Victor Gischler: Suicide Squeeze

Monroe took it, then snatched the fountain pen, which was still in DiMaggio’s hand. “I’ll sign this too, okay?” She shot DiMaggio a sideways glance before turning up the volume on her smile and looking Teddy in the eyes. “Joe doesn’t mind. That’s because he knows we’re a team, right, Joe?”

“Sure.”

Monroe signed her name right under DiMaggio’s.

Horace said, “We don’t want to take any more of your time.”

“Nonsense,” Monroe said. “Joe and I love to visit with the people. Don’t we, Joe?”

DiMaggio frowned. Teddy continued to gawk at the starlet, naked worship on his face.

Horace felt uncomfortable now. “We’d really better be going. My wife probably had supper ready an hour ago and-”

The director came over, took Marilyn by the elbow. “We’re ready to start again. Up for another take?”

Monroe said, “Oh, Billy, we’re all signing one of Joe’s cards for this charming young man. Here, you sign too.”

The director signed “Billy Wilder” underneath Monroe ’s name, then handed the card back to Teddy.

DiMaggio’s face was the color of a stoplight. Furious.

“I can see you need to get back to work,” Horace said. “Thanks a lot, folks.” Horace scooped Teddy up under his arm and retreated quickly. The chaos of the movie shoot resumed behind them.

When they’d made it through the crowd, Horace set his son on the sidewalk. Strolled back toward the hardware store. Teddy held the baseball card delicately, took special care not to smudge the ink. The encounter had not gone quite as Horace had planned, but Teddy seemed to have enjoyed it.

“Daddy, what was that lady’s name?”

Horace stopped walking, blinked at his son. It was the first thing the kid had said in five hours. “Marilyn Monroe. She’s in pictures.”

“Marilyn Monroe,” Teddy repeated with wonder, like the words to a magic spell. Like a prayer.

Dear Miss Monroe,

My name is Teddy Folger, and I am your biggest fan. Ha. I have to laugh because I just bet every letter you get starts out with some guy saying he’s your biggest fan. Well, for me it happens to be true. I don’t know if you remember me, but I met you when I was six years old while you were doing The Seven Year Itch . My dad took me to see Joe DiMaggio and you were there too and you signed my DiMaggio card. I will never forget that day. I have seen every one of your pictures ten times. I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I don’t mean that in a dirty way or like a come-on. You probably get lots of fellows writing you with some kind of pitch. I’m not like that. I’m just a fan who thinks you’re about the greatest movie star that ever lived.

Three days ago I went to my dad’s funeral. He was hit by a cab. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I think my dad wanted me to be different than I am. He never said anything. He never got mad at me, but I could tell he wanted me to be different. He always took me to your movies. Usually a matinee. I just wanted you to know that my dad was the greatest. He wanted me to be happy, so he took me to every one of your movies even though I don’t think he really cared about movies too much. I hope you have a new movie coming out soon.

Your biggest fan,

Teddy Folger

Dear Teddy,

I’m sorry it took me so long to write back. I get so many letters, and I’m just so very busy. Of course I remember you, honey. I’m so happy that you find my films so enjoyable. It makes my heart happy to hear it. To tell the truth, I’ve been a little blue, so your letter was a much-needed pick-me-up.

I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about your father. People are funny. They all want us and expect us to be a certain way. Sometimes people never know the real us. It sounds like your father knew you pretty well. He might have had some very different expectations from you, but I’m sure he loved and accepted you just how you are. You seem a special and sensitive young man. Thanks so much for your letter.

Love,

Marilyn Monroe

“Welcome back to Antiques Road Show, ” said the host. “This week, we’re in New Orleans, the Big Easy, and we have another amazing assortment of antiques and collectibles. Let’s continue now with Arlo Watts, curator of the San Diego Museum of Pop Culture. He’s looking at an item that combines baseball and Hollywood. Arlo.”

The camera switched to Arlo, a middle-aged man decked out in tweed, little half glasses. He stood next to a stout man with gray hair, midfifties. On the table between them was a large picture frame.

Arlo said, “We’re here with Teddy Folger, who’s driven from Pensacola to show us this piece of not only baseball memorabilia, but also an extraordinary piece of Hollywood history. Mr. Folger, tell us how you came to possess such a special item.”

“It all started when my father wanted me to meet Joe DiMaggio.” Folger told the tale succinctly, all facts, no embellishments. The story was already good. It needed no exaggeration. Folger finished the story, then said, “And if you want to see this wonderful treasure of American history, I’ll have it on display at my store, Pan-Galactic Comics & Collectibles on Davis Highway, in Pensacola, Florida.” Folger waved at the camera.

Arlo ignored the plug and dove into a lengthy and tedious story about the filming of The Seven Year Itch . Folger smiled, tried to appear patient and interested, but what he really wanted to hear-what everyone wanted to hear on this show-was all about how much the damn thing was worth. Get to the money, egghead!

Now Arlo was yakking on and on about Monroe ’s marriage to DiMaggio. Folger knew all this already. He supposed the TV audience found it interesting. In the last forty years, Folger had read every word written on the subject. He’d even written a short book on Monroe, but twenty New York agents had turned it down, claiming the subject was exhausted.

Finally, Arlo asked the golden question. “Mr. Folger, do you have any idea what this item is worth?”

Folger had seen the show many times, knew what he was supposed to say. “Oh, I really have no idea. Its sentimental value is more important as far as I’m concerned.” A million dollars. Say it. It’s worth a million if it’s worth a penny. Say it, you nerd.

“First, let’s review what we have here,” Arlo said. “The presentation is very nice. You’ve taken a full-size Seven Year Itch film poster and framed it nicely in glass. The poster features Marilyn in her famous pose, the skirt flying up. On either side of Marilyn, you’ve encased the two artifacts. Individually, each artifact would probably bring a nice price, but the letter and the card are connected by a personal story. This all adds value.”

Get on with it, thought Folger. He felt sweat under his arms.

“The card,” Arlo continued, “is a wonderful example of an Apex brand Joe DiMaggio baseball card in mint condition. Signed by Joe DiMaggio, Marilyn Monroe, and film director Billy Wilder. These are the key players in one of Hollywood ’s great stories. Really the quintessential American marriage between one of the nation’s great baseball athletes and perhaps the nation’s greatest movie star. It all comes together on this one baseball card.”

Folger nodded along with Arlo’s lecture, but in his mind, he was spending money.

Arlo said, “Then we have the letter. It goes without saying that Monroe got millions of fan letters, so the fact you received a return letter is in itself pretty amazing. But notice the date.” He pointed to the corner of the letter. “This letter was written less than a week before Monroe was tragically found dead in her home. I haven’t had a chance to check this yet, but it may very well be the last letter she ever sent. Certainly one of the last.”