****
Marilyn Monroe collects an impeccably coiffed woman from the entrance to what appears to be a nightclub. It’s Dixie Carter. Andre the Giant (now Andre the Bouncer) lifts the velvet rope for her, all the while swatting away less desirable souls like cobwebs. DJ AM spins tunes on a stage.
Marilyn: Welcome to the After Party. Everyone who’s anyone is here.
Dixie: I can’t believe I got in.
Marilyn: I did have to pull a few strings, but we needed some diversity. This place was getting too Eurotrash.
They navigate their way through the room and the circles of souls talking, laughing. Dixie spots a headless man standing by the firepit. His date reattaches his head for him after fixing his hair, giving it an extra twist for good measure.
Dixie: Who is that?
Marilyn: (looking) Oh. Try not to stare. Not that he’s not used to the attention, but his girl of the moment is a jealous one. I’ll introduce you, but for heaven’s sake only look directly at her.
They approach. The girl sees them and quickly throws her cigarette into the firepit.
Girl: Look, you can just shut it, Marilyn. I only took two puffs so if you’re going to complain about the smoke, it was probably Georgie.
George Burns hears his name and turns to salute them with his cigar.
Marilyn: I’m not your mother and I’m not God. If you want to break the smoking ban you can take it up with them. A friend of mine would like to meet you. This is Dixie Carter. She’s new. Dixie, Anne Frank and Vlad—
Anne: Vladimir.
Vlad: The Imapaler.
They shake hands.
Dixie: Charmed, I’m sure. Anne Frank, my goodness! After reading your diary I feel like I know you.
Anne: YOU READ MY DIARY?!
Dixie: Er –
Marilyn: That was only funny the first 25 times, Anne.
Anne (rolls eyes): Who the hell is she?
Dixie: I’m an actress. I was on a very successful TV show. Do you know about television?
Marilyn: I do! I lobbied for them to install satellite.
She’s suddenly distracted by something across the room.
Marilyn: Sorry, I thought I saw Hef. Any day now. Excuse me.
She leaves.
Anne: Whatever. We were discussing the housing crisis.
Dixie: I wasn’t aware there was one.
Anne: Ugh, you’ve seen your room, right?
Dixie: Of course—
Anne: Who’s your roommate?
Dixie: I have a suite.
Anne: To yourself? Shit. (takes out cigarettes) Vladi, light. You know, just because I spent the last three years of my life hiding in a 500 square foot annex followed by a concentration camp doesn’t mean I like it.
Vlad: Enough with the persecution sob story. There’s a reason Joan and I broke up.
Dixie: Crawford?
Vlad: of Arc.
Anne: Anyway, at least I can shack up with Vladi.
Vlad: They gave me a penthouse.
Dixie: My history’s fuzzy, but didn’t you kill a bunch of people? Put babies on spikes?
Vlad: That’s why those bastards are withholding the prime real estate. My place sits over the river of boiling blood and fire.
Anne: He has to go down there every day and stand in it up to his eyebrows.
Vlad: Shut up, Anne.
Anne: But it’s making him a better person.
Dixie: So, how did you two meet?
Anne: Got bored wandering the streets of gold – honestly this place is so dead – and I went down to the seventh ring where the action is.
Dixie: Action?
Anne: Yeah, I did a little gambling, a little cockfighting, then—
Vlad: She sat down by the boiling river and waited for me to come out.
Anne: All I could see were his eyebrows, but It was love.
Vlad: You’re so twisted.
Anne: You are.
They start making out.
Dixie: Sounds like you have a bit of a dark side, Anne.
Anne: The Holocaust will do that to you.
Vlad (to Anne): Wanna get out of here?
Anne: Okay, but we’re doing hot wax, NOT human salt licks.
They leave. Dixie looks around the room.
Dixie: I think that is Hef.
She heads off in that direction.
****
Illustration by Candace Lewis
