1954, HOLLYWOOD

Dear Diary,

I was in California today getting lunch with Walt Disney. He’s been after the film rights to my life story for years. I keep telling him they’re not for sale, but he still spoils me with meals and gifts in hopes that I’ll change my mind. (Apparently, he’s got his hands full with opening a theme park next year. I’d never say this to his face, but it sounds like a bust.)

I don’t know how it happened, but I accidently stumbled into the offices of a director named Billy Wilder. He took one look at me and begged me to audition for the female lead of his new film, The Seven Year Itch.

A career in the film industry was something I never thought possible—there isn’t enough light in the world to smooth my wrinkled face for a close-up. Mr. Wilder assured me I was perfect for the role and they had been searching for months to find an actress with my charm and charisma. How can you say no to that?

Mr. Wilder gave me the script and took me to the soundstage where they were shooting the screen tests. I don’t want to jinx things, but I have to say I nailed it! Everyone was standing and applauding when I finished the first scene. Maybe Hollywood is ready for someone like me?

“Thank you so much, Ms. Goose!” Mr. Wilder said. “That was inspirational! We’ll be in touch!”

I was feeling pretty cocky and had a new bounce in my step. I passed another actress waiting for a screen test on my way out. She was pretty and blonde—definitely not what they were looking for.

“Hate to break it to you, honey, but I think I got the part,” I told her.

“Next! Miss Marilyn Monroe!” Mr. Wilder called out.

She gulped and headed into the soundstage. Poor thing. Some people just aren’t Hollywood material.