, and food such as prawns, nuts, and peanuts."

"Peanuts?"

"I'm extremely allergic to peanuts. Even touching a peanut can cause hives. If I ingest peanuts, I start to cough and wheeze. I have difficulty breathing. I can go into anaphylactic shock. It can be life threatening."

"So what precautions do you take?"

Heather held out her right arm. "I carry this medic alert bracelet. In my purse, there is an EpiPen. I can jab myself with the needle containing epinephrine. Also, I'm very careful about what I eat."

"What if I ate something like Reese's Peanut Buttercup? Would that affect you if I breathed on you? Or kissed you?”

"Yes, it could."

"I knew somebody in high school. He almost died when he tried to eat a chocolate bar. He didn't know it had peanuts in it. There was no indication of it on the package label."

"Usually I can smell it or sense it. But, no matter what I do, I just have to be aware of the danger."

"Okay, I'll avoid peanuts from now on. That's too bad the Jane Russell suit didn't work out. I would've liked to have seen you as a full-figured gal."

Heather smiled. "You may look like Marilyn and sound like Marilyn, but I have to remember there's still a Roger Sasquatch under there."

I looked down toward my crotch. "It's more like Roger's Sasquatch squashed," I said in my own voice with a painful grimace.

Heather laughed. "I don't know where you hide it."

"Believe me, it's not easy." I avoided the 'It's hard' pun.

She clearly wanted to change the subject. "How do you like your new digs?"

"It's great! I love the changes. Lots of mirrors, space for costumes and make-up, a luxurious bathtub -- a star couldn't ask for any more. And I love the fact that you've got this hidden, well-ventilated walk-in 'closet' for drying out the masks and appliances." A lot of changes had taken place in the days since my encounter of the rude kind with Brad.

"Well, the studio space isn't going to be needed as much, now that we have the Roswell Replicator II to create the wax figures."

"Still, I know all these changes have to be expensive."

"Yes. We've invested a lot of time and money into this project, but I guess if it doesn't work out, we'll have a tax loss claim for Revenue Canada. But you know, things are starting to fall into place. I think this is exactly what we needed to revive the Wax Museum. Ever since 'The Hall of Fame' wax museum opened up, our business has gone down hill."

"But you've got a location advantage. They're further away from the Falls."

"True. But they've really hurt our bottom line. If the investment in the latest Roswell Replicator and our Marilyn Monroe Show doesn't pan out, we're in big trouble."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure it succeeds." I smiled at her and touched her arm. I'd learned during the last week that touching was an essential part of consoling others.

Worry etched Heather's face. I would work even harder to make sure the Robinsons hadn't spent their money foolishly on our project.

"Have we got the full cast and crew ready to rehearse?" I asked.

"Yes. Finally, we've got all of the personnel assembled. Your friend Pete is on the keyboards. We'll see if he can make that synthesizer sound like a full band. I'm going to take the Jane Russell role in the Diamonds song and dance routine, although I'm not going to be her identical double. Also, we've got an experienced person to handle the lights. And we've got a veteran stage manager who has got all the video screens, microphones, and sound equipment set up and ready for your performance."

"Wonderful. I can't wait." I gave her a hug. I was getting more used to being involved in a girl-to-girl hug. My breasts sort of bounced strangely off Heather's. "Thank you for everything you've done." Strange feelings, but wonderful!

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't made the climb from here on the ground level up to the rooftop. When you have to do that three times a day in high heels, you might not think you're being treated like a superstar."

"I promise not to complain. Besides, I'm more concerned about performing to the best of my ability. That tent that you've erected on the rooftop must have put you back a ton of money."

"Yes, but we didn't have enough room inside. Besides, have you ever seen Cirque du Soleil? They do all right every summer in Toronto in a tent."

Within a few minutes, we were ascending. Two new wide staircases on either side of the new stage had been constructed to allow easy access from the second floor to the rooftop of the building. I resolved to take off my high heels and use slippers in the future. Marilyn had said, "I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot." She hadn't been talking about comfort.

As we approached the Big Top Tent, I could hear the familiar refrain of There's No Business Like Show Business. I remembered that Marilyn Monroe had a part in that film, although most people remembered Ethel Merman for the title song. Marilyn had sung After You Get What You Want, You Don't Want It Anymore, but not very many fans remembered that one.

The Big Top was quite impressive. Its beige-colored waterproof canvas canopy rose three stories high, and spanned an area that could hold an audience of seven hundred people. Much to my relief, the enclosed space had an air-conditioning system. It would be going full blast during the summer months.

Heather assembled the new crew. She introduced Tom Austin, the lighting man; Gord Mountford as the sound technician/stage manager; and my buddy Pete Winslow on the synthesizer.

All the guys seemed star-struck! I had never seen Pete Winslow lost for words before, but he was virtually unintelligible. I tried not to show any sign of recognition when we were introduced. With the incredible disguise I was wearing, the only way Pete could possibly identify me was from my voice. He had heard me do my Marilyn voice on many occasions and if he'd closed his eyes and listened he'd know who I was. Given his demeanor, there was no fear he was going to quit staring any time soon.

Heather was the director, and she had all the sheet music ready for Pete to play. She had worked out the lighting and sound set up before hand. She had a wonderful feel for the whole process of producing a show. Heather prepared well and made decisions based on information gathered from many sources.

One of the first things we had to resolve was the use of wireless microphones and transmitters. To be able to sing and dance properly, we didn't want to be encumbered by microphones, although we could use very small microphones, with transmitters the size of cigarette packs. Nonetheless, they wouldn't fit into a figure-hugging gown very easily. One possible solution, suggested by Gord, was to use a large hand microphone that had both the microphone and transmitter in one unit. That was fine for some numbers, but the dance numbers were another matter. We considered lip-synching for the dance numbers. It was something we needed to work through.

We began with three songs from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: Diamonds, Two Little Girls From Little Rock and Bye Bye Baby. While Heather and I sang and danced, Tom controlled the lighting from his position at the far end of the Big Top, beyond the tiered temporary seating. Sitting right beside Tom was Gord. He set the sound levels. During the first song, once or twice we had trouble with terrible ear-splitting sound feedback, but it was soon fixed.

By the end of the second song, Pete Winslow had proved to Heather that he was a musical genius. His fingers flew across the keyboards. He compensated for any changes in tempo that the performers created, and made the synthesizer sound like a big band -- as advertised.

For the next hour of rehearsal, we put in a lot of perspiration, but for me, Heather was an inspiration. She was such a dynamic, charismatic person. I was consumed by lusty thoughts; she was so close and yet so far. To her, I suppose I was just another co-worker -- and a female one at that. Besides, she already had a boyfriend. Now, if only I could be Harry Houdini instead of Marilyn Monroe, I could make Brad Adams magically disappear.

After rehearsal, I soaked in a warm bath with the special solvent for ten minutes. Magically, the Sokui adhesive bond loosened and the body panels came off just as Ben had said they would. The Marilyn mask fell away just as easily. After placing the various body parts on plastic-coated wire frame drying racks, I changed back into my Roger Baker secret identity. It felt good to be back in my own skin.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Later that evening, I borrowed my dad's old Ford Taurus to go over to Niagara-on-the-Lake. Pete Winslow had a steady gig at the Niagara Country Club Inn. Overlooking one of the oldest golf courses in North America, the Country Club Lounge was a cozy venue located in 'the prettiest town in Canada.' Pete's uncle owned the Niagara Country Club Inn. A little nepotism never hurt any member of the Winslow family.

The Georgian style architecture of the sprawling historic Inn, beside the lush green fairways, made for an impressive setting. Also, the town of Niagara-on-the-Lake was, by itself, a tourist attraction. Situated where the Niagara River flows into Lake Ontario, this lovely old Victorian town has been a Mecca for sightseers for a long time. Visitors have fallen in love with the Shaw Festival, the winery tours, the quaint shops on Queen Street, a multitude of historic buildings, and the scenic Niagara parklands.

From my seat near the sliding glass doors of the Lounge, I could see, in the fading light, the immaculate green of the 18th hole beside the gently lapping waves of Lake Ontario. The Lounge was a 1950's era addition to the Inn. The wood paneled walls of the cavernous room were decorated with photos of club members posing with tournament championship trophies. The golf memorabilia was mixed in with photographs of celebrities who had visited the Niagara Country Club -- mostly NHL hockey players and Shaw Festival actors. I looked around, but noticed no celebrities among the current evening's gathering. Mondays rarely attracted large crowds. Some of the Inn's guests probably had dropped by in search of entertainment after a full day of sightseeing -- or golf.

Pete played mostly ballads. He had a mellow voice that lent itself to the styles of many pop stars. Pete played the hit songs of singer-pianists from the 1970's and onward -- Paul Williams, Carole King, Stevie Wonder, Barry Manilow, Carly Simon, Al Stewart, Vangelis, Marvin Hamlisch, and Elton John. His synthesizer could sound like a grand piano for Carole King's soulful You've Got a Friend or he could make it sound like a full band for Al Stewart's soaring Year of the Cat -- complete with saxophone solo. Pete's voice was capable of great range too. He had a habit of phrasing the lyrics in much the same way as the original singer. I don't know if it was intentional, but Pete was like a human jukebox. He knew so many songs -- not just the musical arrangements, but the lyrics too.

Pete was to music what Bubba Blue was to shrimping. According to Bubba, in Forrest Gump, there were countless ways to prepare those succulent pink delicacies from the ocean. "Shrimp is the fruit of the sea. You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, sauté it. Dey's uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp Creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep-fried, stir-fried. There's pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich."

Whereas Pete Winslow had an amazing Memorex for songs and lyrics, I had always been a movie buff. I often liked to entertain friends and classmates by imitating actors 'doing' their famous lines -- including obscure Bubba Blue.

While Pete tinkled the ivories, some of the aging Baby Boomer crowd would come up and request their favorites. They'd put a loonie, a toonie, or a blue five-dollar bill in a large pickle jar on top of his vintage Wurlitzer synthesizer. Pete was able to get the people into a good mood. I had a feeling Pete was headed for fame and stardom beyond the 'Golden Horseshoe' -- as they called our area of the world.

Someone requested Simon and Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Water. Pete's skill in performing that tune moved me tremendously. The song transported me to a completely different state of mind.

"When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.
I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough and friends just can't be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down…

"When you're down and out, when you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you.
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes and pain is all around,
like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

"Sail on silver girl, sail on by.
Your time has come to shine, All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine, oh and when you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind."

At the very end of the song, it amazed me that Pete could hit the high notes of the closing refrain "I will ease your MI…I...IND."

Then, when Pete followed it up with Mrs. Robinson, the theme song from the film The Graduate, I really got caught up with the music. One key phrase, especially, grabbed my attention.

"Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio,
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson.
Jolting Joe has left and gone away,
"(Hey hey hey, hey hey hey)."

My mind started to ramble. Joltin' Joe DiMaggio. Mrs. Robinson. Marilyn Monroe?

That got me to thinking about our rehearsal earlier. It had gone so well. Pete fit in like he had been there practicing with us from the very beginning.

Then it struck me. I held up my right wrist to my nose. The scent of Chanel No. 5! What was I going to do? Pete would smell it on me.

What was the cliché? Necessity is the mother of invention? I quickly poured some of my Coca-Cola onto a napkin. Then I placed the damp napkin on my wrist. I hoped the Coke would dilute the scent. About nine hours had passed since I applied the perfume. Maybe the fragrance had dissipated enough that it wouldn't be noticeable. Fortunately, I had only dabbed the perfume on my wrists. Otherwise, I would have looked even stranger holding a wet napkin up to my neck or ears.

After a few minutes of soaking in the pop, my fears subsided. Pete went on to play Louis Armstrong's What a Wonderful World. It was one of my all-time favorites that we sang in elementary school. Pete did it so well. I soon forgot about Mrs. Robinson, Joltin' Joe DiMaggio, and Marilyn Monroe.

Near the end of his first set, even I summoned up the nerve to make the trip across the plank floorboards, in front of the onlookers, to request John Lennon's Imagine. Pete gave me a wink as he launched into the spirited intro. I could feel the mood change as the tune reverberated through the high-ceilinged clubroom. Pete deviated from his usual Memorex take. Instead, he gave a spiritual blues version of the Lennon classic. In my opinion, Pete's interpretation was even better than the original.

" . . . You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one . . . "

A song or two later, Pete ended his set with a crowd favorite -- Stevie Wonder's I Just Called to Say I Love You.

After a smattering of applause, Pete thanked the small but supportive gathering. He pulled his lanky frame up from his bench and strode over to my table.

"Hi Roger! Good to see ya."

"Great set, Pete. Imagine was fabulous! Brilliant! You always knock me out with your talent. The human jukebox -- Pete 'Wurlitzer' Winslow!"

"Oh, I don't know if I've ever deserved that nickname," Pete said in his typical 'ah shucks' manner. He looked just like a modest Chuck Norris when he did that.

"When you did Elton John's Your Song, you sounded exactly like him."

"Well, thanks again," he said sheepishly. "It's my favorite Elton John number."

"Your Song is great, but I prefer Candle in the Wind as my favorite Elton John tune."

"Which version? The one for Princess Di or the original Goodbye Norma Jeane?"

"Either one. They're both great."

"Yeah, I agree. They are classics . . . but, some day I'd like to do my own material. I hope in the not too distant future my own compositions will make me rich and famous."

"I'm sure that will happen someday soon," I said as I gave Pete a slap on the back. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure can, buddy. Actually I should buy you a drink."

"Any time you feel the urge -- just go with the flow."

Pete laughed. That was one of Pete's charming traits. He laughed easily and often. "I love the new gig at Robinson's Wax Museum. Thanks a million, Roger, for giving me that lead."

"Well, after all, I am working at the 'candleworks' as a guide. I heard they were looking for a good musician and you're the best I know." I could see from Pete's happy expression that he truly was thankful.

A waitress stopped at our table to take our order. I asked for a Coke again while Pete opted for his usual Labatt Blue. The pretty young lady, Sandra, already knew what Pete liked.

"So how's your new gig working out?" I asked.

"Great! We had our first rehearsal today. You just wouldn't believe what we're doing there!"

"Oh, like what?"

"We have a great tribute act!"

"A tribute act?" I had to watch what I said, but I was super curious as to his impression of Marilyn.

"Yeah, you know, a tribute act, like Elvis Presley impersonations."

"Oh, not another Elvis impersonator. 'I'm all shook up.' "

"No, not Elvis. We have an incredible girl who is a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe."

"Really?"

"She is drop-dead gorgeous. I swear I can't tell her from the real thing. It's as if Marilyn Monroe came back to life and is singing and dancing at the wax museum in Niagara Falls."

"There's no such thing as a true-to-life Marilyn Monroe impersonator."

"Until now, there hasn't been anyone who could come close. But the Marilyn Monroe I saw today looks exactly like the real Marilyn. Not only that, she sounds the same, moves the same, and also has that special charisma that few performers have."

"Like you would know," I said skeptically. "You weren't even born when Marilyn Monroe passed away."

"But everyone has seen a Marilyn Monroe film. Her pictures and posters are still around. I tell you this person that I saw today is absolutely amazing! She is Marilyn Monroe -- the ultimate sex symbol!"

"You say she sounds like Marilyn and moves like Marilyn?"

"Yeah. We were rehearsing some song and dance routines from her movies."

"You did songs from old musicals?"

"I was provided with sheet music for all the songs. The whole set-up is amazing. We've got a huge rooftop canopy, a new stage, and stairway entrances. You've probably seen it. We've got seats for seven hundred people or more. We have large video screens set up to entertain the crowds when our live performers do their costume changes. We'll show clips from those vintage musicals. But, I have to tell you; I couldn't take my eyes off this Marilyn look-alike. She's the real deal!"

That made me feel warm and tingly inside. "Thank. . . . What about my boss, Heather Robinson? Isn't she involved in the show too?"

"Oh yeah, Heather was there. She actually did the choreography, the direction, and the producing. She's really hot too! Heather's a real talented, energetic dynamo!"

"But you say this other performer looks like Marilyn Monroe?"

"It was like Marilyn got cloned! You know, like in that old movie Jurassic Park, they used the DNA from dinosaurs and brought them back to life. Well, somebody must have dredged up Marilyn Monroe's DNA. This girl is amazing! I stood three feet away from her. She oozed sex from every pore! She's so gorgeous, when I was introduced to her, I almost came in my pants."

I laughed at his gross remark. "Well Pete, I think you must have 'waxmuseumitis.' That deadly strain has drained your brain of all rational thought."

A young couple, locked in an embrace, brushed by our table, momentarily disrupting our conversation. After they passed by, I continued, "Also, you're seeing clones everywhere -- Jane Russell, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park . . . Never mind about John Lennon's Imagine. The next song I request will be Judy Collins' Send in the Clones."

"Okay, clown around all you want. But see her for yourself. Drop by the rehearsal tomorrow and watch her. I'd be willing to bet you that this Marilyn will knock you out!"

"I'll drop by sometime, but I can't tell you exactly when." How could I manage to be two people at the same time? "I guess 'til then, I'll have to take your word for it. This 'Marilyn' must really be someone special."

"You've got that right . . . but you know, I find it a little strange that you were working on a 'Claymation Marilyn' commercial for one of your college courses. I mean, I played Diamonds as the background music for your mock commercial. And here I am, a month later, playing the same song for a new tribute show. I didn't even have to look at the sheet music."

Would Pete put two and two together and discover that Marilyn Monroe equaled Roger Baker?

"Yes, by the way, that Diamonds theme was great! It helped me get an A+ on that project. So, thanks for all your help. It's also one of the reasons I thought of you when the accompanist role came up. As they say, 'what goes around comes around.' The Law of Karma."

"I guess good things happen when you do a good deed."

"Now you sound like a Boy Scout. By the way, where did the Robinsons find this girl? Do you know?"

"Well, I heard she came in to interview for a summer job. It coincided with Heather Robinson's plan to offer some live entertainment at the wax museum. Heather took one look at this Marilyn look-a-like and asked her if she'd be willing to audition for the tribute act. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Pete repeated that story just the way Heather and I hoped he would. But I knew, in the future I needed to expand on the made up background or 'legend' for my Marilyn character.

Sandra, the waitress, returned with our drinks. I had a ten dollar bill ready for her and told her to keep the change.

"Thanks for the beer, Roger."

"You're welcome."

"A toast to good times!" Pete said as he raised his beer stein.

"To good times!"

Our glasses clinked together. Then we both took sips from our drinks.

"You know," Pete continued, "it's great to hear about somebody getting a break and taking advantage of it. Sometimes I think luck is more important than talent. But when you have that rare combination of talent and good luck, well those are the people who become superstars."

I considered Pete's comment for a moment. I looked around, through the beer and darts atmosphere of the Lounge. My jaw must have dropped in amazement! The young couple that had passed by our table -- the guy was Brad Adams, Heather's boyfriend! But -- the gorgeous redhead he was groping and probing was not Heather Robinson!

Handsome, rugged Brad, casually attired in dark blue Dockers and a tan-colored Nike golf shirt, had hungry eyes. The redhead, dressed in a white halter-top with tight black pants, was stacked, and did I mention she was hot?

"What is it?" Pete asked as he turned around to see what I was seeing. "What are you looking at?"

Brad and his girl were all lovey-dovey. Then Brad and his date were necking. Brad was tonguing her to death. The open mouthed kiss! I squirmed in my seat at this revolting reminder of Brad's sleazy passion. I wondered if he enjoyed the invasive kiss with Marilyn more than the kiss with the redhead? Next Brad was trying to give her a hickey on the neck. He could have been auditioning for the part of vampire number one on a 'Buffy' revival. If only a sharp wooden stake would magically appear in my hand.

How could Brad do this? Heather is an angel. She doesn't deserve a philandering reanimated corpse like Brad.

On the other hand, behind every dark cloud is a silver lining. If Heather and Brad were to split, I might have a chance at a relationship with Heather.

"Oh," I said, unable to say anything because 'I' didn’t know Brad, "I just think that public displays of affection are kind of . . . "

"Ghetto? Trashy?"

Pete knew how to push my laugh buttons. "No, even in the city slums and trailer parks, I think they learn manners. Maybe vulgar or sleazy would be more like it."

"Well, what do you expect? Niagara's known as the honeymoon capital of the world."

I didn't want to even think about Brad, it just burned me up. I needed to change the subject. I didn't want to let Brad's cheating heart spoil the evening. "Hey Pete, speaking of vulgar displays, I've been working on a new impression. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure, little buddy," Pete said, seemingly intrigued by the 'vulgar' description.

"You've seen Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan?"

"Oh no, you're gonna do Borat?"

"Remember at the beginning, Sacha Baron Cohen introduced movie audiences to that little known country of Kazakhstan?"

Pete nodded.

I launched into my loud, high-pitched Borat braggadocio. "Jagshemash? (How are you?) My name uh Borat. I like you. I like sex . . . is nice! This is my country of Kazakhstan -- is locate between Tajikstan and Kyrgyzstan and assholes, Uzbekistan."

Smiling broadly, I made arm gestures, pointing to the imagined Uzbeks.

"This my town of Kuzcek. This is Urkin, the town rapist." I pointed in the direction of Brad Adams. "Naughty naughty. Over here our town kildergarten. And here, live Mukhtar Shakhanov -- our town mechanic and abortionist."

As Pete sipped his beer, he laughed. The beer spewed out his nose.

"This my house. Entry, please. . . . He is my neighbor Nursultan Tuyakbay. He is pain in my assholes. I get a window from a glass; he must get a window from a glass. I get a step; he must get a step. I get a clock-radio; he cannot afford. . . . Great success!

"This is Natalya." I imagined Borat in a passionate kiss with a sultry blonde. "She is my sister. She is number-four prostitute in all of Kazakhstan. . . . Niiice! This is my mother -- she oldest woman in whole of Kuzcek. She is uh forty-three. I love her. And this -- my wife Oksana. She is uh boring. . . . "

At this point in the film, there was an angry exchange in the Kazakh language between Borat and his wife. In the subtitled translation, Oksana compared Borat unfavorably to a skinny piece of shit and suggested he do something useful like dig his mother a grave.

I continued with Borat's tour. "This is where I live. . . . My bed . . . and this is a VCR recorder and this uh play cassettes." I waved my arm toward Pete's synthesizer.

"Now I show you outside from my houses. My hobbies: ping-pong . . . sunbathe (in a lime-green slingshot thong) . . . uh disco dance . . . and on weekends I travel to capital city and watch uh ladies as they make uh toilet."

With a big smile, Pete held up his hand. "High five!" We slapped hands together.

It was the first time I had tried out the Borat Sagdiyev impression. It felt good!

"That movie was disgusting," Pete began, "and so funny!"

"I felt a little guilty when I laughed at some of the sick sexual humor. I just couldn't help myself."

"Me too -- 'the town rapist,' as if every Kazakh town had one."

We both looked in the direction of Brad Adams. He was still kissing his girlfriend passionately.

I shook my head, signifying my disapproval.

Pete shrugged his shoulders and then he checked his watch. "Roger, you are an amazing mimic. I wish we could continue chatting, but I have to take a washroom break and then it's back to being the Piano Man." Pete gulped down the remaining contents of his beer stein and pushed his chair back from the table. "I'll talk to you later, 'Rocket' Roger."

My nickname dated back to our childhood days watching the Toronto Blue Jays when Roger Clemens won two Cy Young Awards, although I was never much of a pitcher. I used to try to imitate Clemens' Texas drawl when he was interviewed on TV.

"Later, piano player," I replied with a friendly salute.

While Pete visited the facilities, I returned to the continuing saga of Brad and his new playmate. It was like watching a nauseating soap opera -- As the Stomach Turns. I know that was an old familiar twist on the soap opera title, but Brad's lewd display was no Guiding Light for proper behavior.

For a moment, I was tempted to stick around and spy on the two lovebirds, but the longer I watched the public debauchery, the angrier I got, so I decided to leave. I walked over to the waitress, Sandra, stuck five dollars in her hand, and asked her to refill Pete's glass -- the beer stein perched on top of his classic Wurlitzer synthesizer, right beside the 'bread' jar. When I walked out of the Niagara Country Club Lounge, the fresh night air revived me back into the world of the unBrad.

Somehow Brad Adams would pay for what he did.

CHAPTER NINE

All through rehearsal the next day, I couldn't help but think of that scumbag Brad. It was tearing me apart. Whenever I would look at Heather, I felt like blurting out the truth.

I was so distracted by my dilemma that during the Diamonds dance routine I actually fell down doing a spin that I had performed countless times before.

Should I tell her about Brad and his cheating ways? I wanted to tell her, but nobody likes a snitch. Also, she might have wanted to kill the messenger. Another factor to consider was that I had seen Brad in my Roger Baker guise. Brad didn't even know Roger, his accuser. I know that was a tenuous excuse. And . . . I wanted Heather to get rid of Brad, so that I would have a shot at a relationship with Heather, but I couldn't persuade myself to be a snitch.

I remembered coming across a line Marilyn Monroe said to actress Shelley Winters. "Wouldn't it be nice to be like men, just getting notches in your belt, having affairs with the most attractive men . . . and not getting emotionally involved?"

After the rehearsal had finished, I didn't hang around to talk with Heather as was my usual habit. I withdrew quickly to the dressing room on the ground floor. I ran the bath water, removed my wig, clothes and make-up, and then hopped into the bathtub. I soaked myself for ten minutes, letting the special Sokui Biosynthetic rice glue dissolve with the aid of the special solvent, while I pondered my moral dilemma.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I hung up the special girdle and the prosthetic attachments to dry. I quickly donned my Roger clothing and left the museum as quickly as possible.

Whenever life would get me down, I'd try to get out for a nature walk. I'd go down by the river along the Niagara Recreation Trail. It was a beautiful 56-kilometer route, stretching from historic Fort George (Niagara-on-the-Lake) in the north to the town of Fort Erie in the south. The Niagara Gorge was a spectacular sight. The Niagara Parks Commission kept the parkland in immaculate condition. I'd see the Falls, the Maid of the Mist bobbing through the swirling rapids beneath the Falls, the rainbows cast by the spray of the Falls meeting the bright sunshine, and so much more.

At other times, while at home, I'd go up to my bedroom and crank up the stereo. I'd put five of my favorite CDs into the CD player, lie down on the bed, close my eyes, and contemplate the meaning of life. Enya, the Moody Blues, Supertramp, Springsteen, Tina Turner, and the Doors -- the classic oldies my parents grew up on, they'd do the trick. There was a state somewhere between consciousness and dreaming that was pure bliss. At these particular points, right on the edge, I could 'jump' out of my physical body and elevate my consciousness to the ceiling of the room and look back down at my prone form lying on the bed. I was afraid if I wandered too far away, I wouldn't be able to return to my physical body. Consequently, I never let my mind stray too far.

So, I'd hear the Moody Blues proclaim the psychedelic guru "Timothy Leary's dead. No, no, no, no. He's outside, looking in. He'll fly his astral plane." Or did he fly his ass through flame? "Takes you trips around the bay, Brings you back the same day, Timothy Leary. Timothy Leary."

I didn't need drugs to get high. To be truthful, I've never even tried hallucinogenic drugs. My dreams and my meditative music sessions were enough to lift me out of my painful existence.

Besides, it has been proven that music does improve the mind. For some unknown reason, math students who listen to Mozart prior to a test do better than students who don't.

At other times, I'd read some books on philosophy. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was one I picked up. It got me into reading some of the works by the Dalai Lama of Tibet. The Art of Happiness was a good guide to a more fulfilling life. Then I went on a movie-renting binge. I saw movies like Lost Horizon, The Razor's Edge, Seven Years in Tibet, Kundun, Little Buddha, and Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. I even read Shirley MacLaine's Out on a Limb because I couldn't find a movie version of it. I went on a search for enlightenment I guess because love had eluded me.

However, none of my usual remedies for depression seemed to have any appeal today. I wanted to try something else beyond contemplation and introspection.

On my way home from the wax museum, I passed by a psychic's home. I had passed by many times. I thought someday, I'd like to try it, to see whether it had any value, or if it was a scam. The lure of the unknown spiritual underworld called out to me. The sign on the railing of the veranda, above the small front lawn, advertised 'Genuine Psychic Readings.'

I was so depressed. Brad, a dirty rotten scoundrel, did not deserve a beautiful angel like Heather. But another voice told me that all psychics were scam artists. Nevertheless, I succumbed to the temptation.

When I entered the converted two-story Victorian home, there was an 'office' to the immediate left of the entrance hallway. Actually, it was the waiting room. There was another room that could be accessed from the waiting room. Since the waiting room was unoccupied, I considered leaving without having seen anyone. The psychic must have been busy with a client. I was filled with doubt.

Just as I turned to leave, a middle-aged lady peeked into the office from the middle room of the home.

"One moment please. I'll be with you in one minute. We're just finishing up in here. Okay?"

"All right," I replied. I sat down on one of the padded rattan armchairs. The waiting room was kept neat and tidy. From the front window, through the Venetian blinds, I could see the street traffic that generated a constant stream of noise. On another wall was a bookcase jammed with dusty hardcover books. Beside the shelves was a cork bulletin board display with photographs.

There was a shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor in the next room. The lady I had seen earlier and an elderly gentleman emerged.

"Okay John, I'll see you two weeks from today at the usual time."

"Thank you. Goodbye," the man said as he made his way out of the waiting room. A few moments later, I heard the door close.

"Welcome. My name is Dolly Shearer. And your name?"

Should I give her my real name? IF she was a psychic, wouldn't she know when I lied? "My name is Roger Baker."

"Please come into my office."

She led me into the next room. The middle room was a cozy space. It had very little natural light, as the large stain-glassed window behind Dolly's desk looked out to the side wall of the next house three feet away. However, the cheerful flowery wallpaper helped to brighten up the chamber.

I sat down on another padded rattan armchair.

I studied Dolly for a moment. She had curly medium length red hair and looked to be a well-preserved fifty-year old. Dolly was slightly shorter than I was and she wore a creamy white knit-top with a green-gray tartan skirt or kilt.

"Well, I suppose I should tell you a little about myself since this is your first time here."

I nodded.

"First of all, I am not like your stereotypical psychic. I do not read palms and I do not look into crystal balls. Also, I charge $70 for the first visit and all subsequent visits as well. Usually a session will last twenty minutes, but the first session usually takes longer."

I nodded again.

"Feel free to interrupt me at any time if you have a question. Now, I have a flash card in this video camera. It has been running since we sat down. At the end of the session, you will have a recording of our discussion or I can send it to you over the Internet. So, you will not have to take notes. Also, later on, you can consult the recording any time you wish."

I shrugged my shoulders. Would there be any value to this session at all?

"You seem to be a person of few words today."

"I am not sure what to expect in this reading."

"When I was a young girl, it took awhile for me to realize that I had unusual abilities. . . .You see, I can sense auras around people. I didn't realize that other people couldn't do this."

"What do you mean by auras?"

"Have you ever read The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield?"

"No, but I have heard the title before."

"Okay, here's what is suggested in that book. Hold your forefinger and thumb close together. Close one eye. Then look at your digits carefully. Your perception will be a little fuzzy. You will see a kind of outline around the edge of your skin."

I held my thumb and forefinger close together, following Dolly Shearer's lead. Wow. I could see an aura. "Yes. I see it."

"Now, when I see an aura around people, the aura is much bigger and brighter. Also, it has colors. And it can expand or shrink according to the person's energy level."

"When you look at me, what colors do you see?"

"You have three strong colors. You have a yellow, then a green, and a blue aura. Also, in the last minute, the auras have gotten stronger or larger. You are more energized than when you were simply nodding your head. . . . Now your aura is shrinking again."

I shrugged. "What does this mean?"

"In your case, one thing I can tell immediately is that you are in excellent physical health."

A doctor could tell me that.

"Also, you have a strong inner conflict that is tearing you and your aura apart."

"How do I know that you aren't just reading my reactions, my body language, and working off those keys?"

"All right. That is a possibility with most psychics. Then let's look at the proof within familiar culture. Have you ever taken Tai Chi classes?"

"No."

"Translated from the Chinese, Tai Chi means harmony of the energies. Through a series of movements, the energy flow of the body or chi is enhanced. Health is promoted and the well being of the person improves. Also, you will note that Tai Chi is practiced together with others. The flow of energy is enhanced by a group of people working together. Also, it works even better outdoors on the ground or soil. Tai Chi is enhanced by the earth's energy."

"Is Acupuncture at all similar?"

"Yes. There are key points on the skin that can be stimulated with needles. Acupuncture helps to free energy blockages and stimulate the body's critical energy flow. Moxibustion and Acupressure operate under a similar theory. There are certain key points or nodes in the body. Chinese medicine evolved differently from western medicine. The Chinese did not do autopsies and dissect human organs. The chi, the body's healing energy, can also be enhanced by herbs like ginseng."

"So what has this to do with auras?"

"Practitioners of Tai Chi, Moxibustion, Acupuncture and Acupressure can sense the energy. They can feel it. But, I can see the energy as an aura around the body."

"How might I be able to feel it?"

"Perhaps you could take Tai Chi lessons. Or, you might be capable of feeling it now. If you know a family that has a young baby, offer to hold the youngster for awhile. I think you might be able to feel the baby's strong chi. Just contrast that to helping an elderly person across the street. You will sense a much weaker energy field emanating from an older person."

I could just picture myself testing the auras of babies and old women. "So what about when you get sick? How does that affect the chi or auras?"

"The auras shrink. They don't have the same healthy glow. The chi becomes weak. As I said before, the chi and auras are the same thing. It's just that they can be sensed in two different ways."

"Then how about some convincing proof from my own experience?"

"Okay. You have been to live theater, or perhaps you have performed in front of an audience yourself."

I nodded.

"When a charismatic performer connects with the audience, you can sense that connection. There's a subtle perceptible change within everyone. It is almost as if the performer is sending out a strong invisible signal from his or her heart. And this outpouring of love or energy or, call it whatever you will, is being sensed by the audience. And the audience sends back its energy. It feeds the performer. The audience-performer interconnection can build and strengthen, but it is a fragile link that can change almost instantaneously and be felt by everyone at the same time. . . . And you know this to be true because you, as an artist, have felt this on many occasions."

That caught me by surprise. "How did you know?"

"Because you have tremendous energy. I have only seen this strong an aura among real showmen. Real stars. You have that kind of aura."

"But nobody knows who Roger Baker is. I am not a star."

"You're an actor. You're headed for stardom. It's your destiny, but you have an unbelievably strong duality within your personality. That conflict is tearing you apart. You are hiding a great part of the self. You need to unify your spirit and let the performer grow unhindered by false restraints and unnecessary stress."

"You must be more specific. I don't want to reveal my innermost thoughts and secrets unless you can give me proof that you have genuine powers."

"All right. Do you have a piece of jewelry that you wear all the time? A watch or a ring perhaps?"

"I have a watch."

"Okay. I need to hold it. I can get impressions from it."

I took off the silver counterfeit Cartier and handed it to Dolly Shearer. Dolly clutched the watch face in between the fingers of her right hand. She closed her eyes.

"I see that you have a very strong female side to your personality and it has been growing in strength. . . . Also, there is a beautiful young lady in your life. You yearn for her, but she does not return the feeling. . . . And yet, you think she loves the other half of your personality. You think she loves your female side, but rejects the male side. . . . Her name is Heather. Am I right?"

Right on. She was right on. I could only nod. How did she do it?

"I need something else of yours. You don't wear this watch all the time. Perhaps you could wear a ring from now on. If you were to wear a ring full-time, that would help me get a more complete reading on everything that's happening to you."

"I'll consider it."

"There is something else I should mention."

"I hope it's something good."

"You have a kindred spirit. She has been around you at all times lately."

"A relative?"

"No. This is somebody you admire greatly; somebody very close to you. However, she died a long time ago."

"Uh huh."

"You feel a strong connection to her. Some of the things that troubled her are also troubling you."

"Yes." I needed to know more.

"For example, many people admired her. Yet, she felt very lonely and unloved, primarily because of a troubled childhood."

"Yes. I think I know what you mean and whom you mean, but can you tell me her name?"

"She has several names -- one of which you share in common. Your last name. She wants you to continue on this path. She believes that you will resolve your conflict soon."

"Keep going." That was incredible! Baker! My name and her name.

"This spirit doesn't believe you're ready to see anymore at this time. She believes you must keep seeking the truth. We must conclude this session now. I have another client waiting in the next room."

My head spun. I wanted to know more, but already felt like I'd heard too much. When Dolly handed me the flash card video recording of our session, I stuck it in my wallet. I was going to analyze my session as soon as I got home.

CHAPTER TEN

When I arrived at work the next day, Mrs. Robinson was in her work studio, which was where the entrance to my dressing room was located.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning." I engaged the kickstand of my Supercycle mountain bike and leaned it up against a wall.

"Hi Roger!" Heather called out from the far end of the workspace.

I waved hello.

Mrs. Robinson had a tube of glue in her hand. Apparently one of the wax figures needed some maintenance work.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Occasionally there's some vandalism." Mrs. Robinson didn't look very happy. The Jim Carrey wax figure had been placed on top of a worktable.

"It looks okay to me."

"I believe a jacket is missing. Also, the pinky finger fell off when the thief removed the jacket."

The detached finger lay beside Jim Carrey's right hand.

The Jim Carrey figure had stood in the fabulous Bruce ALMIGHTY display. Jim, as reporter Bruce Nolan, was aboard a mock-up of Niagara Falls' Maid of the Mist tour boat. The humorous scene, shot at Niagara Falls, was one I had used in one of my New Media: Production course commercials.

"Come here, Roger," Mrs. Robinson said. "I'll show you on the computer monitor."

Mrs. Robinson set aside the tube of glue. She played with the keyboard and mouse of the Roswell Replicator II for a moment and opened a picture file. Photos of the wax museum display for Bruce ALMIGHTY appeared on the screen. Also, there were stills from the actual movie. A side-by-side comparison with the wax museum display demonstrated that the museum's model was incredibly accurate.

"We definitely need to replace the jacket," Heather said, as she peered over my shoulder.

Bruce Nolan, as portrayed by Jim Carrey, wanted to be the new anchorman of WKBW Eyewitness News, replacing the retiring Pete Fineman. While Bruce was on the tossing deck of the Maid of the Mist, surrounded by the roar of Niagara's Horseshoe Falls, the station delayed switching to the 'live report' to announce the coveted anchor job had gone to Bruce's rival, Evan Baxter, played by Steve Carell.

Bruce waited in his multicolored umbrella hat and green waterproof jacket until co-anchor Susan Ortega 'threw' to a stunned and severely disappointed Bruce Nolan. He did what in the news industry is called 'a Walt Disney' -- Bruce froze solid: a deer in the headlights. The raging cascade's fury provided a stark contrast to Bruce's stone cold silence. Finally, he came out of his coma to interview elderly Irene Dansfield, whose mother rode on the tour boat's maiden voyage 156 years ago.

I picked up the umbrella hat and microphone prop from the worktable. What better time for my well rehearsed Jim Carrey impression?

"Hi Susan, Bruce Nolan here aboard the Maid of the Mist in fabulous Niagara Falls, New York. First off, let me just add another congratulations to Evan Backstabber … pardon me -- bastard -- Baxter rather. It is good to see what someone with real talent can do when great opportunities are given to them instead of me." I quoted the movie with a maniacal smile and a forced laugh.

There were happy grins on the faces of both Heather and her mom.

"Anyway, I'm here with Katharine Hepburn's mom. Tell me, why did you throw the blue 'heart of the ocean' jewel over the railing of the Titanic?"

I shoved the microphone in front of Mrs. Robinson. She was substituting for the bewildered old woman, Irene Dansfield, onboard the Maid of the Mist. Of course, she didn't know what to say.

"Did you feel bad at all letting Leo Di Caprio drown while you were safe floating on the big door? Could you have taken turns, or were you just too afraid to freeze your BIG FAT ASS OFF?"

I mugged for the imaginary camera.

"Well, I guess that's how life is, isn't it? Some people are drenched, freezing to death, on a stupid boat, with a stupid hat . . . while others are in a comfy news studio, sucking up all the glory! Oh well, no big deal." I wrenched off the umbrella hat and pretended to crush it.

"Oh, look, it's the owner of the Maid of the Mist! Let's have a talk with him, shall we?

Come on in here, Bill." I grabbed the forearm of Heather, pretending she was the owner. I steered the reluctant Bill/Heather toward the imaginary camera.

"No, no, no, come on, let's have a talk. . . . Bill, you've been running the Maid of the Mist for twenty-three years now. Tell me: Why do you think I didn't get the anchor job?"

Bill was supposed to say a line, so I moved behind Heather and did the voice for Bill, holding my right hand in front of Heather's mouth, flapping my thumb and fingers like they were my mouth opening and closing in unison to the words. "Hey man, I don't want any problems."

Then I moved back to Bruce's position beside Heather.

"Is it my hair, Bill?" I shook my head violently like a dog trying to rid itself of water.

"Are my teeth not white enough? Or like the great Falls, is the bedrock of my life, eroding beneath me? Eroding! ERODING! Ero-o-o-o-ding! Ero-o-o-o-ding." The prolonged meltdown was reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.

"I'm Bruce Nolan, for Eyewitness News. Back to you, fuckers!"

Mrs. Robinson and Heather started applauding.

Then Heather opened her arms to me and we hugged. "That was great! You're such a good mimic."

Mrs. Robinson put her arms around both Heather and I. "You have so much talent," Mrs. Robinson said. "You're really funny. I am so glad I hired you."

In the film, because Bruce Nolan's tirade culminated with the ultimate 'F-word' expletive, WKBW (Wimpy Kiddy Baby Whiners) decided to play the Trump card: 'You're fired!'

"Thanks for the compliments." I looked at the smiling faces of Mrs. Robinson and Heather.

"Hmmm. If this Marilyn Monroe impersonation doesn't work out, you might give stand-up comedy a shot," Mrs. Robinson said. "Jim Carrey started out in stand-up doing impressions."

"Alrighty, Mrs. Robinson, I'll keep it in mind," I said in the Jim Carrey voice. "In the meantime, I'll just get back into my Marilyn body, mask, wig, and dress and try to revive her career."

I began walking toward my dressing room.

"Any idea of where I can find a duplicate jacket?" Mrs. Robinson asked of Heather.

The jacket was one of those hard to define green shades. It had a hood and was waterproof.

I stopped for a moment and turned around. "Perhaps you could try Hudson's Bay, Eddie Bauer, or Tilley Endurables."

"Endurable? This kind of headache I don't need to endure -- as if I didn't have enough troubles already."

Mrs. Robinson seemed to be under a lot of stress. Heather gave her mom a consoling hug.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After a complete run-through of the whole program with Heather, Pete, and the technical crew, we seemed ready.

Tomorrow would be a dress rehearsal, so we needed to go through costume changes. I'd be wearing three different sets of costumes. To put my mind at ease, Heather told me her mom had volunteered to be my dresser. That made me feel really good. The boss, Mrs. Robinson, would be my dresser! Also, it was a big relief knowing that I wouldn't have to worry about someone accidentally discovering my deep dark secret.

Heather carried on about how ads had been placed on CFAL, a local radio station. She had contacted newspapers in Hamilton, Buffalo, and Toronto. The mayor and other local dignitaries had been invited. She had hired a camera crew to make a DVD recording of our stage act. A banquet hall had been booked for a party for the staff. Heather had all the angles covered.

At times like this, I felt lucky to have fallen into a dream job -- to be an entertainer and to work with such a lovely person! Was she even aware of what impact her presence had on me?

Heather and I retreated to the ground floor studio where my transformation room was located and reviewed the whole rehearsal from start to finish. There were a few minor timing concerns. Pete had been great in responding to the visual hand signals we had worked out for our cues. The wireless microphone problem had been resolved. For the dance numbers, we settled on use of a Velcro strap around the upper thigh. The small cassette size transmitter would be strapped to the inner thigh, just below the crotch. The cut of the gown hid the upper thigh and for the opening dance numbers, we didn't have to do high leg kicks. For other routines, we could use the old wire microphone set up that Marilyn Monroe would have used.

We went through each song, each dance routine, and all the technical aspects of lighting and sound. Intuitively I knew that Heather felt something was missing. Call it a sixth sense, but sometimes I had a sensitivity to reading people's emotions or even their inner thoughts. She had something on her mind that needed to be spilled.

Heather got up from her chair and slid back the closet mirror panel behind her. The gowns we would be using in the show were all hanging there. There were two copies of each of the four sets of costumes. Heather had said I might need more of the white dresses so that we could rotate them through the cleaners -- and that one would be hard to keep spotless.

Heather took down the gown that Marilyn Monroe had worn the night she had sung 'Happy Birthday' to John F. Kennedy at Madison Square Garden.

"Marilyn, could you try this gown on, please?" Heather asked. "Let see how it hangs on you."

"Sure thing, Heather." I stripped off my dancer's leotard without hesitation. Heather had seen Marilyn 'naked' many times before.

I put on a nylon body stocking first, and then slipped into the whisper thin, diaphanous gown, pulled the body-hugging material over my bountiful bosom, and I looked into a full-length mirror. If I hadn't put on the body stocking, you could have seen my nipples right through the gown material. If you looked closely, you could have seen . . . .

"That is such a sexy gown," Heather gushed. "There are very few women who could do justice to it."

I looked in the mirror and examined my body as objectively as I could. The male side of my personality was turned on by it. The female side admired the perfection of its form.

"It is spectacular."

"But, I think there's still something missing."

I looked around me for whatever it was she meant. "You mean the accessories like the jewelry? I can put it on if you like."

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Then what?" I didn't have a clue where she was going.

"It's about Marilyn's personality."

"Uh huh."

"Marilyn had a 'Je ne sais quois' sex appeal that nobody else could duplicate."

I loved it when she talked French . . . or any other language. I thought about what Marilyn has said in an interview. "It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone." I felt like that about Heather.

"Je ne sais quoi means I don't know what in French." Francais had been my worst subject in High School.

"Right. Marilyn's sex appeal was hard to define or explain. Even so, we need to try to get you to emulate it."

"That will be very hard to do. Remember, I've only been a girl for a short time."

"Well, some of it can be learned. And it can develop too. I think we can improve on what you have now."

When Heather looked at me with her doe-like eyes, she always made me feel so special.

"You know, Marilyn Monroe had a special quality that few other Hollywood stars could project. It was that sexual attraction that she could turn on. People could sense it. It is one of the reasons she became the most popular movie star in history." Heather tried to pull me into a different mindset -- an emotional one. She relaxed her body and spoke in a more seductive and playful tone. "Marilyn had a kind of hard to explain appeal -- there's just something about her that makes her likable on the movie screen. It's not just the fact that she was beautiful." Heather looked at me with hunger in her eyes. "Well, I have a theory on that. I think people can send out signals or vibrations that affect others. I think Marilyn Monroe had a golden glow about her, an appeal, a gentle radiance -- and people could sense it."

"I don't know that I've ever experienced it, except maybe with you." Oh jeez, I hadn't meant to blurt out that. When I got in Marilyn mode I sometimes became too candid.

Heather smiled at me. "I like you to. We've become good friends."

Good friends. The last thing any boy wanted to hear from a girl.

Heather got right back to business. "When you see a live theatrical performance, you can sense when a performer establishes a link with the audience. It isn't about just the appearance, the expression, the voice -- there's an allure about the person. Marilyn Monroe personified glamour. Seductiveness. Love. People liked her immediately. They adored her."

"But how does a performer develop it?"

"I think you look, sound, and move like Marilyn Monroe. The rehearsals have gone so well."

"But?"

"You need to work on one tiny element."

"What's that?" I hoped she didn't think my 'element' was tiny.

"Sex appeal."

Sex! "That's a pretty tall order considering I'm a guy imitating the sexiest woman in history."

"Believe it or not, right now I think you have enormous sex appeal as Marilyn."

"I do?" I had thought I looked pretty good in the mirror, but it made me tingle to hear her say it.

"However, I think you just need to become aware of your allure -- and enhance it."

"How?" Maybe the Roswell Replicator had a button we could push to add a little sex to my performance.

"First of all, you have to believe you're sexy."

"Okay." I do believe. I do believe. Was that mantra from The Wizard of Oz or Peter Pan?

"You can communicate sexiness by means of body language. Through subtle gestures and nuances, you can be very enticing."

"Well, as Marilyn, I have noticed that Pete, Tom, and Gord treat me completely different from the way I've ever been treated as Roger."

"Yes, they sometimes seem overwhelmed by your beauty. When I'm the other girl in the room, I can tell you that you're too much competition for me."

"Not for you, Heather. My goodness . . . you're lovely." My hands flew to my mouth to stop me from saying anything else that was clearly stupid.

Heather giggled. "Marilyn, sometimes I love you to bits. You take the nicest parts of Roger and blend them with a bit of Monroe magic and it all comes out sweet."

My head reeled. Had she just paid me a compliment, or Marilyn, or Marilyn-me?

"If they only knew the truth," I replied with a laugh.

"Actually, I felt extremely jealous when Brad stuck his tongue in your mouth."

"I'm sorry. I should've been more careful." I touched her hand and pleaded with my eyes for her to forgive me.

"It wasn't your fault. It was simply one of my bad ideas that went entirely wrong."

"I didn't enjoy that at all." I considered again telling Heather about the Niagara Country Club Inn and Brad's date with the redhead.

"Seriously, when you're Marilyn, you have to forget that you're a boy. I think when you meet people as Marilyn -- if we want this impersonation to be as successful as possible -- I think we have to work on your interactions with other people. You have to exude sex appeal, vulnerability, and intimacy."

"Kinda like the way you do?"

"Thank you, but I think all attractive girls have had some experience at seducing guys." Heather nudged me with her shoulder and gave me a come-get-me look.

"Uh huh, I think you're very seductive." I thought she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Heather put her arm around my waist and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Now what do you think?"

Think? "I'm a pushover for you. Do whatever you want with me."

"Oh c'mon. You're no challenge at all."

"All right. I'll resist your advances."

Heather paused for a moment, as if considering her choices. "Let's try this again. Only this time, I want you to be the seductress . . . but there are two rules. You can't touch me, and you can't say anything."

"Challenge accepted." What did I have to lose?

I smiled and looked down at my voluptuous curves, taking a personal inventory of what I had to work with -- which was plenty. I moved up closer to her and willed my body to be soft, cuddly, and inviting. I thought only of loving Heather with a smoldering, burning passion. I looked into her eyes and dreamed intensely of how gorgeous she was. Of her perfect sensuous body. Her soft supple curves. Her intoxicating scent. I thought of how beautiful a union with her would be -- soulmate to soulmate.

And then it happened. Heather wrapped her arms around me lovingly and kissed me deeply.

"I think you've got it," Heather whispered. "I think I just turned lesbian."

CHAPTER TWELVE

On opening day, Heather and I stood nervously in the wings offstage, fully made up, and dressed in our costumes for the first number.

There was an air of excitement under the Big Top. The Rooftop Theater was jam-packed with seven hundred eager spectators.

I looked at gorgeous Heather. She had used her make-up skills to imitate Jane Russell's face and had additional padding to give herself a 'full-figured' silhouette under her glitzy red sequined gown. The dress was slit down the middle, with a flesh colored fabric from the neck to the waist, separating 'Jane's' prominent breasts. I should have known it wouldn't be too hard for someone as sexy as Heather to mimic a movie star . . . with or without the Roswell Replicator.

'Jane' showed lots of leg. There was another tantalizing slit down the left side of the gown. The shoes were matching red high heels. Four 'diamond' bracelets over the left sleeve, two bracelets on the right, a diamond brooch at the top of the leg slit in the dress, and a dazzling diamond necklace completed the look of the evening gown. Her long 'Jane Russell' tresses held up a matching red cap topped by a white feather headdress, with the plumes combed from left to right. The complete ensemble was a replica of the costume from the film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I was dressed in the exact same attire.

At precisely noon, Pete struck up There's No Business Like Show Business and we began. From there, I think I did the whole show on autopilot. It all seemed to go by so fast.

At first I consciously oozed sex toward Heather, which was easy given how I felt about her. As the performance went on and the audience showed their love for what we were doing, I started to romance them. 'Sex is part of nature. I go along with nature.' Where had that thought come from?

We began by marching on stage together singing the opening line, "We're just two little girls from Little Rock" and continued on, followed by Bye Bye Baby. I didn't have to think at all about the dance moves. We had rehearsed so well and so often. Even Tom, Gord, and Pete, in spite of far less preparation time, hit all the cues. The lights, the sound, and the music were perfect!

Then, while Heather and I exited stage left to change our costumes, the video screens took over.

A scene from the 'Gentlemen' movie flashed to life. Young Mr. Augustus Esmond, played by Tommy Noonan, came backstage, calling on Lorelei Lee, played by Marilyn Monroe. Gus was supposed to be the son of a wealthy businessman. Lorelei Lee was a gold digging showgirl. When Lorelei greeted Gus with a hot kiss at the dressing room door, he stood there for a long time -- with a stunned, stupefied look on his face. Dorothy Shaw, portrayed by Jane Russell, quipped, "I don't know what you do honey, unless you use Novocaine in your lipstick."

Backstage, Mrs. Robinson helped me change costumes. My hot sequined gown from the opening numbers was off in less than thirty seconds. Together we pulled on my pink, off the shoulder sheath gown, with a wide bow or 'bustle' at the back, plus long velvet opera gloves. Within two minutes, I was all ready for the next number.

The video screen faded to black. Pete struck up the chords of the introduction. I entered stage right, strutting in time to the military cadence of the Diamonds opening.

"The French are bred to die for love.
They delight in fighting duels.
But I prefer a man who lives
And gives expensive jewels.

"A kiss on the hand
May be quite continental,
But diamonds are a girl's best friend.

"A kiss may be grand
But it won't pay the rental
On your humble flat
Or help you at the automat.

"Men grow cold
As girls grow old,
And we all lose our charms in the end.

"But square-cut or pear-shaped,
These rocks don't loose their shape.
Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

"Tiffany's!
Cartier!
Diamonds! Diamonds!
I don't mean rhinestones!
But diamonds are a girl's best friend!"

Music by Jules Styne and lyrics by Leo Robin, it was a timeless classic. My favorite Marilyn Monroe song! The audience loved it too. The intense vibes going back and forth between them and me nearly knocked me over. It wasn't quite sex, but it wasn't quite NOT sex.

Another video interlude entertained the audience while I changed into the most famous dress in cinema history. The scene with Tom Ewell from The Seven Year Itch came on screen.

Before I knew it, I was back on stage. I stood on a New York City sidewalk, clad in a classic white dress. Suddenly, a rumble of a subway passing below street level caused a strong breeze to blow up through the street grate. I stood above the vent. The strong breeze caused my dress to billow up. I stood with my legs apart, my arms akimbo, holding the sides of my dress down; struggling to protect my modesty. The white skirt billowed like a parachute in the wind. My legs and panties were fully exposed! I closed my eyes, smiled, and enjoyed the feel of the breeze on my gorgeous legs.

The affect on the audience bounced back and forth between them and me and I sighed, which caused them to 'ohhhh.'

Then the city set, on top of a huge turntable, slowly rotated, hiding me from view. The crowd burst out with thunderous applause!

Next, Jane Russell took over. Heather sang and danced to Ain't There Anyone Here for Love? Unfortunately, we didn't have a bevy of male studs to pose as members of the U.S. Olympic team, but Heather sang it hot and sassy to the guys in the front row. It was a huge hit.

When I returned to the stage, I sang Do It Again from the film French Doll; River of No Return from the movie of the same name; and After You Get What You Want, You Don't Want It Anymore from There's No Business Like Show Business.

As I strolled off the stage to a rousing ovation, Heather came back and did some audience participation schtick. She asked the crowd where they were from. There were many that had come from outside of North America. People had come from all over the world -- from Europe, Australia, South-East Asia, and the Middle East. You name a continent -- they were all covered -- except for Antarctica.

When she asked, "Who's celebrating a birthday today?" she got all sorts of responses. One friendly guy from Miami, traveling with his wife, was honoring his 75th year of blissful existence. Heather asked him to come onstage.

I came out behind him, dressed in my diaphanous gown. The audience gasped when they saw what I was wearing and guessed what I was going to do. I poured my heart into singing a sultry sexy version of Happy Birthday, using the kind gentleman as my 'Jack.' He grinned with delight throughout the song as I focused pure lust on him. When I kissed the birthday 'boy' on the lips to conclude the song, the audience exploded!

I curtsied several times as they gave me a standing ovation. The gentleman, no fool, gave me a celebratory hug, and kisses on both cheeks.

Next, we brought up to the stage a young couple celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. I launched into Bob Hope's signature song Thanks for the Memories. Marilyn had sung that song for JFK as well. And this time, when I embraced the couple, Heather joined in too.

Then I concluded the set with My Heart Belongs to Daddy from Let's Make Love, the one that starred Yves Montand. Finally, I waved goodbye, with both hands over my head in a way that drew full attention to my curves.

The audience went wild. They stood and applauded for at least a minute straight. They wouldn't let me go.

It felt wonderful. I was absolutely flying on air. My body tingled all over. It felt better than multiple orgasms.

Mrs. Robinson and I set some sort of time-lapsed record for changing clothes so that I could return for an encore wearing a dazzling gold evening gown. I sang my final song from the movie Some Like It Hot.

"I wanna be loved by you
Just you and nobody else but you
I wanna be loved by you alone
pooh pooh bee doo!

"I wanna be kissed by you
Just you and nobody else but you
I wanna be kissed by you alone

"I couldn't aspire
To anything higher
Than to fill the desire
To make you my own
paah-dum paah-dum doo bee dum, pooooo!"

This time when I blew kisses to the audience and waved goodbye, I wasn't going to return until the two o'clock show. The lights came up, signaling the end of the performance.

From start to finish, the complete show had lasted one hour and ten minutes. Just over an hour to change me completely. 'I'm very definitely a woman, and I enjoyed it.' I thought, as I walked down the stairs in my high heels, as if I'd worn them all my life.

However, Heather and I weren't finished yet. We stood near one of the exits and shook hands with the audience as they filed out. Over the next twenty minutes, we received heart-warming compliments from virtually everyone who took the time to talk to us.

"The lady at the ticket wicket said your show would last seventy minutes," a young man with impressive biceps said -- his girlfriend didn't look as eager to talk with me. "You were right on time."

"I've been on a calendar," I replied, using a Marilyn line, "but I've never been on Time."

A woman in her sixties looked me over like I was an organism being examined under a microscope. "When I was young I used to dream about being you."

Again I answered with a Marilyn quote, "Dreaming about being an actress is more exciting than being one."

Everyone laughed at whatever I said. I could've read the phone book and they would've thought I was witty. All I had to do was look at where on my body the men's eyes were focused to know what they were thinking. I probably should have been repulsed, but instead I did what Marilyn would have done and I played with them.

Some of the more audacious men actually asked me out and one 'gentleman' even proposed marriage, but the most outrageous comment came from a daredevil who suggested that I join him in a barrel ride over Niagara Falls.

"Silly boy, I'm Marilyn Monroe -- not Kathleen Turner." I hoped they would get the oblique reference to Romancing the Stone. They laughed; whether they got it or not, I'll never know.

A man, who had been waiting patiently for twenty minutes while the line shrank, introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Steve Chapin." He extended his hand; and I shook it lightly. "I'm with the Toronto Times. I am a feature writer. Would you mind if I asked a few questions?"

"No, not at all. I'd be happy to answer your questions."

For a reporter, he seemed a little tentative. Perhaps he was intimidated by Marilyn's beauty. He was perhaps thirty something, average height, with a heavy beard, and suffering from a mild case of middle-age spread. Why have a six-pack when you can have a keg?

"Well, could we start with some background questions?"

"Yes. Go ahead."

"What's your name?"

"Marilyn. Just the first name. It's my stage name. My real name I'd like to keep private. If you'd like, you can call me Norma Jeane."

He grinned. "I understand. Where are you from?"

"At the present time, I am living in the Niagara area." He could be fun. "Are you going to be one of 'those' reporters?"

He stared at me in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I struggled to remember the full Marilyn quote and delivered it as she would have. "Some people have been unkind. If I say I want to grow as an actress, they look at my figure. If I say I want to develop, to learn my craft, they laugh. Somehow they don't expect me to be serious about my work."

He looked at me in a way that said he definitely knew where my quote had come from.

He laughed. "Marilyn, it's great to have you back." He then went on asking his questions.

"Is this your hometown?"

"Well, I have spent most of my formative years here or at least in this vicinity. Also, I spent a few years out west, but I consider Niagara Falls to be home now."

"Where did you go to school?"

"I attended Niagara Community College."

"What did you study there?"

"I was in the Communications program."

"So, how did the students at your school react to having a blonde bombshell in their midst? You must have been very popular on campus."

"Actually, when I'm not performing, I try not to attract attention, Mr. Chapin. In fact, I doubt that you'd recognize me out of make-up."

"Are you saying that without make-up you don't look like Marilyn Monroe?"

"Let's just say that part of this," I indicated by outlining my head and body with my arms, "is an illusion. But which part is real and which is an illusion, I will not tell."

His eyes nibbled at my figure so I threw him another line Marilyn had said. "It's all make-believe, isn't it?"

I wiggled my hips a bit as I made an adjustment in the way my gown hung, that hadn't been needed. Remembering what Heather had taught me I tried to think of the reporter as a sexual partner -- for Marilyn. I proceeded to seduce him.

"Have you performed elsewhere as Marilyn Monroe?"

"Actually, this is the first time I've ever performed in public. I'm trying to find myself as a person, sometimes that's not easy to do. Millions of people live their entire lives without finding themselves. But it is something I must do. The best way for me to find myself as a person is to prove to myself that I am an actress."

"Did Marilyn say that?"

I tried my best to look perplexed, "I just did . . . didn't I?"

"Nicely done. You have a lot of potential, young lady."

"Thank you."

Heather had been listening patiently. She stepped in at that opportune moment.

"Marilyn, we need to take a break. We need to prepare for the next show. In a few minutes, the staff will be letting in ticket holders. We need to review our performances and change costumes."

"I'm sorry Mr. Chapin, but I have to go. Perhaps another time."

"Thank you. I enjoyed your performance."

I nodded acknowledgement of his compliment and smiled seductively. I then reached out and straightened his tie, and then kissed him lightly on the cheek, enough to leave a little lipstick. As we left, I worked that distinctive Marilyn walk.

Once we closed the door, Heather and I giggled and hugged like best girlfriends, which I supposed we were at that moment.

"Amazing! How did you remember all those Marilyn quotes?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "They just were in my head when I needed them."

When I sat down in front of the dressing room mirror and took some deep breaths Marilyn Monroe's reflection looked back at me. Wow! I had a hard time believing it wasn't just a fantasy.

"I guess I am a fantasy." Another Marilyn quote! Where were they coming from?

THE END OF PART ONE OF A THREE PART STORY

Like a Candle in the Wind, Part 2

Author:

Laurie S.

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel > 40,000 words

Genre:

Comedy

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Body Suits

TG Elements:

Costumes and Masks

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

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

Like a Candle in the Wind, Part 3

Author:

Laurie S.

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel > 40,000 words

Genre:

Comedy

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Body Suits

TG Elements:

Costumes and Masks

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Synopsis: a young Marilyn Monroe impersonator auditions for the role of Sugar Cane in a remake of Some Like It Hot. "If I'm a star, then the people made me a star."

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

Part 3

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Before a performance on the Civic Holiday weekend, the first Monday in August, Heather handed me a tabloid newspaper. On the front cover was a picture of Marilyn Monroe.

"You've made the big time," Heather said with a smile. "You're on the front page of the Star Enquirer."

"What?"

"That's your photo."

I took a second look. I couldn't tell if it was photo of Marilyn Monroe or me.

"Are you sure it's me?"

"Yes. Look on page 3. You're the feature story."

I quickly flipped to the article. There was another large photo. This showed Marilyn standing together with Heather, clad in the dazzling red sequined gowns we wore for the Diamonds number.

"You're right," I gushed. "Wow! My first cover!"

"Don't get too excited. Look at the title. 'Is This Marilyn's Clone?' The writer claims that Marilyn Monroe has been cloned! That's right. They claim somebody got hold of a cell from Marilyn's body, cloned it in a laboratory, and now it's performing in Niagara Falls!"

If I hadn't been sitting in a chair, I'd have fallen down laughing.

"I'm a bit of a clown," I giggled, "not a clone."

"Gee, somebody sure did a lot of research to get the facts right for their story."

"Why let the facts stand in the way of a good story?" I quickly scanned through the article. "Well, at least they spelled your name correctly. They got the name of the Wax Museum incorrect though. It's called Robertson's here."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"What can I say? Next thing you know, I'll find out I'm the granddaughter of Marilyn Monroe."

"That's a possibility. After all, she was Norma Jeane Baker. You're Roger Baker."

"Marilyn didn't have any children. She miscarried. And she was born Norma Jeane Mortenson, her mother's name."

"As I said before . . . "

Together we chimed, "Why let the facts stand in the way of a good story?" Then I got to my feet and gave her a big bear hug.

"Marilyn, I can't hold it in any longer.” She looked very excited. "I've got some really good news."

"Better than this cover story?"

"Yes. Much better," Heather paused. "According to your agent, you've got an offer for a movie role."

"You're kidding me." If I hadn't been standing, I would have jumped out of my chair.

"No, really."

We hugged again.

"What do you mean by 'according to your agent'?" I asked, as we separated. "You're my agent."

Heather had been appointed my agent since the first night we performed at the Niagara Casino.

Heather continued. "As your agent, I got a call from MGM. They are going to do a remake of Some Like It Hot. They want you to fly down to Hollywood for an audition."

"You're kidding me," I said again.

"No -- it's the truth."

We both squealed and hugged.

I spoke first. "Amazing! Unbelievable! How did we ever luck into this?"

"Apparently a Hollywood film executive was on a trip through the Niagara Falls area scouting locations. He dropped by the Wax Museum, the hottest ticket in town, and loved our show."

"Wonderful! What do we do? Where do we go? What will I wear?"

"Settle down," she said slowly, "and let your agent handle everything."

We both laughed at the authoritarian tone she'd used.

She continued. "Next Sunday evening, we'll catch the red-eye out of Toronto to Los Angeles. We'll meet with the studio executives on Monday. Then we'll leave early Tuesday morning. We'll have to fly into Toronto on a late flight. We'll be back just in time for our noon show on Tuesday. I know it's going to be hectic. We could've flown out of Buffalo at a cheaper price, but those flights would've involved stops either in Phoenix, Chicago or Baltimore."

"Uh huh." I could hardly believe my ears and felt a little dizzy.

"Yes, I know it's a whirlwind schedule, but we have commitments to all those bus tours. Our shows are all sold out. As much as I'd like to, we don't want to cancel, although I've told the bus tour companies there will not be a 7:00 o'clock show on Sunday. Also, I've told the Niagara Casino we won't be able to perform there on Monday."

"I see." I could just imagine how tired we would be next Tuesday. I thought about suggesting that Pete could substitute for us.

"And don't forget, on the following Monday, we're committed to shooting those television commercials for the Niagara Falls Chamber of Commerce."

"Yes. I haven't forgotten." That gig was ironic. If I hadn't made up that promotional commercial for school, none of this would have happened.

"You know, this could be your big break."

"Maybe. Hopefully. Let's cross our fingers. . . . Who are we meeting with?"

Heather checked her notes. "The producer . . . Harriet Neal," said Heather.

"Never heard of her."

"I went online and checked her out. She's an up and comer at MGM. They call her Dirty Harriet. . . . I think they borrowed that nickname from a Sandra Bullock movie."

"So who's being considered for leading roles?" Part of me didn't know what to think and another part of me wanted to make sure the role and production was 'worthy' of my talent. Omigosh, I'd never even been on TV and I wanted to make sure my potential co-stars were big enough names --- and why not?

"Well, Tom Hughes for one."

"Wow! That will ensure success for the film."

"Also, Brendan Forrester."

"I desperately want the role now. Finding Forrester in this film is an unexpected bonus."

Heather groaned in reaction to my play on words. "Yes, I know, sometimes you can't find the forester for the trees."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I wonder if Sean Connery would appreciate that."

"Yes, Hughes and Forrester are rumored to have signed with MGM, but don't sell yourself short. You will be the key to the film's success. After all, you're Marilyn's exact double. And, considering the plot, you fit the bill in more ways than one."

As Some Like It Hot is the best loved comedy about cross-dressing males, I had to agree. I tried to picture Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester wearing beautiful dresses. That made me giggle.

"How'd you like to kiss Tom Hughes?" Heather asked.

"It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. It might as well be me." I giggled again. Kissing Tom Hughes would be a blast.

I hugged Heather.

This time however, when we looked at each other, I could see indecision in her eyes. I yearned to kiss her and make love to her. I closed my eyes. Then magically, we kissed each other on the lips. I made myself as soft and cuddly and seductive as I could. We pressed together in a long glorious embrace. 'I love her,' I thought to myself, 'with all my heart.'

Kissing Tom Hughes would be nothing compared to kissing Heather.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel had once been one of Marilyn Monroe's favorite haunts. The grand old lady was located on Hollywood Boulevard, near Mann's Chinese Theater and was fronted by the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It immediately seemed familiar to us because it was featured in many films, including Mighty Joe Young, Internal Affairs, Beverly Hills Cop II, Sunset and Catch Me If You Can. The Cinegrill, its restaurant-nightclub, was the setting for a memorable number by Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. Also, in 1929, the hotel was the site of the first-ever Academy Awards ceremony.

Standing 14 stories high, the Roosevelt underwent extensive renovation in the 1980s and was restored to its original grandeur.

Upon arrival at the front driveway, a bellhop greeted us and loaded our light luggage onto a cart. A car valet accepted our car keys to park our BMW335i in the hotel lot. As the porter rolled our bags through the majestic front doors to the front desk, I felt as if I was walking into a dream world. Stepping into the elegant lobby was like a trip back to Hollywood's glamorous past. We looked around the sunken lobby to its bubbling fountain, potted palms, wrought iron chandeliers, and rounded archways. A musician working her magic on the baby grand added to the atmosphere of this grand old dame of Hollywood.

Heather introduced herself to the hotel staff at the front desk. MGM Studios had made all the arrangements. As Heather was given electronic passkeys to our room, I tried unsuccessfully to blend into the background. Eyes popped in what had to have been a response to my resemblance to Marilyn Monroe. Whenever I was dressed as Marilyn, I was 'on stage.'

We were led down a wide, high, arched corridor lit by wrought iron chandeliers. While we waited in front of a bank of elevators, I paused to check my appearance in a full-length mirror. Dressed in a silk pearl-colored blouse with a charcoal pinstripe tailored jacket and a matching skirt that came to just above the knees, I could see why I had caused a stir in the lobby. My svelte figure and facial resemblance to Marilyn even surprised me sometimes! I looked for evidence of Roger in the reflection, but he was nowhere to be found! There was a ping sound and then the polished gold doors of the lift opened. Moments later, we were on the second floor.

The porter led us down the hall, opened up our room, and took our bags over to a large closet. He hung up our two garment bags and placed my suitcase at the base of the closet door.

Heather thanked him, and then offered a generous tip.

He declined, saying that the Studio had taken care of everything.

A smile came to our faces. MGM Studios wanted to impress us.

When MGM arranged the interview/screen test and made travel arrangements, they had offered to have a chauffeur pick us up at the airport, but we had said we wanted to do some sightseeing and rented our own vehicle. Of course, sightseeing hadn't been the only reason we wanted our own transportation.

I pulled open the drapes and looked out the window. Our comfortable suite featured a balcony that overlooked a large swimming pool. I undid a latch, slid back the sliding glass door, and found a gentle, soothing night breeze. Floodlights illuminated the swim tank's serene blue waters. Beside the Olympic size pool were the Tropicana Bar, a waterfall, a Jacuzzi, and lounging space for sun worshippers.

I found out later that Marilyn Monroe posed for her first-ever ad on the pool's diving board. The ad had been for suntan lotion.

Rather than the usual bland 'hotel' art on beige walls, framed movie posters collided with warm tropical colors. Citizen Kane, The Wizard of Oz, and It's a Wonderful Life competed for our attention.

Both Heather and I were exhausted. We had performed three shows earlier in the day, traveled to Toronto, jetted across the continent in four and a half hours, and then danced the baggage claim-shuttle bus-car rental tango.

Then we drove around the airport hotel-motel jungle in search of an inexpensive motel room. I had traveled as Roger Baker and when I arrived at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, I needed to look like Marilyn Monroe. Deception had its price.

I hadn't traveled as Marilyn because I didn't have a birth certificate in Marilyn's name or any other female name; no passport, no credit card, no driver's license, no records of any sort that would have served as proper feminine airport identification.

Consequently, we needed a motel that didn't have police state security cameras everywhere to record my arrival as Roger and my subsequent departure as Marilyn. Eventually we found a Comfort Inn just off Highway 101 that fit the bill.

I needed about ninety minutes to transform myself from nerd to goddess.

Hopping into our BMW, we did a whirlwind tour of La Cienaga, Melrose Avenue, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica Boulevard, Vine and Hollywood Boulevard -- some of the street scenes I recognized from television shows and movies. I felt like a little boy in a candy store.

We had arrived at the Roosevelt at the crack of midnight.

I needed time in the bathtub to shed my Marilyn panels and then straight to bed. Heather was already asleep. We had a big day ahead of us. Although it was only 12:30 a.m. LA time, it was 3:30 in dear ol' Niagara.

I went to sleep dreaming about Heather and what if . . .

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A black Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the Hollywood Roosevelt at precisely 10:00. The driver greeted us with a friendly hello and acted surprised that big shots like us would meet him at the curb. It had never occurred to us not to. We chit-chatted for a moment or two in the morning sun about the hotel accommodations and our flight, and then we sped away to the MGM Studios executive offices in Santa Monica.

As we drove by an office building on Broadway, the chauffeur, named Alex MacDougall, pointed out that some of the MGM corporate offices were located there. Within minutes, we came up to the main Studio complex. MGM's Headquarters was located in a beautiful campus-like setting in Santa Monica, in the heart of a flourishing arts and entertainment district.

After driving through a security check at the front gate, Alex parked the vehicle in a VIP reserved parking spot near an office complex. Led by Alex, we approached a blue-pillared gateway crowned by a roaring lion -- the MGM trademark symbol. The chauffeur-guide led us into the modern sprawling structure, down an airy corridor and into the outer office of the Producer, Harriet Neal.

She came out of her private office to greet us. Smartly attired in a well-tailored navy blue power suit, 'Dirty Harriet' epitomized the corporate female executive. In her late thirties, with mid-length brunette hair, a pleasing countenance, a fit trim body, and a firm handshake, she made a good first impression.

"Hello Miss Robinson and Miss Monroe!"

"Hello," Heather said as she shook hands.

"A pleasure to meet you," I said in my best Marilyn voice.

"My goodness," Ms. Neal said. "You really are the exact double of Marilyn."

She looked me over carefully.

I was very confident about my appearance. Heather and Mrs. Robinson had spent the last week assembling a dazzling wardrobe for me. I wore an off the shoulder gold lame gown that drew attention to my sensuous arms, bare shoulders, elegant neck, and my breathtaking bosom. It accentuated the V shape of my thin waist and flattered my shapely, womanly hips. The slit on the left side of the lower part of the dress showed enough of my curvaceous leg to tantalize and excite. At least that's how Heather had described it to me when she convinced me to wear it.

"Thank you, Ms. Neal," I cooed.

Ms. Neal snuck a second peak at my bosom.

I simply smiled graciously.

I carried myself as Marilyn Monroe would have. She posed well. She had great posture. She never slouched. She always held herself proudly.

"That is a dazzling dress, my dear. And you wear it well."

"Your compliments are much appreciated. Thank you. Actually, Heather and her mother deserve the credit. They worked hard this past week to create additional costumes."

Ms. Neal regarded Heather for a moment. "You have many talents, Miss Robinson."

"In a family business, you learn to wear many hats."

"Well, I know you two have a busy schedule, so let's get down to the business at hand."

Ms. Neal told her secretary to hold all calls. Then she led us into her private office.

Her room had a nice view of a spectacular, cascading water fountain at the front of the building. Natural light, streaming in through beige vertical blinds, reflected off the sky blue walls and gray carpeting.

Extending her arm, she invited us to sit down in the armchairs in front of her large glass and chrome desk.

As she sat down, she reached over to a pile of papers and removed a light booklet from the top.

"Here we have the script for Some Like It Hot," Ms. Neal said, as she passed a copy to me.

"Have you ever seen the movie?"

"Yes. I love it."

"The black and white film was shot in 1959. Billy Wilder directed it. It starred Jack Lemon, Tony Curtis and, of course, Marilyn Monroe. . . . We have appointed a director. She's Gloria Miller. You may have seen her latest hit, The Combat Acrobat."

"Yes, I've seen several of her movies. I'm a fan of her work." I nodded in agreement, as I looked at the script for a moment. The title Some Like It Hot was embossed on the front cover in raised gold letters.

"We've signed Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester to play the roles of the musicians who dress up as women to escape the mob."

I smiled. So the rumors were true. That would mean the remake would be a big budget film.

"That sounds wonderful. I've admired the work of Tom Hughes for a long time." Usually Tom Hughes did action movies, but I thought he could handle this role. Not enough critics gave him the credit he deserved. Also, I thought his handsome pretty boy looks were suitable for the role. "And Brendan Forrester has had a string of hit comedies." I was less sure of Brendan's suitability to play a girl, but he would more than make up for it with his comedic talents.

"Right now, the plan is to be faithful to the original film. We thought about adapting it to the present, but after much thoughtful consideration, we have decided to stick with the 1929 time frame and the St. Valentine's Day Massacre premise."

"It worked in 1959. And the film still works today," Heather said agreeably.

Although Heather and I were many years younger than Ms. Neal and short on experience, she treated us as equals.

Ms. Neal brought her hands together in front of her and placed her chin on her knuckles, as she stared at me intently. "However, we have looked long and hard for somebody to play the part of Marilyn Monroe. We considered Madonna. We looked at Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman, Cameron Diaz, and Scarlett Johansson. Then we heard about you. So, at the moment, the role is still open."

"Well thank you for considering me. I hope I won't disappoint you."

"So far, you have impressed me very much, my dear."

"I try my very best at all times."

"Ms. Neal," Heather interjected, "we've brought along a DVD of the complete show that we perform. It's a musical tribute act. Marilyn performs all of Miss Monroe's famous songs. She sings. She dances. We do some audience participation routines. There are four costume changes. It's the complete package."

"My, you came prepared. I'd very much like to see your DVD later. Thank you Miss Robinson."

"You're welcome. My pleasure."

"Good. I think we're ready to get on with the next phase. I'd like you to do a reading for us, Miss Monroe."

"That would be great," I replied.

Ms. Neal got on the phone and contacted her audition staff. They were all set to go.

We had a five-minute drive by golf cart over to another part of the sprawling beautifully landscaped grounds.

The studio sound stage was huge! It resembled an airplane hangar. Upon entering, I gawked at the ceiling's girders and struts. It was quite a wide span to bridge without supporting pillars.

After getting my mind out of the clouds, I focused my attention on a set straight ahead of us. It stood out like an oasis in a sea of shifting sand. A hotel room-sized space was decorated like the interior cabin of a yacht. A camera crew had been assembled, and were apparently -- all ready to shoot.

Ms. Neal introduced the screen test director, Jake Harrison. Then she went on give the names of the cameraman, the sound technician, the set decorator, and the wardrobe gal. If there were a test afterward, I would've failed, but I was impressed Ms. Neal knew everyone.

She guided me toward the wardrobe lady -- a thirty- something fashion wizard who led me away to a temporary dressing room near the set. She handed me a white cotton summer dress. When I tried it on, not surprisingly, it fit perfectly. Matching shoes in size 8C were presented to me as well. Heather had advised MGM about my sizes.

When I returned to the set, Ms. Neal introduced an actor.

"Marilyn, please shake hands with Tom Hughes."

What a surprise!

The smiling hunk stood about 5' 10", had dark hair, and was as cute as anyone I had ever seen.

"Pleased to meet you," I said, trying not to make goo-goo ga-ga noises.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied. "It's not often I get to work with a legend."

"If I'm a star, then the people made me a star."

"Wow! I'm impressed," Tom said. "You not only are a dead ringer for Marilyn, you can quote her in context."

I smiled, happy that line had jumped into me out of nowhere. "Why thank you," I said, although part of me was offended by his insensitive use of the word 'dead' in the same sentence with 'Marilyn Monroe.'

"I can't get past the resemblance. You look exactly like her; the hair, the make-up, the dress…"

"It's all make believe, isn't it?" Another Marilyn line. Mentally I crawled all over his body.

"Usually I wouldn't be involved in the screen test," Tom began, "but I happened to be in L.A., so curiosity got the better of me. Casting is usually up to the 'suits' rather than the actors."

Ms. Neal smiled.

"If I'd observed all the rules," I began, "I'd never have got anywhere." I wanted Tom to make love to me. He was the hottest actor in Hollywood.

"You're good, really good," Tom said with a smile, knowing it was another Marilyn line.

The director stepped in and explained the scene. The character Joe, originally played by Tony Curtis, has lusted after Sugar, Marilyn Monroe, but cannot get anywhere with her. In the recent past, male musicians have loved her and left her. She couldn't trust any man.

Joe pretends to be wealthy. He arranged to take Sugar onto his yacht, although the yacht doesn't really belong to Joe.

Sugar's worried about being alone with Joe, but is curious and wants to see what the luxurious yacht is like. Joe assures Sugar that she has nothing to fear. He claims to have a psychological complex about women. Because of a terrible tragedy in his past, women can't excite him anymore. He's supposedly emotionally crippled.

"Are you familiar with the scene," the screen test director, Jake Harrison, asked, "or will you need a teleprompter?"

"I studied the script all last week. I know all the scenes," I said confidently. I'd watched the movie scene at least twenty times to see how Marilyn handled all the nuances. If Tom would be true to the original movie and follow the script, I was ready.

"Okay . . . I want Tom to sprawl across this bed. You should be standing beside him. Let's roll."

A technician, holding an electronic clapboard, stood between the camera and our scene.

"And mark," the technician said, as the clapboard sounded.

"There are certain men who would try to take advantage of a situation like this," I said, sounding as naíve as possible and showing vulnerability.

"You're flattering me," Tom/Joe replied.

Good. He was playing the scene as Tony Curtis had.

"Of course, I'm sure you're a gentleman." I looked at Joe with worry in my eyes.

"Oh, it's not that, it's just that I'm, umm, harmless."

"Harmless? How?" I asked with surprise etched on my face.

"Well, I don't know how to put it -- but I've got this thing about girls," Joe muttered, as he lay board stiff.

"What thing?" I asked, as I sat next to Joe on the narrow bed.

"They just sort of leave me cold," Joe said, with the stuffed nose intonations of Tony Curtis.

I found the camera over Joe's shoulder and made sure I was looking into it as well as at him. "You mean like frigid?"

"Well, it's more like a . . . a mental block. When I'm with a girl, it does absolutely nothing to me."

"Have you tried?" I asked, as I moved my face closer to Joe's lips. I wanted so much to make love to him.

"Have I? I'm trying all the time."

I put all the fire and desire I had into kissing Joe. Our lip lock could've melted Greenland's glaciers. He tried not to respond to stay in character, but I heard a soft moan before he spoke his line.

"See. Nothing," he managed to say.

"Nothing at all?" Disappointment dripped all through my question.

"Complete washout."

"That makes me feel just awful." In a way, it did. I wanted him to find me irresistible and make mad passionate love to me.

"Oh, my dear, it's not your fault."

"Cut!"

We got up from the bed.

"That was great," Tom said. "I thought I was looking at the real McCoy. . . . It was really funny! I wish you luck in getting the part. I'd sure like to work with you someday."

"Thank you, I enjoyed doing the scene with you."

"You're a great kisser. I wanted to grab hold of you and show you how I would have reacted."

I laughed. "I'm glad you're a professional. Thank you," I gave him a playful hug.

"That was brilliant," Jake Harrison said. "Both of you nailed it."

"Don't get a swelled head, Marilyn," Tom said with an impish grin. "Harrison's nickname is 'First Take Jake.' "

"Congratulations," Ms. Neal added.

Heather came over and gave me a hug too.

From then on, events were just a blur.

I do remember I performed a song for Ms. Neal -- I Wanna Be Loved By You. I thought I was in fine voice. I had performed that song hundreds of times and the challenge was to make it seem fresh and vibrant.

Then Heather and Ms. Neal got down to some serious negotiating, while the chauffeur/guide gave me the glamorous grand golf-cart tour around the seemingly limitless studio grounds.

Later on, during the ride back to the hotel, Heather told me that we settled on a million dollars as the fee.

A million dollars. A voice in my head said I was playing in the big leagues and wanted to know if I belonged.

Of course, Heather reminded me, the million dollars would be minus her agent's fee.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Theodore's Restaurant was an elegant and integral part of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel.

Heather and I chose to dine there after we had concluded our business with MGM.

I decided to tone down my appearance by wearing a brunette wig, dark sunglasses, a white blouse, and dark pants. Heather dressed in a sleek black pantsuit. She was as sexy as hell; and I didn't mind being outshone.

The hostess led us over to a secluded area of the spacious, well-appointed room. With high frescoed ceilings, ornately framed windows, soft, subtle coloring, it felt classy in a European way.

In some ways, I was disappointed. I hoped to find some Hollywood memorabilia in the restaurant; some feel for the history of the hotel. After all, the original owners of the hotel were some of the most famous people in Hollywood: Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Sid Grauman and Louis B. Mayer.

Marilyn Monroe had also frequented the Roosevelt's Cinegrill and Cybill Shepherd 'moonlighted' there as a singer.

When it came to décor, understated elegance had triumphed over Hooray for Hollywood.

The sumptuous menu had a wide choice. I settled on Fettuccine Alfredo, and a Caesar salad. The Caesar salad had been invented in Tijuana to satisfy the hunger of Hollywood actors in the 20's, so at least I was paying homage to the past.

Heather ordered sautéed Dover Sole in lemon butter sauce with rice, and a garden salad with Italian dressing. We split a bottle of Beringer Chardonnay Private Reserve, 1997 on Heather's recommendation. Luckily no one asked for identification to prove we were old enough.

Over dinner we talked about the negotiations that Heather had conducted with Ms. Neal.

"We didn't have a strong negotiating position. You're an unknown actress. The big proven stars, Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester, are getting mega-contracts. Also, Ms. Neal claimed to have several high profile women ready, willing and able to play the role. When you consider Mira Sorvino, Charlize Theron, Ashley Judd, Madonna, and Lisa Marie Presley have all posed as Marilyn and/or played Marilyn in films or television mini-series, it's not like there aren't enough choices available. Everything here is about box-office draw."

"There's no doubt that's true. However, none of those ladies looks exactly like Marilyn Monroe . . . and who has more box office appeal than little ol’ me?"

Heather warmed my heart with her laugh.

"If you were the producer," she asked, "who would you choose? I mean, if we exclude you for the moment."

I had to think about that for a moment. "Charlize Theron. She's won an Oscar and has some box office appeal."

"My choice would be Scarlett Johansson. I saw her on the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Her gorgeous figure, barely contained within an exquisite red gown, was stunning. Her career's on the rise and she's a great actress too."

"Yes, I guess the competition is pretty good," I conceded. For a moment, I felt like a fraud . . . well, a bigger fraud than I already was.

"I agree."

"Some Like It Hot was one of the funniest films ever made. And yet, it's dying for a remake."

"I suppose the biggest reason it has never been remade is there is only one Marilyn Monroe."

"Until now," I said and then immediately felt bad for saying it. Marilyn had such fame. All others would suffer by comparison to her.

"Well," I said, "whether the salary is fair value or not, I should be happy. After all, a million dollars is a million more than I had a few hours ago."

Heather laughed. "Don't count it yet. Wait 'til it ends up in your bank account."

"My bank account? I hadn't even thought about that. MGM doesn't even know my real name. Won't that be a problem?"

"Ms. Neal pushed me for your real name, but I put her off. The first payment of the funds will be electronically transferred to the Robinson's Wax Museum account. From there, I'll transfer it to you."

I shrugged. "Okay. I trust my agent."

"Which brings us to an important question. How would you like to be billed? Do you want to be known as Marilyn, Marilyn Monroe II, or Marilyn Baker?"

"Marilyn Baker," I replied without hesitation. "Baker feels the most comfortable," I thought back to a conversation I'd had with Dolly.

"Are you ready to reveal your identity to Pete? If you take the name Baker, don't you think he'll guess who you really are?"

"He probably will. Gee, I wonder if he's ready for the shock? He's kind of an emotional guy."

"But he's also resilient. I'm sure he'll understand. He actually might feel relieved."

"Why do you say that?"

"He was deeply dejected when you wouldn't go out on a second date with him," Heather said, with a serious look.

"I suppose you're right."

"Yes. In fact, I talked to him about it a few times. He said he could never make any headway in getting to know you. You put up a wall and kept him out. He thinks you regard him merely as the 'piano player.' "

That was sobering. I was so wrapped up in my own situation. I should've been more sensitive.

"I'll have to do something to show him that I respect him as a person and that I really do like him."

The waitress passed by our table at that moment, carrying a tray of food to another table.

I picked at my Fettuccine Alfredo.

"You know, before we get into the production, it would be nice to find out more about the film, don't you think?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"We've watched the film already. What else did you have in mind?"

"Some of the people involved in the film must still be around. Like Tony Curtis. But Jack Lemmon passed away, didn't he?"

"I think so."

"I saw Tony Curtis being interviewed a long time ago. I think it was with Pamela Wallin."

"Uh huh, her old interview show."

"Yes. Tony reminisced about filming Some Like It Hot. Apparently it was very difficult to work with Marilyn Monroe. She was notoriously late. There were a lot of delays because Marilyn couldn't get herself ready to face the cameras. Pamela Wallin brought up an old quote where Tony supposedly said kissing Marilyn was like kissing Hitler."

"I guess Marilyn was having problems with the pills she was taking."

"I think so. Nevertheless, in spite of his annoyance, Tony Curtis admitted he did have an affair with Marilyn when they were young, before Marilyn became the most famous movie star in the world. Anyway, many years later, he was in Europe; and he was mingling with a rich and famous guy in European society. The gentleman had lots of questions about Marilyn Monroe and the filming of Some Like It Hot. The gentleman adored Marilyn Monroe and wanted to find out everything he could about her. Later on in the evening, Tony Curtis had to go to the washroom. The gentleman went along with him. They we're both standing at the urinals. The gentleman leaned over and looked at Tony's equipment.

"'You made love to Marilyn Monroe.'

"Tony said, 'Yes.'

"The gentleman asked, 'Can I touch it'?"

Heather shrieked! "That's outrageous. Tony Curtis told that story on national television?"

"Canadian television."

"Yes, I suppose you can get away with more on our TV shows than you can on American TV."

"Yeah, because nobody watches," I quipped.

Heather smiled. "Besides Tony, I wonder who else would still be around from that film?"

"I guess we could get a list of the whole cast. And the crew as well."

"We'll have to do some research. I'm sure MGM would be able to help us out."

"You know, I'd like to see if Marilyn Monroe's make-up man is still around."

"Do you know his name?"

"I remember his nickname was Whitey."

Heather couldn't help me out there. I recalled that I had found his name on the Internet when I was doing some research to prepare for my role, but the name escaped me.

We switched the conversation to a discussion about the movie's co-stars, Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester. Heather admitted that she liked Brendan's cute looks and his clumsy on-screen presence.

"Life with Brendan would be loads of fun," Heather claimed. "There's a certain adorable charm about guys who are human enough to be imperfect. Then they can't expect perfection out of their wives."

"Nobody likes to be henpecked about insignificant matters. But Brendan Forrester? He wasn't a star I idolized. On the other hand, every guy would like to be an action star like Tom Hughes. He's so wild. He performs all of his own stunts."

"But everyone has to live in the real world." Heather's eyes turned sad. "What you see on the movie screen, I'm sure, is not the real Tom Hughes. You take my father, for example. He was a charming, persuasive, flamboyant man. To other people, he seemed like the life of the party. But, beneath the public plastic exterior, he had no heart. No soul. No loyalty."

"I've never heard you talk about your father before. How come you've never mentioned him?"

"We don't get along. He cheated on my mother. He ran off with another woman when I was thirteen."

"Sorry. I didn't know."

"The only good thing he did was he left us with the wax museum. Mind you, he's still a rich man, even though he gave my mother the business as part of the divorce settlement. Actually, I think he was getting tired of it. He felt trapped. He wanted out of his old life. He wanted some excitement."

I took a chance with my next question. "So I guess Brad Adams was a big disappointment, huh?"

Heather looked at me with surprise in her eyes. "I took that one really hard. I had no idea that he was cheating on me. Guys can be such rats. . . . No wonder there are so many single women and lesbians in our society. And the divorce rate is shameful."

"Not all guys are like that. Look at my parents. They've been together for twenty-five years. They're relatively happy. I know my father doesn't cheat on my mother. For goodness sake, he's a genetically engineered couch potato."

Heather howled with laughter. "That's some choice -- either the guy is an adulterer or he's a brain dead vegetable."

"Oh, be kind. I wouldn't go that far. There has to be a happy medium somewhere." I chuckled to myself as the words 'happy medium' again reminded me of Dolly.

"Well, what do you look for in a girl?"

"That one's easy," I said in a soft voice because I didn't want others at the next table to hear it. I gazed straight into Heather's eyes and described what I saw in Heather. "I look for beauty -- but not just physical beauty because long after the looks have faded, all that will be important is who she really is on the inside. I'm looking for a girl who has an inner beauty; someone who is kind-hearted, caring and fun to be with -- a girl who has a good sense of humor. She should be smart, morally grounded, compassionate, and nurturing."

"Wow. It sounds like you've given this some thought. Those are high standards."

"I think, ideally, that a couple should fit together in at least four ways -- physically, intellectually, spiritually, and humorously."

Heather laughed. "Humorously doesn't fit with the other words."

"What are you? A grammar Fascist?"

She giggled. "No. Besides, that's not so original. There is a resort called Hedonism II. It claims to cater to the pleasures of the mind, body, spirit and soul."

"Gee, and here I thought I was getting into deep territory. It turns out I'm still at the shallow end of the gene pool, swimming around in search of a better advertising slogan. . . . Maybe I should've gone with my other inclination."

"What was that?"

"I'm just looking for true love."

"What is true love?" Heather asked.

"True love is your soul's recognition of its counterpoint in another."

"I've heard that somewhere before. What movie did you steal that line from?"

"The Wedding Crashers."

Heather laughed. "I'm glad you went with your first inclination."

At that point, the waitress interrupted us, asking if we were enjoying the meal.

Heather said the food was fine and I agreed.

When we were leaving Theodore's, I felt very positive about my relationship with Heather. I had learned more about her innermost thoughts during the past hour and a half than I had in the previous month.

As we made the trek back to our room, I couldn't help but think of the interesting history of the Roosevelt Hotel.

As we approached the elevators, I was trying to recall the name of Marilyn Monroe's make-up man.

Heather pressed the up button, while I was lost in thought.

Then I heard a soft girlish voice behind me.

"Allan 'Whitey' Snyder," she said with an impish giggle.

I turned around . . . and saw Marilyn's reflection in the mirror. Dressed in an elegant black evening dress, her mirth-filled smiling face looked back at me!

I looked over to Heather. She was still facing the elevators.

There was an annoying ping sound, and then the elevator doors opened. I looked back at the mirror. Marilyn wasn't there anymore. And Heather couldn't have heard the voice because she never reacted to it.

My heart raced with excitement! She had spoken to me! Marilyn had spoken to me!

Heather stepped into the elevator.

I was dumfounded. Did I just see a ghost? Or was I imagining things?

I looked into the mirror, hoping Marilyn would reappear, but I saw only my own reflection. Reluctantly, I stepped backwards slowly, deliberately, into the waiting elevator, still stunned.

Either I was losing my mind or . . .

When the elevator door closed, I wrestled with my thoughts about the supernatural. Should I tell Heather about the 'ghost'?

I had no proof. Heather was right beside me and she hadn't seen it.

The lift doors opened -- and we stepped out.

As we reached our room, Heather came up with a surprise of her own.

"You know, our room, overlooking the pool, is the one Marilyn Monroe liked to stay in when she was here at the Roosevelt."

"No kidding? How do you know that?"

"Ms. Neal told me. She said MGM reserved the room especially for us."

Suddenly I felt tingly all over.

Should I tell Heather?

I quickly decided that our relationship needed to be on firmer ground before I would make disclosures of the strange kind.

"What an incredible day!"

I gave Heather a hug.

We were both tired. However, we wouldn't be staying very long in this suite as we were supposed to catch a flight at midnight.

I took a long leisurely bath to rid myself of my Marilyn prosthetics and the scent of Chanel No. 5 I'd worn all day. Actually, I found the bath routine to be enjoyable. It gave me time to reflect on the day's happenings. It had been an action-packed wonderful glorious day! Wonder of Wonders! Pinochle of Pinnacles! I had seen the spirit of Marilyn Monroe!

It was like a deaf man hearing the Song of Joy!

When I came out of the bathroom, Heather passed by me, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as she went in.

If only Heather knew the effect she had on me. My body absolutely ached for relief.

But, there was little I could do about it. The final decision was Heather's -- especially given what she had told me about her dad.

I put my head down on a very comfortable king size bed, under warm, cozy covers. I closed my eyes for a moment and daydreamed of making love with Heather.

After a quick shower, Heather emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white cotton towel.

Heather smiled and looked at me lovingly. She dropped her white towel. There was an iridescent quality or glow to her skin. My jaw dropped in shock and I wondered if I should avert my eyes. Then she jumped onto the bed.

"It's time, Sugar," she said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

After a whirlwind weekend in L.A., all of the next week was pure bliss. Life couldn't get any better! I was in love with Heather and Heather was in love with me! We couldn't get enough of each other, finding excuses to spend moments alone between our performances 'rehearsing.'

We were also so unbelievably excited about the prospect of signing a movie contract!

The only downside to my existence was getting enough rest. Between the performances and the sex, sleep had become harder and harder, so I took the pills, sometimes two. To wake up in the morning I took another pill. In order to get myself ready to give a good performance at the seven o'clock show, I took another.

I felt like Alice in that Jefferson Airplane drug anthem, White Rabbit.

"One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice
When she's ten feet tall

"And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
Call Alice
When she was just small."

I knew I shouldn't, but I took the pills because I had to, to fulfill all my commitments.

I was in my dressing room after the last show when Heather and her mother barged in without knocking.

"You got it!" Heather screamed. Ms. Robinson had chilled a bottle of champagne and we toasted each other's luck.

The next day, MGM film studio contacted us and asked if I could make an appearance at the Toronto International Film Festival. Ms. Neal would announce the signing of Marilyn Baker for the lead role in Some Like It Hot. Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester would be introduced as well.

When the big day arrived, I was very nervous. I had attended the Toronto International Film Festival before. Not only did the fans come out in droves to see the best films in the world, but also the world press came to interview the stars and preview the films.

Film premieres happened every night during the ten days of the festival. Parties and press conferences were an important part of TIFF. Roy Thompson Hall was TIFF central -- the site chosen for the world premiere of Superzeroes, a super-hero comedy. Since it was MGM's property and Brendan Forrester was the leading man, Ms. Neal decided to take advantage of the opportunity. After the Superzeroes press conference, the casting for Hot would be announced.

Our limousine pulled up in front of the concert hall. Ahead of us, Brendan emerged from the stretch version of a black Lincoln Town Car, much to the delight of an enthusiastic throng. He and his wife were gracious in stopping to chat with various television reporters.

When the back door of our limo opened, Tom Hughes lent me a helping hand and we were greeted by screams and applause from film fans. As I walked down the red carpet, arm-in-arm with Tom, the photographers were like sharks at a feeding frenzy. The overkill kinda made we wish my blue-gray contact lenses could act like sunglasses to protect me from the blinding flashes. We'd pause occasionally -- smiling and posing for some of the more polite paparazzi. Polite paparazzi -- was that an oxymoron?

My dress was a copy of the flashy, Jazz-Age black gown Marilyn Monroe wore in Some Like It Hot. I worked Marilyn's 'Jell-O on springs walk' on the red carpet.

We sat through ninety-four minutes of collaborative comedic genius. Superzeroes spoofed the super-hero genre in much the same way as the Scream films had made fun of horror films. Superman, Fantastic Four, Spiderman, Supergirl, Batman, Catwoman, The Incredible Hulk, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Wonder Woman, X-Men, Heroes, and many other films/TV shows/comics were skewered mercilessly. TIFF exposure would generate tremendous positive press for Superzeroes. Judging from the way the film critics interacted with the cast and director at the question and answer session after the screening, it couldn't have gone any better.

As the Superzeroes press conference drew to a close, Ms. Neal stepped up to the podium to assume the role of MC.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm producer Harriet Neal of MGM Studios. Back in 1959, Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis, and Jack Lemmon starred in Some Like It Hot -- a film ranked number one on the American Film Institute's list of greatest comedies. It is my pleasure to introduce the stars of the new Hot -- Tom Hughes and Brendan Forrester."

Hollywood has no secrets. It was obvious everyone in the room knew about the casting already.

Both Tom and Brendan stood up and smiled for the media cameras. Brendan waved to the press audience as Tom whispered something to Brendan.

Harriet continued. "How do you find someone to play Sugar Cane Kowalczyk, the role made famous by the one and only Marilyn Monroe? Before I introduce our leading lady, let me say that we conducted an exhaustive search. We must've screen tested every blonde, natural or bleached, in Hollywood, the continental United States, Europe, the known world, and the nether reaches of the infinite universe. We were ready to give up and shelve the project. Then we looked where we should've started our search . . . in Canada. Lo and behold, we found our Marilyn a stone's throw from here, working at a wax museum, of all places, in Niagara Falls. Here is the star of Hot, Marilyn Baker."

I stood up with a big smile on my face and waved to the audience. I couldn't contain my enthusiasm. It couldn't get any better than this.

It was a good thing that I'd taken one of Pete's 'helpers.'

"The storyline for Hot," Harriet said, "will be similar to the original. However, we will try to tell the story in a fresh way. The public doesn't want a mere colorized version of the old film, so there will be some surprises, great music, and new comic possibilities."

Reporters stepped up to ask their questions at microphones placed at the front of the two aisles in the conference room.

"I'm Jeff Lehman of ET Canada," the young, wannabe hip reporter said. "This question is for Tom. Did you feel at all reluctant taking on a role that required you to wear a dress?"

"I have to wear a dress? My agent never told me that."

"Then I'll ask my question of Brendan. Do you have any concerns about dressing up as a girl?"

"Wearing a dress doesn't worry me. Fortunately, I have great legs."

Tom interjected. "My only concern is that the nickname for this film will be 'Ugly Brendan.' "

"You're just jealous 'cause I'll look more beautiful than you," Brendan countered.

"Will not."

"Will too."

"You're gonna look like a guy in a dress."

"Compared to Marilyn, we're both gonna look like guys in dresses."

"To answer the original question," I said, taking the role of big sister to two bickering brothers. "I just hope the dresses will be fabulous."

Another reporter stepped up to the microphone. "Colin Taylor, CITY TV. Marilyn, knowing Tom's reputation with the ladies, do you have any concerns about doing the love scenes?"

"Love scenes? My agent never told me about any love scenes."

"Yes, there are love scenes. Any concerns?"

"If I remember the original film, Sugar tries to help Jerry with his impotency problem. I'll do whatever I can do."

Tom jumped in. "Yes!! There is a god in heaven!"

"I hear garlic is a cure for impotency," I added. "I'll chew on a few cloves before every kiss."

A tiny female journalist stood on her tiptoes to speak into the microphone. "Anne Farber, New York Globe. At a recent Academy Award ceremony, three films among the many nominees included Capote, Transamerica and Brokeback Mountain. Is Hot part. . . ."

Tom interrupted. "Yeah, but another deserving film, like White Chicks, was blacklisted."

"A few years back," Brendan added, "Connie and Carla never got a sniff."

"All right, let me try another tack. Do you think the Academy Awards should create a new category for best comedy film?"

"If it helps us win, yes," Tom said.

"No," Brendan said. "The category should be even more specific, such as best comedy remake of a classic film involving guys in dresses."

Anne looked at me.

"I'll do whatever I can to sway the Academy's voters."

"Whatever?"

"Did she just say 'whatever'?" I looked at Tom. "Was she 'dissing' me?"

Tom put his arm around me. "That's okay, Sugar. I'll still respect you in the morning."

The audience laughed.

"I'm sorry, Marilyn," Anne Farber said icily, "it's great that you're a Canadian girl and all, but no one's ever heard of you. How do we know you have any talent?"

"A career is born in public -- talent in privacy."

"Didn't Marilyn say that?" she asked.

"Yes, I did." I smiled at her in a way that said I was done with her and moved on to a man -- someone I could take to bed, in my mind.

"You guys are supposed to play musicians," another reporter began. "Brendan's on the sax, Tom plays the bass fiddle, and Marilyn is supposed to be a singer and ukulele player. Do any of you have a musical background?"

Brendan said, "I enjoy a little sax in the afternoon."

"When I play the bass fiddle," Tom began, "it sounds like B-52s -- I mean the bombers, not the rock group."

"My mother's an actress and singer," I fibbed. "When she did a guest spot on The Sopranos, she sang the mob's hits to the authorities."

A familiar face spoke into the microphone. "Steve Chapin, Toronto Times. This is for Marilyn. Are you at all intimidated by taking on the role of Sugar? Do you feel the pressure of filling Marilyn Monroe's big shoes?"

"It's a matter of perspective. Marilyn wore size 7AA. Seven isn't big . . . in shoe sizes."

He laughed as I continued.

"As far as the pressure is concerned . . . being a sex symbol is a heavy load to carry, especially when one is tired, hurt, and bewildered."

Steve laughed. He always recognized a Marilyn line.

"Marilyn, are you bewildered?"

"I only get bewildered late at night in museums in the arms of sexy men who write for big T.O. newspapers."

All the reporters could see I was playing with Steve and enjoyed our exchange.

When the press conference ended, one of Ms. Neal's assistants handed me a package.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's a new line of cosmetics that will be sold under the MGM trademark."

"Thanks," I said, "but I already have plenty of my own. You know how we girls are about our make-up."

Ms. Neal came up as I was speaking.

She frowned. "Legal tells me you haven't sent in your signed contract."

"I . . . I haven't had the time to read it yet." I wanted to take a few hours and think things through. I also wanted to talk everything over with Mom and Dad. I had to find the right time to tell them and make sure they were okay with me doing the movie. Heather was full-speed ahead and I didn't have a clue.

"Get it in." Her tone left no doubt that I had to take action. "Before you sign it, read it carefully. Once you sign you're property of the studio. When I say bark, you will do your canine best to please me. When you receive a box of make-up from the studio, you will wear it. Do you understand?"

My main concern at that moment was that I'd displeased her. She had been so nice to me. "Yes, I'll get right to it."

"Yes, you will. The studio will be investing millions into the film and many millions more into the development of your signature line of cosmetics. When that kind of money is involved, we can't take chances. I will know what you eat and where you eat it. Every time you have a bowel movement the boys in accounting will measure your stool."

I gasped.

Ms. Neal laughed. "That's 'Hollyweird' for you, but don't concern yourself, you're a big girl. You are a big girl aren't you Marilyn?"

All words seemed beyond my grasp. Marilyn had said 'Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.'

I simply nodded.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After the press conference, Tom persuaded me to come to the TIFF party.

While a band called Metric rocked the Underground room of the trendy, refurbished Drake Hotel, I tried as much as I could to blend in with the Superzeroes party-goers. But when you look like Marilyn Monroe, it's kinda difficult.

"They're pretty good," Heather said as she shook her head to the Metric beat.

"Uh huh," I agreed, as the female lead singer wailed out 'Dead Disco, Dead Funk, Dead Rock n' Roll!' The song had a quick pace and great energy. "Dare I say Metric is electric?"

"What did you say?" Heather held her hand up to her ear indicating she had trouble hearing me.

"Metric's frenetic!" I yelled.

Heather's head bobbed up and down. I wasn't sure she had heard me. Heather was so into the music. So was Tom Hughes. Looking at the crowd, everyone seemed enthralled. Hell! Even the walls seemed to throb to the band's vibes.

Nodding my head in rhythm to the beat, I felt like a fraud, even though Dead Disco was a rousing Underground favorite. I thought back to the film Night at the Roxbury in which Chris Katttan and Will Ferrell shook their heads in exaggerated fashion to Haddaway's What is love? I switched to stealth mode, keeping my noggin nodding to a minimum.

Most of the models MGM had hired to wear super-hero uniforms from Superzeroes were dancing up a storm on the dance floor. There were Superman, Supergirl, Wonder Woman, Buffy, Catwoman, and Spiderman all boogeying the night away. The 'A list' party crowd consisted of the rich and beautiful. I'd never seen so many fine-looking people in one place, all smiling, all having a good time. Their joy looked genuine.

Brendan Forrester and his leading lady, Linda Lee, were somewhere out there.

"C'mon Marilyn," Tom suggested with an inviting smile. "Let's dance."

For a moment I stood there not knowing what to do. . . . Brain fart! When a Hollywood leading man asks you to dance, you dance. I nodded and smiled.

Tom grabbed me by the hand and led me onto the dance floor. Then I remembered, I had never danced at a club as a woman.

My 'Jazz Age' black gown stood out in contrast to the Spandex super-hero costumes of the models sprinkled around us.

I responded to the beat, shook my booty, and let my Marilyn 'spirit' move me.

Heather also jumped into the fray. Who was that cute guy she was with?

Next to us, Wonder Woman had wrapped up Superman in her golden lasso. Was Superman confessing to an indiscretion under the influence of the Lasso of Truth? Whatever he did, Wonder Woman rewarded him with a kiss even as they moved together in rhythm to the beat.

Tom did attract some attention because of his celebrity status. A few photographers captured the Tom/Marilyn moment for tabloid posterity.

Tom Hughes showed me he could move and groove too. He was a creative dancer. He spun variation upon variation from an initial basic step. His confident smile was infectious.

I didn't want to disappoint him. As the next song started up, I tried to get in synch with his steps. Also, I looked to Heather to copy her inventive mix of disco, hip-hop, and house.

Pretty soon I was so caught up in the music and dance, I forgot who I really was. I was just having a good time. It was weird. The music seemed to choreograph the arm movements, the stomach undulations, the hips shakes, and the booty quivers all on its own. It was a dreamlike out-of-body experience except I was enjoying the dancer's high.

We must have been up there for four or five songs. Tom kept showing me new moves. Then I remembered he had performed a memorable solo dance in one of his early movie roles, Old Time Rock and Roll.

It was time for a break. Having expended a lot of energy, I was perspiring. I needed a drink.

Tom suggested we cool off on the rooftop patio. Being used to climbing three flights of stairs for every performance, I found the ascent to be no problem in my high heels.

The covered patio was a pleasant surprise -- a breath of fresh air: bold colors, communal tables, and subdued lighting. Under a bamboo overhang, we found a cozy love seat.

"This is nice," I said. Unlike the downstairs room, we could have some privacy. Tight security at the entranceway kept out the party crashers. The background music was light, the ambience idyllic, and the company quite wonderful.

"As rooftop patios go, I hear it's one of the best in Toronto. Quite a change from the dance party atmosphere, huh?"

I nodded in agreement. Moonlight and starlight suited my intentions with Tom.

"I enjoyed dancing with you," Tom said, as we settled in. "I like the way you move on the dance floor."

"I was just following your lead," I replied. "You're a great dancer."

"Thank you. . . . You dance and sing in your show, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You move so fluidly and effortlessly."

"Thanks." I could listen to Tom's compliments all night.

A waitress came by promptly. I asked for a strawberry daiquiri while Tom ordered a Molson draft beer. She appeared to be in awe of Tom. She bumped into a chair as she was walking away.

"How long have you been doing this tribute act to Marilyn Monroe?"

"Since May." I slipped my shoes off. What a relief!

"That's amazing. You look and sound so much like her."

"It's all an illusion. Obviously, I'm not the real thing."

"Out on the dance floor, everybody was watching you."

"Not everybody. You had your share of admirers. I think all the girls were feasting their eyes on you."

"I don't know if you fully realize the effect you have on guys," Tom said as he glanced at my bosom.

"I think I understand a little bit of what Marilyn Monroe went through. Guys tend to think of me as a sex object because I impersonate her. I guess that comes with the territory." Tom's eyes darted down again to my breasts peaking out from the black satin. "What about you? How do you handle the fact everybody knows you? I bet you can't walk down a street anywhere in North America without drawing attention."

"It's the curse of celebrity. However, it won't last, so I might as well enjoy it while I can. And you? Do you draw similar attention?"

"I suppose if I dressed as Marilyn all the time, it would bother me. When I take off the wig, make-up and gowns, nobody knows who I am, so it's different for me."

"I usually wear a baseball cap and sunglasses to blend in. However, I still get recognized, so I try to keep moving. The paparazzi can be relentless."

"Your pictures are in all the magazines, newspapers, and tabloids," I said as I slipped my legs under me to get more comfortable in the love seat.

"A part of me wishes I could just be a normal guy."

"Uh huh, aren't you the one who signed on to dress up in women's clothes?"

Tom looked at me straight in the eyes. Was that a look of anger?

"You're right. I have no one else to blame but myself." His expression softened.

"Are you prepared to take the kidding? The ridicule?"

"I'm pretty secure about my sexuality. Hot is going to be a great comedy. An actor needs to take on a variety of roles. It'll be a big stretch for me, so I'm actually looking forward to the challenge."

"Are you doing any special preparation?"

"I've lost weight. I'm doing some special exercises to reduce my biceps and waist size. The studio has hired a drag artist to advise me on movement, mannerisms, and make-up. With MGM's wardrobe and make-up crew, we've been doing some testing of make-up, wigs, body padding, and costumes already."

"How's it working out? Will you make a convincing woman?"

"I won't be a beauty queen, but I think I can pull it off."

"I can't wait to see you in drag."

"You will and I'll be fabulous."

I laughed. "Cocky too. . . . I'm sorry. Was that in my out loud voice?"

"I will look good." Tom fished in his pants pocket for his wallet. Then he extracted a small photo from one of the plastic card/photo holders. "Here, have a look."

I adjusted the angle of the picture to capture enough of the patio light to see it properly. "You're right. You look really good." He looked like a doll! A little muscular, but gorgeous! I looked at the photo and then his face. Was it the same shape? The high cheekbones were similar. Were the eyes and nose the same or was he trying to trick me? "You're beautiful."

"Thank you. That photo was from the first makeover attempt a few months ago. Hollywood make-up artists are magicians. Since then, we've done a lot of experimenting. It looks even better now."

"How about your voice?"

"Why Marilyn," Tom began in a much higher register, "there's no doubt about it. I can and will be believable."

"Impressive."

"I have a vocal coach."

"It's working."

"I hope so, but there's more. I did some research."

"What sort of research?"

"The first thing I did, of course, was watch the film. There are advantages and disadvantages to doing that, but I think the pros outweigh the cons."

"I agree. It's worth seeing."

"Then I read the Tony Curtis biography by Barry Paris."

"Anything about Some Like It Hot?"

"He had some interesting stories to tell."

"Such as?"

"The studio hired a female impersonator named Barbette to help Curtis and Jack Lemmon prepare for their roles as Josephine and Daphne. Barbette gave them some tips on posture. For example, the way a man in drag should hold his hands. If you hold your palms up, your arm muscles show. If your palms are down, the biceps are less noticeable."

"That makes sense."

"Barbette said they should thrust their chests forward and keep their buttocks underneath them."

"Of the two, I think Tony Curtis looked more feminine."

"Jack Lemmon drove Barbette crazy. Jack wanted to play his role for laughs. He didn't want to take her advice, so Barbette went back to Europe in frustration. She caught the first available ocean liner home."

We were interrupted briefly by the arrival of our drinks. The beautiful waitress, attired in bright tropical colors, placed the beer and strawberry daiquiri on the table and moved on quickly.

"Let's have a toast to the success of our movie," Tom said as he held up his beer stein.

"To success!" we chimed as our glasses clinked together.

I took a sip of the delightful strawberry daiquiri through a straw while Tom gulped down a few mouthfuls of the beer.

"Did Tony Curtis say much about Marilyn Monroe?"

"I'm afraid it was pretty harsh," Tom said.

"Everybody complained about waiting for Marilyn day after day? Right?"

"Yes. She was always late, she had trouble learning her lines, and she drank too much. Her mentor, Anna Strasberg, always accompanied her. That bothered the director, Billy Wilder, because Marilyn always looked to Anna for advice."

"Marilyn took acting lessons from Anna's husband, Lee Strasberg."

"Yes. Tony Curtis said, before every scene, Anna was always telling Marilyn to relax. It was like her mantra."

"Really?" I took a sip of the daiquiri.

"According to Curtis, prior to every scene Jack Lemmon did, he'd repeat the words 'magic time' over and over."

"Jack Lemmon was amazing."

"Do you know what Tony's mantra was?"

"I haven't a clue." Thinking that might be construed as an insult, I said, "I give up."

" 'Keep your pecker up.' "

I burst into laughter. "That's outrageous."

"Yes. That was Tony. He was irreverent."

"Ah, poor Tom. You have Tony's peccadillo to live up to."

"Peccadillo?"

"Immoral behavior."

"Whew. For a moment I thought I'd have to carry a concealed . . . pecker/dildo in my underpants."

He had me in tears.

Tom said, "I've got an old familiar tongue twister-riddle for you."

"Okay, twist away," I said.

"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked;
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where's the peck of pecker/dildos Peter Piper picked?"

I slid my hand onto his thigh for a moment. "Tom, is that a pecker/dildo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Tom laughed. "I think the movie shoot for Hot is going to be a barrel of laughs."

"You know Marilyn once said, 'If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything.' "

"Is that true?"

I had repeated Marilyn's 'laugh' line many times before. Did I believe it? "She also said, 'A wise girl kisses but doesn't love, listens but doesn't believe, and leaves before she is left.' "

"Marilyn was a player, huh?"

"Aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Me? I'm idiom proof."

"That can be taken two ways. You're proof the saying is correct. Or none of the idioms are applicable to you."

"As noted baseball sage Yogi Berra once observed, 'If you come to a fork in the road, take it.' "

"Do you have any other Yogi-like pearls of wisdom?"

"If you ask me a question I don't know, I'm not going to answer."

We were both winging it. Maybe it was the effect of alcohol. Maybe we just clicked together.

The night air had cooled me off fairly quickly. In my whisper thin gown, I snuggled up to Tom for warmth.

Tom, ever the gentleman, took off his jacket and offered it to me. I accepted and said thank you with a grateful hug. He had a nice scent.

"Were there any other insights Tony Curtis offered about playing a woman?"

"Oh yes. He said the biggest problem was going to the bathroom. After putting on all the padding and undergarments, taking a pee was a real chore. Tony invented a device to capture his urine so that he didn't have to waste time doing his business. Since he always had to wait for Marilyn, he never knew when he'd be called upon to begin shooting."

"I thought you were going to say Tony didn't know which bathroom to use."

"Something like that happened too. Tony and Jack did a test with their make-up and hairstyles. First, they tried a subdued make-up and then they tried a more glamorous look. When they entered the ladies' room on the Goldwyn Studios lot the first time to fix their make-up, nobody noticed. With a glamorous look, they couldn't pull it off. They were outted immediately. So the actors decided on the subdued make-up and hair. The director, Billy Wilder, chose to shoot in black and white largely because he thought it would be kinder to the look of the men as women. Color would show their flaws."

I thought about my own situation. Glamorous worked for me. Or did it? In the screen test, no matter how much 'oomph' I put into kissing Tom, it had no effect on him. As I rested my head on his shoulder, I hoped tonight would be different.

"What about Brendan Forrester? How do you think he'll look?"

"Okay, but he doesn't have to look beautiful. He's going to play it for laughs."

"I think Jack Lemmon got the biggest laugh in the film. Remember, at the end, when Daphne tries to talk Osmond, played by Joe E. Brown, out of marrying her. Daphne said she wasn't a natural blonde, she smoked too much, she lived in sin with a saxophone player, and she couldn't have children. Osmond said none of it mattered. Finally, Daphne was so exasperated, she pulled off her wig and said, 'I'm a man.' "

" 'Well, nobody's perfect.' "

"Yes, that line got the biggest laugh. Were you tempted to go for the role of Daphne?"

"I'm happy being Joe or Josephine. After all, I get to kiss you. If I was Daphne, I'd have to kiss a guy."

Tom's arm encircled me as we cuddled. I had to control my pent up laughter. I buried my face in his chest 'til the laugh reaction subsided.

When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was ready.

In spite of my inner gaiety, when Tom kissed me, it was magical. The kisses were sweet, tender, and very loving. If kisses were lollipops, his were all day suckers. No fuzzy end of the lollipop for me. That man was marvelous!

Tom loved women. He worshipped them. He adored them.

'Keep your pecker up.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The following Monday dawned, and we were doing a commercial for the Niagara Falls Chamber of Commerce. It was going to be a very busy day! The promotional footage involved shooting at seven different locations: the Horseshoe Falls, a horse drawn carriage ride in front of Table Rock, the Minolta Tower, the Niagara Casino, the Maid of the Mist, the Spanish Aero Car and, of course, Robinson's Wax Museum.

I was tired and I felt under pressure. Thankfully, the mask would hide the dark circles under my eyes.

Several days had gone by, I still hadn't signed the contract, but I wanted to get started with the cosmetics MGM had given me. I finally got up the nerve to try a change and thankfully the new make-up seemed to work okay. I used a bit more foundation than normal to make sure my 'skin' looked vibrant for the close-ups.

I hadn't taken a pill to sleep because I had so many things I needed to think about. All night long I'd wrestled with all the complications. If I came clean now, would the studio sue me for fraud -- and Heather? If I went through with it and my parents suddenly found themselves the parents of a famous actress, could they live with it? What if the studio wanted to make me tell everyone? What if they wanted me to keep the secret for my entire life? Would people hate me if they knew? Would the owner of the casino sue me? I'd touched a lot of peoples' lives and they'd touched mine. How many would be repulsed? Would Pete?

Heather had contacted Steve, the Toronto Times writer. He was supposed to follow us around with a photographer and do a piece on Marilyn's growing stardom.

The commercial camera crew had already shot the Robinson's Wax Museum sequence in the Rooftop Theater on Sunday afternoon, as they wanted a live audience reaction.

We were picked up at Robinson's early in the morning. A large mobile home, set by the Falls, was going to be our dressing room and refuge for the day.

The trailer was very well equipped and functional. It had all the kitchen appliances, a sink, television, curtained windows galore, a washroom, beds, seats, and, most importantly, a make-up table with a lighted vanity mirror -- just what I needed to give the new line of make-up a real test.

The first shot was to be a carriage ride past Table Rock, a picturesque historic stone building housing a gift shop and restaurant, very close to the Falls. In fact, the Niagara Parks Commission didn't want any more buildings close to the Falls because they didn't want to spoil the view.

I was wearing the trademark white dress. As the horse-drawn carriage was a moving subject, the video crew had to move to several different spots for shooting. The camera crew did not have the dolly that was commonly used for a running shot. This scene required at least six different takes before the director, Harold Hanratty, was satisfied. The total elapsed time? Probably an hour.

The spray from the mighty Falls was like a constant rain. I began to get concerned about my make-up. I had to retreat to my trailer while the camera crew set up at the Horseshoe Falls.

While I sat before the make-up table in the motor home, Steve was on hand to interview me. Heather was also along on the shoot to lend me moral support.

During the past week, I had become accustomed to hugging and kissing Heather at every opportunity. With the reporter around, I had to show restraint.

"How are you, Mr. Chapin?" I asked as I used a small towel to dry my hands and exposed skin.

"Good, Marilyn. And please, call me Steve. My nerves have calmed down somewhat since that late night tour of the wax museum."

"Heather and Mrs. Robinson played a nasty trick on both of us."

"We got you good," Heather interjected. "It was a scream!"

"Literally," I added.

"Yes it was," Steve agreed, "and there have been thousands of screaming fans who have loved your show. I've been following the incredible rise of your career. You've had capacity crowds."

"Yes, we've been very fortunate."

"I've seen your show several times. You have a great stage presence!"

"Thank you, Steve."

"You're beautiful. I think everyone falls in love with you."

"Oh Steve, you're very charming. I bet you say that to all the sexy starlets you interview." In light of my damp clothing, wet hair and smudged make-up, I was sure Steve was just being kind.

"I've interviewed quite a few beautiful actresses and models, but none . . ."

I interrupted him. "Speaking of beautiful performers, Mr. Chapin, a great deal of the credit has to go to Heather." I looked over to Heather and Steve followed my gaze. "Heather is both gorgeous and very talented. She put the whole show together. It was her concept. She arranged to put up the tent. She hired the technicians and the musician. Heather and her mom made the costumes. She did the choreography. The Marilyn Show is her creation."

For a few minutes Steve chatted with Heather. She deserved the glory -- not me. Maybe the article would feature Heather instead of me. That would make me very happy.

I welcomed the break because I needed to change my wig. Not wanting the reporter, Steve, to discover what was under the wig, I picked up one of the extra platinum 'Marilyn' wigs and stepped into the confines of the small washroom. Once I had secured the latch, I took off the wet wig. There were Velcro tabs on both the underside of the wig and the special wig cap covering my scalp. I dried my own damp hair with a towel, and put on the fresh wig, ensuring that the Velcro tabs matched up properly.

When I emerged from the restroom, I put the damp wig on a stand. Heather helped me brush the platinum blonde wig. It was real human hair, but we had to treat it gently. Then Heather held up the wig in one hand, a hair dryer in the other, and gently stroked the platinum strands with the warm air.

The best thing about the noise from the hair dryer was that we didn't have to talk constantly with the reporter. Both Heather and I needed an occasional break. The Toronto Times photographer, however, took lots of photos of me fixing my make-up and hair. I wasn't sure if the story and pictures were going to appear in the Fashion or the Entertainment Section.

The Horseshoe Falls sequence was of much shorter duration. Thankfully! Mostly I just had to smile and present sexy seductive looks to the lens. Again, I was showered by the heavy spray from the powerful cascade.

Back in the refuge of the mobile home, I felt relieved to be protected from the ever present 'rain.' Briefly I used a hair dryer to restore the wig to its full glory.

While waiting for the next shot, I shared a joke with Steve, Heather, and the photographer. It was the only motor home joke I knew.

"Last summer, I worked at Tim Hortons," I began. "The donut chain occasionally runs contests to attract more customers. They give out prizes in their cups of coffee. On the bottom of the cup, a customer can find a prize coupon. They give out small prizes, so there are lots of winners. At my shop, a dim-witted customer ordered a cup of coffee -- a not infrequent occurrence. He found a coupon stuck to the bottom of the cup. 'I won!' he screamed. 'I won! I won a mobile home! It's a Winnebago!'

"The manager heard the screams. He rushed over to the jubilant customer, but he knew that the customer couldn't possibly have won a motor home. There weren't any valuable prizes in that particular promotion. 'What do you mean you won a mobile home? You couldn't have!' the manager claimed.

"The customer said, 'I won a motor home! I won a motor home! See here, it says Winnebago!'

"The manager looked at the coupon for a moment in disbelief. Sure enough, the coupon read, Win a bagel!"

There were groans all around.

Fortunately, the technical crew was ready for the next shoot. The commercial director had improvised a little and was going to throw in extra footage of the American Falls. So, out I went again. However, the sun hid behind some clouds, so we had to delay for a short time. The constant spray from the torrent that was Niagara was really getting to me, but we did the shot in one take.

Inside the Winnebago, again, I needed to repair the make-up and use the hair dryer. I glanced over to Steve Chapin and the photographer. They were busy chatting and weren't watching me for a moment. I unclipped my large pearl earring on the right side. It had slipped and it needed to be adjusted. I massaged my sore ear for a moment before clamping it back on. I never had gotten my ears pierced, likely another thing I'd have to do before shooting Hot.

We moved down the Niagara Parkway a short distance to old familiar Clifton Hill. Here we were at the entrance to The Maid of the Mist. The scenic boat tour in the swirling rapids beneath the Falls had always been my favorite way to see the roaring cataract when I was a kid.

I suppose we must have ticked off some people who had been standing in line waiting to ride on the boat.

But, at the same time, judging by the sounds of all the clicking cameras, they found the opportunity to take pictures of Marilyn Monroe and a video crew to be immensely entertaining.

While we stood on the deck of the Maid of the Mist in the shadow of the Rainbow Bridge, I could see that we would have to wait a few minutes for the sun and the rainbow to reappear. The intermittent cloud was a fickle foe. Also, the wind had picked up noticeably.

The omnipresent spray was easier to bear as a courteous crewman of the Maid of the Mist gave me a much-needed raincoat.

But, when the director said, "Action," the blue, translucent raincoat was removed! Really! Did they think I was doing a shampoo commercial?

The Maid of the Mist drew closer and closer to the Falls. I stood at the bow of the boat as it bobbed up and down! The view of the deafening cascade was spectacular! I grabbed onto the railing at the bow and smiled sweetly to the camera. My skirt was being blown about by the gusting winds. The boat tossed to and fro. With one arm I tried to hold my billowing skirt down!

From the swirling whirlpool rapids, a large wave came crashing over the bow! I hung on for dear life, but the wave absolutely drenched me, almost knocking me over the railing. When I reached up to wipe water away from my eyes, I could sense something was seriously wrong.

My cheekbone prosthetics were no longer there! I tried desperately to cover my face. The wig had slipped off too! The platinum blonde tresses were gone, swept overboard by the power of the whirlpool wave. Heather grabbed one of the translucent raincoats and tried desperately to shield me from inquisitive eyes.

"Stay back!" Heather yelled as she turned me away from the probing cameras, but the damage had been done! The whole world would know I was a fraud!

As I huddled with Heather, I cried! She hugged me for what seemed an eternity.

"The shoot is over!" Heather declared.

There were looks of concern and curiosity from the director, video crew, the photographer, and Steve.

Or . . . were those looks of disgust?

Ten minutes later, we ascended the gorge by means of a steel cage elevator. Heather tried her best to keep prying eyes away, but I could hear the clicks of hundreds of cameras from the onlookers in line for The Maid of the Mist.

"She's . . . a . . . boy."

"He sure is."

Heather used a raincoat to cover my face as she guided me up Clifton Hill toward the Robinson's Wax Museum.

Along the way, Heather screamed at Steve Chapin several times. "Back off! Get lost!"

"I can't believe it."

"Did you see that, Martha? Look . . . Marilyn's really a guy. Get a picture. No one will believe us."

The sixty-meter, uphill walk seemed to take forever. When we reached the protective refuge of the museum dressing room, I was absolutely drained, spent emotionally, and filled with despair about my future.

It was only after cuddling with Heather for quite awhile that I recovered to the point where I could think coherently.

I decided to get out of the wet clothes. Off came the damp white dress, panties, and high heels.

After I stripped, I looked at myself in the mirror. The body was still the perfect Marilyn Monroe body that had inspired countless wet dreams, but the face everyone had seen belonged to Roger Baker.

"I guess I won't be dressing up anymore," I said to myself glumly.

As I put on a white terrycloth bathrobe, I replayed the events in my mind, over and over again. Why had the Sokui adhesive lost its grip?

Sure, there was a lot of moisture from the Falls . . . but I also had tried the new line of make-up supplied by MGM. I wondered if the make-up contained any of the same ingredients contained within the special solvent I used to take off the Marilyn prosthetics. Quite likely.

What had caused the platinum blonde tresses to come off? Prior to the Maid of the Mist shot, I had used the dryer directly on the human hair wig while it was still on my head. It was just for a brief time. Had that caused the Velcro tabs to loosen? Also, the freak wave was so powerful it had almost swept me overboard.
Certainly the force had to be strong enough to pull apart the Velcro tabs.

Or had the spirits around the Falls conspired against me? I hadn't had the integrity needed to come clean with everyone. Obviously I couldn't have signed the MGM contract under any circumstances. They were counting on Marilyn's fans to go to their movie and her fans didn't want to see her played by a male.

It would be a betrayal of Marilyn. In fact, she had stated her view of gender bending roles. "The studio people want me to do Good-bye Charlie for the movies, but I'm not going to do it. I don't like the idea of playing a man in a woman's body--you know? It just doesn't seem feminine." Debbie Reynolds took the part of the reincarnated Charlie Sorel/Virginia Mason. I found it ironic that Debbie's co-star was Tony Curtis.

There wasn't any point in beating myself up over how it happened. Roger and Marilyn's excellent adventure was over.

I had started the whole chain of events by recording a commercial, with Pete's help, as a school project. And now, shooting a real commercial would end Marilyn Baker's acting career.

Heather placed her arm on my shoulder. "C'mon Sugar. It's not that bad . . . Besides, it's about time Roger Baker emerged as a star."

"I guess I'll have to tell everyone who I really am." Then, a Marilyn quote popped into my head. "I always felt I was nobody and the only way for me to be somebody was to be . . . well, somebody else."

"Don't worry, Roger. I'll still love you. No matter what happens."

After some more kissing, hugging, cuddling, and comforting, we settled down to figure out what we were going to do.

"I guess Pete, Tom, Gordo, and you might suffer as well," I said.

"Don't even think about that."

Then suddenly, Heather brightened up.

"I've got an idea! Let me take care of the whole thing," she said as she looked into my eyes sincerely.

"I'm going to put together a press release. . . . Tomorrow you are going to perform one last time as Marilyn Monroe. Your farewell performance! Then we'll hold a question and answer session for the media and our fans. You can tell the whole world about Roger Baker, the Roswell Replicator, and the whole damn thing!"

I shrugged. "All right. If you think that's what's best."

"You'll only say what you feel comfortable revealing about yourself. Don't worry Sugar. I'll take care of everything." Heather paused as she considered what to do. "You go soak in the bathtub and take off those appliances. I've got some phone calls to make."

Then she smiled.

For some reason, I felt better. I had faith in Heather.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I needed to face my public. It was my moment of reckoning. Judgment day.

Ms. Neal called Heather. She said I could forget about an acting career with MGM. The contract offer was rescinded. She said the studio legal department wanted to pursue damages, but Ms Neal had convinced the lawyers to forget about it. She'd told Heather that the kind of publicity my stunt was gathering for the movie was worth millions. The studio was now targeting Scarlett Johansson for the role.

I spent the night at the museum to stay out of the public's eye and to try to figure out how to tell Mom and Dad.

There was none of the usual exhilaration I felt preparing for a show as I put on the panels, clothes, and make-up for one last time.

In the next ten minutes, I had to gather enough courage to go out and perform on stage.

I expected the response to be hostile. That was inevitable.

Someone knocked on my door.

"Roger? It's me, Heather. Can I come in, please?"

I couldn't keep myself locked in the dressing room forever. I walked over to the door and opened it a crack. I could see Heather. She was by herself. I opened up wide to allow her in.

"Oh Roger!" She wrapped her arms around me. We hugged for a long time. I felt like crying on her shoulder.

"Ah shoot! I don't know what to do, Heather. Things were going so well. I wish I could go back in time and change the last twenty-four hours."

"Unfortunately, that's not possible."

"Do you know if the studio signed anybody to replace me yet?"

"There's been no announcement that I know of, but I haven't been listening to the radio." Heather paused for a moment. "By the way, I spotted a rumor circulating on the Internet that Tom Hughes was an executive producer for Hot? Is it true?"

"He never mentioned that to me. In fact, at the screen test, I remember he said casting was up to the 'suits' as he called them."

"Well, maybe he just has some extra pull because of his star power. There's a report that he'd still like you to be in the film."

"That's a surprise." Was there still hope?

"I guess I might as well tell you about something else that appeared in a large number of newspapers around North America."

"Bad news or good news?"

"Photos were taken of you and Tom Hughes at the film festival."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"Pictures of you dancing with Tom."

"Yes, we danced. You were there too."

"And there were photos of you and Tom kissing."

That was like a kick in the stomach. "I'm sorry, Heather. I know it looks bad, but I assure you we just kissed." This was going to be hard to explain. I looked directly in her now watery eyes. "During the screen test, when I kissed Tom, he didn't respond at all, even though I put as much passion into the kisses as I could. At the film festival party, I wanted to see if I could get a reaction from him."

"I take it you were successful."

"Yes, but it wasn't like we were starting an affair. It was more a matter of finding out whether we could work with each other. In fact, Tom was telling me all about the progress he was making with his make-up and vocal training to play his role in drag. I was trying to hold back my laughter when we kissed." I hoped she would understand, although part of me believed that the spirit of Marilyn influenced me.

Was there still doubt in her eyes?

"It's okay, Roger. I forgive you. I know I can trust you," she said as she hugged me. "Besides, now that Tom knows about your real identity, his perceptions have undoubtedly changed."

True. Would Tom ever speak to me again? "Heather, I need you more than anything else in life. I love you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're precious to me too."

We kissed. I didn't ever want to lose her love.

"C'mon Sugar," Heather said as we parted. "It won't be so bad. We have to perform. You have to meet your adoring public."

"Adoring public?" I stepped back from Heather.

Heather shrugged. "I hope they'll respond favorably."

"I suppose I can't hide forever. Making them wait won't help matters."

"Just a moment." Heather pulled a tissue from the box on the make-up counter. "I need to touch up your lipstick." She reached for a lipstick tube and liner. "This will only take a second or two."

I held still while she did the repairs. Then Heather placed her hand around my waist and nudged me so that I looked directly at the full-length mirror.

"You look gorgeous today. Absolutely radiant," she said with her million-megawatt glow.

As I looked in the mirror at the shimmering ruby red sequined gown, I noted the heaving bosom that was trying to burst through the enticing front slit of the gown. My eyes fell to the sensuously thin waist and shapely hips, my tantalizing legs were revealed through another strategically placed slit in the drape of the dress. A dazzling diamond necklace decorated my thin elegant neck. Diamond bracelets and earrings completed the diamond theme. A ruby red cap with white feather plumes adorned my soft wavy platinum blonde tresses.

I looked closely at my mesmerizing blue-gray eyes, my long eyelashes, my arching eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the pert feminine nose, sensuous pouting lips, and the distinctive mole on my left cheek. Altogether, it was a beautiful, uplifting magical illusion. Thankfully, Heather had thought of providing Visine so my eyes weren't red.

"I think I'm ready. Now or never."

Heather guided me toward the door as we walked hand in hand. Up three flights of stairs to the Rooftop Theater. The long climb in high heels was one thing I wouldn't miss.

I should've been on stage fifteen minutes ago. A feeling of dread gripped me. Undoubtedly, the crowd would be angry!

Then I heard music playing. It was getting louder and louder as I approached. Then there was thunderous applause! Hooting and hollering!

What was going on?

As I approach from a wing of the stage, I could see a grand piano and . . . Elton John!

Elton was wearing a dark turtleneck and a tailored jacket, and glasses.

Heather, with a supportive squeeze of my arm, said, "We have a new star to assist Marilyn Monroe."

Elton John started into the intro for the next song.

"Goodbye Norma Jeane
Though I never knew you at all . . . "

The packed to capacity crowd was enthralled.

I listened intently.

Then, in the wings on the other side of the stage, I saw Mrs. Robinson, Ben Sadler, Bill Longboat . . . and who was that guy wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses?

I was almost in shock. Tom Hughes!

Beside them stood my parents -- the Reverend Ian Baker and my mother, Charlotte Baker. A lump formed in my throat. Mom and Dad were supporting me, even after I'd embarrassed them.

Elton's voice. It was the human jukebox! Pete 'Wurlitzer' Winslow!

I stepped onto the stage.

The crowd began to cheer and applaud. By the time I reached center stage, the crowd was on its feet! Wave after wave of thunderous deafening applause, screams, yells, and whistles washed over me!

I had to acknowledge their love! I held my right arm high above my head and waved to the crowd! I blew kisses to my adoring fans! I curtsied, and then I acknowledged Elton John, extending my arm in his direction. There was more wild applause. As I approached the piano, the crowd suddenly became still.

They had come to hear a performance.

Pete smiled at me as he moved over to provide some space for me. "You sure had me fooled," he said, in way that conveyed all was forgiven. He then picked up the melody again.

I joined him on the piano bench. He hugged me with one arm as he struck the piano keys with his other hand.

Pete whispered over the music, "Marilyn, the casino wants you and me to sign a long-term contract. Are you ready to be Marilyn today and as far into the future as you want?"

I laughed and put my arm around him. I leaned on him, cheek to cheek. My eyes started to tear up in . . . laughter, joy, and sadness.

No more pills. No more deceit. No more hiding.

I looked off into the wings and saw a blonde who looked like my double floating just above the stage at a spot where, apparently, only I could see her. She blew me a kiss and waved as only Marilyn could before disappearing.

It hadn't been the new make-up, the water, or the spirits of the Falls. Marilyn had helped me avoid a life filled with problems.

I turned to the job at hand and sang with Pete:

"Goodbye Norma Jeane
Though I never knew you at all . . .

And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never knowing who to cling to
When the rain set in
And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a kid
Your candle burned out long before
Your legend ever did

Goodbye Norma Jeane . . . "

THE END

"Let my journey end here, Eternal." An inscription on the portico of Marilyn Monroe's home.

A BIG THANK YOU TO: ANGELA RASCH. She contributed many creative ideas to the writing of the story. Also, Angela provided extensive editing help for "Like a Candle in the Wind." Any errors are not her fault since many changes have been made since late February. A large proportion of the story should be credited to her. For example, the use of Marilyn Monroe quotes was her idea. Another plot element, the parallel between Roger's sleep disorder problems and Marilyn's, was Angela's doing. Overall, the additions made the story much better.