Remember When

 August 1962: Marilyn is at Cal-Neva.

She's "The Girl".

Joe Dimaggio knows it. It is the way of things, and they both know it.

The thing that Joltin' Joe does for MM is really magical, and yet not so very much. He lets her be human. He accepts Norma Jeane as the flawed, yet perfect, individual that she is. Even as MM herself says that "Nobody loved Norma Jeane."

In her cabin at Cal-Neva that ill-fated weekend, Marilyn reflects on her successes, her failures, and her life in general. In that moment, it all seems worth it....and then some. She's had a colorful, interesting life. One really couldn't hope for much better than that.

She reflects on when she first met her Joe. It seems like a long time ago to her, now and yet it seems like yesterday.

To the girl dyed her hair blonde and who got her start posing for pictures, it seemed incredible that Joltin' Joe Dimaggio wanted HER. At times she was overwhelmed with inadequacy. He wanted the illusion, the blonde sex goddess magic that she never really was able to sustain 24/7, but which everyone seemed to always expect of her. She felt that she never could meet his expectations, no matter how hard she tried. She was consumed with guilt over it. She apologized to him all the time about it. At times, it seemed hopeless to her.....why should she try? NOTHING she said or did was ever enough. On some levels, it devastated her. WHY was she NEVER enough for anyone??!! Would she EVER meet someone that wanted human Norma Jeane???? It didn't seem like it would ever work out that way, to her. The thing with Joe was, HE was who she wanted to be enough for, so it mattered oh so much more to her when she didn't measure up.

She was basically under house arrest here(well, cabin arrest). No calls in or out, which made it really boring , and frightening at the same time. She supposes that people on some level know where she is, although it's probably reported in the press as a vacation or something. They could at least let her say goodbye, especially to Joe. She hopes he never forgets her.

A Storm Came Up

 It was a beautiful early summer day. At least it began as that.

Marilyn and Arthur had been deluged with their mutual careers, and Arthur had decided they both needed a break and some private couple time. 

Just this morning, he had told his exhausted wife that they were having a weekend of retreat. He'd booked an old inn in upstate New York for a relaxing weekend. They would enjoy a leisurely drive there, complete with a picnic lunch. 

 About halfway into the leisurely drive in their convertible, Arthur pulled the car to the side of the road, and parked. He got out and came around to open the door for his Marilyn. She got out, kissing his cheek as she did so. He smiled, that under-stated smile of his. But it told her that he was happy.

He turned to get the picnic basket and the wine out of the back seat. Marilyn came up behind him, and slid her arms around him in an affectionate squeeze. 

He retrieved the picnic basket and wrapped an arm around his wife. 

They walked a few feet, towards a driftwood picnic table. 

Marilyn sat on the bench, and Arthur began unpacking the picnic basket. He had ordered from his favorite Brooklyn deli. Once the contents were on the table, he uncorked the wine: a hearty red for himself, and a French Chardonnay for his Marilyn. 

There was crusty bread, salami, pastrami, swiss cheese, and an assortment of other condiments. The deli had included a small Meditteranean salad as well.

Just as the couple had finished their meal, a large raindrop hit the center of the worn picnic table. 

Before the couple knew it, they were being pelted with large raindrops. Unless they found shelter, and very quickly, they'd be soaked in the downpour of sudden rain.

Marilyn squealed as the pelting rain wetted her cotton dress. 

It molded the light fabric to her feminine curves, and left nothing to the imagination. Arthur smiled ; he liked seeing his beautiful wife thus....as long as it was for him alone. 

They hurried to the car. Marilyn opened the back door, and climbed inside, face first into the seat. Arthur seemed to fall on top of her.

She didn't mind. 

He dropped the picnic basket into the floorboard, and turned his wife so that she faced him, underneath him. He kissed her, and ran his hands over her lithe body. She was so beautiful; it never ceased to amaze him that she was his, and his alone.

Marilyn giggled her soft feminine laugh as Arthur's hands roamed intimately over her curves, and slowly, pleasurably removed her clothing from her body. She sighed in pleasure. She liked when he undressed her. 

Outside the rain became a full-fledged storm. 

Arthur kissed her lips hard, even as he began to make love to her.

The storm that raged outside paled in comparison to the one in the backseat of their connvertible. She could sware that she felt the car vibrating with Arthur's thrusts deep inside her. It was wonderful1 She'd never experienced anything like this, before Arthur!

One Last Try

 Marilyn Monroe Miller tried to relax and close her dry eyes and maybe even sleep on the flight to Reno. She was tied up in knots about even having to do this film. She had tried to think of a way to get out of it, but she hadn't   succeeded, and so here she was on a plane with her estranged husband, Arthur Miller, on a plane to Reno to make The Misfits. Oh, they were still married, at least legally, but they were estranged, just the same. The press, their mutual career issues, as well as their personal ones had all combined into such pressure and weight that it was virtually impossible that any marriage could have survived. It appeared they had not been the exception. Marilyn just hated having to face the inevitable, and so here she was, on the plane with Arthur.

She was exhausted already, and needed to rest before the press bombarded them at the airport. Marilyn was so tired. She wished that Arthur had not agreed to do the screenplay for the film. She knew he hated Hollywood, and that his heart was in New York, as a playwright. He'd done it for her....and for the money. She'd agreed because of her production company agreement with Milton Greene. If she backed out, everyone would have blamed Arthur. 

Marilyn knew that Arthur had tired of her. He didn't like her emotional temperament, and he didn't like the publicity that surrounded her wherever she went. Not only that, she secretly felt that he was ashamed of her sex symbol image, and was embarrassed that he had wanted to be with her. The constant publicity since they had been together had brought their marriage to its breaking point. Even though she knew he now had a relationship with Inge, she hadn't yet been ready to give up on their marriage. Maybe while they were in Nevada on the set, she would be ready. She hoped so. Arthur had kind of made it clear that there was no chance for them. It devastated her, but she was trying to accept his choice. She could not be who or what he wanted, no matter how much she wanted to be, or how hard she tried. It was just learning to live with the fact that she was trying to accept now. Arthur seemed to have already dealt with it, and had embarked on a relationship with Inge Morath. And everyone knew it. Everyone also knew that Marilyn had not accepted that fact yet. Were they sympathetic? Far from it. It seemed as though people looked for every possible way to use it to their own advantage, never mind how it affected Marilyn. 

At this point, even trying to converse with Arthur led to curt, awkward exchanges. She'd really stop trying, and so had he, unless they were on public display. Unfortunately, that happened all too often. People said that Arthur had written The Misfits "for" her. What a sick joke! It was not "for" her. Never for her. For the money. The fact that he had been willing to write the things about her and some of the other individuals portrayed in The Misfits in the manner he had wounded her. It forever altered the way she viewed the man that she had fallen in love with. But there was little that she could do about it, except try to survive. 

That's where Marilyn Monroe Miller was as she tried to rest on the flight to Reno. 

Not only did she have her strained relationship with Arthur to deal with, she had the Cal-Neva crowd expecting The Blonde Girl performance from her. Frank and Joe would be there at some point, maybe even Bobby. She was "the girl". Arthur, her husband, looked the other way and let it continue, like he always had. How could he say he loved her, and let them do what they did to her?! She would never understand it. In some ways, she was glad she didn't understand. 

Why wasn't very human Marilyn good enough for anyone, except in bed, or as a punching bag? She was a pretty, broken toy, and it seemed to her at this point that no one wanted a broken toy. She was tired of being a pretty plaything. 

She was offered champagne, and she took it.. Arthur was simply turned away from her, looking out the window. 

Maybe she should establish residency in Reno, and get a divorce. Then it would be over and done with. The filming would surely take longer than six weeks, and it was not as though she and Arthur were sharing accomodations. At this point, every time he even had to talk to her or touch her, even publicly, she saw his revulsion.

Who would want to be married to someone who repulsed them?

Marilyn's eyes were closed, but they were filled with unshed tears. WHY had she ever agreed to face this? She should just fly home to California and let Milton and Paula and Arthur sue her.

She didn't have any money anyway; what would it gain them?

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Arthur was tugging her sleeve impatiently to awaken her. They had arrived in Reno. SIGH. At least she would have a span of time to change clothes and have her hair and makeup done before they faced the press. Happy happy joy joy.....

Marilyn searched Arthur's face with her eyes, and she wondered why she had ever truly thought that he loved her. How wrong she had been. In that moment, she mourned her marriage to him, as well as the children they had not been able to have together. The ones that she had carried had only been wanted by her. It broke her heart, and she had never recovered. Not one person, including Arthur had cared. She was expected to pretend as though the children had never been conceived, and he had hated her because she didn't. Everything was always her fault.

She was out of tries with Arthur.

Friday, August 3, 1962

 Marilyn was rushing around her hotel room frantically, finding the remaining items she needed to get ready for her date with Joe. He'd be here in five minutes, and she wasn't ready (as usual....she ALWAYS ran late!), and she knew that he hated that about her.

She shrugged. He might not like the wait, but he usually liked how she looked well enough when she finished.

But things had been so great between them lately; she really wanted to please him. She always had wanted to please him, really. It's just that this time around, it seemed like she actually was. Imagine that! She was very unused to the idea of anyone being pleased with her. Marilyn was truly happy that it was Joe who was.

As she put a pearl stud earring in each ear, she surveyed her appearance in the hotel mirror, and slipped her feet into white leather high-heeled pumps. Her dress was polished white cotton. 

It fit her slender form perfectly. The low, draped neckline accentuated her swan-like neck. At the base of her throat sat a large pearl, suspended on a platinum chain. No other jewelry. It was a really hot night, and she decided that less was more with the dress, anyway. A white leather clutch purse in hand, red Chanel lipstick, and a dab here and there of Chanel No. 5, and Miss Monroe was ready for her dinner date. 

Just in time too, because Joe was knocking on her hotel room door right this minute.  Marilyn hurried over to the door, and opened it happily. She laughed as Joe lifted her up against him for a kiss.

"Ready?", he asked. 

She smiled and nodded. 

"You look really nice, Marilyn.", he said softly. But the light in his eyes told Marilyn before his words did.

"Where are we going for dinner?", she asked, as he opened the car door for her, and helped her in. 

Joe grinned. "It's a surprise. Humor me." He teased, "Don't worry. There's champagne."

"Oh, well, it's alright then.", she giggled.

She slid closer over to Joe as he cranked the car and started to drive. He slid an arm around her waist and squeezed, and she laid her head against his shoulder. 

She wasn't really watching where they were going; she was just enjoying being with Joe.  But she was a little surprised when they arrived at Yankees stadium. Maybe Joe had something he needed to do before they went to dinner. He came around and opened the car door for her. 
"New suit?", she asked him. "I don't think I've seen you in it before, have I?"

"You haven't.", he said. He seemed amused by something, but happy, so she didn't pursue it.

Imagine her surprised when they reach the baseball field. 

An elegant table for two , set in the center of the field, just for them. Candles already lighted , ice bucket with a bottle of champagne chilling and everything. Dozens of white roses flanked the table; red ones too. There was a violin player, readying his bow.

"Wow!", Marilyn said breathlessly. "You did this for us?", she whispered disbelievingly. 

"For you", Joe said softly. But when Marilyn looked at him in her special way, it was for him too, and they both knew it.

He reached for the bottle of champagne to open it. Marilyn giggled as he pulled the cork from the bottle, and a little of the champagne bubbled out and over his fingers. 

He filled two glasses for them, and handed one to her with a smile.

"To us", he said simply, as they touched the glasses together lightly.

"Only the best now", Marilyn said.

They took a few sips of champagne, and the violin played started to play. Marilyn tugged Joe's sleeve playfully.

"Let's dance."

Joe rolled his eyes, but he didn't have to be prodded to get up and wrap Marilyn in his arms for a slow dance.  With her head on his shoulder like it was at the moment, he'd have danced all night with her if she wanted.

"More champagne", Joe said, when they'd finished their dance. 

They dined on lobster and drawn butter, and grilled New York strip steaks. Dessert was fresh strawberries half-dipped in chocolate, and cheesecake, with more champagne. 

Joe slipped one hand inside his jacket, and pulled out a small Tiffany blue Italian leather box. He placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Marilyn. 

Marilyn gulped; she was breathless. Before she opened the box, she KNEW what it was. 

"Will you?", Joe asked her quietly.

"Really?!", Marilyn whispered.

"Yes, really. For keeps, this time."

"Promise?", she asked wistfully.

"Word of honor.", Joe replied. 

"YES!!!!", Marilyn squealed. She grabbed the blue box, and was sitting in his lap before he knew it.  She kissed his face all over, leaving red lip prints everywhere. He laughed, and tried to open the box, even as there was a squirming blonde wiggling on his lap.

He took out the diamond solitaire and slipped it on her hand.

"I'll never take it off!", she promised.

"I won't let you.", he said. 

Joe looked at his watch. "One more champagne, then we've got a plane to catch."

Marilyn blinked. "Plane?"

"To Florida. Before midnight, you'll be Mrs. Dimaggio again. It's all handled. All we have to do is show up.", he told her. 

"As for the honeymoon.... I thought we might stay in Florida, rather than worrying about traveling. "

Marilyn loved the idea of some private time alone for them, but she was a little worried about what would happen if the press found out. "Reporters?", she asked. 

Joe saw the anxious look on her beautiful face. He caressed the side of her face with one hand, and then kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Everyone thinks we're headed to California, and that you'll be holding the press conference as planned. They won't find us in Florida.", he assured her. "Trust me."

"I do.", Marilyn said, breathing a sigh of relief that he was taking care of her. "I love you."

Samantha's Last Day

 Samantha Monroe was glad that she had found a new position as Jason Masters' personal executive assistant, and at the same time she was apprehensive about her first day at work. He'd told her to arrive at nine in the morning. She'd gotten up at seven this morning to get ready, so she could be there on time.

She tried to follow the specifications that he'd given her for her appearance, even if she didn't like some of what he wanted.

She decided to make the most of her physical features, within the confines of what he required. 

She stood in front of a mirror to survey her appearance, before she left for work. She'd chosen the shortest, tightest black skirt that she owned, black stilettos, a black thong that was the barest of wisps of lace, and an emerald green shirt that matched her eyes. It wasn't low-cut, but she'd gotten around that requirement by leaving it unbuttoned enough so that very little was left to the imagination.

It seemed like her new boss didn't like to have things left to his imagination. 

Because she didn't really want the attention that her state of un-dress would cause on the subway, nor did she want to freeze to death on the way to Jason Masters' office, she wrapped a thick black wool cape around her, and wrapped a black scarf around her auburn hair. 

Samantha arrived at her new employer's office at 8:45. She slipped off the cape, and left it at the desk outside Jason's office, that he had indicated was hers when she was not in his office.

She took a deep breath, smoothed her tight skirt, and then knocked on the closed door of his office. Here we go, she thought to herself.....

Once she'd knocked, she instinctively moved back from the door, and waited. 

Silence.

Minutes went by, and still silence. She waited, and when thirty minutes had passed, according the cloak on the office wall, she wondered if she should knock again, or wait longer. She had knocked loud enough that she knew if he was in his office, he'd heard her.

Maybe he was busy. Jason sure didn't seem like the kind of boss one would interrupt; especially not on one's first day. It might become her last day, and she knew it. 

So......she waited. 

At shortly after ten, standing in one place in the stilettos was getting uncomfortable, so she crossed the floor to the desk where she'd left her cloak, and sank into the chair in front of it.

She looked around the room in curiosity. She'd hadn't really looked around much during her interview. Her focus had been on getting the job. 

For the most part, it was quiet, although she did hear muted voices that sounded like they were coming from the room next to the one she was in right now. 

"Good morning, Miss Monroe."

Samantha blinked, startled. She'd gotten so busy surveying her surroundings that she hadn't noticed that Jason Masters had opened the door of his office and was standing in front of her.

"Good morning, Sir.", she said quickly, as she was trying to get up out of the chair she was in. 

"Don't get up.", he said. 

Samantha swallowed hard, and looked up at her employer's dark, unreadable eyes. At least he didn't seem angry; that was good. 

She gave a sideways glance up at him. With two fingers , he moved her face so that she was looking directly up at him. She averted her eyes, thinking it would be unwise to meet his gaze.

"Look at me.", he commanded. 

Samantha gulped, but she met his dark eyes with her own in a steady gaze. She knew that she would never last here if she didn't. 

While he wanted her to be afraid of him, she was gambling on the fact that he didn't want a woman who showed it. 

"You're late."

"I beg your pardon? I was here at 8:45 this morning. Check your security cameras.", Samantha replied in a cool tone.

"Do NOT argue with me. Ever. I am always right. You were late.", he told her in a neutral voice. 

"I was late.", Samantha repeated after him in a low voice. She was trying to figure out her new boss. She began to wonder for the first time just how long she would work here.

"Please do inside my office and wait for me. I won't be but a few moments.", Jason said. Before he had even finished speaking to her, his back was turned to her.

"Take your clothes off before I return, or it will be worse for you.", he advised her. 

"Worse? There's nothing good about this situation, Mr. Masters.", Samantha said.

"You are correct, in that, Miss Monroe; for you, there most assuredly is not.", he confirmed.

Samantha felt his open hand strike her face like quicksilver. Before she'd known what was happening, he turned around and struck her face, hard, with his open hand. His eyes blazed. She was truly afraid he might kill her, in the moment.

"Go to my office and wait for me."

Samantha looked at the room, as she pretended to be moving towards the door of his office. He was turned from her. It appeared he was looking for something in a cabinet near the desk that he'd said was to be hers.

Quick as a cat, she kicked off the stilettos and was out the door, leaving the stilettos and the cape she'd worn behind.

She scrambled towards the building entrance as fast as she could. Her life depended on it. He was actually pursuing her! Hot tears ran down her face. She could feel the place on her face where he had struck her swelling already. How had she EVER thought she wanted to work here?!

She could feel his hot breath on the back of her hair....or was it her imagination??? 

The iron grip of his hand circled her arm, and he shook her hard, and shoved her against the wall. She had narrowly missed getting out of the building. So close, and yet now, it was very far away indeed.

"I would have preferred to have handled your punishment for being late privately, Miss Monroe, but it seems like I need to do something that conveys to you my displeasure, so that your bad behavior doesn't happen again." His mouth was at her left ear, his body flattening hers against the wall.

"Let me go....PLEASE let me go!", she begged in desperation.

"In good time, Miss Monroe.", he promised.

He lifted his hand and struck her again. 

"Do not run from me again. You belong to me. I will kill you if you ever run from me again.", he promised. "Do you understand, my pretty Samantha?"

"Yes", she said softly, dully, dazed from his anger and the latest blow to her face. 

People were actually walking by them in the office. Not one of them tried to help her, or even looked at what he was doing to her.

How had she ever decided to come here????

It was the last thought Samantha Monroe had......

The New Girl....Kind Of

 Jason Masters tapped his fingers on his desk impatiently. He was tired of the persistent lateness of his current secretary. She had no redeeming qualities. She wasn't even easy on his eyes. 

He had a client that owned a local recruitment agency and gave him a call. Maybe this time he would try a serious of temps out before he settled on a permanent replacement. 

For now, his chief financial officer's secretary was pinch-hitting for him. She could set up interview times with a few of the temps the agency sent over. As the day went on, this seemed like a better and better idea.

Dammit, where was she?! She had gone to lunch at 12, and it was after 2 already, and he had a 3 o'clock appointment that he needed her here for. Lately she'd been out of the office more than she was in. He did have some sympathy for her situation, as it appeared she'd had an accident of some kind, what with the bandages and baggy clothes. It was really the only reason that she was still here now; he felt sorry for her. She really hadn't been lazy or a bad secretary, at first. It seemed more to him like she was just bored with her job. 

Be that as it may, enough was enough, and Jason Masters had had it with Samantha Monroe. 

He heard the door to the outer office where her desk was open and close, and he knew she was back (finally!). Time for Miss Monroe's pink slip. He was in no mood to wait until the end of the day. 

Just as he picked up the phone to buzz Samantha to come into his office (he'd decided he could handle the 3 o'clock appointment without her), he himself got a phone call, and so was momentarily delayed. 

By the time he'd finished the call he was on, it was 5 until 3, and Samantha buzzed him that his appointment was here when he was available. Her voice sounded funny; he wondered if she had a bad cold or something.... but he told her to send his client in, and to bring them coffee once she had. 

Jason was standing behind his desk chair as the door to his office opened. He had smiled, expecting to see the silver-haired man who was one of his longest term clients, Hugh Sanderson. Instead, he saw a delicate, auburn-haired flower clad in green that most perfectly matched those cat eyes of hers. He didn't recognize her at first, but Jason Masters did a double-take when he realized who she was. It was his very own, nearly fired secretary, Samantha Monroe. Hugh Sanderson seemed quite pleased with how Miss Monroe had been treating him while he was waiting. His complaint seemed to be that Jason was actually ready to discuss business.

At the moment, Jason could not even remember what he and Hugh were planning to discuss. This one time, he didn't care! He did very much care that he had to at least pretend to concentrate on any conversation they had. Any plans that Jason Masters had to terminate Samantha Monroe's employment with him went right out the window. 

"Would you like coffee now, Sir?", she asked, in that different-sounding voice. 

"Er....yes, thank you.", Jason said. He was mildly irritated with himself that she was having the effect on him that she was, and that his business partner knew it. It was one thing for her to have that effect on Hugh, but she was HIS secretary!

Samantha swished out, and swished back in with coffee. As she placed Jason's cup on his desk, she brushed against him, and he could smell her perfume. He sighed, although it sounded (even to him) like more of a growl. 

Hugh chuckled and shook his head. Jason frowned.

"That will be all for now, Samantha. Thank you.",  Jason said, in a clipped tone.

But he wasn't happy when her emerald green form disappeared behind the closing office door.

Hugh actually took pity on Jason, and asked if they could table their discussion for another time, that something had come up that was rather pressing, that he needed to attend to. Jason breathed an inward sigh of relief, and agreed. He hoped his relief wasn't too apparent.

Once Hugh had left, Jason cleared his throat, and he came to the door of his office.

"Samantha, could you please come in here for a minute?"

"Yes, Sir. Do I need to bring anything with me?"

"Just yourself.", he said.

Samantha giggled lightly. 

"Samantha, I have not been happy with your performance lately. You've been late, and missing work a good bit. You also haven't been doing a very good job. I have been patient, but my patience is at an end. Today is your last day of employment with me."

Samantha's green eyes widened, and she started to cry.

"I knew you didn't like me. All I was trying to do was fix things so maybe you would. ", she sniffed. 

Jason softened a little and handed her a Kleenex.

"So that's what all this was, in front of Hugh, then?", he asked her.

She nodded. "You've always acted like I was invisible. "

Jason looked at her. "You weren't invisible.", he said softly. "But I like the green dress."

He shook his head and smiled. "You're not fired and you damn well know it. But I could throttle you for the day you did it. I am never going to live this down with Hugh Sanderson."

"He liked my green dress, too."

"Yes, I know he did.", Jason growled. 

Jason's reserve was gone, and he grabbed Samanthaand pulled her down on his lap. She squealed.

"I can't really decide if I want to kiss you or kill you! But I think I'm going with kiss."

"You're working late tonight. No excuses."

Invitation Only

 My name is Cassandra. My employers, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Windsor, are having an invitation only soiree tonight for the Blue Book crowd. You know, the ritsy social register kind of people? THAT Blue Book. Guess what? Unknown to them, I, Cassandra Nobody, will be among their honored guests. The best part? They won't even know it is me! (Haha!)

The Windsors' lovely daughter, Margaret? Margaret is bored with fancy costume parties that she's required to attend to keep up appearances for her parents. Margaret wanted to attend another event with a young gentleman, who shall remain nameless. So, I, Cassandra, ended up with Margaret's designer costume to wear to the event. In addition, I'll be well fed and entertained. Oh, and did I mention, Margaret gave me real sterling silver jewelry and actual money besides?! Whoever HE is, it sure was awfully important to Miss Margaret, wasn't it now? I wondered how she was going to get out of the house in the first place. But I'm not complaining. That's her little problem to deal with, as far as I'm concerned. Ask no questions. I'm just the kitchen help, you understand.

Just this afternoon, I came down with a terrible case of the flu, don't you know? None of the staff wants to catch it. The Windsors CAN'T have kitchen staff contaminating any food or drinks for their lofty friends. So..... I am in my own comfortable quarters, to rest. I was even given a bottle of brandy, on the condition that I quarantined myself away from everyone else.

Let's see what Margaret's costume looks like. Luckily we are about the same size.... Margaret told me that she was going as the Lady of the Lake, straight out of Arthurian legend. (You know.....King Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Merlin, Morgan le Fay, that kind of thing.....)

Wow! Her costume is just beautiful! Fortune smiled upon me to even look upon it. Gossamer silk, light as air, in a shade of blue that truly is the sea incarnate! It looks as though it has silver lights running through it.....cloth of silver, finer than any cloth of gold ever dared to be. It is truly exquisite, to the point of taking my breath away when I touch or gaze upon it. I can't believe that I am getting the chance to wear anything like it.

The slippers that complete the costume are of a blue a shade darker than the dress, with silver satin heels. There is a tiny deep blue sapphire stone on the top of each slipper. They are utterly elegant. Any Lady of the Lake would be fortunate to possess them.

The tiny sapphire pendant that Margaret gave me will be perfect with it.

Let's see. I've looked at my costume. Where's the invitation?

It is true that Margaret herself wouldn't really need one, but to insure that I would be able to assume her place in her stead, she brought me one of the engraved invitations and replies that the guests had received.

"If you have any trouble, show the doorman this.", Margaret had told her. In her hands were a small silver-edged card, that matched the invitations. I clasped it in my hands carefully.

Cassandra was going Invitation Only.