Candace Bushnell - Killing Monica

Suzette’s reading glasses had fallen into the space between the two chaises. Pandy picked them up, put them on, and read Henry’s texts.

“Call me.”

“Where are you?”

“We need to talk.”

And finally, “Where and when can I meet you?”

Pandy shot up. She was suddenly wide awake and stone-cold sober. Henry had had word . That was why he wanted to see her.

Her hand trembled as she tapped in his number, walking briskly to the shaded awning at the far end of the pool. The phone rang and rang, until it went to voice mail.

“Damn,” Pandy said aloud, hanging up. She immediately sent him a text: “Do they LOVE it?”

“Where are you?” came the reply.

“Pool Club.” She was tempted to add, “Answer your damn phone,” but couldn’t be bothered to tap in all the letters.

“On my way!” Henry wrote back. He’d added an exclamation point; that meant it had to be good news. Suddenly feeling giddy with anticipation, Pandy hurried toward her friends, waving her phone in the air.

The club was filling up again, this time with mothers and children who must have just gotten out of school. Pandy skipped around a toddler wearing so many flotation devices, he looked like a small astronaut.

“Henry’s coming!” Pandy said to Suzette, who was now awake due to the screams of the many children who appeared to have taken over the club. “I think it’s good news.”

Unable to contain her excitement, Pandy began pacing, circling around the nest of deck chairs as she mumbled incoherently. “After all this…I can’t believe… Ohmigod .” Overcome, she had to sit down.

“Honey, are you all right?” Suzette asked.

Pandy put her hand to her chest. She wished she could explain to her friends how important this was, but she knew they’d never quite understand. She vigorously nodded her head instead. “Where is Henry?” she cried out impatiently.

“Henry’s coming?” Portia asked, strolling over with a drink in a plastic martini glass sloshing onto her hand. She looked at Pandy assessingly. “Doll, you’re all sweaty. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool?”

“Don’t want Henry to see you all sweaty like that,” Suzette joked pointedly.

“Maybe I will,” Pandy replied, realizing that the excitement of her impending triumph had indeed made her perspire. She grabbed her cell phone and walked to the edge of the water. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, she tapped in Henry’s number.

He picked up after the first ring.

“Henry,” she said eagerly. “They do love it, right?”

“We’ll talk about it when I get there.”

“When you get here ? What’s that supposed to—”

What felt like a giant sponge slammed into the back of Pandy’s knees. She took a step forward, her arm swinging upward to correct her balance. The toddler in the astronaut suit rolled past her and splashed into the water as Pandy watched her cell phone plunge into the pool.

As her phone hit the bottom, the realization that Henry had bad news dropped like a brick into the pit of her stomach. Motioning wildly, she stumbled back to her friends. “I need a phone!” she screamed.

“Why?” Portia asked.

“I need to call Henry.”

“I thought he was coming here .”

“I need to know. Before he gets here.” Pandy choked out the words, reaching for Portia’s phone and dialing.

And then the sun must have gone behind a cloud because a shadow began to darken Pandy’s vision. A wave of nausea caused her knees to buckle as she dropped onto the chaise and Portia’s phone fell out of her hand.

“Sweetheart. Are you all right?” Portia bleated as Suzette picked up the phone and held it to her ear.

“Henry?” Suzette asked.

She looked over at Pandy and nodded. “I see. Yes, I will,” she said briskly, and hung up.

“ Whadhesay? ” Pandy screamed.

“He’ll be here any minute. He’s hired a car.”

“A car?” Pandy asked in confusion. Black and white squares began pinwheeling in front of her.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?” Portia demanded, talking over Pandy as if she weren’t there.

“I think her book just got rejected,” Suzette said in a stage whisper.

“What?” Portia gasped.

“Her new book,” Suzette hissed. She made a slicing motion across her throat.

“Ohmigod,” Portia screeched. She paused, then added, “Is that all ?”

“What do you mean, is that all? Isn’t that enough ?” Suzette’s voice rose.

Portia shrugged. “I thought maybe Jonny wasn’t going to give her a divorce. Or he wanted even more money.”

Pandy struggled to sit up. “He’s giving me the divorce!” she shouted.

“Well, then. There’s no problem, is there?” Portia continued blithely as she draped a towel over Pandy’s shoulders. “If it’s only the book—you can just write another one, right?”

“Oh, good. Here comes Henry now,” Suzette exclaimed with false cheer.

“Pandy?” Henry asked, leaning over her.

Pandy was now frozen in place, her hands soldered over her eyes.

Henry peeled back her little finger and then slowly pulled her hands away.

“The book?” Pandy gasped.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, as Pandy’s throat closed in terror.

It took a stiff slug of vodka before Pandy was able to speak again.

She swayed on her barstool, alternating between sobs of grief and valiant reassurances. “It doesn’t matter!” “It’s all for a reason!” And most of all: “It will all be all right .” In between these statements were longer moments that felt like some sort of punctuation that would never end: a very long dash, for instance.

She wanted to crawl into the deepest and darkest of holes; to tunnel lower than she’d ever gone before—where, naturally, she would curl up and die.

But as the people around her wouldn’t allow that sort of behavior, Pandy went along with their plan:

Yes, she did agree that it might be a good time to take a couple of days off.

Yes, she had been holed up for a very long time.

And yes! She had been dealing with a huge amount of stress. Particularly with Jonny. People couldn’t believe what he had put her through.

So, yes, she would go to her house in Wallis to recover, especially after these last few months in New York. Henry would join her tomorrow morning at the latest .

And so she went willingly into the town car Henry had hired to transport her to Wallis.

She didn’t ask Henry how or why all this seemed to have been arranged in advance, being too confused to ask questions.

“Goodbye!” She waved out the window to her friends.

She raised the window and leaned back against the seat. The blast of cold air-conditioning in the car met the day’s heat, and a cloud of steam began to form. Pointing her finger, Pandy briefly held it to her temple. Then she lowered it. Aiming it at the foggy glass window instead, she wrote two words:

HELP ME.

Rescued by Suzette, her device came back to life and began vibrating, releasing those buoyant Monica notes into the air like happy-face balloons. Pandy put her hand over the machine to silence it. She looked past the angry line of cars on the other side of the West Side Highway. A sleek white boat, sails trimming the wind, raced across the spackled surface of the river.

For a moment, she pretended she was in Miami.

The fantasy was short-lived. Looming ahead was a second Monica billboard—another reminder of her disastrous failure.

What no one knew was that without her new book, she couldn’t pay Jonny.

Meaning she, PJ Wallis, was finished. Monica had won after all.