Butterflies in Heat (21 page)

"The only reason I'm sitting here with you is because it's a public place of business.
If
we was together in a social situation, I wouldn't be caught dead with you. I won't even let my cat socialize with your kind."

"You little brat," Numie said. "The only reason you're sitting here with me is because you're planning to rip me off for the price of a meal."

"Talk at mealtime bores me," Castor said. "So, if you don't mind." Scooting over one stool, he removed his
boliche
and proceeded to devour it, alternating between slurping on the daiquiri and the soup. At the end of his quickly consumed meal, he got up and headed out.

"Enjoyed dining with you, Castor baby," Numie called. "See you around."

"Not if I see you first," Castor said. "I got no business with human garbage."

Numie smiled as the boy left. Never had he enjoyed getting insulted as much. Finishing off his meal and paying both tabs, he left.

The street was dark. On the comer a man was closing his two-story food shop for the night. A few drops of rain were hitting the wrap around tin roof which extended over the sidewalk. Huffing, he was lifting a bushel basket of orange-green papayas.

Quickly Numie fell in step with him, giving a helping hand.

"Hard work," the Cuban said.

Numie handed him the final baskets of avocados and red plantain.

"Your reward," the shopkeeper said, coming from the back. He handed Numie a cone of guava ice cream. "Thanks a lot, bubba," he said.

"Thank you," Numie said. "It's real good."

The rain seemed to have changed its mind. Just a few drops now.

Numie was deliberately stalling, not wanting to face Lola. He wished he CQuld be by himself tonight. He didn't want to have to relate to anybody. But that would be freedom—and he'd never known that.

Taking the long way home, he stopped off at the gaudy Victorian bus station. The beer seemed to have gone through his system in minutes.

A few sailors, a Cuban and his heavily made up girl friend, two elderly tourists, and an old fisherman waited in the lobby for the final bus in from the mainland for the night.

Numie hurried by—heading for the men's room.

Inside the marble floor smelled, and the long porcelain urinal had long ago yellowed.

Sighing in relief, Numie splashed noisily. Eyes closed, he allowed this moment to help ease the tension that had been slowly building since he left the Cuban restaurant.

Finished, he started to zip up, but stopped short. His attention shifted to the lone booth. Someone had chiseled a hole in the partition, and an eye was clearly observing Numie. Underneath the raised partition two booted feet rested.

Still at the urinal, Numie started to shake himself. After all, a customer was a customer. He certainly needed the extra money.

The eye was staring intently.

As his cock hardened, Numie edged closer to the hole. The eye withdrew.

A shuffling inside sent a note of alarm through Numie. Zipping up quickly, he rushed out the door.

The station master was just coming in. "Hope you gave the sheriff a good show,' he said.

Numie stopped in surprise. "The sheriff? You mean, that's Johnny Yellowwood in there?"

"Sure, I've got to summon him now. He's wanted on the phone. Emergency downtown."

"What did you mean, a good show?" Numie asked.

"Kid, you're naive," the station master said. "The sheriff likes to look at guys take a leak. Been hanging out in that very booth ever since he got back from the Korean War: The station master walked in the toilet. "Johnny," he called, "you wanted on the phone, bubba."

Down the deserted street, Numie glanced back at the steep-roofed towers of the Victorian station.

He didn't know why he was shocked, but he was. More by the station master's bland acceptance of the sheriff's perversity than by anything else, he guessed.

In minutes, the sheriff's car—siren blazing—whizzed by, heading for downtown ..

Numie was hurrying up the steps to Lola's apartment. At the door, he paused for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat, then went in.

An ashtray narrowly missed his head, crashing against the door.

"Where in hell have you been, mother fucker?"

"Lola! You could have hurt me," he said. He moved toward her, wanting to strike her, but resisting the impulse.

Hands on her hips, she just stood there in red panties and a bra. Glaring. "I'll teach you to cheat on Lola." The idea that he could find anyone in town more exciting than her filled her with rage.

"You don't own me," he protested, feeling right at this moment that she did. "Besides, I haven't been screwing around."

"Don't stand there with that shit-eating look on your lilywhite face. Do you think for half a second, I'm gonna take your word for that?" All of a sudden, she started looking calm and collected.

How could she possibly check up on him? The desk clerk at the Dry Marquesas?

"I'll know soon enough if somebody's had you." Smug superiority broke out all over her face. "There's one test no man can fake."

He sat down on her white satin sofa with a thud. What she had in mind was all too apparent. The heat of the afternoon still burned in his skin. He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about what was going to happen. He just couldn't give in to her so easily. "Bitch!" he shouted in disgust, opening his eyes quickly and sitting up. "I've been at Sacre-Coeur. Got me a job as De la Mer's chauffeur. After all, you told me yourself" you get paid, you don't pay."

Lola's face softened. Was he telling the truth? Men, particularly white men, told so many lies. "You really mean that? You gonna pay me for the privilege? You're not just sitting there spitting out lies ...'cause if you are ..." She was touched. No one, except the Commodore, had ever offered to
pay before. The whole idea flattered her. "I know you ain't gonna get much money from De la Mer, that tight dyke. You don't have to give me all
that
much. After all, I already own a Facel-Vega, and my commodore pretty much takes care of my needs."

"I'm telling the truth about paying, " he said, lying. My God, she was really believing him! "Starting tomorrow morning, Igo to work"

"Don't sweat it, darling," Lola said, a sudden hollow feeling in her stomach. On a second look, she didn't like his taking a job as De la Mer's chauffeur. The whole idea of her main man driving around that cunt tossed and turned her stomach in a bad way. But she didn't want to appear too insecure. "Christ, you'll be safe with
that
bull-dyke. She wouldn't know how to take care of a man if one lassoed her with it." But what about Anne? Lola would have to consider the possibility of that horny bitch cutting in on the action.

"Tangerine told me that De la Mer's got no pubic hair. Any girl who'd shave that off must be sick."

"First real job I've ever had," he said.

"Well, that other work you've been doing is harder than planting taters.
I
should know. And with us ladies, it's much easier to peddle our pussies than it is for a man to get it up."

"I know, I know," he said impatiently. He struggled to sit up, the elastic band of his swimming trunks biting into his skin. He wanted to take a shower, but thought it too risky right now to pull off his clothes in front of her. "Got anything to drink?"

She looked over at him, admiring his tallness, those broad shoulders, the way the damp T-shirt clung to his chest. "Yeah, stud, you!"

Numie's heart sank. Nervous fingers ran through his hair. "Come on, I told you I wasn't fooling around today. Besides, it's too hot."

She liked watching him squirm. "Not as hot as it's gonna be for you in a few minutes. Child, this room is gonna be so hot that even the Devil hisself would run out for a breath of fresh air."

On the bed, he lay with his eyes closed. No feeling in it this time. No pretended moaning or groaning. She was doing all the work. So many times, the same experience. Meaningless. How
could it satisfy anyone? But
it
did.
It
always did. Those endless mouths draining him. But he knew how to give. Now, it was about time. Suddenly pumping, he held her blonde-wigged head down and rode to an unspectacular climax. "Do you
believe me now?" he asked with hostility, jerking her head up to look in her bloodshot eyes.

Those eyes were on fire. "And how!" she said, raising herself up on her elbows. She nuzzled her knees into the warm bad. "You ain't had nothing since little old Lola last climbed the mountain."

A sudden panic came over Lola when she saw the time. "Christ, we're gonna be late, and I gotta get some respectable clothes for you. Can't have you looking like you just washed in on a shrimp boat." Jumping up, Lola adjusted her bra and started rushing around the apartment, turning on all the lights. She had to see how she looked in the severest of glare before trusting her appearance on the street. Over her shoulder, she called back, "Tonight, you're gonna meet some
high class."

The bed became quicksand for him. The idea of going out and being introduced as Lola's boy friend made him quiver. "And who is so high class?"

"My people, real people," she said, resenting his asking. With a sharp tweezer, she resumed her eyebrow plucking. "Not that De la Mer crowd of phonies." The image of Leonora
de la Mer for one brief moment seemed to blot out her own
reflection in the mirror. She practically spat back at it. "Miss Distinguished herself, that De la Mer. I ain't met no bull-dyke yet who's
that
distinguished."

In her exotic Indian wrap-pants, open to the thigh, Lola was a blaze of color as she marched down a side street off main. She stopped in front of a men's store, admiring her glamorous presence in the glass.

The clothing shop was so small you could miss it unless you were searching. "This is where high-class people go," she said over her shoulder, detecting to her horror what looked like dandruff. She couldn't
be
sure, though. Her vision was getting worse, but she was not a gal to wear glasses. "The guy who runs this place—he don't bother with trash."

Inside the store, Lola pranced down the narrow aisle, supremely confident of the impression she was making. "Good evening, David," she said, assuming the same grand manner she had with Leonora.

"Miss
La
Mour, a pleasure." The shopkeeper was plump and bald, a nervous type. The thick lenses of his hom-rimmed glasses exaggerated the size of his eyeballs.

"Thank you for staying open just so we could pick up a few fun things," Lola said.

"Anything you or your commodore want, I'm only too happy to oblige," David said.

Turning to Numie, Lola wondered if he were properly impressed at how David was treating her like a lady. He didn't seem to be. That prompted her to say,
"My
commodore owns this entire block."

"You mean," David corrected, "your commodore and Miss de la Mer."

Lola was piqued. When David's lease came up for renewal, she would see that
it
wasn't. The very mention of Leonora de la Mer's name filled her with loathing in the extreme. "Well ..
.!
guess she might own a building or two. I can't really mess up my mind with what she owns or don't own. We're here to look at some clothes for this buck. Name's Numie."

"Hello," Numie said. He dug his hand into his pocket. The hairs bristled on his neck.

"Hi," David replied in a high-pitched voice. He looked at Numie intently before his nervous eyes darted away. Turning to Lola, he asked: "What does your young man have in mind?"

This question only increased Numie's discomfort. David wasn't even giving him the dignity of making up his mind. Eying a rack of slacks, Numie started to say something, but was interrupted.

In one quick move, Lola crushed out her cigarette right on the tiled floor. "We're going out tonight with Ned and Dinah. I'm sure you remember Ned, don't you?" She cocked her head and turned her most accusatory gaze upon David.