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256 pages, Paperback
First published July 5, 2011
Wasn't she the siren a few years ago, the women Vic boasted about? "My wife loves sex," he once told a friend of theirs. "You lucky fuck," the friend said. Whenever they finished making love, Riley would whisper in Vic's ear: "You lucky fuck." And he would fall asleep with a smile on his face.
She hasn't seen that smile in a long time.
"I wonder," Josie says, staring into Marilyn's dreamy eyes, "what it has to do with . Why men cheat. Why they fall into bed with pretty girls."
"She is tragic, no?" The French tutor asks. Josie looks up. Marilyn Monroe stares back at her, her mouth slightly open, her eyes half closed. She looks drunk on sex, on booze, on death. She looks luscious and ripe and ready to die. Josie's eyes fill up. She steps back, away from the seductive stare.
"She killed herself three days after this photo shoot," Nico says reading from the brochure. "You can see that she was ready ," Josie says. "To die? "To give herself up to death. It looks like she was already dying."