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?"

This was an incendiary attack, just unforgivable. "What are you talking about, Cassie, you're flipping your lid," Mona retorted.

"Everything that comes out of your mouth is total shit, you damn freak. You've had your face done!" Cassie spit out. She took a moment to examine and absorb it, then gasped. "And your boobs!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Mona chose to effect sadness at such a misunderstanding. She took a step back, shrinking into her work shirt, the only piece of clothing she owned from Old Navy. She did the turn well, acting as if Cassie were the hurtful aggressor and that every harsh word unsettled and grieved her. "Cassie stop this, please."

"What did you do, everything? Nose, eyes, chin, neck? Oh my God. Every goddamn thing. Who paid for this, my husband, who doesn't believe in plastic surgery!" Cassie was shrieking and stamping her feet now, completely out of control. "You fucking, fucking bitch. And you're only, what, not even fucking forty?"

"Somebody must be telling you stories, Cassie."

"Don't you dare walk away from me. You fucking bitch. So this is why you haven't shown your face in my house for three whole years."

"I need my inhaler, Cassie." Mona actually hoped she would choke nearly to death and show Cassie what an unreasonable bitch she was being.

Cassie blocked the way, screaming some more. "I would not have believed that you of all people-ugly, fawning bitch-would try to take everything I have. Not in a million years. Look at that face. You have a new nose. New lips!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was at your house only last month."

"Not when I was there," Cassie screamed.

Mona inched past her. She knew that people were frequently truly nuts, they really were. She dealt every day with wine nuts who weren't careful about temperature, drank six bottles of a case, then claimed the whole lot was "off" and wanted a full refund. Clearly, she had underestimated Cassie. Mitch was right: The woman was disturbed, a mental case. This was her second incident today. Maybe she was having a psychotic break.

Mona wanted to call the police and document the event. She reached her purse that was hanging by its expensive strap on the kitchen door. But neither her inhaler nor cell phone were in it.

"You and my husband. You and my company. You and my credit cards. And just look at this"-Cassie pointed her finger at Mona like a loaded gun-"the dowdy frump with the receding chin, the bad skin, and the big nose, a fucking swan." Cassie was positively frothing at the mouth. "How dare you? How dare you? You little fuck! Goddamn it, Mona. That's my husband's handkerchief, too."

"Oh please, take it." Mona held out the sodden handkerchief.

"I will not touch anything you've touched," Cassie screamed.

Where were the cops when you needed one? Mona was beginning to think Cassie's craziness was an intentional malicious act to drown her. Literally. Because fluid was just filling up her bronchial tubes and throat. She knew that people died this way. Once you started coughing, you could not stop. The hacking went on and on. The pain was terrible. You could crack your ribs coughing. She sucked some air. "Cassie, you're"-she gasped for oxygen-"you're upsetting yourself for nothing."

"I'm upset for everything, you bitch. Don't you understand yet? Mitch had a stroke. Everything's come out. You will be punished. You will go to jail!"

Mona's response was an artistic gurgle.

"He's in the hospital, and he's not going to make it. You don't get my husband, or anything else, understand? It's over."