Killing Monica Page 25

  “They tear you limb from limb?” Pandy asked, half jokingly. The question wasn’t necessarily facetious. Another group had squeezed between the metal barricades and was now approaching the car.

  Plink! A plastic champagne glass hit the rear window.

  Pandy screamed.

  “Check your face. That’s what I always do,” SondraBeth advised, looking in the vanity mirror.

  And then the police came and shooed the crowds away, directing the driver to a guardhouse where the backstage entrance was protected by a metal gate in a chain-link fence. Pandy breathed a sigh of relief as the SUV pulled up to a loading dock that led to the backstage area. The water she’d chugged had made its way to her bladder, and now she had to pee. She sat up in anticipation of bolting from the car.

  The door to the SUV swung open. SondraBeth rose slightly on bent knees and, ratcheting herself around to face the open door, assessed the situation.

  “I’m going to need a ramp,” she said.

  “She needs a ramp. Someone get her a ramp,” came the sound of male voices shouting from below.

  Pandy sighed deeply and pushed back into her seat, squeezing her thighs together. This was annoying. SondraBeth was blocking the door. Pandy couldn’t go forward or backward until someone got that damn ramp.

  This was why she hated showbiz.

  “Maybe you could change your shoes?” Pandy asked, wondering how much longer she could hold out for the bathroom. “Maybe if you had on different shoes, you could get the hell out, and then we could all get the hell out.”

  “No,” SondraBeth hissed angrily. “This is it. This is the outfit. I can put it on once, and then it has to stay on as is until I take the whole thing off. Get it?”

  At that moment, the ramp arrived.

  “Got it!” shouted a voice, and slowly, helped on either side by two burly men with shaved heads, SondraBeth inched forward onto the loading dock.

  And then she unfolded, snapping open black metallic panels on her long skirt. Pandy watched, mesmerized, as she slowly raised her arms, the fabric undraping to reveal what looked like two iridescent black wings.

  “Christ,” PP said, coming up behind Pandy. “She looks like a giant fly.”

  Judy spoke into her headset and in the next second they were surrounded by various crew and producers and assistants. SondraBeth was led to her dressing room.

  Hellenor Wallis was shown to the green room.

  Bypassing the spread of fruit, candy, and sandwiches, Pandy ran to the ladies’. Just as she was pulling up her pants, there was a knock on the door. “Hellenor? It’s Judy. They need you to do press. Are you ready?”

  Pandy smiled.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  * * *

  “Do you think when your sister sat down to write Monica, she ever in a million years imagined it would be like this?” asked one of the journalists who were clustered around Pandy in the green room.

  “No, I don’t think she did. I don’t think anyone could,” Pandy said, looking, she hoped, appropriately sad.

  “She would have loved it, don’t you think?” the journalist asked.

  “Yes, she really would have.” Pandy’s eyes slid over to the large-screen TV, on which there was a shot of the Monica billboard, now covered in cloth and a series of ropes and pulleys. MONICA SHOE UNVEILING, read the caption.

  “And what did PJ Wallis have in store for Monica? Besides her new shoe?” the journalist asked.

  Pandy tore her eyes away from the image of the billboard. “The truth is, Pandy had just finished a book that wasn’t about Monica.”

  “I see. And what about this rumor that Pandy’s ex-husband, Jonny, thinks you’re not really Hellenor?”

  Pandy cocked her head. She knew Jonny was looking for her, but this last piece of information was new. “I’ve heard he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

  “If you had a message from PJ Wallis to all those Monica fans out there today, what do you think it would be?”

  Pandy stared straight into the camera and glared. “That’s easy: Don’t ever get married.”

  “Thank you, Hellenor.”

  “Hellenor?” someone else said. “Can we get a shot of you with the Monica shoe?”

  “The Monica shoe is here?” Pandy asked.

  “From now on, those shoes go everyplace SondraBeth goes. She’s got to wear them to the unveiling,” Judy explained. She spoke into her mike. “Can someone bring me the Monica shoes, please?”

  In the next moment, the stylist’s assistant appeared, holding a pair of fringed red suede spike-heeled booties stuffed with tissue paper. Pandy held the booties up on either side of her face and smiled into the flashes.

  “What do you think about the big memorial service SondraBeth is planning for your sister’s funeral?” another journalist asked.

  Pandy’s smile stiffened.

  The photographers shot off a few obligatory snaps and turned away.

  “A memorial service?” Pandy said to Judy. She spun on her heel and began marching down the hall to SondraBeth’s dressing room.

  “Hellenor?” Judy said, hurrying after Pandy. “You can put down the booties. I need to return them to wardrobe.”

  Pandy ignored her, rapping on the door with the cruelly sharp heel of one of the booties. “SondraBeth? I need to talk to you.”

  “Come in,” SondraBeth purred.

  “Hellenor?” Judy said, catching up to her. “Is everything okay?”

  “I need to talk to SondraBeth alone. It’s about my sister, and her death.” She turned the knob, pushed inside, and shut the door firmly behind her.

  SondraBeth was standing in the middle of the room. The hinged skirt was attached to a stiff black bodice covered with tiny rhinestone M’s.

  “Oh, good.” SondraBeth reached out her arms for the booties. “You’ve brought me my shoes.”

  “Monica’s shoes,” Pandy said. SondraBeth took the shoes and toddled the few steps to the makeup counter to deposit them. She turned stiffly and swayed back toward Pandy, slowly lowering her arms. “So talk,” she said as she held up her nails and examined them.

  The sight made Pandy gasp. Each of SondraBeth’s fingers sprouted a different miniature masterpiece of a famous building. Pandy picked out the Chrysler Building, the Eiffel Tower, and the Space Needle. She tore her eyes away and plopped herself onto a folding chair. “What’s this I’ve just heard about you planning a memorial service for Pandy?”

  “Oh, that.” SondraBeth smiled and pointed the Empire State Building at her. “It was just something that popped into my head.”

  “When?” Pandy glared.

  “Just at that moment. The journalist asked me if I knew anything about a memorial service, and I—”

  “Well, pop that idea right back out of your head. Because at the end of the day, I will once again be alive. Meaning there isn’t going to be any memorial service.”

  “Of course there isn’t. But if I told the journalist that, it would look fairly suspicious, don’t you think? PJ Wallis dies, and there’s no funeral?”

  “I guess.” Pandy narrowed her eyes. “I just want to make sure that we’re both on the same page. Right after the Woman Warrior of the Year Awards, I go back to being Pandy.”

  “SondraBeth?” Judy knocked on the door, then opened it an inch and stuck her nose in the crack. “They need you in rehearsal.”

  SondraBeth slowly made her way out into the hallway.

  “How’s she going to walk across the stage in that getup?” Pandy hissed to Judy.

  “She doesn’t have to. The stage is revolving.”

  “Like a turntable?” Pandy was aghast.

  “They call it a lazy Susan. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You only have to be onstage for a minute or two,” she said over her shoulder. Quickly she walked away to where SondraBeth was being lifted onto a trolley to be driven to the stage. Judy hopped into the seat next to the driver. “Don’t go far, Hellenor. We may need you as well.�
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  “Okay,” Pandy agreed.

  She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself as Judy and SondraBeth sped around the corner. She took a step to follow, but her legs felt as if they were made of rubber. How big was this production going to be? It had to be large if there was a revolving stage. Heart pounding at the thought of having to get up in front of all those people, Pandy decided she’d better have a cigarette to relax. Stumbling through the nearest exit, she nearly knocked over a girl holding a tray of champagne.

  “I’m sorry,” Pandy said.

  “I probably shouldn’t be standing in front of the door. Come in. Would you like a glass of champagne?”

  “Well, sure.” Pandy took a glass and stepped to the side, nearly bumping into a mannequin dressed as Wonder Woman.

  Pandy laughed as she straightened the dummy. She smiled fondly at the mannequin of Joan of Arc placed next to Marilyn Monroe. She was in the Woman Warrior Hall of Fame, a somewhat hokey display that was a traditional part of the awards. Attendees were meant to wander through the hall during the cocktail hour.

  The crowd was beginning to trickle in. Pandy stopped to shake her head at poor old Mother Teresa’s ragged costume. She and SondraBeth had come to these awards together, years and years ago when they were still friends. They’d done a tiny line of cocaine in the bathroom, “for Dutch courage,” SondraBeth had said, and then they’d strolled into the display.

  There was a tap on Pandy’s shoulder. Three young women were standing behind her.

  “Sorry to bother you—”

  “But are you Hellenor Wallis?”

  “You are. We saw you on Instalife this morning!”

  “Can we get a photo?”

  “Well, sure.” Pandy smiled, and then remembered to wipe the smile from her face.

  “Your sister meant everything to me,” the first girl murmured, tilting her head next to Pandy’s and holding out her device for a selfie. “She was my idol. I wanted to be just like her.”

  “I need a picture, too!”

  “Just one more? I’ll die if I don’t get a photo.”

  A crowd of women was gathering around her. Two handlers broke through, trying to shoo them away. “Ladies, please.”

  “But I came all the way from Philadelphia!”

  “I don’t mind.” Pandy smiled reassuringly. For a brief moment, she was back in her element. Motion the woman closer, arm around the shoulders, heads cocked together, smile! Next.

  And the ladies kept coming. “I love Monica. I love her so much.” Their eyes a little glazed. “I hope you love yourself just as much,” Pandy replied, wanting to shake them and tell them not to hold too tightly to a fantasy.

  She imagined this was how SondraBeth must feel every day—literally heady—her head swelling from the attention, the frenzied excitement, the irresistible fawning. And in the middle of this bubble, the oddest feeling—the guilt of a hypocrite.

  “Hellenor.” Judy was suddenly beside her, pulling at her arm. “We have to go. They need you in rehearsal, too.”

  * * *

  “Right this way,” said the PA, leading Pandy along a ridged mat secured with reflective green tape. She guided Pandy to a set of metal stairs and quickly ushered her to a small platform, in front of which was an enormous round disk covered in tape.

  The dreaded lazy Susan.

  “You’ll step here,” said the PA, hustling Pandy onto the disk.

  “Hello,” SondraBeth called out. She was standing in the center of the disk, waving stiffly.

  “Hi,” Pandy called back. SondraBeth looked like a bride on a wedding cake, save for the fact that she was dressed in black.

  “You will walk to SondraBeth,” the PA said briskly, as if she was not in the mood for any nonsense. Urging Pandy along, she said, “And then you will stop and accept the award from her.”

  Pandy halted in front of SondraBeth, who pantomimed giving her the statuette.

  “And then,” the PA barked, “you will turn and walk forward to the podium—” She walked a few steps ahead to demonstrate where Pandy should go. “And you will stop. And you will say…”

  “I am Hellenor Wallis…,” SondraBeth said from behind her.

  “I am Hellenor Wallis,” Pandy repeated.

  “And all the screens will be lit up in a circle around the room—”

  “There are screens?” Pandy asked nervously.

  “So we can take questions.” The tech producer’s voice came through a speaker that sounded like it was right above her head.

  “There will be questions?” Pandy called out to this invisible man.

  “Not for your segment. All you have to do is accept the award, and say thank you on behalf of your sister.”

  “That’s it? I don’t get to say a few nice words about her?” Pandy asked.

  “We’re on a tight schedule,” the PA said, taking her arm once again. She walked Pandy to the other side of the platform. “The stage will be revolving. You’ll stand here, so we can broadcast you on the screens, and then when you reach the platform where you got on, you’ll get off and head backstage through the Hall of Fame, which will be closed off to the public by then. Got it?” she asked sharply.

  “Hellenor?” Judy said, motioning from the platform. “There’s someone here who needs to see you.”

  “Jonny,” Pandy gasped, recalling how he’d threatened to find her. By now he must know she was with SondraBeth at the awards; it was all over Instalife.

  Judy smiled. “It’s Pandy’s agent.”

  And there he was: Henry. Standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  * * *

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Henry asked, circling around her. Pandy grimaced and automatically put her hand over her bald head.

  “Excuse me, Ms.—” Henry turned to Judy.

  “Judy,” Judy said. “I’m SondraBeth’s right hand.”

  “Is there someplace”—Henry glared at Pandy—“that Hellenor and I can go to speak privately?”

  “You can use SondraBeth’s dressing room. They need to keep her next to the stage until the show begins. It takes too long to move her,” Judy said over her shoulder as she led them back into the Hall of Fame.

  This time the hall was packed. The high-pitched screeches of women who’d already had a bit too much champagne filled the room like the calls of exotic birds.

  “Henry!” a voice shouted.

  Pandy turned to find Suzette barreling toward them, with Meghan, Nancy, and Angie in tow. Judging from the way they were tottering on their heels, Pandy guessed they’d already had a couple of glasses of champagne. And then Suzette threw her arms around Henry as tears sprang from her eyes.

  Within seconds, they were surrounded. Pandy was being pulled in all directions by her grieving friends.

  “PJ Wallis’s sister!”

  “Poor Pandy. She was so alive.”

  “Impossible to think she’s gone.”

  “How could this happen?”

  “So young, too.”

  “Literally the best woman—the best woman in New York—”

  “Thank you. Thank you.”

  The buzz in the hall grew louder. PJ Wallis. Icon. Great loss.

  Hellenor Wallis. Pandy’s sister. Over there. You can see the resemblance.

  “Excuse me,” Henry said, yanking on Pandy’s arm, bringing her back to reality. Following Judy, he marched her through the exit door and into the backstage hallway.

  “Here you go,” Judy said, unlocking the door to SondraBeth’s dressing room.

  “Thank you,” Henry said. He pushed Pandy into the room, closed the door, and locked it. He crossed his arms. “Explain.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Try.”

  “SondraBeth convinced me. It’s only for a couple of hours. She said if I killed Monica, the mob would go after Jonny—”

  Henry looked away, held up his hand, and gave a quick shake of his head. “You’re going to exercise the clause b
ecause of Jonny?”

  “It’s only for a couple of hours,” she said pleadingly. “In between the Woman Warrior of the Year Awards and the leg event. Look,” she said, pointing at the red booties. “There they are. Monica’s shoes.”

  “You are going to kill Monica at the Woman Warrior of the Year Awards and then bring her back to life at the Shoe Unveiling?” Henry’s voice was beginning to sound thunderous.

  “Yes,” Pandy said quietly.

  “Who is she, Tinker Bell?”

  Pandy shrugged.

  “You can’t just go around killing creations and then bringing them back to life,” Henry snapped.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s cheap. It’s soap opera—”

  “It’s drama. Monica will die, Jonny will get a talking-to from the mob, and when all that is taken care of, PJ Wallis and Monica will rise up like two phoenixes from the ashes, and everyone will love them again!”

  “You’re sacrificing Monica and risking everything you’ve ever achieved for a man?”

  “I’m doing it for me.”

  “No, you are not. You’re doing it to get even with a man. Meaning, once again, you have allowed your actions to be dictated by a man.”

  Pandy had had enough. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

  Henry paused. He inhaled, exhaled, and then glowered threateningly. “So you’re going to use that as an excuse.”

  “Why not?” she said sharply.

  “If that’s so, then you, my dear, are pitiful. You’re not the Pandemonia James Wallis I know.”

  “Maybe that Pandemonia James Wallis doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe she’s been too beaten down to continue. Just like her sister, Hellenor.”

  Henry drew himself up to his full height. Pandy’s heart sank. She and Henry hadn’t had a fight like this for years. Perhaps ever.

  Henry held up his hand. “I can see you’ve made up your mind. In that case, I suppose congratulations are in order. Your publisher has agreed to publish Lady Wallis, but only because you are dead.”

  “You were the one who told me to stay dead for a couple of hours.”

  “I told you to do nothing. Now, because of this spectacle, your publishers will cry fraud. So if you don’t clear this up immediately, as far as I’m concerned, you are dead.”