Candace Bushnell - Killing Monica

Pandy laughed nervously. “You mean, my way.”

“Your way, our way, it’s all the same way, isn’t it?”

“Well, golly,” Pandy said. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen so soon .”

“I know. After all the hell he’s put you through. Put us through. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve seen everything. One of my guys canceled his vacation to get the paperwork finished. His daughters love Monica, too.”

“Thank God for Monica.” Pandy paused and inhaled deeply as reality began to set in. “In that case, I suppose Jonny will be wanting his check.”

Hiram laughed. “I suppose he will. But don’t think about the money. Go out and celebrate. You are now officially free from that asshole.”

Hiram hung up.

For a moment Pandy could only stand there, dazed.

Divorced.

Free.

Suddenly the world came rushing back to her in all its Technicolor glory.

PJ WALLIS! Is that really you? And what the hell are you wearing?” screamed Suzette as she came barreling into the loft, followed by a posse of Pandy’s twelve closest girlfriends.

“I’m back!” Pandy shrieked, removing the silver-sequined cardboard top hat from her head and giving a little bow. Suzette grabbed her around the shoulders, and they jumped up and down like ten-year-olds.

“I need a drink,” Meghan announced. “These divorce parties make me nervous. What if it happens to me ?”

“It will inevitably happen to you, and then you will get one of these.” Suzette thrust her left hand under Meghan’s nose so she could get a closer look at the large yellow stone. “Ten carats. Unfortunately the guy who comes with it is eighty and has liver spots, but if he wants to pretend he’s younger than he is, who am I to object?”

“But you’re not young, either,” Meghan pointed out. “You’re nearly—”

“Shhhh.” Suzette glared at Meghan as Pandy—right on cue—cooed at the ring in wonder.

“You’re engaged?”

“Not all of us have been under a rock for the past two years,” Suzette quipped as the elevator doors opened and six more women spilled out.

“Champagne in the bathtub, cupcakes in the kitchen, cigarettes in the living room,” Pandy said by way of greeting.

“What about cock? Do we get cock in the bedroom?” one of the women screamed, sending the others into peals of nervous laughter.

“Do you think Jonny thought you spent too much time working?” asked Angie. Pandy laughed and put her arm around Angie’s slight shoulders. “Of course I spent too much time working,” she said loudly, as much for herself as for the benefit of the crowd. “What woman isn’t forced to spend ‘too much time working’ these days? And if men don’t like it, too bad. If you’re in a relationship with me , I come with a career. Just like Jonny came with his career.”

“And all those restaurants,” Nancy interjected, breezing by.

Pandy smiled stiffly. “He doesn’t actually own those restaurants.”

“Do you just totally hate him right now?” Amanda was on the verge of a gossip orgasm.

“Let’s just say I will never do that again.”

The elevator door opened and another gaggle of women rushed out.

“Pandy!” Portia screamed. “Look at you! You’re so brave. Standing there in that skintight silver dress and looking like a goddess!”

“Is it true?” shrieked Brittney. “I heard he tried to get money out of you from Monica . How could he do that? He didn’t even know you when you started writing Monica .”

“Ladies, please,” Pandy addressed her rapt audience. “When it comes to divorce, what’s fair and logical is the first thing that goes right out the window. Jonny was threatening to go after the rights to Monica. He thought I’d be so terrified he might get them, I’d give him the loft instead.”

“So what did you give him?” Portia chirped. “Not the loft. And certainly not Monica.”

“You gave him money, didn’t you?” Suzette scolded. “Oh, I knew this would happen. Didn’t I tell you this would happen?” She looked around at the women closest to her, who nodded. “I predicted this,” she continued. “I said, ‘Pandy is such a softy, you just watch. She’ll end up giving him all her money.’”

For a moment, Pandy grimaced—if only her friends knew how true that was. But hopefully, with the success of her new book, no one would need to know the truth about anything, including her marriage.

“But he’s got tons of his own money!” Meghan cried.

“Not as much as you’d think,” Nancy chimed in. “Those chefs have all their income tied up in the real estate for their restaurants.”

“Do you think he was having an affair?” Angie asked breathlessly.

Pandy smiled queasily. Angie was the most naïve of her friends—surely she’d heard the rumors of Jonny’s infidelities. But Pandy had already had quite a bit of champagne, and feeling puckish, she said, “Let me put it this way. If he wasn’t having an affair, it wasn’t from lack of trying .” She guffawed loudly.

The party had officially begun.

By seven p.m., the loft was packed. The air was filled with steam from various inhalers, along with actual cigarette and marijuana smoke. Strewn around the loft were cracked plastic cocktail glasses, sticky napkins, and empty bottles of champagne. In the midst of their celebration, Henry arrived.

“Look, Cary Grant is here!” Pandy heard Portia shout. Followed by Suzette’s curt reply:

“Cary Grant is dead. That’s Pandy’s agent .”

“Any word?” Pandy screamed, rushing toward him with so much enthusiasm, she knocked over several drinks in the process.

“On what?” Henry asked, coolly raising his eyebrows as he surveyed the room. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.

“On The Book. Hello? Remember The Book? That thing I’ve been writing for the last two years?” Pandy waved her hands in front of his face.

Henry didn’t blink. “If I had word, you’d be the first to know.” He squeezed Pandy’s shoulder reassuringly. He stayed another five whole minutes before he was forced to flee, claiming he didn’t want to end up in a meat sandwich between Suzette and Nancy.

“A new Monica book?” cried Angie. Despite the booty-shaking beat now blaring from the speakers, she’d somehow managed to overhear Pandy’s conversation.

“I knew it!” Brittney shrieked. “Now that Pandy’s divorced, Monica will have to get divorced, too.”

“Then she can try online dating.”

“And a matchmaker. That would be hilarious.”

“What would be even more hilarious would be watching Monica try to arrange a date by texting .”

“And then she can date some hot young studs. With their own hair and actual muscles.”

“I don’t know about you,” Amanda added, “but now that I’m dating younger guys, I personally can’t stand men my age anymore. It’s fine if you’re already with one, but otherwise—”

“I agree. If I want to look at an old guy, I can look at my husband!”

“I suppose you could, if you ever saw him!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Texting? Divorce? A matchmaker? No. That isn’t Monica , Pandy thought.

She had to stop this.

“Hold on!” she shouted. “Monica isn’t getting divorced.”

“But everything that happens to you happens to Monica, right?” Brittney squawked.

“Not anymore,” Pandy declared, suddenly remembering her new, very un-Monica book and how it would force the critics to finally take her seriously. This was something that would never happen to Monica. No one took Monica seriously at all.