Killing Monica

by Candace Bushnell

  “Excuse me?” PP said.

  “I suppose you’re going to ask next if I wear wooden shoes.”

  “Actually, I was going to ask if you spoke Dutch. But then I remembered that most Dutch people speak English.”

  Pandy rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure exactly what PP was up to, but he seemed to really think she was Hellenor. She needed to straighten him out on that one right away.

  “Now, listen—”

  PP held up his hand. “Of course, we can talk about Pandy. If you’d like.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Your sister was funny. And…pretty.” PP cleared his throat. “In any case, that was her problem. You can’t be funny and pretty in Hollywood. Because if you’re going to be funny, you have to be willing to risk looking stupid. Or even ugly. But then, you’re no longer pretty. Get what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I most certainly do.” Pandy crossed her arms as Chookie came back through the swinging door bearing the champagne, placed a glass in front of each of them, and disappeared again.

  Pandy breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up her glass and held it to her lips. Pink champagne was her favorite drink, and now it was a reminder that she was not Hellenor. That all would be fine.

  PP lifted his glass. “To Monica,” he said.

  Pandy nearly choked, but PP didn’t notice. He kept on smiling away, as if nothing were strange. “Tell me,” he said conversationally, “how much do you know about Monica?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Were you a fan?” he asked cautiously.

  “I guess you could say that,” Pandy snapped.

  “Good. What was your favorite Monica movie?”

  “Movie? What about book?” Pandy demanded. She took a larger gulp of champagne. As usual when it came to PP, she was feeling increasingly insulted.

  “Book, then. That’s even better. You’re a real fan.” PP smiled and put down his glass. “I assume you’ve read them all.”

  For a second, Pandy could only gape at him in disbelief. “I know them inside and out.”

  PP nodded.

  Pandy put down her glass as well. “Now, listen, PP,” she repeated. “You do realize—”

  “Shhhh.” PP patted her hand and glanced at the swinging doors.

  Right on cue, Chookie came through, setting down a silver tray with tiny sandwiches before retreating once more. Pandy pushed the tray away and looked at PP imploringly. “I am PJ Wallis. I created Monica.”

  PP stared at her briefly. Then he shook his head.

  “I’m—” Pandy tried again, but PP put his hand on her arm to stop her from talking. “There’s been a huge mix-up,” Pandy said desperately. “And no one will believe me.”

  Suddenly she had a terrible thought: If she couldn’t be PJ Wallis, she might as well be dead. She slumped onto the counter. When would this nightmare end?

  PP patted her on the back. “There, there,” he said, as if speaking to a child. “It’s going to be okay. You were so overcome by the death of your sister, for a moment, you thought you were her.” He stared at her curiously and then smiled knowingly. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You were joking. You’re funny, too. Just like your sister.”

  Pandy wanted to cry. She reminded herself to stay calm. SondraBeth would arrive soon, and she would know that she was Pandy.

  “I truly am sorry about your loss. I always liked your sister,” PP said.

  Pandy lifted her head and sat up. “Well, that’s funny. Because SondraBeth always said you hated Pandy.”

  PP suddenly looked incensed, as if he’d been caught out. So he had complained about her to SondraBeth after all.

  “I don’t know where SondraBeth got that idea,” PP said. “In any case, I knew her well. Your sister, I mean. She and her husband—that is, her ex-husband—were friends of mine.”

  Pandy’s expression froze. Perhaps being Hellenor wasn’t such a bad idea after all. For a few minutes, anyway. In which she might be able to extract information about Jonny from PP.

  “Are you still friends with Jonny?” she asked casually.

  PP leaned forward conspiratorially. “Frankly, I’d like to strangle the guy. He owes me money.”

  “You too, huh?” Pandy said, nodding. Apparently Jonny’s grifting was more extensive than she’d thought.

  “Why do women like Pandy marry men like that? She was so…spunky. Confident. Smart. But then she met Jonny and…” PP shrugged. “Why don’t women know to avoid that type of guy?”

  “You tell me,” Pandy said, sipping her champagne while thinking that PP was cut from very much the same cloth as Jonny.

  “Your sister was quite attractive,” PP said, clearing his throat.

  “Yes, she was…” Pandy suddenly became acutely aware of her appearance: dressed in Hellenor’s construction boots and flannel shirt, with her bald pate, she must look like something out of an old Saturday Night Live sketch. She flushed in annoyance as she realized that PP was trying to flatter “Hellenor” in order to sway her. Pandy wondered just how far he was willing to go to keep his precious Monica franchise safe.

  “Okay, PP,” she said. “Let’s say I am Hellenor Wallis. What then?” She reached for the champagne bottle.

  “Well, you’re going to be a very rich woman.”

  Pandy smirked as she refilled her glass, wondering if PP knew about all the money Jonny had taken from her.

  “But what about Jonny?” she asked. “What about all that money Pandy supposedly owes him in the settlement?”

  “Oh, jeez. That,” PP said. “Jonny is a bit of a problem, and believe me, I understand. But eventually he’ll go away. And in the meantime, we’re planning to make lots and lots of Monica movies.”

  “More Monica!” Pandy said with false cheer.

  PP patted her on the shoulder. “As I said, eventually you’ll be a very rich woman. Thank God for Monica, right?” he added as Judy came through the door.

  Pandy sighed.

  Judy turned to Pandy. “Hellenor? Can I bring you back to the suite? SondraBeth will be down to see you in ten.”

  * * *

  Back in the basement, Pandy flopped onto the bed. She turned on the TV, figuring she might as well catch up on her so-called death while she was waiting for SondraBeth.

  It was the usual news loop: a live report from the San Geronimo festival, and then there it was, an update on her demise: PJ Wallis, creator of Monica, reported dead in a tragic fire at her childhood home in Wallis, Connecticut.

  And suddenly, there she was on the screen…with Jonny at a black-tie event—the same event where SondraBeth had warned her against him. And she was so naïve that she was actually smiling…

  The screen cut to a close-up of a fan laying a pink plastic champagne glass on an already large pile that also contained stuffed animals. The camera pulled back to reveal her building.

  “Hundreds of fans gathered outside her apartment…”

  “No!” Pandy shouted at the TV. This could not be happening. Her so-called death was not supposed to be her next big moment. Her next big moment was supposed to have been about her new book, Lady Wallis. And there he was again: the cause of all this trouble—Jonny.

  Now he was pushing through the crowd outside her building, trying to get in. Pandy groaned. Of course he would know that Pandy had left the Monica rights to Hellenor. His lawyers had been over every single one of her contracts with a fine-tooth comb.

  Jonny would know that if Hellenor decided to execute her rights, there would be no more Monica—and no more money for Jonny.

  And now Jonny knew Hellenor could ruin him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AS PROMISED, we’re going back live to the San Geronimo festival,” said the voice from the screen.

  Right now, Jonny must be furious, Pandy thought gleefully. And for a second, she was happy. Then she looked back at the monitor. Three young women were jumping up and down and screaming, raising glasses of pink champagne to Monica.

&
nbsp; “Hellenor?” Judy’s voice came over the intercom. “SondraBeth in one.”

  “Thanks,” Pandy said. Remembering that Jonny’s fury over her supposed death would be short-lived, she went out into the living room. The suite had a damp smell, as if someone had just turned on the air-conditioning. It was still stuffy, so Pandy tugged open the window.

  The view was of a small stairwell. Pandy heard voices and stuck her head out.

  SondraBeth’s back was to her. She was having a heated discussion with a rubbery-faced man in a T-shirt. SondraBeth said something and the man laughed, his man-boobs jiggling under the fabric.

  Pandy frowned, recognizing the man’s voice. He was Freddie the Rat, part of the old Joules crowd. Apparently SondraBeth had remained in touch with him.

  Pandy withdrew her head. She heard a short knock and went to the door.

  SondraBeth was standing on the threshold. She had changed her outfit, and was now wearing high-tech white workout gear with silver piping. In each hand was a shopping bag bearing the Monica logo.

  “Hellenor,” she said, striding into the room.

  Oh no. Pandy sighed. Not this again. She clomped to the door in Hellenor’s old construction boots and shut it firmly behind her. “Squeege,” she began.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” SondraBeth said warmly.

  “I’m glad you’re here, too,” Pandy said as SondraBeth turned away to head into the bedroom. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Pandy said, annoyed. “We need to clear some things up. Like the fact that I’m—”

  “I don’t have long.” SondraBeth dropped the shopping bags on the bed and gave Pandy her most brilliant Monica smile. “There’s been a change of plans. The Woman Warrior of the Year Awards are today, and thanks to your sister’s sudden death, they want me to present the award to you.”

  “To me?” Pandy gasped. She looked at SondraBeth. Was it possible SondraBeth really didn’t know she was Pandy? “That is not going to happen.”

  “Why not? It happens all the time,” SondraBeth said. She pawed through one of the shopping bags and held out a tissue-wrapped package to Pandy. “People die, and other people start giving them awards for having once been alive.”

  “But that’s just the problem. I’m still alive.”

  SondraBeth pushed the package toward her. “Of course you’re still alive, Hellenor. But it’s Pandy who’s getting the award. You’re accepting it on her behalf.”

  Pandy groaned.

  “First things first,” SondraBeth chirped, pushing the package into Pandy’s hands. In her friendliest Monica voice, she said, “In appreciation of how special you are, I’d like to gift you with a few of my favorite items from the Monica line.”

  Pandy threw the package back onto the bed. “Now, listen—” she snapped, unable to contain her frustration.

  “Here, let me help you.” SondraBeth picked up the package and inspected her incredibly sharp nails. Using her middle finger, she neatly sliced through the tissue paper and then, with a flourish, held up a garment.

  It was a beautiful white hooded robe, made of the softest, lightest, coziest material Pandy had ever seen. She picked up the sleeve and felt the fabric. “It’s beautiful,” she said with a sigh.

  “Isn’t it?” SondraBeth said mournfully, at last dropping the Monica routine. “It’s just the kind of thing your sister would have loved. I remember all those times when the two of us would be lounging around in our robes—”

  “Still hung over,” Pandy added.

  SondraBeth shot her a sharp glance. “Will you try it on? For me?” She smiled imploringly.

  “Okay,” Pandy said. She wasn’t sure what SondraBeth was up to, but the robe was too tempting to resist.

  She draped the hood over her head, went into the bathroom, and looked at herself in the mirror as SondraBeth came in behind her. The hood did not disguise the fact that she was bald, and now she looked like some kind of newt. Or rather like a spa refugee with huge, scared eyes.

  And suddenly, she was sick to death of this farce.

  “Now listen, Squeege,” she said, tearing off the robe and throwing it onto the floor. “If you have to tell me something about Jonny—”

  “Jonny.” SondraBeth grimaced. “Now you listen. The truth is that in the last few years—well, your sister and I weren’t exactly friends. I’ll explain why, someday. But in the meantime, I never got the chance to tell her the truth about Jonny.”

  SondraBeth leaned past her to reach into the top of the medicine cabinet. “It’s nasty stuff, but Pandy always said you were the kind of person who wouldn’t be swayed by sentiment. Unlike Pandy herself. I always told her she was too emotional about men, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Is that so?” Pandy said archly.

  SondraBeth laughed as she removed a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, which she shook at Pandy. Pandy took one.

  “But since you already know Jonny’s a bad guy…” SondraBeth stuck a cigarette into her mouth, lit it, and then lit Pandy’s. SondraBeth inhaled and exhaled quickly, like someone who hasn’t had a smoke for a while. “I happen to know that Jonny owes the mob a lot of money.”

  “What?” Pandy began coughing. SondraBeth patted her on the back.

  “I know. It sounds shocking, but you have to remember that Jonny was in the restaurant business. He borrowed all this money from the mob. But that’s not the worst of it.”

  “There’s more?”

  SondraBeth nodded, and with the guilt of someone who knew she shouldn’t be smoking, she took another furtive drag. “That guy who was just here, Freddie the Rat? Your sister and I used to hang out with him. A long time ago.”

  “I know all about Freddie,” Pandy sighed.

  “Well, Freddie knows all about Jonny. And he told me that if there weren’t any more Monica movies…if Monica were, to say, die”—SondraBeth took another drag—“the mob would go after Jonny for the money he owes them, because they’d know his source of funds had dried up.”

  “What are they going to do? Kill him?” Pandy asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t be silly,” SondraBeth said. “They’re not going to kill a famous person. They don’t operate like that.”

  “How do you know?” Pandy asked.

  “Because they do business with famous people. It’s like being a drug dealer, okay? You don’t want to kill your clients.”

  “Holy shit,” Pandy said, remembering the Vegas guys Jonny had mentioned; those mumbled phone calls in the bathroom.

  “But it’s way more than that,” SondraBeth continued. “He’s been cheating the union guys, too. Who are part of the mob.”

  “You mean those people who make deliveries to his restaurants?” Pandy gasped.

  “Hey.” SondraBeth’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re in the restaurant business, too.”

  “I’m not. I know all about it because I was married to Jonny.”

  “What?” SondraBeth nearly dropped her cigarette. “You too?”

  “I’m Pandy!” Pandy shouted. “Christ, Squeege. We’ve seen each other naked. Remember that time on the island? You invited me to come and visit you, and then you convinced me to invite Doug there. And then you stole him,” she shrieked.

  “I did not!” SondraBeth jumped back in shock.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s not the way it happened. Technically, he wasn’t her boyfriend,” she said quickly.

  “What difference does it make? Because after you had sex with Doug, you sent him to me as a present.” Pandy’s voice rose to a screech. “And then, you acted like it was no big deal and I was crazy. Like I was the crazy one who fucks their best friend’s boyfriend behind their back! And you want to know another thing?”

  “There’s more?” SondraBeth demanded.

  “The last time I looked at you, I saw evil. Pure evil. I saw a serpent come out of your head and swoop down toward me. Well?” Pandy demanded in reaction to SondraBeth’s still-startled expression.

 
And at last, SondraBeth’s eyes widened in recognition. She took a deep breath. “Well, yourself,” she said. She took another cigarette from the pack. As she raised her hand to light it, Pandy saw her hand was shaking.

  And suddenly, Pandy felt dizzy, too, as if she was about to swoon in fear, anger, and excitement. The history she and SondraBeth had between them could fill a novel—yet, at this point, they might as well have been bookends on the opposite ends of the longest bookshelf in the world.

  She looked at SondraBeth, who was looking back at her as if she couldn’t comprehend what Pandy had become.

  What she’d done.

  “Why?” SondraBeth asked, her voice full of hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go on like a fool, acting like you were Hellenor?”

  “I never said I was Hellenor,” Pandy said sharply. “It was everyone else—”

  “Oh, please.” SondraBeth crossed her arms in disgust.

  “I seem to recall that you were the one who invaded my space, ‘sista,’” Pandy continued. “If you remember, I was happily alone in Wallis, waiting for Henry to arrive so I could change my clothes, find a wig, and get back to being Pandy, when you showed up with your paparazzi circus.”

  “So it’s my fault, huh? I interrupted your plans?”

  “What plans?” Pandy shouted.

  “Pretending to be Hellenor. How long were you planning to keep it up?”

  “I wasn’t planning to keep it up at all!”

  “You knew about the mob, and you were planning to kill Monica!”

  “Of course I wasn’t,” Pandy replied. “Why would I want to kill Monica?”

  “You tell me.”

  When Pandy continued to shake her head, SondraBeth spoke to her like she was an idiot. Stating the obvious, she said, “You wanted to kill Monica to get even with Jonny.”

  “Honestly,” Pandy said, “it never even crossed my mind.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s not going to happen now,” SondraBeth said, frowning. “Now that I know you’re Pandy.”

  Pandy lit up another cigarette. “You sound kind of disappointed.”

  “I’m just shocked, that’s all.” SondraBeth took another cigarette and looked at Pandy assessingly. “I do understand why you did it. If I had a husband like Jonny—”