was protected by a metal gate in a chain-link fence. Pandy breathed a sigh of relief as the SUV pulled up to a loading dock that led to the backstage area. The water she’d chugged had made its way to her bladder, and now she had to pee. She sat up in anticipation of bolting from the car.
The door to the SUV swung open. SondraBeth rose slightly on bent knees and, ratcheting herself around to face the open door, assessed the situation.
“I’m going to need a ramp,” she said.
“She needs a ramp. Someone get her a ramp,” came the sound of male voices shouting from below.
Pandy sighed deeply and pushed back into her seat, squeezing her thighs together. This was annoying. SondraBeth was blocking the door. Pandy couldn’t go forward or backward until someone got that damn ramp.
This was why she hated showbiz.
“Maybe you could change your shoes?” Pandy asked, wondering how much longer she could hold out for the bathroom. “Maybe if you had on different shoes, you could get the hell out, and then we could all get the hell out.”
“No,” SondraBeth hissed angrily. “This is it. This is the outfit. I can put it on once, and then it has to stay on as is until I take the whole thing off. Get it?”
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