“Sure,” SondraBeth said, taking a shot. “If it hadn’t been for you and Monica, who knows how my life would have ended up? But then Monica came along. And it was such a great opportunity. And then it was all about Monica…”
“But Montana?” Pandy asked, slurring slightly. “I thought you said you hated the place.”
“I did. But I went back a couple of years ago when my father died. And my mother and I kind of made up. Mom, as it turns out, loves Monica. And when I was finally successful…” SondraBeth put down her empty glass. “She kind of had to admit that she was wrong about me as a child. I wasn’t going to end up in jail after all.”
Pandy laughed. “You were never going to end up in jail.”
SondraBeth raised her eyebrows. “I got pretty close a couple of times. I ran away from home, remember? I became a stripper. It could have turned out that Mom was right.”
“I remember,” Pandy said gently. “You told me about it. That night on the Vineyard.”
SondraBeth laughed and sipped at her beer. “I was so afraid to tell you because I thought if you knew, you’d think there was no way I could be Monica.”
“You know better than that,” Pandy said. “Come on, sista. Remember how I told you I didn’t have the best childhood myself? How my sister tried to kill herself when she was sixteen? And then my parents died. And then—” Pandy inhaled sharply, catching herself before she said more. Just like that time on the Vineyard, she’d almost spilled her biggest secret. Which wasn’t hers to tell.
“You never told me that story about Hellenor,” SondraBeth said.
“It was nothing,” Pandy said quickly, waving it away. “It was a long time ago. She’s fine now.”
SondraBeth shook her head musingly. “I always thought it was going to be you and me, you know? That somehow, we’d be the ones steering this Monica thing. How’d we lose control?”
“Men,” Pandy said.
“Men.” SondraBeth’s eyes narrowed.
And then they both looked up at the bar’s TV.
This time, they didn’t look away. It was the same news loop, but now it was all about Hellenor.
“Last seen with SondraBeth Schnowzer—” A shot of SondraBeth in her black wedding dress, staring blankly into the camera, then a close-up of Pandy, looking terrified—“An outbreak of chaos”—wide shot of hundreds of women shouting into their devices, handbags swinging, ankles buckling, tablecloths torn from tables as they ran toward the exit…
And then another close-up of Pandy at the Woman Warrior Awards: “Authorities seeking information about the woman who claims to be Hellenor Wallis—”
And then to Jonny again, in a new clip: “I’m onto you, Hellenor. I’m looking for you—”
And finally, a live shot of the Monica billboard. “Due to the mysterious disappearance of SondraBeth Schnowzer, the studio is considering canceling the Shoe Unveiling.”
“Now that really would be a shame,” said the announcer.
“And now, live, back to the San Geronimo festival.”
SondraBeth didn’t look at Pandy as she casually put down three twenty-dollar bills. “Keep the change,” she called out to the bartender, who nodded.
And once again, they were running. The lyrics from the Talking Heads’ “Life During Wartime” played over and over in Pandy’s mind as she dodged hot dog stands, small fuzzy animals attached to leashes, zombie humans attached to their devices, old people on bicycles, electrically silent taxis, flattened cardboard boxes, trucks, police cars, and an ambulance or two.
They ran all the way to Union Square, darting between the booths in the farmers’ market, into the center of the square. Where, finally, Pandy stopped panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. Above her head, screens mounted on the tall buildings flashed tickertapes of useless information. The national debt. What was trending. The most famous person on Instalife. The number one photograph. And with the exception of the national debt—insurmountable, immutable, and dependably growing—Monica was at the top of the list.
Monica was everywhere. Pandy could never outrun her, never outgrow her, and most of all, never kill her.
Monica was totally fine.
Monica was safe.
On the other hand, with Jonny still on the loose and blabbing to the press about Hellenor, Hellenor might not be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SONDRABETH caught up with Pandy on Eighth Street. “What the fuck?” she shouted.
“Jonny.” Pandy turned, her eyes blazing. “He’s still on the loose.”
She began walking again, heading diagonally through Washington Square Park, past the old men playing their endless games of chess. Jonny looking into Hellenor’s background was the one part of the equation she hadn’t considered when they’d cooked up this scheme to get even with him. In her attempt at revenge, she’d stupidly put Hellenor at risk. Jonny asking who Hellenor was; the authorities looking into Hellenor’s background? That was not good.
SondraBeth grabbed her arm. “What’s this about?”
“I can’t say,” Pandy said stubbornly.
SondraBeth looked at her closely. “It’s about Hellenor, isn’t it? What’s the big secret? Is Hellenor some kind of axe murderer?”
“Please,” Pandy said. “She’s just someone who wants to live her life a certain way, and I’ve always tried to respect her wishes. She’s my sister.” Pandy reached Houston and, looking left and right, began crossing against the light.
SondraBeth walked briskly next to her. “Okay. I get it,” she said. “I won’t ask questions.”
“Great. Just help me find Jonny before he says anything more about Hellenor.”
“What about the leg?”
“This is more important than those union guys,” Pandy muttered.
Jonny, she figured, must still be in front of her building, looking for her. At least he had been ten minutes ago, when she’d seen him on one of the screens.
Halfway down her block, however, she was forced to stop. The base of her building was cluttered with the debris of flowers, Monica dolls, and pink plastic champagne glasses. A large group of women were holding up hand-lettered LET MONICA LIVE! posters.
“Are you a Monica fan?” one of them asked Pandy.
“Yes, actually I am.”
“Will you sign the petition?”
“For what?” Pandy said, looking around for Jonny.
“To let Monica live.”
A black town car pulled up to the curb. The back window slid down and Freddie the Rat stuck his head out.
“Freddie!” SondraBeth exclaimed, rushing the car. She and Freddie had a brief conversation, and then the window went up.
“Well?” Pandy demanded as the car drove away.
“Freddie says he’s sure Jonny will be back. I mean, where else would he go, right? He’s looking for Hellenor. Naturally, he would think that you’d come here.”
Pandy frowned, recalling what he’d said on the screen. “He’s at Gay Street,” she said quickly.
Gay Street. Where Henry lived. Where Jonny had been before. On the day of that fateful snowstorm. When they fell in love.
Jonny knew Pandy would go there to hide out. It was the perfect place for a showdown.
Sure enough, there he was, on the stoop of Henry’s house.
“Look at him,” SondraBeth said, flattening herself around the curve of the street so Jonny couldn’t see them. “He’s just standing there. He’s like a sitting duck.”
Pandy peeked around the corner at Jonny. He was as handsome as ever. It was such a shame he was so pathetic.