Trust Me

neat special effects,” Jason said.
    “Macbeth explained how some of ‘em worked.” Kyle went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of orange juice. “But he said you could probably explain how the special effects were produced better than he could because they’re computer-generated and you know all about computers.”
    “He says theater people don’t rely on gimmicks and computers the way the people who make movies do,” Jason added.
    Kyle poured juice into a glass. “Macbeth says creating an illusion in a theater is an art form, not a technological trick.”
    Stark raised his brows. “Are you sure Macbeth isn’t slightly biased?”
    “No, he’s an expert,” Kyle assured him.
    “I see.” Stark took another bite of cereal and finally noticed the unfamiliar taste. The stuff was as sweet as candy, but he was positive that he had not put any sugar on it.
    “Macbeth says there’s nothing like a live performance to capture the audience’s emotions,” Jason explained. “He says people get much more involved with a live performance than they do with a filmed one.”
    “He says live theater demands more from an audience,” Kyle said.
    Stark contemplated the bleak memories of the live performance in which he had acted the previous night. “He may be right.” He cautiously tried another spoonful from his bowl. “Where did this cereal come from?”
    “Macbeth took us to a store so that Jason and I could buy it and some other stuff,” Kyle explained.
    “What other stuff?”
    Kyle shrugged. “Some soda and peanut butter and potato chips.”
    “A good assortment from the basic food groups?” Stark inquired.
    “Yeah. Macbeth’s taking us to the Limelight this morning. We’re going to help him with some repairs on the stage.”
    Stark stopped chewing as a thought struck him. “Hell.”
    Jason looked up. “What’s wrong?”
    Stark wondered how to tell his brothers that Macbeth was unlikely to show up this morning. Desdemona would have gotten in touch with him by now and told him that the Wainwrights and the Starks were no longer on speaking terms.
    Stark’s next thought was that he would have to call his office and tell Maud that he wouldn’t be in until he could arrange for a new sitter. The lid that covered the cauldron of chaos inside him had loosened sometime during the night. He was catching unpleasant glimpses of the contents.
    “You okay, Sam?” Jason looked suddenly worried.
    “Yeah, are you okay?” Kyle asked.
    “I’m fine.” This wasn’t Kyle and Jason’s problem, Stark reminded himself. He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven-thirty. Macbeth always arrived promptly at seven-thirty. “Listen, there may be a change in plans today.”
    “What kind of change?” Kyle asked.
    “I’m not sure that Macbeth is going – “ Stark broke off at the sound of Macbeth’s Jeep in the drive.
    “There he is now.” Jason jumped off his chair. “Scuse me. I’ve gotta get my jacket.”
    “Me, too.” Kyle made to follow his brother.
    “Don’t forget the dishes,” Stark said automatically.
    Jason and Kyle grumbled, but they both rushed back to the table, scooped up their bowls and glasses, and deposited them in the dishwasher.
    “Bye, Sam,” Jason yelled as he headed for the door.
    “See you tonight,” Kyle called. “Are we going to send out for pizza again?”
    “We’ll see.” Stark got to his feet and followed his brothers to the door. He walked out onto the front steps.
    Macbeth sat behind the wheel of the black Jeep. He was attired, as usual, in his black mirrored sunglasses, work shirt, and leather vest. He lifted a hand in greeting as the boys ran toward the vehicle.
    “Mornin’ Stark.”
    Stark went down the steps. He walked to the Jeep and braced one hand on the top of the cab. “I wasn’t sure you’d show this morning.”
    Macbeth’s teeth flashed briefly. “I heard about the fuss here last night.” He lowered his voice as Kyle and Jason scrambled into the Jeep and reached for their seat belts. “Desdemona said you were pissed because someone tried to get inside your computer.”
    “Yes.”
    “She said you thought it was Tony.”
    “I have good reason to think that it was.”
    “Nah,” Macbeth said easily. “Tony’s no thief. He’s a screwup, but that’s different.”
    “Do you think so?”
    “Hey, don’t worry about it.” Macbeth flashed a grin. “Desdemona’s going to take care of everything.”
    “She is?”
    “Yeah.” Macbeth put