Today only one thing went right. She found a parking spot out front and hurried into the house. She hadn't seen the Mercedes for the last two blocks but slammed the door and double locked it anyway. She didn't want to see Cassie no matter what.
As soon as Mona was inside her second-rate house, her whole history did a number on her impossible situation. She felt even more terrible that she hadn't been informed immediately of Mitch's illness. She was his partner, as important to the company as he was. Didn't anybody realize that? She was so careful and meticulous about everything. Everything was arranged just so. It wasn't right for Teddy not to tell her this, her friend Mark, their accountant Ira. This had to be some kind of conspiracy to keep her isolated and in the dark.
Once inside the house, she focused on an old complaint, her lack of help and closets. With the millions in business she brought in, she should have a full-time staff to take care of her house and clothes. When she'd arrived home yesterday afternoon, no one was there to carry the heavy suitcases upstairs, so she'd been forced to unpack downstairs in the living room. As usual, she'd laid everything out on the sofa, on the floor, in a very precise way. Her stuff was all over the place. The suits and coats and dresses and tops and shoes and purses from her trip were in piles, carefully sorted for the cleaners and the laundry whether she'd worn them or not. She was too upset to appreciate the profusion of pale colors and expensive fabrics strewn all over the white, top-of-the-line wool, mile-high shag carpet and white silk sofa and different patterned white silk throw pillows with gold bullion fringe.
A wheeze clutched at her throat. She felt sick. She felt hurt. She felt like a tiger with a sick cub she had to save. She felt the hot breath of the crazy, unloved wife and the IRS Nazis coming to take away everything she cared about in life. All those feelings were roiling around in a single wounded bird. It was just too much.
The cheap doorbell of her second-rate house sounded its half-assed dingdong. At the same time the doorknocker clanged against its fake brass plate. Mona's heart almost stopped. Shit. The enemy had actually dared to follow her right into her private home. "As for constricted configurations, if we occupy them first we must fully deploy throughout them in order to await the enemy."
She raced up the stairs. Peeled off her skirt, threw on a pair of baggy black pants and a blue work shirt. Grabbed her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. In the bathroom she scrubbed at the dissolving makeup with a washrag until only her healthy tan showed.
The doorbell and knocker continued to sound as she flew in bare feet down the stairs. In the living room, wheezing and coughing, she grabbed clothes, flung what she could back into the cases, jammed the cases into the closet. She was throwing the rest of the stuff into the powder room when Cassie started shouting through the door.
"For heaven's sake, Mona, open the damn door. I know you're in there."
"Cassie, honey, is it you?"
"Of course, it's me. Who else?"
Simulated chaos is given birth from control. The illusion of fear is given from strength. Order and disorder are a question of numbers.
Mona closed the powder room door. Without her shoes she looked a whole lot shorter. Without her makeup, hardly dazzling at all. She was wheezing steadily. She held a handkerchief to her mouth. She was coughing, trying to clear the phlegm beginning to clog her bronchi. She flung the door open and faced the helpless, nonworking weakling who all these years had been the only obstacle to her happiness.
CHAPTER 22
MONA'S EYES POPPED at the change in Cassie. She stood outside only a few seconds , wearing a scarf and sunglasses à la Audrey Hepburn. The disguise was pretty good for someone who didn't know what to look for. Mona knew right away what major event had occurred in Cassie's life, however, and from all appearances it was extremely recently. She took a moment to study her. The big, dark shades hid Cassie's eyes, but not the telltale red cheeks and yellowing jawline. Gone was the soft chin, the folds by the sides of Cassie's mouth, and the pale, trusting manner that had distinguished her rival. Mona was prepared for everything in life, but she was unprepared for this. Self-improvement was the very last thing she would have expected from Cassie.
Cassie had been at least four inches shorter and many pounds plumper than Mona the last time she'd seen her. She looked thinner and taller now. In fact, she looked like a completely different person as she pushed her way into the house.
Whenever possible victory should be achieved by diplomatic coercion, thwarting the enemy's plans and alliances, and frustrating his strategy.
Mute but for her wheezing, Mona let her in. Luckily, she had been careful almost to a fault about making changes in her life every step of the way. Therefore at this moment, in this place, she had the moral advantage of having absolutely nothing to hide, and Cassie had the moral disadvantage of being out of her mind with fury.
"You fucking bitch. You will not get away with this."
Cassie stopped in the middle of the living room. As cold as an ice statue at an Italian wedding, she assessed Mona's white sofa, white rug. White silk throw pillows with the gold bullion fringe. White curtains with the gold braid and balls. Glass coffee table with expensive brass base. Everything white and gold. Cassie's survey halted at each of three silk flower arrangements: roses, lilies, orchids. Each arrangement was white and each one was in a gold filigree vase. There was not a live plant, not a silver candlestick, not an extra embellishment anywhere. Also, the house was as neat as if no one really lived there, which 90 percent of the time was true. Mona had pretty much moved to her new address. Still, the place looked exactly the same as it always had. And the new owner would take possession in three weeks' time. The young couple had bought it "as is."
"Cassie, Cassie. What is it? What's wrong?" Mona was shocked to see Cassie so aggressively angry, so she decided to counter hostility with love and understanding. She went right over to her lifelong enemy to give her a warm embrace.
Cassie jumped back, stiffening like a cobra.
No wonder Mitch found Cassie to be a cold bitch. "Tell me, what is it? What's wrong?" Mona said, not letting it bother her.
"I told you to stay where you were, Mona. Why did you drive away?" Cassie spat at her just like an alley cat.
"What?" Mona coughed.
"I told you on the phone to stay where you were. I wanted to talk to you. You are despicable. You are a-"
"Stop, Cassie. Don't upset yourself." Mona wheezed and hacked, just like Mimi in the last scene of La Bohème, Mitch's favorite opera.
Cassie's witchlike expression didn't change. "I hope you choke to death," she said coldly.
"Cassie, please." Mona coughed uncontrollably some more, sounding bad and feeling very hurt. Any sign of weakness historically had generated sympathy from Cassie. This response was spiteful and totally unlike her. She put the handkerchief to her mouth and tried to spit a little blood. As she inspected the blob of sputum that came out, Cassie came alive with a shriek.
"Oh my God, you've had your face lifted! Jesus Christ, I don't believe it." Cassie flapped her arms like a whooping crane trying to fly. "I don't believe this. Jesus Christ. I don't believe this. When did this happen?"