Butterflies in Heat

by Darwin Porter

  "Yes, but I never did any real modeling. I know now Leonora just used the job as an excuse to make me."

  "With your figure, I think you'd make a terrific model."

  "Thanks, but it didn't work that way. My figure was much too round for a high-fashion model."

  "You at least tried, didn't you?"

  "Briefly. Leonora always worked with the photographer. She was like a choreographer—wanted me to feel free and relaxed, the natural look. I was a wooden Indian. Completely under her control. She was hypnotic, really."

  He was like a voyeur today, but he really wanted to know. That led him to ask hesitantly, "Going from Nick to Leonora must have been quite a jump."

  At first Anne didn't say anything. Then she replied, "It was. I couldn't have gone with another man then. With Leonora, it wasn't anything like with Nick. Boring, actually. I didn't like it, but then again I didn't know how to say no. I was so naive."

  "Sounds like you were lost more than anything else."

  Her hand ran down her thigh. It was wet and hot. "It was soon clear I wasn't going to make it as a model. So Leonora opened up this bedtime shop for me. The offers I got running that place you wouldn't believe."

  "I, of all people, would believe them."

  Suddenly, Anne got up, stretching in the sun. "Looks like Leonora is going to make you wait all afternoon. Not me. I'm going to sleep—I feel dizzy. She'll send for you when she wants you." Anne headed across the patio toward the parlor.

  "Anne," he called, jumping up.

  She turned to look back. Squinting her eyes in the glare, she said, "Whatever it is, it'll keep till tomorrow." Then she was gone.

  What did he want to ask her? He didn't really know. Yet he'd called her name. Too much sun. Maybe he'd better wait in the shadows for Leonora to summon him.

  Alone in the patio, Numie was growing languid in the late of the hot day. Another beer from the refrigerator, and he was

  sinking into his chair, sipping slowly. A stirring of the wind woke up a giant elephant-eared philodendron.

  It was good to be alive. In spite of his trouble, he hadn't felt as hopeful in months.

  If he were back home now, he would just hear his mama say, "Son, your sap is rising. A bad time. You could get into a heap of trouble. I'll pray to Jesus."

  But he was in Tortuga, a long way from home. Nobody spoke of sap rising any more.

  Another sip and his eyes were closing, dreaming.

  So Anne had her Nick. Well, he'd had someone, too. At least for a little while. That day on the deserted island with Ralph, he'd mentioned but didn't tell about his second love, his real one. The thing with Marty never came off. With Lisa, it did.

  Lisa, the little beatnik girl who was a beatnik before anyone knew what that was.

  She had picked him up in her van one night when he was hitching. He remembered it so well. She'd just sensed what he was feeling without telling her anything. She also seemed to care, and he was a complete stranger.

  When she found out he had no place to live, she invited him home with her. Home was two hundred miles away ina rickety farmhouse in upper New York state where she stayed with four other people, including an old woman known only as Grandma.

  In her early seventies, Grandma physically was nothing but creases and furrows. But her spirit was much alive. She lived for just two things: bowls of Campbell's soup which she devoured and her "weed" which she smoked until she faded into a coma every evening.

  Grandma welcomed Numie right away. "The more the merrier," she said. Then she confided, "You kids think you discovered marijuana. Shit, myoId man turned me on to it back in 1914. Been going up in smoke ever since."

  After putting her to bed, Lisa told Numie: "Grandma owns all this land. Lets us live here. We raise chickens, pigs, and goats. Two of us are vegetarians, but most of us are meat eaters."

  Then she took him to a tiny room where twin girls were sleeping. "They're mine," she said proudly. "Phyllis and Dell."

  "Pretty as can be," Numie said. "Who's the daddy?"

  "I don't know," Lisa said matter-of-factly. "It really doesn't matter. We don't have daddies and mamas here. Anybody who loves can be a daddy or mama. Kids should learn to accept love from everybody."

  "Accept, but not always expect," Numie said.

  "That's too cynical. Love must start somewhere, and on this farm we believe in spreading it around."

  The other members of the farm crew included Bob and Spence, two young dudes from New York City. They shared a room upstairs—and they were very much in love. Both had run away from home. Spence's parents were very wealthy, and they objected to his having a black lover. Not a male lover—but a black one.

  Maria also lived there. She was from the city, too, but she had no one. Her face was badly cut in a knife fight in the South Bronx. She stayed in her room most of the time.

  In her embroidery-covered blue jeans and Indian moccasins, Lisa was a charmer. Not pretty, but appealing in her simple outlook and openness to life.

  "You're in deep trouble," she said to Numie. "Very unhappy. Stay with us. We want to help you. To give you love."

  By the hand, she led him to a room with straw mats on the floor. A Chinese lantern cast a dim light.

  "Numie," she said softly before reaching out.

  Not thinking, not guarded, he just responded to her warmth. Never before had he held anyone like Lisa. Her tiny figure, her long red hair, the smell of her flesh, her gentleness—all of her inspired him. His fingers traced a line down the contour of her bony back. In return, she kissed his eyelids.

  He pulled her close, burying his mouth in her neck. Her lips soft and sweet loved him back, tasting his ear as he tasted her.

  Then the calmness was over. Plunging his tongue in her mouth, he demanded more. She was eager to give. Inside her, he was in command, riding and taking. His hands found her breasts, large for her body and tipped by big brown nipples. Skin meeting skin, fondling and smothering—never such femininity and smoothness. A crescendo of sensation, and it was over.

  Too soon.

  He'd made love to a woman-child. No one had ever given of herself so freely to him. Nor had he ever returned love in such a way. Nothing held back, everything delivered. He lay on top of her, moaning softly, completely drained.

  Completely in love.

  The next day Numie joined the other commune dwellers. Spence liked to plow in the fields, but Bob preferred house work. Numie joined Spence. Distrustful of strangers, Maria finally had dinner with them on Numie's second night.

  In three days Lisa's twin girls were calling him daddy. He liked the sound of the word.

  Returning from the garden, Numie found Lisa in the kitchen making bread from carob flour. The smell of coffee filled the air.

  "A few days in the country air, and you've gotten rid of that pasty New York City look. You look like a man should. A little color in your face."

  "Thanks," he said, moving to kiss her.

  She gave herself to him right in front of the twins.

  "You'll bum the bacon," he said, breaking away.

  "I read the other day that bacon's probably the worst thing you can eat," she replied. "It's just as well."

  May stretched into June, one day going by much like another.

  Numie was never bored, though. Or never too tired to make love to Lisa.

  Summer quietly appeared, the yellow of forsythia giving way to the bright red of roses. The leaves on the chestnut tree in front of the farmhouse turned from lime to dark green.

  As hot weather came, the tree no longer shaded Grandma. She spent more time in her bed and less in her favorite rocker.

  August was a little windy, but the trips with the twins into the hills were still long and leisurely. Lisa always packed a picnic lunch. Goat bells and sundowns—the month came and went so quickly.

  September brought a chillness to the air. It began around four o'clock in the afternoon. By eight the nights were growing cold. Lisa, though, was still warm
.

  She was by now deep into vegetables. No more animals were to be slain, not even a chicken.

  One day in early autumn, Numie was overcome with a passionate desire for a hamburger. He headed for a roadhouse run by a heavyset man from Cleveland. Devouring the juicy hamburger, Numie ordered another, this time with a lot of onion to disguise the taste of meat on his breath.

  Back at the farm, something was different. A new van was parked in front, with an Oregon license plate. The twins were playing.

  Picking Dell up, he asked, "Whose van is that?"

  "It belongs to daddy," she said. "He's back."

  A chill came over Numie. "What do you mean? I'm your daddy."

  "No, our real daddy," Phyllis said defiantly.

  Putting Dell down, Numie headed for the living room. Empty. Then the sounds, those unmistakable sounds, coming from the bedroom upstairs.

  On the bed, their bed, Lisa's long swan neck was bobbing up and down on the cock of a handsome giant of a man, with long blond hair and blue eyes. He was like a bigger version of Numie, his body radiating power and masculinity.

  Sensing Numie's presence, Lisa looked up. "Numie." The sound of his name was like an accusation. "Paul and I are busy now," she finally managed to say.

  "Who in the fuck is Paul?" Numie asked.

  "He's my loving man," she said, her eyes filling with fear.

  "Can't you hear?" Paul asked, rising up on his elbows.

  "The lady said we're busy. By the way, thanks for looking after my chick this summer while I was up in Oregon finding us a farm."

  Dumbfounded, Numie stood and stared.

  "Now if you'll pardon us, we've got some business to finish," Paul said. "Or do you get turned on watching a big dick get sucked? Bob told me when I asked about you that you're a queer hustler. If you want me, you'll have to wait till Lisa's had her fill."

  Fists clenched, Numie turned and walked rapidly down the stairs, through the living room, and out onto the front porch where the twins were playing. He paused silently. Phyllis and Dell looked up at him, but he ignored their stares. In a nervous stride, he crossed the yard, heading down the path.

  "Numie," Lisa called, chasing after him. She was wearing panties but no cover for her breasts. "I can't help it." Catching up with him, she clutched his arm. "Please try to understand. I love Paul. He's not like the rest of us here. Not loving and kind. More selfish. But I just love him. Always have. I thought he was gone for good, so I never mentioned him. It hurt too much to talk about it. But he's come back. Plans to take me and the girls to Oregon with him. I've always wanted to see Oregon. It's supposed to be so nice there. And they are his girls, too."

  Numie looked at her long and hard, then touched her hand, removing it gently from his arm. "Good-bye, Lisa," he said softly. "Summer's over"

  "Numie," she called out again to his neck.

  But he didn't look back—not at Lisa, not at the twins, not at anyone. His eyes were fixed on the open road ahead.

  "NUMIE," the falsetto voice of Leonora called out across the patio. "You're late, as usual!"

  Chapter Twelve

  His hand on the doorknob, Numie hesitated, then entered an upstairs room.

  "Watch the stairs," Leonora called. It wasn't just the stairs that made her issue the warning. It was a way she had of calling attention to her presence.

  Going down three steps, he was in a semi-darkened sunken chamber. The shutters were closed at the windows, and the room was badly ventilated, like attics on a summer day. On the table in the center lay Leonora. A short, fat woman was leaning over her. Against the wall a steam cabinet stood—with other machines. Rows and rows of bottles lined the shelves of this beauty parlor.

  "So, you decided to apologize for your outrageous behavior?" Leonora said imperiously. She was not really trying to add to his discomfort, but wanted to remove all guilt from her shoulders.

  Numie was so taken back he didn't know what to reply at first. His body tightened, then he said, "Is that what Ralph told you?" He sighed, not expecting her to answer. "Yes, I'm sorry," he managed to mutter softly. Then in a slightly louder voice, he asked, "Let's forget it, okay?

  "Come closer, young man," Leonora said. Youth filled her with gnawing despair, and she was constantly calling attention to it.

  "Tangerine, " Numie said, surprised, making out the outlines of her features for the first time. "I didn't recognize you"

  "Please, darling," Leonora interrupted, slightly peevish that he was looking at Tangerine and not at her. "Don't interfere with Tangerine's work"

  "I was just speaking to her—that's all," Numie said, this time not bothering to disguise his anger. "Why is it so dark in here?"

  "I keep the room dark," said Leonora. "I must" This excuse didn't seem quite plausible, so she covered her eyes with one hand. "Light destroys my eyes."

  Moving toward her on the pile carpet, he saw Leonora more clearly now. She lay stark naked on her back, skin gleaming. Tangerine was rubbing an oily solution into her legs.

  Leaning over the body, Tangerine presented her cheek to Numie to kiss. "Sorry I conked out last night."

  Leonora resented this display of intimacy over her body. "Numie," she said sharply, "Tangerine shouldn't drink that cheap wine. See that she doesn't. It's wretched for her skin." She smiled. "When I take her out, I give her champagne."

  "I know." He shifted his weight from one foot to· the other. That was really rubbing it in!

  Sensing his discomfort, and fearing she had gone too far, Leonora said, "Now, don't be bitter. I know you're finding it hard to forgive me for not bailing you out of jail. But I don't reward thievery."

  "You did offer me one of those cigarettes," Numie protested.

  The torrid heat was beginning to bother Leonora—that and the conversation. "It really doesn't concern me now. You must expect to pay the penalties in life." With that, she planned to dismiss the subject for all time.

  Protected by the near darkness, he could stare freely at her nudity. Her breasts were surprisingly firm. Amazing for a woman of her age. And she had no pubic hair. It was all shaved off!

  Leonora was clearly aware of what he was doing. In fact, she was enjoying it. To add to that enjoyment, she decided to signal his attention. "So," she said, indicating surprise, "you're a voyeur!"

  "I'm sorry," he stammered, stepping back. "Why don't I come back—when you're dressed?"

  "Don't be foolish, mon cheri." Taking hold of his hand in a convulsive grasp, she held it to her breast. It had been a long time since she let a man put a hand on her breast. It was not erotic or stimulating in any way. What was, was the pride in knowing that her breasts were still quite firm. "We're all voyeurs. In one way or another." Slowly she released his hand.

  Although he'd been used to seeing people nude all his life, he'd never felt like such an intruder before as he did in front of Leonora. It was like interviewing the president of the United States when he was on the toilet. "About the job ... " he said.

  "Oh, yes," she answered, miffed that he didn't comment upon the texture of her breasts. "You're desperately in need of work" Her neck had started to ache. "Actually, I don't have a job for you."

  "But you need a chauffeur," he pointed out. "And I'm an excellent driver."

  "As I said, I don't have a job for you." She assumed a casual tone of voice. "But Ralph claimed you were starving. Frankly, I feel sorry for you, knowing how difficult it must be to find work in yo u r line ." She never hired a man without making him feel it was an act of supreme charity on her part.

  "Will you give me a job?" he asked, more eager than ever for a commitment from her.

  "All right, all right, darling," she said impatiently. She was the one who should be applying the pressure. Numie would have to be taught manners. "Don't bore me with details. That's what I pay Ralph for."

  "But he said you had to okay it."

  Numie was right. But she couldn't let him get away with it. Reaching for a large shimmering handkerchief,
she gingerly dabbed at her perspiration-laden brow. "Everybody depends on me for everything"

  A kind of fury rose inside Numie. Leonora had the power to humiliate totally. He hated her at this moment—hated his coming to her.

  She searched for his face in the darkness, but couldn't see. The Numies of the world could never understand her—never understand that she must live her life like that of a great actress, filled with glamour and impulse. She couldn't confine herself to hours or time schedules. At any time of the day or night, he'd have to be at her beck and call if he agreed to be her driver. Best she inform him, "My heart never knows from moment to moment where I'll need to take it. Sometimes, late at night, I just like to ride around the island—deep in meditation."

  "That's okay with me," he said, though he didn't mean it. Her presence seemed gargantuan. It wasn't that she was tall. More than that. In the shadows, she loomed like a giant, majestic bird descended from another planet. Compared to her, he just disappeared. Never so unimportant and insignificant.

  "I run my world," she said, rising slightly from the table on the power of her own voice. She wasn't thinking of him now, but of the vicious attacks made upon her in this town. Numie would soon hear the lies spread about her, if he hadn't already. She was certain Ralph had fed him plenty of information. But she had to let Numie know she didn't care what people said about her, as long as she remained true to herself. "I have tremendous self-discipline," she said, "and I demand the same of my employees. I'm driven by an unrelenting passion for quality, and that, too, I demand of all those who work for me."

  Numie felt he was floating in slime-green still water on this torpid afternoon. Always in pursuit of the point, he asked, "What will this all-consuming job pay?"

  Aghast at his impertinence, she decided to penalize him severely by lowering his salary from what she had considered. "Sixty-five dollars a week," she said emphatically.

  The statement was a blow to him. "I've made that in one hour before," he protested.

  "Not lately, I presume." She never liked to attack anyone on the subject of age, because she felt too vulnerable. But it was always her final recourse.