CHAPTER SEVEN
FINALLY, PANDY thought, seeing SondraBeth’s number at last. It was one of those blue Sunday evenings, one of those anxious nights in which the future looked inexplicably bleak, when it felt like nothing exciting or good would ever happen again.
“Yarl?” Pandy answered slowly, with one of their silly made-up expressions.
“Peege? It’s meeeeeeee,” SondraBeth squealed joyfully.
“Where have you been?” Pandy scolded, as if she couldn’t live without her. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too. But now I’m back. How are you? You sound down.”
“No. I’m just…” Pandy broke off. What was she? “Bored,” she said.
“I am, too.” SondraBeth spoke into the phone with a salty languor. “I’m so fucking bored.”
“Where are you?” Pandy asked.
SondraBeth laughed, as if Pandy ought to know where she was. “I’m on ‘the island.’”
“The island?” Pandy frowned. “What is that? Some kind of location?”
“Silly!” SondraBeth squealed. “I’m on a secret vacation. At that private island I told you about. In the Turks and Caicos? Where my ex-boyfriend and I used to rent a house?”
“Which one?” Pandy asked, rolling her eyes.
“You’ve got to come down and stay with me,” SondraBeth insisted. Pandy could hear waves crashing in the background.
“Really?” Pandy got up and looked out the window. It was March, and the weather was depressing: blustery one minute, rainy the next. She didn’t have anything on her schedule that couldn’t be moved. The thought of that lusciously warm Caribbean air was suddenly irresistible—and so, too, was the prospect of seeing SondraBeth.
“I think I could come. But when?”
“Tomorrow! You don’t have to stay long. Three days, maybe four.”
“Tomorrow?” Pandy’s heart sank. She looked around. “I can’t get myself together by tomorrow.”
“You don’t understand,” SondraBeth said, sounding like she was strangling a scream. “I can fly you back and forth by private jet.”
“Are you kidding?” Pandy had to put her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming as well.
“No. I mean, yes. I’m serious. Gotta go. My assistant will call you in two seconds to make the arrangements.”
Like clockwork, SondraBeth’s new assistant, Molly, called right after SondraBeth hung up.
In a voice as natural and sweet as the hay in the heartland itself, Molly informed her that a car would be picking her up at nine the next morning to take her to Teterboro, New Jersey, where she would fly directly to the island by private jet. The whole trip, including the ride to the airport, would take a mere three hours. “You’ll be there in time for lunch!” Molly exclaimed.
Bliss, Pandy thought, looking out at the rain.
She hung up the phone, happy again. Thank God for Monica, she thought. As she quickly began packing, she realized how foolish she’d been to get upset about that party. And how silly she was, telling Henry she wouldn’t write another Monica book. What was she thinking? Monica still had her golden touch.
She could change rain into sunshine any old time.
SondraBeth met Pandy’s plane at the airstrip, waving madly from a golf cart while pointing to a colored drink in a plastic cup. “Cheers!” SondraBeth shouted over the noise of the jet’s winding-down engines. She handed Pandy a cup. “The bartender here makes the best rum punch on the islands. It’s a requirement!” She stomped on the gas and the cart took off with a jolt, spilling Pandy’s drink down the front of her shirt.
“Oops!” SondraBeth screamed as they took off bouncing along a rutted dirt road.
Pandy laughed, guessing that this trip would probably end up like that crazy weekend in Martha’s Vineyard.
The villa was right on the beach, on an isolated strip of land with views of the turquoise ocean stretching all the way to the horizon. A housekeeper took Pandy’s bags to her room: king-sized bed, giant-screen TV, French doors leading out to her own private balcony. It was glorious.
SondraBeth hovered while Pandy unpacked, talking a mile a minute about how she’d gone to a spa in Switzerland and how Pandy should go, too. Pandy went into the bathroom to change into her bathing suit; when she came out, she found SondraBeth lounging by a small pool that was set into an incongruous patch of hardy green grass. SondraBeth had removed her blousy cover-up to reveal a string bikini. As Pandy went to lie down in the chaise next to her, she took a good look at SondraBeth and gasped.
“You’ve lost weight!” Pandy exclaimed.
“Can you tell?” SondraBeth asked proudly.
“You’re so…skinny,” Pandy said cautiously. She snuck another look at SondraBeth’s slim physique and wondered if she’d had something done to her thighs and stomach; liposuction perhaps.
“Come on, Peege,” SondraBeth said lightly. “You’d weigh exactly the same if you were a couple of inches taller.”
“You know that’s not true—”
SondraBeth shot Pandy a warning look. “I have to be thin. To play Monica. It’s part of the job. If I gain two pounds, the wardrobe people are all over me. They get really pissed off if they have to keep altering the clothes. They said I have to weigh myself every morning. If I gain a pound, it means I’m supposed to skip dinner.”
“What?” Pandy screamed. “That’s outrageous. This is Monica, not Dickens. Maybe I can call someone.”
“Who?” SondraBeth grinned playfully. “PP? He’s a man. All he cares about are the numbers. He’s probably the one who came up with the idea.”
“That’s terrible, Squeege.”
“That’s the business.” SondraBeth rolled onto her stomach, resting her chin on her hands. She turned her head and looked over at Pandy, her eyes a startling green. “Besides, it’s not that bad. Not for me, anyhow. I’m like a racehorse; I like being in shape, and I like winning.”
“Ha!” Pandy said.
“In any case, I’m not going to apologize for having a good body,” SondraBeth continued, pulling herself forward and leaning over the edge of the chaise. She stared down into the turf. “People are always telling women to lose weight, and then when they do, other women attack them for it. It isn’t fair.”
SondraBeth picked at a short blade of grass. “This whole weight thing is like a conspiracy against women.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Pandy made her fingers into a talking puppet shape, then made the puppet try to bite SondraBeth’s nose.
SondraBeth swept this aside like an annoying fly. She rolled onto her back and gazed at a cloud. “Seriously, Peege. If every woman exercised, just a little, and ate healthy, there would be no need for diet products. And who do you think is getting rich from those diet products? Men.”
SondraBeth suddenly sat up. “Ohmigod. Did I tell you about Doug Stone?”
“What?” Pandy squeezed a tube of sunscreen too hard, causing a glob of lotion to shoot out and land on her thigh. “Did you see him? In Europe?”
“No. But somebody else did.” SondraBeth’s eyes narrowed. “You remember that girl? That other girl.”
Pandy shook her head.
“You know, the actress? The one who wanted to play me? I mean, Monica. And then I got the part?”
“Lala Grinada?” Pandy gasped.
“That’s the bitch. Well, she must really hate you, because guess who’s been seen all over Paris with Drug Stoner?”