The Life and Opinions of Maf the Dog, and of His Friend Marilyn Monroe by Andrew O’Hagan Read Free Book Online Page B

it into the air and catching it in his mouth. ‘Now you be careful on that picture. Keep your nose clean. You’re still working on it, right? Remember, Kazan is a rat just like that deadbeat upstairs. A snitch. Any flack, you just get on the horn to me, princess.’
‘I’m nervous, Frank. They think I’m still the little girl in pigtails.’
‘Just do your work, Miss Moscow,’ said Frank, ‘and remember you owe him nothing. Not Kazan or Jack Warner or him upstairs, neither. You earned the right. Those shitheels are lucky to have you.’
Across the lawn and into the car, I could hear Mud’s holy recriminations on the upper floor. I heard a bottle smashing as she shouted in Russian. Mr Sinatra took the blanket off me and placed me down on the furry covers of the back seat. There was a faint whiff of Sicily about Frank, a hint of lemons and jasmine, and I wasn’t sure if it was the flowers he gave, the food he liked, Acqua di Parma or just some longlost scent that lingered about his skin. I detected it when his hand touched my face and when he walked round the car. He blew a kiss at Natalie, who was in her own car and already speeding out of Sherman Oaks with that laugh of hers that seemed to embody the danger of the night and the secret of her own freedom. As I said, Frank and Natalie were the parts they played: I saw this most clearly as their cars swept onto the highway with their headlamps chasing the palm trees into the dark. I wanted to pee. When I looked through the back window I thought of Belka and Strelka, the two Russian dogs sent into space that year, and I wondered what small roles they had taken in the action of the night sky. Yes, they too must have wanted to pee as their capsule travelled through space, and I felt some pride as I looked up and imagined the trouble my comrades had taken for the human race. * The distant sky at night is often a comfort: it lets you believe that we are all alone to the same degree. The car moved with pent-up fury towards Bel Air, and only then did I let the long day pass into the lower regions. I relaxed into my adventure, counted my blessings, and did a long, warm wee-wee in the back of Frank’s car.
It must have been catching because he stopped the car somewhere near the top of Beverly Glen, and went outside, muttering, cursing, to find a spot at the edge of the scrub where he could take a leak. I stared out at the silver stars. A cat came along and stopped by the road. It licked around its mouth when it saw me and spoke the beginning of a languid, narcissistic sonnet, made in the Italian style as a compliment to Frank. The window was down and I could feel the breeze coming up the canyon.
    * The combination of cowboy shows and liquor wasn’t good for Nick. In that sense he resembled the great film director John Ford, who, every time he had a drop of the Irish, especially when in close proximity to gallop ing hooves and discharging firearms, would turn into a right-wing lunatic.
    * Belka and Strelka were now back on earth, doing other stuff for the human race. I mean, they were having pupniks , which were proving to be top-of-the-range diplomatic presents. Khrushchev gave one to Kennedy’s daughter, Caroline.
    Life is excessive but not enough,
The trees are my witness, passing cur. Around Tulip Lane I stopped for love, And breathed the heaven of a single her. She was perfect, knowing, wishful, dark, The living shadow of impervious night. Her love was mine for one remark, And yet I stole away in fright.
    In the middle of the morning two days later, the men in Frank’s entourage were having a stupidity contest. I’m not saying they were all mutton-heads, but they took the menace of B-movie gangsters and mixed it with the gutsy malice you might find in a sorority circle, surrounding Frank in a bubble of free-floating aggression and mild bitchiness, a state of affairs which appeared to make him feel good about himself. Frank liked people to be frightened of him but