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level.
    Desdemona leaned on the button that held the doors open as Stark got out She searched his face. “Are you going to be all right?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m really sorry about what happened today.”
    “Forget it.”
    “It must have been hell for you.”
    “Like I said, you get used to it.”
    “I don’t believe that for a minute.” Desdemona fleetingly touched the sleeve of his corduroy jacket. “Take care of yourself.”
    “Okay.” Stark paused. “Mind if I give you some advice?”
    “On computer security matters?”
    “No. Family matters.”
    The red highlights in her hair gleamed in the overhead light as she tilted her head to one side. “What advice?”
    “Don’t cosign those loan papers for your cousin’s wife.”
    “I’m the only one in the family who has a decent credit rating,” Desdemona said.
    “It’s too risky. It’s virtually the same as loaning the money to her.”
    “So?”
    “It’s never smart to lend money to relatives,” Stark said patiently.
    Desdemona’s expression turned oddly wistful. “Your family isn’t very close, is it?”
    “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “Nothing. I’m sorry you couldn’t meet my parents and my brother, Tony. Tony’s in L.A. He’s got a shot at a soap.”
    “He’s in the laundry business?”
    Desdemona laughed. “A soap opera. My folks are doing My Fair Lady at a dinner theater in Tucson.”
    “You seem to have a rather large family.”
    “Luckily for me.”
    Stark eyed her speculatively. “From the sound of it, I’d say they’re the lucky ones. You’re apparently the financial linchpin of the whole operation.”
    Her eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t understand. We’re a family. We all stick together. You know the old saying, the only thing a Wainwright can depend on is another Wainwright.”
    And they’re all depending on you, Stark thought. “I’ve never heard that particular saying.”
    “It’s a family motto. Say, before you go, let me give you this.” Desdemona reached into the purse that was slung over her shoulder and took out a small business card. “I realize that the last thing you want to think about at the moment is the possibility of catering another major social event. But you never know.”
    Stark accepted the card. “Thanks.”
    Desdemona took her finger off the button. “Good night, Stark.”
    “Good night.” Stark saw the curious tension return to her eyes as the elevator doors closed.
    He hesitated a moment longer, and then finally he turned and walked out of the lobby.
    He found a cab almost immediately. He got inside and leaned back against the seat. With one blunt finger he traced the words Right Touch Catering on the crisp white card Desdemona had given him. Then he put the card into the pocket of his jacket.
    He felt weary and rather old.
    He wondered where Pamela was and what she was doing tonight.
    Maybe it was for the best. He knew in his bones that the marriage probably wouldn’t have worked for more than a few years. Marriage was a fragile thing. Few people had the stamina for it. Most people opted out when the going got tough.
    Stark knew a lot about the subject. His parents had been divorced when he was ten.
    Stark had stayed with his mother, who had remarried and started a second family. For a while Stark’s father had come around to see his son on weekends, but the visits had grown increasingly far apart. Eventually they had ceased altogether.
    Looking back on that time, Stark was the first to admit that he had become difficult. He had turned sullen, rebellious, hostile, and uncooperative. His mother and stepfather, busy with their new baby, had lost patience.
    He had been put into counseling, where he had retaliated by refusing to say a word. When the counselor threw in the towel, Stark’s stepfather, a successful businessman who had been raised on the East Coast, had come up with an East Coast solution to the problem. Stark had been packed off to a boarding school