Trust Me

assured him. “There’s a zillion clothing boutiques here in Seattle. I’m going to open a very special kind of shop. A place that will cater to women’s sexual fantasies and consumer needs.”
    Stark wondered if he’d missed a conversational cue somewhere along the line. It happened all the time. “Sexual fantasies.”
    “You know, attractively colored condoms, for example. Women buy a lot of the condoms sold in this country, did you know that?”
    “Uh, no. No, I didn’t,” Stark admitted.
    “Some pretty lingerie. Maybe some light leather, vibrators, instructional videos, erotica written by women, for women, that kind of thing.”
    “I see,” Stark said.
    “But all sold in a tasteful atmosphere.” Henry gave his wife a proud smile.
    “Tasteful,” Stark repeated cautiously.
    “I’m going to call it Exotica Erotica,” Kirsten said. “It will be a place owned and operated by a woman, catering specifically to female shoppers. Of course, men who are interested in buying sensual toys and such to give as gifts to the women in their lives will be welcome.”
    Stark looked at her. “Is that a fact?”
    “Exotica Erotica will be the kind of place where professional women and suburbanites will feel comfortable.”
    “Even Eastsiders?” Stark asked.
    “Especially Eastsiders,” Kirsten said. “I envision a place that will remind them of their favorite mall stores. Very upscale, like I said.”
    “Not tacky,” Juliet added in case Stark had not grasped the concept.
    “Definitely not tacky,” Henry agreed.
    Kirsten leaned forward, her eyes filled with the zeal of a crusader.
    “Do you realize that in this culture there are virtually no decent, pleasant places where a woman can shop for products that are geared toward her sensual needs?”
    “Uh, I hadn’t given the matter a lot of thought,” Stark admitted.
    “Who knows?” Henry said. “If the concept works, maybe Kirsten can franchise it.”
    Stark looked at Kirsten. “When do you plan to open your store?”
    “Just as soon as I can convince Desdemona, here, to cosign the loan papers at the bank.” Kirsten smiled at Desdemona.
    Stark put down his cup with great precision. “So it’s one of those situations.”
    Henry frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Desdemona smiled a little too brightly. “Forget it, Henry. The man’s had a bad day. It’s getting late. Maybe we’d better break up this little party.”
    Henry checked the massive Mickey Mouse watch he wore on his wrist as he slid out of the booth. “It’s only twelve-thirty.”
    “I’ve got a consultation for a new job in the morning.” Desdemona scooted to the edge of the seat and stood. “Don’t forget, I’ll expect everyone who’s scheduled to work tomorrow at Right Touch no later than ten. We’ve got a charity event in the afternoon.”
    “We’ll be there,” Juliet promised. “You really think I was good tonight?”
    “You were terrific,” Desdemona said.
    “Excuse me,” Stark said. “It’s been a long day.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Henry gave him a commiserating look. “We understand.”
    Juliet got out of his way. “Sorry about what happened to you today.”
    “I’ll live.” Stark got to his feet and then paused, unsure of what to say to these strangers who had taken him under their collective wing for the evening. “Thanks for the show. And the coffee.”
    “No problem,” Henry said. “The passes to Fly on a Wall were free, and you paid for the espresso.”
    “True,” Stark agreed. “Nevertheless, I appreciate the company.”
    Henry shrugged. “For what it’s worth, you played that scene this afternoon like a pro. Just the right combination of cynical disdain and arrogant pride. The crowd loved it.”
    “I’ve had practice.” Stark took his corduroy jacket off the coat hook. He looked at Desdemona. “I’ll see you home.”
    She smiled. “Thanks, but it’s only three blocks, and I’ve got my car parked out front.”
    “I’ll ride with you and catch a cab from your place,” Stark said.
    She gave him an odd look, but she didn’t argue. Stark took her arm. It felt good. He guided her out of the crowded espresso bar and into the chilly spring night.
    First Avenue, which ran through the heart of Pioneer Square, was crowded with people, as it usually was on a Saturday night.
    Live jazz and heavy rock poured from the open doors of the packed taverns and bars that lined the street. Muscle-bound bouncers perched on stools at the