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 because 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!”