Trust Me

Desdemona crashed into him.
    He shifted her aside with a swiftness that shocked the already stunned Desdemona. In one smooth movement, he shoved her out into the hall, then stepped into the path of the masked monstrosity.
    He kicked out hard and fast, catching the creature in the ribcage.
    “Shit.” The apparition crumpled, gasping for air. The whip bounced on the hardwood floor.
    Desdemona gripped the edge of the doorway. “Stark, are you all right?”
    “Yes.” Stark didn’t look at her. He walked toward his victim. “Call 911.”
    “For Christ’s sake,” the masked man managed hoarsely, “are you crazy? Desdemona, it’s me. Do something before this idiot calls the cops.”
    “What on earth?” Desdemona stepped back into the hall and peered closely at the figure on the floor. “Tony, is that you?”
    “Of course, it’s me. Who the hell else would it be?” Tony glared up at Stark through the eyeholes of the black mask. “Call off your pit bull, here, will you?”
    Stark looked at Desdemona. “You know this guy?”
    “Yes, I do. That’s my stepbrother. I hope you haven’t hurt him.”
    “May have cracked a rib,” Tony gasped.
    “Oh, no.” Desdemona started toward him. She halted when she heard a couple of doors open in the hallway behind her.
    She glanced over her shoulder and saw two of her neighbors.
    Miriam Eckerby, clutching the lapels of a faded housecoat, her gray hair in pink rollers, looked out through the crack in her door. She stared at Tony. “What’s going on here? Want me to call the cops?”
    “No, no, it’s okay.” Desdemona smiled apologetically. “Someone arranged a little surprise for me. I overreacted.”
    “No one ever bothers to surprise me, anymore,” Miriam muttered. “Haven’t had a real surprise since my husband, Clive, died. He didn’t mind a bit of leather now and again, either.” She banged her door shut.
    Christopher Peters, owner of an art gallery located not far from Desdemona’s shop, appeared in the doorway of 508. His robe was fashioned of embossed black silk. The rings on his fingers glinted in the hall light. “Are you all right, darling,” he demanded in his artificial British accent.
    “I’m fine, really,” Desdemona said quickly. “It’s my brother. I wasn’t expecting him. Sorry for the disturbance.”
    Desdemona slammed the door and whirled around to confront her visitor. “Tony, what on earth did you think you were doing?”
    “It was just a little joke.” Tony sat up cautiously. He winced and put a leather-clad hand to his ribs.
    “Why are you wearing all that stuff?” she asked.
    “Found it in your bedroom.” Tony sucked in a breath and staggered to his feet. “Where did you get it, anyway? No offense, but it isn’t you.”
    “Long story. Oh, Tony, it’s so good to see you.” She ran forward and threw her arms around him in welcome. “But you should have called. I wasn’t expecting you.”
    “Ouch.” Tony hugged her gingerly. “Take it easy. I’m still thinking of suing the pit bull.”
    “His name is Stark.” Desdemona said. She stepped back and smiled. “Stark, this is my stepbrother, Anthony Wainwright.”
    Stark said nothing. Tony ignored the introduction. Neither man offered to shake hands.
    Tony removed his mask, revealing his classic Wainwright features. He pointedly turned his back on Stark and looked at Desdemona. “I just got in from L.A.”
    “I thought you were busy with the production of that soap opera.” She searched his face anxiously. “Oh, Tony, did something go wrong?”
    “I’ll tell you all about it later.” Tony slanted Stark a speculative glance, as though sizing him up. Then he turned back to Desdemona with a familiar smile. “Mind if I bunk here for the night? I gave up my apartment when I left town, remember?”
    Desdemona realized that Stark was watching her in stoic silence, waiting for her to decide which man would leave and which would stay. “Well…”
    “Look, if it’s a problem,” Tony said sarcastically, “I’ll find another place to sleep. Wouldn’t want to interrupt anything here.”
    Desdemona flushed. “I’m sorry, Tony. Any chance you could go to Mom and Dad’s apartment? They’re still in Arizona.”
    He scowled, obviously startled by her decision. “You and the pit bull got something going, is that it? I’m surprised. He doesn’t look like your type.”
    “Stark is a client of Right Touch,” Desdemona said quickly.
    “Since when do you