More than the fact that Slatzer (a former ""Hollywood reporter"" which seems to cover for a sketchy background of odd or no jobs) retains the birth certificate spelling of Norma Jeane differentiates this from earlier re-renditions (during the course he will discredit Guiles, Zolotow and Mailer; only Winchell and Kilgallen will be called on as eminent historians for support). More, also, than the fact that Slatzer -- who was always Marilyn's very good friend -- married her over a weekend in Tijuana and then for a few bucks had the records destroyed since they both felt it was a mistake. The two real revelations he has to make, and makes throughout, are (a) that Marilyn was very close to RFK (""Bobby Kennedy promised to marry me. What do you think of that?"") who saw her that last late afternoon (observed by some card-playing housewives next door) and (b) that Marilyn was murdered -- Slatzer thinks so, so did a police officer who was fired for saying so. Slatzer incriminates just about everyone -- her doctor, her surly shrink, her housekeeper who was maybe a nurse in disguise, etc., etc. and appends a lot of ultimately meaningless documents from the LAPD Death Report to her hair stylist's bill. He dedicates his book ""To Marilyn. . . the only way you'd want it told."" We'll have to wait a while for that sad, childish voice to verify any of it outre tombe, maybe if it's only to say ""What do you think of that?"" . . . At the moment, not much.