Pandy didn’t go. She was nervous for SondraBeth, but mostly, she was embarrassed. During the full day it had taken her to recover, Pandy realized that no doubt everyone else would turn out to be right, and SondraBeth wouldn’t be able to act at all. And then PP would be annoyed with her for wasting his time, and SondraBeth would be devastated. Pandy would have to deal with that startled, hopeless, beaten-down expression she saw on the faces of all the actresses who’d auditioned and knew they weren’t getting the part. Pandy would have to walk SondraBeth to the door, where they would say their goodbyes and never see each other again.
And that would be that. Recovering from the party and its aftermath—four hours of housekeeping’s cleaning the room, Doug Stone’s insistence on staying for breakfast and ordering enough room service for three people, SondraBeth asking if she could borrow Pandy’s dress for the audition, and Pandy having to come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t—had left her feeling slightly unhinged. As if she’d inadvertently stumbled onto the set of someone else’s porn movie.
But maybe that was just an excuse for her own nerves.
At three o’clock, her phone bleated. It was Roger calling to let her know that SondraBeth had aced the audition, and that PP himself would be calling shortly. “She did great,” Roger informed her. “She was Monica—or rather, PJ Wallis. It was uncanny. She was exactly like you.”
Two long minutes passed before the phone rang again.
“PP for PJ Wallis, please,” the hushed girl-woman voice said as PP himself came on the line.
“Congratulations,” he said briskly, as if he barely had time for the call. “I’ll see you and SondraBeth tomorrow for lunch. Jessica,” he added to his assistant, “make the arrangements.”
Pandy hung up and sank to her knees in triumph.
She had won.
* * *
She and SondraBeth had a stiff, civilized lunch with PP on the terrace under the pink-and-white striped awnings at the Hotel Bel-Air. Pandy admired the swans, and everyone behaved like adults. Pandy limited herself to one glass of champagne, and SondraBeth didn’t drink at all.
One month later, when SondraBeth Schnowzer mov
ed to New York City, Pandy welcomed her real, live Monica with open arms.
CHAPTER FIVE
THAT FIRST summer, Pandy and SondraBeth were inseparable. Monica was in preproduction, and Pandy was consulted on locations and costumes and a variety of surprising details she’d never considered—but mostly she was tasked with instructing SondraBeth in the ways of becoming herself, and therefore Monica.
And so the transformation began: SondraBeth’s hair was colored to match Pandy’s by the very same stylist who did Pandy’s hair; she was given replicas of Pandy’s jewelry; she was even instructed to buy the exact same shoes that Pandy wore, in order to learn how to walk in them.
And because pink champagne was Pandy’s, and therefore Monica’s, favorite drink, it had to become SondraBeth’s as well. Along with Pandy’s social life. And so wherever Pandy went, SondraBeth went, too. This meant going to Joules almost every night, and to basically every other kind of social event imaginable, including the Polo in Bridgehampton, where SondraBeth eagerly stomped the divots and acquired a bevy of handsome new polo-player friends.
In general, SondraBeth was wonderfully game. She’d call Pandy into her room to solicit her opinion on what to wear, and would listen with great interest to Pandy’s precise briefings on who would be at what event and how they fit into the social strata, as if they were colored data points on a graph.
Unlike Pandy herself, however, back then, SondraBeth never wanted to stay Monica for long.
“I’m a country girl,” she’d say, scrubbing off her makeup with soap and changing into the loose, baggy clothing she favored when she didn’t have to be “on.” “I grew up helping the vet pull calves out of some cow’s butt. I’ve seen it all, sista, and let me tell you, it’s not all pretty.” And then she’d give Pandy a shit-eating grin, and in a voice reminiscent of Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz, she would add, “Not like here. Not like in Monica Land.”
Pandy had to laugh. SondraBeth wasn’t far wrong—and instead of the yellow brick road, they had miles of sidewalks, filled with glittering displays of the most glamorous life New York City had to offer.
Besides her hardscrabble background, Pandy discovered a few more things about her real-life Monica. Interestingly, these were the kinds of things that Monica herself never would have experienced firsthand.
Such as: SondraBeth had dated a heroin addict. Her most recent ex, she explained, was a well-known actor with a nasty habit on the side. “I thought he was the love of my life, but then I found out he loved his heroin more than he loved me. You know your life is pretty bad when you can’t even compete with a bag of smack.”
Pandy laughed appreciatively. Encouraged, SondraBeth continued. “He said, ‘I love you, babe, but I love my horsie more.’ That’s what he called it: ‘my horsie.’ And even then, I didn’t want to leave him. That’s how stupid I was. But my agent and manager said I had to cut all ties.” She shrugged; despite claiming she would never be a slave to the business, it seemed her agent and her manager wielded more power than most people’s parents. “They told me to stay out of LA for a while. Take something in New York. That’s why I was so desperate to play Monica.”
“I thought you were desperate to play Monica because of me,” Pandy replied, feeling surprisingly hurt.
“Of course I wanted to play Monica because of you,” SondraBeth quickly countered, slinging her arm over Pandy’s shoulder. “But you already know that, Peege. Monica is about you and me. Not some stupid guy.”
This had made Pandy laugh. Because no matter how hard SondraBeth tried to ignore men, they simply could not tear their eyes away from her.
Pandy had had plenty of experience with the kind of electrical sexual attraction that women of great beauty exerted on men; a few of these great beauties were her closest friends. She had seen, all too often, how even the most accomplished and intelligent man could be easily reduced to his base animal desires when presented with a gorgeous woman—not to mention the self-serving fantasy that accompanied the prospect of sex. But even the seductive arts of a great beauty paled in comparison to what SondraBeth had. Her physical perfection was coupled with enormous charisma: she un-self-consciously managed to be wildly flirtatious while still remaining “one of the guys.” Pandy figured it must be due to some kind of survival mechanism. After all, unlike her own, the success or failure of SondraBeth’s career rested in the hands of men like PP.
“Who needs a man, anyway?” SondraBeth had nevertheless declared. “It’s not like we don’t have plenty of fun without them.”
This, Pandy did agree with. They did have plenty of fun. Too much fun in the eyes of some, as she would soon discover.