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“I don’t know where SondraBeth got that idea,” PP said. “In any case, I knew her well. Your sister, I mean. She and her husband—that is, her ex-husband—were friends of mine.”
Pandy’s expression froze. Perhaps being Hellenor wasn’t such a bad idea after all. For a few minutes, anyway. In which she might be able to extract information about Jonny from PP.
“Are you still friends with Jonny?” she asked casually.
PP leaned forward conspiratorially. “Frankly, I’d like to strangle the guy. He owes me money.”
“You too, huh?” Pandy said, nodding. Apparently Jonny’s grifting was more extensive than she’d thought.
“Why do women like Pandy marry men like that? She was so…spunky. Confident. Smart. But then she met Jonny and…” PP shrugged. “Why don’t women know to avoid that type of guy?”
“You tell me,” Pandy said, sipping her champagne while thinking that PP was cut from very much the same cloth as Jonny.
“Your sister was quite attractive,” PP said, clearing his throat.
“Yes, she was…” Pandy suddenly became acutely aware of her appearance: dressed in Hellenor’s construction boots and flannel shirt, with her bald pate, she must look like something out of an old Saturday Night Live sketch. She flushed in annoyance as she realized that PP was trying to flatter “Hellenor” in order to sway her. Pandy wondered just how far he was willing to go to keep his precious Monica franchise safe.
“Okay, PP,” she said. “Let’s say I am Hellenor Wallis. What then?” She reached for the champagne bottle.
“Well, you’re going to be a very rich woman.”
Pandy smirked as she refilled her glass, wondering if PP knew about all the money Jonny had taken from her.
“But what about Jonny?” she asked. “What about all that money Pandy supposedly owes him in the settlement?”
“Oh, jeez. That,” PP said. “Jonny is a bit of a problem, and believe me, I understand. But eventually he’ll go away. And in the meantime, we’re planning to make lots and lots of Monica movies.”
“More Monica!” Pandy said with false cheer.
PP patted her on the shoulder. “As I said, eventually you’ll be a very rich woman. Thank God for Monica, right?” he added as Judy came through the door.
Pandy sighed.
Judy turned to Pandy. “Hellenor? Can I bring you back to the suite? SondraBeth will be down to see you in ten.”
* * *
Back in the basement, Pandy flopped onto the bed. She turned on the TV, figuring she might as well catch up on her so-called death while she was waiting for SondraBeth.
It was the usual news loop: a live report from the San Geronimo festival, and then there it was, an update on her demise: PJ Wallis, creator of Monica, reported dead in a tragic fire at her childhood home in Wallis, Connecticut.
And suddenly, there she was on the screen…with Jonny at a black-tie event—the same event where SondraBeth had warned her against him. And she was so naïve that she was actually smiling…
The screen cut to a close-up of a fan laying a pink plastic champagne glass on an already large pile that also contained stuffed animals. The camera pulled back to reveal her building.
“Hundreds of fans gathered outside her apartment…”
“No!” Pandy shouted at the TV. This could not be happening. Her so-called death was not supposed to be her next big moment. Her next big moment was supposed to have been about her new book, Lady Wallis. And there he was again: the cause of all this trouble—Jonny.
Now he was pushing through the crowd outside her building, trying to get in. Pandy groaned. Of course he would know that Pandy had left the Monica rights to Hellenor. His lawyers had been over every single one of her contracts with a fine-tooth comb.
Jonny would know that if Hellenor decided to execute her rights, there would be no more Monica—and no more money for Jonny.
And now Jonny knew Hellenor could ruin him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AS PROMISED, we’re going back live to the San Geronimo festival,” said the voice from the screen.
