Jazz Funeral

felt resistance and was hurt. “What’s the matter?”
    “You and Dee-Dee. You looked like you were in love.”
    “Well, we are, sort of. It’s like Tootsie—if he’d cut out the drag act one day, maybe we could—”
    He stepped away from her. “You’re stoned.”
    It was like a slap, sudden, sharp, painful, and utterly sobering. “Well, I was. I think I’m coming down. I’m sorry about the scene with Dee-Dee. I have a hard time remembering you get jealous of him.”
    “I’m not jealous!”
    “Would you like to sit down, by any chance? Could I get you a beer maybe?”
    He relaxed, dug into his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Good God, yes.”
    She got him the beer and made some instant iced tea for herself, thinking about what she wanted to say. “Listen, I’m sorry I got stoned.”
    He reached for her in that easy way he had. He was affectionate and she liked that in a man. He didn’t seem even slightly threatened by being close to her. “It’s okay. You’ve got a right to get stoned. I was just noticing, that’s all.”
    “You know, I hardly ever do it anymore. Tonight I was feeling insecure.”
    “Your case?”
    “No, you.”
    “Me!” He couldn’t have looked more bewildered if she’d set him on fire.
    “I guess I was upset that you went to Cookie’s the other night.”
    “But why?” Now he seemed hurt too—as if she’d said she wanted to break up.
    “I guess I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”
    “I didn’t want to be with you?” He leaned back to look at her. “Listen, Skip, you don’t have to worry about that. You can believe what I say. If I say I want to give you some space, you don’t have to think I got a better offer or something. Tell me you aren’t feeling crowded in here.”
    She shrugged, starting to feel embarrassed. “Sometimes. But it’s getting better, don’t you think?”
    “I thought it might be getting worse. The three-day guest theory, you know?”
    “I feel silly.”
    “Don’t feel silly, feel secure. I want you to feel secure.”
    “Okay.” It was all she could think of to say. On the one hand, he’d made her feel ridiculous for being so absurdly neurotic; on the other, she was conscious of a funny resentment she couldn’t identify.
    What am I mad at? He’s perfect.
    It’s easy to be perfect when you only have to do it a week or two at a time.
    So that’s what it was. She wanted a bigger piece of him. Well, that was her problem and she’d have to get it under control.
    He said, “Remember that first time I was here? At Mardi Gras a year ago? How I didn’t know anything and you had to keep giving me New Orleans lessons?”
    “And you more or less thought you’d landed on Mars?”
    “I can barely remember that now. This place is starting to seem like home to me. I bet you never notice the air here.”
    He got up and took his beer to the open window. It was a window that opened from the floor and reached almost to the ceiling. The legs of his shorts blew slightly in the breeze. “It’s like velvet,” he said. “Soft and deep, like you could fall into it and sink; you can hardly stand it on your skin it’s so soft. But it can be smothery too. Like wool sweaters in July.”
    “I do notice it; I notice it all the time. I think I might be addicted to it.”
    He nodded. “Yes. Maybe that’s what gets you about the place. I miss this air.”
    “I’d think in L.A. you’d miss any air.”
    “You know, you’ve still never come to visit me there.”
    “Well, I want to; it just hasn’t worked out yet.”
    He sat beside her again. “This place is its own little world.”
    “Well, we like it.”
    “Hey, don’t get defensive. You’re the ones who call it a Third World country.”
    “It’s not exactly an apple pie kind of place. The last bason of hedonism.”
    “That’s not all. Remember when you had that case that had us all going to twelve-step programs?”
    “You only went once or twice, I thought.”
    “Shows how much you know. I went to three or four. And, actually, I’d been to one or two in California.”
    “Why, Steve Steinman, you never said so.”
    He looked embarrassed. “Well, I went with a friend. And in California, they’re extremely polite. No ‘cross talk’—you can’t answer back—”
    “I thought there was always no cross talk.”
    “There’s never supposed to be. And there’s a certain language for these things. Everybody’s real sincere; kind of reverent, like it’s church