“It’s all about posture,” she said, fluttering her right arm like a wing.
“How would you play Monica, then?”
SondraBeth lifted her head and suddenly, there it was: the smile. The delighted grin that made you momentarily forget the frustrations of your own life; made you want to be—or at least be with —this beautiful, happy creature instead.
“I’ve got a great idea.” SondraBeth pounded the table in glee. “Let’s have a party.”
And then, like the legions of guests before them, Pandy and SondraBeth went a little crazy.
Leaving the hotel, SondraBeth nearly crashed her car in the intersection; when Pandy pointed to the Liquor Locker half a block away, SondraBeth made an illegal U-turn that left them both hysterical with relieved laughter. Then, when they got back to the Chateau and opened the trunk, they were even more hysterical about the amount of alcohol they’d bought. This led to the inevitable conclusion that they must invite everyone they knew in LA to drink it.
For Pandy, this meant mostly displaced New Yorkers: writers working for comedians, sexy magazine girls in the midst of creating “an LA office,” and a couple of disgruntled literary writers who were determined to show New York, mostly by drinking too much, that they didn’t give a shit about it. They all came, along with S ondr aBeth’s friends: two bona fide up-and-coming movie stars, a hot young director, more models and actors, a musician who insisted on driving his motorcycle into the suite, and a very tall transvestite. And then, like those brave marines, they kept on coming: more showbiz folks who were staying in the hotel, a few acquaintances from New York who happened to be in LA, and several film executives who had heard about the party and decided to stop by.
At some point, Pandy remembered SondraBeth coming toward her with PP himself in tow. “Here’s Pandy,” she said. And with a glance back at PP, she hissed delightedly, “For a minute, he thought I was you .”
Pandy woke up the next morning dramatically hung over. Her contact lenses were glued to her eyeballs; she had to feel around for the saline solution and pour half the bottle into her eyes before she could see. Once she could, she was relieved to discover that the bedding, including the duvet and the six down pillows, was mostly untouched. At first she was annoyed—apparently no one had been interested in her enough to at least try to get her into bed. Then a freight train came roaring into the tunnel that was her head.
When the train passed, she shook her head and heard music softly wafting up the stairs. The buzzer rang, and a voice called out, “Who ordered the poached eggs?”
Grabbing a robe from the bathroom, Pandy proceeded cautiously down the stairs.
“There you are,” SondraBeth said, coming out of the kitchen. “Your poached eggs have arrived. I guess you must have ordered them last night.”
Pandy stared at her blankly, unable to process what she was seeing. SondraBeth was wearing one of her dresses, which was incomprehensible, as she had to be at least two sizes larger than Pandy. Nevertheless, she’d somehow managed to squeeze herself into Pandy’s best dress, a one-of-a-kind piece that Pandy had bought at an exclusive sample sale to which only ten women had been invited. The seams under the arms were straining against the silk fabric in an effort to contain SondraBeth’s breasts.
“Hope you don’t mind,” SondraBeth said, giving Pandy a brilliant smile. “I crashed in the second bedroom. Didn’t want to drive. That was one helluva party, sista.”
“Yes, it certainly was,” Pandy said carefully, eyeing her dress.
“Want some coffee?” SondraBeth raised her arm to remove a mug from an upper shelf. Terrified the seam would rip, Pandy quickly brushed past her to grab the cup.
SondraBeth poured out coffee, and then, barely able to contain her excitement, motioned Pandy into the front room. “Want to see something
“How would you play Monica, then?”
SondraBeth lifted her head and suddenly, there it was: the smile. The delighted grin that made you momentarily forget the frustrations of your own life; made you want to be—or at least be with —this beautiful, happy creature instead.
“I’ve got a great idea.” SondraBeth pounded the table in glee. “Let’s have a party.”
And then, like the legions of guests before them, Pandy and SondraBeth went a little crazy.
Leaving the hotel, SondraBeth nearly crashed her car in the intersection; when Pandy pointed to the Liquor Locker half a block away, SondraBeth made an illegal U-turn that left them both hysterical with relieved laughter. Then, when they got back to the Chateau and opened the trunk, they were even more hysterical about the amount of alcohol they’d bought. This led to the inevitable conclusion that they must invite everyone they knew in LA to drink it.
For Pandy, this meant mostly displaced New Yorkers: writers working for comedians, sexy magazine girls in the midst of creating “an LA office,” and a couple of disgruntled literary writers who were determined to show New York, mostly by drinking too much, that they didn’t give a shit about it. They all came, along with S ondr aBeth’s friends: two bona fide up-and-coming movie stars, a hot young director, more models and actors, a musician who insisted on driving his motorcycle into the suite, and a very tall transvestite. And then, like those brave marines, they kept on coming: more showbiz folks who were staying in the hotel, a few acquaintances from New York who happened to be in LA, and several film executives who had heard about the party and decided to stop by.
At some point, Pandy remembered SondraBeth coming toward her with PP himself in tow. “Here’s Pandy,” she said. And with a glance back at PP, she hissed delightedly, “For a minute, he thought I was you .”
Pandy woke up the next morning dramatically hung over. Her contact lenses were glued to her eyeballs; she had to feel around for the saline solution and pour half the bottle into her eyes before she could see. Once she could, she was relieved to discover that the bedding, including the duvet and the six down pillows, was mostly untouched. At first she was annoyed—apparently no one had been interested in her enough to at least try to get her into bed. Then a freight train came roaring into the tunnel that was her head.
When the train passed, she shook her head and heard music softly wafting up the stairs. The buzzer rang, and a voice called out, “Who ordered the poached eggs?”
Grabbing a robe from the bathroom, Pandy proceeded cautiously down the stairs.
“There you are,” SondraBeth said, coming out of the kitchen. “Your poached eggs have arrived. I guess you must have ordered them last night.”
Pandy stared at her blankly, unable to process what she was seeing. SondraBeth was wearing one of her dresses, which was incomprehensible, as she had to be at least two sizes larger than Pandy. Nevertheless, she’d somehow managed to squeeze herself into Pandy’s best dress, a one-of-a-kind piece that Pandy had bought at an exclusive sample sale to which only ten women had been invited. The seams under the arms were straining against the silk fabric in an effort to contain SondraBeth’s breasts.
“Hope you don’t mind,” SondraBeth said, giving Pandy a brilliant smile. “I crashed in the second bedroom. Didn’t want to drive. That was one helluva party, sista.”
“Yes, it certainly was,” Pandy said carefully, eyeing her dress.
“Want some coffee?” SondraBeth raised her arm to remove a mug from an upper shelf. Terrified the seam would rip, Pandy quickly brushed past her to grab the cup.
SondraBeth poured out coffee, and then, barely able to contain her excitement, motioned Pandy into the front room. “Want to see something
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