Butterflies in Heat (39 page)

Grinding his teeth together, he knew he long since had lost control of the conversation. Her words stunned him. He had no immediate response. Opening his mouth as
if
to speak, he came out with choked words. "What could I do?"

She slammed down her beer glass. "Stand on your own feet and quit hustling." She stopped herself from lighting another cigarette from her half-finished stub. "Get a job. Are you lazy or something?" She was like a wild thing furtively watching him. "I've worked all my life."

He stared at her. "Come off
it,
you were Leonora's girl."

Jumping to her feet, she held her hands rigidly by her side. "I was a lot younger then and very naive." She turned her back on him, as if she were drawing a curtain of horror. "Ralph will get bored with you," she said in a sharp voice. Then her words grew faint. "I'm amazed it's lasted two weeks—a record for him." She turned back around and stared at him accusingly. 'Then what are you going to do?" Her lips tightened. "Go back to that Lola? Even she is married now."

After a pause, he said, "I have a job—a driver for Leonora. You know that."

Her body was rocking back and forth. "You moonlight, too. I know Ralph gives you an extra seventy-five bucks a week."

He clenched his fingers. "I earn it."

She smiled bitterly. "I'm sure you do, but that's not the point."

In helplessness, he turned from her. "Where can I get a job, other than the one I have?" He banged his fist against the bar. "Not on this island."

"I don't know," she said, her surface calm returning. She sipped her beer. 'There's no work here, that's for sure. Maybe you could go away."

He sighed in exasperation. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm not." The beer glass tilted in her hand. "What I mean is ....."

"Just what are you trying to tell me?" he asked forcefully. Now he was in charge. "You're not making sense."

The silence in the patio grew heavy. She bit her lips, "Quit selling your body—it's disgusting!"

The evening wind hit him in the face, but didn't cool him. "You told me that the night you met me."

She put the glass on the table and faced him squarely. "Do you know, could you possibly know that when you made love to me, it was the most beautiful and tender love ever?"

His eyes were on the glass because he dared not look at her. Then he picked up her glass and drank from it, as if that would cleanse him from the embarrassment he was feeling. In a tentative voice, he asked, "Anne ... better than Nick?"

"Ralph was right," she said, starting to cry. "I just tell that story about Nick." Nowhere to go, she circled the patio without saying a word. "It's easier than telling the truth. Easier than telling what he was really like." She paused awkwardly. He could hardly hear her. "Easier than telling what he did."

Numie was walking rapidly to her.

Just then, the red spots of the patio outlined Ralph's image.
It
was obvious he'd been drinking, and heavily. "My God, I'm probably the only man on this island who can come home and find his wife and his husband together."

"Ralph," Anne said in a businesslike voice, quickly regaining her composure, "there were several calls for you today. When you're out cruising, you could at least check in every now and then. After all, there are things to be taken care of."

Ralph stared at Anne as if she were a target and he had a knife. "Get out of my sight, bitch. I can't stand to look at you."

"Go to hell!" she shouted, turning and running from the patio.

With Anne's half-empty glass in his hand, Numie was taking this in the way a victim watches an execution, knowing he was next.

"As for you," Ralph said, staggering over to him. He grabbed the glass from his hand and tossed it into a bush. "You're drinking too much."

Fists clenched, Numie said bitingly, "You're one to talk!"

Ralph glared at him contemptuously. "You've got to go on a diet. You're getting a tire around your middle—one big turnoff."

Numie was slowly regaining control of himself. When he spoke, he tried to sound as neutral as possible. 'That's not what you said last night."

Ralph practically spat at him. "I was back at the beach today. There was one number there with a fantastic build." He arched his shoulders. "Did he come on strong! I kept asking myself, what I was doing coming home to a
middle-aged
man when I saw what was available to me."

The sky was growing darker, and the air even chillier after the heat of the day.
If
only it would rain. "Well, go get him, goddam it," Numie managed to say.

Seemingly delighted with himself, Ralph cautioned, "Don't get jealous."

Numie started to smile falsely, but it faded before he could complete it. "Jealous is not the word."

Ralph grabbed him by the shoulders, his fingers digging in until he saw Numie wince with pain. "I'm not kicking you out, if that's what you're afraid of. But I'm warning you—starting tomorrow, you'd better shape up."

Taking Ralph's hand, Numie pulled
it
from his shoulder. "Have you looked at your own tire lately?" he asked with a bite in his voice. "You're not the world's greatest physical attraction." At the bar he poured himself a
drink.

Suddenly, beside him, Ralph took Numie's half-full glass and poured its contents over the bar top. "But I pay the bills," Ralph said. "I can go to pot if I want to. You're selling a bod, baby, and you'd better get it in shape—or else!" He turned to go. "I'm sleeping in my own room upstairs tonight. You can stay in the guest cottage—by yourself." He stumbled on his route to the downstairs parlor.

Numie picked up the empty glass and refilled it. He settled back into a chair. Time to face reality. His days on the island were coming to an end—he clearly knew that now.

Where to go?

What next?

Suddenly, he had an idea.

In the guest cottage, he was searching through his duffel bag for his address book. There was one place, only one he'd found in his entire life where he'd been welcomed and wanted. He'd write a letter tonight.

Many years had gone by, but there was still a slim chance.

In the patio of Sacre-Coeur, it was early morning. Birds were darting from tree to tree. The sun had just come up. Unlike the oppressive heat of the past two weeks, this morning was bright and fresh, the temperature just right.

Numie sat still for a long while. When had he last stopped to enjoy the beauty of a day? The birds were even singing.

"Tangerine," he called out, watching as she hobbled across the bricks.

"Quit screaming, sugartit," she said. "Think I'm deaf or something? I've put us on a pot of coffee."

"What's the matter with you?"

"Rheumatism—just getting old—that's all. Come to think of it, that's enough!" Setting the pan of potatoes down on the coffee table, she rubbed her back. "I really ache this morning." She was clad in a lime-green blouse, an orange-colored skirt, and tennis shoes without stockings. A red bandana encased her tangerine hair. Plopping down in a nearby wicker chair, she raised her sweaty arms to the sun, revealing not only wads of hair, but parts of a yellowing brassiere.

Numie dug his hands deep into his pockets. "I expected to see you at the wedding yesterday."

Her sigh mocked him. "I couldn't face it." She moved her chair over, her knees touching his. "Just think, that Lola can get a man, even a feeble one, and look what happened to me." She nodded, almost absently. "Talk about Hayden gives me a crick in the heart. I've just been moping around my house."

A whiff of her armpits drove him back farther into his chair. "Did the sheriff ever find him?"

She stared at him with something less than complete affection. "He's gone for good."

He reached over and squeezed her hand so hard her rings hurt.

"Watch my fingers," she cautioned. "I've got these taters to peel. I'm cooking lunch for us all. The cook called in sick." She glanced over at him. "Come to think of it, you look like you got a poker shoved up the wrong place, too."

Swallowing hard, he said, "Ralph and I may be splitting soon. Things aren't going well."

"Considering Ralph, that's very likely. You don't pick 'em no better than I do." She didn't say anything for a minute, then looked up from her potato peeling. "I wish I had your problems." She studied his face quietly. "You're so young, and your life's ahead of you. Okay, you got troubles. But from my side of the fence, I'd gladly cross over."

He raised himself on both elbows and then with effort swung into a rigid sitting position. "How thoughtless of me to lay my shit on you after what you've been through." Her face made him pause and remember. "You know, your voice sounds different. Sadder. I've never known you to talk this way before."

She took a handkerchief from her hip pocket and blew her nose. "I never felt this way before. But I ain't trying to depress you—just let you know how lucky you are even if it don't seem like that now."

He took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and gave it to her.

"You keep reaching for that grab bag," she said, "till there's no chance left. Then you toss it over." Her lips parted slightly and her head nodded. "No point hanging on when the damn thing's run out of goodies. That's when it gets ugly." Her lips quivered. She burst into tears.

He tried to put his arm around her.

But she broke away. "A woman by herself," she said, sobbing, "is just like turnip greens without fatback. A bitter taste, no good flavor at all."

At this moment Leonora entered the patio. Never had he seen her so disheveled. Something must be seriously wrong. Around her nude body was wrapped a crepe de chine robe in coffee brown.

Leonora paused hesitantly, suddenly aware that she had not checked her appearance this morning. But she knew her face was all right, considering that she was a natural beauty. "I just got a call from the hospital on the mainland," she said. "The commodore died this morning on the operating table."

The news neither shocked nor surprised Numie. It had been predictable. He thought immediately of how Lola was receiving the bulletin.

"It's just as well," Leonora said. Her hands were shaking. "He was eaten up with cancer anyway.· A stab of guilt plunged into her. For the first time, she admitted something to herself. She loathed Philip.

"I'm sorry to hear that,· Tangerine said, still crying from before.

Leonora looked down at her. "You don't have to cry. The commodore's death is not a time for tears. He had a full life." A distant memory flashed before her eyes. Philip had known Norton Huttnar, her late husband. Leonora wondered how well they'd known each other. The prospect caused her to shudder and tighten her robe around her body. "Unlike me,· she continued, "Philip had stopped growing—and that's certain death anyway."

Numie found Leonora's imperial behavior at a time like this shocking. Regardless of how he hated someone in life, he respected him in death.
It
erased some of the bad things. "You can't knock her for crying,· he said.

She turned on him, her eyes sparkling. "As for you,· she said, "we've got real problems this morning. More serious than the commodore's dying." A rustling in the tree over her head sent her arm stretching out into the air. Then she steadied herself. Her nerves were shattered. "I've been on the phone with the Commodore's attorney,· she went on. "He's got a will. Everything has been bequeathed to Lola."

Numie settled back with unnecessary vigor. A butterfly landed on the arm of his chair, but quickly took off again. "Lola always wanted to get paid," he said. "So now she's struck it rich."

Stillness etherized the patio for a moment. "You don't seem to understand,· Leonora said. "That makes Lola my business partner."

"Oh, my God," Tangerine said, resuming her potato peeling. "Lola's been hard to contain up to now, but..."

Numie mentally filled in the consequences of that 'but'.

So did Leonora. "Exactly," she said. "I've spoken to her this morning. Even before the will's read, she wants to survey our mutual properties." Her fingers stabbed the air. "Further, she wants you to be her driver. To show her around."

The prospect was outrageous to him.
It
was like having to adjust to a new boss with no prior notice. "Me?" he asked hesitantly.

Leonora stared accusingly. "It's not as
if
you don't know her." So mesmerized was she by the horror descending, a fly was allowed to meander across her open-mouthed face. "I told her she could hire somebody else, but she insisted on you." Leonora clutched her side. Her breath was coming in gasps. "I'm not in a position to refuse her anything—at least for the moment."

Numie jumped up. "I didn't know that driving Lola around would be part of my job."

"Hell," Leonora said, turning from the sight of him. At the bar, she was infuriated by the empty beer bottles. With the back of her hand, she sent them tumbling onto the bricks of the patio. "I'll give you a hundred dollars a week if that will satisfy your greed. I can't afford to antagonize Lola."