Killing Monica

Pandy ran toward Mother Teresa, grabbed the head scarf, and put it over her own head. She lifted the robes of the old mannequin, and they came off in a swirl of loosened threads. She spied a burka on another mannequin. She tugged on the headpiece and the garment flew off in a single stroke. Clutching the fabric, she ran down the hallway and into SondraBeth’s dressing room.

SondraBeth was standing with one bare leg up on the counter. Following her gaze to the end of SondraBeth’s leg, Pandy suddenly understood why SondraBeth could barely walk: her boots were taped to her ankles with electrical tape.

Pandy gasped as SondraBeth cried out, “Shut the door!”

While SondraBeth’s body was still cocooned in her Spanx, her Monica costume was hanging in shreds from her shoulders.

“How’d you—” Pandy gasped.

“Get out of the costume?” SondraBeth held up her fingers and displayed her buildings. “These.” She went back to doing what she’d been doing before Pandy walked in—expertly slicing away the electrical tape to free her feet. “We need to get out of here,” she said calmly.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take off that leather jacket and put on Mother Teresa’s robe.” She fell back slightly as her foot came out of the boot. “And hand me that burka,” she added.

Pandy had the burka in one hand and the robe in the other. “Which should I do first?” she asked, terrified.

“It’s like the air mask on an airplane. Put your own mask on first. And then help others.”

“Okay,” Pandy said, taking off her leather jacket. Her pulse was beating at the base of her throat. She slipped the tattered blue robe over her shoulders and handed SondraBeth the burka.

“Good,” SondraBeth said, sliding it over her head and freeing her other foot at the same time.

“Are we going to the SUV?” Pandy whispered. Already the Monica shoes were killing her.

“We’re making an emergency exit.” SondraBeth looked around quickly, as if making sure she wasn’t leaving anything important behind.

“What about the Warrior Woman?” Pandy asked.

“She stays here. A PA will get it.” SondraBeth slid her feet into a pair of running shoes.

“Knock knock,” Judy said urgently.

“Coming,” SondraBeth said. She unlocked the door and Judy opened it, holding it just wide enough for the two of them to slip out.

“Food court,” Judy said into her microphone. She walked briskly ahead of them, talking into her mike while beckoning them along. There were more people in the hallway now, and they looked worried. The way people look when something bad has happened and all they can think about is how not to get blamed for it.

“Keep your head down and stay next to me,” SondraBeth whispered.

Judy opened another door, and they were hit by the sweet smell of meat and dough and cheese. Suddenly they were in a bustle of humanity; paparazzi shoving food into their mouths while tapping their screens and hastily gathering up equipment for the next assault. A man shoved Pandy so hard, she nearly fell. “Out of the way, granny.”

Next to her, SondraBeth was chugging along determinedly. “Keep moving,” she said, steering straight into the crowd massing toward the main entrance.

Pandy heard the bellowing shouts of policemen trying to control the unruly crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” one of them yelled, trying to get the crowd to turn away. “Monica has left the building!”

“Monica collapsed,” she heard someone say. “Ambulance on its way.”

“Missing, I heard—” said someone else.

And then they were being pushed. Shoved and bumped and stepped on as the crowd spun them out the revolving doors and into another mass of angry, screaming fans, holding up their devices and craning their necks for a better view—of what, Pandy couldn’t say. But the crowd wanted something, and she was a mere impediment to their view.

She was going to be crushed.

Pandy felt her rib cage implode as her knees buckled beneath her. And then her face was pressed into an endless pillow of flesh; it was up over her ears, suffocating her—

“Get off me. Off of me!” A terrified shriek, followed by the push of two greasy hands the size of small pizzas. Pandy rocked back, thrusting her own hands at SondraBeth, whose hands were right there to grab hers—her razor-sharp nails digging into Pandy’s flesh like a predatory bird.