Butterflies in Heat (46 page)

Leonora forced a smile, making her mouth wide-set. "I certainly don't."

Cold blue flames were burning within Lola. "What I'm offering you is a chance to set fashion ahead. I can see our names up there now." Stars flashed in front of her eyes. "Fashions by La Mour and De la Mer. Or maybe your name should come first—seeing you're older.

"Share my billing?" Leonora asked. That mask that was Lola's face seemed eyeless for a second. Then those eyes started to fill up with fluid. They were unsurrendering eyes out for blood. "I'm a legend all by myself," Leonora added defiantly.

"I could be celebrated, too," Lola said with such conviction that everybody for a moment believed her.

"My dear, I'm afraid you're going to be celebrated on this island—but not for fashion." Leonora walked over to her peacock chair and sat down, focusing on Dinah again. Over her shoulder she looked back at Lola, then added as an afterthought: "If you're such a great designer, why come begging to me to design something for you that looks decent?"

"Begging?" Lola tottered there by herself, consumed with hate. "Decent?" She bit her lip. After the estate was settled—and only then—would she take care of Leonora de la Mer.

The evening wore on, ever so slowly. Numie was pacing the pool, sucking in the smell of night-blooming jasmine.

The sound of Leonora's voice was like a stuck record. Her glittering triumphs, all recounted endlessly.

Dinah was a fascinated listener.

On the other hand Lola was reduced to watching.

Suddenly, Leonora stood at attention. "Numie," she called, "Dinah and I have decided to go upstairs to try on one of my special designs. She's going to model it for me."

Lola didn't say anything, only raised her eyebrows in ultimate disdain.

Leonora went inside, her hand resting protectively on Dinah's shoulder. She was amused with herself for not wishing Lola good night.

"Man, that tired old pussy has really put me to sleep," Lola said after Leonora was out of hearing range. She downed another drink.

Numie knew how disturbed Lola really was.
"If
Leonora thought she was boring anyone, she'd surely have them shot."

At a distance of a few feet, Lola stopped. Even Numie was a victim of Leonora's spell. Why couldn't anyone get the message? She, Lola La Mour, was in charge. Or soon would be. Damn that Sister Amelia! "That broken down De la Mer's being retired. By me! I don't know why I sat here all night, listening to that dyke's fantasies. She don't seem to get it that I'm just as
big
and just as
grand."

"But I know it," he said. "There's not a day goes by but what you remind me." A killing headache came over him. At this moment, the way he felt, all the money in the world wouldn't get him to remain for another week locked up in a house with these two.

"As for Dinah, that slinky-as sed bitch." Lola said, her voice much deeper than before. "She's an alley cat. Has had everything in
town—every
eight year old, every eighty year old. She's sure playing it safe. In case I have trouble with the commodore's will, she's staking out De la Mer."

"Can you blame her?" Numie asked, being deliberately insulting and not caring at this point.

"She's here as my social secretary!" Lola said. A sudden movement in the bushes caused her to turn in fright, but it appeared to be nothing at all. "I'm firing her ass as of tonight. Just for her big show with that dyke, I'm also taking Ned away from her. I can just see me now strutting down main street. You on one arm, Ned on the other."

"Stick to one arm, Lola."

"What you talking about, child?" She darted around the garden patio. The statues were nakedly white in the moonlight. Sacre-Coeur, ghostly. "You don't seem to understand. The name's Lola. I get what I want. Now she knew tonight was a mistake. She should have chosen the stage on which to confront De la Mer. The old dyke had rigged up this place so she'd look better. "When you're black," Lola went on, "you've got to make compromises in a whitey world. When you're not only black, but a flamboyant and dazzling lady who likes to go around in her more elegant finery, then you'd better be goddamn sure you know what's happening."

Numie walked over to the peacock chair. Carefully he picked up one of Leonora's color-wrapped joints. He lit it and sucked in the smoke, enjoying the movement of palms in the breeze. Although the day was hot, the night had turned cool.

Upstairs a light was switched on in Anne's room. A figure moved behind the curtains. The sound of muffled voices drifted down from Leonora's upstairs bedroom overlooking the patio. A tightening swelled in his throat. He was choking. The tightening grew stronger. "All day I've been trying to explain something to you—and you're not listening," he said. "I'm not going to be on your arm. I was with you today only in one capacity—as your driver, nothing else. The other thing between us, that was sheer hunger on my part."

At first Lola registered shock. "Hunger? You goddamn son of a bitch, I'll have you run out of town." Yellowwood was on her payroll.
If
Numie didn't shape up, the sheriff would have to start earning his money. "I know you're attracted to me—half out of your mind with lust. What you just said can mean only one thing. Someone else has offered you more money."

"How right you are," came a voice.
It
was Ralph.

"How dare you eavesdrop on a private conversation between a lady and her man," Lola said.

"Don't worry, Lola," Numie said, "Ralph is a specialist at walking in at awkward moments."

"I see I arrived just in time," Ralph said. "You see, Numie belongs to me. He's my husband—not yours. I disapprove of bigamy. So that leaves you out in the cold.·

"I can take any man from anybody,· Lola said defiantly. Ralph Douglas had just placed himself number two on her hate list, right under De la Mer. "Numie,· she said sharply, "you and me are splitting."

Numie just sat there.

"I said," Lola continued, "in case there is wax in your ears, you and me are traveling.·

"I'm not going anywhere," Numie said. How he wanted this day to rush to its speedy climax.

"Listen to me," Lola shouted. "You two fucking queers, you listen and listen good. You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Just who are we dealing with?" Ralph asked in drunken amusement, the wayan adult will tempt a child to tell a story so everybody can laugh.

"Lola
La
Mour—that's who!" came the tart reply.

"Never heard of her," Ralph said, turning his back.

Grabbing her jacket, Lola pranced down the path leading to the gate and disappeared into the night.

In the guest cottage at Sacre-Coeur, Numie stood before the bathroom mirror, fogged with steam. His reflection was ghostly. He wiped his hand across the mirror, but his image was still unclear.

Pressing himself against the cold porcelain of the sink, he sucked in the steamy air of the bathroom.

He had failed.

Turning both the brass taps on full speed, he hoped the noise of rushing water would blot out the vision racing through his mind.

He'd tried to make it with Ralph. But had grown limp.

Suddenly, Ralph was in the bathroom. "I think you'd better split." The seat-top to the toilet bowl was already up. Stepping up to it, Ralph turned to Numie. "We're not working out."

Numie looked away. "You got the short end of the stick, huh?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes," Ralph said, concentrating on the business at hand.

"Neither am
I."
Numie took one last look at himself in the now clear mirror, reached up to straighten his hair, then left the room.

Zipping up, Ralph was in pursuit. "You'd better go."

Numie had known it wouldn't be long before Ralph kicked him out. Only he hadn't expected it so soon. "I'm getting ready," he said angrily. Then, softening his voice, he asked, "Am I out completely?"

"No," Ralph said. "You can stay on as Leonora's driver."

Numie backed away. "Well, that's something."

Ralph slammed his fist into his open palm. "A hustler has to give something." His voice was petulant. "You can't leave me totally unsatisfied and frustrated the way you did tonight. I won't stand for that."

Numie felt he'd been punched severely in the stomach. "What about all the other times I made you happy?" Moving through the room impulsively, blindly, Numie didn't know why he was bothering to plead his case. "Are you kicking me out because of one failure? Goddamn
it,
I'm not a machine!"

Ralph gestured vaguely to the door. "You never made me happy, but I'm not blaming you for that. I'm afraid nobody—man or woman—can please me for very long."

The more Ralph talked, the more anonymous and characterless he became to Numie. Ralph was right. It was time for him to go.

"I keep dreaming about the next adventure," Ralph said. "One thing, though." He was pouring himself a drink. A cruel smile crossed his lips. "How could you hustle all those years and be impotent?"

The word stung Numie. "I'm not impotent," he said defensively. "Tonight was the first time—you know that."

At first Ralph didn't say anything. "Am I so ugly?" he asked accusingly.

"No, you know it's not that," Numie stammered. Exhausted and desperate, he was packing his few possessions. "It's something crazy going on inside me. I can't explain it."

"What could I have done to make
it
like it was the first day on the island?" Ralph asked.

Numie murmured something, then decided to give Ralph an honest answer after all. "Coming from me this sounds really far out. But
it
would have made a difference
if
you'd shown a little more love."

"Love?" Ralph almost laughed. "Hustlers don't want love."

A tremor of fear passed through Numie. He shouldn't have said what he did. "Maybe I'm not a hustler after all."

"But you said you've hustled all your life," Ralph countered.

"I have," Numie said, hanging his head low, "but I'm changing, I guess."

"If
changing means giving me fabulous sex when you're a hustler, and love means impotence—give me a hustler," Ralph said.

Numie bit his lip. "Of course, you're not interested in what's going on in my head? Just the body—that's it!"

"Look," Ralph said, his face turning red, "you're lucky people are still interested in your body—at your agel"

His mind whirling, Numie said, "Do you want me to feel completely worthless?"

"How do you think I feel?" Ralph asked, confronting him.

Numie backed off. There was nothing else to say. He'd already said too much.

But Ralph wouldn't let go. "My hustler-lover can't even get
it
up for me."

Out the door, Numie stood on the stones and surveyed the night sky.

Behind him, Ralph was still ranting. "You've got it up for half the resident population along the Eastern seaboard—but not for me. Get out!"

The plants in the garden passed before him, as Numie hurried by. The early morning breezes made him shiver. In nothing but a flimsy T-shirt and a pair of khaki pants, he went around a tree which had fallen in a storm and never been removed.

The damp ground was soothing to his bare feet, until he stepped on a piece of broken glass. Feeling the pain, he kept on going, ignoring the drops of blood left behind.

In Leonora's Lincoln, he was driving to nowhere in particular.

He'd gone many blocks before he realized he hadn't turned on the headlights. He was now in black town. Ned and Dinah's house was in pitch darkness.

Flipping on the car lights, he was jarred by a loud thud against the front fender. "Not a child," he cried out.

Braking the Lincoln, he got out quickly. There in the light of the car was a large yellow calico cat.
It
had been killed instantly.

Picking up the limp body, Numie lay it to the side of the road. "Oh, no" he said out loud, suddenly realizing something. "Don't let it be Castor's cat. Not his cat."