Trust Me Read Online Free PDF

“Good to see you. Who's your friend?”
    “This is Sam Stark. Everyone calls him Stark. Stark, this is Ian Ivers.”
    “Hello,” Stark said.
    Ian did a stagy double take. “Not the Sam Stark of Stark Security Systems.”
    Stark did not consider that the question warranted a response, so he took another swallow of espresso instead.
    Henry stepped in to cover the awkward moment. “One and the same.”
    “How about that.” Ian grinned and stuck out a hand toward Stark. “Glad to meet you. Didn't realize you were into theater.”
    “I'm not,” Stark said. He had a feeling he was not going to like Ian Ivers.
    Ian was in his mid-thirties. He was short, and as Stark discovered when he reluctantly shook hands, his palms were unpleasantly moist. Both his jawline and his waistline had already gone soft. Perhaps they had never been firm. He wore his shoulder-length hair, which was thinning on top, in a ponytail. There was a gold ring in one of his ears. His stylish, wide-legged, heavily pleated olive green trousers flowed over his shoes. His iridescent black and green shirt sparkled in the neon light.
    “Couldn't help overhearing your comment, Stark,” Ian said with an expression of deep admiration. “Henry's right. Great insight on Juliet's performance. Real flatness there. And don't overlook the cathartic sense of sexual release that occurred at the moment of impact.”
    Stark surreptitiously wiped his hand on a small napkin. “I'm not sure I picked up on that.”
    “It was very subtle,” Ian assured him. “Listen, I gotta run. Got some money people waiting for me. Promised 'em I'd talk to 'em right after tonight's performance. But I'd really like to get together with you soon, Stark. Contemporary theater needs guys like you.”
    Stark stared at him. “I doubt it.”
    “Hey, I'm serious here,” Ian said. “Not every man in your position appreciates the importance of fringe theater. I'll get back to you.” He winked at Desdemona. “See you, Mona.”
    He lifted a hand in farewell and hurried off to a booth in the corner.
    Desdemona wrinkled her nose at Juliet and leaned forward. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Honestly, I can't believe you and Aunt Bess want me to go out with him. You know I never go out with men who call me Mona.”
    “Give him a chance,” Juliet insisted in a low voice. “He's really a nice guy, and the two of you have a lot in common.”
    “Forget it.” Desdemona rolled her eyes and gave Stark a wry look. “Juliet and my aunt are incurable matchmakers.”
    “I see,” Stark said. He made a mental note never to call her Mona. “You have to admit that Desdemona is a rather unusual name in this day and age.”
    “I chose it myself when I was five years old,” Desdemona said proudly.
    Stark nodded. “So, what's your real name?”
    “Desdemona is my real name.”
    “I mean what were you called before you were called Desdemona?”
    “Susan or something,” Desdemona said carelessly. “I don't remember for certain.”
    Stark stared at her, amazed. No one at the table seemed interested in the topic. He reminded himself that actors frequently changed their names. Further evidence of their erratic natures, he supposed.
    Juliet sighed glumly. “I wasn't trying for a cathartic sense of sexual release, you know.”
    Desdemona's eyes gleamed. “Are you sure?”
    “Positive,” Juliet said.
    “I guess that explains why I didn't get it,” Stark said.
    “Maybe I should have gone for it,” Juliet said. “Might have kept the Eastsiders interested.”
    “Don't worry,” Henry said in a consoling tone. “It'll take at least a week to close the show.”
    “And you've always got your day job,” Desdemona said cheerfully.
    Henry laughed. “That's right.” He put a comradely arm around Desdemona. “Thank God for the one member of the family who has achieved financial stability.”
    Juliet slumped gracefully against the back of the booth. “Sometimes I think I'm fated to stuff