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life.
    She needed a large stage, and the walls of Sacre-Coeur were growing smaller, threatening to enclose her on a tiny island within an island. She was a tall and elegant woman, and she needed the space in which to be, to create her own theater of life.
    Suddenly, she was struck by the presence of a guest. At first, she had forgotten she'd invited him. What possible purpose on this troubling day did she have talking to this young drifter? Still, he was here; and, if nothing else, Leonora de la Mer, that old lioness of the sea herself, was a lady.
    "Sit down, dear heart," she said, motioning to a big gilt armchair ten feet away from her.
    The chair smelled musty to Numie. Its gilt had cracked from the dampness of the air. He sat in it, anyway — until she extended her bare hand. He got up and walked across the floor to kiss it, remembering the night before.
    Her knuckles were enormous. They protruded as if trying to break free of her green-tinged, chalky hands. The hands seemed to weigh down her cadaverous arms.
    As Numie's lips touched her hand, Leonora smiled benignly. Many people on this island made fun of her for insisting on hand-kissing. After all, they asked, why should a common shrimper's daughter insist on having her hand kissed? But crowned princes, deposed kings, certainly prime ministers, had kissed her hand on occasion. When she returned to Tortuga, she did not know why she should abandon the custom. Besides, she considered her hands one of her most attractive features, and she welcomed any opportunity to call attention to them.
    "Thanks for having me here," Numie said. "How are you?"
    "Fine." She studied him coldly. What possible interest could he have in her health? "Are you really a friend of Tangerine's?"
    "Yeah," he said. "She seemed nice."
    Leonora frowned. "If you like Tangerine, then you like the typically southern woman—the hog-calling, knees-apart, big-mouthed broad!"
    "Wha ... "
    Leonora was mildly shocked at her own words. Sometimes her tongue assumed a life of its own. But having said the words, she was in no mood to retract them. It would be better to defend her statement. "Don't apologize for your lack of taste."
    "I assure you, I'm not."
    "I keep Tangerine around because she is a constant reminder of the gross vulgarity of the world," Leonora said.
    "Do you need to be reminded of that?"
    "A good question, and very penetrating. I find hustlers usually are dumb."
    "I don't pretend to be smart," he said. "If I was, I wouldn't be a hustler."
    "I see." She paused for dramatic effect. "Some of the young people Tangerine introduces me to don't bother to show up." She felt the time was at hand for her to appear more vulnerable to Numie. To reveal in some small way that she didn't control everything on this island. "But I knew you'd visit Sacre-Coeur."
    "It's great," he said. "Besides, you promised me a job."
    She was struck by his abruptness. At least, he was honest. Of all the excuses he could have come up with, including a suggestion he was dazzled by her beauty, he preferred this direct route. "I promised you a job?"
    "You need a new chauffeur."
    "As a matter of fact, I do. But I think you're far too ambitious to settle for a chauffeur's job."
    "I don't mind starting at the bottom and working my way to the top," he said.
    She smiled. "That's my philosophy, too," she agreed.
    "But it's been so long since I've seen bottom, I can hardly remember what it was like." She knew all too well what bottom was like. Every morning at four o'clock was bottom to her. But she didn't want to admit that.
    "I felt pretty low last night when I was invited to your table and wasn't asked to stick around for the champagne. You knew I was broke."
    "I knew," she said. Learning to eat and drink before the impecunious was a task she'd long ago mastered. "I must have appeared cruel to you. I'm not, actually. I am probably the kindest woman on this island, but I have to protect myself. If I befriend just one person, the