Butterflies in Heat (60 page)

Whirling through the air were butterflies with glass wings. Their shadows reflected on the ground, making them look like giant bats come to devour him. At first he'd been afraid. But then, seeing they were butterflies, he'd stopped running. Butterflies w£re harmless.

Or were they?

On closer inspection, these transparent creatures were becoming life sized.

Cold and tired, and completely out of breath, he fell on the wet earth.

Suddenly, the butterflies descended. Their many-jointed antennae were made of tiny threadlike silver wires. Their heads were small, but their compound eyes were large and menacing.

The faces on the butterflies—Leonora, Lola, Ralph, Johnny Yellowwood, Joan, Dinah, Ned, Commodore Philip, Castor
Q.
Combes, even Tangerine—flashed before him. They were circling over him. Through their transparent wings, he could see the sky and the clouds beyond. Then his horrified face was reflected hundreds of times as those same wings became mirrors.

Their mouths—coiled up like watch springs at rest—were extending into great elongated sucking tubes. They were seeking nectar from the flower.

He was the flower; his blood the nectar.

At the end of their sucking tubes were toothed spines. With these, they were lacerating his skin to get to the arteries inside.

He sat up with a bolt.

Even though the sun was hot, his body was icy cold.

He shielded his eyes from the sun and peered at a shadowy figure looming over him.

It was Dinah. One side of her face was bandaged.

He made no attempt to cover his nude body. "What happened to you?"

"A present from Ned, all tied up with a neat little red ribbon." She gently ran her hand across her face.

"Some gift!"

Dinah was beside him, removing her robe. She was nude too. Taking an adjoining mat, she lay back. Her breasts were small, her body, muscular. "I like chocolate-covered ice cream bars." She sighed and puckered her lip. "Why don't you go downstairs and get me one?"

"Right now?" He looked at her for a long moment wondering what her game was. "I'm not a servant."

Her next look was too bloodthirsty for comfort. "lhat's not what I hear," she said. In a quick puff, she swallowed a whole gulp of fresh air, closed her eyes and faced the sun. "You forget, I'm the lady of the manor now."

"Ring for it,· he said angrily. "lhere's a maid." He was astonished at how quickly she'd adopted to the good life.

"Skip it.· She gyrated on the mat. "I've got something better. Think
I'll
have a little blow." She reached into the pocket of her discarded robe and pulled out a folded hundred-dollar bill. In that bill, she carried her cocaine. Opening the bill, she sniffed it, then reached for a little silver spoon around her neck, dipping it into the powder and carefully lifting it to her nostrils. "Sweet perfume,· she said. She inhaled the powder as if it were the breath of life. She didn't say anything at first, nor did she offer any to him.

"I'm surprised you left Ned," he said. "I thought he was super daddy."

"I was in love with Ned till I saw what kind of man he was." She practically spat. "Pussy whipped by a drag queen.· Dinah looked him straight in the eye with a look that could kill. "Can't respect no man who'd let a fag do that to him. Besides, Ned made me hustle my ass night and day." She fingered her silver spoon. "Leonora is much more understanding, not so demanding."

"Besides, she can support your habit better,· he said sarcastically, hating her, hating himself, hating whoring in general.

"I hear you talking!" She leaned back gingerly on the matting. "I was just a tool to Ned. Someone to feed him, to fuck him, like a goddamn machine." She ran her fingers down her child-like breasts and assumed a sexy pose. "Leonora has taught me about women's liberation. Did you know she was the slave of a son-of-a-bitch one time herself? Huttnar, some mindfucking name like that."

He leaned back, feeling the sun was getting too hot. "She told me."

"As long as Ned needed me, I was willing to get out on that street and hustle my ass." She was roaring mad. "Now he's got the queen—he don't need me. Getting into that old queen's hole is more of a tum-on to him than being with the real thing." Like a pussycat, she seemed to be clawing the deck. "I'm no longer his Li'l Bit. Li'l Bit has become a whole lot, and here's one 'ho who's doing it all by herself—with a little help from Leonora."

He smiled. "I see Leonora has completely converted you."

"The bitch is giving me a better game, that's all," she said, sitting up. "I'll be with her until I get an even better game." Her eyes surveyed the grounds below. "Li'l Bit's going places in this world." She sat back on her legs slouched down, and looked ready to pounce. "Now, why don't you do some traveling yourself? I came up here to use the sundeck. I didn't know it was used by the hired hands, too. I must speak to Leonora. I believe in equal facilities, but separate ones."

He got up and stood for a long moment looking down at her. He decided it was hopeless to talk to her. Putting a towel around his nude body, he headed downstairs.

This troubled, hurried summer seemed to be moving rapidly to its end.

Numie slipped down the winding staircase, his bare feet making no sound on the marble. In the parlor he stopped to survey the storm's damage. A velvet sofa was saturated. Shattered glass covered the room, and vases and lamps had fallen over. The room was bathed in a green light coming in from the half open shutters. A fly circled a wall sconce, its nasal buzzing seemingly vibrating the crystal pendants.

Through the open glass doors, he walked out onto the brick patio, feeling the rise of the heat. Blinking his eyes, he adjusted to the sun after the darkness of the parlor. The leaves of the palm trees hung motionless. Nothing was stirring in the garden this late morning. Then the broken-legged pelican emerged again, searching for something lost last night.

Darting back at the sound of footsteps, he concealed himself behind a shrub. He was in no mood for confrontation today.

It
was Ralph, carrying a small overnight bag. His large eyes were streaked with red, and perspiration had matted his hair. A small bit of excessive saliva bubbled out of the corner of his mouth.

Anne was behind him, running her fingers nervously through her hair.

"You my bon voyage party?" he asked.

"I was never your party—you know that," she said.

His eyes met hers in a steady gaze. "Imagine being married to you all these years, and I'm still a virgin—at least with women."

Her shoulders collapsed, and her arms flapped down by her sides. "That's not something I want to remember."

The clock in the parlor behind them struck the hour. There was a long silence.

"Why did you stick it out?" he asked. "I never could figure that out."

Anne went to the bar for a beer. A cat had climbed over the wall and was rummaging through the garbage. At first she looked as
if
she were going to chase it away, then she turned her back to it. "I clung to some sort of security," she said vacantly. "How could I have ever thought that being with you would keep me from ending up lonely one day?"

He put his bag down. "Frankly, I don't know." The tone of his voice grew petulant. "I certainly never encouraged you being with me."

She wiped beer from the corner of her mouth. "I know."

He glanced around the patio. "It'll be tough leaving this place." His cold fist banged into the palm of his hand. "I've always had trouble making decisions for myself. With Leonora, it was easy. She made them for me." Reaching into his overnight bag, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses. "I think that's why I was attracted to Leonora in the first place. No decisions necessary. Every day planned."

Taking some face lotion, Anne absently oiled herself. "What are you going to do now?"

He took off one of his loafers and removed a sand spur. "See if I can make it on my own. I'll get wheels under me, and ride off some of the bitterness I feel for Leonora."

Putting the lotion down suddenly, Anne reached for a cigarette. Though her voice was outwardly calm, her hand was shaking. "What about your things?" she asked. "Where can I send them?"

The question seemed to stun him for a moment. "A moving van will come for them in a few weeks," he replied.

In a moment of anger, Anne tossed the beer can at the cat. "A divorce—what about that?"

He walked up to her. "Does it really matter? I don't plan to get married again, and I'm sure you're no longer interested in marriage. An antiquated custom by today's standards."

"Okay, we'll ignore it," she agreed. She opened another beer. "Pretend it never happened."

He shifted uneasily. "I plan to go on one big tour of this country—find out what it's all about." He moved around the patio in a wild burst of energy. "All the way to the lumberjacks around Seattle, sampling the wares along the way." He looked back at her and smiled. "I've got the money. Now I've got the time." He paused, then asked. "What about you?"

Anne studied the cat, now sitting on top of the garbage can, a look of defiance on its face. She seemed to be making some judgment about it, respecting its independence and total self-interest. "I'll be leaving soon myself," she said. "Returning to New York. I should never have come to Tortuga. Neither should you, but it's too late to talk about that now."

He exhaled slowly, as if bored already with her plans. "What will you do there?"

She straightened up, her sharp features implacable. "Find a job. See if there's any life worth living for me." She shrugged her shoulders. "What can any of us do?" A bitterness came into her voice. "Unlike you, I don't have any money. Leonora was never very generous with me."

He laughed sardonically. "She wasn't that generous with me either," he said. "I took what I wanted."

She shook her head from side to side, as if not comprehending, not believing. "You embezzled?"

Triumphant defiance crossed his face. "My father did that before me. Guess I took after him." He clutched his arms tightly. "I'd give you some now to help you get out of here, but I'll need every penny. I don't know where I'm going to get any more."

She put her hand to her mouth.

"You aren't going to cry or do something stupid like that?" he asked.

"No," she said, regaining control.

"That's good." He allowed himself a small smile. "What is it then?"

"All of a sudden," she said in a jerky voice, "I had this awful feeling that I've been standing still—not moving ahead at all with my life."

"Yeah,' he said impatiently, "I know it well." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. There's a plane out today."

As
if
grateful for this return to the practical side of life, she asked, "Want me to drive you to the airport?"

"No," he said, "I called a taxi. Should be here any minute now." Almost on cue, a car hom sounded outside the gates. "This is it, wifey."

She winced at the use of the word. "Good luck, Ralph." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "I hope you find a good life." She moved toward him, as if she were going to touch him. "Despite what's happened between us, or despite what never happened, I wish you well." She reached to touch his hand, but withdrew it quickly.

In his rush to the gate, her gesture seemingly escaped his attention.

Still watching, but feeling guilty for doing so, Numie was tempted to reveal himself, to say something, to offer comfort in some way. Then he decided moments such as these should be private affairs.