Butterfly (76 page)

junkies living in rat-and cockroach-infested buildings.

“I’m telling you, sir,” Danny said wearily. “I just couldn’t go all over the country and

examine every little pissant investment I had. I bought Royal Farms from Beverly

Highland. Now, you know her reputation, sir. She couldn’t have known about these

things. And she certainly wouldn’t have passed the company on to me if she had known.”

The old man took out a cigar, slowly undid the wrapper, clipped off the end and took

his time lighting it. “Well, you’re just damned lucky that I’ve come to rescue you, son,” he

said after his first few puffs. “We can still save your ass in time for the convention. You’ll

go on TV tonight and tell America that you had no knowledge of these evils, that you are

very sorry to have been a part of them, and that you intend to do something about them

at once. We gotta get you as pure as the driven snow come the weekend.”

Danny closed his eyes and nodded. He didn’t like his father-in-law, but the man was

powerful. His sudden flight to his son-in-law’s troubled side was taken by the party as a

good sign. Danny still had supporters, albeit nervous ones. Tonight, on TV, he was going

to give his best performance ever. He was going to ask the country for forgiveness. And he

had no doubt they would forgive him.

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BUTTERFLY

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Lieutenant O’Malley wished for the hundredth time that he wasn’t on this case. It was

a messy business; it was starting to aggravate his ulcer.

And now with this new development—this second photograph that, unlike the one

found in the bordello, was beyond a doubt genuine—the waters were only going to get

muddier.

The woman said she had come to the police because she believed Danny Mackay

should be punished. And she sat there now, in the outer office with a Styrofoam cup of

coffee in her hand, a faded, dried-up Texas farm wife who lived a lonely widowed life and

no doubt hoped to get a bit of excitement for telling her story.

About Danny Mackay and Bonner Purvis.

Jesus!

The detective went into the men’s room, where he carefully washed his face, cleaned

his fingernails, and combed his hair down flat and shiny. The morning had been going

downhill as it was, what with pressure from above to drop the bordello case and close the

file, but now this woman in her cotton print dress and broken-down shoes had dropped a

time bomb in his lap.

The photograph was genuine, all right. She said she had taken it herself, back in 1955,

when a revival bus had come through her town and she’d volunteered to put up two of the

troupe’s members in her own home. Out of Christian charity, she declared, she had taken

in the young Danny and Bonner, only to be rewarded with a curse from Satan himself. “It

wasn’t natural, what them boys did,” she had told O’Malley, “And I saw them at it, right

there in the bedroom.”

Actually, the snapshot appeared to be innocent enough: two smiling young men sit-

ting naked in a tin tub out in some backyard, clearly trying to get cool and goofing off.

They held beers and had an arm up on each other’s shoulders. Just a couple of good-time

boys passing the time of day.

But not so innocent when accompanied by this woman’s story of witnessing an act of

homosexuality. That changed the picture entirely.

It also changed everything else.

Because, O’Malley knew, once this got out, people would start asking themselves: If

Danny Mackay once engaged in indecent acts with another man, then it was just possible

that he
could
own a whorehouse and a porno magazine and all the rest.

The photograph and the woman’s testimony could hang him.

Lieutenant O’Malley had a problem. Simply, he liked Danny Mackay and wanted to

vote for him in November. But he was also a man of conscience. The woman and her

photograph could not be ignored.

*

*

*

There was a flurry of activity in the Mackay suite of the Century Plaza. While his per-

sonal makeup man got him ready for the television cameras Danny’s aides and advisers

prompted him in his hastily written speech. Off to the side the senator stood with a dark

expression on his face, with his daughter, Angelica, hovering close behind him.

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Kathryn Harvey

Danny felt good. The Jack Daniel’s had warmed him and infused him with power, just

as in the old days, and the speech was a damn good one. He’d have America begging him

to become president when he was through with them tonight. There was even a clever bit

of insinuation in the speech that even the great John Kennedy’s name was sullied by

detractors.

One of Danny’s secretaries came up and said, “There’s a Detective O’Malley outside,

sir. He says he wants to have a word with you.”

Danny waved a hand. “Later. After my speech.”

“What do you suppose he wants?” Bonner asked.

“He’s probably selling tickets to the policemen’s ball!”

But when the other secretary came hurrying in and told Danny that Miss Highland

was on the phone, Danny jumped up, yanked the towel from around his neck and dashed

into the bedroom to take her call. Of all his financial backers, Beverly Highland was one

of the most important. Her silence these past three days had been killing him. He prayed

now, as he picked up the receiver, that she had something good to say.

His prayer was answered.

Not only did she believe him to be innocent of all these sordid things, but she was

going to make a public statement tomorrow morning announcing her continued support

of his candidacy. “I have no fear, Reverend,” she said in her quiet way, “that this will all

pass and that soon, very soon, you shall have your just reward.”

50

Linda Markus leaned against the frame of her sliding glass door, watching the last rays

of a Pacific sunset paint peachy-orange streaks across the western sky. The ocean smelled

hot and salty. It was June, and Malibu was awakening to summer life: down the beach

from her house, people were cavorting in the surf; steaks were being seared on hibachis;

kids were blackening marshmallows over open fires; teenagers were throwing Frisbees and

volleyballs and engaging in hasty, furtive sex among the dunes. Behind her, a commenta-

tor was saying over the radio: “Two more people have come forward claiming to have

known Danny Mackay in his early years as a preacher in Texas, one of whom once ran a

house of prostitution in San Antonio. A Mrs. Hazel Courtland has signed a sworn state-

ment that Danny Mackay and Bonner Purvis once supplied girls for her house. The sec-

ond person is a retired minister from Austin, Texas, who used to host Mackay’s revival

meetings in his church. Reverend White claims that at the time, in 1955 and 1956,

Danny Mackay worked for a man named Billy Bob Magdalene, who disappeared myste-

riously one day and has never been accounted for. Mr. Mackay was questioned by the

police this morning regarding that disappearance.”

Linda only half-listened. When the news broke four days ago about the secret rooms

above Fanelli being somehow connected with Good News Ministries, she had understood

why she had received the notice informing her that Butterfly was closing down and a

refund of her membership money.

Where did he go? she wondered. The masked companion who set me free?

“Who are you?” she had asked on that remarkable night, when he had released her

from her prison. “What’s your name? Why do you work here?”

But he had only smiled and placed a fingertip on her lips. And then she had realized:

she didn’t really want to know his name or who he was outside the walls of Butterfly. He

would be remembered as the fantasy lover who had broken her bonds.

He had said to her, “The rejection you thought you saw in men was only in your mind.

You imagined that they were turned off by your scars. The men were driven away not by your

physical flaw but by your sudden coldness toward them. You were defensive. And I doubt

they pulled away from you; probably you pushed them away, as you had done with me.”

He was right. And Linda had left Butterfly feeling a mixture of awe and newfound

courage. She hadn’t known her body was capable of such a reaction. And now she was

anxious, like a child who has learned to walk, to try it on her own.

A warm breeze came up from the ocean and Linda hugged herself. She felt like shout-

ing out loud her joy; she wanted to run down the beach and tell everyone how happy she

was.

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Kathryn Harvey

Last night…last night!

She turned away from the sun deck and went into the kitchen, where remnants of last

night’s dinner still lay on the counter. He had brought pizza, of all things, and they had

had it for both dinner and breakfast this morning. Now evening was drawing in and they

would need to eat again. Linda looked around. What should she cook? What would he

like?

She heard the shower running.

He was awake.

And suddenly she didn’t want to cook or eat or anything else. Except make love.

She caught sight of herself in the polished window of her oven: a thirty-eight-year-old

woman with dancing eyes and flushed cheeks and wearing only a bathrobe.

Butterfly. Had it been real? Had her interludes with Casanova and Zorro and a

Confederate officer really taken place? Had she really found herself in those incredible

dream-rooms? If only she knew whom to thank.

But she didn’t know who had run Butterfly, except maybe for Danny Mackay, as was

being reported in the papers. But she doubted he had anything to do with the fantasy ful-

fillment. Linda had not been able to learn the name of her companion, nor the identity of

anyone else behind Butterfly’s operation. Only Alexis, her friend the pediatrician, had

managed to get some information. Alexis’s companion had fallen in love with her—he

had told her who he was and his feelings for her—and now they were living together, in a

cabin in Benedict Canyon. His name was Charlie, and all he had been able to tell Alexis

was that the director had interviewed and hired him and told him what to do. Beyond

that, Butterfly had been as much a mystery to him and the other companions as to the

members.

The real secret of Butterfly, Linda suspected, would probably never be revealed.

She heard footsteps cross the living room floor. And then he was in the kitchen and

coming up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. “Good morning, my friend,” he

murmured. “Or is it evening? I’ve lost track.”

Linda turned and looked up at José. His hair was still damp from the shower. She put

her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Look what happens when I ask a woman out for a drink,” he said. “I fall in love.”

“Is that what this is?”

He grew serious. “I mean it, my friend. When I look at you, and remember what you

were like last night, I think I don’t have to go to parties anymore.”

Linda rested her head on his shoulder, and felt at peace.

51

The tiny butterfly shimmered in the dying June sunlight and cast golden reflections. It

seemed to flutter down into Carmen’s open palm, and then it lay still.

“I won’t be needing it anymore,” Beverly said softly. “I want you to have it.”

Carmen gazed down at the delicate butterfly bracelet through tear-filled eyes. There