Butterflies in Heat (52 page)

"No, don't be too hasty," Leonora said, a wry smile forming. "Give it to Tangerine:

Anne looked puzzled, as if she couldn't fathom Leonora's purpose.

"Tell her the invitation was for her," Leonora ordered.

"Are you sure?" Anne asked.

"You heard me," Leonora said. "No one invites poor Tangerine anywhere. She'll have a good time."

In her powder-specked mirror, Tangerine was practicing her best party-girl smile. Licking her orange-coated lips, she opened a round compact and wiped some more powder on her face. Then she smiled again—this time for Numie. "Thanks, sugartit, for taking me to the party tonight.
It
means a lot to me."

"I'm glad to." He was aware that Ruthie Elvina had intended the invitation for Leonora. When Leonora invited Tangerine, he didn't know
if
she were being extravagantly generous or else amusing herself perversely—gambling that Tangerine would make an ass of herself and embarrass Ruthie Elvina.

A tiny shred of beef had lodged between two of Tangerine's yellowed false teeth. With one of her orange-lacquered nails, she squeezed into the tight trap and scraped it out.

"Come on, you're pretty enough," he said. "In that outfit, no one will look at your face. You're not concealing your charms."

"You mean these milk jugs?" she asked, bouncing her breasts. "They drive men wild, that's true, but cows are better. After all, cows give milk."

He smiled. "I think it's a little more complicated than that."

In the Lincoln, Tangerine was opening the glove compartment. "Carlos, he used to be the chauffeur before you, kept some bourbon in here. One of those little half pints." Finding it, she swigged some down straight from the bottle.

"You'll be drunk before you get there," he said, concerned at a desperation he sensed in her. "Something tells me this isn't your first drink of the day." Her lipstick was badly smeared, and he debated whether to tell her or not. But he finally decided it wouldn't do any good, as her entire face was made up like a clown. One repair couldn't rescue
it.

"I'm real excited about tonight," she said, taking another swig. "Mike Morgan's gonna be there."

Eyes on the road, he was only half listening. "Name sounds familiar."

"It
should," she said petulantly, almost hurt he didn't recall exactly. "He's that young boy I told you about—the one who used to live in Tallahassee." Her wide eyes were almost beseeching him to recall. "I worked for his family. Showed him what to do with that little pecker between his legs."

"How could I forget?" A dog ventured in front of the headlights, but changed his mind about crossing the street. Foot on the brakes, Numie was thinking of killing that calico cat. How could he ever face Castor who blamed him for everything anyway?

"I got myself all dolled up for little Mike tonight.
If
I know him, he'll want another try."

A note of alarm sounded in Numie. Was Tangerine riding for another big disappointment. "How long has it been since you last saw him?"

Tangerine burped, shoving the bourbon back into the compartment. "I was twenty-two at the time,· she said. "He was only fourteen."

He reached over and hugged her with one arm. "It may not even be the same Mike Morgan."

"One and the same," she said confidently, reaching into her purse for her lipstick. Even though the car was bouncing, and she had no mirror, she applied another red coating. "Been following his career in the paper for years. He's a hot-shot reporter for AP."

The reception aboard the Saskatchewan was in full blast.

Parking the Lincoln at the dock, Numie looked through the rear-view mirror and tightened a borrowed tie around a collar already choking him.

Carefully he led Tangerine up the gangplank, resting her elbow gingerly in the palm of his hand.

Most of the guests were already there, drinking hard liquor between avocado dip from conch shells and smoked oysters from open tinned cans. Young officers stood stiffly about, ready to answer questions or help the guests.

Tangerine's high heel shoes, in clear nylon mesh like a fish net, clanked against the deck. At the gateway, she paused to look into the crowd.

That mass of faces was staring back at her.

Her expression revealed how much she wanted them to like her outfit. Her shocking pink gown, at least below her waist, was two dresses sewn together. The stitching in one of the seams had burst, so she'd camouflaged it by letting a turquoise handkerchief dangle from her waist. For her top, she'd taken the upper part of a strapless turquoise bathing suit and had sewn sequins all over it to give it the effect of evening wear. The suit revealed a freckled back. For jewelry, she wore a necklace of shells and had tied two turquoise ribbons on gold earrings which dangled from her pierced ears. In her orange hair, a lipstick-red hibiscus rested . Around her shoulders she'd draped a worn white rabbit fur stole.

"Hello, Tangerine," a voice called. Ruthie Elvina floated across the room in her lemon silk chiffon with ruffles on the hem. Brushing back her teased banana curls, she extended her bat-winged sleeves to embrace her. "Someone told me you had run off and got married, and I said I just couldn't believe it. It's not true, is it?"

"Who'd have me?" Tangerine asked, looking downcast.

"I'm so glad," Ruthie Elvina said. "A good maid is hard to find. I should know . After you quit me and went over to Sacre-Coeur, I just haven't been able to find a suitable replacement. " She frowned. "Why did you ever leave me? Why, you were just like one of the family."

"I couldn't live on the wages you were paying," Tangerine said softly.

"Well, course I can't afford to have you chauffeured to parties in limousines, " Ruthie Elvina said. "Which reminds me, where's Leonora? The invitation you've got in your hand was intended for her."

"You didn't invite me?" Tangerine asked, her lip quivering . "She said you did ."

"I invited Leonora, " Ruthie Elvina said, her chin jutting out. "But seeing you're here, why don't you enjoy yourself?" Someone tapped Ruthie Elvina's naked shoulder, and she whirled around.

Tangerine seized this moment to escape. Heading straight for a young man in a white uniform pouring drinks, she said, "Bourbon on the rocks. "

"Honey," Numie said, coming up behind her, "you're getting that 'I'm gonna get bombed' voice. Better cool it with the booze."

"If you wasn't so young and beautiful," she said, "I'd swear you was my daddy, giving me hell about that old devil moonshine." Someone caught her eye. Almost in panic, she broke away and crossed the room, bumping into strangers and knocking one glass out of a hand.

Quick on her trail, Numie came to a stop in back of her, reaching out to support her.

"Why, Mike Morgan, as I live and breathe," Tangerine said. "After all these years, I would have known you anywhere."

A tall, gray-haired man with a walrus-mustache stood staring blankly at her. "I don't think I've had the pleasure," he said finally. Narrow-eyed, he had a guttural voice in a deadly serious tone.

"You've
had
the pleasure all right! I'm Fern Cornelia Blanchard."

"Fern!" he said. "I can't believe it. It's been years."

"What you mean is, you didn't think I'd look so frisky after all this time," Tangerine said, assuming a distorted mask she evidently thought was sexy. "Well, it's all me—ready and raring to go." She leaned toward him, planting a wet kiss on his mouth."

He stepped back slightly, barely resisting the temptation to wipe his mouth.

"That mustache tickles," Tangerine said, giggling. "In more places than one, I bet!" She winked as she smiled.

He drew back from her, red faced in embarrassment. His summer sports jacket, tight as sausage casing, seemed even tighter. "Who's your friend?"

"Numie Chase," he said, extending his hand. He wanted to rescue Tangerine from this man, but didn't know how.

"Good-looking guy," Mike said to Tangerine. "You always did like 'em young." He elbowed her. "That's one thing you and I are in accord about, Fern."

She stepped back, eying him skeptically. "People today call me Tangerine."

"What an apt name," he said, his eyes traveling from her badly painted mouth to her hair. "From your hair, no doubt."

Just then, a middle aged man and woman appeared, accompanied by a girl. "Mike, darling," the woman called.

"Good to see you again, Mike," the man said.

"I'm so glad you could come," the woman said. "Here's Helen. She's been dying to meet you. It's rare that a big-time reporter like you comes down here to our little island."

"Helen," Mike said, all smiles. "Everything your mom and dad told me is true."

Helen gave Mike her hand.

He held it for a long time.

"I can't tell you how many delicious things I've heard about you," Helen said. "I look for your column every day. I miss
it
now that you're on vacation."

"What say I tell you what I would have written tomorrow?" Mike said, taking Helen by the arm. "Excuse me, Fern ... Tangerine. Nice seeing you again." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "What are you doing these days?"

"I'm a goddamn movie star," Tangerine said in disgust.

Already absorbed by Helen, Mike answered, "That sounds nice."

Tangerine was left standing—without a goodbye.

"Don't you think we've had enough partying for one night?" Numie asked. He was going to leave regardless. No more could he witness humiliation for Tangerine.

"Yes, it's time to go," she said after a long pause. "Hell, yes."

On the gangplank, she was pleading, "Take me home, right away." Shivering in the night air, she protectively pulled her rabbit stole around her.

Silence, all the way back to her place.

In front of her house, she turned before heading upstairs. Tears were forming in her eyes. "Thanks for everything."

"Glad to help out—anytime," he said, kissing her on the mouth. "Want me to come up for a drink?"

"No, bless you," she said, nervously patting his hand. "Leonora has tired me out today," she sighed. "I didn't know just how much."

He watched as she climbed the rickety steps, nearly stumbling once.

She grabbed the railing for support.
It
was as wobbly as she.

Right after the screen door shut, he stood there nervously just waiting for something to happen. But what?

Then he knew.

Up the steps two at a time, he darted through the front door and into the hall. A black blur, and it was too late. He was reaching for her. But he was too far away.

She was falling—one leg plummeting down through the hole in the hallway.

The next morning, L.M. Jenkins, surgeon at the county hospital, walked down the dull tile of the corridor to a waiting Numie. Chart in hand and stethoscope around his neck, the doctor had the manner of a man used to telling people the world wasn't coming to an end.

"How is she?" Numie asked. He looked helplessly at the doctor, feeling powerless to put into words his deepest fears.

Dr. Jenkins eyed Numie skeptically. "You're not a relative, are you?"

In a strained voice, Numie said. I'm her closest friend—doesn't that count?"

The doctor didn't respond. A nurse appeared and whispered something into his ear. Before going, he turned to Numie. "Tangerine's a pretty tough girl—agile as hell for a woman of her age." He shook his head. "But this is bad, real bad. I've seen the x-rays."

Numie found himself leaning forward to catch the doctor's words.

"We've got to put a metal pin in her hip plate this afternoon," Dr. Jenkins said. "We'll know in about two weeks if the operation's successful."

"Can I see her now?" Numie asked. He glanced unhappily down the hall. "I've been here all night."

"Yes, but make it short," the doctor said, already moving down the hallway. He called over his shoulder, "Room 102."

With trepidation, Numie turned away, heading down an annex to Tangerine's room.