Butterflies in Heat

by Darwin Porter

  Numie was always stunned at how similar Lola's outlook was with that of Leonora's.

  "I understand," Lola chimed in, trying to disguise her obvious jealousy over the fact that once again Leonora had upstaged her. "I tried going around in a simple black dress all day. But tonight I decided to come up with something more fetching, though still sticking to basic black." Getting up, she paraded around in front of Leonora, seeking approval. She was in a black satin cocktail suit, with a slim pencil skirt. The jacket was fitted, with a long open neck and three jet buttons. She removed the jacket, revealing a white crepe backless halter top.

  Leonora did not acknowledge the outfit. Vulgarity in clothing always offended her.

  Lola stood there blankly, not knowing what to say.

  Instead, Leonora turned to Numie. "Get me one of my cigarettes," she commanded. Whirling around, she feasted her eyes on Dinah, enjoying her fresh look in contrast to Lola's tastelessness. Dinah could be a 1950s version of a black Vassar coed. "Who is this divine creature?"

  Dinah smiled.

  "My social secretary," Lola added quickly, not understanding why drab Dinah was getting any attention at all.

  "Oh?" Leonora questioned, slightly amused. Lola's pretensions, she felt, knew no bounds. "Social secretary, did you say?"

  Raising her voice, Lola said, "Yes, I did say."

  Dinah held out her hand to Leonora.

  Slowly and caressingly, Leonora captured it in her chalk-white fingers, holding it for a long moment, enjoying its softness and smoothness. It was youth itself.

  "I'm very pleased to meet you," Dinah gushed. "I saw you at Lola's wedding, and I wanted to come up and say hi."

  "Why didn't you?" Leonora asked, wondering silently how many people such as Dinah there were at that wedding secretly desiring her and not the bride.

  "My boyfriend wouldn't let me," Dinah said. "Thought I'd be bothering you."

  The word, boyfriend, was like a slap in the face to Leonora. She'd misjudged Dinah. For a moment she'd been certain she preferred the company of women. "You wouldn't have bothered me at all," she finally said.

  "I've heard so much about you," Dinah went on.

  "You have?" Leonora asked, fascinated. "Don't spare a detail. I want to hear everything." No sooner had she said that, than she wished she'd withdrawn the remark. After all, Lola had probably crammed Dinah with the most hideous lies.

  "Well," Dinah said, "your looks, this house, your gowns, everything. I've always wanted to see inside this place. It's very grand."

  Leonora waved her hand invitingly in the air. "Merely a backdrop to show off your beauty.

  "Thanks," Dinah replied. "No one's ever said that to me before."

  "I bet!" Lola mumbled sarcastically. The conversation Leonora was having with Dinah made Lola want to puke. "We're so glad you invited me over for drinks tonight."

  Leonora looked at Lola blankly, pausing briefly as if to say something, then seated herself in a peacock chair and puffed away at a marijuana cigarette Numie had handed her. The cigarette was attached to a holder on her index finger. "What would you two ladies like to drink?" she asked. "Of course, Lola, you might want to prepare your own beverage. You've had so much experience working all these years as a barmaid."

  Lola fumed. "Yes, we must all start somewhere." Grandly she swaggered around the patio. That dyke had to get used to the fact she was an equal partner. Lola stopped. That was, if she was a partner at all. "After today, as you may know, I'm no longer a barmaid. I was just visiting one of the properties you and my dear commodore owned."

  Leonora assumed a blase mask, but inside she was churning with disgust. "I know," she said coldly.

  Hands on her hips, Lola said, "Joan wasn't exactly too friendly."

  Leonora laughed harshly in her face. "She never was."

  Lola gave off her finest gap-toothed grin. "Why don't you take it upon yourself to straighten her out?"

  Leonora blew out her smoke with gusto, hoping it drifted into Lola's face. "Never fire anybody who can make serious trouble." She leaned back in the peacock chair, crossing her legs, letting some of her fabulous thighs show. "Joan, dear heart that she is, knows where all the black sheep went to lay their heads. I'm afraid she'll be around for the duration."

  Lola remained silent for a moment. Leonora seemed to be twisting her arm. In some way she was feeling more and more inarticulate and impotent in Leonora's presence. "She and I had words."

  "That's our Joan," Leonora said, enjoying the evening breeze. At first she'd been horrified to find Lola her partner. Now she was feeling more confident. Lola La Mour wouldn't be her partner in anything much longer.

  "There was talk," Lola said hesitantly, not wanting to appear desperate. "Talk about a certain phone call to New Orleans."

  "My God!" Leonora said, sitting up.

  Lola was growing alarmed.

  Leonora fastened her eyes on Lola. Her voice was low and thick. "Joan will stop at nothing."

  Now Lola was really in panic. "We may just be getting a visitation from Sister Amelia."

  "Naughty girl, that Joan," Leonora said, watching Lola squirm. "I wouldn't worry myself about it one bit, though." Her voice was never more ominous. "Life is nothing but a struggle anyway. One day we have money, the next day somebody takes it away from us. But if it weren't for the struggle; would life really be worth it?"

  Seriously disturbed, Lola wandered alone into the garden to think. She was coming unglued, and she had to pull herself together before facing Leonora again.

  Leonora, meanwhile, turned her attention to Dinah. "Come over," she invited. "Sit by me and tell me all about yourself."

  The slim girl positioned herself on a large pool cushion at Leonora's feet. "There ain't much to tell. I've led a dull life."

  Leonora gently caressed the girl's hair. "What do you study in school then?"

  "School?" Dinah seemed puzzled.

  "Yes, school," Leonora repeated, raising her voice.

  "Do you think I'm still in school?" Dinah asked.

  "She doesn't like school," Numie interrupted. "Wants to be an actress." In a world of fantasy, he was only too glad to play a part.

  "An actress?" Leonora was enchanted. "I should have been an actress." Thoughts of one of Norton Huttnar's best friends crossed her mind. He'd wanted to make her a star. But the wicked old drag queen out of jealousy turned down the whole idea. "A producer wanted to make me into another Theda Bara, but I graciously declined. I'm an artist-designer and have always been true to my calling." Slowly she withdrew her hand from Dinah. "We have to stick to one profession, and one profession only."

  "I wouldn't turn no producer down," Dinah said.

  "Now you're talking like some common slut," Leonora said abruptly, rising from her chair. But then she settled back again. After all, Dinah had been around Lola. She'd never had anyone to teach her about manners. You must learn to be discriminating, preferring only the best."

  Dinah was slow to anger, but when she did she fumed. "Who you calling a slut?" she asked, getting up from her cushion.

  Fearing trouble, Numie took her by the arm and eased her back into her seat. "Miss De la Mer isn't calling you a slut. She's saying you shouldn't talk like one."

  "Don't explain what I mean! What I say is always clear."

  "Of course," Numie replied.

  At the bar Lola aggressively took Numie's drink from his hand. She swallowed a large gulp, then pranced back to where Leonora was sitting. Her courage had returned.

  Continuing to ignore her, Leonora just sat there, softly inhaling the smoke from her cigarette. Her face betrayed her pleasure.

  Lola looked up with contempt in her heart, but her face hid it. She had to get on Leonora's good side, even if it meant placing an order for some dresses. "I'm tired of my wardrobe, and I want a change."

  Even the breeze in the patio died down. Lola had succeeded in fully capturing Leonora's attention. "Did I hear you correctly?" she asked. She almost coughed on her cigar
ette.

  "Yes," Lola said, surprised. Leonora seemed insulted. This Lola couldn't understand. You'd think the old has-been would jump at a chance for a new customer. Lola's black outfit was a trap for her. She felt wrapped as tightly as a mummy. "I've decided on a whole new image." The prospect of her own sexual attractiveness consumed her for a moment. She was like a carnivorous night-blooming lily.

  Leonora feared that this monstrous day—the day of fully facing that Lola was her partner—was at hand. "You're not suggesting that I..."

  Lola paused for effect, then said, "Yes."

  Over Leonora's catlike face came an expression of childish anguish. "Tm frightfully expensive."

  Lola stood firmly on the bricks, instinctively searching for the best light angle. "The only reason I came to you."

  "I'm not in the habit of discussing business in my home," Leonora said. For one brief, horrifying moment, a paralyzing thought crossed her brain. Lola La Mour was the reincarnation of Norton Huttnar! But thEm she quickly dismissed the idea. Lola was probably older than her former husband. "If you're interested in picking up some little item, you can go to my showroom in the morning. A sales clerk will help you."

  "You don't understand," Lola said, determined to press the point. "I want gowns specifically designed for me. I'll be in your office in the morning."

  Leonora rose from her chair. Nobody, partner or not, was going to treat her this disrespectfully at Sacre-Coeur. "I don't design clothing for men!"

  Lola could have suffered no crueler blow. She knew that Leonora had an uncanny ability to go right for the jugular. She stood stunned, feeling more vulnerable than Leonora could ever be. Even an attack on Leonora's age and her lesbianism wouldn't be as effective as what Leonora had just said.

  Leonora walked across the patio, pretending to admire the flowers.

  Blinded by tears, Lola trailed her. "My attorney tells me I'm the commodore's sole heiress. That should give me some say."

  "Perhaps," Leonora said, admiring a rose. "I've not looked at the contracts in some time. Details bore me. There is the problem of Sister Amelia—a serious problem."

  Lola was searching even the night air for a way to get rid of Sister Amelia and make Leonora show her some respect.

  "Why don't you have another drink?" Leonora asked nonchalantly. She wanted to remove this vile creature bodily from the confines of Sacre-Coeur.

  "This is not a social call," Lola said, losing control of her voice. "If I wanted a drink, I control the town's supply. I thought we had a lot of business to talk."

  "Not only do I not discuss business in my home," Leonora said, "I don't discuss business at night." Finally, her curiosity broke down, and she asked, "What is it you want?"

  "I'm interested in joining you in the fashion house as another designer," Lola said. She paused hesitantly. "I mean, after we get this Sister Amelia mess cleared up."

  Leonora's breath was coming in quick, hurried gasps. "That might be a very long time."

  Lola dreaded the implication of that remark. She seemed so close to her lifelong goal, and now it was moving away. She decided to pay no outward attention to Leonora's last remark. "I see myself working with you designing clothes." She wet her lips, hoping she was dazzling Leonora with her own sultry beauty. "Real fancy clothes."

  "You?" Leonora asked with all the contempt, horror, and loathing she'd ever been able to put into her voice. "Surely you're joking. A drag queen!"

  "Honey," Lola said in her most sarcastic voice. To hell with Sister Amelia hanging like a threat over her head. That last insult was more than she could take. Even her commodore had never gone that far. "I've been called many things in my life, but I want you to get it through your head that I'm every bit the lady you are. More beautiful and more talented." She stood uncompromisingly brutal in Leonora's presence.

  At first Leonora was almost hypnotized, then she realized she was confronting a hopeless psychotic. ·Operating a fashion house with you as a fellow designer is not only out of the question, it's laughable. My attorney will see you in time."

  Her eyes moist with intensity, Lola at this moment wanted to throw Leonora in the pool, then pull her out like a dead rat and slowly and in the most painful way possible remove her gobs of makeup, her false eyelashes, all the thousand and one beauty aids she used to disguise the face of the old hag who lurked behind the mask. Instead she merely said, "You don't think I know how to design?"

  Leonora forced a smile, making her mouth wide-set. "I certainly don't."

  Cold blue flames were burning within Lola. "What I'm offering you is a chance to set fashion ahead. I can see our names up there now." Stars flashed in front of her eyes. "Fashions by La Mour and De la Mer. Or maybe your name should come first—seeing you're older.

  "Share my billing?" Leonora asked. That mask that was Lola's face seemed eyeless for a second. Then those eyes started to fill up with fluid. They were unsurrendering eyes out for blood. "I'm a legend all by myself," Leonora added defiantly.

  "I could be celebrated, too," Lola said with such conviction that everybody for a moment believed her.

  "My dear, I'm afraid you're going to be celebrated on this island—but not for fashion." Leonora walked over to her peacock chair and sat down, focusing on Dinah again. Over her shoulder she looked back at Lola, then added as an afterthought: "If you're such a great designer, why come begging to me to design something for you that looks decent?"

  "Begging?" Lola tottered there by herself, consumed with hate. "Decent?" She bit her lip. After the estate was settled—and only then—would she take care of Leonora de la Mer.

  The evening wore on, ever so slowly. Numie was pacing the pool, sucking in the smell of night-blooming jasmine.

  The sound of Leonora's voice was like a stuck record. Her glittering triumphs, all recounted endlessly.

  Dinah was a fascinated listener.

  On the other hand Lola was reduced to watching.

  Suddenly, Leonora stood at attention. "Numie," she called, "Dinah and I have decided to go upstairs to try on one of my special designs. She's going to model it for me."

  Lola didn't say anything, only raised her eyebrows in ultimate disdain.

  Leonora went inside, her hand resting protectively on Dinah's shoulder. She was amused with herself for not wishing Lola good night.

  "Man, that tired old pussy has really put me to sleep," Lola said after Leonora was out of hearing range. She downed another drink.

  Numie knew how disturbed Lola really was. "If Leonora thought she was boring anyone, she'd surely have them shot."

  At a distance of a few feet, Lola stopped. Even Numie was a victim of Leonora's spell. Why couldn't anyone get the message? She, Lola La Mour, was in charge. Or soon would be. Damn that Sister Amelia! "That broken down De la Mer's being retired. By me! I don't know why I sat here all night, listening to that dyke's fantasies. She don't seem to get it that I'm just as big and just as grand."

  "But I know it," he said. "There's not a day goes by but what you remind me." A killing headache came over him. At this moment, the way he felt, all the money in the world wouldn't get him to remain for another week locked up in a house with these two.

  "As for Dinah, that slinky-as sed bitch." Lola said, her voice much deeper than before. "She's an alley cat. Has had everything in town—every eight year old, every eighty year old. She's sure playing it safe. In case I have trouble with the commodore's will, she's staking out De la Mer."

  "Can you blame her?" Numie asked, being deliberately insulting and not caring at this point.

  "She's here as my social secretary!" Lola said. A sudden movement in the bushes caused her to turn in fright, but it appeared to be nothing at all. "I'm firing her ass as of tonight. Just for her big show with that dyke, I'm also taking Ned away from her. I can just see me now strutting down main street. You on one arm, Ned on the other."

  "Stick to one arm, Lola."

  "What you talking about, child?" She darted around the garden patio. The
statues were nakedly white in the moonlight. Sacre-Coeur, ghostly. "You don't seem to understand. The name's Lola. I get what I want. Now she knew tonight was a mistake. She should have chosen the stage on which to confront De la Mer. The old dyke had rigged up this place so she'd look better. "When you're black," Lola went on, "you've got to make compromises in a whitey world. When you're not only black, but a flamboyant and dazzling lady who likes to go around in her more elegant finery, then you'd better be goddamn sure you know what's happening."

  Numie walked over to the peacock chair. Carefully he picked up one of Leonora's color-wrapped joints. He lit it and sucked in the smoke, enjoying the movement of palms in the breeze. Although the day was hot, the night had turned cool.

  Upstairs a light was switched on in Anne's room. A figure moved behind the curtains. The sound of muffled voices drifted down from Leonora's upstairs bedroom overlooking the patio. A tightening swelled in his throat. He was choking. The tightening grew stronger. "All day I've been trying to explain something to you—and you're not listening," he said. "I'm not going to be on your arm. I was with you today only in one capacity—as your driver, nothing else. The other thing between us, that was sheer hunger on my part."

  At first Lola registered shock. "Hunger? You goddamn son of a bitch, I'll have you run out of town." Yellowwood was on her payroll. If Numie didn't shape up, the sheriff would have to start earning his money. "I know you're attracted to me—half out of your mind with lust. What you just said can mean only one thing. Someone else has offered you more money."

  "How right you are," came a voice. It was Ralph.

  "How dare you eavesdrop on a private conversation between a lady and her man," Lola said.

  "Don't worry, Lola," Numie said, "Ralph is a specialist at walking in at awkward moments."

  "I see I arrived just in time," Ralph said. "You see, Numie belongs to me. He's my husband—not yours. I disapprove of bigamy. So that leaves you out in the cold.·