The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe

JFK: “Finally! You’re Here!”

At the end of February 1962, Peter Lawford invited Marilyn to a dinner party in New York that was being held to honor President John F. Kennedy. Kennedy loved the Hollywood culture and was enamored of celebrities, especially beautiful actresses, or, more specifically, especially beautiful blonde actresses—though, as was well known about him, he never tossed a brunette or redhead out of his bed either. Though Marilyn had met Kennedy back in the 1950s when he was a senator, she never had a chance to speak to him in depth. After having had the opportunity to meet Bobby, she was eager to know his brother Jack. She had no romantic designs on JFK. Not yet, anyway.

The party was to take place at the home of Fifi Fell, the widow of a wealthy industrialist. Milt Ebbins, who was Peter Lawford’s partner in his production company, recalled:

“Dave Powers [a presidential aide] and I were supposed to escort Marilyn to the party. Dinner was at eight. We showed up at her place at 7:30. Of course she was nowhere near ready. Her maid came out of the bedroom and said something about her not being able to make up her mind about what to wear. Also, she had this hairdresser [Kenneth Battelle, her hairstylist] combing and teasing and combing and teasing. Finally, Dave said, ‘I’m not going to sit here when I could be with the president.’ So he took the car back to the party and then sent a limousine for us.

“The limousine arrived at 8:15 and she still wasn’t ready. At that point, Peter called and said, ‘What the hell is going on? Does she realize that she’s keeping the president waiting?’ And when he said that to me, something clicked in my head and I thought, ‘Hmmm, I wonder if that’s the whole idea.’ ”

At 8:30, still no Marilyn—but the hairdresser came out of the bedroom very casually as if he had not a care in the world. Before breezily taking his leave, he said to Milt, “It’s worth the wait. Believe me. She looks fabulous.”

At 8:45, another call came in from Peter to Milt. By now, Peter was frantic and, with Dave Powers cursing in the background, hollered into the phone, “Get her over here, God damn it. The president wants her here, now.” Milt replied, “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Peter bellowed, “Well, try harder,” before slamming down the phone.

At 9 p.m., the telephone rang again and the maid said it was Peter. Milt told her to say they’d already left the premises. By now totally exasperated, he burst into Marilyn’s bedroom. There she was, with her back to him, sitting at her vanity, staring into the mirror and, with what looked to Ebbins like an eyeliner pencil, darkening her famous beauty mark (a little mole on the right cheek of her face). “Marilyn, Jesus Christ, almighty!” Milt said. “Do you realize you’re keeping the president waiting.” She rose to face him. She was completely nude except for a pair of black high heels. “Oh, calm down, Milt,” she said casually. “My goodness. Just help me put this dress on.” After taking a casual sip of sherry, she lifted a little beaded and sequined number off the bed and put it over her head. Then she shimmied it down over her breasts, to her hips.

For the next ten minutes, Milt Ebbins attempted to assist Marilyn into what he described as “the tightest goddamn dress I have ever seen on a woman. We couldn’t get it past her hips. Of course, typical of Marilyn, she wasn’t wearing underwear either. So there I was, on my knees in front of her, my nose an inch from her crotch, pulling this dress down with all my might trying to get it past her big ass. And she kept saying, ‘Keep pulling, Milt. Keep pulling. You can do it. You can do it.’ ”

Finally, with one final tug, the dress gave way past Marilyn’s hips and down to her knees. “Ah, perfect,” she squealed. “I knew you could do it, Milt.” She then put a red wig over her hair and sunglasses over her eyes and then… back to the vanity where she sat down and began studying herself again. “Finally, I just grabbed her by the elbow,” Milt recalled, “and said, ‘That’s it. We’re leaving.’

“We got into the limousine and made it to Park Avenue. When we got out of the car, the place was mobbed with photographers waiting to see who the president’s guests were. Not one person recognized her. We went up to the floor he was staying on and two Secret Service agents met us as soon as we got off the elevator. They escorted us to the apartment.”

Standing in front of the closed door, Marilyn took off her wig and handed it to one of the agents. After fluffing up her halo of blonde hair, she took the glasses off and handed them to the other agent. Then she drew a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and said, “Okay, shall we?” One of the agents opened the door and Marilyn walked into the apartment, followed by Milt Ebbins.

“When she walked in, Christ almighty, it was like the parting of the Red Sea,” Ebbins recalled. “There were about twenty-five people in there, and the crowd divided into halves as she walked through the room.”

The actress Arlene Dahl, who was married to Fernando Lamas and is actor Lorenzo Lamas’s mother, was also at that party. “Marilyn walked in with her agent and, I’ll never forget it, everything stopped, everyone stopped. It was magical, really. I’ve never seen anyone stop a room like that. The president turned around and noticed her and you could see that he was immediately attracted to her. ‘Finally! You’re here,’ he said with a big smile as he walked over to her. ‘There are some people here who are dying to meet you.’ Then, she was descended upon. People just wanted to stand near her, smell her fragrance, breathe the same air as she.”

JFK took Marilyn’s arm and off she went with him. But not before turning to Milt Ebbins and giving him a wry little smile and a wink.

As it happened, JFK was immediately taken by Marilyn that night in New York—no surprise there. Before she left, he asked for her phone number. Of course, she gave it to him. He called her the very next day with a suggestion. He explained that he was going to be in Palm Springs on March 24. He would be staying with his friend and, as he understood it, hers as well—Frank Sinatra. Why not join him there? Oh, and incidentally, he told her, “Jackie won’t be there.”