Free Killing Monica by Candace Bushnell Page B

before she knew it, she was sliding into that delicious time warp where e ver ything is heightened, and everything the beloved says is brilliant, important, and meaningful.
    Just like chocolate.
    Or worse , she thought, recalling SondraBeth’s old boyfriend, like heroin .
    Then all of a sudden the ten days were gone, and Doug was scheduled to fly to Yugoslavia, where he would be shooting an action-adventure film. When he finally checked his schedule, he realized that he was already a day late.
    There wasn’t much that could be done about that, so Doug figured if he was going to be one day late, he might as well make it two or three.
    This theory didn’t technically make sense, but because Pandy wanted Doug to stay another night, she extolled the wisdom of his thinking.
    With Doug’s departure looming, they decided they should try to see SondraBeth Schnowzer before he left town.
    Since the success of the first Monica movie, SondraBeth had become less and less available. There were times when she had to take a seven a.m. flight to LA, do a round of talk shows, and then take the red-eye back to New York, where she was driven straight to the set for another ten hours of shooting.
    Due to her hectic schedule, SondraBeth hadn’t been able to meet up with Pandy and Doug. But according to the location information that Pandy was sent every day, SondraBeth was back in the city and shooting
Monica
.
    They decided to surprise her on the set.
    The company was in Central Park, next to the sailboat pond. Half a dozen trailers were parked on a side street; inside the park were more trailers, the ubiquitous thick cables anchored to the ground with blue tape. A few dozen Monica fans were lurking, seeking autographs, some with their signature pink plastic champagne glasses strapped to their heads in honor of Monica.
    Doug took her hand and squeezed it. “Just think, babe, all this is because of you. Because of something you wrote .” Pandy squeezed his hand back. One of the things she’d learned about Doug was that he was in awe of her ability to write; he was genuinely impressed by a person who could conjure up stories from out of nowhere. It was nice to be with a man who at least had a passing familiarity with what she did.
    She brushed off the compliment. “It takes a lot of people, really. I could never do what they do.”
    “They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” he insisted.
    They discovered SondraBeth in “video village,” located under a large black awning shielding a nest of directors’ chairs and television monitors. She was seated in the least accessible chair at the end of the third row, staring perplexedly at a small pamphlet of “sides”—her scenes and dialogue for the day. Pandy squeezed past assorted producers and crew to get to her. “Hi!” she exclaimed.
    “Ohmigod. Hi! ” SondraBeth squealed. As soon as she saw Pandy, her demeanor changed; she became animated and gabby. Pandy jokingly called her “Talky Monica,” thanks to her propensity to talk, talk, talk, going on and on about anything that was new and hot, like she was at a never-ending cocktail party. Pandy suspected she was modeling her behavior on Pandy herself, who was known about town as a real gadfly.
    “Oh, Peege, I miss you,” SondraBeth said, pulling her close for an embrace. Then, catching Doug’s eye over the top of Pandy’s head, she flung open her arms, and in a moment of Monica silliness, rushed Doug and jumped into his arms.
    “Doug!” she screamed.
    “Hey there.” Doug laughed.
    “Ohmigod. You guys look so cute together,” SondraBeth said, bouncing out of his arms and smiling at the two of them. “I hope Peege is taking good care of you.”
    “Peege?” Doug cocked his head in confusion.
    “Never mind,” SondraBeth went on gaily. She slung her arm around Pandy’s shoulder. “Peege rules this town. We both do. What do we say when things get bad?” She looked to Pandy. In unison, they pumped their arms and