Trust Me (16 page)

She gave him a sugary smile. “Just peachy.”

“You're acting weird.”

“Nobody ever said that I was the best actress in the family.” Desdemona realized that her knees were wobbly.

Stark hooked his jacket over his shoulder and walked to where she stood. “I wish I didn't have to leave like this.”

“Me, too.”

“You're sure you're okay?”

“Absolutely, positively okay.”

“Good.” He cradled her chin in his palm, bent his head, and brushed his mouth lightly across hers. “Like I said, I'll call you in the morning.”

“Right.”

He hesitated as though aware that he should do or say something else but was clearly baffled by what that something was. “Good night.”

Desdemona recalled her recent conversation with Pamela Bedford in the ladies' room of the hotel.

I think what bothered me the most was that he never had much to say after he finished making love. Doesn't it upset
you that he just gets out of bed, says good night, and leaves
?

“Good night, Stark.”

He nodded brusquely and started toward the door.

Desdemona trailed after him.

Stark let himself out into the hall. He quickly pulled the door almost closed and then turned to look at her through the narrow crack. “Be sure to lock up behind me.”

“I will.”

Stark hesitated. “Did I tell you that you remind me of a fractal design?”

“No, you didn't. Thank you.” Desdemona paused. “What's a fractal?”

“I'll explain it later. I've got to run.” Stark gently closed the door in her face.

Desdemona pressed her ear to the wood panel and listened to his footsteps recede down the hall.

She waited until she knew that he had reached the elevator before she yanked the door open again. She leaned out into the hall.

Stark was at the far end of the corridor, glancing impatiently at his watch.

“That's right, dash off into the night without bothering to ask if it was good for me, too.” Desdemona called very loudly. “See if I care.”

Stark turned, startled. “What the hell?”

“Who cares that I've just had my first orgasm? What does it matter to you? You've probably given tons of orgasms to zillions of women. No big deal for you, huh, Stark?”

The door across the hall snapped open. Miriam Eckerby, gray hair in pink curlers as usual, scowled at Desdemona. “What's going on out here?”

“Nothing.” Desdemona smiled brightly at her neighbor. “I was just discussing a significant, life-altering event which recently occurred in my apartment. It was caused by that man standing down there at the end of the hall.”

“Really?” Mrs. Eckerby leaned out to stare at Stark.

“It was a major turning point for me, Mrs. Eckerby,” Desdemona confided in a clear, ringing voice that she knew carried the length of the corridor. Wainwrights knew how to project. “But I do not believe that the person responsible for it gives a damn. He just said good night and walked out.”

Mrs. Eckerby sighed. “They're all the same, aren't they?”

“No, this one is actually quite different.” Desdemona started to close her door. “Good night, Mrs. Eckerby.”

“Good night, dear.”

Desdemona slammed her door shut.

Stark's footsteps echoed in the hallway. A few seconds later he pounded on the door.

“Desdemona, open up.”

“I wouldn't think of delaying you for another instant. Hurry on home, Stark.”

“Damn it, open the door. I want to talk to you.”

“Too late. You had your chance.” Desdemona slid the dead bolt into place. She knew Stark must have heard the unmistakable sound. “Good night, sweet prince. Drive carefully.”

“Desdemona, we've got an audience out here. Stop playing to it.”

“Wainwrights always play to the crowd. Run along. Thanks for everything. And I do mean everything.”

“Damn it to hell.”

Desdemona sensed him hesitating a few seconds longer, and then she heard his footsteps heading back toward the elevator. This time she waited until she knew he was gone.

She opened the door again.

Mrs. Eckerby was not the only one peering out into the hall. Christopher Peters in 508 had also appeared.

“Everything all right out here?” Christopher inquired politely.

“Yes, thank you,” Desdemona said.

Mrs. Eckerby clucked admonishingly. “Your very first orgasm, dear? You should have said something ages ago. I could have loaned you my vibrator.”

*  *  *

Her first orgasm?

Stark could not believe it. She was so damned sexy. So responsive. So passionate. Surely she had experienced plenty of orgasms.

Then he recalled how tight she had been. He remembered her soft little gasps of surprise. In retrospect he realized that he had ignored a number of small signs, all of which indicated that Desdemona was a woman of extremely limited experience.

Damn. He never had been good at picking up subtle cues from the female of the species.

Stark had to call on all of his willpower in order to concentrate on the drive home. No woman had ever left him feeling so bemused after sex. Always in the past he had returned immediately to his normal, clearheaded state of mind after a sexual encounter.

For him, passion was a short-lived, very intense experience that temporarily clouded his brain in the same way a bad command scrambled a computer screen full of data.

Usually he simply rebooted and returned to full operating mode within minutes.

But tonight his brain was not responding to the customary prompts. Luckily it was late and the streets were nearly empty. Traffic was not a problem. Stark made it home in less than twenty minutes.

Macbeth was waiting for him. He surveyed Stark with cool interest as he collected his leather jacket and Jeep keys. “Have a good evening?”

“Yes,” Stark said brusquely. He had a feeling that Tony was not the only member of Desdemona's family who felt protective toward her. “Jason and Kyle okay?”

“No problem. We sent out for pizza and played some video games. They went to bed around ten.” Macbeth sauntered out onto the front steps. “See you in the morning.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Macbeth paused. “You coming to Desdemona's birthday party next week?”

“Yes.”

Macbeth nodded. “Good. Bring Jason and Kyle.”

“I will.”

Stark closed the door and set the computerized security alarm system. He realized that he was not ready for bed. Memories of making love to Desdemona were going to make it hard to get to sleep tonight.

He decided to do what he usually did when he was feeling restless. He climbed the concrete and steel staircase to his study and switched on the computer.

The soothing patterns of ARCANE's intricate programming soon enveloped him. He did not look up from the screen until two small figures appeared in the shadowed doorway.

Jason and Kyle, garbed in pajamas, stood there.

“Thought you were asleep,” Stark said.

“Jason woke up a few minutes ago,” Kyle said off-handedly. “He wanted to see if you were home yet.”

“It wasn't just me,” Jason said quickly. “You wanted to see if he was here, too.”

“I'm here,” Stark said. “How did rehearsal go this afternoon?”

“It went great,” Kyle grinned. “Everyone said we're going to bring down the house.”

“Macbeth says we're headed for Broadway,” Jason reported.

“Broadway in Seattle or Broadway in New York?” Stark asked.

“I dunno.” Jason seemed unperturbed by the distinction. “Bess, that's Macbeth's mother—”

“She plays one of the monsters,” Kyle explained.

“Bess said me and Kyle were the best stagehands the Strolling Players had had in ages. She said we're naturals.”

“Yeah, she said they wouldn't be able to put on the show without us,” Kyle added. “Augustus says that if we stick around long enough he'll teach me how to work the lights. That's what I want to do.”

“I like setting up the scenery,” Jason said. “I'm responsible for all the trees in the show.”

Stark nodded. “Sounds important.”

“It is. Real important. Macbeth says the trees are part of what sets the mood for the actors and the audience. He says without the right mood, nothing else works.”

“Mood is important,” Stark agreed.

“The lighting is important for atmosphere,” Kyle said. “Macbeth says you use lighting to create whole worlds. He says you can do anything with the right lighting.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Stark said.

“We're all set for our first performance on Saturday.” A flicker of anxiety briefly darkened Jason's exuberant expression. “Are you still going to come see it like you said you would?”

“I wouldn't miss it,” Stark promised.

“Something might come up,” Kyle said with studied carelessness. “Business or something.”

“I'll be there,” Stark said.

Jason grinned triumphantly at Kyle. “See? I told you he wouldn't change his mind.”

Tony was in Desdemona's office, fiddling with the computer when she walked in the next morning.

“Hi kid.” He didn't look up. “I'm redoing the format of your inventory program so that it will highlight in color the stuff that's running low. Now you won't have to go through the supplies list item by item every day. Just look for anything formatted in purple.”

Desdemona was instantly alarmed. “You didn't change any of the commands, did you?”

“Relax. I didn't alter the commands.”

“You're sure? Every time you mess around with my computer I have to learn something new. You know how I hate that. Now that I've finally got the hang of the thing, I don't want to have to spend time relearning a new version of any of the programs.”

“You gotta stay current to stay competitive. Regular software updates for specialized programs like this one are the wave of the future.”

“In the catering business, staying current means that I know the difference between a vegetarian meal and a vegan meal. Tony, what's a fractal?”

“It's a computer-generated art. You must have seen some of it. Weird-looking, intricate designs in bright, intense colors. When you create fractal art on a computer screen it keeps evolving and changing. But you can freeze a single moment of it and frame it.”

“Oh, right.” Desdemona smiled, pleased. “I think I saw some framed examples at Stark's house. The pictures looked like something from another planet.”

“Yeah.”

“I need my chair, Tony. I have to plan a vegan buffet menu for a luncheon next week.”

“Sure.” Tony hit a couple more keys and then got to his feet. He finally looked at her. “Something wrong?”

“No, of course not.” Desdemona went around the edge of her desk and took her chair.

“You look kind of strange.”

“Gosh, thanks. You're not looking too bad, yourself.”

“I'm serious. You look…I don't know. A little different.”

Juliet opened the office door and stuck her head around the corner. “Desdemona, if you've got anything on this weekend, cancel it. I've found Mr. Dream Machine for you.”

“Forget it,” Desdemona said. “I'm busy.”

“No excuses. This guy is terrific,” Juliet enthused. “He's the new artistic director at the Madison Street Theater. You're going to love him.”

“No, I won't.” Desdemona reached for her daily schedule book.

“Yes, you will,” Juliet coaxed. “He's really a nice guy. Give him a chance.”

“I said no.” Desdemona gave her cousin a smug, complacent smile. “Thank you for the thought, but as it happens, I'm going to be busy.”

“You mean you've got a catering job scheduled?”

“No, this is personal, not business.”

Tony's face tightened. “What's up? You got a hot date this weekend?”

“Not yet,” Desdemona said. “But I expect to have one.”

“Really?” Juliet's eyes widened. “With Stark?”

“Yep.”

“This is getting serious, isn't it?” Juliet murmured thoughtfully.

“Yes, it is.”

“Hell,” Tony muttered. “I still can't believe you've fallen for him.”

Desdemona shrugged. “You know what they say about opposites attracting.”

“Opposites?” Bess edged Juliet out of the doorway. “Did I hear someone say something about opposites attracting?”

“Yes, you did.” Desdemona scanned a list of many items suited to a vegan meal. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to work.”

“Are we talking about Stark?” Bess demanded.

“Yes, we are.” Desdemona glanced up. “Juliet, did you start the miniature spinach quiches we need for the baby shower today?”

“They're in the oven. And they're really cute. Why don't you do them for that luncheon you're planning? They'd look nice next to the buckwheat noodle salad.”