Jazz Funeral

sorrow …”
    They did that and then they did “La Ti Da,” and some others; Chris just started a song, never asking if Melody knew it. And she always knew it. The crowd never got huge, but people came and went and dollars piled up in the kitty.
    After about an hour and a half, they took a break. The ugly guy, the piggy one, was all over her, hugging her, kissing her, sweating on her. “You are something, kid!”
    Melody shrugged graciously. “You guys just needed a singer.”
    “Let’s go eat,” said the redhead. “I’m Sue Ann, by the way. And this is Chris.” She leaned on him for a moment, sending a message, Melody thought. But Sue Ann grabbed the fat one too, around the upper arm. “This is Randy.”
    They went over to Decatur Street, walked down to get a pizza, Sue Ann asking questions a lot faster than Melody could think of answers.
    “Where are you from?”
    Where the hell was she from? “Abbeville,” she said.
    “Funny, you don’t look like a Cajun.” This from Chris.
    “Um, only on my mom’s side.” She wished she’d thought to get a story together.
    “How long have you been here?”
    “In New Orleans? Gosh. Seems like forever. How ‘bout y’all?”
    “Oh. Awhile.” They didn’t like answering questions either.
    Chris kept looking at her sideways, keeping his distance, seeming amused, as if she were a hamster someone had brought him to play with. It made her nervous, but on the other hand, it was attention from the person she wanted it from. She wanted to get closer, to close the distance between them, but she didn’t know how. She felt tongue-tied every time he spoke to her, wouldn’t have known what to say even if she’d met him as Melody Brocato.
    Oh, God. What if they ask for a last name?
    Robicheaux. That was safe. Everyone was named Robicheaux.
    But they didn’t ask. They asked how old she was, or the piggy one did. “Eighteen,” she said, not missing a beat.
    The guys slapped each other high fives. Melody flushed, thinking they were congratulating each other because she wasn’t jailbait after all, nearly dying of embarrassment. But Randy explained, “They all say that. We got a standing bet.”
    Angry, she said, “Who is ‘they,’ please?”
    “Every cute runaway comes to the Quarter.”
    Sue Ann said, “Don’t let ‘em bother you. They’re just a couple of small-town guys in the big city.”
    “Well, listen to Miss Sophistication,” said Randy. “Like you’re not from Meridian, Mississippi.”
    “Shut up, big guy, or you’re going to bed without.” If that meant what Melody thought it meant, it was good news.
    As if on cue, Chris said, “Hey, Janis, where you crashin’?”
    “Uh … well, I…” She couldn’t come up with a single idea.
    Sue Ann said, “You don’t have a place?
    Melody shook her head.
    “Want to stay with us?”
    She shrugged—coolly, she hoped. “Sure.” As if she did this every day.
    They finished off their pizza and had a quick conference about which songs they were going to do tomorrow, Melody being careful not to suggest any of Janis’s songs, lest they make the connection. Everything they knew, Melody knew. Not for nothing had she worked her butt off the last two years, with Joel and Doug.
    Chris was the best musician of the three, almost as good as Doug, though he couldn’t touch Joel, and he looked at Melody with respect. Chris respected her, she could feel it. Considered her a colleague. The worst day of her life had turned into the best.
    Melody wanted to go back and make more money, but they said you weren’t really allowed to play past eight, and they’d stopped at eight-fifteen. They’d only made twenty-two dollars, and most of it had gone for the pizza. But to Melody it was manna. She’d started out with seven bucks in her jeans and now she was a professional singer.
    She looked at her watch. It wasn’t even nine-thirty. What was next?
    “Beatty’s?” asked Randy.
    “What’s that?”
    “The runaway bar,” Chris said. “It’s where you’d go tonight if you hadn’t met us. You’d have hung around, watching it get later and later, and then this one bar on Decatur would have started hopping, and you’d have noticed everybody in there was about your age. And you’d have gone in and a lot of guys would have hit on you and finally someone would have offered you a place to crash tonight.”
    “A guy?”
    He shrugged. “Anybody. People take care of each other in the Quarter.”
    She was