Killing Monica

* * *

Pandy awoke at noon the next day. She felt ragged, torn, and feeble, like an old woman who was no longer in control of her world.

SondraBeth was on the deck, reading a script and nursing a Bloody Mary.

Pandy looked around. “Where’s Doug?”

“He went bonefishing.”

“Is that another one of your sick jokes?”

“My sick jokes?” SondraBeth asked, astounded.

“Doug came into my room last night.”

“So?” SondraBeth stared at her as if she didn’t understand. “You look like you need a Bloody Mary. Want me to make you one?”

“Doug came into my room last night,” Pandy repeated. “After he was with you.”

For a second, the aftermath of an emotion raced across SondraBeth’s face—anger, surprise, consternation?—before she opened her mouth. “Oh,” she said, and laughed.

“Oh?” Pandy demanded.

“Well.” She shrugged.

“How sick is that?”

“I don’t know.” SondraBeth smiled queasily.

“You don’t know?”

“Oh, Pandy.” She sighed. “I told him to.”

“You what?”

“I told him to,” she repeated. “I sent him to you. Like a present?”

“A present?”

“Why not? Share and share alike.” She went back to her screenplay. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” She glanced up at Pandy again. “How was it?”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Pandy said coldly. “I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t need to be. I have standards. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“But you have everything to do with this. You invited him to the island for Monica, remember?”

Pandy stormed out of the villa. She jumped into the golf cart and took off. She had no idea what she was doing, but halfway around the island, a tan, shirtless man leaped out of the brush and into her path. Pandy screamed and swerved into a cactus, the cart jouncing backward from the impact. The side of her head hit the roll bar.

She cried out in pain and anger as tears stung her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Doug! What the hell are you doing?”

“Why were you driving so fast?” Doug asked. He grabbed the side of the cart to keep it from rolling and leaned over her to turn off the key. He had the damp, grassy odor of fresh sweat and marijuana.

Pandy pushed past him and got out of the cart, rubbing the bump on her head. “I wasn’t driving fast. What were you doing in the middle of the road?”

“I was looking for you,” he said.

Pandy gave him a dirty look. “Why?”

She got back into the cart and began backing it up. Doug ran around to the other side, gripp