Read Online Mourning Glory by Warren Adler - Free Book Online Page B

oil. He was handsome, apparently healthy
and reasonably well preserved for a man in his late sixties.
    She attended the funeral in the most prestigious synagogue
in the area. Shiny Rolls Royces and stretch Mercedes limousines filled the
parking lot. The women who attended were appropriately solemn but dressed to
the nines and the men all looked prosperous and successful.
    The prospect was exciting, although she had no illusions.
This would require all her resources. The woman got raves from the rabbi and
various other participants, who lauded her many good deeds. There were numerous
mourners in the first row. She assumed a number were the couple's children. The
widower was tall and good-looking, with a dignified, gracious way of accepting
condolences.
    During the service she had fantasized over the various
ploys she would use to make contact with the man and the manner in which she
would conduct herself. She joined the funeral procession, managing to get a
lift from one of the well-groomed couples who had room in their big
cream-colored Cadillac.
    By then, experience had taught her that a wonderful repast
was served by the grieving family after the return from the cemetery, like an
Irish wake, except that the guest of honor was not laid out in the house. On
occasion, depending on the state of her hunger, she would join the procession
in her own car or, if it was convenient, solicit a lift from one of the party.
    She gave her real name and offered a cover story that she
had struck up an acquaintance with the dead woman after meeting her at Saks.
    "We became friends and confidantes," Grace told
the couple, who introduced themselves as the Saypols.
    "That must have been before she got worse."
    "Yes," Grace said. "Before."
    "Too bad the way she went," the man said.
"Up to me, I'd go poof myself." He motioned with his hands to
emphasize the point.
    "Still, it wasn't very decent of him to start dating
while she was still alive," his wife said.
    "He was lonely, for crissake. His wife was in a damned
nursing home with Alzheimer's. She didn't even know who he was."
    "She was still his wife," the woman said.
    "He had needs," the husband grumped.
    The wife looked toward Grace.
    "Men and their needs," she said with disdain.
    "What do you women know about those kind of
needs?" the man said, with a sudden burst of anger.
    "He didn't have to flaunt it," the woman said,
turning to Grace. "He's already made plans to marry some bimbo. Everybody
knows it. I think it's disgusting."
    "Betty is not a bimbo."
    "She's not even thirty."
    "That's not bimbo, that's just young. Are you
jealous?"
    "Me? Don't be ridiculous. He's more than thirty years
older than her and he won't be able to keep up." She shot her husband a
knowing glance. "No way. And, in the end, she'll get all his money and the
kids won't get a dime."
    "He's already worked out a prenup."
    "Very wise," Grace said, remembering Mrs. Burns's
reference.
    "Sure it's a smart move," the man explained,
"It lays out the boundaries."
    "For the moment," the woman pointed out.
"Wait'll she gets her hooks in," she said. "Women like those
know what they're about. The day will come when he'll tear up the agreement or
else."
    "Or else what?"
    "You know what."
    "What? You mean she'll cut him off?"
    "You got that right."
    "You just said he couldn't keep up, meaning you know
what. What would it matter if she cut him off? Cut off from what?"
    "Men are stupid," the woman said with another
quick glance at her husband. "That's all they think about."
    "What do women think about?" He turned to Grace.
    "I'm not sure how you mean that," Grace replied,
uncomfortable at being thrust into this situation. Thankfully, the man provided
the answer to his own question.
    "It's all about money, possessions, hair, clothes,
face-lifts, security, shopping, gossip, the children. Nothing about the man,
the essence of the man they call husband. We're just here to make the dough
while they figure out ways to spend it, mostly on