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.”
“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.