There she was, wrapped in just a towel walking between the bungalows. I never saw her husband. He always seemed mysterious, occupied elsewhere. None of my business. 

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In September 1961 the Tides was a quiet spot on the west Gulf Coast just up from St Petersburg. The home of the Brooklyn Dodgers training team. That's why Joe DiMaggio chose this place to combine his professional interests with trying to get Marilyn back on course. He was bound to fail. He didn't realize that her power was still astronomical compared to his. And so the crowds gathered on the beach opposite their cabana. 

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Marilyn tied her scarf around her head and safe behind her Ray-Bans walked away toward the bungalows. Nothing solved today. That's where I passed her, in the sandy alley parallel to the beach. I stopped, turned to watch her walk away. Sensing my gaze, she slowed and looked back at me over her shoulder. I walked towards her. 

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"Gee you're cute. What's your name?" 

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"Howard, Miss Monroe. But my friends call me Zowie." 

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"Wow". 

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I felt my knees getting weak and my mouth becoming dry. "It's silly really…" 

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"No. I like it. Zowie..." She laughed quietly, like tinkling crystal in another room. 

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"Listen, can you do something for me, Zowie?" 

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"Anything Miss Monroe." 

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"Call me Marilyn." 

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"...Anything, Marilyn." There it was, I'd said her name. 

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"Can you get a message to Jack for me, Zowie?" 

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"Jack?" 

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"You know, Jack. Mister President." 

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"Gee whiz." 

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"Sure you can. A smart cabana boy like you. But listen Zowie, you've got to speak to him yourself. That's real important." She was twirling the tassel on the edge of her towelling robe in a playful way that made me think of a child. So innocent, and yet…

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"Why, what am I to say to him, Miss Monroe?" 

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"Marilyn. We're friends now aren't we Zowie?" 

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"Well gosh, I suppose so. Marilyn." 

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"Right then. Tell Jack, under no circumstances to come down to Tampa, or to New Orleans or that other place, Dallas. It's very important he doesn't go to any of those places." 

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"Why what's wrong with them?" 

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"In one of them, they're going to kill him." 

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"My God." 

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"You've got to get this message to him." 

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"I'll try, Marilyn. But what if he won't see me?" 

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"Tell him I sent you. Tell him I kissed you, and you know how I taste."

 

"But I don't." So she kissed me, full on the mouth. Her soft pink lips warm and full, welcoming me to somewhere I had known all my life but never been. Somewhere I never wanted to leave. I felt my head spinning, wishing this would never end. I closed my eyes and in the darkness I could hear her breathing, smell her warm scent. Like strawberries, maybe. Or magnolia. And then, like a fresh blossom pressed in an opening book, we eased apart. 

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"What do I taste of, Zowie?" 

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"Banana cheesecake." 

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"That's just what Jack said. Reminded him of his childhood. You and he are the only ones who ever said that." I smiled at her. She kissed me again quickly on the lips. The hint of banana briefly there. 

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"Remember, Zowie. Tell Jack." 

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"How can I ever forget. Marilyn." 

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She turned and walked away toward her bungalow. And right there, in that moment when she was gone, my insides dissolved in a waterfall of sand.

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