Killing Monica

And so, as she often did when faced with the chance of being hurt, Pandy became ridiculously silly instead.

“Run, Doug, run!” she said again.

Immediately this became the theme for the afternoon, with Pandy and SondraBeth shouting the phrase every time Doug went to refresh his drink, came out of the ocean, or even headed to the bathroom. “Run, Doug, run!” It never failed to spin them into gales of laughter.

Dinner was raucous; they behaved as if they were some kind of remarkable threesome. When SondraBeth got up to go to the bathroom, Doug ran his fingers down the back of Pandy’s neck, a gesture that snapped her senses into overdrive.

“How is she?” Doug asked with sudden seriousness.

“Who?”

“SondraBeth,” he hissed, as if she had some kind of fatal disease.

“I think she’s okay,” Pandy said sardonically, wondering at Doug’s question. He’d spent the whole afternoon with them. Couldn’t he see how well SondraBeth was doing?

Doug smiled. “I’m glad you two are still friends.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

Doug slowly drew the tip of his finger over the top of her hand. His touch was so light, her skin seemed to swoon. “It’s hard for women to be friends in this business. There’s a lot of competition and backstabbing.”

“So I’ve heard. Like with SondraBeth and Lala Grinada.” Pandy finished her glass of red wine while Doug reached for the bottle to pour her another. Thanks to the sun and the rum punches they’d consumed all afternoon, she knew another glass of wine was the last thing she needed, but she took it nonetheless.

“Speaking of which, what is the story with Lala?” Pandy demanded.

“Her?” Doug shrugged. “She’s just a friend.”

“Really?” Pandy asked with exaggerated curiosity. “That’s not what SondraBeth said. She said you and Lala were seen together all over Paris.”

“So?”

“She said Lala went after you. To get even with her, over Monica.” Pandy shook her head as if the theory were too ridiculous to contemplate.

“That’s because SondraBeth needs Monica.” Playfully he tapped her on the nose. “More than you. More than anyone, really.”

Pandy rolled her eyes. “Doug, that’s crazy. Monica is a character. She’s like a geometric object. Yes, she has sides—maybe she even has six, like a hexagon. But she’s still an object. Objects have boundaries; they don’t interact the way people do.”

Doug looked at her in awe. “You’re smart, Pandy. That’s what I always say about you when people ask. ‘That girl Pandy? She’s smart.’”

“Doug, please.” Pandy sighed. She suddenly saw that his flattery about her talents, which had once thrilled her, was merely another part of his act.

Nevertheless, when SondraBeth returned to the table, they ordered another bottle of red wine. By the time they left the restaurant, they’d all had too much to drink, and Doug had to carry Pandy out. As SondraBeth wove next to them, clutching Doug’s arm, Pandy caught a surprising look of displeasure on her face—surprising because SondraBeth rarely disapproved of Pandy’s bad behavior, no doubt figuring it made her look good in comparison. But when her expression turned from displeasure to pale anger, Pandy suddenly realized the truth: SondraBeth wanted Doug, too.

Of course she did. Pandy wondered what the hell she’d been thinking. She’d had this ridiculous idea that because of all her talk about teaching Lala Grinada a lesson, SondraBeth actually wanted Pandy and Doug to be together. Sickened, she saw now that this wasn’t the case.

By the time they walked into the house, Pandy was silently and irrationally furious. SondraBeth, meanwhile, had recovered her equilibrium. She put on music, and she and Doug began to slow dance. Their focus on each other was so intense, it was like Pandy wasn’t even there.

Defeated, Pandy went into her room and slammed the door. She crawled into bed, bunching the pillow into her face to silence her fury. Once again, “Monica” had made her feel like she didn’t belong.

* * *

It seemed just moments later when she was awakened by a weight on her bed. She was too confused to scream, wondering if she’d dreamed it, and then she felt the tickle of Doug’s hair on her neck. “Pandy?” he whispered.

“Doug?”

He slipped under the covers next to her, holding a finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” he said. “Can I come in?”

She sat up, knocking her head against his. “Ow!”