Trust Me

real name.”
    “I mean what were you called before you were called Desdemona?”
    “Susan or something,” Desdemona said carelessly. “I don’t remember for certain.”
    Stark stared at her, amazed. No one at the table seemed interested in the topic. He reminded himself that actors frequently changed their names. Further evidence of their erratic natures, he supposed.
    Juliet sighed glumly. “I wasn’t trying for a cathartic sense of sexual release, you know.”
    Desdemona’s eyes gleamed. “Are you sure?”
    “Positive,” Juliet said.
    “I guess that explains why I didn’t get it,” Stark said.
    “Maybe I should have gone for it,” Juliet said. “Might have kept the Eastsiders interested.”
    “Don’t worry,” Henry said in a consoling tone. “It’ll take at least a week to close the show.”
    “And you’ve always got your day job,” Desdemona said cheerfully.
    Henry laughed. “That’s right.” He put a comradely arm around Desdemona. “Thank God for the one member of the family who has achieved financial stability.”
    Juliet slumped gracefully against the back of the booth. “Sometimes I think I’m fated to stuff mushroom caps for the rest of my life.”
    “You can thank Stark for the fact that there are still mushrooms to be stuffed.” Desdemona’s eyes met his over the top of her cup. “Right Touch is going to make it through another tax quarter because he was chivalrous enough to pay the tab for his canceled reception this afternoon.”
    For some reason, Stark was embarrassed. “Forget it.”
    “Abandoned at the altar.” Juliet was momentarily distracted from her own trials. “Incredible. I’ve never actually met anyone who was left standing at the altar. Sorry I had to miss it. I had rehearsal.”
    “I wish I’d missed it, myself,” Stark muttered.
    “Kirsten and I were handling the champagne,” Henry told Juliet.
    “We saw the whole thing. A very heavy scene. Audience of two hundred.”
    “No kidding?” Juliet’s eyes widened as she gazed at Stark. “Two hundred people saw you get dumped?”
    “A full house,” Stark admitted.
    Henry hunched over his espresso cup and peered intently at him. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
    “Depends,” Stark said.
    “What was it like when you realized she’d ditched you? I mean, what was the first thing that went through your head?”
    “The same thing that probably went through the fly’s head a second before the swatter got him in Fly on a Wall” Stark said.
    Kirsten grinned. “You mean you experienced a sense of being on the verge of a cathartic sexual release?”
    “Not exactly.” Stark glanced at Desdemona. “As I recall, it was more along the lines of ‘What am I doing here when I could be having a nice day at the office.’”
    Desdemona’s soft mouth curved with wry sympathy. “That thought was no doubt soon followed by the realization that he was going to be stuck paying for a wedding even though he hadn’t gotten married.”
    “The fiancee flamed out and left you with the whole tab, huh?” Henry shook his head. “Bummer.”
    “That’s one way of putting it,” Stark agreed.
    “We’re all very glad you paid the bill, though,” Juliet said. “Desdemona had to buy a lot of the supplies on credit for that gig. If you hadn’t come through with the cash, she’d have been left high and dry.”
    “Which would have been bad news for us Wainwrights,” Henry added. “We depend on her to keep us employed when we’re ‘resting between engagements’, as my father likes to say.”
    “Desdemona’s the first member of the family in three generations to have a steady job,” Juliet said. “To tell you the truth, the older generation of Wainwrights finds it a little embarrassing.”
    Desdemona hoisted her cup in a mock salute. “A blot on the Wainwright family escutcheon.”
    “But a useful blot,” Kirsten said. She looked at Stark. “Actually, I’m hoping to follow in her footsteps.”
    “You’re going to get a steady job?” Stark asked.
    “I’m going to start a small business, just like Desdemona did.”
    Stark sipped his espresso. “Catering?”
    “Not exactly.” Kirsten’s eyes lit with the excitement of the incipient entrepreneur. “I’m going to open an upscale, very classy boutique right here in Pioneer Square.”
    Stark eyed the long, purple, tunic-length sweater that she wore over a pair of tight purple pants. “Let me guess. Designer clothing?”
    “No way,” Kirsten