Butterflies in Heat

by Darwin Porter

  "Thanks, but I don't know anything about clothes."

  "You don't have to," Leonora said. "We'll find something appropriate for you. Come and have lunch at my home tomorrow. We'll discuss it."

  "Where do you live?" Numie asked.

  "Just ask anybody on any street corner," said Leonora. "Everybody knows where Sacre-Coeur is."

  "Then I shouldn't have any trouble."

  "Now, what was your name again?" Leonora asked. "Numie, isn't it? New me. Each of us like a flower blooming eternally. "

  He didn't know what to say, so he smiled.

  "You have a good face," Leonora said. "I liked it at once. Like a young river trying hard to find its way to the sea. Real faces are hard to find on this island ... on any island. But I had a premonition I'd find one tonight. Didn't I, Tangerine?"

  Tangerine gave Numie a tired glance.

  Leonora said to Numie, "Now you must go. I have to talk to Tangerine and Anne. And we're going to have champagne."

  "Very well," he replied, getting up quickly. "Tangerine, I liked meeting you. I'm sure I'll see you again."

  "Good night, sweetie," she said. "Sure, I'll see you. Real soon, I hope."

  "Good night, Anne," he said.

  "I'll see you tomorrow when you come for lunch." Her face was non-committal.

  "Miss De la Mer, a pleasure," he said.

  She extended her gloved hand.

  He paused a moment, then realized she wanted it kissed. He complied.

  At the door, he put a dollar bill in Lola's outstretched hand, glittering with zircons.

  "Where's the tip?" Lola asked. "We're not opposed to a few gratuities around here."

  "I don't have anything extra."

  "I knew you didn't have much."

  "I've got it, babe, but you've got to pay for it," Numie said.

  "Lola has never paid for it. Lola is paid for it."

  "Night." He walked out to the street.

  The black Lincoln still stood on the curb—looking battered out of its owner's presence. Here and there, its body bore dabs of black paint over orange splotches of rust.

  Salt air and humid weather were supposed to be bad for automobiles. And for other things. This wasting away, so it was said, was known as Tortuga cancer.

  Chapter Three

  Back at his hotel, Numie raced up the creaky steps to his room. Shutting the door quickly, he rubbed his back against it, hoping the wood had living strength to keep out what was pursuing him.

  His shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to his body. After he'd left the bar, the shakes had descended.

  With trembling hands, he reached for a half empty bottle of cheap wine on the dresser. He put its neck to his mouth, downing it. Some of it dripped from his chin onto his clothes.

  Throat burning, he stared into the black-specked mirror. He was coming apart right before his own eyes!

  He stripped and got into bed. There he lay—tossing, tumbling.

  He was going to make it in this town, or he wasn't going to make it at all.

  At some point, he fell asleep—but not for long. He woke up suddenly, slinging his arm and knocking over a lamp.

  It was still dark.

  He could sleep no more. Something told him to get out of bed, find a connection, move into life. Time was wasting.

  He put on a pair of jeans, nothing else. Slipping into sandals; he walked softly out.

  No place to go. It didn't matter. Getting away did.

  At the end of the hall, an annex was barricaded by two crossed slabs of lumber. He stepped across and turned a comer leading down to an enclosed veranda under a high ceiling.

  He stumbled along the musty passageway until he banged into an old settee. On one side were rooms where seemingly no one lived. The other side faced a clump of bushes. Double layers of rotting bamboo shades kept out the moonlight.

  Going on, he came upon a pedestal. On it, a marble cupid poised his arrow. Dragging his hand along the mildewed, red-brocaded wallpaper, he finally reached a comer. Here, moonlight streamed in again. The palm trees swayed gently in the wind.

  He soaked up the stillness, the remoteness. For this moment, he was safe, protected. Nothing in the world could touch him or harm him.

  The illusion was shattered by footsteps approaching. He backed against the wall—hiding. Then with caution he peered around the corner.

  Three men were outlined in the dim light. Two were in sailor uniforms. The third was trying a key in the door. The Navy men followed him in.

  Numie sneaked off in the other direction. But right away a wall stopped him. The only other way to avoid their room was to jump over a steep railing into the bushes.

  Then a loud crack announced the opening of the door. Both sailors ran out. They raced up the veranda.

  From the room came the faint sound of moaning. Numie moved in its direction. The room smelled of gardenias turned to dust.

  "Are you okay?" Numie asked, slightly apprehensive.

  "Who's there?" the man cried out in panic. In the near darkness, his half-dressed figure was sprawled on a canopy bed.

  Numie flicked on a light switch, but it didn't work. Striking a match, he moved to the bed. The shrill chirp of a cicada gave him a start. Was it a warning not to get involved?"

  "What do you want?" the injured man demanded. He was holding a handkerchief to his bloody nose.

  "Just to find out if those sailors damaged any vital parts"

  "Leave me alone."

  "Gladly." Numie backed away.

  "Look, could you bring me a towel?" The man's voice changed, now trusting and pleading. "Soak it in hot water. I'll pay you for your trouble."

  That god-damn cicada again. For a moment, Numie was silent. He felt duty-bound to help the man; yet at the same time he wanted to run up the hall. "Sure," he finally said, reluctantly.

  "But don't let anybody know I'm here."

  "I wasn't planning to run an announcement in the society column," Numie answered, showing his irritation. Out on the veranda again, he was more wary than before.

  On his return, the mugged man held the towel to his face. "Dammit," he said, "my head's spinning." For the first time, the entire body of the man was visible.

  Numie had lit a candle. It stood on the nightstand. The man was vaguely familiar. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor. Black stubble peppered his face; and his eyes were large bulbs reaching out to draw in the light. The face was lean and hungry. That face. The same face outside Commodore Philip's. He was Anne's husband!

  Numie withdrew. After all, he'd seen how this man had treated his wife earlier in the evening. He could muster little sympathy for him, now that he was the victim of violence himself.

  "I should explain," the man said.

  "What's there to explain? You wanted to get laid, but got ripped off instead."

  "That sure spells it out."

  "Why conceal the obvious?" Numie asked.

  "What's your game?"

  At first, Numie hesitated—not because he was reluctant to reveal his profession, but because he didn't want to get confidential with this man. Then he smiled wryly to himself, the very thought that a hustler as broke as he was could pick and choose among people was ridiculous. "I hustle, too," he managed to say, "but I deliver." Unable to resist a john, he was selling. "And I don't rip anybody off." That was too much hard-sell, he decided, but the words were out. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crushed package of cigarettes, lit one, and handed it to the man.

  "Thanks," he said, smiling, his fingers lingering caressingly over Numie's. A crooked grin distorted his face.

  "What were you doing down here? I didn't think anybody came here any more, except me."

  "Okay," Numie said, "I didn't ask you questions. You don't ask me questions." After his earlier come-on, Numie thought it best to play hard to get.

  "I'm not used to that," the man said, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a towel. "I'm Ralph."

  "Numie." The room sent a shiv
er through him, and he put his hands in his pockets." Look, man, I've got to go. This place gives me the creeps." Almost as if to confirm his statement, the cicada let out another shrill chirp.

  "My car's parked out back," Ralph said. "Would you meet me there?"

  For Numie, the invitation was an all too familiar one.

  "Yeah," he agreed, "but I'd think tonight would have made you suspicious of strangers."

  "I am," Ralph said, "always ... but I need one every now and then." His eyes met Numie's.

  Numie withdrew at the sight of their intensity. "It'll cost you."

  "They took my, money."

  "No ice, no dice."

  "Wait, my watch. They didn't take my watch. It cost a lot of money. A gift from a friend."

  Numie took the watch. "I prefer cash." Bargaining over sex always repulsed him, regardless of how many times he'd forced himself to do it.

  "That's all I've got right now."

  "It's a deal," Numie said. "I usually charge thirty dollars."

  "You'll have to lower your price in this town. But the watch is far more valuable." Ralph was buttoning up his shirt. "We could go for a ride in my boat and watch the sun come up. It's the nicest part of the day."

  Numie started to say no. But there was something in Ralph's last statement that appealed to him. Unlike his first impression of him, Ralph apparently had enough of a soul to appreciate a sunrise. "It sounds okay," Numie said, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic.

  "Good." Ralph reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, handing it to Numie.

  This simple act of trust further elevated Ralph in Numie's eyes: Was it possible that he could be mugged and robbed only minutes before, then turn over his car keys to a perfect stranger the next moment?

  "It's the red sports car out back," Ralph said. "I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

  "If you don't hurry, we'll miss the sunrise," Numie said.

  "The story of my life," Ralph called after him.

  Ralph's boat zoomed through the waters of the green-blue strait, stirring up a backlash that rained down on Numie's head. His jeans were getting soaked, but he liked the pelting water.

  An early morning invitation from a stranger—just the kind of excitement he needed.

  Out on the dark sea, he saw a rare world—clean, refreshing. As the boat neared an uninhabited key, the sky was turning pink. Shadows remained, though. Did the night want to let go?

  "Look!" Ralph yelled. In the distance, a small island with a sandy beach came into view. Palm trees flapped their fronds in the cool air.

  The sun was breaking through.

  Numie shivered in his wet clothes. "Man," he said.

  "It's my favorite spot." Ralph steered the boat toward an inlet.

  Orange rays cut into the water over the reef. Conchs heaved forward with their permanent smiles. Purple sea fans moved in time with the rhythm of the waves; and rainbow parrot fish glided between the sulfur yellow sponges and corals.

  Numie stepped over jagged pieces of rock. Then he ran down the beach, kicking the white sand. Had he ever been this free? He wanted the whole world to stand still.

  "Take off those wet jeans," Ralph commanded.

  "What else is on your mind?"

  "To see the jewels."

  The jeans were peeled from his legs. He stood proudly, meeting Ralph's penetrating stare. "Do I pass inspection?"

  "Triple A."

  "Before we get down to business," Numie said, "I want to look around."

  "Okay, I'll be your guide," Ralph volunteered, "but that's not why I brought you here."

  Numie paused. Just once in his life, he wished somebody would invite him somewhere without his having to sing for his supper.

  For the next hour, Ralph revealed the hidden spots of beauty. A nest of blue-red orchids. A place where water was the color of crystal. A field of thick banana trees, bearing fruit that only wild things ate.

  Ralph charted the way back to the beach. "I have a big map at home with all these islands drawn in," he said. "I named this one after myself. I don't really own it, but I feel like I do."

  Numie remained silent. As he surveyed the island, his thoughts were different from Ralph's. He felt this oasis should belong to no one in particular, but should be used by anyone wanting to get away and escape—at least for a while—the real world.

  He put his hands on his hips, spread his legs, arched his spine, and tossed his head back, enjoying the fresh air.

  Ralph's body trembled. He looked down the beach, squinting his eyes to keep out the glare. Then he leaned over quickly and kissed Numie on the lips.

  The gentle movement met no resistance. But the kiss was not returned. Even so, it stung. Numie instinctively reached to rub his mouth.

  "Are you strictly trade?"

  "If you want to call it that. I'm not a kisser, but I throw a pretty good fuck."

  "You can't prove it by me." Ralph's eyes glowed with an overpowering hunger.

  Numie's body moved over him.

  "Make it hurt," Ralph whispered. His low moans were the only sound heard on the island.

  Numie lay quietly on the beach. He had raped Ralph with a savagery he didn't know he had in him. The more he ripped and tore, the more Ralph had responded. Ralph had called forth the animal in him and had found it. Ralph didn't want love, tenderness. Rather, almost a primordial attack. Were those sailor muggers actually performing a service for Ralph? What a way to get rid of guilt! Numie found himself almost wishing it could be as easy for him as well. To use the act of sex to get rid of your rages, hidden angers, the poisons that clogged the system, made a lot of sense. If you could do it. Numie couldn't.

  Instead he was ashamed of himself. Not for having had sex with Ralph, but for getting too close a look inside Ralph's head.

  Numie felt some strong need to convince Ralph he wasn't the beast he'd been when he was mounting him.

  Ralph was toying with a silver chain around Numie's neck. Then he picked up a tiny ebony blackbird it held captive, examining it like an appraiser with a precious stone. "Why do you wear this?"

  The perfect opener, Numie thought, to let Ralph know he wasn't just a hustler. Numie looked into the fully awakened morning sky as if it were a window onto the past. Then he closed his eyes. "A reminder of a friend I once had"

  "Care to tell me about him?" Ralph's voice was soft, caressing, inviting confidences.

  "I don't think it would interest you," Numie said, secretly hoping Ralph would ask more. If it had been the city streets, Numie would have grabbed the blackbird and rested it back on his chest. He always rebuffed anybody who inquired about it. But the safe haven of the island inspired him in ways no other place had.

  "At least you had a friend," Ralph said. "People usually say they can count their friends on their fingers. I can't even raise one little pinkie. What was your friend like?"

  "I met him at boarding school when I was fourteen. He was tall and shy, but great on the basketball court."

  Ralph began to massage his back.

  "We were roommates," Numie continued, wondering how far to go.

  "Did you ever get it on with him?" Ralph asked, growing impatient.

  "Hell no!" Numie said. "We were close buddies, not that kind of friends. We hung out everywhere together—even went to a school dance where we did nothing but sit around rapping with each other."

  "That must have gone over big," Ralph said.

  "It did." Having said this much, Numie impulsively went on. "One night Marty came back to our room. He was edgy as hell. I was washing out our socks in the sink. He took his away. Told me he'd do his own from now on." Numie was speaking rapidly, knowing if he didn't he'd never finish the story. "He sat me down on the bed. Damn, did he have sad eyes! He told me there was a lot of ugly talk going around about us. I didn't know what he meant.

  "I bet," Ralph said sarcastically.

  "No, I didn't really," Numie said, sorry he felt it necessary to defend such a long-ago re
lationship. "He said he was moving to another dormitory. He'd had a talk with the dean."

  "Your friend hadn't come out of the closet."

  "He was trying to tell me, but couldn't. All he could manage was he was afraid I'd hate him if he told me about himself. I didn't think that was giving me much credit."

  "You were too young."

  "I remember, he got up and held out his hand. 'Thanks for everything, little one,' he said. I didn't take his hand. Then he took this blackbird and put it on the bed. Never returned to school after that."

  "He really did believe in punishing himself," Ralph said.

  "Did you ever see him again?" Ralph stopped the massage.

  "Yeah, I did—sorry to say." Numie turned over, staring into the sun. "I hitched to his hometown a few years later. It was about thirty miles from the old boarding school, and he was still living there. We had dinner. It was awkward as hell. He didn't know what to say to me. A married man with two kids. Still hadn't come to terms with himself. Worse yet, he was selling insurance. And he used to tell me he was going to be a poet."

  "It's stupid to think you can ever go back... to anything," Ralph said. "Me, I never had anything like that to go back to"

  "I don't understand you, man." Numie got up and reached for his jeans. "You're attractive, probably loaded. I don't know why you don't have friends."

  "I'm on a total sex trip. When I'm not working, I'm out searching. "

  "Can't you get it on with just one person?" Numie asked. "A regular?"

  "No way." Ralph sat up quickly. "After I've had a guy—even when he's great in bed—I lose interest. I feel the person's no good after he's put out."

  "I know where I stand."

  "I didn't mean it that way. I guess you think I'm sick."

  Numie nodded. "Too bad," he said, zipping up. "I thought I turned you on, and you'd want another round like manana."

  "You did turn me on, but from now on you're going to have to wave the flag at somebody else."

  "I see." There was a long, hurt pause. "Shit, here I was telling you the story of my life."

  "I did listen."

  "Sure." Numie's anger was rising. "Well, forget it. I made it up." Ralph had robbed him of something precious.