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do you plan to open your store?”
    “Just as soon as I can convince Desdemona, here, to cosign the loan papers at the bank.” Kirsten smiled at Desdemona.
    Stark put down his cup with great precision. “So it’s one of those situations.”
    Henry frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Desdemona smiled a little too brightly. “Forget it, Henry. The man’s had a bad day. It’s getting late. Maybe we’d better break up this little party.”
    Henry checked the massive Mickey Mouse watch he wore on his wrist as he slid out of the booth. “It’s only twelve-thirty.”
    “I’ve got a consultation for a new job in the morning.” Desdemona scooted to the edge of the seat and stood. “Don’t forget, I’ll expect everyone who’s scheduled to work tomorrow at Right Touch no later than ten. We’ve got a charity event in the afternoon.”
    “We’ll be there,” Juliet promised. “You really think I was good tonight?”
    “You were terrific,” Desdemona said.
    “Excuse me,” Stark said. “It’s been a long day.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Henry gave him a commiserating look. “We understand.”
    Juliet got out of his way. “Sorry about what happened to you today.”
    “I’ll live.” Stark got to his feet and then paused, unsure of what to say to these strangers who had taken him under their collective wing for the evening. “Thanks for the show. And the coffee.”
    “No problem,” Henry said. “The passes to Fly on a Wall were free, and you paid for the espresso.”
    “True,” Stark agreed. “Nevertheless, I appreciate the company.”
    Henry shrugged. “For what it’s worth, you played that scene this afternoon like a pro. Just the right combination of cynical disdain and arrogant pride. The crowd loved it.”
    “I’ve had practice.” Stark took his corduroy jacket off the coat hook. He looked at Desdemona. “I’ll see you home.”
    She smiled. “Thanks, but it’s only three blocks, and I’ve got my car parked out front.”
    “I’ll ride with you and catch a cab from your place,” Stark said.
    She gave him an odd look, but she didn’t argue. Stark took her arm. It felt good. He guided her out of the crowded espresso bar and into the chilly spring night.
    First Avenue, which ran through the heart of Pioneer Square, was crowded with people, as it usually was on a Saturday night.
    Live jazz and heavy rock poured from the open doors of the packed taverns and bars that lined the street. Muscle-bound bouncers perched on stools at the entrances of the clubs. They flirted with wispy young women who wore heavy red lipstick on their mouths and rhinestones in their noses.
    Desdemona’s red Toyota was parked at the curb. She got behind the wheel and unlocked the door on the passenger side. Stark could not think of anything particularly witty or clever to say, so he stayed silent as she eased the little car into traffic.
    After the first block he noticed that he did not feel the usual pressure to make conversation. It was a relief.
    Two blocks later Desdemona turned a corner, drove partway down an alley behind an aging brick building, and used a remote control to open the steel gate of a parking garage. Inside, she slipped the Toyota into a parking stall.
    Stark got out and walked her to the elevator.
    “Do you want to come upstairs to my place to call a cab?” Desdemona asked as they waited for the elevator doors to open.
    Stark suddenly realized that he wanted to go upstairs to her apartment more than he wanted anything else in the world. This was supposed to be his wedding night. “No, I’ll get out at the lobby. I can find a cab on the street.”
    The elevator opened. Desdemona stepped inside. Stark followed. He thought she tensed as the doors closed again. He watched her out of the corner of his eye and could have sworn that she was doing some sort of deep-breathing exercise. Before he could figure out how to ask her politely if something was wrong, the elevator opened at the lobby