Killing Monica

by Candace Bushnell

  “Really?” Pandy asked as the new round arrived.

  “Sure,” SondraBeth said, taking a shot. “If it hadn’t been for you and Monica, who knows how my life would have ended up? But then Monica came along. And it was such a great opportunity. And then it was all about Monica…”

  “But Montana?” Pandy asked, slurring slightly. “I thought you said you hated the place.”

  “I did. But I went back a couple of years ago when my father died. And my mother and I kind of made up. Mom, as it turns out, loves Monica. And when I was finally successful…” SondraBeth put down her empty glass. “She kind of had to admit that she was wrong about me as a child. I wasn’t going to end up in jail after all.”

  Pandy laughed. “You were never going to end up in jail.”

  SondraBeth raised her eyebrows. “I got pretty close a couple of times. I ran away from home, remember? I became a stripper. It could have turned out that Mom was right.”

  “I remember,” Pandy said gently. “You told me about it. That night on the Vineyard.”

  SondraBeth laughed and sipped at her beer. “I was so afraid to tell you because I thought if you knew, you’d think there was no way I could be Monica.”

  “You know better than that,” Pandy said. “Come on, sista. Remember how I told you I didn’t have the best childhood myself? How my sister tried to kill herself when she was sixteen? And then my parents died. And then—” Pandy inhaled sharply, catching herself before she said more. Just like that time on the Vineyard, she’d almost spilled her biggest secret. Which wasn’t hers to tell.

  “You never told me that story about Hellenor,” SondraBeth said.

  “It was nothing,” Pandy said quickly, waving it away. “It was a long time ago. She’s fine now.”

  SondraBeth shook her head musingly. “I always thought it was going to be you and me, you know? That somehow, we’d be the ones steering this Monica thing. How’d we lose control?”

  “Men,” Pandy said.

  “Men.” SondraBeth’s eyes narrowed.

  And then they both looked up at the bar’s TV.

  This time, they didn’t look away. It was the same news loop, but now it was all about Hellenor.

  “Last seen with SondraBeth Schnowzer—” A shot of SondraBeth in her black wedding dress, staring blankly into the camera, then a close-up of Pandy, looking terrified—“An outbreak of chaos”—wide shot of hundreds of women shouting into their devices, handbags swinging, ankles buckling, tablecloths torn from tables as they ran toward the exit…

  And then another close-up of Pandy at the Woman Warrior Awards: “Authorities seeking information about the woman who claims to be Hellenor Wallis—”

  And then to Jonny again, in a new clip: “I’m onto you, Hellenor. I’m looking for you—”

  And finally, a live shot of the Monica billboard. “Due to the mysterious disappearance of SondraBeth Schnowzer, the studio is considering canceling the Shoe Unveiling.”

  “Now that really would be a shame,” said the announcer.

  “And now, live, back to the San Geronimo festival.”

  SondraBeth didn’t look at Pandy as she casually put down three twenty-dollar bills. “Keep the change,” she called out to the bartender, who nodded.

  And once again, they were running. The lyrics from the Talking Heads’ “Life During Wartime” played over and over in Pandy’s mind as she dodged hot dog stands, small fuzzy animals attached to leashes, zombie humans attached to their devices, old people on bicycles, electrically silent taxis, flattened cardboard boxes, trucks, police cars, and an ambulance or two.

  They ran all the way to Union Square, darting between the booths in the farmers’ market, into the center of the square. Where, finally, Pandy stopped panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. Above her head, screens mounted on the tall buildings flashed tickertapes of useless information. The national debt. What was trending. The most famous person on Instalife. The number one photograph. And with the exception of the national debt—insurmountable, immutable, and dependably growing—Monica was at the top of the list.

  Monica was everywhere. Pandy could never outrun her, never outgrow her, and most of all, never kill her.

  Monica was totally fine.

  Monica was safe.

  On the other hand, with Jonny still on the loose and blabbing to the press about Hellenor, Hellenor might not be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SONDRABETH caught up with Pandy on Eighth Street. “What the fuck?” she shouted.

  “Jonny.” Pandy turned, her eyes blazing. “He’s still on the loose.”

  She began walking again, heading diagonally through Washington Square Park, past the old men playing their endless games of chess. Jonny looking into Hellenor’s background was the one part of the equation she hadn’t considered when they’d cooked up this scheme to get even with him. In her attempt at revenge, she’d stupidly put Hellenor at risk. Jonny asking who Hellenor was; the authorities looking into Hellenor’s background? That was not good.

  SondraBeth grabbed her arm. “What’s this about?”

  “I can’t say,” Pandy said stubbornly.

  SondraBeth looked at her closely. “It’s about Hellenor, isn’t it? What’s the big secret? Is Hellenor some kind of axe murderer?”

  “Please,” Pandy said. “She’s just someone who wants to live her life a certain way, and I’ve always tried to respect her wishes. She’s my sister.” Pandy reached Houston and, looking left and right, began crossing against the light.

  SondraBeth walked briskly next to her. “Okay. I get it,” she said. “I won’t ask questions.”

  “Great. Just help me find Jonny before he says anything more about Hellenor.”

  “What about the leg?”

  “This is more important than those union guys,” Pandy muttered.

  Jonny, she figured, must still be in front of her building, looking for her. At least he had been ten minutes ago, when she’d seen him on one of the screens.

  Halfway down her block, however, she was forced to stop. The base of her building was cluttered with the debris of flowers, Monica dolls, and pink plastic champagne glasses. A large group of women were holding up hand-lettered LET MONICA LIVE! posters.

  “Are you a Monica fan?” one of them asked Pandy.

  “Yes, actually I am.”

  “Will you sign the petition?”

  “For what?” Pandy said, looking around for Jonny.

  “To let Monica live.”

  A black town car pulled up to the curb. The back window slid down and Freddie the Rat stuck his head out.

  “Freddie!” SondraBeth exclaimed, rushing the car. She and Freddie had a brief conversation, and then the window went up.

  “Well?” Pandy demanded as the car drove away.

  “Freddie says he’s sure Jonny will be back. I mean, where else would he go, right? He’s looking for Hellenor. Naturally, he would think that you’d come here.”

  Pandy frowned, recalling what he’d said on the screen. “He’s at Gay Street,” she said quickly.

  Gay Street. Where Henry lived. Where Jonny had been before. On the day of that fateful snowstorm. When they fell in love.

  Jonny knew Pandy would go there to hide out. It was the perfect place for a showdown.

  * * *

  Sure enough, there he was, on the stoop of Henry’s house.

  “Look at him,” SondraBeth said, flattening herself around the curve of the street so Jonny couldn’t see them. “He’s just standing there. He’s like a sitting duck.”

  Pandy peeked around the corner at Jonny. He was as handsome as ever. It was such a shame he was so pathetic.

  “Like taking candy from a baby,” SondraBeth said. And straightening her cowboy hat, she turned into Monica. Monica, with her country-girl swagger. Her confidence. Her innate belief that everything would always go her way. In her very best Monica voice, SondraBeth started toward him, saying, “Oh, Jonny? It’s me. It’s Monica�
�”

  “No, wait!” Pandy said. She marched down the sidewalk in her sequined dress. As she ripped off the wig, she got right in Jonny’s face and said, “Now look here, Diaper Boy. It’s me, Pandy. So when it comes to Hellenor—”

  Jonny’s eyebrows shot up. And then he smiled, as if he’d known this was going to happen all along.

  “I knew you’d come here.” He started circling her like a boxer.

  “Because I know my own fucking wife, right?” he continued. “And what a creep she is. I knew you’d pull a stunt like this to get out of paying me. You’re a big fucking cheat. And I’m going to make sure all the world finds out. That, and the fact that the only reason I married you was because I thought you were Monica.” He broke off, gave her one last vicious sneer, and began walking away.

  “Huh?” Pandy said, gobsmacked.

  Jonny stopped, turned around, and strode back to ridicule her further. “And what are you going to do about it?” he jeered. “Nothing, right? Because you never do anything. You’re just what I said you were—a weak, judgmental woman. You think you’re so high and mighty, like you’d never make a mistake. Well, you just made a huge mistake, baby. Who is Hellenor Wallis?”

  Pandy blanched.

  “Well?” Jonny demanded. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, hard. “Does Hellenor Wallis even exist? Or did you make her up, too?”

  “I—” Thoughts spun around in her head while Jonny went on mercilessly:

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did she die, too? How convenient.” He gave her another violent shake that made her teeth rattle.

  The edges of Pandy’s vision went black. “It wasn’t like that,” she choked out.

  “Then where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Jonny emitted a harsh laugh. “What were you planning to do when they tracked down the real Hellenor?”

  Thwack! A pointy-toed cowboy boot hit Jonny square in the forehead. He let go of Pandy and spun around. And there was good old Squeege with her arm pulled back, ready to give Jonny another thunk if necessary.

  “Come on,” SondraBeth said as she hailed a taxi.

  Pulling Jonny from the front while Pandy pushed him from behind, they bundled him into the backseat, where he was lodged between the two of them.

  Just like the ham in one of his famous jambon sandwiches, Pandy thought smugly.

  “What the hell!” Jonny snarled.

  Heading toward Soho, Pandy took in the colorful beads of the San Geronimo revelers reeling past the car. “You know what?” Jonny blared, like a megaphone at a parade. “You were a really bad fucking wife. Did I ever tell you that? Okay, you were good in bed. At first. But that’s about it.”

  “I can’t take this,” SondraBeth said. “Hey, driver, can you turn up the radio?”

  “You turned into a goddamn nag,” Jonny continued. “And then, when I saw where you came from…you fucking Puritan bitch! Pretending to be broke, when you had that estate in Connecticut!”

  He continued cursing her until three blocks later, when they reached the backstage loading dock of the billboard on Spring Street. As they emerged from the taxi, Pandy saw Freddie the Rat edging forward through the crowd. She and SondraBeth got out, and Freddie quickly came forward. The two men who were with him unceremoniously yanked Jonny from the backseat.

  “We got it worked out,” Freddie the Rat said to SondraBeth as the men hustled Jonny away, the heels of his Italian loafers leaving skid tracks along the pavement.

  Freddie turned to Pandy. “Nice to meet you, Hellenor,” he said with a wink. He hurried after his guys. “Hey, Jonny,” he called out. “You ready to take a little ride?”

  And suddenly, Judy was there. “SondraBeth? Hellenor?” she asked. “We need you to get ready.”

  * * *

  They emerged on the roof of the building, where the Monica billboard rose straight up above under a murky, darkening sky.

  Judy handed Pandy a paper cup of coffee. “You’ve unleashed a monster,” she said. She gestured toward the front of the building, at the crowd that was massed on the streets below.

  “Look at all those people!” SondraBeth said.

  And turning to look, Pandy discovered PP running across the rooftop toward them.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he shouted at SondraBeth. And then, spotting Pandy next to her, he turned on her.

  “And you, Hellenor Wallis,” he said, all puffed up like a plastic G.I. Joe doll. “I was wrong about you. You are just as bad as your sister.” PP looked from Pandy to SondraBeth as he took another deep breath. “And this time,” he said threateningly, “you’d both better make sure to tell everyone that Monica is alive…”

  “Or else what?” SondraBeth demanded.

  “I have a list of infractions from the police department,” PP bleated, shaking his device. “Jaywalking, fencing stolen items…I’m going to take these expenses out of your Monica money.”

  SondraBeth gave him a nasty smile. “Oh, can it, PP. It’s not up to you. It’s up to Hellenor, remember?”

  “Are you ready?” Judy said, tapping the mike.

  * * *

  And then they were on the elevator platform that would take them up to the stage. Pointing to a panel, Judy reminded everyone that they should press the green button to go up and the red button to go down.

  Someone pressed the green button, and with a small lurch, they were suddenly moving up, up, up into the sky, satellites twinkling like stars across the landscape. SondraBeth stood on the edge, gripping the railing and staring fiercely out over the landscape. For one second, Pandy saw the girl she’d fallen in love with on the billboard all those years ago…

  And suddenly, she knew.

  The platform bounced slightly as it came to rest against the back of the small stage.

  “You planned this,” Pandy said as they were hustled out of the elevator and onto the narrow backstage platform.

  “Planned what?” SondraBeth blanched.

  “This whole killing Monica thing. That’s why Freddie the Rat was at your townhouse. You still thought I was Hellenor back then. You were going to convince Hellenor to kill Monica.”

  “What are you talking about?” SondraBeth gasped.

  “You did all that staging—rolling in the mud, murmuring that Monica was dead, while thinking I was Hellenor…” Pandy shook her head. “Why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to play Monica anymore?”

  “Because I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Pandy hissed.

  “So what?” SondraBeth said. “I didn’t have the courage to admit it. I don’t want to be Monica anymore.”

  “Are you ready?” Judy asked. A section of the billboard dropped down in front, opening Monica’s mouth to reveal the stage. Pandy felt a gust of wind, and then it grew into a wave of approval from the audience below.

  “In any case, it doesn’t matter,” SondraBeth hissed. “When I realized you were Pandy, I knew it was over. Still, we got even with Jonny. And that’s all that counts.”

  “But why not just tell PP that you don’t want to play Monica anymore?” Pandy asked as someone put a microphone in her hand.

  “You know why.” SondraBeth laughed harshly. “It’s in my contract. The studio can fire me, but I can’t quit. My contract with Monica is like the worst marriage ever. Monica can get rid of me anytime she likes, but I can’t leave her. Ever.”

  “Welcome to the first annual Monica Shoe Unveiling!” Pandy heard the announcer’s voice boom out into the open crowd.

  And then Pandy was on the stage. She took one look back at SondraBeth as she was drowned out by the shouts, whistles, and cheers from the audience below. The roar of the crowd was like an animal demanding attention.

  And Pandy was happy to give it to them. Buoyed by the crowd’s rush of expectation, their desire to witness a miracle, Pandy raised one arm like the Warrior Woman herself. Holding the mike to her
lips, she screamed, “Kill Monica. Please!”

  And just as promised, Monica’s leg began to rise. First the hard shiny toe, and then the cruelly curved heel, and then there it came: yards and yards of red fringe waving like triumphant streamers in the air. And as the leg rose, so, too, did Jonny. For suddenly, there he was, dangling from a harness attached to several pieces of fringe.

  The crowd began to laugh. And laugh. Suddenly, Pandy was laughing, too. The leg rose up another five feet, and jerked Jonny like a puppet, his arms and legs flailing.

  SondraBeth came to stand next to Pandy, and the crowd went crazy, hooting and cheering as she clapped, the microphone between her hands. Eventually, when the noise died down, she walked to the edge of the stage. Taking a wide stance in her cowboy boots, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen. Let me introduce you to Jonny Balaga. Resident scumbag!”

  Deafening boos. Pink plastic champagne glasses were tossed in Jonny’s direction.

  “And just to make the event even more special, this, by the way, is not Hellenor Wallis,” SondraBeth said, turning to Pandy. Raising her arms in triumph, she shouted, “This is PJ Wallis—the creator of Monica—in disguise!”

  Another huge roar of approval, like the crowd was about to witness a boxing match. SondraBeth paused to let the rustling die down to a hush. She put her arm around Pandy’s shoulder. Looking out over the crowd, Pandy followed her gaze, right across the rooftops to a huge screen that had been set up to project their images.

  On the screen, Pandy saw SondraBeth lift the microphone to her mouth. “My best friend PJ Wallis and I cooked up this little plot to get even with Jonny, who is Pandy’s ex-husband.”

  “Ooooooh.” Wide panning shot of the vengeful crowd. Then another close-up of SondraBeth. And in her very best, naughtiest Monica voice, she said, “Because Jonny has been a very, very bad boy. Isn’t that right, Jonny?”

  Spotlight on Jonny. And there he was, up on the screen, dangling like a marionette. What could he do? He waved.

  “I think Pandy has some things she’d like to say to him,” SondraBeth said, her voice echoing against the tall buildings. Before Pandy could refuse, SondraBeth passed the microphone off to her and returned to stage left.