The too-adult expressions of wariness, cynicism, and uncertainty that had marked their young faces earlier, were gone, at least for the moment. The magic of the theater had enveloped them for a short while, giving the children a respite from the overwhelming stresses that plagued their lives.
“At least I understood this play better than I did the last one I saw,” Stark said. “No flyswatters.”
Desdemona laughed. “Congratulations. You're on your way to becoming a real theater buff.”
“Want to go backstage? I've, uh, got passes.”
“I'm impressed. You must have connections.”
“I know a couple of people.” Stark reached for her hand.
They waited until the herd of youngsters had raced up the center aisle to the small lobby. Desdemona took the opportunity to edge closer to Stark. She savored the strength in his grip. There was something very solid and sure about him, she thought. He might prove inflexible from time to time, perhaps even mulish under certain circumstances, but a woman could trust a man like this. If he made a commitment, he would stick to it.
Desdemona's fingers brushed the worn corduroy of Stark's slouchy jacket. She inhaled deeply. Stark's faint scent brought forth a warm rush of memory. She had not yet recovered from their lovemaking, she realized. She was still a little giddy.
“I understand you've met Jason and Kyle,” Stark said as their path cleared. He drew her down the center aisle toward the stage.
“I certainly have. Macbeth brought them by Right Touch twice this week when we needed extra help to load the van. They were great.”
“I'm afraid they've both been struck by stage fever.”
“I know the symptoms well.”
Jason popped out from behind the curtain. He waved wildly to get Stark's attention. “Over here, Sam. I have to put the trees away in the prop room. I'll be through in a minute. Hi, Desdemona.”
“Hello, Jason. Great show. The trees were spectacular.”
Jason beamed. “Thanks.” He vanished behind the curtain again.
“Hi, Sam. Desdemona.” Kyle hailed them from the wings. “How'd you like the way I handled the curtains?”
“I don't see how they could have opened or closed the show without you,” Stark said.
“Yeah.” Kyle grinned hugely. “The kids in the audience really liked the play, didn't they?”
“You were a hit,” Stark said. “I was sitting in the back row, and I saw everyone in the audience applaud like crazy.”
Macbeth loomed in the shadows. “Hello, Desdemona. Stark. Glad you could make it. Enjoy yourselves?”
“It was terrific.” Desdemona released Stark's arm to give Macbeth a hug.
“Oh, there you are, Desdemona, dear.” Bess sailed across the stage, the grotesque horns of her monster costume tucked under one arm. She had not yet removed her makeup. “Who's this with you?”
“Aunt Bess, I'd like you to meet Sam Stark. Stark, this is Bess Wainwright.”
Stark inclined his head in his austere manner. “Mrs. Wainwright.”
“Call me Bess.” Bess came to a halt and surveyed him from head to toe. “So you're the one.”
“Am I?”
“You're not quite what I expected,” Bess informed him.
“Is that right?”
“You move well.” Bess eyed him with a grudging approval. “You look like you've had some decent training.”
“He has had some training,” Desdemona said. “But not in acting. Aunt Bess, I absolutely forbid you to make any more personal remarks. At this rate it's only a matter of time before you embarrass me.”
“Nonsense. No Wainwright was ever embarrassed by anything except a forgotten line or a missed cue.”
“There's a first time for everything,” Desdemona said.
Jason and Kyle reappeared. They were bubbling over with the glow of an acknowledged success.
“Want to see backstage?” Jason asked Stark.
“Yes, I would,” Stark said.
“Wait'll you see the light booth,” Kyle said. “They've got all kinds of neat gadgets up there.”
Desdemona smiled at Stark. “I'll wait here.”
He nodded once and then allowed himself to be led off stage left.
Desdemona waited until the three of them had moved out of earshot before she turned to Macbeth. “Looks like the babysitting is going well.”
“Yeah.” Macbeth smiled slightly. “I was sure glad to see Stark in the audience today. Kyle and Jason had really counted on him being there. He'd told them he would come, but you never know.”
“Corporate honchos like that have a way of turning up busy at the last minute, especially when it comes to little kids,” Bess said grimly.
Desdemona shook her head. “If Stark says he'll do something, you can bet money on it.”
“I think Jason and Kyle are starting to believe that,” Macbeth observed quietly.
Twenty minutes later Stark reappeared. Kyle and Jason bounced around him like energetic puppies.
“We're going to get some pizza,” Jason said when he spotted Desdemona. “Someplace where they have video games.”
“You can come along if you want,” Kyle said generously.
“Thank you.” Desdemona smiled at Stark. “I'd like that.”
Stark looked relieved, as though he'd been half afraid she would not want to join him and his brothers for pizza and video games.
Some of Jason's gleeful enthusiasm faded as they walked out of the theater. His expression turned thoughtful. “Sam, did you know that a lot of those kids in the audience don't have real homes? Macbeth says they have to live in shelters and cheap motels and places like that.”
“Some even have to live in cars 'cause that's all their folks can afford,” Kyle added.
“A home is a valuable thing,” Stark said. “Not everyone has one.”
Stark took aim at the hideous green monster and squeezed off the last shot. “Gotcha.”
The creature collapsed and vanished in a puff of smoke.
“You did it,” Kyle yelped in awestruck amazement ‘You destroyed the Wyvern, and you found the treasure. You won the game. Hardly anybody ever wins this one.”
Lights flashed, and a row of numbers appeared on the video screen.
Jason gazed at the numbers, entranced. “Wow. Look at that score.”
Desdemona peered at the screen. “I didn't think adults were supposed to be any good at these games.”
“I've got an edge on this one,” Stark admitted as he stepped back from the machine.
“What kind of an edge?” Desdemona asked.
“I invented it.”
Kyle and Jason stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
Kyle recovered first. “Is that the truth?”
“Yes.” Stark fished quarters out of his pocket. “Want to give it a try?”
“Sure.” Kyle moved into position. “What's the secret?”
“The secret is not to get greedy when you finally discover the location of the Wyvern's treasure. Leave the gold where it is until you clean the bad guys out of the caverns. Then go back for the treasure.”
Kyle frowned. “Yeah?”
“The players who try to take the treasure and run for it always lose,” Stark said. “I set it up that way.”
Kyle grinned. “Got it.” He seized the control sticks.
“It's designed to teach the concept of deferred gratification,” Stark said dryly. He looked at Desdemona. “I'm something of an expert on the subject.”
“Let me try, let me try,” Jason said.
“I'm first.” Kyle shoved coins into the slot.
Jason turned to Stark. “When did you invent Wyvern's Treasure?”
“About four years ago. I sold the software design to the company that manufactures it. Other designers update it periodically, but they haven't tampered with the basic structure of the game, so I can still win when I play.”
“Cool,” Jason breathed. “Way cool. Wait'll I tell my f
riend Kevin. He's good at this game. He always gets as far as Wyvern hunter status, but he's never gotten a score as high as yours.”
Desdemona looked at Stark. “I thought your specialty was security and encryption programs based on chaos theory.”
“Based on theories derived from the science of complex structures,” Stark corrected patiently. “I told you, I don't like the word chaos. It's not a proper description of the field.”
“Whatever. Did you invent Wyvern's Treasure just for fun?”
“No.” Stark took her arm and guided her back to the red vinyl booth.
The aroma of fresh-cooked pizza filled the colorful restaurant. Stark had discovered that Kyle and Jason considered pizza to be nature's perfect food. He had eaten more pizza since their arrival than he had eaten in the past year.
Desdemona slid into the booth across from him and reached for her glass of sparkling water. “Why did you invent it, then?”
“I wrote the game program because I needed cash to start up Stark Security Systems.” He studied her intently, marveling at how good it felt to have her sitting across from him.
The garish restaurant lighting turned her frothy red curls into coils of spun copper. Her turquoise eyes glowed with warmth and laughter. He thought about Wednesday night and burned.
“Thanks for inviting me along this afternoon,” Desdemona said. “I love pizza.”
“Do you? Personally, I think I'm in serious danger of overdosing on it.” Stark glanced across the room to where Kyle and Jason were hovering over the video machine. “I want to thank you for sending Macbeth to me. Getting Jason and Kyle involved with the Strolling Players was a good idea.”
‘I'm glad they're enjoying it.”
“It's taking them out of themselves or something.” Stark was not certain how to put it into words. “Makes them feel a part of something important.”
“It's always illuminating to discover that there are other people who are a lot worse off than you are,” Desdemona said. “And that you can do something to help.”
Stark switched his gaze back to her. “Maybe the next time we go out on a date, we can go alone.”
“I'd enjoy that, too.”
‘And maybe we can go to bed together afterward,” Stark suggested, feeling optimistic about life in general.
“You have a one-track mind.”
“I realize that I tend to be somewhat linear in my thinking, but I'm trying very hard not to be tacky.”
Desdemona sipped daintily from her glass of fizzing water. Her eyes sparkled. “Luckily for you, you're too sexy to be called tacky.”
What with the responsibilities that came with being an older brother, as well as the demands of business and the ARCANE project, Stark found it extremely difficult to maintain political correctness in his thinking processes.
It was hard, for example, not to think tacky thoughts about Desdemona.
By Monday morning all he really wanted to focus on was how to be alone with her. It was a thorny problem, but he was more than willing to devote a great deal of energy to it. He was, after all, very goal-oriented.
Maud Pitchcott looked up as he walked through the door of his office.
“Good morning, Mr. Stark. A lovely day. Full of sunlight and fresh promise, isn't it?”
“It's raining.”
“April showers bring May flowers.”
“It's the middle of June.”
‘We wouldn't appreciate the sunshine if we didn't have to first experience the rain,” Maud said with ill-concealed triumph.
“I give up. You win.” Stark started past her desk toward the door of the inner office.
“Oh, Mr. Stark, I almost forgot. A package arrived for you.” Maud reached for a large box wrapped in brown paper that sat on the table behind her desk. She handed it to him. “See? A surprise to brighten a rainy day.”
Stark took the package. He glanced at the return address. “It's from my mother.”
“How lovely.”
“Probably a wedding gift. Looks like she didn't get my note telling her the bride ran off.”
Maud's face fell for an instant, but she rallied quickly. “Never forget, Mr. Stark, nothing happens without a reason, even though in the darkest hours before the dawn that reason seems obscure. Every cloud has a silver lining. By the way, Mr. McCallum wants to see you as soon as you're available.”
“Send him in.”
Stark went into his inner sanctum, put the package down on his desk, hooked his jacket on a coat rack, and sat down. The intercom chimed gently.
“What is it, Maud?”
“There's a call for you on line two. A Mrs. Alison Stark.” Maud's tone ended on a distinct question mark.
“Damn.” Stark hesitated. He was not in a mood to talk to Alison, but he supposed there was no avoiding it. “I'll take it. Tell McCallum to wait.” He punched line two. “This is Stark.”
“Sam? This is Alison. I called to see how the boys are doing.”
“They're doing fine.” Stark studied the screen of his electronic calendar, mentally reviewing his schedule for the day. He wondered if Desdemona would be free for lunch.
“You're sure?”
The odd note in her voice got his full attention. “Of course, I'm sure. I just sent them off with their babysitter.”
“You've got a babysitter for them?” Alison sounded flabbergasted.
“A friend of mine recommended him. He's got them involved in a children's theater project. They gave their first performance on Saturday, and it was a smash hit.”
“Good grief. I had no idea Jason and Kyle were interested in theater.”
“Is there a problem here, Alison? Because I've got a busy schedule today.” Stark found a pair of scissors in his desk drawer. He went to work on the box his mother had sent.
“No, there's no problem here,” Alison paused. “To be frank, I called because I thought that you'd be more than ready to pack Jason and Kyle up and ship them back to Portland by now.”
“Like I said, they're doing fine.”
“No offense, but I'm amazed to hear that. Maybe their therapist was right.”
“About what?”
“Jason and Kyle may see you as a substitute for Hudson.” Her voice dropped to a confidential tone. “You know, I was at my wit's end the night they ran off to Seattle.”
“Forget it.” Stark got the tape undone. He lifted the top of the box.
“I've been having intensive stress reduction sessions with my own therapist. I'm feeling much calmer now.”
“That's nice.” Stark picked up the card that was lying on top of the tissue paper. It read:
Dear Sam,
Sorry to miss your wedding. We'll be in Europe by the time you get this. Things have been hectic around here. Richard graduated from law school this spring. Fourth in his class. Katy just got engaged to a heart surgeon. We're thrilled. Excellent family. Brian and I are off to England tomorrow. We'll be gone two months. Business and pleasure trip. Will call when we get back.
In the meantime, please give my regards to your bride.
Love,
Mother
Stark lifted several layers of tissue paper. A crystal punch bowl glittered inside the box. He was pretty sure he recognized it.
“Sam? Sam, are you listening to me?”
“I'm listening, Alison.” Stark transferred the punch bowl to another table.
“I needed some space. I still do.”
“Uh-huh.” Stark switched on his computer.
“My therapist says that the stress I'm under has over-whelmed me, and the boys sense it. It makes them feel insecure.”
“Right.” Stark scanned his e-mail messages. He paused when he saw a familiar name and address.
[email protected] “It's been very difficult for all of us,” Alison said defiantly.
“Right.” Stark hadn't heard from Sellinger in months. He wondered why the director of the Rosetta Institute had contacted him today. The e-m
ail message was short and to the point.
Please call. Urgent.
“I appreciate your taking Jason and Kyle for a while. We all needed a break from each other.”
“Right.”
“At first the boys actually blamed me for the fact that Hudson walked out, you know. Their therapist says that's normal, and I've tried to be understanding, but their attitude has definitely added to my overall stress level.”
“Right.”
“Dr. Titus, that's the boys' therapist, has worked with them very extensively. He's tried to make them realize that the breakup of the marriage had nothing to do with them.”
“Right.”
“But they've been extremely uncooperative. Rude and sullen.”
“Right.”
“You're sure they're not a problem?”
“I'm sure.” Stark hit a key to pull up his personal list of phone numbers that he kept stored in the computer.
“In that case,” Alison said in a cautious tone, “the boys' therapist has recommended that I take a vacation.”
“With him?”
There was a short, brittle silence. “Have the boys mentioned Dr. Titus to you?”
“They said you're having an affair with him.”
“They know about my relationship with Cliff?” Alison asked in a strangled voice.
“Yeah.” Stark found Sellinger's number.
“It's okay, you know,” Alison said swiftly. “There's absolutely nothing wrong with my seeing Dr. Titus. He's their therapist, not mine.”
“Right.”
“I have my own therapist, Dr. Lachlan, and he says that it's good for me to have a relationship at this particular point in my life.”
“Right.”
“He says it's just what I need to rebuild my shattered self-esteem.”
“Sure.”
“He says I have to get past the sense of guilt and the anger.”
“Uh-huh. Look, Alison, this kind of psychobabble always confuses me. Kyle and Jason are fine. I've told you that they can stay with me for the rest of the summer. Go ahead and take your vacation with your therapist.”
“Dr. Titus is not my therapist. I told you that. He's the boys' therapist. Dr. Lachlan is mine.”