Trust Me by Jayne Ann Krentz
“Well, look at it this way,” Hudson said, not without sympathy. “Calling off a marriage is a lot cheaper than getting a divorce. Trust me, I speak from experience.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.”
“Take care of yourself. Maybe we can get together one of these days.” Hudson hung up the phone.
The line was dead.
Stark replaced the receiver very slowly. He looked at Jason and Kyle. They watched him in stoic silence.
My point is, you turned out okay, didn't you?
Stark folded his arms across his chest. “If your mother will go for it,” he said very cautiously, “you two can stay here with me for the summer.”
Alison went for it.
An hour later Stark sat down at the desk in his study and dialed the number of the only person he could think of who might be able to help him.
“Right Touch Catering,” Desdemona said when she answered the phone. Her warm, vibrant voice was laced with the enthusiasm of the optimistic entrepreneur anticipating fresh business.
“It's me, Stark.”
“Good grief, it's eight o'clock in the morning. What in the world are you doing calling at this hour?”
“I've got a problem.”
“What sort of problem?”
“My two half brothers arrived to stay with me for the summer.”
“I didn't know you had any brothers.”
“Yeah, well, I do. Their parents got divorced six months ago. Jason and Kyle are taking it kind of hard.”
“Naturally.” Desdemona made a soft, sympathetic sound. “What other way would they take it?”
“At any rate, Alison, that's their mother, is pretty stressed out trying to deal with them and her own problems, too. Hudson is in Hawaii with his new girlfriend.”
“Hudson? That would be…?
“My father.”
“Oh. So you've got the boys for the whole summer?”
“Looks like it. I just got off the phone with Alison. She's more than willing to let them stay here in Seattle. She says the experience will be good for them. I think she's convinced herself that it's sort of like sending them off to summer camp.”
“Camp Stark.”
“Something like that. At least I've got a spare bedroom. Alison said she'd send some of their clothes to them.”
“Fancy you as a camp counselor.”
“I'm no counselor,” Stark said grimly. “I don't know a damn thing about kids. Which brings me to the crux of my problem. Kyle's twelve and Jason's ten. They're new in town. They don't have any friends or scheduled activities to keep them busy during the day while I'm at work.”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of latchkey kids.”
“That's just it. I don't think they should be left alone all day long. They're having some adjustment problems because of the divorce. They need companionship and supervision.”
“And you want to know how to find what every working parent would sell his or her soul for—good, reliable day care,” Desdemona concluded.
“They're not little children. They don't need day care. They just need someone to keep an eye on them when I'm not around. Someone who can take them places. Make sure they're occupied. That kind of thing.” Stark gazed glumly out the window. “Hell, I don't what they need. I must have been crazy to get talked into this.”
“Fear not, you came to the right place.”
“I did?”
“You're in luck.” The smile in Desdemona's voice warmed the phone in Stark's hand. “Cousin Macbeth just hit town. He's here for the summer, and he's looking for a day job. I was going to put him to work stuffing mushroom caps, but something tells me he'd rather babysit.”
“Who is cousin Macbeth?”
“Whoever or whatever you want him to be,” Desdemona said simply. “The man's a good actor. One of the best in the family, as a matter of fact, and that's saying something in this family.”
“Now, look, Desdemona, no offense, but I don't want some flaky actor looking after Kyle and Jason. I need someone trustworthy. Someone who can ride herd on two young boys who're going through a rough patch.”
“No problem. Macbeth is great with kids, and he's completely reliable. I'll send him over right away.”
Stark frowned. “I don't know about this. Kyle and Jason aren't babies. They don't need a babysitter.”
“Think of Macbeth as a mentor of young men.”
“Listen, maybe we should discuss this a little more.”
“Sorry, can't talk just now,” Desdemona said. “Got to get ready for a fund-raiser luncheon today. Oh, I almost forgot. Want to come to my birthday party a week from Friday?”
Stark was starting to feel disoriented. “Your birthday party?”
“I'll be twenty-nine, not that I'm counting.”
“I see. All right. Yes. I'll come to your birthday party.”
“Terrific. Seven o'clock at the pasta joint around the corner from Right Touch.” Desdemona rattled off the name of the restaurant. “Know it?”
“I'll find it. But, Desdemona, about this Macbeth…”
“Relax. Your problems are over.”
Desdemona hung up the phone before Stark could think of anything else to say.
“But we don't need anyone to look after us during the day,” Kyle complained. “We're used to being on our own when we get home from school. We're not little kids anymore.”
“This is summer.” Stark leaned back in his desk chair and regarded Kyle and Jason with determination. “You're not in school. You're going to have a lot of free time on your hands, and you don't know your way around Seattle. I can't be with you during the day. I've got a business to run.”
“We can find our own way around town,” Jason said quickly. “We're too old to have a babysitter.”
Stark raised his brows. In the two hours since Alison had agreed to leave Kyle and Jason in Seattle, the boys had undergone a sea change. They had magically transformed themselves from anxious, grateful waifs seeking shelter from life's storms into blustering little would-be tyrants.
“As long as you live with me,” Stark said softly, “you will live by my rules. And my rules say that you are not going to spend your days alone.”
“Aw, come on, Sam, we're your brothers, not your kids.” Kyle brightened. “We could go to your office with you.”
“I can't work and entertain you two at the same time.”
“But that's just it, we don't need to be entertained by anyone.” Jason grinned. “I've been looking around. You've got a lot of neat stuff in this house. All kinds of computers, a stereo, TV, VCRs, a CD player.”
“Yeah, this place is really well equipped,” Kyle said. “All we need are some new video games and we'll be fine.”
“And if you don't want to buy us some video games,” Jason added helpfully, “We can look up the addresses of the nearest arcades in the phone book.”
“Forget it,” Stark said with sudden conviction. “You are not going to spend the summer lost in a video arcade.”
“But video games teach reasoning and logic skills,” Kyle assured him glibly. “They also develop eye-hand coordination.”
Stark glanced at him. “Says who?”
“Dr. Titus, our shrink,” Kyle informed him with relish. “He told Mom there's no harm in vids. He said they're better for us than TV because they're inter…inter…”
“Interactive?” Stark suggested.
“Yeah, right. Interactive.” Kyle appeared pleased with Stark's perception. “And the virtual reality games are the best. It's like you go into a whole other world.”
Another world where you're alone, Stark thought. “I know,” he said quietly. “But I think that it would be best if you stayed in this world this summer.”
The muted thunder of a heavy engine broke into the discussion. Stark heard a vehicle pull into the drive.
“What's that?” Kyle said, distracted from the argument about virtual reality. “Sounds like a monster truck or something.”
The doorbell sounded. Stark got to his feet. “I'll see who that is.”
Kyle and Jason trailed after him as he went down the hall. They all descended the freestanding concrete and steel staircase that formed the spine of the house.
Stark opened the door at the bottom of the two-story foyer.
A huge, unsmiling man stood on the front steps. He wore black, mirrored sunglasses, a biker's head scarf, and a faded denim shirt. He had a wide, stainless steel cuff on one thick wrist. A leather ammo belt slanted across his broad chest. There were no bullets in the belt, but that fact did not lessen the arresting impression it made. His boots were fashioned of pale gray snakeskin. A gleaming black Jeep trimmed with a lot of chrome stood in the drive.
“I think you've got the wrong address,” Stark said.
“You Stark?”
“Yes.”
“Desdemona sent me.” The voice sounded like the Jeep's engine. “I'm Macbeth.”
“Is that a fact?” Stark smiled slowly. He glanced at his half brothers. “Jason, Kyle, meet your babysitter.”
Kyle swallowed visibly. His eyes were very round behind his glasses. “Holy shit.”
Jason just stared, awestruck.
Macbeth looked at Jason and Kyle. The boys' opened-mouthed expressions were reflected in his mirrored sunglasses.
“Understand we're supposed to have us some fun this summer,” Macbeth said. “Get in the Jeep.”
Desdemona stood in the doorway of the walk-in freezer and surveyed Vernon Tate's newest ice sculpture. She never went any farther into the freezer than was absolutely necessary, and she never remained within its cold steel confines any longer than was required to store or remove a container of food. The freezer was the same size as an elevator cab.
Vernon's latest masterpiece was a large ice bowl positioned between the wings of a frozen swan. The shape was graceful, even elegant. The ice glittered like rare crystal.
“It's perfect, Vernon,” Desdemona enthused. “We'll heap the gelato in the bowl and place the whole thing in the center of the dessert section.”
Vernon looked relieved and a little embarrassed as he always did when Desdemona praised his work. “Glad you like it. I'm still working on the dolphins you ordered for Mr. Stark's next big reception.”
“Take your time. I'll look forward to seeing them. Are you certain that you don't want to store them here at Right Touch?”
Vernon flushed. “I'd rather keep them in my friend's warehouse freezer until they're perfect.”
“I understand. Didn't mean to push you. Artists are like actors in some ways. They don't like people to see their work in progress.”
“I guess that's true.” Vernon smiled. “You know something, Miss Wainwright? I never really thought of myself as an artist until I came to work for you. It makes me feel kind of special or something.”
“You are special. I'd be lost without you.” Desdemona glanced at her watch. “I'd better see if Juliet and Aunt Bess have finished those cheese straws yet. We've got to start loading the van.”
“I'll handle the glassware,” Vernon said as he followed her out of the freezer. He turned to slam the locker door shut.
“Thanks, Vernon.” Desdemona crossed the white tiled floor, moving between two long, stainless steel counters. The lower portions of the counters consisted of twin rows of metal storage cabinets.
As always, Desdemona surveyed her small domain with a proud and possessive eye. Everything was sparkling clean and as neat as the galley of a ship. Right Touch was her stage, and she was the leading player. It was a good feeling.
Bess, her silver hair hidden beneath a white net, glanced up from her work on the cheese straws. “Almost finished, dear. Juliet just took the last tray out of the oven.”
“Great. We're on schedule.” Desdemona looked across the busy room to where Henry and Vernon were setting boxes of glassware on a hand truck. “Don't forget the small dessert dishes,” she called.
“We won't,” Henry called. “I've got the checklist.”
“I'm going to change into my tux,” Desdemona said. “I'll be right out.”
She hurried into her office, shut the door, and closed the miniblinds on the windows that overlooked the work area. Then she reached for the black and white tuxedo she wore when she was on the job.
Her mother had designed and made the tux along with the other black and white uniforms that Desdemona's staff wore when they were at work. The elegant attire was one of the trademarks of Right Touch.
The office door opened without warning just as Desdemona started to unfasten the first button of her shirt.
She whirled around and smiled when she saw her step-brother. “Tony. What are you doing here?”
“I've got to talk to you, kid.” Tony glanced over his shoulder and then stepped all the way into the office. He closed the door.
“I can't talk now, Tony. I've got a luncheon scheduled for one o'clock. We're loading the truck. When I get back we can have coffee, and you can tell me all about Hollywood.”
“Can you put me back on the payroll?”
Desdemona's heart sank. “Oh, Tony. What happened down in Hollywood?”
Tony leaned back against the door and watched her with troubled eyes. “The usual. Things went wrong. The money people never got their act together. The studio lost interest. The jerks who were handling the project dropped the ball. It's all over, Desdemona.”
“I was afraid of that. I'm so sorry, Tony.”
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Yeah, well, it's sort of the story of my life, isn't it?”
“You're a fine actor. You just haven't had the right breaks.”
“I know, I know. The right breaks.” He ran a hand over his handsome face in a weary gesture. “Sometimes I don't think I'm ever going to get them, kid.”
“You will, Tony.”
“Nice to know you believe in me.”
“The whole family believes in you, you know that,” she said.
“Like Uncle Augustus always says, the only things Wainwrights can depend on are each other.” Tony made a graceful, careless movement of his shoulders. “Look, I won't need a job forever. I finished a script while I was waiting for things to gel in L.A.”
“A script?”
“It's called Dissolving. I'm going to talk to Ian about staging it at the Limelight.”
“The Limelight is in trouble, Tony,” Desdemona said dubiously.
“Okay, so we'll have to find an angel to back the production.” Tony began to pace the small room. “We can do it. Ian needs a great script to save his theater, and I've got one for him. The thing is, I need a day job until I can get Dissolving staged. How about it?”
Desdemona smiled. “Okay. You're back on the payroll.”
“Thanks.” Tony stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “Sorry I embarrassed you in front of your date last night.”
“Don't worry about it.”
“How was I to know you'd be bringing a man home with you? Especially a guy like that. Is he the one who got you into the bondage and feathers stuff?”
“Don't be silly. Kirsten gave me that stuff a few days ago as a thank-you present. Sort of a joke, really. She's going to open Exotica Erotica soon.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about her ladies' sex boutique.” Tony eyed her closely. “So how serious are things between you and this techno-nerd?”
“Don't call him a nerd.”
“Excuse me. How serious is this thing between you and Mr. Stark?” Tony said with elaborate sarcasm.
Desdemona blushed. “I don't know yet, but I have hopes. Tony, I've got to get dressed. If you want to get back on the payroll, go put on a uniform. You can help Henry and Vernon.”
“He's not your type,” Tony said softly. “He's not one of us.”
“So they say,” Desdemona said
8
You gave your stepbrother a job?” Stark halted in the middle of the dance floor and stood glowering at Desdemona. “What is it
“Hush, you're causing a scene.” Desdemona glanced uneasily around the crowded room. “The jobs at Right Touch are real jobs?”
It was after ten on Wednesday night, and the Arts for the Future Guild ball was in full swing. The glittering downtown hotel ballroom was thronged with a curious mix of the elegant and the avant-garde as wealthy members of Seattle's social elite hobnobbed with a host of artists, actors, musicians, and writers. Tuxedoes and shimmering silk gowns mingled with tacky sequined jeans and studded leather bustiers.
Stark seemed unaware of the impropriety of halting in the center of a dance floor. His attention was focused completely on the subject of Tony. “I know the guy is your stepbrother, but that's no reason to give him a job.”
“Oh, come on, Stark, he's family. Tony just needs a day job to tide him over until he and Ian can find a financial backer for Tony's new play.”
“I don't give a damn if he's family. What's that got to do with anything?”
“You ask me that? After you just agreed to take in your two half brothers for the entire summer?” Desdemona pushed forcefully against Stark's shoulder in an effort to get him moving again. It was like trying to restart a freight train.
“That's different.”
“How is it different?” Desdemona wished she had resisted the impulse to mention that she had given Tony a job. The evening had been going rather well up until that point.
“Kyle and Jason didn't have anywhere else to go,” Stark muttered.
“Neither does Tony.”
“He's, what? Thirty-two? It's time he learned to fall back on his own resources.”
“Wainwrights fall back on each other.”
“They fall back on you.”
“It works out for all of us,” she said.
“You know what your problem is?”
“No, what is it?”
“You're a sucker when it comes to family. Face facts, Desdemona, there's nothing sacrosanct about family. Every con man, thief, and embezzler who ever lived was a member of someone's family.”
A flash of uneasiness shot through her. She searched his face anxiously, telling herself that Stark could not possibly know about the unfortunate incident that had occurred ten years earlier when Tony had been falsely accused of embezzling funds from a small theater.