Killing Monica Read online

  “That’s because SondraBeth needs Monica.” Playfully he tapped her on the nose. “More than you. More than anyone, really.”

  Pandy rolled her eyes. “Doug, that’s crazy. Monica is a character. She’s like a geometric object. Yes, she has sides—maybe she even has six, like a hexagon. But she’s still an object. Objects have boundaries; they don’t interact the way people do.”

  Doug looked at her in awe. “You’re smart, Pandy. That’s what I always say about you when people ask. ‘That girl Pandy? She’s smart.’”

  “Doug, please.” Pandy sighed. She suddenly saw that his flattery about her talents, which had once thrilled her, was merely another part of his act.

  Nevertheless, when SondraBeth returned to the table, they ordered another bottle of red wine. By the time they left the restaurant, they’d all had too much to drink, and Doug had to carry Pandy out. As SondraBeth wove next to them, clutching Doug’s arm, Pandy caught a surprising look of displeasure on her face—surprising because SondraBeth rarely disapproved of Pandy’s bad behavior, no doubt figuring it made her look good in comparison. But when her expression turned from displeasure to pale anger, Pandy suddenly realized the truth: SondraBeth wanted Doug, too.

  Of course she did. Pandy wondered what the hell she’d been thinking. She’d had this ridiculous idea that because of all her talk about teaching Lala Grinada a lesson, SondraBeth actually wanted Pandy and Doug to be together. Sickened, she saw now that this wasn’t the case.

  By the time they walked into the house, Pandy was silently and irrationally furious. SondraBeth, meanwhile, had recovered her equilibrium. She put on music, and she and Doug began to slow dance. Their focus on each other was so intense, it was like Pandy wasn’t even there.

  Defeated, Pandy went into her room and slammed the door. She crawled into bed, bunching the pillow into her face to silence her fury. Once again, “Monica” had made her feel like she didn’t belong.

  * * *

  It seemed just moments later when she was awakened by a weight on her bed. She was too confused to scream, wondering if she’d dreamed it, and then she felt the tickle of Doug’s hair on her neck. “Pandy?” he whispered.

  “Doug?”

  He slipped under the covers next to her, holding a finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  She sat up, knocking her head against his. “Ow!”

  “Sorry.” He giggled like they were two little kids under a tent.

  “What happened to SondraBeth?” she hissed coldly.

  “SondraBeth is sleeping.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I just left her,” he chortled.

  “What?”

  “Passed out cold. She was snoring.”

  “Did you just…” Pandy couldn’t say the words.

  Doug began running his hands down her torso. “She never has to know,” he whispered. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He slid down farther, pushing her legs apart. Pandy’s body betrayed her; she groaned in pleasure.

  “Doug, please,” she moaned, tugging at his hair. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Why not?” he murmured.

  The question caught her off guard. Why not indeed? she wondered, temporarily mesmerized by the reaction of her own body. So what if she gave in and had sex with Doug? Was that so very wrong?

  “Forget about SondraBeth,” he murmured, crawling up her body to kiss her neck. “It was only a momentary thing. It lasted less than fifteen minutes.”

  Pandy suddenly came to her senses. Doug was going to double-dip? He was going to have sex with both Monicas? In one night? And she was going to be second?

  Never!

  “Get off me!” she cried, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. He laughed and grabbed her leg, pulling her back.

  “I mean it!” She slapped at him wildly.

  “Come on, Pandy,” Doug crooned. “Don’t be so uptight. No one’s like that.”

  Pandy kicked him away. “Well, I am.” She sat up and grabbed at the covers, clutching them to her chest.

  Doug sat back on his heels. “You called me, remember? I thought this was what you wanted.”

  Pandy could only stare at him in shock.

  Doug reached for her again. “What’s the big deal? We’re only playing. You know, like in a scene.”

  “A scene? You mean like acting?” Pandy gasped. “Is that all this is to you?”

  “Of course,” he said, grinning cluelessly. “What did you think it was?”

  Pandy reached back, grabbed a pillow, and flung it at his head.

  The pillow landed at the edge of the bed. Pandy couldn’t take her eyes off it as it teetered for a moment, then slowly slid to the floor.

  “Get out!” she hissed.

  Doug put up his palms in surrender. “No problem. I get it. You’re crazy. All you women are fucking crazy.”

  Pandy jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She sat on the toilet seat, pressing her face into her hands until she heard Doug’s footsteps cross the deck and go down the stairs. She went back to her bed and lay on her back, staring up at the darkened ceiling. What the hell? she thought. What the hell?

  * * *

  Pandy awoke at noon the next day. She felt ragged, torn, and feeble, like an old woman who was no longer in control of her world.

  SondraBeth was on the deck, reading a script and nursing a Bloody Mary.

  Pandy looked around. “Where’s Doug?”

  “He went bonefishing.”

  “Is that another one of your sick jokes?”

  “My sick jokes?” SondraBeth asked, astounded.

  “Doug came into my room last night.”

  “So?” SondraBeth stared at her as if she didn’t understand. “You look like you need a Bloody Mary. Want me to make you one?”

  “Doug came into my room last night,” Pandy repeated. “After he was with you.”

  For a second, the aftermath of an emotion raced across SondraBeth’s face—anger, surprise, consternation?—before she opened her mouth. “Oh,” she said, and laughed.

  “Oh?” Pandy demanded.

  “Well.” She shrugged.

  “How sick is that?”

  “I don’t know.” SondraBeth smiled queasily.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Oh, Pandy.” She sighed. “I told him to.”

  “You what?”

  “I told him to,” she repeated. “I sent him to you. Like a present?”

  “A present?”

  “Why not? Share and share alike.” She went back to her screenplay. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” She glanced up at Pandy again. “How was it?”

  “You don’t understand, do you?” Pandy said coldly. “I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t need to be. I have standards. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

  “But you have everything to do with this. You invited him to the island for Monica, remember?”

  Pandy stormed out of the villa. She jumped into the golf cart and took off. She had no idea what she was doing, but halfway around the island, a tan, shirtless man leaped out of the brush and into her path. Pandy screamed and swerved into a cactus, the cart jouncing backward from the impact. The side of her head hit the roll bar.

  She cried out in pain and anger as tears stung her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Doug! What the hell are you doing?”

  “Why were you driving so fast?” Doug asked. He grabbed the side of the cart to keep it from rolling and leaned over her to turn off the key. He had the damp, grassy odor of fresh sweat and marijuana.

  Pandy pushed past him and got out of the cart, rubbing the bump on her head. “I wasn’t driving fast. What were you doing in the middle of the road?”

  “I was looking for you,” he said.

  Pandy gave him a dirty look. “Why?”

  She got back into the cart and began backing it up. Doug ran around to the other side, gripp
ed the roll bar, and swung himself into the passenger seat.

  “Would you like a ride?” Pandy sneered.

  “Yes, please.” He looked around the interior of the cart. “Got any water?”

  “There.” Pandy pointed to a half-empty bottle. He picked it up and drank, tipping his head back. Once again, Pandy found herself admiring his physique in spite of herself.

  “Did SondraBeth talk to you?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Pandy said.

  Doug suddenly looked uncomfortable. “What did she say?”

  “What didn’t she say?”

  “Did she mention anything about…” He hesitated. “Last night?”

  Pandy took her eyes off the road to give him a disdainful glare.

  “As a matter of fact, she did.” Pandy tore her eyes away to stare fiercely through the plastic windshield instead. “She said she told you to have sex with me. That you were a sort of gift. All in all, it was fairly insulting.”

  Doug let out a long groan. “It’s not true, Pandy. She didn’t ask me to have sex with you. She’s lying.”

  “That makes it so much better,” Pandy said sarcastically. “So you managed to think of it all on your own.”

  “Don’t be mean, Pandy.” He sounded oddly earnest. “I like you. I always have. You’re the one who rejected me.”

  Pandy took a sharp left, heading back to the villa. “Doug.” She sighed. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Your so-called interest in me has nothing to do with me at all. It’s about you. You’re playing at being interested in me so I’ll pay attention to you. And frankly, without the face and body, you’re actually not very interesting at all. And neither is SondraBeth. In fact, you’re both so terribly dull, you have to invent stupid little games that you think are daring but are merely pathetic, just to keep everyone around you from dying of boredom.”

  Doug laughed as if she were merely being funny again.

  They arrived back at the villa. The door to SondraBeth’s room was closed. Doug rolled a joint, lit it, and handed it to Pandy. Thinking the marijuana might calm her down, Pandy took a few hits. Doug strolled out to the pool and lay down on a chaise, where he promptly fell asleep.

  Pandy went into the kitchen. “You’re back,” SondraBeth said, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

  “It’s a small island,” Pandy said coldly.

  “Come on, Peege,” SondraBeth said soothingly. “Don’t be angry. We’re both Monica—so why would you mind sharing the same man?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why would I be kidding?” SondraBeth asked.

  Pandy could only shake her head.

  “What is wrong with you?” SondraBeth demanded.

  “I’m not that kind of person. Unlike some people. ‘Sista.’” Pandy pressed the button on the espresso machine, enjoying the racket of grinding coffee beans.

  “Is that so?” SondraBeth narrowed her eyes.

  “Sure looks that way.” Pandy took a sip of her espresso and burned her mouth. “Goddammit!”

  SondraBeth took a few menacing steps toward Pandy. “You think you’re too good for this, don’t you? You think you’re too good for me. I thought you were my friend,” she hissed.

  “I thought so, too,” Pandy snapped, throwing the hot coffee into the sink, where it landed with a dramatic splash. “But friends don’t have sex with other friends’ guys.”

  “Oh, I get it,” SondraBeth snarled. “It’s all because of that secret I told you.”

  “What secret?” Pandy scoffed.

  “About the Little Chicken House. I knew it. I knew I never should have told you about that. I knew you’d use it against me someday.”

  “That?” Pandy said. “That has nothing to do with this.”

  And then due, no doubt, to the pot, Pandy looked at SondraBeth and had a terrible vision. SondraBeth’s head split open and out shot a serpent, green and scaly, mouth open, teeth dripping spittle like something out of a cheesy horror movie. Up, up, up the serpent rose, until the tip of its snout nearly touched the ceiling. And then down it came, like an arrow, swooping toward Pandy; then—pooft—it disappeared back into the top of SondraBeth’s head like it had never even happened.

  The whole thing took less than a nanosecond. Pandy knew the vision wasn’t real, but that didn’t stop her from seeing it. Indeed, as she took a step back, she realized it was an image she could never forget. It was like a warning from the devil himself.

  She took a deep breath and drew herself up. “So that’s the kind of person you think I am? A person who would use someone’s secret against them?” Pandy shook her head in disdain. “You, sista, are sick.”

  And with that, she marched off to her room and began packing.

  SondraBeth tried to stop her, of course, but Pandy wouldn’t hear of it. As she threw her bags into the golf cart, SondraBeth followed after her.

  “Don’t you dare leave, PJ Wallis!” SondraBeth shouted as Pandy jumped in the golf cart. “What about PandaBeth?”

  “PandaBeth is dead!” Pandy roared over her shoulder as she spun out of the driveway.

  Even then, she probably would have wound up staying and they probably would have made up—if it hadn’t turned out that when Pandy arrived at the airstrip, a small plane was about to leave for Providenciales.

  Pandy got on it.

  She was too angry to be deterred. When she reached the airport in Providenciales and the only ticket available was one-way first class, she bought it anyway, still determined to escape.

  Sitting stiffly in her seat, she didn’t think about the trip. She didn’t think about Doug or SondraBeth. She didn’t think about anything. When the flight attendant placed a Bloody Mary on her tray, she nearly threw up. She managed to get it down, nevertheless.

  And then she must have slept, because when she woke up, the plane was making its descent. Outside, it was raining, the water creating rivulets like endless tears. Pandy put her hand on the window. Run, Doug, run, she thought sadly.

  And then: PandaBeth. Ugh. She hoped she’d never see SondraBeth Schnowzer or Doug Stone ever again.

  * * *

  One month after that terrible incident on the island, it was announced in the tabloids that Doug Stone and SondraBeth Schnowzer had fallen in love and were now soul mates.

  As if in confirmation of this fact, three months later, SondraBeth threw an over-the-top birthday party for him at a venue specially constructed on the Hudson River piers. It was so excessive, Pandy figured the studio must have paid for it. A barge shot off a volley of fireworks, including a heart-shaped display that contained the initials of the happy couple. The West Side Highway was shut down for three hours in order to give them and two hundred of their closest A-list friends “privacy.” Nevertheless, a dozen helicopters hovered overhead, and long-lens cameras were pointed at the event from every angle, including New Jersey.

  Both the press and the fans were thrilled. It was all so very Monica.

  No one seemed to notice that the actual creator of Monica—the real Monica, PJ Wallis—was not invited.

  Pandy told herself that it didn’t matter. By that point, she was too deeply involved with Jonny Balaga to let it bother her.

  A short time after the birthday party, Pandy ran into Doug at a charity dinner for a theater group. She was seated at his table, and he moved the place cards to sit next to her. His hair was long and unkempt, his beard was scruffy, and he had that telltale whiff of perspiration that suggested he’d spent a couple of days partying. This was confirmed by his candid volubility.

  “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party,” he confided. “But I couldn’t.”

  Pandy smiled at him reassuringly. She’d already vowed not to react to anything he—or anyone else—might say about him and SondraBeth. She shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d be invited anyway.”

  He shook his head vehemently, as if refusing to take her at her word. “I wanted you to be there. I mean, I consider you a friend, ri
ght?”

  “Sure,” Pandy agreed, although she couldn’t understand how he could possibly make this declaration, given the fact that she hadn’t seen or heard from him since that awful trip. It must be the actor’s way, she decided, to make statements simply because they vaguely suited the occasion.

  “But I couldn’t, you see?” he said.

  “Couldn’t what?”

  “Invite you,” he hissed.

  “Doug,” she said. “I honestly don’t care.”

  “But I do. Because…” He paused and glanced around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. “Because of SondraBeth.”

  “It’s okay,” Pandy said patiently.

  He shook his head. “It’s not. Because SondraBeth really believes she is Monica.”

  Pandy laughed. “Well, she does play her.”

  “You’re not hearing me,” he said. “That’s the whole point. She doesn’t think she’s playing her. She thinks she is her. She thinks she actually is Monica. In real life.”

  “Oh,” Pandy said. She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do with this information. After all, there were plenty of stories about actors who insisted on staying in character for the length of a shoot, much to the annoyance and consternation of the other actors. “Monica is pretty appealing. Maybe she’s simply enjoying herself.”

  “That’s just it,” Doug exclaimed. “She’s enjoying herself too much. I can’t get through to her. And I couldn’t invite you to the party because she would have freaked out. How can she be Monica when the real Monica—you—is there?”

  “Maybe it’s just a phase,” Pandy said. “Maybe it’s—I don’t know…” She hesitated, grasping at straws. “Maybe you two will get married, have a baby, and she’ll grow out of it.”

  Doug leaned back in his chair and guffawed, startling Pandy with his incomprehensible reaction.

  “She’ll never have a baby.” He brought his chair down with a thump. “Not while she’s Monica, anyway. A baby would ruin her schedule.”

  Doug sounded unaccountably bitter. “The other day she asked me to meet her in a shop in Soho, and I walk in and find out she’s in the middle of another fucking photo shoot.”