Jazz Funeral

sighed. “Nothing new. I guess I’m still upset that he stayed at Cookie’s the other night.”
    “Jesus. This is why I don’t date women, you know that?”
    “It is not. You just don’t think we’re cute.”
    “I don’t think most of you are cute. But you, Margaret Langdon, are tiny and adorable. I would say marry me, but you’re too damned insecure.”
    “I am, aren’t I?” She felt horribly sad. “What the hell’s wrong with me, Jimmy Dee?”
    “You’re too dainty and helpless. Such a tiny thing against the world—who could cope?”
    “Waaah!” She was pretending, but she really was close to tears and she didn’t know why.
    “Tell Papa.”
    “He says he loves me. …”
    “Bleeagh.”
    “He even acts like he loves me.”
    “Well, he better. The brute.”
    “But…” She bit her lip, trying not to make too big an ass of herself.
    “But what, babycakes?”
    “I don’t see how he could!” The words burst out of her like air out of a suddenly released balloon, a rubber sphere propelled by its own insides, bouncing off walls, falling finally flat and shrunken.
    Dee-Dee’s kind eyes reminded her of those of a maid her family had once had, a big, comfortable woman who’d called Skip “dawlin” and held her against a mammoth bosom. “Oh, my precious darling. Give Dee-Dee a hug.”
    His chest was bonier than Louvina’s had been, but it did the trick. “I can’t believe I’m acting like such a dork.”
    “Babykins, I remember sex. I mean, I have to reach pretty far back, but I can just barely barely recollect a tiny bit.”
    “And what do you remember?”
    “Turns strong men to jellyfish. By that I mean myself, of course.”
    “Oh, Dee-Dee, come off it. You don’t have an insecure bone in your body.”
    “Oh, my dainty darling, hush yo’ mouf. You’ve never seen me in love, do you realize that?”
    “Not a pretty sight?”
    “Omigod, the pacing. The tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth. The agony! You wouldn’t have a moment’s peace. I’d keep you on the phone till three A.M . I wouldn’t eat, you’d have to feed me intravenously. But of course it would be worth it. I have much better taste in men than you do.”
    Skip burst out laughing, thinking that a world with Dee-Dee in it couldn’t be all bad. “Oh, you idiot, what would I do without you?”
    “Well, you won’t have to. Unless you move to California with all the fruits and nuts.”
    “Don’t be such a bigot.”
    “Bigot, hell, I’m jealous. We’re talking my people.” He paused, seemed to reflect, to know that he’d lapsed into the inanity people fall into when they’re trying to avoid something—sometimes a good-bye, sometimes another subject; a painful one. He took a deep toke, held it a long time, looked anxious, as if he had something unpleasant to say; something scary. “Listen, I want to talk to you.”
    Not again. She wanted to be a good friend, but she’d called him because she needed cheering up, not because she felt like offering a shoulder to cry on. In fact, what she felt was bone-tired. Just too tired to cope. A day of her favorite pop Cajun R&B singer had done her in.
    She yawned, not bothering to hide it.
    “Tired?” said Dee-Dee.
    “Getting there.” She blinked at him sleepily. She slapped her own face.
    “What is it?”
    “Nothing. I just realized I’m stoned out of my gourd.” She smiled. “I’m out of practice.”
    “I better go.” He started to get up.
    “No.” She patted the sofa. Suddenly it was important to her to function, to do something for Dee-Dee. She was tired, but suddenly overcome by guilt, accompanied by a tidal wave of sloppy sentimentality. She hoped she wouldn’t throw her arms around his neck and tell him she loved him.
    “Talk,” she said.
    “Okay.” But he was silent. “This is hard.”
    “For Christ’s sake, you’re acting like a straight guy. Only two things make them this nervous. So I’m wondering—are you proposing, or are we breaking up?”
    The minute she said it, she got a cold feeling in her stomach. Maybe they were breaking up, in a sense. Maybe he was moving to Minneapolis to take care of his niece and nephew. Dee-Dee gave her a smile as sloppily sentimental as she felt. Then he did the unspeakable—threw his arms around her neck and said he loved her.
    “Ick, Dee-Dee! Bleeagh. I love you too, but yuck. If we start carrying on like this, what’ll be left when we’re eighty?”
    He was laughing as only the mightily