Jazz Funeral

you out?”
    “No. I just, uh—dropped by.”
    The kid moved closer.
    She noticed that two more black guys, also their age give or take, were about to join them. Should she be worried? “What do you want?” she said.
    “I don’t want nothin’. Just thought you might need some help.”
    She had on the sunglasses, but she glared anyway. It made her feel powerful. She planted her feet about a foot apart and faced him. “Thanks, anyway. I’m fine.” She kept glaring. The other two were getting closer.
    “Hey, Dejuan,” one of them shouted, “what you got down there?”
    He gave Melody one last, assessing stare. “Dyke,” he shouted. “Just some ol’ dyke.”
    He trotted off to his friends. Melody knew it was crazy, but her feelings were hurt.
    Where does he get off calling me a dyke? He didn’t interview me on my sexual preferences. Why would he say a thing like that?
    Andy Fike rolled over and blinked. “Who’s that? Wha’s happenin’?”
    “Andy, let me in, goddammit! It’s Melody.” Her legs were beginning to shake. Dejuan and his friends were long gone and probably hadn’t meant any harm in the first place, but tell that to her body. Sweat was breaking out around her hairline, in her palms.
    “Melody? Melody fucking Brocato ?”
    “Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have come here.” She turned and started to run, feeling as if she’d like to run all the way to the river and jump in; she’d had enough.
    “What’d I say? Hey, Melody, come back. Melody, dammit, come back if it’s you!”
    For some reason, she turned around and looked at him. A jockstrap, or something white, was showing underneath the bathing suit. His hair stood up in a million unintentional spikes—not punk, just pathetic—going every which way. He was as pale and skinny as a straw.
    He said, “Melody?” again, as if she were about as likely to come calling as the governor.
    “You were expecting Liza Minelli, maybe?” One of his favorites, Liza.
    “You’re a blonde!”
    And somehow he sounded so comical, so outraged, that she burst out laughing, fear and anger momentarily vanquished.
    “You like the look?”
    “That’s your voice. I know that’s your voice. Take the glasses off.”
    She complied.
    “Jesus Christ! Say something.”
    Instead, she sang to him, a line or two from Janis:
    “ Oh, Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz—My friends all have Porsches, I must make amends .”
    “Holy Christ! That’s the most amazing transformation I’ve ever seen in my life.”
    Melody giggled, unexpectedly pleased with herself. “Really? You really didn’t recognize me?”
    “I still don’t. Come closer.”
    She walked toward him. He scrutinized her face. “Well, I guess so. I guess I can see it a little bit. But, honey, you could fool your own mother with that getup.”
    “You wouldn’t rat on me, would you, Andy?”
    He didn’t answer for a moment, apparently thinking it over. “Come in a minute. I think we’ve got to talk.”
    She went in the gate. “I came to see you, Andy. You’re the only person in the world I trust.” That was a lie, but maybe it would keep his trap shut.
    “You smell like a brewery.”
    She grinned, all sophistication and nonchalance. “You got another beer?”
    He sighed. “All right. Wait here.”
    “No! Forget it.”
    Instantly seeing through her, he said, “I’m not going to call your parents. Come on—watch me through the door.”
    For some reason, he didn’t want her inside—but that was okay because she had a feeling it would depress her. When he had gotten them each a beer, he said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”
    She looked down at the cheap table at which they were sitting, nodding. She couldn’t manage to say anything.
    “You know the whole city’s looking for you.”
    She nodded again, feeling accused.
    “Well? Tell Papa. Why’d you run away?”
    Oh, God, I should have known! Why didn’t I think of this ?
    It honestly hadn’t occurred to her that he’d ask this.
    It was the beer. I shouldn’t have come here half drunk .
    She was now sober enough to realize it had been a stupid idea, an alcoholic whim she should have left alone. And yet… she still wanted to talk to someone. She said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Honey, you’re being silly. You want everyone to think you did it?” He spoke in the shrill, overexcited voice of the truly irritating know-it-all queen. She wanted to pop him one, but suddenly it occurred to her that