Butterflies in Heat

by Darwin Porter

  After that night, she didn't need any more encouragement to wear silk panties. It was the most natural thing she'd ever done. Approving of herself finally in the mirror, she paraded into the living room.

  "You should have been a girl," Numie said.

  "I am a girl," she protested. "Want me to prove it?"

  "No, no," he said, fearing another sexual encounter with her. "Guess you are a girl after all"

  She reached over, took a piece of his bacon, held it up in the air for inspection, then devoured it.

  "I want to ask you something," he said. "When did you start dressing up in drag?"

  "I don't dress in drag," she said adamantly. That awful word, would it haunt her forever?

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you pissed," he said.

  "My daddy used to let me wear my mama's clothes," she said.

  "That's surprising."

  "No, it wasn't surprising at all. He knew I was really intended as a girl."

  "You told me last night you had brothers. Didn't they think it strange to see their little brother going around dressed up like a lady."

  "Not at all," she said. "I think they rather liked it."

  "You mean, they used you?"

  "Darling, used isn't the word. They gang-banged me every night."

  "They probably did if you went around dressed the part."

  "Daddy was working late one night at the factory, and all three of my brothers came home. They'd been drinking. I pretended to be asleep, but it was no use. I knew what they were going to do. Bill, he was the oldest, hopped on first—right in front of the other two. He was brutal. It took him a long time to get off 'cause of the booze"

  "Did the other two get it on with you, too?"

  "They sure did. Charley was next. I didn't like him at all. He was kinda crude like, worse than Bill. When it was over, Charley thanked Bill. Thanked him, mind you, for the privilege of socking it to me."

  "It was probably Bill's idea"

  "I'm sure. Henry, he's the youngest, asked, 'Bill, can I get in her ass, too'? Henry was just two years younger than me, and wasn't developed at all. But Bill let him. 'Last ... and least', he said, after looking Henry up and down. He couldn't manage, and my brothers laughed at him. By then, Henry was crying."

  "Did the others keep socking it to you?" In a way, he felt sorry for Lola.

  "Until I left home," she said, swallowing bitterly. "I hated them, but what could I do? I was a weak kid. After daddy died, there was no one to protect me. All my brothers used me, my brothers' friends, the guys at school. My voice was too high pitched to be a real boy. Even the girls made fun of me. Her fists closed in determination. "But I swore I'd make this town eat shit one day. Now I'm the Commodore's mistress. I've shown them all!"

  "You can't get even with the past. No one can."

  "All I know is I can go any place in this town—right in the sheriffs office—and nobody makes fun of me no more."

  "How'd you meet up with the Commodore?"

  "In this very bar. He used to have amateur entertainment on Saturday night. I appeared in full regalia one night, a beautiful red silk dress with a white boa. I was stunning, even without the blonde wig. I wore a red one in those days."

  "Like Tangerine?"

  "No," she said, indignant. "I could never be like Tangerine if I tried. She's nothing but a cheap whore."

  "So you put on a show?"

  "I did the bit, 'whatever Lola wants' ... and the crowd went wild. Ever since that night, I've been known as Lola. I added the La Mour, of course. Up to then everybody in my family used old English names."

  "You still didn't tell me how you met the Commodore."

  "He asked if I'd come back and perform the following Saturday night. I did and, of course, I was a sensation. That very night the Commodore asked me up to his place on the keys. He had a beautiful ranch-styled house then. It was later destroyed by a hurricane, and we never bothered to rebuild it."

  "You were his houseboy?"

  "Maid! I've never been nobody's boy, ever. A very, high- class maid at that. He let me dress up in any uniform I wanted. Sometimes I wore nothing around the house but a bra and panties. He always liked that very much. Still does. Before I'd been there a month, I was hiring a maid myself. My brother Bill's mama-in-Iaw." Lola's eyes glistened with revenge. "Bill got hired as a gardener and general handyman." She smiled. "Still works for my Commodore and me. Carries out my garbage, child. He's always threatening to quit, but he's got no place to go. My Commodore sees to it that no one else in town will hire him."

  "Lola, my coffee's cold," he said.

  "Men," she sighed, pretending to loathe the word, but betraying her love of the sound.

  Four cups of coffee later, nausea swept over Numie. What was he going to do today? Always he'd had something to do.

  Hustle an early morning john in the latrine, make it to the next town before dark—or just make it.

  Today, nothing, not one damn thing. Lola had seen to everything, even the groceries for the weekend. She'd need all morning to get ready before going down to that bar.

  But what about him? Where could he go?

  Just yesterday he was worried about his next meal. Today, with everything provided, he was feeling trapped. It was just plain crazy, he guessed.

  Only thing is, something had to happen before the day was over. Something to make him feel alive.

  Chapter Ten

  At the beach, the sun was burning into Numie's skin. It was one of the hottest days of the year.

  He was just lying there, getting redder and redder. For some reason he couldn't leave—although he knew he'd pay later with a burn.

  A group of college age men and women on the beach were strangely disturbing. Their pastimes were harmless enough: playing volleyball, occasionally running to jump into the ocean.

  Then, he knew what it was. Their bodies, so young and lithe. Bodies that life was yet to mar. He was resenting their bodies, knowing full well how ridiculous that was. Yet he couldn't help it, couldn't shake the feeling of having lost something.

  Running his hand down his own frame, he became aware—almost for the first time—of a slight pudge developing around his middle. Compared to those kids, his body was old.

  Countless johns and an endless string of horny women had sung his body's praise. He'd gotten his kicks seeing how his body turned people on. The thrill far outweighed any pleasure he received from a final discharge. A climax with a john was a duty, something expected. Depending on the fee, he could make that discharge passionate and powerful, or else lethargic or totally faked.

  The praise of his body, so lavish and constant, seemed without end. Surely like a diamond, his body would only increase in value to satisfy and delight as yet unseen faces and orifices.

  Was he finished as a hustler? The sun burned the question into his brain. Was that what was keeping him up at night?

  A girl turned and looked in his direction.

  He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. That girl, that damn girl! Was she still looking? Before, he'd assumed that anyone looking was doing so out of admiration. Never for any other reason. Now he was filled with doubts. Was she noticing the paunch? No more of Lola's southern cooking, the goddamn fatback. And the drink. What about that? Getting drunk every night didn't assure lasting good looks.

  Without looking at the girl, he got up quickly and headed down the beach toward the shower stalls.

  Inside the old cabins, the smell of urine was everywhere. A row of doorless toilets faced a string of open showers. Three of the stools were occupied.

  Numie didn't have to look into the faces of the hungry perchers. Those blank staring faces he'd encountered in every town he'd been in. They were sex watchers, eternally waiting for a show. He'd never bothered with them before. After all, they rarely had money, or rarely spent it if they did. He sought out johns with more bread ... and a little more style. When approached by these sex watchers, he'd tum them away, usually with a curse.

&n
bsp; Today their very presence was stimulating. In the past, he'd deliberately concealed himself from their voracious eyes. But this would be different. He wanted them to see his body. All of it.

  Bulky bodies, human smells, devouring mouths, sweat-soaked busy hands—it'd been too much for Numie. He'd started to feel the walls closing in.

  From the grope pile inside the bathhouse, he'd rushed out into the sun again. There he took a stqol at a luncheon counter and ordered a beer.

  Sexual tribute from the men was what he'd been seeking. And he'd aroused the lust hunger in their eyes. But Numie's ego satisfaction was short lived. The desperate men had left him feeling empty—worse than before. More sex tension than he could handle, even after a marathon session.

  Those men would never be fulfilled, not in a lifetime of looking and searching. Would he be like them one day? Always searching, never finding.

  Was he like that now?

  At the edge of the beach a red sports car pulled up. It was familiar. Ralph got out.

  As Ralph made his way toward the bathhouse, Numie thought he looked older somehow. The other day he was twenty-eight. Now he looked more like thirty-four. But he was still young, still slim, still attractive. There was a certain effeminacy about him, though. A diffidence. His black hair was fine and wavy, with a tendency to early baldness. His full mouth was pouty, too lush somehow to be flattering to a man. Those ever-searching eyes were his best feature. Not only wide, but opening onto thick, long lashes.

  "Ralph," Numie called.

  At the sound of his name, Ralph nervously jerked his neck in Numie's direction. His face was guilt ridden. "Numie, good to see you."

  "You don't look glad to see me at all," Numie replied. 'C'mon, join me for a beer."

  "Work keeps me pretty busy, but I needed some sun."

  "There you go trying to explain things again. I told you once before, you don't have to."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know why guys go to that bathroom. I was just in there myself. It's one great big suction pump."

  "Oh, I was just going to change into my suit."

  "You know, I don't understand the secrecy. Everybody in this town knows everything that's happening anyway."

  "I'm married," Ralph said flatly.

  "Get off it, man, Anne knows about you."

  "Anne. You know my wife?"

  "Yes, that queen I had to meet the other day. That was Leonora. I met Leonora and Anne the night before at the bar, the same night i met you."

  "So you were the guy at Sacre-Coeur? I knew somebody was there. But you. Dammit, I told you this town is too small. You didn't say anything."

  "The gold watch gave me away to Anne," Numie answered. "It was stupid of me to wear it."

  "Of course, Anne knows. That's not why I'm always hiding. That was just an easy answer to. a difficult question. I don't want to talk here. Let's walk down the beach."

  The young people were still playing volleyball. Ralph gave each of the men a quick appraisal, then walked on.

  "Nothing misses you," Numie said.

  "Okay, you and I will drop any pretenses. I check out every basket."

  "But what are you afraid of? Seems to me you've got it made in this town. The sheriff isn't going to cause any trouble. That's for damn sure."

  "You're right. He takes his orders from Leonora. From Commodore Philip even more."

  The sun was high in the sky now, as Numie neared a deserted part of the beach.

  Still drinking from his beer can, Ralph came up beside him. "I don't know why I'm always sneaking about. Everybody does know about me. Who am I kidding?"

  "Maybe you're hiding from yourself."

  "In one way you're right. Sex is still a dirty business to me. I've always wanted to be straight. Better yet, to have other people think I am. I'll go to extremes to convince them."

  "Even marriage."

  "Yes, that. Though my marriage to Anne was more complicated than that."

  "Just why did you marry her?"

  "It was an arrangement that suited everybody's purpose—my own, Anne's, and most especially Leonora's."

  "How did Leonora get in on the act?"

  "She'd known my father at one time. In fact, my father once got it on with Leonora. She went both ways in those days. When I came to New York, I looked her up. I'd written a play, and I was hoping to get her to back it."

  "Anne told me the story."

  "My version and Anne's version are quite different." Ralph's voice had a slight whine to it.

  "In what way?"

  "Mine's the truth."

  "I see." For some reason, he resented Ralph suggesting Anne was a liar. He felt defensive of her in some way. "I could see why I'd meet up with Leonora, but I don't understand you. You've got brains, good looks, and you've got that upper middle-class look to you. I can't believe you were some under-privileged writer that Leonora had to take in."

  "I wasn't. I'd come from model parents from a model suburb. The trees were vinyl, the grass artificial. You never saw garbage on the street. I knew little about life when I first met Leonora. Sure, I'd dabbled at a lot of things, but I'd never really been into anything. That's why my play was so shallow."

  "A virgin?" Numie's eyes were teasing.

  Ralph hesitated, not sure of Numie's reason for asking. "No, I'd had a few encounters—usually with hustlers like you in strange cities."

  "Thanks."

  "I didn't mean it that way." He leaned back on a slat wood bench, looking out at the sea. 'There I was, considered the most desirable bachelor in my hometown, out paying rough trade for the dubious privilege of going down on their smelly crotches. Bums I wouldn't even allow in my home. His mouth restricted into bitterness. "After one of those sessions, I'd come back home, go to my room, and sulk for days."

  "Your parents must have wondered."

  "They just let me be. They were too busy leading their own lives to care about me. None of us ever had anything to say to each other."

  Numie couldn't help but resent Ralph. How he used to want the advantages of middle-class security for himself. But to hear Ralph tell it, that wouldn't bring you happiness. Still, it sure beat hustling for a buck in the winter's cold.

  Ralph lit a cigarette, crushed it out, then quickly lit another one. He wasn't exactly confiding in Numie as much as he was reliving an experience and working something out. More than that, he was taking the age-old opportunity of telling a relative stranger something he would not reveal to a friend.

  Numie liked hearing these intimacies from Ralph. It made him feel less guilty about opening up and talking about Marty and the ebony blackbird that day on the island. A fair exchange, in other words. "What was your daddy into?" Numie asked, hoping Ralph would continue to talk freely.

  "He was president of a company, making $85,000 a year. But one day our world caved in. He was fired just like a common ditch-digger. Not only fired, but charged with embezzlement. He hadn't saved a penny either and was very much in debt."

  "How did your mama take to that?"

  "A real loyal wife. She filed charges for divorce. That left father with me. I, too, was loyal. I split for New York the next day."

  "What happened to him?"

  "He was convicted and sent to jail. By then, I'd found a new mother in Leonora."

  "Leonora doesn't strike me as anybody's mother."

  "She was the most exciting woman I'd ever met."

  "Still is, as far as I'm concerned," Numie said.

  "I agree," Ralph said. "The more outrageous she is, the more I love it. Being gay has something to do with it. If I were straight, I'd probably have nothing to do with her. She's grotesque, really. But I love to be with her. We spend most of our evenings together. When I get up to leave, she says, 'Going cruising, darling?' She completely accepts me. Always did—right from the first."

  "I wish she had me."

  "She will," Ralph answered impatiently. Suddenly, he got up and started walking down the beach.

&nbs
p; Numie wasn't sure whether he was supposed to follow or not. Pretty soon he fell into step with Ralph.

  Leaving the beach, Ralph turned down a narrow street of unpainted houses. Exiles from Havana lounged in the narrow doorways, as children played on the porches. In one, a used tire had been crudely converted into a veranda swing.

  "Real machismo, this place." Numie said. "Not like what I'm used to at all."

  "I feel the same way," Ralph said, as if aware of him again. "I miss the sophistication of New York. Leonora embodied New York sophistication for me. I never thought that being with her I'd end up here."

  A cool breeze was blowing. Numie looked up at a widow's walk, a platform where the wives of fishermen sixty years ago maintained a lonely vigil for husbands who would never return from the sea.

  Ralph stopped at a roadside Cuban shack and ordered two strong black coffees for the both of them. "You may not believe this," he said, still remembering New York, "but Leonora used to pimp for me."

  "Come on."

  "No, it's true. The first night I met her she invited me out to dinner. It turned out to be a gay place on the upper east side. When we went in, Leonora whispered something to the manager. We got the handsomest waiter in the house. We met the kid later—by arrangement, of course—in the bar of the Plaza. She'd bought him for me as a present."

  "The only thing I find hard to believe is that Leonora would be so generous. I thought she was tight."

  "It depends entirely on what she's trying to prove. I thought I'd really found a friend in Leonora although how she figured out I was gay I'll never know." Frowning at the bitterness of the coffee, he downed it. "I soon learned that being Leonora's friend left no time for anybody else. She's all consuming."

  "Then how did you manage to marry Anne?" Numie was alarmed at the curiosity in his voice. It was as if he were enduring the conversation about Leonora just waiting to find out what he really wanted to know.

  As if detecting that, Ralph looked at him, said nothing, then walked on down the street. At the comer he stopped. "I'm sure Anne forgot to mention it," he said sarcastically, "but she was Leonora's girl in those days."