Butterfly (9 page)

The door swung slowly open. She drew in her breath.

The first thing she saw were the polished boots, then a long arm in a gray sleeve with

yellow embroidery. Finally, a masked face beneath a gray Confederate general’s hat.

And—a soft, genteel voice, saying, “Howdy, ma’am.”

She held herself perfectly still.
They must hire professional actors,
she heard her mind

say.
He’s so good at it.

Then:
Damnit, Linda. Get into the fantasy!

But too many years of medical training had left her with an analytical mind. Fantasies

were difficult for her, She could never divorce herself from the keenly dissecting mind

medical school had given her.

My God, he’s beautiful.

“Ah hope Ah’m not disturbin’ you, ma’am,” came his soft voice as he touched the brim

of his gray felt hat. And then, just when she expected him to walk over and kiss her hand

or do something rehearsed like that, he surprised her. “Do you suppose a gentleman

might help himself to a drink?” he asked.

Linda, nonplussed, looked around.
Was he supposed to say that?
“There’s a liquor cart

over there, I think…”

He strode over to it and lifted a decanter filled with amber liquid. After having a drink

from a crystal glass, he turned and regarded her through the eye holes of his mask.

Black eyes surrounded by black lashes in a black mask.

She felt her pulse race.

“Have we met before, ma’am?” he asked softly.

“I…” He actually had her tongue-tied!

“I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine. Charlotte’s her name. Do you perchance know her?”

Linda was taken aback.

The heady perfume of roses filled the air. The light from the various candles around

the room seemed to move and shift and undulate. Linda felt herself become engulfed by

the romantic ambience.

But it’s all staged!

Nonetheless, she felt herself start to succumb. And she was glad. She wanted the magic

to work…

Those flashing black eyes weren’t searching for a woman named Charlotte. They were

there for her, for Linda Markus, who had asked for this man, and who was already start-

ing to feel possessive of him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say next. I mean…who’s Charlotte?”

His smile lifted his mask slightly.

This time, unlike the time he wore the ski mask, she could see the lower half of his

face. And…he was
handsome.

“Then Ah must be in the wrong house.”

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Kathryn Harvey

Linda was confused. Had they put her in the wrong room? But no…this was defi-

nitely the companion she had asked for. Then what—?

He came toward her, his crystal glass in his hand. “But then,” he said quietly, “maybe

Ah don’t mind not findin’ Charlotte.”

He came and stood close to her. Linda looked up at him. How could she have forgot-

ten how tall he was? And then she was struck by a familiar scent. Only faintly—a hint of

men’s cologne. He had worn it the previous times. What was it called? She seemed to

know it…

His hand came up to her cheek. Long fingers traced the contours of her face, touched

her lips, caressed her eyelids. There was nothing hurried in him; his manner seemed lan-

guid, almost lazy, as if they had all night.

“May a gentleman introduce himself to a lady?” he asked softly. “My name is Beau.”

He bent his head and touched his lips very lightly to hers.

Linda sighed. It was so perfect. No names, no faces, no wondering what he was going

to think later, no having to explain about her problem, the thing that had killed two mar-

riages and always brought new relationships to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t allowed to won-

der or ask. He simply had to do what he was paid to do. And send her home cured.

She kissed him back.

“Beau” took his time. Slowly, he removed his gray officer’s tunic, and then the linen

shirt. The sight of his athletic torso, even though she had seen it twice before, did not fail

to make Linda catch her breath. Not too much muscle, just enough to warn of strength.

Not too tanned. There was nothing overdone about this beautiful man. Not even his

kisses, his exploring touch, as though this were their first time together. How often, on

first or second dates, with men who had looked deceptively considerate, had Linda had to

suffer the urgent, devouring kisses, the rush to get her panties off, the premature battering

with an erection when she wasn’t ready.

She felt Beau’s erection. She felt it through yards of lace and satin, and through the wool

of his Confederate trousers. How much more delicious that was! Delaying the mystery,

building up the anticipation. Not rushing her. The things this man could teach other men.

But then, all of a sudden, he became urgent. The timing was perfect, it was exactly

when she wanted him to start to hurry, now that her own excitement was rising. Her

breath came short; she clung to him, with her arms, her mouth. She felt his fingers work

the buttons at the back of her dress. The satin bodice came down, but she was still hidden

beneath lace and cotton, ribbons and stays. Beau knew how to undo these as well, swiftly

and expertly, kissing her all the while, holding her against him, pressing into her.

And then she wore only her petticoats. Lifting her suddenly, he carried her to the bed

and laid her gently down. The kisses continued, on her face, her neck, her breasts. When

she groaned, he lingered there, on her nipples, making her body arch, making her gasp,

finally,
“Now…
”

He removed his boots and trousers. But when he reached for the drawstring of her

petticoats, she stopped him.

So he lay on top of her, kissing, stroking, bringing her to a peak. When his hand

slid down between her legs, she brought it back up, wordlessly. When he entered her,

BUTTERFLY

37

modestly, not touching her, just enough to guide himself in, he didn’t bury his face in

her neck, but stayed up on his elbows, so that he looked down at her, through the

black mask. Linda was caught in those dark, intense eyes. As they rocked together,

joined in body, she was held by that gaze.

“Come,” she whispered. “Beau, please come.”

But he moved slowly, in a dreamy oceanic rhythm. Linda locked her arms around his

neck; she curled her legs around his thighs. “Come!” she whispered. “Please. Hurry!”

She thought she saw a flicker of perplexity in the masked eyes. Then suddenly his

body changed. He moved fast now, rapidly. He closed his eyes. He concentrated.

“Yes!” she said hoarsely.
“Yes!”

Finally he shuddered and groaned and pulled her so hard against him that, for a

moment, Linda couldn’t breathe.

“Did you have an orgasm?” the analyst asked as Linda paced the carpet.

“You know I didn’t. Damn.” She stopped and looked at Dr. Virginia Raymond, who

was sitting in a wicker chair, silhouetted against the breathtaking backdrop of Los

Angeles. “It’s the same every time,” Linda went on. “The love-making is fantastic. But I

hold myself back. I can’t help it. No matter what he does, how exciting it feels to me, I

don’t respond internally. I go through the motions. I talk, I move, I tell him what I want.

And then…nothing. And when it’s over I feel the resentment come back.”

“Resentment toward whom or what?” asked Dr. Raymond.

Linda smiled at the psychiatrist. “I don’t really know. Maybe the doctors that per-

formed so many operations on me when I was little. Or the pot of scalding water that

caused the trauma. My mother maybe. All the men who won’t stay with me long enough

to help me cure my frigidity.
The world,
I suppose.” She stopped at the floor-to-ceiling

window and looked out. It was January, a breathtaking day in Southern California. The

ocean, pearly and blue, stood in the distance, with bright green palm trees and frothy

clouds to complete a perfect picture. On the street down below there was an enormous

billboard. It displayed the familiar face of the man who had founded the Moral Decency

movement. Linda had seen his
Good News Hour
a few times. There was no doubt about

it, the Reverend was a charismatic speaker. She wouldn’t have believed that a

Fundamentalist Christian could gain such a wide following. The popularity polls showed

that the Reverend had a good chance of winning the Republican nomination at the con-

vention in June.

She turned away from the window and went to a wicker sofa, where she settled down

into tangerine cushions. Dr. Raymond’s office was peaceful, a gardenlike haven in the

middle of hectic Century City. Linda had been coming here for almost ten years.

“I want so badly to share my life with someone,” Linda said quietly. “I don’t like living

alone. I would like a husband and children. I tried so hard to make those two marriages

work, you know. I really tried.”

Dr. Raymond nodded. Dr. Linda Markus had started coming to her when her first

marriage was failing. Linda’s husband had claimed not to have been able to tolerate her

late hours at the hospital, or being called away on emergencies. “He says that just once

38

Kathryn Harvey

he’d like to see a movie all the way through!” Linda had said back then. But both she and

Dr. Raymond knew the real reason for his wanting the divorce. It had nothing to do with

doctor’s hours. The reason was Linda’s frigidity.

And then, four years later, her second husband had echoed those same words, declar-

ing that he had gotten tired of Linda’s beeper cutting into their social (and sometimes

love) life. And again, Linda and her analyst knew the real reason for his wanting to get

away.

That second marriage had lasted a mere eleven months. Since then, Dr. Raymond had

heard from Linda about brief encounters, all of them unsuccessful, until finally Linda had

given up.

Linda looked at her watch. When she had returned the TV producer’s call and had

found that Barry Greene’s office was in the same building as her analyst’s, Linda had made

an appointment with him to precede her regular weekly session with Dr. Raymond.

“He says he has a job for me,” Linda had said earlier in the hour. “A job! As if I weren’t

overloaded enough as it was!”

“But you are going to take it anyway?” Virginia Raymond had asked.

“I was flattered that he wanted me. And it
is
such a glamorous notion: to work on a

studio set, telling movie stars how to act like doctors. I told him in all honesty that I’d

never watched his show, but friends tell me that
Five North
is one of TV’s biggest hits.

And he wants me to be the technical adviser. I thought it might be challenging.”

“Even though you already can’t fit anything else into your schedule.”

Then they had gotten down to Linda’s problem. “You know why I fill my life with so

much, Virginia,” she said softly. “It keeps me from having to go home to that lonely

house, where I am constantly reminded that I am thirty-eight years old and want a family

more than anything. But, to have a family I need a husband, and to get a husband I have

to work on my damn bedroom problem. Listen—” Linda moved to the edge of the sofa

and looked earnestly at the psychiatrist. “I want so badly to cure myself and I want so

badly to be normal that you would think the cure would come easily!”

Linda stood up and paced again. “I can’t go on living like this, Virginia, making the

hospital my entire life, just so I can ignore the fact that I am
alone.
That’s why I decided

it was time to do something about it, to face up to my problem and try to remedy it. So,

when my friend Georgia told me about this club called Butterfly, and how it was helping

her,
I decided to give it a try.”

“And has it helped at all?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t seem to get totally into the fantasy. I think that if I could just

achieve that—if I could just be someone else for just a little while—then maybe I could

cast off this stigma once and for all.”

“And you think the fantasy will help?”

“I thought that if I could be someone else I could get over my sexual block. Maybe as

Marie Antoinette I won’t be dysfunctional in bed! I don’t know. But the problem is, I’m so

used to being in charge and in control of every situation that I can’t seem to let go and

allow the fantasy to take over.”

BUTTERFLY

39

She turned away from the window and regarded her analyst. Virginia Raymond had

been trying for years to help Linda with her problem—a problem caused by a childhood

accident and therefore not purely psychological—and she had supported Linda in her

decision to join Butterfly.

“It might be dangerous,” she had advised. “You might not find what you’re looking

for.”

But Linda had said, “I’m willing to take that risk. Challenges don’t frighten me.”

“What do you think of the masks?” Linda asked now. “Will they help?”

“As I told you before, Linda, if you can’t relax you will never enjoy sex. Wearing masks

allows you that necessary relaxation. They permit you to enjoy whatever psychodrama