Killing Monica

“Freddie says he’s sure Jonny will be back. I mean, where else would he go, right? He’s looking for Hellenor. Naturally, he would think that you’d come here.”

Pandy frowned, recalling what he’d said on the screen. “He’s at Gay Street,” she said quickly.

Gay Street. Where Henry lived. Where Jonny had been before. On the day of that fateful snowstorm. When they fell in love.

Jonny knew Pandy would go there to hide out. It was the perfect place for a showdown.

* * *

Sure enough, there he was, on the stoop of Henry’s house.

“Look at him,” SondraBeth said, flattening herself around the curve of the street so Jonny couldn’t see them. “He’s just standing there. He’s like a sitting duck.”

Pandy peeked around the corner at Jonny. He was as handsome as ever. It was such a shame he was so pathetic.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” SondraBeth said. And straightening her cowboy hat, she turned into Monica. Monica, with her country-girl swagger. Her confidence. Her innate belief that everything would always go her way. In her very best Monica voice, SondraBeth started toward him, saying, “Oh, Jonny? It’s me. It’s Monica?

?”

“No, wait!” Pandy said. She marched down the sidewalk in her sequined dress. As she ripped off the wig, she got right in Jonny’s face and said, “Now look here, Diaper Boy. It’s me, Pandy. So when it comes to Hellenor—”

Jonny’s eyebrows shot up. And then he smiled, as if he’d known this was going to happen all along.

“I knew you’d come here.” He started circling her like a boxer.

“Because I know my own fucking wife, right?” he continued. “And what a creep she is. I knew you’d pull a stunt like this to get out of paying me. You’re a big fucking cheat. And I’m going to make sure all the world finds out. That, and the fact that the only reason I married you was because I thought you were Monica.” He broke off, gave her one last vicious sneer, and began walking away.

“Huh?” Pandy said, gobsmacked.

Jonny stopped, turned around, and strode back to ridicule her further. “And what are you going to do about it?” he jeered. “Nothing, right? Because you never do anything. You’re just what I said you were—a weak, judgmental woman. You think you’re so high and mighty, like you’d never make a mistake. Well, you just made a huge mistake, baby. Who is Hellenor Wallis?”

Pandy blanched.

“Well?” Jonny demanded. He took her by the shoulders and shook her, hard. “Does Hellenor Wallis even exist? Or did you make her up, too?”

“I—” Thoughts spun around in her head while Jonny went on mercilessly:

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did she die, too? How convenient.” He gave her another violent shake that made her teeth rattle.

The edges of Pandy’s vision went black. “It wasn’t like that,” she choked out.

“Then where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Jonny emitted a harsh laugh. “What were you planning to do when they tracked down the real Hellenor?”

Thwack! A pointy-toed cowboy boot hit Jonny square in the forehead. He let go of Pandy and spun around. And there was good old Squeege with her arm pulled back, ready to give Jonny another thunk if necessary.

“Come on,” SondraBeth said as she hailed a taxi.

Pulling Jonny from the front while Pandy pushed him from behind, they bundled him into the backseat, where he was lodged between the two of them.

Just like the ham in one of his famous jambon sandwiches, Pandy thought smugly.

“What the hell!” Jonny snarled.

Heading toward Soho, Pandy took in the colorful beads of the San Geronimo revelers reeling past the car. “You know what?” Jonny blared, like a megaphone at a parade. “You were a really bad fucking wife. Did I ever tell you that? Okay, you were good in bed. At first. But that’s about it.”