Butterflies in Heat

by Darwin Porter

  Where is Ralph?

  She sat up rigidly in bed at the sound of a crash outside.

  "Ralph," she called out, expecting him to appear.

  A loud rap sounded on the door and Ralph was inside her room. "May I come in?"

  "Don't ask when you're already in my room." Her words fell like the sharp blade of a guillotine. "Of course, you can come in. I sent for you, didn't I?"

  "Yes," he said, walking deeper into the dark chamber. "You're always sending for me."

  "You get paid, don't you?" She studied his face as if it held a profound secret.

  "Indeed I do," he said, "and quite well. You're very generous." She detected an edge of sarcasm from him, which angered her.

  The room pulsed with vibrations of impending violence. "One must buy people's loyalty," she sighed. "It's the only way." Her words struck him like bullets and he winced. "Open that curtain, just slightly," she commanded. "I want to see the storm."

  He parted the velvet draperies, as lightning tore the sky. The white flash revealed Leonora's nude body sprawled on mauve sheets. "Do you want me to get you a robe?" he asked flatly.

  "No," she replied, smiling. "When a body is as perfectly preserved as mine—at my age—one doesn't mind showing it off." She was deliberately making everything she said weighted with meaning. Soon she would be ready to spring the trap. "I know I'm not black, but men and women of all ages have found me attractive."

  "So do I." Ralph lied. "I hope you don't think I am attracted only to blacks."

  "I was beginning to wonder." Leonora's eyes were like hard blue diamonds.

  "I notice you're not exactly immune to the charms of blacks yourself." His eyes focused swiftly on her, searching her out. "Dinah seems to be sticking around for a repeat performance."

  His mention of Dinah brought a swift change in Leonora. Her face softened.

  "That child, such a lovely innocent one." Her face glowed with anticipation. "Yes, she wants me." Reaching for her robe, Leonora got out of bed, grandly pacing like a high priestess, her simple, Grecian, white-satin gown cascading to the floor. "The whole world desires me," she announced.

  "Understandably so." He glanced at her mirrored image.

  Turning on the light, she stared into Ralph's eyes. He was trying to flatter her, she knew. She also was aware that he was offended by the nude female body. Perhaps, she thought, that's why she always appeared naked before him. It was a quirk in her own behavior she couldn't fully understand. Was she a missionary trying to convert him? Did she think that by looking at her he would come to see women as desirable sex objects? She resented him for not finding her body attractive, always turning in disgust at the sight of her nudity. Or worse, not seeming to notice her at all. She glared at him.

  "Let me outline what you've done to me," she rasped. "You picked up that creature, Ned, who just happens to be Lola's consort." She paused to let her words sink in. "You allowed this Ned to come into Sacre-Coeur, let him talk you into going to meet the commodore's sister on the mainland." Looking at her many images in the mirrored room, Leonora yelled, "All part of a plot by Lola!" She shuddered at the sudden chill in the room. "That hideous beast accompanied Ned, for your information." A vision of what she must look like to the startled Ralph raced through her mind. With her face enraged, her eyes like knives cutting into his flesh, he must be frightened out of his mind. Leonora was delighted at the thought. "Amelia Le Blanc never made it to Tortuga; she was taken right into the office of the commodore's attorney." Leonora dabbed at her perspiring face with a tissue. "Amelia and Lola reached a settlement before I got a chance to talk to the commodore's sister." She took a deep breath, glaring at Ralph. "My one last chance to prevent having Lola as a partner has vanished, because of your stupidity." Her shoulders tightened. She moved toward him menacingly, and he took an involuntary step backward. "What is even worse, my dear Ralph, is that Ned used to be Dinah's boy friend." She glanced at Ralph, expecting him to speak. "In the middle of the night, he sneaked out of your bed, slipped upstairs to Dinah's room, and beat her within an inch of her life."

  "I can't believe that," Ralph stammered, turning from her.

  "I don't have to prove anything to you," she said contemptuously. For one brief moment, her hatred subsided. A tender feeling came over her. A memory. Maybe it was the distortion caused by the tropical storm. But Ralph's face became that of his father, the man she had loved long ago. She waited to reach out and caress that face. Then she remembered it was not her lost lover she was looking at, but his dreadful son. Ralph had never been her friend. The only reason she'd put up with him was because he was his father's son. But his father had betrayed her. Now the son had followed in his footsteps. She must remember that. "I don't have to tell you the complete case I have against you," she said, regaining her voice. "You're fired! As of this moment."

  A stricken look crossed his face, a vein stood out in his left temple. Then he slammed his fist on a table. "You can't fire me."

  "I not only can, I just did." She turned her back on him.

  All color left Ralph's face. Silence filled the room, but it was more deafening than an avalanche and even blotted out the storm. His tone became conciliatory. "You're just upset. You don't know what you're saying."

  "I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Her hand grasped a heavy mirror on her dressing table, as a slight tremor of fear made her think she might need it as a weapon. She turned to face him. "You've sponged off me long enough," she spat the words at him contemptuously.

  "Sponged?" Ralph's hands became balled fists. "I've catered to your insane whims, endured your outrageous behavior ... any money you ever paid me, I more than earned."

  "You know I don't like to talk about money." She began to move away from him. "I'm more interested in the spirit than I am the cash register."

  "I've seen you count the take,· he charged. "You're very interested ."

  "Not really,· she said, retreating even more. She felt it was a dangerous risk being alone on this particular day with him. "I don't need the money, but I must keep it from the hands of those it would destroy."

  "By that, I assume you mean me." Ralph froze in his steps.

  "Exactly." Leonora staggered, holding onto a chair for support. Invisible destructive currents were about to sweep the room. She had to brace herself for them.

  "You destroyed me in a thousand other ways," he said. "You played on my weaknesses. You bought—yes, bought—my friendship. If you hadn't entered my life, I could have become a great playwright.· He was shouting.

  "You were always a mediocre writer,· she said with a hiss. "I was always the artiste in this household." Her face hardened like plaster.

  "Don't make me laugh," he said bitingly. "You're a third-rate designer. Your clothes are theatrical crap! Most people who have had successful careers had to bust their balls. Yours was handed to you on a platter. You bought your way with Norton Huttnar's money."

  The words, flung like a curse, flashed before her. "That's a damnable lie, and you know it.· She clenched her hands. She wanted to strike him across the face. "Just yesterday I was on the front page of a New York newspaper."

  "Do you know why?" he challenged her. "Because you're a caricature. In your old age I would have thought you'd learned some dignity. You're more a fool than ever." His face loomed threateningly into hers, specks of saliva splattering her as he talked.

  She backed away again. "You miserable loser. How dare you attack me!" Her hand, holding the mirror, began to quiver. "You groveling little fairy."

  "Don't use that outdated term with me, you broken down old dyke."

  Once again, she raised her hand to slap him. But she feared physical retaliation. She was taking far too many chances on September 13. "No one has called me that loathsome word ever." A memory of Albury flashed before her.

  "Not to your face maybe," Ralph said. "But behind your back." He looked poised for the kill. "No one's told you the truth in years, either. Not until today.
"

  "You don't even know what truth is." She pushed back her hair, the soothing gesture giving her renewed spirit. "All these years I've tried to elevate you, give you some philosophy to live by." Suddenly she felt exposed before him, in spite of her robe. The feeling made her uncomfortable. She put down the mirror and clutched the satin robe to her body. "But you're still the crude, coarse boy I always knew you were.·

  "You don't have a philosophy of life to pass on to anybody," he said, his eyes darkening violently. "You make pretty speeches that always get out of hand—fruity, opulent speeches. But you're just posing and prancing."

  "I speak from the conviction of my heart, you liar." Her anger exploded on him.

  "You don't have a heart," he snapped, moving toward the door.

  "You always agreed with much of my philosophy," she shouted. If he left now, he'd leave in victory. She hadn't fully destroyed him yet.

  "The only reason I agreed with you was that I was on your payroll,· Ralph said, turning.

  The words shattered her and her face became blank with shock.

  "I'll tell you why you're surrounded only by people on your payroll,· Ralph went on. "They can't afford to talk back."

  "Dinah's not on my payroll." Her shout was of outraged incredulity. "She loves me just for myself."

  "How we deceive ourselves," he said with a mocking smile. "Dinah's nothing but a cheap, larcenous hooker who's hustling you, same as Ned hustled me. Let's face it, Leonora, the only time you and I have ever had sex is when we've paid for it. Nobody else could stand us."

  "Speak for yourself," she shouted, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm highly desirable."

  He wiped his lips as if to remove contamination.

  "You're nothing! A mirage. There's nothing real about you." His hands tore at his hair. "You're no international beauty. I read your tombstone." He paused, lowering his voice. "You're pathetic," he mumbled.

  "You're the one who's pathetic, you excuse for a man." She was out of control now. "Get out of Sacre-Coeur! There's a monster in your heart.· She raised her hands and shook a fist at him. "I knew it'd find its voice one day. If only to tum on me." She was in desperate ne~d of a barricade to cut her off from this man. "I knew I was going to die this day, but I didn't know you were to be my executioner."

  "You're nothing but a bitter old woman lost in her fantasies and illusions," Ralph roared. ·You deserve to die." He turned and left the room, slamming the door in her face.

  Outside the storm shrieked and wailed.

  But higher still came an eerie falsetto, rending the night.

  It was the sound of Leonora screaming.

  For a short while, the storm had let up. Numie was heading down the littered main street of town. Not a soul was in sight.

  He had been to see Tangerine, and was certain she was going to live. She'd survived the operation beautifully. At least that nagging fear was over.

  Out on this lonely street tonight turned his mind to all the other lonely streets he'd roamed. Footsore and with a deep hatred in his heart, he'd been looking for sex-buyers.

  Tonight he didn't even have that goal to explain his strange presence outside when everybody else was safely at home riding out the storm.

  Deep down, right at his core, he had to admit this summer had left him with no understanding of who he was. The only new insight he'd come up with was that there was an ordinariness about him. For thirty-two years, he'd assured himself constantly he was special. Was it all a lie?

  After a few blocks, he was at the gates of Sacre-Coeur. Somehow tonight their bars looked more ominous and foreboding than ever. Slipping into the side entrance, he headed across the garden. Time to report for duty.

  Two hours later, he hadn't moved from his chair in the living room. Draperies pulled back, he watched the storm return again in all its fury. Sitting there slowly sipping his Scotch, he felt a womblike warmth. For one moment, he was at peace—protected from the menace outside.

  He remained in the same position, thinking how much he needed this rest, this retreat from Tortuga, from Leonora, from Ralph, from Lola, and even from Anne. His own company gave him a momentary delight.

  A harsh buzzer interrupted his cozy reverie.

  At the top of the stairs, he hesitated, then knocked and went inside.

  Anne was holding Leonora down.

  He rushed to Anne's side. "What's the matter?" he asked in panic.

  Leonora's eyes were bugged, her face flushed red.

  "I can't keep her still," Anne said. "She wants to go out ... to the graveyard!"

  To Numie, Leonora looked like some insane sorceress, who wanted to drag him down into unknown horror.

  "New ... me," Leonora screeched. Her hands were reaching for his.

  Reluctantly, he offered her one. Long nails were digging into his flesh. He pulled away, his hand badly clawed.

  "What the hell ... "

  Gravestones of buried memories were giving up their captives tonight. From shadows in the far corner of the room these nameless ghosts began to take shape in front of her. Norton Huttnar, Ruthie Elvina. They were just the vanguard. So many others were waiting to follow. "Sacre-Coeur," she yelled. "My beloved Sacre-Coeur."

  "It's going to be okay," Numie assured her. He was terrified of the horror he sensed in her eyes. The lights dimmed, then came on again.

  "Look," Leonora said, gripping his hand firmly, "the lights ... they're going out ... " Her body jerked with frenzy. Total darkness she couldn't stand.

  The lights dimmed again, then flickered on.

  "We have hurricane lamps," Anne said, looking hopelessly at Numie, her eyes pleading for him to help her. "I'll get them." She quickly left the room.

  Every now and then, the flashing lightning sent stabs of white through the room.

  "I'm not going to be safe here," Leonora protested. "I can feel it." Her fear now was leaving her for only brief moments, then returning with a vengeance. "There's a force at work to destroy all "things beautiful." Her fingernails dug once more into Numie's sensitive flesh.

  He winced with pain. Her hand held him firmly. It was like a death grip. Still, he tried to remain calm. Had Leonora gone totally mad? The walls of the old house rattled. "You should try to get some rest," he said, knowing how silly that sounded.

  In a burst of energy, she let go of him, got up from the bed, and was stumbling around. He reached to steady her.

  "Everyone except Dinah is trying to conspire against me," she said, staring at him with fury. "Even you for all I know."

  "That's not true," he said. His whole body was shaking, and he braced himself for an attack from her. "Anne and I are trying to look after you."

  "No," she said. She writhed and plunged around the room, as if looking for something. She stopped long enough to confront him again. "Both of you think I'm no longer in control." She then rushed toward her closet. Taking out an old silver mink, she slipped it on. "You're going to drive me to the graveyard. "

  "In this weather?" he asked, dumbfounded. In the main hall the storm was a dim noise, but outside it sounded more like galloping horses. "You must be out of your ... " He paused, biting his tongue before he said it.

  "No," she said, her calm moment returning. "I'm not out of my mind."

  For this brief interlude, she was like the old Leonora, completely calling the shots.

  "You're my driver," she said firmly, her back stiff. "If you refuse, I'll fire you." Thoughts of Ralph flashed through her mind. He didn't think he was going to get fired either. "I've already fired one tonight."

  "You mean Ralph?" Numie asked. The air was oppressive. He was having a hard time breathing.

  "Are you going to drive me there?" She would have fired him on the spot, but only hours remained in her life. Knowing that, she had to deal with what she had.

  Not really caring about the job at this point, he sighed, "If you want to go." He felt if he didn't take her, she would try to go there on her own—and would surely get killed.
/>   In the hallway, he was racing after her. The lightning outlined her silvery frame, as she rushed dangerously down the marble steps.

  Anne confronted him at the bottom of the stairs.

  "You're not taking her, surely," she said. In her hand was a hurricane lamp.

  He reached for her free hand, but she withdrew it. "I'll explain everything later," he said. "There's just no time right now."

  "In this storm, you'll never make it. You'll have an accident," Anne said, grabbing onto his arm.

  He broke away. "I've got to take her."

  Bitterness swept across Anne's face. Tears formed. "You're as much a fool as she is."

  By now, Leonora had thrown open the oak doors. The storm howled inside the parlor.

  Shattered shop windows, flooded streets, fallen cornices, evidence of the storm was everywhere.

  Behind the wheel and driving into the blinding rain, Numie was cursing, fearing for their safety. Several times he flicked imaginary ashes from his cigarette before they formed.

  The rain continued to lash against the windshield. He shook with a sudden cold. The headlights from the Lincoln hardly made a difference against the blackness of the night. Not one light shown anywhere.

  The storm was getting worse. He was driving so slowly now the Lincoln was barely moving.

  "Hurry up," she screamed at him in the earphone. "It's almost midnight."

  By now he was convinced: Leonora was insane. Why would anyone on a night like this want to be taken to the graveyard?

  Then, suddenly, the reason became clear.

  September 13, the day engraved on her tombstone. That was today!

  Leonora must be convinced she was going to die.

  Glancing into the back, he viewed her with pity. She must be experiencing the agonies of the damned.

  It was five minutes to midnight.

  Panic overwhelmed Leonora. Under the silver mink, her entire body was soaked with perspiration. Then suddenly crystal clear came a jarring thought. Was she experiencing not actual death, the death of the body, but the symbolic death of the soul? Was she becoming merely a ghostly shell of herself? Had her heart grown cold? Had the denial of love from every source caused her to dry up? Was she no more than a zombie, making her physical presence felt, but having nothing else to offer the world?