"I swear you're a little hustler," Numie said. "I should be your agent:
"You still shacking up with Lola?" Castor asked.
"For the time being—until something better comes along. I've got a job, driving for Leonora de la Mer."
"Another crazy one!" Castor said. "You sure do like the crazy ones."
"I hang out with you, don't I?" Numie asked.
"No you don't hang out with me," Castor said grandly.
"The only reason I'm sitting here with you is because it's a public place of business. If we was together in a social situation, I wouldn't be caught dead with you. I won't even let my cat socialize with your kind."
"You little brat," Numie said. "The only reason you're sitting here with me is because you're planning to rip me off for the price of a meal."
"Talk at mealtime bores me," Castor said. "So, if you don't mind." Scooting over one stool, he removed his boliche and proceeded to devour it, alternating between slurping on the daiquiri and the soup. At the end of his quickly consumed meal, he got up and headed out.
"Enjoyed dining with you, Castor baby," Numie called. "See you around."
"Not if I see you first," Castor said. "I got no business with human garbage."
Numie smiled as the boy left. Never had he enjoyed getting insulted as much. Finishing off his meal and paying both tabs, he left.
The street was dark. On the comer a man was closing his two-story food shop for the night. A few drops of rain were hitting the wrap around tin roof which extended over the sidewalk. Huffing, he was lifting a bushel basket of orange-green papayas.
Quickly Numie fell in step with him, giving a helping hand.
"Hard work," the Cuban said.
Numie handed him the final baskets of avocados and red plantain.
"Your reward," the shopkeeper said, coming from the back. He handed Numie a cone of guava ice cream. "Thanks a lot, bubba," he said.
"Thank you," Numie said. "It's real good."
The rain seemed to have changed its mind. Just a few drops now.
Numie was deliberately stalling, not wanting to face Lola. He wished he CQuld be by himself tonight. He didn't want to have to relate to anybody. But that would be freedom—and he'd never known that.
Taking the long way home, he stopped off at the gaudy Victorian bus station. The beer seemed to have gone through his system in minutes.
A few sailors, a Cuban and his heavily made up girl friend, two elderly tourists, and an old fisherman waited in the lobby for the final bus in from the mainland for the night.
Numie hurried by—heading for the men's room.
Inside the marble floor smelled, and the long porcelain urinal had long ago yellowed.
Sighing in relief, Numie splashed noisily. Eyes closed, he allowed this moment to help ease the tension that had been slowly building since he left the Cuban restaurant.
Finished, he started to zip up, but stopped short. His attention shifted to the lone booth. Someone had chiseled a hole in the partition, and an eye was clearly observing Numie. Underneath the raised partition two booted feet rested.
Still at the urinal, Numie started to shake himself. After all, a customer was a customer. He certainly needed the extra money.
The eye was staring intently.
As his cock hardened, Numie edged closer to the hole. The eye withdrew.
A shuffling inside sent a note of alarm through Numie. Zipping up quickly, he rushed out the door.
The station master was just coming in. "Hope you gave the sheriff a good show,' he said.
Numie stopped in surprise. "The sheriff? You mean, that's Johnny Yellowwood in there?"
"Sure, I've got to summon him now. He's wanted on the phone. Emergency downtown."
"What did you mean, a good show?" Numie asked.
"Kid, you're naive," the station master said. "The sheriff likes to look at guys take a leak. Been hanging out in that very booth ever since he got back from the Korean War: The station master walked in the toilet. "Johnny," he called, "you wanted on the phone, bubba."
Down the deserted street, Numie glanced back at the steep-roofed towers of the Victorian station.
He didn't know why he was shocked, but he was. More by the station master's bland acceptance of the sheriff's perversity than by anything else, he guessed.
In minutes, the sheriff's car—siren blazing—whizzed by, heading for downtown ..
Chapter Fifteen
Numie was hurrying up the steps to Lola's apartment. At the door, he paused for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat, then went in.
An ashtray narrowly missed his head, crashing against the door.
"Where in hell have you been, mother fucker?"
"Lola! You could have hurt me," he said. He moved toward her, wanting to strike her, but resisting the impulse.
Hands on her hips, she just stood there in red panties and a bra. Glaring. "I'll teach you to cheat on Lola." The idea that he could find anyone in town more exciting than her filled her with rage.
"You don't own me," he protested, feeling right at this moment that she did. "Besides, I haven't been screwing around."
"Don't stand there with that shit-eating look on your lilywhite face. Do you think for half a second, I'm gonna take your word for that?" All of a sudden, she started looking calm and collected.
How could she possibly check up on him? The desk clerk at the Dry Marquesas?
"I'll know soon enough if somebody's had you." Smug superiority broke out all over her face. "There's one test no man can fake."
He sat down on her white satin sofa with a thud. What she had in mind was all too apparent. The heat of the afternoon still burned in his skin. He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about what was going to happen. He just couldn't give in to her so easily. "Bitch!" he shouted in disgust, opening his eyes quickly and sitting up. "I've been at Sacre-Coeur. Got me a job as De la Mer's chauffeur. After all, you told me yourself" you get paid, you don't pay."
Lola's face softened. Was he telling the truth? Men, particularly white men, told so many lies. "You really mean that? You gonna pay me for the privilege? You're not just sitting there spitting out lies ...'cause if you are ..." She was touched. No one, except the Commodore, had ever offered to pay before. The whole idea flattered her. "I know you ain't gonna get much money from De la Mer, that tight dyke. You don't have to give me all that much. After all, I already own a Facel-Vega, and my commodore pretty much takes care of my needs."
"I'm telling the truth about paying, " he said, lying. My God, she was really believing him! "Starting tomorrow morning, Igo to work"
"Don't sweat it, darling," Lola said, a sudden hollow feeling in her stomach. On a second look, she didn't like his taking a job as De la Mer's chauffeur. The whole idea of her main man driving around that cunt tossed and turned her stomach in a bad way. But she didn't want to appear too insecure. "Christ, you'll be safe with that bull-dyke. She wouldn't know how to take care of a man if one lassoed her with it." But what about Anne? Lola would have to consider the possibility of that horny bitch cutting in on the action.
"Tangerine told me that De la Mer's got no pubic hair. Any girl who'd shave that off must be sick."
"First real job I've ever had," he said.
"Well, that other work you've been doing is harder than planting taters. I should know. And with us ladies, it's much easier to peddle our pussies than it is for a man to get it up."
"I know, I know," he said impatiently. He struggled to sit up, the elastic band of his swimming trunks biting into his skin. He wanted to take a shower, but thought it too risky right now to pull off his clothes in front of her. "Got anything to drink?"
She looked over at him, admiring his tallness, those broad shoulders, the way the damp T-shirt clung to his chest. "Yeah, stud, you!"
Numie's heart sank. Nervous fingers ran through his hair. "Come on, I told you I wasn't fooling around today. Besides, it's too hot."
She liked watching him squirm
. "Not as hot as it's gonna be for you in a few minutes. Child, this room is gonna be so hot that even the Devil hisself would run out for a breath of fresh air."
On the bed, he lay with his eyes closed. No feeling in it this time. No pretended moaning or groaning. She was doing all the work. So many times, the same experience. Meaningless. How could it satisfy anyone? But it did. It always did. Those endless mouths draining him. But he knew how to give. Now, it was about time. Suddenly pumping, he held her blonde-wigged head down and rode to an unspectacular climax. "Do you believe me now?" he asked with hostility, jerking her head up to look in her bloodshot eyes.
Those eyes were on fire. "And how!" she said, raising herself up on her elbows. She nuzzled her knees into the warm bad. "You ain't had nothing since little old Lola last climbed the mountain."
A sudden panic came over Lola when she saw the time. "Christ, we're gonna be late, and I gotta get some respectable clothes for you. Can't have you looking like you just washed in on a shrimp boat." Jumping up, Lola adjusted her bra and started rushing around the apartment, turning on all the lights. She had to see how she looked in the severest of glare before trusting her appearance on the street. Over her shoulder, she called back, "Tonight, you're gonna meet some high class."
The bed became quicksand for him. The idea of going out and being introduced as Lola's boy friend made him quiver. "And who is so high class?"
"My people, real people," she said, resenting his asking. With a sharp tweezer, she resumed her eyebrow plucking. "Not that De la Mer crowd of phonies." The image of Leonora de la Mer for one brief moment seemed to blot out her own reflection in the mirror. She practically spat back at it. "Miss Distinguished herself, that De la Mer. I ain't met no bull-dyke yet who's that distinguished."
In her exotic Indian wrap-pants, open to the thigh, Lola was a blaze of color as she marched down a side street off main. She stopped in front of a men's store, admiring her glamorous presence in the glass.
The clothing shop was so small you could miss it unless you were searching. "This is where high-class people go," she said over her shoulder, detecting to her horror what looked like dandruff. She couldn't be sure, though. Her vision was getting worse, but she was not a gal to wear glasses. "The guy who runs this place—he don't bother with trash."
Inside the store, Lola pranced down the narrow aisle, supremely confident of the impression she was making. "Good evening, David," she said, assuming the same grand manner she had with Leonora.
"Miss La Mour, a pleasure." The shopkeeper was plump and bald, a nervous type. The thick lenses of his hom-rimmed glasses exaggerated the size of his eyeballs.
"Thank you for staying open just so we could pick up a few fun things," Lola said.
"Anything you or your commodore want, I'm only too happy to oblige," David said.
Turning to Numie, Lola wondered if he were properly impressed at how David was treating her like a lady. He didn't seem to be. That prompted her to say, "My commodore owns this entire block."
"You mean," David corrected, "your commodore and Miss de la Mer."
Lola was piqued. When David's lease came up for renewal, she would see that it wasn't. The very mention of Leonora de la Mer's name filled her with loathing in the extreme. "Well ...! guess she might own a building or two. I can't really mess up my mind with what she owns or don't own. We're here to look at some clothes for this buck. Name's Numie."
"Hello," Numie said. He dug his hand into his pocket. The hairs bristled on his neck.
"Hi," David replied in a high-pitched voice. He looked at Numie intently before his nervous eyes darted away. Turning to Lola, he asked: "What does your young man have in mind?"
This question only increased Numie's discomfort. David wasn't even giving him the dignity of making up his mind. Eying a rack of slacks, Numie started to say something, but was interrupted.
In one quick move, Lola crushed out her cigarette right on the tiled floor. "We're going out tonight with Ned and Dinah. I'm sure you remember Ned, don't you?" She cocked her head and turned her most accusatory gaze upon David.
David was flustered. "I'll never forget him," he muttered.
"As you know," she went on, "Ned always shows basket.
I want Numie to do the same." She glanced imperiously at Numie, challenging him to defy her.
The look was familiar, an obvious copy of Leonora at her most haughty. "Hey," Numie protested, "don't I have something to say about this?"
"Child, I happen to be paying the bill," Lola said sarcastically. She feared her position was being seriously threatened in front of David. "When you get enough bread to pay the bill, then we'll welcome suggestions, I'm sure."
Numie swallowed hard. He'd had his fill.
"Don't you understand nothing?" Lola asked. "I can't have Ned putting on a better show than you. You just can't get it that I'm not only doing a favor for you, but for the whole mother-fucking white race."
"Some favor!" Numie said.
"A well-built man like you shouldn't be embarrassed," David added. Eyes narrowed, his lips set in a sheepish smile.
The man's coyness not only made Numie uncomfortable, but added to his increasing anger. "I'm not embarrassed" he said. "That's not the point. I don't like being ordered around like this."
"It's okay," Lola assured him. "With David, you can let it all hang out." This was said with such authority she hoped to end all argument.
"I understand what you're looking for, Miss La Mour," David said, moving quickly. "Something nice, slim, and snug. I have the exact item. Bet it'll fit without alterations."
"It had better," Lola said. "Got no time for alterations." She wet her lips, then, looking into a full-length mirror, decided she needed more lipstick. She'd have to coat it on heavy to compete with Dinah. Opening her purse, she noticed her watch. "We're practically due at their place right now."
"What's your waist size?" David asked.
"Thirty," Numie said, sighing.
It was a signal to Lola that he had decided to cooperate.
"Better check that," David said, his lips curling in anticipation. From a nearby counter, he took a tape measure, wrapping it around Numie's waist. "Right you are. And now the inseam." Dropping to his knees in front of Numie, he placed his hand inside the seat of his crotch.
Instinctively Numie withdrew at his wet-fingered touch, then stood firm.
"Watch and make sure you take the right kind of measurements," Lola said, hawkeying every move.
Numie tensed. The bald man clearly repulsed him—too many echoes of his past.
Getting up, David buzzed to the back, returning with a pair of white slacks. "Try these on"
Looking around for a dressing room, Numie asked, "Right here?"
"Sure," Lola said, "we ain't got no time for formalities."
"I'll draw the blinds up front," David said, hurrying to the door. But he was back in a moment.
Lola was boring her eyes into Numie.
Sucking in his breath, he started to strip. Tossing his shirt aside, he slowly unbuttoned his fly, sliding out of his jeans. He wore no underwear. Kicking his sandals aside, he stood straight. He grinned nicely, but it was one of defiance.
Lola was enjoying exhibiting him. It showed David the kind of white man she was capable of attracting.
David, though, was nervously mopping beads of perspiration from his forehead. His thin lips were twitching.
"The pants, man," Numie finally said.
"Oh, yes," David managed to say, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
Numie squeezed into the pants. "They're hardly my size," he said.
"Go on, try them on," Lola ordered.
The fabric clung so tightly it was all Numie could do to zip them up. "They pinch like hell," he said, grunting.
"Those pants do just what I want them to," Lola said. "I'll show that Dinah a thing or two" A snarl of dark jealousy consumed her face. She applied even more make-up, as if to cover it.
"Even the lengt
h is perfect," David said, mincing forward.
"Thanks," Numie said. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Still in a nervous sweat, David said, "I didn't mean it that way ... what I meant..."
"It don't matter," Lola said with a snort. "We got no more time for explanations." Snapping her purse shut, she turned around. "That cotton-knit sweater with the short sleeves is just right, baby."
Numie slipped it on.
"And this tie," David said anxiously, "for his belt. A great outfitl"
"Charge it to my commodore," Lola said, parading to the front.
"Thanks for your business," David said, panting like a puppy. "It's always a pleasure to serve you, .Miss La Mour." He turned to Numie, his eyes wandering instinctively to his crotch where they lingered. "And you're welcome here any time you need anything."
"Don't you go worrying your bald head about his needs," Lola said, casting him a murderous glance. "They're well taken care of." She possessively linked her arm with Numie's, strutting out into the darkened street, her wrap-pants flaring into the night.
In the Facel-Vega, Numie dreaded another night with Lola. He had to leave her and soon, yet he wanted to stick around to meet the Commodore. To turn against Lola now would ruin everything with the Commodore. And the Commodore seemed to run this town. Numie wouldn't have much of a chance at anything unless he continued to please.
After freshening her make-up, Lola grabbed hold of Numie's arm again. It was comforting to have a virile man at the wheel.
It was all he could do not to pull away from her. His stomach was churning, his blood pounding with rage. He was resenting Lola for exhibiting him back at the men's shop. Who did she think he was? Some prized stud who'd perform tricks at her command?
Look at her, he thought. What a slob! She was so glamorous, she kept telling everybody. Yet everything about her was cheap and vulgar.
She disgusted him, yet he feared her in some strange way. He stared at her, barely disguising his hatred.
Even without her contacts, Lola knew she was being eyed intently. Lust, she suspected, was burning in Numie's eyes. Smiling, she patted him affectionately. "I know you're hot for my gorgeous bod," she said. "What buck in his right mind wouldn't be? But I can't put out your fire—not now. Later, later. "
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