Butterflies in Heat (49 page)

"A damn good one at that," she answered, standing up now, inspecting her work. "I'll miss it."

He paused, caught between looking at his bandaged foot and comprehending what she'd just said. Her statement won out. "You leaving?"

There was a kind of odd fear in her voice that made her look at him closely before she said, "Yes."

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. Silt and sediments of uncertainty were clouding his emotions right now. "Where you going?" He dreaded her answer.

"I don't know," she said, closing the lid to her first aid kit. "I'm just leaving, that's all. Been planning to for the last five years.
If
I don't do it now, I never will." She held a hand to her mouth. Moving the bones in that hand as
if
to get rid of a cramp, she said, "There wasn't that much here anyway."

"You can say that again!" he said. He got up from his chair, crossed the patio, heading for the bar.

She followed him. "I knew from the first moment you arrived at the bar that things wouldn't work out for you."

This momentarily made him flare up, but he contained his rage. Why did she want to go and say a thing like that?
It
could only hurt him.

"This town can bum up a guy faster than anything," she said. "Leave you with absolutely nothing."

Was she talking about herself? he wondered.

"At least I flatter myself
I'll
be leaving with something," she said.

He didn't dare ask what she meant. Instead he said, "Thanks for fixing the foot.
I'll
be more careful in the future where I walk."

"I hope so," she said softly, then smiled.

Cool, distant, controlled, Anne was a mystery. He never knew how far to go with her. She was looking at him with concentrated interest. He leaned back on the bar stool, trying to shut out his thoughts. There were many things he wanted to say to her, but somehow the words wouldn't come out. He wanted to break through to her. Would he sound too pushy to speak up now? Too much the hustler speaking? After all, he had to be careful with her. Her husband had kicked him out only the night before. Did she know the reason why? Pray that she didn't!

Upstairs the sound of operatic music filled the air.

"Leonora must be up," Anne said.

He bit his lips to keep from speaking and making a fool of himself. Instead he said, "Our day has begun." Almost uncontrollably, he found himself reaching for her arm.

But she moved away.

He cringed as he felt rejected. He'd misjudged her. She was behind him, massaging his neck muscles, relieving them of last night's tension. Slowly, almost without knowing what he was doing, he rested his cheek against her hand. She gently withdrew it, tightening it around his neck and inching toward his scalp. "Can we talk later?" he asked.

"Talk is cheap," she said coldly, a woman who'd been hurt too many times before.

At first he bristled at her statement, finding himself pulling away from her. But then a new wave of understanding came over him, and he kept the soft intimacy in his voice.
"It
doesn't have to be."

"Of course," she said, finishing the massage, "we can talk after our lords and masters have finished with us for the day. You're like me now. No special status in the household. Another servant."

"That thought has crossed my mind," he said painfully.

"I'm not even granted the status of wife," she said.

He was sorry she kept bringing up that subject. But he felt compelled to balance it in some way. "As for me, I'm no longer the kept boy: No sooner had he said that then he resented the sound of his own voice.

She ignored the remark. In the yellow-red sun, she stood before him, casting a shadow. Her robe was still undone, but she was completely casual about her nudity.
It
was clear she wasn't being provocative, just natural.

Through half-closed eyes, he took in her curves. He wanted to reach out—to touch, to fondle. But now was the wrong time.
It
wasn't that he wanted her sexually, not this morning at any rate. He desired something else: a quality she had. An approach to life that was free of games, all Lola and Leonora knew how to play. That Anne was recognizably normal in a crazy world was in itself compelling.

The wind stirred, but was interrupted by a loud, buzzing sound. "That's
her
calling,· Anne said.

He sighed in despair. "Think she wants me to drive her some place?"

"Not today,· she answered. "She's having a guest over she hasn't seen in fifty years." She smiled sardonically. "Leonora will need all morning to make herself appear beautiful."

"Exactly what do you do for Leonora?" Ruthie Elvina was asking.

Sitting at the bar, Numie was fascinated by
twp
lizards on a rock. Until questioned, he was thinking of Anne. At first, he didn't understand what Ruthie Elvina meant. Then he said, "I'm just the chauffeur."

"Just?"
She adjusted the gardenia in her gray-blonde hair. "Chauffeurs are very special people."

"I don't think so," he said, hoping to end all talk.

Ruthie Elvina was not put off by so easy a rejection. "When my husband, the late Captain Bray, was alive, we once hired a chauffeur to drive us around Paris." She sighed. "Now I'm behind the wheel myself—bad legs and
all."
Her voice was reminiscent of Southern girls who early in life were shipped off to school in the north or to England. However, Ruthie Elvina deliberately seemed to retain her regional speech .

. He was most uncomfortable, having nothing to say to her. As the hired hand, he didn't think it was his job to amuse Leonora's guests while she kept them waiting. He poured himself another drink. Already he'd consumed his quota of Scotch for the day. But Leonora wasn't keeping check. The commodore's death had caused panic in her. From behind the bar, he could observe Ruthie Elvina more carefully.

In the afternoon sun, her moon-peach lipgloss was wearing thin, and her blue-green eye shadow was running. Amply displayed, her large breasts were modestly obscured by organdy ruffles. Smoothing down her floral print dress, she said, "I like to wear the colors of the sea." She smiled at him. "The sea has been good to us here on this island—it's part of our blood, and we should pay proper respect to it." Her voice, though polite, unmistakably carried the awareness that she was talking to a servant. "Don't you agree?"

"I certainly do," he said, almost willing to agree to anything if it would make her shut up. He'd wanted to say a lot more to Anne, and was resenting his tongue for freezing at a time like that.

Just then, Theodore M. Albury emerged from a long tenure in the toilet. Urine spots showed on his bright red slacks. On rubbery spindle legs, he weaved across the brick patio. "Young man," he called to N umie, "another martini—and make this one real dry."

"Teddy, don't you think you've had enough?" Ruthie Elvina asked. Her lips trembled with her voice. "I swear you could outdrink my captain
if
he was alive today."

He brushed aside her suggestion with the wave of his hand. T eddy was like an exotic bird of prey. His pear-shaped body and long, thin neck were too small to support his enormous head with its hawklike beak. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin, beet-colored. Another martini in hand, he stumbled to his chair, spilling some of the drink on his Madras jacket. As he leaned back, an Ankh—dangling on the end of a heavy gold chain—clanked against his butter-yellow Oxford shirt, which was open and revealed a mass of salt-and-pepper hair. On a stool, he carefully arranged his bare feet, encased in white crinkled Italian loafers.

"Teddy's in real estate," Ruthie Elvina said, almost apologetically. She seemed to be trying to catch Numie's eye.

He was determined to avoid even that personal a contact with her. "That's fine," he said. "I've seen your name on signs around the island." He just was talking to be talking. "Everything for rent here seems to be at least seventy years old."

Ruthie Elvina bristled at that remark.

"Dammit," Numie thought. Now he'd gone and insulted her. Why didn't he keep his mouth shut?

"You're right," Teddy said, "but I've got big plans with developers." He settled back in his chair, searching for the right shade angle from the tree branch overhead. "This time next year, I'll be hiring you as my chauffeur to drive me around in limousines." He opened his eyes wide and stared at both Numie and Ruthie Elvina, as if defying them to challenge his next remark. "I'm going to be a millionaire!"

This struck a responsive chord in Numie. Regardless of your position in life, he realized we all carry the same dream of striking
it
rich. "What's your secret?" he asked.

"I'm working on this project for a high-rise right on the beach," Teddy said. "On land Leonora and the late commodore own." The gardener was burning some trash in the back, and its yellow haze of smoke drifted their way. Teddy stopped momentarily, thinking it was a fire in the house. "With beautiful high-rise apartments, we'll get the money crowd. They'll arrive on yachts." He stared at Numie, as if debating whether to make the next point. "Right now we get the cheap campers." He grandly waved a hand in the air, slightly upsetting some of his martini. "I'm trying to give this town a little style."

Anger flashed across Ruthie Elvina's face. "It's got style," she said testily. "Plenty of it."

From the rigid arch of her back, Numie could tell that Ruthie Elvina considered herself the social arbiter of taste and style in Tortuga. She clearly resented this interference from Teddy.

"As for me,' Ruthie Elvina said, "I'm trying to uphold tradition—iust like my captain wanted me to. Preserve the best of the past." Going out of her way to tum her back to Teddy, she deliberately addressed her next statement to Numie, although it was clearly said for the drunken realtor's benefit. "I'm starting a movement to restore some of the historical landmarks on the island. I don't think people appreciate the important espionage work that went on here in the Civil War when the Yankees captured the island." This was said like a pat little speech she'd delivered many times in front of civic groups. She turned around, squarely facing Teddy. "High risers could ruin our look."

"Look, baby," Teddy said, his voice increasingly bitter, "you'll vote for us." He settled back, like a man assured of easy victory. "Only objection you have to high rise is nobody has met your outrageous price yet."

Ruthie Elvina sucked in the air, her breasts jutting out all the more. She had all the self-righteousness of a Crusader storming the infidel. Then some of the air escaped her, and it was clear she'd decided that now wasn't the time for battle.

"You're holding out on that beach footage for all you can take us for," Teddy said, almost intuitively knowing he could get away with this attack. "The land actually belonged to my cousin, before he was sent off to the asylum by your brother, that judge:

Ruthie Elvina was fanning herself, as if to make her immune from all the hot air swirling around the patio.

Teddy was impatient; he wasn't getting a response from her. Even though his brain was swimming with liquor, he seemed to know the way to reach her. He leaned forward, blowing some of his alcoholic breath in her face. "Before your dear, departed captain swindled my family out of it."

He'd reached his mark. Ruthie Elvina heaved her fleshy body from her chair, towering over him. "That's a libelous story you've spread too many times,
Theodore.
"
Her fleshy arms were shaking. "But up till now you've always had enough manners not to spread it right in front of me." She gazed straight upward into the sky, as if she could invoke some heavenly wrath to rain down on her enemy. "I could have you up on charges," she sputtered, "but everybody on this island knows you're the town drunk—and aren't responsible for your tongue."

Just as Teddy had known her vulnerable spot, it was obvious she'd hit his. He stared back at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. A lock of hair dangled over his forehead, and he looked momentarily deranged. "You will live to regret the day you made that accusation," he said softly but ominously.