Butterflies in Heat (18 page)

The statement was a blow to him. "I've made that in one hour before," he protested.

"Not lately, I presume." She never liked to attack anyone on the subject of age, because she felt too vulnerable. But it was always her final recourse.

Properly insulted, he bit his lip and decided to take another approach. "I can't live on that."

"Tangerine makes only fifty dollars a week," Leonora volunteered. Was Numie too stupid to see that she wasn't the state dispensing welfare? "Of course, there are fringe benefits," she added, fearing he'd turn her down. Then she realized she could not promise too much. She'd present the fringe benefits in negative terms. "I'm sure you'll sponge all your booze off me—not to mention marijuana! You'll probably take all your meals here. There are plenty of bedrooms."

"I need some clothes every now and then ... something," he said, feeling his appeal for higher wages hopeless at this point.

"There's nothing to buy on this island. Certainly no clothes—other than my gowns." She sat up briefly, staring hard into the near darkness. "And I assume that's not your scene." Actually, she couldn't be sure. Everybody was dressing up in drag these days. "Further, if you're ambitious, you'll rise within the ranks. Tangerine was just a maid when I came here. Now she's my personal masseuse." She said that as if Tangerine held the highest position in court.

Slowly he walked the room. The air was growing heavier. It smelled of strange solutions—l.ike a chemical factory.

With Tangerine massaging her breasts, Leonora went on, "You'll have to be my bodyguard as well. The town is filled with Peeping Toms looking for life. They roam the island at night. Having no life of their own, they must depend for their thrills on seeing somebody who does."

Was she serious? He decided to assume for the moment she was. "Well, Leonora, you set yourself up for that. Everywhere you go, you make it your own stage. You open the curtain, and you perform. Naturally, the natives show an interest."

Was he insulting her? "But I want to keep my audience at a distance," she protested. "That's why I had to put a huge gate and a high fence around Sacre-Coeur."

Tangerine was applying pressure on those aching neck muscles. "They know
I'm
here, and the hungry bastards want to get close to
me.
Just to touch me—that would delight them to no end."

Realizing that he had touched her and hadn't responded properly, he said, "You're an amazing woman, and people sense that. I did the first night I met you."

"Thank you," Leonora said. "Better yet, should compliment your judgment."

Hoping for an advantage, he said,
"If
I'm to be your bodyguard, too, it'll cost you seventy-five dollars a week."

"Very well," she replied, amazed at how cheaply he could be bought. But with that kind of salary, you'll be limited to three drinks and two beers a day at the patio bar."

"It's a deal." In some way, his acceptance seemed like a sentence instead of a victory. "When do I begin?"

"Consider yourself employed as of this moment." Her voice seemed to reverberate through the beauty chamber.

"You've already had your quota of two beers for the day. I peeked through the window at you and Anne." That must have surprised him, she thought. It'll show him who's in charge. "However, before midnight you're entitled to three drinks. The drinks can consist of not more than two shots a glass, and you have to use the ordinary brand of Scotch."

"Thanks a lot." Leonora certainly knew how to put a servant in his place.

Leonora hesitated. She was on the verge of a command—a tasteless, vulgar command. But so secure was she as a lady she knew she could give the order and not sacrifice dignity. "Now, Tangerine,
the ultimate massage."

Tangerine paused awkwardly, her hand at her throat. She looked at Numie.

He was horrified and filled with loathing for Leonora. "Isn't
it
about time I left?" he asked pointedly.

"My darling," Leonora said mockingly, "you're bashful. A professional, bashful? How quaint!" A very cross look consumed Leonora's face. "No, you're going to stay here and watch. I loathe insincere embarrassment." She slammed her fists down on the board.

Numie didn't know what to do. He was desperately unhappy.

"Leonora, honey," Tangerine said, "this awful headache's bothering me. I just can't get rid ofit"

"Excuses bore me," said Leonora. She knew she was coming on as a monster, but some demonic energy was in control, forcing her on and on. She couldn't give in to reason. She'd have to pursue her command to its finish.

"I'm not really making excuses," Tangerine said, "but I don't feel well today."

"You're making these complaints because Numie is here," Leonora said. "I know you too well." Leonora was an autumnal beauty, that she knew. But a beauty, nevertheless. It seemed altogether appropriate to her that some homage should be paid. After all, her life began practically at the beginning of this century, and she should have faded long ago.
It
wasn't sex she wanted;
it
was worship and tribute to her endurance. Deciding to press her case stronger, she said, "I hope I don't have to remind you how hard it would be for a sixty-five-year-old alcoholic to find work in Tortuga."

At this point Numie wanted to grab Tangerine's arm and force her from the room. Let them take their chances somewhere else, regardless of the odds. But he stood motionless, paralyzed by the magnetism of Leonora.

"I'm grateful and everything for the job," Tangerine stammered. "Really I am. Just this once, though, I don't want to do it. Tomorrow
I'll
be fine, I just know it."

"Let her off," Numie said.

Leonora sat up. She wasn't used to being challenged. "Keep quiet!" she demanded. "You have just started to work for me. Lesson number one is to carry out my orders without question."

Numie relaxed. "Okay," he muttered. He felt different somehow. After all, this was a ritual that had been enacted between the two of them many times before. Maybe they both needed it. He'd seen worse things in life.
If
their scene called for an audience, he'd be the unwilling participant.

"As for you, Tangerine," Leonora said lying back down again, "you either do the work I hire you for—or go see Anne about getting your final paycheck." Her facial muscles relaxed now. After an initial flare-up of rebellion, both of her servants had succumbed.

Tangerine's face collapsed, then she braced herself. Resigned to her task, she slowly moved her fingers between Leonora's thighs.

Her breath heavy now, Leonora was holding Tangerine's wrist in a tight embrace of fingers.

Numie turned away, but could not blot the sound.
It
seemed to last forever. He thought of other things. Sailing out on the sea, the air, clear and fresh. How Tortuga looked at daybreak when the sun just seemed to rise right out of the sea.

Without a climax, Leonora pulled Tangerine's hand away. Tangerine straightened up and reached for a lavender satin robe. She gently placed it over Leonora's body. Then she slowly made her way to the bathroom.

"That sure is some robe," Numie said. "It's real pretty."

Leonora was acutely embarrassed. She had wanted to embarrass Numie instead, and let him know who was completely in charge at Sacre Coeur. But at this moment she was all too aware of what he must be thinking of her. She had to shift attention away from what had happened. Seize upon anything. What had he said? Her robe was really pretty. That was
it!
"Don't ever use the word 'pretty' with me," she said. "I like things ugly or beautiful—never 'pretty'."

"Christ," Numie said, irritated to the point of leaving. "I can't say anything right. You're a designer, and I thought your robe was pretty. Surely there's nothing wrong with that. I like the color."

"At least you appreciate color," she said, sitting up and wrapping the robe around her. "Before I entered haute couture, everything was blue, grey, brown, or black. I introduced sunflower yellow, raspberry pink, lime green, carnation red. I revolutionized the industry." Slowly she raised herself from the table, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her robe. "A good massage is imperative for a healthy body. And as you seen, my body is
 
very
 
healthy ."

"It's a very beautiful body," Numie said, wincing slightly. "I could only envy Tangerine." There, he felt better for having said this obvious lie. He was back playing the role of whore again—the only part he knew.

She looked up at him. At first she was tempted to thank him, but that might indicate she was susceptible to flattery. Instead, she answered, "I know."

Leonora represented everything he hated. Yet he was strangely attracted to her. Did he secretly want her? Not for her body, not for sex certainly, but for some quality of life she had. She was somebody, and he was nobody.

Life had allowed her to be herself; and he hadn't been given the chance. She flaunted her achievements, making him more and more aware of his lack of them.

She was fucking the world, and doing it out in the open—in broad daylight, regardless of who was looking on.

Leonora walked over and stood before a full-length mirror, opening her robe to expose her nudity. "Whenever I designed for a woman, I always had her come before me, pull off her clothes—and just stand there."

Leonora was carefully programmed. Every gesture—the waving of her manicured nail, the turning of her lacquered head—was choreographed to suggest spontaneity. Yet the overall effect was rehearsed.

Hands on her body, Leonora continued, "Each creature is unique. I allowed the natural contours of the body to inspire me." She glared defiantly in the mirror, challenging it. Then her face assumed a Sphinx-like charm. "Sometimes I learned—sadly—that women didn't really know who they were"

At this point Leonora seemed suspended in her self-created space. Numie's rays were bouncing all around her—but not penetrating, not reaching her core.

"I always had a solution for women like that," she said finally. "I told them to go home, stand nude in front of the mirror, just like I'm doing now—for days at a time if necessary and get acquainted with themselves. Then come back to my salon when they figured out who they were."

Leonora was now swimming in her own finnament. The glow from her was a greenish patina, as she slowly moved her ringed hands up and down her body.

"I could never dress anybody who didn't possess self-knowledge. I don't believe in attiring manikins—rather, real people. People with flesh and spirit. Once a woman realized what her personality was, then I could sharpen and define it. But I couldn't create it." Leonora was hypnotized by her own reflection.

Her sudden spell allowed Numie to observe the salon more.
It
was a real vamp's chamber—complete with white satin curtains, a white fur rug, and tasseled mirrors. Lots of satin pillows and assorted bric-a-brac. Overhead was a crystal chandelier.

"What do you think of my room?" she asked, as if suddenly aware of him.

"A little campy."

"Campy! You don't understand what's fashionable. I've always known—even when people denounced my work as historic. "

"I'm sure that true quality never goes out of style."

"The most sophisticated thing I've ever heard you say. Do you know dresses I designed in the thirties are being sold in New York, Paris and London? Right today! I'm having an amazing renaissance. And people said I was through."

She was completely intoxicated by herself. Narcissism on a cosmic level. Crawling into her past, she found the true thread of her life in the re-emergence of her former self. She was no longer real—rather, impersonating herself.

"What a glorious comeback it's going to be for me" she said breathlessly. "The tangos will return. Dancing cheek-to-cheek. Can you imagine? We have nearly survived the fifties, darling. The bobby socks phase is over. There's hope for mankind yet."

An eerie feeling hung over the room. It seemed to have been preserved under glass from another time. On her dressing table stood crystal powder boxes, long cigarette holders in the colors of the rainbow, and a glittering array of perfume sprayers in
mother-of-pearl. Silk lingerie, blouses, hats, handbags, shoes, negligees
—
enough clothes for thirty well-dressed women.

Leonora followed his eye. "Surprised you, didn't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"My heretical departure in lingerie. I've always refused to wear pink, black, beige, or white. I demanded everything close to my body to be made in burnt sienna. I'm sure Queen Nefertiti must have preferred the same. This so-called bizarre color in underwear shocked the world. But it was copied. The constant bore of being imitated, yet I know it's my destiny."

Her performance was illusory, and now it was time for relief. Leonora instinctively knew that for her whirring ascension to linger in Numie's mind, she'd have to fade. To return to earth, she'd have to go it alone. Nothing remained except a plausible dismissal.