We see an open stage. Only a few pieces of furniture are present. Downstage center left is a simple white vanity table with drawers. Midstage left is a café table with two chairs. Midstage right is a motorcycle. (A heavy, brightly painted bench may be used to signify the motorcycle.) Midstage extreme right, a window frame suspended by wires. Upstage center on a dais is placed a high heavy chair with arms, a “throne.” A dim red light is on it always. It illumines the throne even through bright lights, spots in other areas, and occasional blackouts on the stage. . . .

DIRECTOR: I’d like to introduce the leading lady. (Calls to wings) Marilyn!

(A male actor yells offstage, “She’s getting ready.”)

DIRECTOR: (Tries to smile) She’s just the way Marilyn used to be.

Let me say a little about the theatrical piece you will see tonight.

Strawhead begins late in Marilyn Monroe’s life. We find her alone with her memories on two successive nights. This is a play about recollection. In memory, no one ever has to answer the door; people merely walk into one’s mind.

So, our piece is composed of short scenes that cut into one another like a film. Memory, you see, is not unequal to a movie. Cinema, after all, is that delicate membrane between memory and the dream. So Marilyn’s life comes to her each night like a film.

Two acts—two nights.

Is Marilyn ready?

(Offstage voice: “Yes.”)

DIRECTOR: Bring the houselights down!.. .

[Editor’s note: The following scene occurs later on in the first act. The characters are MARILYN, MILTON and AMY GREENE (the fashion photographer and his wife who became Marilyn’s mentors), and NORMAN NORELL (the famous American dress designer of the fifties).]

(Low light on Marilyn—she is alone.)

MARILYN: There’s something about ermine. It’s awesome. (Marilyn caresses her invisible fur.) I love every animal that’s gone into it. And I never think of the hunter. That’s fair. After all, I make movies, and people will look at them after I’m dead.

(Marilyn gets up, doubles over in pain, gives a long, slow groan. Amy hurries in.)

AMY: My God, what’s the matter?

MARILYN: I’m sorry. It’s my period. I have periods that are like catastrophes.

AMY: We’re going to the hospital right now!

MARILYN: No, it’s all right. I have some pills. I’ll be O.K.

AMY: Are you sure?

MARILYN: Oh, yes. Don’t you ever get cramps like this?

AMY: It may get better after you have a baby.

MARILYN: Amy, the last doctor said he found a lot of scar tissue in there. He wanted to hear how many abortions I had. I told him I didn’t know.

AMY: You don’t know?

MARILYN: Twelve.

AMY: You must be shreds inside.

MARILYN: (Pause) Tatters.

AMY: What did you do, get pregnant every month?

MARILYN: Don’t talk. The pain is getting worse. You know, every time I wouldn’t have the child, I’d go into one of those depressions where you wonder if you are going to pull out. How I would have spoiled that baby. (On the edge of tears, she and Amy embrace.)

(Lights up softly on Marilyn. She is alone.)

MARILYN: Yet all the while that I was feeling sorry for myself, I was also thinking that there is nothing like hot scalding emotion for relaxing your face. Isn’t it nice and crazy to have two personalities?

Amy takes a lot of baths. So, I do too. I lie in a tub and read. I rest in the water until Hollywood goes right out of my pores.

Then I put a lot of cream on my face. I figure it takes a ton of cream to forestall one wrinkle.

Reading in the bathtub is like drinking champagne. It gets me truly excited. Amy gave me a book about Lady Hamilton. Lady Emma Hamilton. Only Emma didn’t begin as a lady. Emma became a lady by marrying Lord Hamilton. But she started out as a waitress. She would see fellows after work. That is a humble beginning. I was impressed.

There are a lot of her letters in the book, and in the beginning Emma couldn’t write as good a letter as myself. I noticed that!

(Marilyn opens the book and reads in a cockney accent.)

“What shall I dow?” She spells it d-o-w. D-o-w! I don’t believe it. “Good God, what shall I dow? I can’t gow to town. I have not a farthing to bless myself with.”

(Marilyn leafs through the book.)

Then Lord Hamilton came along. He swooped down and made a real lady of Emma.

(Marilyn reads again.)

Now, here’s a letter written ten years later: “The Queen has been very friendly to me of late. This morning she was cordial to a point!”

(Marilyn closes the book.)

That’s a lot of improvement. “Cordial to a point.” A girl can learn.

(Marilyn picks up a rather large but plain notebook from her dressing table and hugs it.)

Ergo—which is a new word I’ve learned—I’ve begun my own book. I take quotes from authors I like and jot them down. The kind where my thoughts and my heart come close to touching. . .

(Sighs.)

But to tell the truth, I’m edgy. I’m too alone. I feel like I’m wearing an evening gown on the moon. I want a new man.

Ergo, when they made me an offer to become a princess, I was ready to sign up.

(Lights up on Norell on his throne.)

NORELL: What do you know about Aristotle Onassis?

MARILYN: Aristotle Onassis? Doesn’t he own a yacht?

NORELL: My dear, he owns Monte Carlo. But, right now—would you believe it—Monte Carlo is in the red. So he has sent us their reigning prince. Prince Rainier is in America to meet a movie star. If it takes, His Highness will marry her and thereby refurbish old Monte Carlo. Right at this minute, the Prince is looking the ladies over.

MARILYN: He is?

NORELL: He is. I happen to know the boy. I’ve been told in absolute confidence that you are being considered most seriously. Rainier, it seems, has a yen for Marilyn Monroe. You might be the prime candidate, darling.

MARILYN: Oh, I am. Dear Norman Norell, I am the only one.

NORELL: Marilyn, curb your pride. You must not be so certain.

MARILYN: Honey, give me two days with him and the Prince will be just as certain.

(Amy appears at front of stage. She speaks as lights go out on Norell.)

AMY: I can’t believe it. Norman Norell says you’re going to be a princess!

MARILYN: You may kiss my hand.

AMY: (Singing) A kiss on the hand may be quite Continental. . .

MARILYN: Amy, you’re not bad. I didn’t know you could sing.

AMY: Oh, yes, a little. I saw Gentlemen Prefer Blondes four times. Milton says I do a good imitation of Jane.

MARILYN: You do? Show me. I don’t believe you.

(Amy starts to sing and dance, and Marilyn, after a bar or two, joins her in “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” At the conclusion, they hug like roommates. Suddenly, Marilyn looks morose.)

MARILYN: Amy, was Marie Antoinette a real blonde?

AMY: Doubtless. Why?

MARILYN: It doesn’t matter. Reindeer won’t care.

AMY: . . .“Reindeer”?. . .No, Prince Reindeer won’t care if you’re not a real blonde. (Amy laughs.) Reindeer!

MARILYN: (Ignoring interruption) I love it when you laugh. Your eyes look just like stars.

AMY: My eyes. Girl, you are totally out of your mind. Your eyes are like stars.

(Marilyn looks in a mirror. Milton enters.)

MILTON: Edward R. Murrow wants to interview you, me, and Amy, on Person to Person. Marilyn, he said everybody is asking why you ran away from Hollywood. Fifty million people watch that show.

MARILYN: Fifty million people. Staring down my throat. Milton, I thought you said television wasn’t for me.

MILTON: This is the best show-show-showcase anyone could get.

AMY: Edward R. Murrow. What a fabulous man!

MARILYN: He is?

AMY: He ought to be president.

MARILYN: (Examining herself again in the mirror) The public sees me as a scheming sex bitch. Sort of Lana Turner with an evil streak. And here I am looking like a kid in a high-school graduation picture. My eyes are like stars.

I said yes. If you’re going to be a lady, think of being First Lady. Even if you miss, you’re still up there with the ladies.