An intake of breath, like the dry rustling of leaves as the crowd considered this information.
Pandy continued, strolling to the other side of the platform, grateful to be away from the sight of Jonny. “And while revenge might seem like the right answer, at some point during the past forty-eight hours—in which I’ve been involved in an explosion, suffered a case of mistaken identity, and accepted an award for being dead—somewhere along that journey, I realized that revenge against a man because he didn’t give me my happy ending wasn’t the answer. Because a happy ending with a man is never going to be my happy ending. Nor is it going to be Monica’s happy ending. But that’s okay, because every woman’s happy ending doesn’t have to be the same. And it doesn’t have to involve a man.”
Heart pumping in her chest, Pandy looked across the stage at SondraBeth. SondraBeth caught her glance and threw it back to her with that old PandaBeth smile.
“Because there are some things that matter more than a man,” Pandy said, gaining momentum as she walked across what felt like miles and miles of stage to reach SondraBeth’s side. “And those things are friendship—and being true to yourself.”
Gazing out past the shimmering screens and into the bright lights of the city, she saw herself as an eager young woman taking it all in, her heart and soul aching to belong, believing she could conquer all obstacles. It had been a long struggle, but she had painted the town every color of the rainbow.
And then she knew what she had to do.
Pandy looked up at the giant image of Monica and smiled ruefully.
“And so, as much as we both love Monica, we’ve allowed ourselves to be Monica for too long,” she continued. “Maybe it was because we wanted too much. Or maybe it was because we were scared. Or maybe it was because we fell in love with the wrong men.”
Pandy shook her head at Jonny, who was still dangling from his straps as a fireman on a ladder tried to grab his ankle.
“But none of those reasons matter,” she said, slinging her arm around SondraBeth’s shoulder. “Because the truth is that this woman—SondraBeth Schnowzer, whom most of you know only as Monica—doesn’t want to play Monica anymore. And I don’t want her to, either.”
The crowd, at last, went silent.
Into the silence came a lone voice. Perhaps it was the voice of a Hellenor, or even of a SondraBeth or perhaps of a Pandy herself—the voice of any woman who was sure she didn’t belong and was sick of trying: “Kill Monica. Please.”
And then, like the fresh breeze that presages the arrival of better weather, a tinkle of laughter came from the audience. It grew and grew until it was rushing like the gathering waters of spring, racing downriver from the mountains to the sea. The noise of laughter commingled with those cheery notes from the Monica theme song, and SondraBeth and Pandy began singing along. And for one last moment, it was all a blur…
Until reality came flooding back in. Specifically in the form of wincing foot pain. Pandy’s feet felt like those of a young girl after a long, exhausting day spent pounding the pavement. Back then, her feet had been able to go on forever. With a sigh of relief, she realized that unlike the young woman she’d once been, it was okay to leave the party before the blisters set in.
She turned to Judy.
“Are you ready?” Judy asked, glancing quickly over her shoulder to where SondraBeth was still onstage, and probably would be for quite a bit longer. “Do you mind going down alone?” she asked, motioning for the stage manager to help Pandy onto the elevator.
“No,” Pandy said. “I don’t mind.”
She stepped onto the platform and, pressing the red button, went back down to earth.
Where PP was waiting. “Goddammit, PJ Wallis. I should have known this so-called ‘Hellenor’ was you. Now let me tell you something. If you think you and SondraBeth are going to get away with this little stunt, you’re wrong. You have absolutely no authority to kill a creation that no longer legally belongs to you. The studio already has a pack of lawyers lined up to deal with the two of you…”
Pandy held up her hand. “You know what, PP?” she asked. She paused to think of what she really wanted to say. And just like the Senator squeezing those imaginary balls, she realized the message was simple but effective:
“Fuck you!” she said with an exuberant shout.
And feeling quite pleased with herself, despite knowing that her career in the movies was probably over, she exited the building through the same door she’d entered. Where she ran right into Henry on the sidewalk.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” he asked, looking her up and down appraisingly.
Pandy glared at him. “I thought I was dead to you.”
“I said if you went through with it, you would be dead to me.”
“You know what?” Pandy said. “I’m too tired for this. You should be grateful to me. I may not be Lady Wallis, but at least I managed to keep your secret.”
“And I managed to keep yours as well.” Henry reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded letter. “While you were busy prancing around Manhattan like a moldy Monica, I was busy making us money. From your new character.”
“Lady Wallis?” Pandy gasped.
“This, my dear, is a commitment letter from your publisher to publish Lady Wallis, whether or not you yourself are alive.”
“Oh, Henry!” Pandy flung open her arms and hugged his narrow shoulders. “I knew you could sell Lady Wallis if you just tried!”