Butterflies in Heat (67 page)

In the suite, Lola lit a cigarette and began puffing furiously, heaving her beanpole chest in and out.

"The suite's really great," Numie said nervously. Did they finally get it white enough for you?"

"Enough to blind 'em, baby."

He tugged at the wet bikini under his pants.

"Take it off," she said. "Make yourself at home."

"No, I've got to be going." He glanced nervously at the clock. "What's this important business you got with me?"

"As you know, I've got so many green bambinos stuffed up there-thanks to my sweet daddy-pictures of Lincoln and Washington just float through the air every time I let a fart."

"Congratulations," he said. "You got what you wanted. First, the commodore's money. Now, Sacre-Coeur. Even Ned, although Dinah doesn't seem to be missing him too much. That should wrap up your dream with a great big red ribbon."

"No way," she said, getting up from the white sofa. Her head felt dizzy so she sat back down. This conversation wasn't going according to her liking at all. "I need one more thing to make it right."

"What's that?" he asked.

"You, stud."

"I'm not a stud" he said. "Never was.
It
was all a mirage."

"True, but I'm gonna buy you anyway," Lola said.

"I'm not for sale." He wanted desperately to be with Anne.

Lola decided to dismiss that statement. A cheap hustler trick. Numie was just holding out for a high price. "Of course, you're getting older," she said, but you're still kinda cute. You're also hung which makes it nice for me. I've been known to go out with men, even if they are ugly, providing they got something dangling between their legs. I don't like to mess up my mouth for nothing."

"You didn't hear me," he said in defiant anger. "I'm not for sale."

She decided to once more ignore what he was saying. "I ain't exactly spring chicken myself, though I look like a girl of seventeen. "

"I'm leaving." His temples were throbbing, and his heart was pounding furiously.

"Just one minute there, big boy," she said. "No one walks out on Lola La Mour. Or did you know that?"

"No, I didn't know that." He turned, glaring at her, instinctively bracing himself. "Even if I did, I'd still leave."

Suddenly, his message was all too dear. She let out a cry which she quickly tried to muffle with a laugh. But the laugh sounded too hysterical. He was really going. Turning her down in spite of her newly acquired power and money.

"What's got into you? I know Ralph ain't keeping you no more. Then who is?"

"Nobody, I'm working for a living," he said. "I'm a chauffeur, remember?"

"Seventy-five bucks a week," she said sarcastically. "Don't jive me. Okay, who's your new john?"

"I don't have one." He paused. "But I do have a girl. A real one."

Lola recoiled as
if
slapped. "Don't tell me you and that beer-guzzling Bronx dyke have got together and are going to have a meaningful relationship. What a buttgrabber!"

"Your opinion of it doesn't matter," he said, furious at himself for having revealed even this brief insight into his life. "Goodbye, Lola. I mean really goodbye."

"You can't walk out on me after all I've done for you." Nails arched, she jumped up.

"I thank you for feeding me when I first came to Tortuga," he said. But let's don't prolong this any more than we have to." At the door, he paused. Something told him to look back. Just as he did, an ashtray sailed past his ear, crashing into the door. He ducked. Thank God she was a bad shot.

She was racing toward him, both fists raised in the air. She flayed his chest. "How dare you reject me, you lilywhite bastard," she screamed. Then she slapped his face. "For such an experienced hustler, you don't know nothing about black bitches in heat. We're the toughest thing since leather dildos. You're going nowhere, baby."

"You're making an ass out of yourself." No sooner had he said that than he regretted it. He was convinced that Lola was insane; and here he was-possibly blowing his last chance to get out of Tortuga in one piece.

At first, she didn't respond. It was as if she hadn't heard him again. She just stood there, glaring, as was her way. Her hands were still shaped into fists, but she eventually released her grip, her arms falling limply by her sides.

For the first time since she was a little girl, she saw herself reflected in someone else's eyes. To Numie, she was a grotesque. Now she knew why she always projected a glamorous image of herself.
It
was her defense, her only way to prevent the harsh eyes of the world from judging her. She'd judge them first, the sons-of-bitches.

She was trapped! Numie had robbed her of something vital, making her think less of herself. She was afraid and insecure in his presence. Without fully knowing why, it was the most necessary thing in the world to keep him with her. Not because of who he was, or even that he was that special.
It
was because she felt if she lost him, she'd lose everything. He was the test by which she had to measure her new position in life. Stiffening her back, she braced for her grandstand play.

Tossing back her face and sobbing like some frantic thing, she screamed, "I'm a woman, too. I'm real. Just as real as Anne. Now don't tell me there's a world of difference between the two. I'm just as good as any woman. Better!" Her hands were on him, clutching. "I want you for my man. I'll look after you, take care of you when you get sick.
I'll
buy you a car, jewelry, all the fancy clothes you want. We'll travel. I mean, de luxe." Her hands waved around her Shirley Temple blonde curls like moths in a closet. "Okay, dammit, I'll let you in through the front door next time."

He greeted her with a startled look.

"Yes, that way," she said. "Didn't you hear about the show I put on last night? I showed the whole town my pussy. Then Ned really broke me in style. And how!"

"No, I didn't hear about it," he said. "Even if I did, it wouldn't make any difference. I'm flattered that you want to hold onto me, but I don't love you."

"You're in love with Anne?" she asked contemptuously.

"No, I don't love her either, not really," he said. "But I feel with her I could learn to. At least I might grow. Having you give me things, having you as my boss-lady, that's nowhere."

"Growth, you motherfucker!" Lola yelled. "What do you know about growth? The word makes me sick. I've grown. Look how far I've come in the world--against all the odds you honky types put in my way."

"I know, he said. "You've made it. You'll go on making it. But without me."

"Walk out that door, and you're the same as dead in this town, cousin," she said.

"That's a chance I've got to take," he replied coolly. "I'd be dead if I stayed here." .

Before she realized it, he was gone. At first, she found it hard to believe she'd really let him get away. Tight with frustration and humiliation, her lips began to quiver. Rushing to the window, she saw him cross the street and get into the Lincoln. His shoulders, so broad and strapping. All these years as a hustler, and he'd still retained a certain innocence.

Closing the curtain, she started to cry. In some way, something beautiful had gone out of her life. She wasn't quite certain what it was. Just that she wanted it, and now it was to be no more.

It
was time for her afternoon bath. Stepping out of her outfit, she reached for a robe. Before the mirror she examined each and every one of her gleaming white front teeth. Then she removed her wig of blonde curls. The face certainly wasn't pretty. She had that plucked chicken look today.

In the tepid water, she relaxed, breathing deeply. Touching between her legs, she fantasized what it would be like to take Numie like a real woman. But who was she kidding? Herself, that was for sure. Numie was nothing but one of those twobit hustlers De la Mer was talking about. Lola hadn't gotten this far in the world getting sentimental over twobit hustlers.

One thought stood out. He had turned her down. Defying, doublecrossing, and humiliating. For that, he had to be punished.

Getting out of the tub quickly, she superficially dried herself.

Then she headed for the telephone.

On the way to Sacre-Coeur, Numie stepped hard on the accelerator. He was fighting a gnawing feeling of guilt he didn't understand. With Lola, he was only doing what he must.

Parked in front of the gate to Leonora's house, was a car. Four men were seated in it.

Numie pumped the brakes, bringing the old limousine to a stop only moments before ramming the other vehicle.

One of the men got out. The others followed. "Ned!" Numie said. "What in hell's going on?"

"Get out!" Ned ordered.

"Come on," Numie protested. He opened the door. "What's the trouble?"

"You are," said a burly man in back of Ned.

Numie started to back away. From all sides, the men were closing in. The night was a black blur. A hand grabbed Numie's neck, and he was pulled back so roughly two buttons popped from his shirt.

"Get your goddamn hands off me," Numie yelled.

"Hey guys," one of his attackers said, "this one ain't none too friendly."

One man struck a blow to Numie's stomach. Doubling over in pain, he raised up only to see their faces now.

Tough, hard, bitter.

An arm from behind tightened around Numie's neck like a noose. He struggled to get away---only to be rewarded with another fist in the gut. His situation was hopeless! Even so, he tried to make a run for it. But he was held back. Kicks, hits, blows came from all directions. He struck blindly at his tormentors, rarely finding his mark. Head spinning, he finally used his hands only to ward off blows to his face. Fists continued to pound him furiously.

He fell to the ground. Then hands grabbed him again, spread-eagling his body. His temple was throbbing, his chest was a riot of pain.

One man was pulling off his belt. Soon its heavy metal studs were whipping against Numie's face. Blood was running from his nose.

The men encircled Numie. The blows had stopped.

Numie slowly opened his eyes onto a sea of leering faces. The men were laughing.

A leather gloved hand pulled his hair so his head snapped back. Mud was rubbed into his eyes and nose. The leather probe was at his mouth, gouging
it
open. The fingers stabbed their way inside, brushing his teeth with the foul-tasting dirt.

Numie was going to vomit at any moment. Only when his stomach finally rebelled did the men back away. He vomited again and again till nothing was left in his system. Then he dry-gagged some more.

Someone was pouring liquor down on him. He welcomed its cleansing effect, its stinging sensation. Alcohol for his wounds. The whiskey stopped. Numie lay quietly on the ground, not daring to move, not wanting to think what was going to happen next.

He heard the car motor starting and then the car backed out of the driveway.

Numie tried to get to his feet, but was too weak and bruised.

The car swerved, then stopped. All the men got in except Ned. He remained for a moment, looking down at Numie.

"Get in, Ned," the driver called. "Let's get out of here."

Ned spat, then got into the front seat. "Lola wanted us to give you something to remember her by."

Numie was emerging from a painful sleep. A mocking voice, strange and guttural, was calling to him, then laughing and jeering as he tried to find his way in darkness. Eventually, the voice drifted off.

Slowly, his eyes opened. The room was a blur. There was a stabbing pain in his chest. He raised his hand to his face. It was swollen, especially under his eyes. He felt as if two large rocks were embedded there.

But he could see! After a few moments the clouds lifted. Anne was the first object he focused on. Silently smoking a cigarette, she was at the foot of his bed, an elbow resting on her knee; she looked different. The luster was gone from her large green eyes which stared at him from under her deep smooth brow. The arch of her lean face was overshadowed by the sensual fleshy lips. Narrow at the waist, her morning gown billowed out at the top, making her look warm and seductive.