Butterflies in Heat (28 page)

"No, I am not, as you say, 'kidding'," Leonora called back. "I don't even know what the word means. I'm a woman who has the power to indulge her whims, and I intend to do just that."

"Okay," Joan said, sighing, "lavender scent it will be."

"One more thing," Leonora added, "about Maria."

"Yes."

"The child has ceased to amuse me. She's lifeless. Lies there like a limp doll, almost as if drugged." Leonora shuddered with disgust at having had sex with Maria.

"She's only thirteen," Joan protested. "What do you expect?"

"I expect her to consider it an honor when I come out to pay a visit." She turned and stared at Joan, amazed that she could not get the point.

"You're expecting too much. She told me she doesn't like to do certain things, especially with women."

"I am no ordinary woman," Leonora said, feeling put upon for having to defend herself.

"I, of all people know that, but that's not the point." Joan's fear was showing.

"I have no more time to listen to your excuses.
It
seems I've heard nothing else for half my life. Until you make the Garden of Delights live up to its name, I shall not come here again." She was heading for the porch, leaving an undefined threat in her wake.

"Listen," Joan whispered to Numie, "say a good word for me if you hear her putting me down." She was perspiring heavily.

"I've no influence with her," he said. "I think if I advised her to do something, she'd do just the opposite." For the first time, he mustered up some sympathy for Joan.

"But try," she pleaded. The big clock in the hallway struck the noon hour, and Joan jumped.

"Why are you asking me to do you a favor? You just attacked me for being washed up." His sympathy went as quickly as it came.

"I didn't mean it. I get mean when I drink."

"Then you must be mean all the time." Someone in the back was cooking tomatoes, and the smell was spreading everyw here.

"You bastard!" She wet her mouth and arched her back, reminding him of a bull moose readying for battle.

"Numie," Leonora called from the porch. "How dare you keep me waiting!"

"Coming," he yelled, scooping up last night's take.

The smell of the cooking faded as he reached the porch. The sea air was fresh there, aided a bit by the faint delicious perfume of flowering bushes.

He could hear Joan whispering to somebody in the hallway inside.

The clock struck the noon hour once again. Then the door was slammed shut.

A dog from under the porch barked at Numie.

The familiar black Lincoln was parked in the shabby yard. Hurriedly, Numie crossed the grounds to reach it.

Deliberately hoping to shatter the foul mood coming from Leonora in the rear, he turned on the radio. He glanced back at her, expecting a reprimand, but her face was waxed.

He cut off the radio anyway.

Speeding frantically along the beach, he had an urgency to reach their destination.

But he knew Leonora had no other place to go.

And neither did he.

Chino's Cafe stood on the corner of Water Lane and Shark
Street, about half a block from the shrimp docks. An overgrown banyan tree with airborne roots had lifted up the right end of the building nearly a foot, including its lean-to porch. No one had painted anything ... ever. The entrance door, wired back so that it was always open, was strung with a beaded curtain. Numie went in.

The cafe was jumping. Shrimpers in for a late lunch of green turtle steak and conch chowder filled the little oilcloth-covered tables.

On a lone counter rested a large urn of bitter, black coffee. Chipped cups and mugs stood upside down on paper toweling. Nearby were three large cans of evaporated milk.

All eyes turned and looked in Numie's direction. But by now he was getting used to stares. Ignoring them, he headed for a deserted table in the far corner. There, he ordered a cup of coffee and settled back.

Flies buzzed around a chrome stand, holding the remains of a key lime pie. On the wall were clusters of enlarged snapshots of shrimp boats, their owners grinning or glowering.

Everywhere he looked no frills, no fuss, no curtains, no
pretense—as bareboned as his soul this day.

Forty-five minutes and three cups of black coffee later, he still didn't know what to do. The afternoons were long and heavy in Tortuga, and Numie was growing increasingly restless. Leonora had retired for the rest of the day—so he was free. Lola, thank God, was getting her beauty rest before her appearance in the bar tonight.

Then a familiar figure at the door. Anne, carrying a package.

He didn't know why, but her very presence stirred something within him. Maybe it was because he was bored. At any rate he was genuinely glad to see her. He got up quickly, heading for the front. "Let me help you."

She looked startled, almost as if she didn't recognize him. "Oh, it's you," she said. "Never expected to find you at Chino's"For a moment, she hesitated, then surrendered the package. "Thanks."

"

"Come join me for a cup of coffee," he said. He glanced quickly around the cafe. The presence of the other men made him nervous.

"I'd better get back." She smiled.

"Please," he said. He was afraid he was sounding desperate.

She gave him a short laugh. "Okay, if you ask that way." Winding her way through the crowd, she added over her shoulder, "I didn't know you knew how to say please."

He smiled, raising his eyes. "I know how to say a lot of things."

"I bet you have quite a line." Her lips were close to his ear.

Was she flirting? Leading her to his table, Numie ordered more coffee.

Silence fell. The utter silence of a hot afternoon.

Her brow was shiny, and her lips also shone in the bright light. Occasionally she would glance at him, but no thoughts came to mind—at least nothing that needed to be expressed.

As he sat looking at her, he sensed forlornly that his life had to change. He couldn't go on living as he was.

"I must tell you something," she whispered confidentially. "On this island you run into everybody you know at least three times a day." She sipped her coffee, eying him, then glancing at the other men in the cafe. "It's fantastic—hopeless if you're trying to avoid someone. I should also warn you that the major industry is gossip." She wiped her forehead. "If word gets back, Lola will be jealous."

His cozy feeling building with her collapsed at that remark. She was baiting him. "Don't remind me of that ... " he said sharply. "I'm enjoying this afternoon." His flare-up subsided quickly, and he was at peace again. "Now that I've got some real female company."

She laughed softly at this compliment. "I've never gotten on with Lola at all," she said, "although Tangerine likes her. Leonora can't stand her either, but the commodore is Leonora's closest friend—so she tolerates Lola for Philip's sake."

"What gives with Lola and the commodore?"

"I don't understand such relationships," she said. Her voice was low, plaintive. "At times I'm so normal I seem like an oddball in this crowd."

"

This made him wonder how she classified him. "Your life is hardly normal."

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't like it to be," she added quickly. Surprisingly, she caught his hand and held it for a fleeting moment.

A tingling sensation rushed through him.

After dropping his hand, she seemed embarrassed, her eyes no longer looking at him. "Speaking of normalcy, how was your morning with Leonora?"

The afternoon sky was lit strangely, giving everyone a yellow glow. He paused, thinking of her reaching for his hand, not hearing her latest question. Then it sunk in. "You can imagine, I guess. You know better than anyone what a morning with Leonora is like. Voodoo queens, cathouses." He sighed. "I'm glad to have an afternoon off from her, too."

"Me, too," she chimed. "I'm out shopping right now because I can't stand being in the same house with her, even though she's retired to her private quarters. She's driving me crazy." Her lips trembled. "And Ralph is no help. He's completely on a sex trip. He's not even a companion. I never see him any more, which is just as well, I guess."

An ache of desire skidded along his spine. "I think he's very foolish to neglect a wife like you."

She was taken back. "I take that as a compliment." Nervously she stirred her coffee. "I'd like to say you're very nice yourself. Which raises a question. Can't you do better than an aging drag queen?"

He frowned at her reluctance to drop that one subject. "Do better with who?" he asked. "What do you have in mind?"

A couple of boys went by to the toilet in the rear, and she used this momentary diversion to avoid answering him. Then she said, "You're the man."

He was searching her face, but it told him little. Hands clenched, he rose quickly.

She looked up at him. "You realize I'm only teasing."

"Sure," he said, reaching down for the last of his coffee. He could feel his neck redden.

"Is it ever hot!" she said, getting up. "Let's go back to Sacre-Coeur for a dip in the pool."

The hot bricks of the patio burned through Numie's sandals. At the opposite end of the Olympic-sized pool, Anne was removing all her clothes. Big breasted, with an hourglass figure, she had tanned skin, smooth and inviting. Laughing at his surprise, she jumped into the pool backward, her arms outstretched. She splashed him with cool water. "Bashful!" she yelled.

"Like hell!" he called back. He felt his body flood with excitement. "I'm joining you," he told the wet head emerging from beneath.

"Can you swim in big waters?" Her look was provocative, challenging.

He felt ready for the challenge. In moments, he was out of his
clothes—every
piece of them, and was heading for the diving board. Bouncing once, then twice, he executed a perfect dive in her direction. Surfacing, he came up by her side. He capped her head with his hand, dunking her. "That's for wetting my clothes," he said, as she emerged again.

She tried to dunk him, but he escaped, swimming to the other side of the pool. Splashing noisily, she was hot on his trail. He swam past her, going up and down the pool's length, enjoying this respite from the day's tension.

"Let's rest up," he said when she finally caught up with him.

Her body seemed ignited. "But lowe you a dunking," she protested.

"It'll wait." On impulse, he pulled her close, pressing his lips against hers. He kissed her hungrily, his tongue slipping inside her mouth.

She responded, but it was weak, passive. Then she broke away.

His innocent play with her had now become self-conscious.

Out of the water, she was reaching for a towel, wrapping it quickly around her nude body.

He, too, got out of the pool in his search for a towel. Drying himself, he sprawled on a pad in the sun. Suddenly, he felt exposed in her presence. So he wrapped the towel around his body, as she had done.

Anne was filling her mug of beer. "You've got a nice body," she said. "Or is the man supposed to say that to the woman?"

"If
he is, and I haven't, I'd like to return the compliment now." The sun was drying his body, and he stretched luxuriously in its glow, marveling at the beauty of the Tortuga sky. Her compliment had gotten rid of the self-conscious feeling that had crept over him. The other day at the beach, he'd been worried about his body. Now he felt perfectly secure with it.

She seemed to be studying him. "We're about the same age, aren't we?" she asked. "I'm thirty-two."

This bolted him upright. Age, especially his own, was about the last subject he wanted to talk about. "Yes," he said hesitantly, not knowing why she was asking.

"Ralph's thirty-four," she added as an afterthought. Finding a comfortable spot on an adjoining pad, she lay back. "Why does the world belong to the young?"

"You're young," he answered quickly, hoping she would drop the subject. Even though they were the same age, she was obviously much better preserved than he was.