Butterflies in Heat

by Darwin Porter

  Eyes back on the road, Numie did not answer. A day with Lola was a terrible dream, but maybe it would all be over soon. Any minute he'd wake up and find his life had taken a wonderful new turn—and he'd be free.

  Her fingers now snaking up his arm made his skin crawl. But still he drove on.

  Just the sight of her face, those obscene lips, made him feel unclean.

  This creature had him in her power.

  And he'd allowed it.

  But how in hell could he get out without ruining his last chance in Tortuga?

  "Slow down," she called out. "We'll miss their place in the dark. All these nigger shanties look the same to me."

  The hot night had forced everybody from his shanty. Lazily the people lolled on their porches or else hung out their windows, swatting mosquitoes. An ice-cream vendor's cart tinkled across the cobblestones. A child, refused money for a cone, cried out.

  The screen door to Ned and Dinah's had a gaping hole in it. The boards of the little front porch were rotten.

  Lola didn't bother to knock. Barging in, she said, "Girl, get your skinny ass out of that bedroom. You got company, child. Class!"

  "Lola," Dinah called from the back bedroom. "Get a drink and park your fanny, honey. I'm getting into something real sexy"

  Lola quickly looked at her wrap-pants, fearing Dinah was going to appear better dressed than she was. "I can't drink that rotgut liquor Ned steals," she said. "You know my commodore will let me drink only toddies, made with aged rum."

  "I ain't got no liquor to age around here," Dinah yelled back. "Ned drinks it up too fast."

  Their little three-room shanty couldn't have looked shabbier. After the day it was built, no one had ever cleaned it up. Lopsided bamboo shades covered the windows in the living room. Their ruffled, graying valances—once stiff and white—were limp from dampness. In front of the frayed sofa where Nliinie was sitting lay an imitation Persian rug; and cabbage rose-patterned linoleum had been placed under the dining table in the comer.

  "Well, have your boy friend—if he's here—pour me a drink," Dinah called again. "Bottle's in the kitchen."

  Lola grandly motioned for Numie to get a drink. Being waited upon, once so exotic and uncomfortable for her, was now perfectly natural.

  Frowning, Numie was heading for the kitchen. Greasy oilcloth lined the open shelves. He opened the refrigerator for ice. Looking in, he caught sight of moldy lumps ofleftover food and slammed the door. Shades of Tangerine's apartment. To get a glass, he pulled back a plastic, orchid, polka-dot curtain over the sink. Immediately, a pair of cockroaches ran out, darting down the wall and under a fire-engine red bucket. He poured some cheap whiskey into the glass.

  Back in the living room, he was making for the sofa ... and Lola.

  "Dinah's lover man ain't here yet," she said. "He's always late." For about the ninth time, she inspected her lips in her compact mirror, then slammed her purse shut. She moved closer to Numie, whispering under her breath.

  "Probably knocking off a quick piece somewhere, if I know that buck."

  Numie withdrew slightly, not inviting this intimacy.

  Lola noticed that he had seemed to pull back. Did she have bad breath? She decided she was mistaken. "Ned can go one round after the other. No letting up."

  Numie's eyes flared. "And how would you know?"

  "I saw him ball five chicks in one night," she said, deliberately on a campaign to make Numie jealous. "When he finished the second round with each of them, he begged me to get him another set."

  "You exaggerate," Numie said with disgust, perfectly aware of what Lola was doing. He didn't feel jealous at all, however. He just wanted to go out on the porch and breathe some fresh air. "If super fly's so spectacular," he said with a biting edge to his voice, "what are you doing with me?"

  "Now, don't you go getting your feathers riled," she replied, a smile crossing her face. She could just sense the jealous fury inside him. "In the black community, I'm always known for dating white johns."

  Numie sighed. He saw the picture clearly. Tonight was part of the same exhibition that had begun at the men's shop. "What am I? Some sort of status symbol?"

  Lola resented this. "Honey, don't flatter yourself. You were nothing till I got you out of jail and put some decent clothes on your back."

  "Thanks!" He was just about ready to get up and walk out when he was interrupted.

  At that moment, Dinah barged into the room. She was wearing hot pants two sizes too small and a blouse that showed her breasts. Her mouth was red coated, flaming. A spray of freckles covered her light-brown face, resting under a coppery Afro hairdo. She was strutting around the living room, showing off her trim, boyish figure.

  Numie was contrasting her natural beauty to Lola's contrived look.

  Lola fumed. "Child," she said, "you put on too much lipstick."

  "You're one to talk," she answered. Then smugly she said, "Besides, Ned likes to work it off." Her eyes searched every nook of Numie, beginning at his feet. The tight pants were creating the desired interest. "Ain't you gonna introduce me to your good-looking stud? My, is he handsome! Blond hair and blue eyes—what a turn on"

  Lola smiled triumphantly, delighted that Dinah was pleased at her latest acquisition, yet nervously jealous at the same time. "Numie, Dinah," Lola said.

  Numie smiled at her. She was that breath of fresh air he needed. He wasn't particularly attracted to her, but he admired her openness and frankness after having lodged so much time putting up with the posturing of Lola and Leonora. Glad to meet you," he said, handing her the whiskey he'd poured in the kitchen.

  Dinah tongued her lips, making her lipstick all the more vibrant. "I knew Lola had something special, the way she talked on the phone. But I had no idea—no idea a'tall—that it'd be this good." Her expression suggested she wanted to get plugged into the action. "Why, if Lola hadn't already staked her claim, and I wasn't holing in here with the most jealous stud south of Birmingham .. "

  "I think this conversation has gone far enough," Lola said, burning with irritation. The evening wasn't going at all the way she planned it. Dinah was stealing the show. Those god-damn hot pants! If only Lola had legs she could show off. But hers were bony. "Where's Ned?" she asked. He was her one hope. He'd throw a little cold water on that brazen black pussy. "I'm not used to waiting, " she announced.

  Ned was suddenly at the door. Dressed entirely in white, he was an attractive animal, tall and big boned. He had light brown skin, with a velvety complexion. His lips, handsomely full and sensual, gave" way to a greeting smile of gleaming white teeth. He held his strongly cleft chin high in the air. His nostrils—broad, but carefully chiseled—sniffed the foul smell of the shanty. Piercing their way into Numie was a set of copper-brown eyes.

  Numie stared back at Ned, but he was tense. Ned was too cocky and belligerent for his taste.

  "Baby," Dinah squealed, running toward Ned. He picked her up in the air as he kissed her, his bulging muscles clearly prominent in his white T-shirt.

  Lola glanced first at Numie, then at Ned. The men's eyes were like headlights tonight. All those beams were focused directly on Dinah. "Cut out this disgusting spectacle," Lola demanded, getting up from the sofa, tossing her boa on the arm. "You don't seem to realize, Ned Papy, there's a lady present." Back arched, she stood proudly, the way she had seen Leonora enter the bar the other night.

  "Well, Miss La Mour," Ned said, breaking away from Dinah. With a leer, he looked Lola up and down. "Forgive me for not showing the proper respect. After all, I'm just a cheap, common field nigger—not a grand lady who lives at Commodore Philip's, goes off on yachting weekends, and is seen about town in a white Facel-Vega."

  Lola was fuming. Ned's look—the arrogance of it—was the same look lilywhite mothers gave her. But she controlled her temper. Ned resented her because she'd made it big, and he hadn't. It was the resentment the very poor reserve for the rich. She decided she was going to behave in a most ladylike manner. "I want you to m
eet my escort, Numie."

  "Put it there, Numie," Ned said, extending a broad hand.

  "Glad to meet you," Numie said, with as much vigor as he could arose. The prospect of a long evening with these people lay heavy on his stomach.

  Ned smiled. "Dinah's a pretty lucky girl, wouldn't you say?"

  Numie was taken back. Was Ned asking for a compliment? He couldn't be sure. "What do you mean?"

  Ned seemed piqued that Numie didn't get the point right off. "Having me for her old man," he said, like an irritated parent to an unruly and stupid child.

  "For sure," Numie said, hoping to sound as noncommittal as possible.

  Ned glared. He seemed itching for a fight. "I'll take that as a compliment, white boy." Letting go of Dinah completely, he took a menacing step toward Numie. "Or was it a proposition?"

  Numie backed away, hoping to avoid a bad scene. "A compliment. "

  "I think there was a little proposition there, too," Ned accused.

  Lola nervously ran her fingers through her blonde wig. She stepped between them. "Numie don't go that way," she practically hissed in Ned's face.

  Ned grinned contemptuously at her. "Miss Rubber Tits," he said, "you don't seem to get it. Hanging out with you makes him gay."

  "He's strictly the man," Lola protested.

  Ned pulled up his pants to emphasize his merchandise more prominently. With a sneer, he glanced down at what Numie was showing. "Any time you want to get it on, baby, you're welcome. If you've got the bread."

  Numie swallowed. He was used to being insulted, and he thought he could handle this, too. "Thanks for the offer," he countered, "but I'm fully booked."

  "Besides," Dinah said petulantly, linking her arm with Ned's again, "when I get through with that hose tonight, it won't be able to put out no fire nowhere."

  Ned looked down at her, then he smiled. "That's one promise you're going to keep, bitch." He grabbed her again.

  "You got me all messed up," Dinah said, trying to break away. "Come on, Lola, let's freshen up before we go out with our old men."

  Reluctant to leave Ned alone with Numie, Lola finally consented to follow Dinah to the back bedroom.

  Into the kitchen and out with two glasses of whiskey, Ned offered a drink to Numie.

  "Thanks," Numie said, accepting the glass, but feeling acutely uncomfortable in Ned's presence.

  "You're welcome, white boy.

  Numie sat the glass down on the top of an old television set. "It's going to be a long night," he said, the irritation in his voice clear. "So let's cut the 'white boy' thing. You're black and I'm white. Now we can sit around and talk about that phenomenon all evening. But it won't get us far."

  Ned's face froze. At first Numie didn't know if he'd gone too far.

  Then that face broke into a smile. "Right you are," Ned said. "But I just can't resist socking it to white boys, though. My people have taken so much shit from you guys, I like to toss a little of it back in your face"

  Picking up his glass again, Numie said, "Don't throw any at me" Then he smiled, too, to soften the edge between them.

  "Got nothing personal against you," Ned said, pulling off his shirt and using it to mop under his armpits. He also seemed to be flexing his muscles. He rolled the shirt in a ball and tossed it into the corner. "It's just that my heart's burning."

  "Just?"

  "Yeah," he said, turning and glaring. "On fire with rage." He banged a fist into the palm of his hand. "I hate white people, every one of 'em."

  Placing the glass back on the television, Numie was heading for the door. "That tells me where I stand."

  "Nothing personal," Ned said, going after him and laying a hand on Numie shoulder. "Stick around."

  "I didn't think I was welcome."

  "Shit, man," Ned said, breaking away in disgust. "You think you've got some patent on being white? I could pass for white if I wanted to."

  To Numie's surprise, he flashed a triumphal expression only outclassed by Lola herself.

  "In fact, I once hitched to Chicago, and people took me for white." He searched Numie's face carefully. "Well, maybe Puerto Rican. But they sure didn't think I was black."

  "Did that tum you on?"

  Ned's temper flared again, but he held the reins on it. "For a time it did," he said.

  Numie thought this was the only honest statement he'd made all night.

  Ned plopped down on the sofa, resting his feet on a table strewn with cigarette ashes. "I liked getting it on with white women who would have died if they'd known it was a black man tearing into them." He frowned. "But then I made up my mind that was nowhere. I'm black and proud of it. Black is where it's at, baby."

  "I think being who you are and being proud of it is out of sight."

  "Not with Lola, it ain't. She's a white nigger."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She's still freaked out she was born black. Not just black, but blue black. There's no mistaking the color of that pussy"

  "You don't sound like you're her friend at all. I thought you were."

  "I'm no friend of that dumbass queen. Not Ned Papy, baby." He raised his booted feet slightly from the coffee table, then slammed them down again.

  Finishing the bitter, cheap whiskey, Numie sat the glass down for the final time. He glanced toward the bedroom door, where he heard nothing but giggles. "Then why are we here?"

  "She's here because she likes to take us out and show off her sports car, her fancy clothes, and her latest white boy friend."

  "Does that impress you?"

  "We ain't impressed, my Dinah and me. The only thing that impresses us is that she pays the bill."

  A silence drifted between them. Even before the evening had gotten under way. Ned seemed to have already had a lot to drink. Numie was hoping at this point to find an excuse to leave. "Maybe Lola and I had better split back to the bar. After all, she said herself she didn't know when the Commodore was going to show up."

  At the mention of that name, Ned sat up. "The fact that she's got the Commodore don't turn me on either."

  "I didn't know you knew him."

  "Oh, he calls me every now and then to ... perform. Bores the hell out of me, but I get it up for his pleasure."

  Numie immediately asked himself if the commodore would want the same from him.

  "Can't stand the bastard," Ned went on. "Talk about color. Just as Lola is pure blue-black, the commodore is ghost white. Palest white I've ever seen. So delicate—like you think he's gonna go at any minute, first time somebody comes up and says boo at him."

  At this point, Dinah appeared at the door.

  Lola trailed. "I'm just standing here," she said, barging in front of Dinah, "looking at you two rotten excuses for men." She ran her hands up and down her body, relieved that both men were staring at her now. "You've got the two most gorgeous pussies in town—and you don't deserve us."

  In the heart of black town, the Hollywood Palace had lived many lives. Originally it was an opera house, with twin wooden domes on its facade and simulated arches leading to its two-story interior. In those days, it was once the border between the black and white sections of town. But now the area around it had been consumed by blacks, except for a sprinkling of Cuban families.

  With not enough lovers of opera to keep its doors open, it was converted to a cigar factory. Streamers of nut-brown leaves—ready for cigar rolling on the ground floor—had hung from the balcony. The old seats had been removed, replaced by long tables where black men and Cubans worked hard hours.

  When tobacco was no longer imported, two entrepreneurs found the money to open a night club and cocktail lounge. On Saturday nights, such as this one, the whole black community showed up.

  Leading her pack, Lola stood in the neon glare of the club. My daddy used to slave here," she said to Numie. "Those goddamn white men draining all his spit day by day to make their cigars."

  Numie was vulnerable, exposed standing out here on the sidewalk under the harsh lights. The men l
ounging against .the wall made him feel like a moving target.

  At the door, Lola flashed her membership card. "This is strictly a private club," she said over her shoulder.

  Ned and Dinah trailed her in.

  Numie lingered behind until the smiling eyes of the fat woman guarding the gate assured him it was okay. As he entered, music from an Art Deco jukebox filled the air. Sawdust covered the floors, and the smell was of sweaty bodies and cheap whiskey.

  He was the only white man there. Eyes sought him out, and at first he was afraid. Then he relaxed. Those eyes weren't menacing—rather, amused at the show. A freak show, that's what they were. Lola and her white boy friend. It was clear to Numie that because he was there as Lola's white boy, he was no threat to the other men. Besides everybody was too busy having a good time.

  Lola was well known. Many men called out her name. However, no women acknowledged her at all, turning from her presence whenever she got near them.

  Lola was gleeful, though she tried to act cool. Here, for the first time, Numie could see how many men wanted her. Let the women snicker and tum from the sight of her. They were half out of their minds with jealousy.

  A rancid patina layover the club. Tiny strings of theater lights were strung from a central chandelier, laced with cobwebs. Many of the bulbs had burnt out, never to be replaced.

  Lola directed Numie to a high-backed booth that had been slickly covered in red and gold oilcloth. Ned and Dinah followed.

  Lola grabbed Dinah, pulling her along to the fonner stage of the opera house. It was now a dance floor. Grandly Lola ascended the central winding staircase, fringed by ornate plaster banisters. From a rear projection booth, an ever-changing spotlight sent shafts of colored lights upon the dancers.

  The spotlight picked up Lola and Dinah—and stayed there. Deftly Lola moved to the center, quickly pushing Dinah to the periphery of the glare. She could have asked Numie or Ned to dance with her, but it was important at this moment to show up Dinah in front of the huge crowd. Even though Dinah was younger, Lola knew all the men were looking at her, Lola. And why not? She was far more devastating than Dinah. As Lola danced, the other customers backed away, acknowledging her position as star performer.