Today, Kirrily rang me to let me know that our dear friend Marilyn had passed away. The news was not a complete surprise, as Marilyn was well into her eighties, but we both had felt she would always be there, the reality that she is gone is still yet to sink in.
I met the American born, but London residing Marilyn eleven years ago, when we took a William Blake class together as part of our Cambridge University Art History Summer School. The class was dry and uninspiring and Marilyn and I took to having our breaks together. She would chastise me for doodling in my notebook instead of concentrating, and then roar with laughter that she couldn't blame me given that the class "was so god damm ghastly boring".
Little did I know then that I was on my way to becoming one of trio known as "Marilyn's Australians", taking the role of her brunette complimented by blonde Melinda and red headed Kirrily.
Marilyn was a slight, fair woman but what she lacked in stature she made up for with her personality, she embodied the word cantankerous. I imagine her personality as being roughly the same height as the Empire State Building in New York City. Her voice was raspy and undulated like rolling waves in accordance to how animated she was about a subject (she was more often than not animated). Her laugh was huge and contagious and took up her entire being yet always seemed refined.
To call Marilyn passionate and opinionated is like calling the pyramids 'cute', as nothing can describe the magnitude of Marilyn's thirst for gaining and sharing knowledge. She had an opinion on everything and she was never backwards about coming forwards. I can see her now cocking her head to the side, surveying me after something I'd said or asked, then looking slightly to the sky, pursing her lips, half smiling before launching into a lecture on one of her many, many areas of knowledge. She was indeed a master storyteller and one of the few people I have asked to retell stories I had heard before over and over for the sheer enjoyment of them.
Her primary interests were art history, geography, American history, literature, classic black and white films and her three girl's romantic lives. She was always taking numerous classes at the V&A, Mayfair Library and numerous other institutions. One of her favourite museums was the Wallace Collection.
She would indulge my 'modern/contemporary art fancies' by using her membership to get me into the Royal Academy. Afterwards, she would theatrically announce to everyone that she had "endured that ghastly exhibit of rubbish by that Lempicka woman, who I think liked the girls, only because Clare insisted that she had to see it". Visits to the Royal Academy were usually followed up by afternoon tea at the Fortum and Mason. However, the exhibit that I think we both enjoyed visiting together the most was the Tiara Exhibit at the V&A in 2002. For once, we both equally liked the subject matter, and we happily selected a tiara of choice each and discussed light refraction.
Discussions with Marilyn usually involved books from her substantial collection. Not one or two books but mountains of books. Anything discussed, had to be checked and researched and I spent many an evening hunting down and then surrounded by piles of informative tomes. She would also often tell stories about her life in California with her beloved husband Roe. I used to envision the fabulous cocktail parties and golf tournaments in my head that she described.
I spent the first three years that I knew Marilyn living nearby and for a short period of time with her. She was my family during my London life and remained so after I returned to Australia and moved to Canada.
Some of my fondest memories of those first London years include Marilyn and my mother getting tipsy together on new year's eve watching the fireworks from her apartment, and ringing me to tell me what a wonderful time they were having, the party I was at seem utterly dull by comparison. The truly most bizarre Christmas I have ever had, that even now I can't really explain, that ended with parlor games at Noel Coward's former residence at Sloan Square. Also, less dramatic events like Marilyn marching me to the optometrist to get new glasses prescription (I still have the glasses we brought that day) when she decided my eyesight had deteriorated.
My favourite comic episode was the 'cricket'. After a couple of weeks of hearing almost constant chirping we were convinced that a cricket was living in the walls of her apartment. We researched the cricket to ensure that it wouldn't eat her books and I would greet it when I arrived at the apartment. I think we were all equally disappointed when Miguel disclosed to us that our 'pet' cricket was actually the battery from her smoke alarm indicating that the battery needed to be changed.
When I moved back to Australia my contact with Marilyn was reduced to postcards and letters and a brief visit after Marie-Pierre's wedding. Yet when I decided to move to Canada, I think my subconscious deliberately chose Marilyn as my last stop before I plunged into the then unknown depths of my Canadian life.
When I was in my early twenties and more fiery, Marilyn and I tended to argue as we were both strong-willed and I didn't like be bossed around and yelled at all the time. Yet, the ten days that I spent with Marilyn before leaving for Canada, just after turning 30, was the most peaceful and harmonious time we shared together. It should probably be noted that Marilyn commented on this saying that I was finally growing up but chuckled that part of her missed my more reactionary temperament.
We didn't run from exhibit to exhibit with quite the same fervor that we had eight years before and spent more time repotting plants on her balcony (she yelled at me because I did everything wrong) and watching classic films on television. Most of all, and what I will always cherish most, were the long evenings we spent talking, smoking and drinking together, often until 3am. When people chastised her for smoking she would often proclaim that she had been smoking longer than they had been alive, which usually shut them up. Our conversations didn't focus on art and history as much as they did on relationships and fears and everything in between. Marilyn was always telling we girls to find someone to love and looked forward to coming to our weddings in Australia, fortunately Melinda was able to make this a reality when she married Juan last year.
When I confessed my terror at my imminent move to Canada she was characteristically blunt but also gentle. She told me in no uncertain terms that the move would indeed be tough at first and that I needed the change. She was adamant that once I had formed my Canadian life, a task she felt I was more than strong enough for, I would most certainly realize that I had pretty much rebuilt that same life that I'd had in London and in Australia, as my geography could change but my interests, likes and personality could not. She was right.
After moving to Canada I was consumed by trying to build my life here so in the past few years I have been more than an errant correspondent. I know she was mad at me for not being able to make Melinda's wedding last year. I deeply regret that I wasn't able to meet her in New York City two years ago.
I will put regrets aside though, as this is for Marilyn who would not want me to rabbit on about things I didn't or should have done.
Marilyn, I will miss you dearly and visiting London will never be the same, but I know wherever you are, you are drinking a scotch on the rocks, smoking a More's cigarette and laughing.
