human
On damp, English days like this, a small part of Erik Weiss wished that the bullet hadn't missed its target.
The former SS officer he had tracked down in Argentina had been trembling when he had made the desperate move to fire his pistol - and rightly so, the man's shoulder was practically dislocated at the time and Weiss had been in no mood for clemency. The British had contracted him to bring back the war criminals for trial - however they never specified the condition in which they should be returned.
Many of them had fled from Germany to South America, seeking out refuge under a cloak of forged anonymity, hiding in the dense jungles that enveloped the continent. Most did little else to cover their tracks, their harsh German influxes butchering the native tongue to such painful extent like snarling wolves trying to lull the same language as sheep. They sweat more profusely in the exotic heat than those who belonged or had grown accustom to the temperature though if their perspiration was derived from the weather or from festering guilt if they could even feel such a human emotion was a question answered only by God.
In little over ten years, Weiss had tracked down seven Reich fugitives while working alongside MI6. He excelled in his position as an agent, earning a dual reputation as both a ruthless tracker and a gentleman. When the contracts were given, he never flipped past the first page. His people had been only numbers to the Reich - faceless, nameless cattle meat for the grinder. They were insignificant, and any factors of their lives mattered not to those who had been hell bent on their genocide.
Weiss extended them the same courtesy.
In his heart, he knew that he should rise above their violence their blatant lack of humanity. The world would not benefit from more cruelty. He had agreed to cooperate with the British after the war because he felt if he was on a more rational, restricted path, that he could restrain the boiling sense of injustice that he was certain would provoke him down a path of vigilantism. During the occupation, he subverted the Nazis violence with compassion working with the resistance to shelter and save as many lives as possible but rage had gotten him caught and sent to the camps.
In 1944, when the Allies liberated Hitlers extermination grounds, Erik had sworn to himself that he would not let his anger confine him again.
In late 1954, he faltered.
That man in Argentina he recognized from long ago a crooked smirking face on the opposite side of barbed wire; always accompanied by several men clad in gas masks, who hummed classical music as he sniffed through the fresh and decomposing corpses for more specimens.
Of the actual incident, Erik could recall very little. The reports plainly stated that Agent Weiss had experienced a brief moment of bull sight a glossed term that meant he had used excessive force and acted on emotions rather than reason. It was true. The bar where he had located the man looked more reminiscent of a raid scene than the near spotless work of an experienced Agent. In the blistering heat, the stench of suffering and death resurfaced in his memory and thatdamn smirking face
In the middle of the fray, there had been a sudden, sharp pain on the left side of Weiss neck it had burned significantly and the sensation spread rapidly through his body until his extremities felt numb. A bitter, metallic taste of blood surged up from the back of his throat, swelling nearly up to his eyes and then Mozarts 22nd symphony; the arch had been wetly hissed as his vision went dark.
When he came to, he was in London and three days had past. His mission, failed. Weiss however, was too valuable to the organization to be put out to pasture for good. He was given a year recovery before his field work would resume.
It took several months of therapy before he was able to speak clearly again a thick scar and occasional slur the only external reminders of his failure that, and the sudden, overwhelming lack of a schedule. A farmers son, Erik had rarely known a day without work and now he was faced with seven months ofnothing. The very thought made him sick to his stomach, though that well could have been a side effect of the pain medications.
The month leading up to the half year point was eaten up by self-motivated training exercise, refining his foreign languages, hell he had even taken up a bi-weekly chess match with one of the deskies (another former Agent injured in the line of duty, now confined to the walls of HQ) that he had known from his initiation periodanything to make the time pass quickly.
But time crawled, at an agonizingly slow pace and by the start the sixth month, Erik was stir crazy.
Simon Leigh, his deskie friend, had mentioned during one of their matches that an offer had just been posted to their division by a film production company. Apparently that Ian Flemming blokes collaborated on a film script, He had said in passing, tongue flickering over his chapped lips as his eyes repeatedly scanned the playing board for any open paths, Theyre looking for someone to train the actor playing Bond how to act like an authentic spy. Isnt that a kick in the seat? Why dont they just hire one of us! His fingers nervously feathered over the King piece, Suppose we arent fancy enough for the silver screen. Bloody James Bond. Most boring name Ive ever heardOh! But I hearMarilyn Monroes signed on to be the leading lady!
That name had caught Weiss attention.
The closest movie theatre when he was growing up was hours away from the family farm and throughout his young adulthood, movies were an expense he could rarely afford. But even a novice film fan would know the name Marilyn Monroe. An ethereal American blonde with a wispy voice, sculpted curves and an innate talent that surpassed those well beyond her years it was difficult to believe she was a living, breathing soul.
The thought lingered throughout the span of the game a passing interest at first, something that had intrigued him more than he expected. Marilyn Monroe, here in England.He balled up his fist, leaning on his elbow, pressing his chin to his knuckles to conceal a boyish smirk tugging at his lips. Finally, after twenty four minutes, Simon moved his King piece to the adjacent square. Erik marked him in checkmate immediately and promptly left to contact the production company that had coaxed the angel from her spot in heaven.
The companys casting director Jasper Leads, who had posted the request, had been delighted to hear from him. Apparently their leading man James Freeman, an up and coming star transferring from stage to screen, conveyed his lines effortlessly with all the charm one would expect from a suave 00 but his physical delivery was simply not up to par. Allegedly, Mr. Freeman couldnt believably conceive of the situations his character came up against, and the choreography for the scenes felt too stiff and scripted. They were in desperate need of a personal touch, someone to add some oil to Freemans otherwise stiff mechanical limbs and also someone to serve as an accuracy consultant for the time frame as well as for the MI6 organization.
Two weeks into shooting Bonds solo scenes, Erik felt that the script was relatively sound in terms of its portrayal; however stiff limbs were the least of James Freemans problems. For a renowned Shakespearean stage performer, Freeman fell extraordinarily flat. On countless occasions scenes were halted mid shoot because he had lost the moment and needed to re-center himself which more often than not meant drinking a glass of bourbon and taking a nap in his dressing room.
The Friday that Marilyn was due to arrive was one such occasion.
The entire production company was in a flutter, as if the Queen herself were making a private visit. Even Erik had found himself caught up in the flurry of perfection, spending an extra few moments in the mirror that morning making certain he was more presentable than usual. At 6 foot even, he had never held difficulty being noticed in a crowd, nor had he ever remained a stranger to the opposite sex. His colleagues in the agency had fancied to calling him the "statue" - his height playing its recognizable part in that allotted title, albeit Weiss also had a particularly sculpted look about him that made him seem nearly carved from a flesh tinted stone. His jawline and cheekbones were highly pronounced, his muscles finely sculpted despite the bout of undernourishment experienced during the occupation. He had combed his reddish-brown hair back neatly to the side and fastened a white shirt with a higher collar to conceal the jagged scar curled around the front of his throat. Khaki slacks were tucked into military style brown boots that matched his standard issued jacket.
He told himself it was his duty as a representative of MI6 and this production to at least attempt to smooth over Freeman's faults, and that his extra grooming was only partially for Monroe.
Yet still he found himself curiously unsettled as he made his way to the reading room. Nervous was not quite the word - Erik was never nervous. Uncertain, perhaps? Perplexed even, as to why this woman's arrival had roused such a reaction within him. It was not an unwelcome reaction - on the contrary, the stirring warmth made his numb heart feel like there was blood coursing through it once again.
The Director had summoned him, like the other members of the crew and cast, though he was also a standby should Freeman decide he was not quite ready to wake from his second nap of the morning. As he passed through the doors, hands tucked calmly behind his back, he noted the Director at the head of the round table, dabbing his forehead with an overused kerchief. The actors had already taken their seats, the wardrobe and make up girls gossiped in huddle groups - everyone seemed to be buzzing with an unusual amount of energy for such a dreary day on the set of an already exhausting film.
Erik crossed the room quietly to take a place beside Jasper Leads. Like a neurotic white rabbit, he fidgeted with his tarnished pocket watch, looking up from behind thick glasses when his personal space suddenly was no longer his own. The jittery man relaxed however upon noticing Weiss, his thin lips twitching up over small teeth. "Today's the day, mn?" He mused, stuffing the watch back inside of his pocket - fingers still wrapped tightly around the chain.
"It would seem so," Erik smiled gently, uncrossing his arms briefly to adjust the cuffs of his sleeves, "I do hope she's not overwhelmed by all of this,"
"Oh nonsense," Jasper scoffed, rolling back on his heels as his beady black eyes scanned the room, Our little circus is probably a walk in the park compared to what shes experienced in America. Besides, why on earth would she be nervous?
I doubt I would ever be at ease having a swarm of people waiting for my arrival, Erik shifted his jaw somewhat, crossing his arms back behind himself, tensing his shoulders and straightening posture he glanced again towards the giggling girls, clutching their photos of Marilyn. His brow creased in thought It must be exhausting..
gpt
Surrounded by her people, her entourage, Marilyn stepped onto the tarmac. Platinum blond hair was ruffled in the wind butshedidn't seem to notice, too relived to be back on the ground after a long flight. Her plain clothing allowed her to blend in a bit more, but the press stood clicking away and screaming her name, along with a scattering of fans. She gave the adoring fans a broad smile as her people escorted her to the waiting vehicle.
Crossing her legs at the ankle, the navy pencil skirt pulling tight across her thighs, she tucked her hands together in her lap after smoothing her white blouse. The long tan trench coat helped ward off the chill in the crisp fall air surrounding the little English town. The cottage they were using to house production was cute, and took her back to her own humble upbringings, though she couldn't' afford to give it much thought as they stopped.
The door was opened and she was escorted inside. "They are waiting for you in the back room." It was a converted great room, adorned with tables and chairs and filled with lamps so everyone could see. She'd seen the script and loved that it gave her more of an edge. A dramatic romance, it let her branch out and be something more than JUST a blonde bombshell. She despised her nickname but lived up to it since it WAS what made her famous, though it was only supposed to open the door.
Milton opened the door and Paula led the charge, the others filed in before her before she sashayed in, red heels clicking on the uneven stone flooring. She bit her lip but gave a grand smile. The beauty was ushered to a seat before she could even utter a word. Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, her fingers trembled. "May I have a glass of water, please?" Her whispery soft voice beckoned of anyone that would listen. The gentleman closest to her poured her a glass from a pitcher on a sideboard."Thank you." She responded before taking the glass and promptly sipping of the contents.
It seemed they waited on her to say something more or do something more, what she wasn't sure. "It's a pleasure to be here and thank you for having me." She said after several awkward moments, a laugh fell from her smiling lips, her head falling back naturally into a known Marilyn pose. Her jacket was gone so the column of her throat was exposed by the first few buttons being undone on her blouse. Her smile was infectious, as well as her laugh and chortles of laughter filled the air before someone settled them down.
Marilyn busied herself glancing through the script in front of her. She'd seen it early on and now needed to see what changes, if any, had been made. Her blue eyes lifted to a gentleman across the way, his painfully straight posture was noticeable first, though his handsomeness would have caught her eye eventually. Certainly after the mess Joey made of her heart she wasn't ready to bounce back, but she liked to shop around a bit. though leading them on was never an option for her, much to kind hearted to do that. She gave the man a soft smile and turned her attention back to her script.
human
The doors opened and the whole room seemed to take in a breath - eyes darted from their previous interest, conversations ceased entirely; the lines of fantasy ready to cross over into reality.
A slim man with jet black hair and a creased brow opened the door, dressed in a Hollywood casual tan suit with pale pastel accents. His dark eyes cast a careful glance around the room, a look that Erik recognized immediately - the man was judging his surroundings, taking in with just a moment every person, every window, every door - every detail that rang important. Behind him, a shorter sharp faced woman with thick round glasses followed - her pointed chin lifted into the air as she too gave the room a once over. Everyone was staring, suddenly all the more aware of themselves.
The tension in the air reached its crescendo and then, like a cold breeze on a stagnant summer's day, the room was refreshed.
Sheemerged; beautiful and graceful, as to be expected. Yet Erik noted that, curiously, Monroe seemed timid behind the protective wall of her entourage. She stepped forward, a radiant smile glowing as she was brought to the reading table. One of the stage hands nearly jumped out of his shoes to fetch her a glass of water, and Erik's keen eyes fixed on the woman's elegant fingers as she accepted the glass - trying to discern whether she was trembling from nerves or the chilled English air.
Laughter and ease returned to the briefly silent room, she had eased any worries with breathy modesty and an infectious laugh. Though as everyone carried on around her, Marilyn seemed strangely isolated. Perhaps he had been staring too long, watching her leaf through the script in front of her as her entourage positioned themselves like watchful birds behind her chair. Marilyn lifted her head, her eyes almost instantly setting on him. He felt a twinge of embarrassment, feeling schoolboyish even having been caught watching her, though his expression didn't convey such. Her lips parted in a soft, warm smile - and he, falling back to his German roots, kept his lips pressed straight as he nodded to her in return.
The Director Clayton Hughes, stood from the table the moment the room settled. Kerchief still in hand, he made another pass across his perspiring forehead before making his way across the room. "Ms. Monroe it is an absolute honor to have you her," He beamed, giving a small bow at his very large waist.
The man accompanying Monroe stuck out his hand when Clayton reached out for Marilyn's, intercepting the exchange with a firm grip. "Milton Greene, Vice President of Marilyn Monroe Productions. We're looking forward to this project," He stated with reserved enthusiasm, coming across like a little mafioso wanting to ensure his dealings ran smoothly. If any intimidation was meant on Greene's part it was ignored or went entirely unnoticed by Hughes, whose rosy cheeks puffed up with another beaming grin. "Oh yes, aren't we all!" A wave of realization however passed over his eyes, his thick fingers gripping tightly around the damp kerchief in his hand. "Though I'm afraid that Mr. Freeman isn't able to attend today's reading," Before any inquiries could be made, Hughes crooked his wrist in Erik's direction. "However we have our very own Intelligence consultant here to read in his stead,"
Erik kept his focus away from Marilyn as he approached the group, arms still crossed behind his back. Director Hughes clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder when he was in reach, though the impact did not register or influence his posture. "May I introduce Erik Weiss."
Milton again extended his hand, which Erik reciprocated with an equally firm grip - a low, thunderous energy pulsing between them during the exchange - like two titans sizing each other up, though Erik was far more subtle in his observations than compared to the New York man's almost Cheshire grin.
"Intelligence consultant, huh?"
"Foreign Intelligence, to be precise,"
"Here to make sure all of our I's are dotted and T's are crossed according to protocol?"
"In a sense,"
"Well try to relax a little, huh pal? It's a movie not a history book," Milton chortled, pleased with himself. Erik exhaled a soft sound through his nose, a laugh of sorts more reminiscent of a dragon's exhale. Yet his stony expression eased as he finally looked down to the starlet who was still seated. He found her eyes more confidently this time and extended his hand down to unlace her fingers from the page she held. He could feel feathers ruffling behind him, but brought Monroe's hand to his lips gently nevertheless; his grip firm still, but more gentle and comforting as he gave a more formal bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Monroe," He wanted to extend her a compliment - to tell her beauty was a glimmer of sunlight in the midst of this dreary English weather - and while it would have been sincere, the words felt empty to him - and he felt, they would feel empty to her. How many people told her she was beautiful each day? Surely it was a genuine observation - she was stunning.
Some other time, he would tell her that she was beautiful - but for now he caressed his thumb across the side of her hand. He had never felt skin so soft..After a moment he withdrew - tucking his hand once again behind himself; his fingers splayed against his back like Mr. Darcy upon bidding Lizzie Bennett farewell.
A simple touch had roused so much more than simple thoughts..
gpt
Marilyn read over the script while trying to decipher the man, his stiff lips and subtle nod. It was almost as if he didn't want her attention, or was it that she made him nervous. She glanced up as Clayton stood, her eyes softening on the man who was to direct her dramatic debut. Inside she was jumping up and down, she was THAT thrilled about it. The last thing she wanted to do was screw it up, so this man had to be the last of her worries.
Beaming a bright smile up at Clayton she glanced quickly up to Milton as he intercepted the man's hand. She stood, though she was wearing heels she still felt slight, listening to the interchange, her eyes going back and forth. At the mention of her costar being indisposed she opened her mouth to comment that she hoped he would recover soon, but before any words came out the man she'd given attention to was being pulled into their meeting.
She turned her shoulders slightly toward him, before Paula approached and forced her back to her seat. Erik... Weiss... her mind repeated for her, committing it to memory. She watched how the men interacted, gripping hands and staring into the others eyes, Milton's brows furrowing while his lips made and almost-scowl like frown. Marilyn noticed Erik's angular facial structure and imagined him as a work of art so as not to become to enthralled, though she was a collector in some respect. The odd color of his hair intrigued her, and when... Paula cleared her throat.
Blushing slightly she turned her gaze to her script while the men finished their talk. Always told to stay quiet and be seen, not heard... much like a child. Women were only to speak when spoken too and while Paula meant well, Marilyn really wanted to watch Erik. On a sigh she turned back to her script, using a pencil to underline her characters expressions or to pencil them in if there were none listed. So busy she didn't feel his eyes upon her, nor his approach. At least not until Paula made a soft strangled sound.
Blue eyes met steady hazel as his larger fingers uncurled hers from the script, her painted lips in a soft 'O' shape. It was a slow motion movement as her hand lifted to his lips and her lips lifted into a smile. How long had it been since a man had kissed her hand? She laughed, soft and breathy at the action and his kind words. Marilyn thought his pause was rather long, as if he wished to say more but close proximity to others held the words back.
"Thank you Mr Weiss, it's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well." Her voice was calm, though her heart beat rapidly behind her breasts. The soft breathy words were more confident then she felt, and the stroke of his thumb caused her lips to tremble slightly. Her eyes softened up at him when he released her hand, she wanted to grab him back and hold his hand a bit longer, if only so she could memorize the feel. But it wasn't appropriate and she was trying to change that image everyone had of her.
Paula stepped in between them and started talking about the script, a certain area or something. Marilyn didn't hear, her eyes were on the fabulous man still edging his way back to the men. Only when Paula straightened and blocked her view completely was she able to give her full attention.
Paula spoke up, "Well, let's get started shall we. Ms Monroe is quite tired after her travels, so the sooner... the better." The woman shuffled back, her eyes on Erik, making it a point to know he was being watched.
Marilyn almost sighed audibly when she saw how Paula was acting, it wasn't his fault he had showed a gentlemanly side towards her. It wasn't his fault he'd stirred something up inside her. Something she thought was gone when Joey pulled away from her and shoved her back out into the world without his strength to lean on. She hated being alone and the thought of that empty bed tonight almost brought tears to her eyes, almost. She needed a man to feel complete, always had and was pathetic, no man should have to step in to make her feel full.