Trust Me

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 with 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