Shelia cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re going as Marilyn Monroe?”
“No,” Skye replied resolutely, looking away from the mirror. “I’ll be wearing a blood-stained scarf around my neck.”
“Right,” said her roommate. “I don’t get it.”
“Car crash. The urban legend says she was decapitated,” sighed Skye, returning to the mirror. “It’s not true, but that doesn’t matter anymore – all anybody remembers is the myth. Like the Richard Gere gerbil thing.”
“Skye, you’re going as a blonde in vintage clothes. All anybody remembers is Marilyn Monroe.”
