Butterflies in Heat (16 page)

He knew better than to get angry now, so he just returned her smile. "That's the kindest thing you've ever said to me."

After the briefest possible glance, she led the way back to the patio. "Care to have a beer with me? It'll be a long wait. Leonora wants to punish you a bit."

"Sure," he said.

In the afternoon sun, Anne gleamed. Her hair was wet as
if
she'd just emerged from the pool before putting on her shorts and halter. The blouse, almost transparent, revealed her breasts, the brown nipples jutting through the material.

"About my work," he said, taking the beer from her. The other night at the bar you made it clear what you think of my profession. Disgusting!"

Her cool hand reached out, but had no place to go—so it fell awkwardly by her side. "I shouldn't have said that. I can never keep my opinions to myself."

The very noise of her breathing suddenly drove him to attack. "I think it was a rotten thing to say, considering you've done a little whoring, too." He stood back, waiting for this accusation to hit her.

"Whoring?"
Her voice was incredulous.

"That's what I said. Ralph told me you were Leonora's girl."

Miles of open country lay between them at this point. She seemed to draw some sort of reassurance from deep within before she spoke. "Oh, that," she said softly.

"Yes,
that."
He was surprised at the sharpness in his own voice. Why was nailing Anne so important?

She slammed down her beer on the patio bar. Now, she was angry. "lowe you no confessions or explanations."

"You ripped into me, and I know why. You didn't want to be reminded of how you got your start."

"Damn you!" she said. Now her facade was melting. On the verge of tears, her face was contorted. Suddenly, she regained control. "Leonora wasn't my start." She wiped her brow. "This afternoon sun gets me down. In many ways," and now she was talking in just a faint whisper, "she was my end."

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. He'd touched some response within her with which he couldn't deal. "I shouldn't have brought it up." He focused on her mouth so he wouldn't have to look into her eyes. "I was hurt the other night—that's all. Just trying to strike back."

Anne's expression became thoughtful at that moment. "That son of a bitch I'm married to told you the truth for a change. I was her girL.sort of." Sipping her beer slowly, she said, "Now that you know that, I really have to explain."

Turning from her, Numie didn't want to hear it, even though he'd baited her. "You and Ralph always want to explain things."

His revelation had unleashed a damn of fury. "I don't intend to leave the impression I'm a lesbian. That's far from the truth." Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she added, "Quite the contrary as a matter of fact."

"I didn't think you were." He was growing impatient. "Christ, I know you can be somebody's girl without being a dyke. Let's say you had to survive and forget I even brought it up. After all, you're a married woman. I can see the ring on your finger" The statement was made in awkwardness. He regretted
it
instantly.

"Don't be sarcastic," she shot back. "That ring was put there by a far better man than Ralph Douglas will ever be." She settled back in her chair. "That was my first husband's ring. Nick" His name was said like a breath of fresh air. Then a frown crossed her face. Her voice was far away. "After he was killed in a car crash, I never took it off—and I don't intend to.
For any man."

The prospect of hearing her story alarmed him. "I didn't know you were married before."

"Not only married, but very much in love.
If
Nick had lived, I would never have gotten mixed up with all the sickies of the world."

"You must have been very young."

"Sixteen at the time."

"I assume this was up north."

"And how. Polish parents from the Bronx. 'Polacks', Nick's parents called us. Nick was an Italian from Brooklyn. 'Wop', my parents called him. We met, fell in love, got
married—even though I was still in high school and our parents were totally against it. A real Romeo and Juliet."

"Your parents let you? You must have had to get married."

"I did." She said that proudly. "But I lost our baby. A miscarriage. We never had another one, and I really regret that." A radio beside her was playing music softly. Abruptly she flipped it off. "After Nick's death, I've regretted it more than ever."

"What kind of man was he?" Now he was genuinely interested.

She looked at him, as
if
she weren't certain if he should know. "The wildest, most exciting man I've ever known," she said impulsively. "A real striking guy." She sat up. "A black crewcut and large deep brown eyes." She smiled to herself. "Under his left eye was a little scar. A perfect V. He never told 
me how he got
it.
"
Her voice drifted.

All of a sudden, Numie was jealous. Jealous! He couldn't believe
it.
He'd never been jealous of anybody in his whole life.

Anne's vision seemed to falter for a moment, but then
it
came back in full force. "He was a big man—big boned and very handsome. He had large hands and one of the most beautiful mouths I've ever seen on a man. A deep, resonant voice. And he loved to drink beer. A pleasure we shared." She sipped from her own can. With her other hand she fanned her face. "When I lost him, I lost everything."

In the afternoon sun, Anne was getting drunk. The more she drank, the more she talked.

Eager now for whatever information he could pick up, Numie stopped drinking after the first beer. He lay silently, letting the sun bum his face. But somehow
it
felt good, cleansing. "How did you meet Leonora?"

"A girl friend of mine worked for her," Anne said, settling back. "Leonora always hired inexperienced models in those days. Said photographers gave them bad habits."

"Was this right after Nick died?"

"Not right away. When Nick died, I didn't do anything for the first few months. By then, I had no money and got a job as a clerk at Klein's." She sighed. "But that was nowhere. Then this girl got me an interview with Leonora. She had convinced me I could be a model."

Numie smiled to himself, remembering all the people who had promised to help him become a model. "For a little girl from the Bronx, meeting Leonora must have been some show."

"It was. I can't forget the first time I saw her. I was scared to death.
If
she told me to jump out the window, I would have. I was ushered into this big office. French furniture, everything in chintz. Lilacs all over the place. Such a sweet odor I knew I was going to be sick. In the comer was a big head of Nefertiti."

"Who's that?"

"A queen of Egypt, can you believe it? I didn't know who Nefertiti was either at the time, but I soon found out. Even though she doesn't have the nose for it, Leonora thinks she's a reincarnation." Anne was squirming in her chair, restless as a young deer. Her eyes were bright and mischievous now. They almost hid the fact she was drunk.

Numie was finding some vicarious thrill in hearing about the job interview.
It
was a foreshadowing of what he was about to face. "Did you get the job?" he asked when she didn't say anything for a while.

"Yes, but I never did any real modeling. I know now Leonora just used the job as an excuse to make me."

"With your figure, I think you'd make a terrific model."

"Thanks, but it didn't work that way. My figure was much too round for a high-fashion model."

"You at least tried, didn't you?"

"Briefly. Leonora always worked with the photographer. She was like a choreographer—wanted me to feel free and relaxed, the natural look. I was a wooden Indian. Completely under her control. She was hypnotic, really."

He was like a voyeur today, but he really wanted to know. That led him to ask hesitantly, "Going from Nick to Leonora must have been quite a jump."

At first Anne didn't say anything. Then she replied,
"It
was. I couldn't have gone with another man then. With Leonora, it wasn't anything like with Nick. Boring, actually. I didn't like it, but then again I didn't know how to say no. I was so naive."

"Sounds like you were lost more than anything else."

Her hand ran down her thigh.
It
was wet and hot.
"It
was soon clear I wasn't going to make it as a model. So Leonora opened up this bedtime shop for me. The offers I got running that place you wouldn't believe."

"I, of all people, would believe them."

Suddenly, Anne got up, stretching in the sun. "Looks like Leonora is going to make you wait all afternoon. Not me. I'm going to sleep—I feel dizzy. She'll send for you when she wants you." Anne headed across the patio toward the parlor.

"Anne," he called, jumping up.

She turned to look back. Squinting her eyes in the glare, she said, "Whatever it is, it'll keep till tomorrow." Then she was gone.

What did he want to ask her? He didn't really know. Yet he'd called her name. Too much sun. Maybe he'd better wait in the shadows for Leonora to summon him.

Alone in the patio, Numie was growing languid in the late of the hot day. Another beer from the refrigerator, and he was

sinking into his chair, sipping slowly. A stirring of the wind woke up a giant elephant-eared philodendron.

It
was good to be alive. In spite of his trouble, he hadn't felt as hopeful in months.

If
he were back home now, he would just hear his mama say, "Son, your sap is rising. A bad time. You could get into a heap of trouble.
I'll
pray to Jesus."

But he was in Tortuga, a long way from home. Nobody spoke of sap rising any more.

Another sip and his eyes were closing, dreaming.

So Anne had her Nick. Well, he'd had someone, too. At least for a little while. That day on the deserted island with Ralph, he'd mentioned but didn't tell about his second love, his real one. The thing with Marty never came off. With Lisa, it did.

Lisa, the little beatnik girl who was a beatnik before anyone knew what that was.

She had picked him up in her van one night when he was hitching. He remembered it so well. She'd just sensed what he was feeling without telling her anything. She also seemed to care, and he was a complete stranger.

When she found out he had no place to live, she invited him home with her. Home was two hundred miles away ina rickety farmhouse in upper New York state where she stayed with four other people, including an old woman known only as Grandma.

In her early seventies, Grandma physically was nothing but creases and furrows. But her spirit was much alive. She lived for just two things: bowls of Campbell's soup which she devoured and her "weed" which she smoked until she faded into a coma every evening.

Grandma welcomed Numie right away. "The more the merrier," she said. Then she confided, "You kids think you discovered marijuana. Shit, myoId man turned me on to it back in 1914. Been going up in smoke ever since."

After putting her to bed, Lisa told Numie: "Grandma owns all this land. Lets us live here. We raise chickens, pigs, and goats. Two of us are vegetarians, but most of us are meat eaters."

Then she took him to a tiny room where twin girls were sleeping. "They're mine," she said proudly. "Phyllis and Dell."

"Pretty as can be," Numie said. "Who's the daddy?"

"I don't know," Lisa said matter-of-factly.
"It
really doesn't matter. We don't have daddies and mamas here. Anybody who loves can be a daddy or mama. Kids should learn to accept love from everybody."

"Accept, but not always expect," Numie said.

"That's too cynical. Love must start somewhere, and on this farm we believe in spreading it around."

The other members of the farm crew included Bob and Spence, two young dudes from New York City. They shared a room upstairs—and they were very much in love. Both had run away from home. Spence's parents were very wealthy, and they objected to his having a black lover. Not a male lover—but a black one.

Maria also lived there. She was from the city, too, but she had no one. Her face was badly cut in a knife fight in the South Bronx. She stayed in her room most of the time.

In her embroidery-covered blue jeans and Indian moccasins, Lisa was a charmer. Not pretty, but appealing in her simple outlook and openness to life.

"You're in deep trouble," she said to Numie. "Very unhappy. Stay with us. We want to help you. To give you love."

By the hand, she led him to a room with straw mats on the floor. A Chinese lantern cast a dim light.

"Numie," she said softly before reaching out.

Not thinking, not guarded, he just responded to her warmth. Never before had he held anyone like Lisa. Her tiny figure, her long red hair, the smell of her flesh, her gentleness—all of her inspired him. His fingers traced a line down the contour of her bony back. In return, she kissed his eyelids.