to give them this gift—their own private movie about their very own lives.
And when the billboard was finally complete, when Monica’s leg had at last been raised, revealing her famous neon blue spike-heeled bootie, they had looked at each other and screamed:
“It’s you! It’s you!”
“No, it’s you! That part is definitely you!”
Leading to the inevitable conclusion: “It’s both of us!”
And then SondraBeth had walked to the window and said, “Monica? I’ve a feeling we’re not in Montana anymore.”
Pandy felt a sudden stab of yearning, not just for Monica, but for SondraBeth Schnowzer, too. This desire to see her former best friend again—to laugh giddily as if the entire world were their playground—was confusing. SondraBeth had dealt her a terrible blow, and they hadn’t spoken for years. Ever since that moment in the ladies’ room when SondraBeth had warned her about Jonny.
SondraBitch, she’d thought.
And now both Jonny and SondraBeth Schnowzer were dead to her.
And that was the essential problem with Monica. Monica made it look easy when it wasn’t. No one ever asked the legions of Monica lovers to consider the years of struggle and hard work it would have taken Monica to become Monica; the self-doubt, the self-loathing, the fear, the sheer amount of energy required to set a goal and keep at it day after day, with no immediate reward in sight and the possibility that it might never materialize at all. On the other hand, who wanted reality? Reality was depressing. And free.
* * *
Pandy was almost finished writing by the time the entire billboard went up and she’d seen her name in those crisp white letters. Smaller and smaller each year, perhaps, but nevertheless, still there:
BASED ON THE BOOKS BY P.J. WALLIS
Pandy looked back at the billboard and frowned. Monica’s leg was still missing. It had never been late before.
Maybe it was a sign?
She hit SEND.
And then the landline began ringing. Only a few people had the number, including Henry and her divorce lawyer, Hiram.
Hopefully, it was Henry. But she’d happily take Hiram.
“Hello?” Pandy said into the receiver.
“Congratulations!” a man bellowed.
“What?” Who is this? she almost asked.
“You, young lady, are free.”
“Hiram?”
“He’s agreed to it all.”
“He has?”
“Yup.”
“What about the numbers?”
“What we wanted.”
“Ohmigod!” Pandy shrieked.
“I knew I’d make you happy,” Hiram purred. “Remember the first day I met you? Remember what I told you? ‘My wife and daughters just love Monica.’ I promised I’d do right by you.”
“And you have. And I’m so grateful.” And then a second thought: “Did he actually sign? On the dotted line?”
“You mean, with the actual John Hancock? No, he did not. Nevertheless, he verbally agreed. And when you verbally agree in front of four of New York City’s top thousand-dollar-an-hour litigators, you do not go back on your word. Let’s just say we gave him a little talking-to, and he’s agreed to see things our way.”
Pandy laughed nervously. “You mean, my way.”
“Your way, our way, it’s all the same way, isn’t it?”
“Well, golly,” Pandy said. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen so soon.”
“I know. After all the hell he’s put you through. Put us through. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve seen everything. One of my guys canceled his vacation to get the paperwork finished. His daughters love Monica, too.”
“Thank God for Monica.” Pandy paused and inhaled deeply as reality began to set in. “In that case, I suppose Jonny will be wanting his check.”
Hiram laughed. “I suppose he will. But don’t think about the money. Go out and celebrate. You are now officially free from that asshole.”
Hiram hung up.
For a moment Pandy could only stand there, dazed.
Divorced.
Free.
Suddenly the world came rushing back to her in all its Technicolor glory.
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
PJ WALLIS! Is that really you? And what the hell are you wearing?” screamed Suzette as she came barreling into the loft, followed by a posse of Pandy’s twelve closest girlfriends.
“I’m back!” Pandy shrieked, removing the silver-sequined cardboard top hat from her head and giving a little bow. Suzette grabbed her around the shoulders, and they jumped up and down like ten-year-olds.
“I need a drink,” Meghan announced. “These divorce parties make me nervous. What if it happens to me?”
“It will inevitably happen to you, and then you will get one of these.” Suzette thrust her left hand under Meghan’s nose so she could get a closer look at the large yellow stone. “Ten carats. Unfortunately the guy who comes with it is eighty and has liver spots, but if he wants to pretend he’s younger than he is,