Still, she had that contract. A small but showy role in “All About Eve” attracted attention. Zanuck was forced to admit she “had something.” Though he didn’t put her on par with the studio’s blonde bonanza, Betty Grable. Or even with the pallid June Haver, who was being groomed to replace Grable, when Betty grew too mature. (The studio system was nothing if not pragmatic.) Marilyn was cast in tiny roles which were little more than window dressing. The public responded. Zanuck, whom Marilyn would come to feel was her professional bete noir, was increasingly irritated by the young actresses’ issues and problems—her demand for an acting coach, upon whose opinion she over-relied, her trouble with remembering lines or (even more galling) her insistence on asking for more takes, when it looked to others that the scene had been perfect. Great directors such as Fritz Lang and Joe Mankiewicz found themselves faced with a girl who looked like cotton candy. Underneath were her demons. And beneath that? Titanium. But Marilyn, despite her unusual work methods, suddenly became a force, a public relations bonanza, an all-American success story; the Cinderella of cheesecake. There was something oddly mournful behind her eyes, even then. Her mother’s mental instability—locked away in a sanitarium—gave Marilyn’s image an interesting psycho, as well as sexual twist. The story of little Norma Jeane having been molested when in foster care—remember, this was decades before such matters were discussed—also put a forgiving gloss to her florid display; she was damaged, and therefore not responsible.

When the tale of her nude calendar photos surfaced, she defied the studio and owed up—why, she was just a hard-working girl getting by. She was not ashamed. They were only nudes, after all. And just to prove she was really a good girl with a body she couldn’t help, she began dating recently retired baseball icon Joe DiMaggio. Surely, if Joltin’ Joe thought she was okay…(Decades before Madonna, it was Marilyn who was the mistress of media manipulation.)

Having watched Marilyn survive the nudes and observe how cleverly she handled the press, Zanuck began to push her into high gear. She was cast as a mentally disturbed babysitter in “Don’t Bother To Knock,” a daffy secretary in “Monkey Business” a murderous femme fatale in “Niagara” and finally the role she was born to play, Lorelie Lee, in what is probably her best, most joyously entertaining film, “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”

Now she was a great star—unique and undeniable. But almost as soon as the glitter settled, Marilyn was troubled. “Blondes” was followed by “How To Marry a Millionaire,” in which she played another dizzy girl out for big bucks. Fox then cast her in “River of No Return” as a saloon singer in the Old West—out for big bucks. Her on-set clashes with director Otto Preminger became legend—she won them, too! Then she was ordered into a musical with Frank Sinatra, “The Girl In Pink Tights.” Marilyn declined. She sent Zanuck a telegram: “I have read the script. I do not like it.” The studio put her on suspension. What big sillies! Marilyn decided this would be the perfect time to marry her boyfriend of two years, Joe DiMaggio. And so they wed, to screaming headlines. The couple traveled to Japan for their honeymoon, where Joe D. was distressed to be pushed aside while thousands literally rioted for his bride. She then accepted an offer to entertain the soldiers in Korea. Joe did not tag along. Her appearances were a sensation, causing the NY Times to reprimand Army officials for allowing the G.I’s to “behave like bobby-soxers.” Fox had no recourse—how can you punish a girl who just gave her all, on her honeymoon, to America’s fighting troops? Her suspension was lifted.