Killing Monica

“Oh, me too,” Pandy said. “I’m just going to stay in my house and work on the next Monica book.”

“Good idea,” Henry said. “Oh, by the way, how was Jonny?”

Jonny?

Pandy had to suddenly sit back down on the bed. The sound of Jonny’s name caused an uncontrollable physical reaction. A sort of melting sensation between her legs, as if the next time she saw Jonny, she wouldn’t be able to walk.

She’d be like ice cream puddled in his hands.

“Hello? Are you there?” Henry cracked.

Pandy coughed. “He was fine. It was nothing.”

“Good,” Henry said. “Check me later.”

“You too, bro,” Pandy replied casually.

After she hung up, she ran back to the window and looked out. It was bad out there, but not terrible. Not bad enough to deter someone like her. Growing up in Wallis, she’d been through huge snowstorms. She knew how to navigate difficult weather.

And maybe even difficult men, she thought dreamily, thinking of Jonny. And that’s when she decided: Somewhere, somehow, on this magical snow day, she was going to see Jonny.

* * *

She made a large pot of coffee and turned back to the TV.

The mayor was speaking at an emergency press conference, exhorting everyone who was not emergency personnel to remain inside.

Then the storm expert spoke. The snow would continue for the next hour, followed by a brief moment of calm, when the eye of the storm would reach the city. Residents shouldn’t be fooled: When the eye passed over, the winds would pick up another blast of cold air, and—blah, blah, blah, Pandy thought dismissively. The expert described what would come next as a storm of biblical proportions: ice, sleeting rain, snowballs the size of baseballs—perhaps even a plague of frozen locusts—but Pandy wasn’t concerned.

Nor was she worried about the mayor’s insistence that residents stay inside. Those kinds of warnings were only for people who hadn’t grown up with nor’easters.

A satellite map came up on the TV screen. The eye of the storm, shown in pink, was inching straight for the center of Manhattan like a large frosted cupcake.

Pandy became efficient. She did some calculations and checked her watch. The eye would reach Manhattan in fifty-two minutes. After that, everyone would have another fifteen minutes to get where they were going before the next blast hit.

She would need to be inside by then. Someplace safe where she could wait out the storm.

Like Jonny’s house, she thought wickedly, recalling how he’d mentioned that he still lived in the same apartment building he’d grown up in on Second Avenue.

She would have to come up with a very good reason for showing up at his door, but no doubt she’d think of something along the way.

She quickly got dressed in several layers, including stretchy high-tech long underwear, an eight-ply cashmere sweater, bright orange ski pants with zippered pockets, and then the pièce de résistance: a hooded Bogner ski coat with an embroidered dragon on the back. Admiring the coat, she was reminded of how her interest in fashion was merely an outgrowth of her love of sports gear. She had grown up in it: horse gear, skiing gear, skating gear, fishing gear, hunting gear—just about any activity that required its own special outfit.

It was twenty-two degrees outside, but Pandy figured she was wearing enough high-tech snow gear to cross an ice floe.

She got into the elevator, pressed the button for the ground floor, and smiled, thinking of Jonny.

After giving each other goo-goo eyes all night, she and Jonny had finally gotten a moment alone. They were about to have their first kiss when the manager appeared, breathless and worried.

“I think you’d better take MJ home,” he’d insisted to Jonny.

MJ did indeed look quite green around the gills. Her turban had come loose from its moorings and was hanging by an elastic strap, resting on the side of her face like a deflating balloon.

Poor MJ! Jonny said she had recurrent Lyme disease.

MJ was so different from the other mothers Pandy had known. And when you had a mother like MJ…

You get a son like Jonny, Pandy thought as a silly grin froze on her face.