Did she know people, or what? "Not right now," she murmured about the drink. "Look, Parker. Mitch is not brain-dead. He spoke to me clearly. Very clearly. He's on the mend. I swear it. Please don't write him off," she begged.
"That'll be two Marys!" he yelled.
When he turned back to her, her famous pout was on her face, and her famous wheeze was beginning in the back of her throat.
"You know I'm all alone with this, Parker." Her voice caught. This was no act. She was dying here. What kind of asshole was he? They'd traveled to Italy together. They'd chartered that sailing boat in the Greek Isles. She'd been completely nauseated the whole time. They'd swum with fucking dolphins in Mexico. Wasn't all that the best time of his life?
His eyes were on the bar, yearning for those Marys.
"Come on, have a heart, Parker. Don't back out on me now. There's no one but you," Mona said.
Parker heaved a deep sigh. "This is a shocker, Mona, no question about it."
Mona talked to her invisible audience. See what she had to put up with! A complete narcissist. All he could think about was himself. A genuine tear filled her eye. "What about the will, Parker? Not that I want you to reveal confidences. But you know what Mitch's intentions were. Did he sign his new will, or what?"
Now he gave her a frank stare. "Look, Mona. I'm going to do the same with you that I did with Cassie, and Teddy, and Marsha." He made the motion of a zipper being closed across his mouth.
"What the dickens is that?" She maintained her sweetness. She was not going to fall apart.
"My lips are sealed."
"How can your fucking lips be sealed, Parker? You know what your friend wanted. Did he get it done? That's all I'm asking."
"You're not eating your salad," Parker said.
"It's a yes-or-no question. You could even nod or shake your head. What's the big deal?" The tears welled into puddles, and Parker looked away. He was not one who responded well to emotion. "Parker, please."
"I know how upset you are, Mona," he said softly, squirming for that drink.
"We were getting married. We were having a family together. You know this, Parker. I may be pregnant already. I need you on my side. Don't let this wonderful man go," she cried. "I love him so much. He's my whole life. What do I care about anything else? Puh, I spit on everything else."
"Mona, please, it's not in my hands."
"Don't give me that shit, Parker. A man's life is in your hands."
"Mona!"
"Sorry, sorry. You know I think the world of you." She controlled herself. She brought the sweetness back, leaned over the table so he could see her lovely breasts. "Parker?"
He was too busy thinking about death to look at them.
"Parker, speak to me."
"I think the world of you, too, Mona. You know that." But where were those drinks? "Ah, thank you."
The two Bloody Marys finally arrived. One was placed in front of Mona. Parker raised his glass to her, clinked the ice, and downed the drink in a few greedy swallows.
Mona pushed hers across the table toward him.
"Thanks, I'll just have a sip," he said. This one he drank more slowly.
"Parker, you know I'll keep you as my attorney. You stand to keep Sales as a client-you know what I mean. Help me out, and I'll help you out." She watched him chew on celery, this man who all his life had despised vegetables.
"What about the power of attorney? Surely you can tell me that," she wheedled.
Parker finished the second Bloody. "Okay, Mona, he didn't sign it."
Mona gasped. "He didn't sign it?"
Parker shook his head.
"There's no power of attorney?"
"Nope."
"Well, who's in charge, then?"
"He is."
"He's in a coma, Parker."
"Yes."
Mona gasped again. For sure she was going to die with her beloved. "Why didn't he sign the fucking power?" she wailed.
"You know Mitch. Superstitious. He'd planned to when he got back." Parker shrugged.
"Oh shit. So he didn't sign the will, either, did he?"
Parker shook his head "no" to the will.
Mona's blood pounded in her ears. The love of her life just couldn't let go. The story of her fucking life. She had to get a handle on this, couldn't let Mitch die. How could she save him? She watched Parker point at the empty glass for another drink. The waiter nodded. Alcohol might help. Mona knew about the girl in the massage parlor, and there were a few other things Parker wouldn't want his wife to know. He was a weak man, putty in her hands. She thought of Mitch hooked up to life support. What had his last will provided? They'd been together twelve years, but she had no idea.
Parker shook his head, waiting for his third Mary.
"What about a living will? What about a health care proxy?" Mona demanded.
He shook his head again.
Mona perked up. "Well, that's good. If he has no living will, doesn't that mean Cassie can't kill him? You are aware Cassie intends to kill him, aren't you, Parker?"
"No, Mona. She's not like that."
"Yes, Parker, she is. She's been stalking me. She tried to kill me just yesterday. You know my loyalty to the family. I love the woman to pieces, but let's face it, she's over the edge. And quite frankly, if she hurts Mitch, I'll have your ass."
"Oh, Mona, don't talk like that. You know you're no toughy."
"Of course not, but I love him so much. He's my whole life. Except for you, he's all I've got. Is the power prepared?"
"Huh?" The lawyer blinked in confusion.
"The document giving the power of attorney to me, Parker. Remember?"
"No." Now Parker shook his head firmly. He wasn't going there.
"You remember, Parker. I was here when we discussed it. We can sign it now."
Parker rolled his eyes and called for the check. "I have a meeting at two." Typical male fade away. It made her want to puke. This kind of thing might work with other people, but it wouldn't work with her.
"Of course, no problem," she said graciously, and reached for her purse. She'd let it go now, but it wasn't over, not by a long shot. As soon as Parker was reminded that Cassie could cause him a good deal of trouble if Mitch died, he'd fall into line, she was sure he would.
CHAPTER 30
EVERY DAY, wearing a scarf and her daughter's huge sunglasses, Cassie went to th e hospital during the visiting hours of eleven to four to visit her husband in intensive care. On days five, six, and seven after his event he was no better and no worse than he had been on days one through four. He was stable and as uncommunicative as ever. As she stood by his side watching the machine breathe for him, she chewed on the inside of her mouth until it was raw. She wished she could make contact and have it out with him just once.