"Okay," he said. A sullen and vaguely injured look crossed his face. "The day chauffeur is a night bartender, huh?"
"Sensitive?" She stared disdainfully at him.
With burning eyes and a quivering lip, he glared at her. "Yes, I am. I'm tired of being treated like somebody's nigger all the time."
Lighting a cigarette, she blew smoke from her nose. "You put yourself in that position." Her manicured nails shone in the evening light. "Whores have to please, don't they?"
He was absorbing her presence, as never before. Up to now, he'd been thinking of her as a girl. But he was seeing a woman—bitter, cynical, a woman with a lot of mileage on her. "I please when I get paid," he said sarcastically.
The spots from the wall of the house were throwing shafts of red light across the patio. Anne's face was clearly defined. He tried to read it. She looked like someone who had experienced something deeply, and from that experience had grown wiser, but would be more cautious in the future.
"I can vouch for your pleasing when you get paid," she said after a long pause.
At the bar, he hesitated then poured another beer. "Let's stop this," he pleaded. "I'm not in the mood. If you've got it in for me, then let me have it." He searched for her tormented eyes, desperate to make her understand. "What difference does it make to you if I live with Ralph? He was never your husband in anything but name only."
As she took the beer from him, her eyes blinked and her voice grew softer. "How true."
'Then what's pissing you?" he asked, his heart pounding insistently for a verdict.
"You."
He flinched. "What does that mean? Do you hate me for making love to you?"
"No, I don't hate you for that," she said calmly. "I hate you for not carrying through with it."
Grinding his teeth together, he knew he long since had lost control of the conversation. Her words stunned him. He had no immediate response. Opening his mouth as if to speak, he came out with choked words. "What could I do?"
She slammed down her beer glass. "Stand on your own feet and quit hustling." She stopped herself from lighting another cigarette from her half-finished stub. "Get a job. Are you lazy or something?" She was like a wild thing furtively watching him. "I've worked all my life."
He stared at her. "Come off it, you were Leonora's girl."
Jumping to her feet, she held her hands rigidly by her side. "I was a lot younger then and very naive." She turned her back on him, as if she were drawing a curtain of horror. "Ralph will get bored with you," she said in a sharp voice. Then her words grew faint. "I'm amazed it's lasted two weeks—a record for him." She turned back around and stared at him accusingly. 'Then what are you going to do?" Her lips tightened. "Go back to that Lola? Even she is married now."
After a pause, he said, "I have a job—a driver for Leonora. You know that."
Her body was rocking back and forth. "You moonlight, too. I know Ralph gives you an extra seventy-five bucks a week."
He clenched his fingers. "I earn it."
She smiled bitterly. "I'm sure you do, but that's not the point."
In helplessness, he turned from her. "Where can I get a job, other than the one I have?" He banged his fist against the bar. "Not on this island."
"I don't know," she said, her surface calm returning. She sipped her beer. 'There's no work here, that's for sure. Maybe you could go away."
He sighed in exasperation. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"No, I'm not." The beer glass tilted in her hand. "What I mean is ....."
"Just what are you trying to tell me?" he asked forcefully. Now he was in charge. "You're not making sense."
The silence in the patio grew heavy. She bit her lips, "Quit selling your body—it's disgusting!"
The evening wind hit him in the face, but didn't cool him. "You told me that the night you met me."
She put the glass on the table and faced him squarely. "Do you know, could you possibly know that when you made love to me, it was the most beautiful and tender love ever?"
His eyes were on the glass because he dared not look at her. Then he picked up her glass and drank from it, as if that would cleanse him from the embarrassment he was feeling. In a tentative voice, he asked, "Anne ... better than Nick?"
"Ralph was right," she said, starting to cry. "I just tell that story about Nick." Nowhere to go, she circled the patio without saying a word. "It's easier than telling the truth. Easier than telling what he was really like." She paused awkwardly. He could hardly hear her. "Easier than telling what he did."
Numie was walking rapidly to her.
Just then, the red spots of the patio outlined Ralph's image. It was obvious he'd been drinking, and heavily. "My God, I'm probably the only man on this island who can come home and find his wife and his husband together."
"Ralph," Anne said in a businesslike voice, quickly regaining her composure, "there were several calls for you today. When you're out cruising, you could at least check in every now and then. After all, there are things to be taken care of."
Ralph stared at Anne as if she were a target and he had a knife. "Get out of my sight, bitch. I can't stand to look at you."
"Go to hell!" she shouted, turning and running from the patio.
With Anne's half-empty glass in his hand, Numie was taking this in the way a victim watches an execution, knowing he was next.
"As for you," Ralph said, staggering over to him. He grabbed the glass from his hand and tossed it into a bush. "You're drinking too much."
Fists clenched, Numie said bitingly, "You're one to talk!"
Ralph glared at him contemptuously. "You've got to go on a diet. You're getting a tire around your middle—one big turnoff."
Numie was slowly regaining control of himself. When he spoke, he tried to sound as neutral as possible. 'That's not what you said last night."
Ralph practically spat at him. "I was back at the beach today. There was one number there with a fantastic build." He arched his shoulders. "Did he come on strong! I kept asking myself, what I was doing coming home to a middle-aged man when I saw what was available to me."
The sky was growing darker, and the air even chillier after the heat of the day. If only it would rain. "Well, go get him, goddam it," Numie managed to say.
Seemingly delighted with himself, Ralph cautioned, "Don't get jealous."
Numie started to smile falsely, but it faded before he could complete it. "Jealous is not the word."
Ralph grabbed him by the shoulders, his fingers digging in until he saw Numie wince with pain. "I'm not kicking you out, if that's what you're afraid of. But I'm warning you—starting tomorrow, you'd better shape up."
Taking Ralph's hand, Numie pulled it from his shoulder. "Have you looked at your own tire lately?" he asked with a bite in his voice. "You're not the world's greatest physical attraction." At the bar he poured himself a drink.
Suddenly, beside him, Ralph took Numie's half-full glass and poured its contents over the bar top. "But I pay the bills," Ralph said. "I can go to pot if I want to. You're selling a bod, baby, and you'd better get it in shape—or else!" He turned to go. "I'm sleeping in my own room upstairs tonight. You can stay in the guest cottage—by yourself." He stumbled on his route to the downstairs parlor.
Numie picked up the empty glass and refilled it. He settled back into a chair. Time to face reality. His days on the island were coming to an end—he clearly knew that now.
Where to go?
What next?
Suddenly, he had an idea.
In the guest cottage, he was searching through his duffel bag for his address book. There was one place, only one he'd found in his entire life where he'd been welcomed and wanted. He'd write a letter tonight.
Many years had gone by, but there was still a slim chance.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the patio of Sacre-Coeur, it was early morning. Birds were darting from tree to tree. The sun had just come up. Unlike the oppressive heat of the p
ast two weeks, this morning was bright and fresh, the temperature just right.
Numie sat still for a long while. When had he last stopped to enjoy the beauty of a day? The birds were even singing.
"Tangerine," he called out, watching as she hobbled across the bricks.
"Quit screaming, sugartit," she said. "Think I'm deaf or something? I've put us on a pot of coffee."
"What's the matter with you?"
"Rheumatism—just getting old—that's all. Come to think of it, that's enough!" Setting the pan of potatoes down on the coffee table, she rubbed her back. "I really ache this morning." She was clad in a lime-green blouse, an orange-colored skirt, and tennis shoes without stockings. A red bandana encased her tangerine hair. Plopping down in a nearby wicker chair, she raised her sweaty arms to the sun, revealing not only wads of hair, but parts of a yellowing brassiere.
Numie dug his hands deep into his pockets. "I expected to see you at the wedding yesterday."
Her sigh mocked him. "I couldn't face it." She moved her chair over, her knees touching his. "Just think, that Lola can get a man, even a feeble one, and look what happened to me." She nodded, almost absently. "Talk about Hayden gives me a crick in the heart. I've just been moping around my house."
A whiff of her armpits drove him back farther into his chair. "Did the sheriff ever find him?"
She stared at him with something less than complete affection. "He's gone for good."
He reached over and squeezed her hand so hard her rings hurt.
"Watch my fingers," she cautioned. "I've got these taters to peel. I'm cooking lunch for us all. The cook called in sick." She glanced over at him. "Come to think of it, you look like you got a poker shoved up the wrong place, too."
Swallowing hard, he said, "Ralph and I may be splitting soon. Things aren't going well."
"Considering Ralph, that's very likely. You don't pick 'em no better than I do." She didn't say anything for a minute, then looked up from her potato peeling. "I wish I had your problems." She studied his face quietly. "You're so young, and your life's ahead of you. Okay, you got troubles. But from my side of the fence, I'd gladly cross over."
He raised himself on both elbows and then with effort swung into a rigid sitting position. "How thoughtless of me to lay my shit on you after what you've been through." Her face made him pause and remember. "You know, your voice sounds different. Sadder. I've never known you to talk this way before."
She took a handkerchief from her hip pocket and blew her nose. "I never felt this way before. But I ain't trying to depress you—just let you know how lucky you are even if it don't seem like that now."
He took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and gave it to her.
"You keep reaching for that grab bag," she said, "till there's no chance left. Then you toss it over." Her lips parted slightly and her head nodded. "No point hanging on when the damn thing's run out of goodies. That's when it gets ugly." Her lips quivered. She burst into tears.
He tried to put his arm around her.
But she broke away. "A woman by herself," she said, sobbing, "is just like turnip greens without fatback. A bitter taste, no good flavor at all."
At this moment Leonora entered the patio. Never had he seen her so disheveled. Something must be seriously wrong. Around her nude body was wrapped a crepe de chine robe in coffee brown.
Leonora paused hesitantly, suddenly aware that she had not checked her appearance this morning. But she knew her face was all right, considering that she was a natural beauty. "I just got a call from the hospital on the mainland," she said. "The commodore died this morning on the operating table."
The news neither shocked nor surprised Numie. It had been predictable. He thought immediately of how Lola was receiving the bulletin.
"It's just as well," Leonora said. Her hands were shaking. "He was eaten up with cancer anyway.· A stab of guilt plunged into her. For the first time, she admitted something to herself. She loathed Philip.
"I'm sorry to hear that,· Tangerine said, still crying from before.
Leonora looked down at her. "You don't have to cry. The commodore's death is not a time for tears. He had a full life." A distant memory flashed before her eyes. Philip had known Norton Huttnar, her late husband. Leonora wondered how well they'd known each other. The prospect caused her to shudder and tighten her robe around her body. "Unlike me,· she continued, "Philip had stopped growing—and that's certain death anyway."
Numie found Leonora's imperial behavior at a time like this shocking. Regardless of how he hated someone in life, he respected him in death. It erased some of the bad things. "You can't knock her for crying,· he said.
She turned on him, her eyes sparkling. "As for you,· she said, "we've got real problems this morning. More serious than the commodore's dying." A rustling in the tree over her head sent her arm stretching out into the air. Then she steadied herself. Her nerves were shattered. "I've been on the phone with the Commodore's attorney,· she went on. "He's got a will. Everything has been bequeathed to Lola."
Numie settled back with unnecessary vigor. A butterfly landed on the arm of his chair, but quickly took off again. "Lola always wanted to get paid," he said. "So now she's struck it rich."
Stillness etherized the patio for a moment. "You don't seem to understand,· Leonora said. "That makes Lola my business partner."
"Oh, my God," Tangerine said, resuming her potato peeling. "Lola's been hard to contain up to now, but..."
Numie mentally filled in the consequences of that 'but'.
So did Leonora. "Exactly," she said. "I've spoken to her this morning. Even before the will's read, she wants to survey our mutual properties." Her fingers stabbed the air. "Further, she wants you to be her driver. To show her around."
The prospect was outrageous to him. It was like having to adjust to a new boss with no prior notice. "Me?" he asked hesitantly.
Leonora stared accusingly. "It's not as if you don't know her." So mesmerized was she by the horror descending, a fly was allowed to meander across her open-mouthed face. "I told her she could hire somebody else, but she insisted on you." Leonora clutched her side. Her breath was coming in gasps. "I'm not in a position to refuse her anything—at least for the moment."
Numie jumped up. "I didn't know that driving Lola around would be part of my job."
"Hell," Leonora said, turning from the sight of him. At the bar, she was infuriated by the empty beer bottles. With the back of her hand, she sent them tumbling onto the bricks of the patio. "I'll give you a hundred dollars a week if that will satisfy your greed. I can't afford to antagonize Lola."
Nervously he wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. "It's not greed. It's Lola." Avoiding Tangerine's penetrating look, he went on, "Lola and I aren't on the best of terms."
Leonora spun around, glaring at him. "Nevertheless, she requested you. In fact, she's waiting for you now." For a moment, the only sound heard was Tangerine's cough. Leonora was tempted, ever so briefly, to slap her in the face. Coughing in her presence was unbearable. "Lola will tell you where to go," she continued, turning to Numie. "I have a feeling she knows exactly where everything is, that calculating black hussy."
"I don't know how long I'll be with her." Numie's voice was weird, even to himself. It was the sound he made when he suffered from a sore throat.
"Take all the time you need," Leonora said. Her confidence was slowly returning. As before, when her world seemed hopelessly doomed, she was girding herself to remake it. "I'm certainly not going anywhere today. Besides, this news has given me a splitting headache." She was ready to go, then she noticed what Tangerine was doing. "Peeling potatoes at a time like this?"
"The cook is sick," Tangerine said, her eyes downcast.
For one brief second, Leonora flirted with the idea of kicking over the water holding the blasted potatoes. "Darling," she said, controlling her voice, "no one will be eating at this house today I can assure you. Besides, nobody eats potatoes under any circumstances.<
br />
Tangerine's face reflected her hurt. "But that's one of the few things I know how to cook."
"Forget it!" Leonora screeched, exasperated to the point of violence. She rushed toward the parlor. "That miserable drag queen even owns half of my fashion house." Her temples were throbbing with pain, as the tension within her mounted. "I'm fated to go through life plagued with drag queens. Norton Huttnar. Now, Lola La Mour."
In the downstairs bar at Commodore Philip's, Ned was wearing nothing but a bikini. He was nursing a drink in the comer near the platform where Lola was married.
Numie adjusted his eyes to the dim light. Kicking aside a fallen box, he told Ned: "Tell Lola the chauffeur is here."
With glassy eyes, Ned looked up at him. "I'm no messenger service."
For one brief moment, Numie was tempted to walk out on everything and everybody.
On wobbly legs, Ned got up. "Let me talk some shit to you, white boy." His fingers dug into Numie's shoulder. "I gotta figure out some way to keep the lid on that highsidin' Lola. That gal is pussy-whipping me to death." His hand dropped to his side. "She's after cajones. She's trying to get mine, and you're next on her list."
Numie backed away, smiling sardonically. "I thought you knew how to control all women."
Ned banged his fist on the bar counter. "Man, Lola is the craziest chick I ever came across. Women with real pussies I can handle. But in Lola's case ... "
"I know," Numie said, his tension at seeing Ned again fading. "It's like petting a cobra."
Ned fingered his own biceps, as if to assure himself they were still there. "Lola's one hell of a bitch. She was coming on so strong with me right in front of you. You know why? To make you jealous." His eyes darted around the bar, as if he were being attacked from every angle. "Now that she's all hotsy-totsy with the cookies the commodore left behind, she wants a white man on the chain." He licked his finger and pointed at Numie. "You, stud."
This prospect struck Numie like hell trying to claim him. "I'm not on the market. I was with her once and that's enough."
Butterflies in Heat Page 26
