BLACK PRESIDENT, CHAPTER 15. Gettng deeper into the Bobby/Marilyn/Jack relationships & problems--she's ready to bring down the Presidency.

https://www.thedailybeast.com/obsessed/was-robert-kennedy-responsible-for-marilyn-monroes-death

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

August 4, 1962

The large rotary blades of the helicopter whipped sand in every direction as it set down in front of Peter Lawford’s Malibu beach house. Had Bobby Kennedy had night-vision goggles on, he could have seen the young beachcomber 100 feet away, roused from his drunken stupor in time to shield his eyes from the fast-flying sand particles being hurled his way. One of the Secret Service personel did spot the intruder and was able to move him on without incident. Fortunately that young man, Felix Hershiel, never surfaced to dispute the accepted story that “Bobby Kennedy was in San Francisco the night of August 4, 1962,” and that “no helicopter landed on Malibu Beach on the night in question.” For Bobby it was either fly in and deal with Marilyn, or find himself in the middle of the biggest scandal of his and his brother’s lives.

It was her seventh enraged call to the Attorney General’s office, announcing her intention to call a press conference the following day, that had gotten his attention. Marilyn sounded ready and committed do some damage to the Kennedy brothers. Bobby felt himself go hollow inside at the memory of certain state secrets he’d been careless enough to divulge while he lay naked by her side. He knew Marilyn kept a diary, a little red book in which he’d seen her record information at almost every tryst. Shortly after her death, that little book of hers, with many pages missing, would reappear, momentarily, then disappear again forever.

“You Kennedy’s can’t just drop a person like a piece of shit,” Marilyn had yelled into the phone, blowing the EQ levels in various microphones hidden around the bedroom. “I swear I’ll call a press conference tomorrow morning. That’s right! Tomorrow! And I’ll tell them everything I know about you two!”

After some sobbing sounds, she spoke much more quietly, as if her breath had spilled out and there was no air to replace it.

“If I don’t see you tonight...I don’t know what I’ll do.” Her voice trailed off to a low whisper and her message ended with a quiet plea broken by tears and coughing. After Bobby told his brother the gist of the call, describing the erratic emotionality and implied threats, Jack had ordered him to immediately go in and clean up the Marilyn mess once and for all.

“Get down there to Peter’s tonight, see her and quiet this thing down before she sticks us on the cover of every newspaper in the country!”

After hanging up, President Kennedy continued dressing for his meeting with the Prime Minister of India – the full formal affair, black tie, tails, cuff links, starched white shirt. Fortunately, he and Jackie had just had their separate shots, half B-12 and half straight “speed.” Although half of his brain was signaling it was time to cry, the other half told him to dance and screw beautiful women.

Looking in the mirror as he donned his costume for the party, he was still able to feel that things would work out OK. Had his father not called in the next twenty minutes, things might have worked out differently .

“Hi dad,” said Jack, buttoning up the last button on his shirt. “Trouble?You talked to Bobby? Yes, he went too far.”Jack was surprised to hear that his brother had confessed his “Marilyn” sins to his father. Tight-lipped Bobby usually had more control.

“I think Bobby can handle it. He’s flying in tonight to talk some sense into her. I don’t know if she’ll straighten out. Yes, I know she’s dangerous, but there’s nothing we can do about it...Yes, OK. I’ll call you after I hear back from Bobby.”

Upon hanging up, Joe Kennedy lifted the receiver again and made one more call, to an old connection in Los Angeles who owed him a favor.

At Lawford’s entreaty, Marilyn had taken a cab to his house, and during dinner it looked like her anger toward the Kennedy brothers was abating a bit. Peter had a way of calming people down, relaxing them with his slow drawl and handsome face. But Bobby arrived, and the hysterics began all over again.

Thinking about it later, Lawford figured Bobby had made one fatal error with Marilyn. He had refused to string her along that night. He should have lied to her when she had asked him point blank if he would leave his wife.

“You don’t love her anymore. You said you don’t,” said Marilyn. “Why can’t you just be a man and say it now, for Peter.”

Marilyn looked in Lawford’s direction. “I’m not a liar,” she said, answering the doubt she thought she read in his eyes, adding, “He said this!”

“Sorry honey,” said Lawford, rising from the couch with his drink. “I’m tired. You kids work it out...please. I love you both, you know.”

Lawford and his wife got up and excused themselves, exiting the room as the argument ensued. Without their leveling presence, the words quickly took on a much harsher tone.

“I said that I love you more...but I never said I didn’t love my wife. She’s the mother of my kids, for Christ’s sake,” said Bobby, thinking the truth would matter for something.

“But you said that you and her hardly ever have sex anymore. You said that. You said I made you feel...that I was the most lovely ...”

The tears suddenly started flowing heavily. Losing Bobby’s love was a loss that Marilyn couldn’t afford. She knew that with each of his answers, her dream of marriage and motherhood was slipping away again. Between her recent mood swings and a subtle change she’d felt in her body, Marilyn suspected what the coroner would later confirm – she was pregnant.

Of course she knew it was possible that either Jack or Bobby could be the father, given the timing of recent sexual encounters. And there had been that weekend at Cal-Neva Lodge, which she’d worked hard to forget. Sinatra, Giancana, others. In her drugged- out state she had lost count. What had been in those drinks? She had been rendered completely incapacitated on the bed. Stiff. Numb. Distorted vision. Zombied out.

Marilyn had read that Ethel Kennedy was expecting another child...their seventh...eighth...or something. So Bobby still had sex with his wife – at least once in the last six months. Just another lie. And his wife got to keep her child, hold her head up in society.

“I’m going home,” Marilyn announced coldly. “Peter can take me.”

She rose unsteadily from the cushioned chair and drew her silk jacket around her. Perhaps this abrupt shift in her emotions was what finally woke Bobby up to the fact that he was going to lose it all – family, political office, respect – if he didn’t immediately start playing along. It was clear that he’d have to say exactly what she needed to hear, that he better do whatever it would take to predict her next move.

“Peter and I will drive you back, OK... honey?

When they arrived at her bungalow, Bobby and Peter escorted Marilyn down the narrow walkway and helped her with her key. Three different recording bugs picked up the noise of the lock turning and the footsteps inside. Giancanna’s microphone picked up the steps through the floor vibrations from the small bedroom down the hall. Then Hoover’s voice-activated mike hidden in the high ceiling lamp in the living room activated when Marilyn said, “I’m OK, really.”

As she walked into her bedroom for a Kleenex, the second FBI bug set into the wall near the bedroom ceiling picked up more sounds. Hoover’s “insurance for the archive” would keep him well informed of all extra-curricular activities, including several hours of Bobby Kennedy having sex with the movie goddess.

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(Chapter 16 next)

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