Butterflies in Heat (58 page)

"You don't have a heart," he snapped, moving toward the door.

"You always agreed with much of my philosophy," she shouted.
If
he left now, he'd leave in victory. She hadn't fully destroyed him yet.

"The only reason I agreed with you was that I was on your payroll,· Ralph said, turning.

The words shattered her and her face became blank with shock.

"I'll tell you why you're surrounded only by people on your payroll,· Ralph went on. "They can't afford to talk back."

"Dinah's not on my payroll." Her shout was of outraged incredulity. "She loves me just for myself."

"How we deceive ourselves," he said with a mocking smile. "Dinah's nothing but a cheap, larcenous hooker who's hustling you, same as Ned hustled me. Let's face it, Leonora, the only time you and I have ever had sex is when we've paid for
it.
Nobody else could stand us."

"Speak for yourself," she shouted, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm highly desirable."

He wiped his lips as if to remove contamination.

"You're nothing! A mirage. There's nothing real about you." His hands tore at his hair. "You're no international beauty. I read your tombstone." He paused, lowering his voice. "You're pathetic," he mumbled.

"You're the one who's pathetic, you excuse for a man." She was out of control now. "Get out of Sacre-Coeur! There's a monster in your heart.· She raised her hands and shook a fist at him. "I knew it'd find its voice one day.
If
only to tum on me." She was in desperate
ne~d
of a barricade to cut her off from this man. "I knew I was going to die this day, but I didn't know you were to be my executioner."

"You're nothing but a bitter old woman lost in her fantasies and illusions," Ralph roared. ·You deserve to die." He turned and left the room, slamming the door in her face.

Outside the storm shrieked and wailed.

But higher still came an eerie falsetto, rending the night.

It
was the sound of Leonora screaming.

For a short while, the storm had let up. Numie was heading down the littered main street of town. Not a soul was in sight.

He had been to see Tangerine, and was certain she was going to live. She'd survived the operation beautifully. At least that nagging fear was over.

Out on this lonely street tonight turned his mind to all the other lonely streets he'd roamed. Footsore and with a deep hatred in his heart, he'd been looking for sex-buyers.

Tonight he didn't even have that goal to explain his strange presence outside when everybody else was safely at home riding out the storm.

Deep down, right at his core, he had to admit this summer had left him with no understanding of who he was. The only new insight he'd come up with was that there was an ordinariness about him. For thirty-two years, he'd assured himself constantly he was special. Was it all a lie?

After a few blocks, he was at the gates of Sacre-Coeur. Somehow tonight their bars looked more ominous and foreboding than ever. Slipping into the side entrance, he headed across the garden. Time to report for duty.

Two hours later, he hadn't moved from his chair in the living room. Draperies pulled back, he watched the storm return again in all its fury. Sitting there slowly sipping his Scotch, he felt a womblike warmth. For one moment, he was at peace—protected from the menace outside.

He remained in the same position, thinking how much he needed this rest, this retreat from Tortuga, from Leonora, from Ralph, from Lola, and even from Anne. His own company gave him a momentary delight.

A harsh buzzer interrupted his cozy reverie.

At the top of the stairs, he hesitated, then knocked and went inside.

Anne was holding Leonora down.

He rushed to Anne's side. "What's the matter?" he asked in panic.

Leonora's eyes were bugged, her face flushed red.

"I can't keep her still," Anne said. "She wants to go out ... to the graveyard!"

To Numie, Leonora looked like some insane sorceress, who wanted to drag him down into unknown horror.

"New ... me," Leonora screeched. Her hands were reaching for his.

Reluctantly, he offered her one. Long nails were digging into his flesh. He pulled away, his hand badly clawed.

"What the hell ... "

Gravestones of buried memories were giving up their captives tonight. From shadows in the far corner of the room these nameless ghosts began to take shape in front of her. Norton Huttnar, Ruthie Elvina. They were just the vanguard. So many others were waiting to follow. "Sacre-Coeur," she yelled. "My beloved Sacre-Coeur."

"It's going to be okay," Numie assured her. He was terrified of the horror he sensed in her eyes. The lights dimmed, then came on again.

"Look," Leonora said, gripping his hand firmly, "the lights ... they're going out ... " Her body jerked with frenzy. Total darkness she couldn't stand.

The lights dimmed again, then flickered on.

"We have hurricane lamps," Anne said, looking hopelessly at Numie, her eyes pleading for him to help her. "I'll get them." She quickly left the room.

Every now and then, the flashing lightning sent stabs of white through the room.

"I'm not going to be safe here," Leonora protested. "I can feel it." Her fear now was leaving her for only brief moments, then returning with a vengeance. "There's a force at work to destroy all "things beautiful." Her fingernails dug once more into Numie's sensitive flesh.

He winced with pain. Her hand held him firmly.
It
was like a death grip. Still, he tried to remain calm. Had Leonora gone totally mad? The walls of the old house rattled. "You should try to get some rest," he said, knowing how silly that sounded.

In a burst of energy, she let go of him, got up from the bed, and was stumbling around. He reached to steady her.

"Everyone except Dinah is trying to conspire against me," she said, staring at him with fury. "Even you for all I know."

"That's not true," he said. His whole body was shaking, and he braced himself for an attack from her. "Anne and I are trying to look after you."

"No," she said. She writhed and plunged around the room, as if looking for something. She stopped long enough to confront him again. "Both of you think I'm no longer in control." She then rushed toward her closet. Taking out an old silver mink, she slipped it on. "You're going to drive me to the graveyard. "

"In this weather?" he asked, dumbfounded. In the main hall the storm was a dim noise, but outside it sounded more like galloping horses. "You must be out of your ... " He paused, biting his tongue before he said it.

"No," she said, her calm moment returning. "I'm not out of my mind."

For this brief interlude, she was like the old Leonora, completely calling the shots.

"You're my driver," she said firmly, her back stiff.
"If
you refuse,
I'll
fire you." Thoughts of Ralph flashed through her mind. He didn't think he was going to get fired either. "I've already fired one tonight."

"You mean Ralph?" Numie asked. The air was oppressive. He was having a hard time breathing.

"Are you going to drive me there?" She would have fired him on the spot, but only hours remained in her life. Knowing that, she had to deal with what she had.

Not really caring about the job at this point, he sighed,
"If
you want to go." He felt
if
he didn't take her, she would try to go there on her own—and would surely get killed.

In the hallway, he was racing after her. The lightning outlined her silvery frame, as she rushed dangerously down the marble steps.

Anne confronted him at the bottom of the stairs.

"You're not taking her, surely," she said. In her hand was a hurricane lamp.

He reached for her free hand, but she withdrew it. "I'll explain everything later," he said. "There's just no time right now."

"In this storm, you'll never make it. You'll have an accident," Anne said, grabbing onto his arm.

He broke away. "I've got to take her."

Bitterness swept across Anne's face. Tears formed. "You're as much a fool as she is."

By now, Leonora had thrown open the oak doors. The storm howled inside the parlor.

Shattered shop windows, flooded streets, fallen cornices, evidence of the storm was everywhere.

Behind the wheel and driving into the blinding rain, Numie was cursing, fearing for their safety. Several times he flicked imaginary ashes from his cigarette before they formed.

The rain continued to lash against the windshield. He shook with a sudden cold. The headlights from the Lincoln hardly made a difference against the blackness of the night. Not one light shown anywhere.

The storm was getting worse. He was driving so slowly now the Lincoln was barely moving.

"Hurry up," she screamed at him in the earphone. "It's almost midnight."

By now he was convinced: Leonora was insane. Why would anyone on a night like this want to be taken to the graveyard?

Then, suddenly, the reason became clear.

September 13, the day engraved on her tombstone. That was today!

Leonora must be convinced she was going to die.

Glancing into the back, he viewed her with pity. She must be experiencing the agonies of the damned.

It
was five minutes to midnight.

Panic overwhelmed Leonora. Under the silver mink, her entire body was soaked with perspiration. Then suddenly crystal clear came a jarring thought. Was she experiencing not actual death, the death of the body, but the symbolic death of the soul? Was she becoming merely a ghostly shell of herself? Had her heart grown cold? Had the denial of love from every source caused her to dry up? Was she no more than a zombie, making her physical presence felt, but having nothing else to offer the world?

It
was four minutes to midnight.

If
there be a God, and she didn't believe there was one, but if there were, would he smile on her tonight? Give her that second chance? Return her to a state of innocence? Let her go back and live it again—freed of the hatred, the jealousies, the mockeries? She would give away anything—her fashion house, Sacre-Coeur, her furs, her jewels, her stocks and bonds—if God would grant her this one favor.
It
was such a small thing to ask.

It
was three minutes to midnight.

A distant memory returned. She was a little girl again playing on the summer sand. She stopped for a moment, breathing in the salt air. For the last two months, she'd been sick. Her father was disgusted with her and didn't love her. Even her more patient mother was tired of waiting on her. She secretly feared they were going to poison her if she didn't get better. She
prayed. GOD had answered her prayers, She was
out of bed—alive and well. She could run and frolic in the sand. At the far end of the beach, some children were playing. She'd show everybody she was okay again—just like the rest of them. Madly she started to run toward the other children. They saw her coming. One boy was pointing at her. He was laughing. Now, another boy was laughing. All of the children were turning, laughing, mocking. The pain in her side grew worse. Falling on the sand, she cried out for her mother. "Come and get me. I'm still sick!"