Jazz Funeral

anonymity and Ti-Belle’s success. As a matter of fact, he was conscious of grinning like an idiot, and kept trying to remind himself to stop in case the fellow with the camera decided to notice him.
    Ti-Belle had been truly brilliant. He was so proud of her he would have busted buttons if he had any. It was a pleasure to be associated with such a woman.
    “What’d you think?” asked Proctor.
    “Oh, man,” said Nick. “Oh, man, oh, man.” And then was conscious of having become speechless. However, with Proctor, who’d seen him throw up the first time he got drunk, it hardly mattered.
    Proctor seemed uncomfortable, a little pissed that Ti-Belle was getting so much attention. He had a thing about her, and Nick just couldn’t see it. Ti-Belle, of all the women he’d known, was the most accomplished, the least likely to want him for his money.
    I’ve never been with a singer before , he thought with surprise. Why not? he wondered. Had he been too egotistical? Too reluctant to share the limelight?
    I didn’t know what I was missing .
    This felt good.
    Somebody was pushing her way through the crowd, ruffling feathers, more or less making a scene. It was a tall woman, hefty, someone he’d seen before, trailed by another woman, a black one who could have been a movie star.
    He remembered. “Hey, there’s the cop.”
    Proctor said, “The black one?”
    “The big one.”
    “The fat one?”
    “That one.” She’d made it all the way to Ti-Belle.
    She held up her badge: “Police. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”
    Ti-Belle looked as if someone had hit her. Red spots had appeared on both her cheeks. “You can’t do that!”
    “Do you want to talk in front of everyone?”
    “Talk! What do you want to talk about now?”
    It was getting ugly and there was still an audience. Nick stepped forward. “Would everyone leave, please?”
    Ti-Belle was shocked. “Nick!”
    He wished he could signal her that it was okay, that he was still on her side. Proctor started to herd people out.
    Ti-Belle turned her fury on the cop. “What the hell are you doing here? Whatever it is, couldn’t it wait half an hour, please?”
    “I’d like you to remember that I’m a police officer and I ask you to treat me with respect.” She sounded like somebody’s mom. Somebody’s mom who’s just discovered the grades aren’t up to par, or the car’s wrecked. Nick kind of admired her style, but at the same time he wasn’t immune to it. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, his neck prickled slightly. He moved closer to Ti-Belle and slipped an arm around her waist. Held her tight so she’d know she was okay.
    “Hello, officer.”
    Now that he was there, Ti-Belle was losing it. A sound came out of her as if she had asthma, and then she turned to him, put her arms around his shoulders and hung on like a two-year-old, shaking with the effort of holding herself together.
    He bent his head and whispered for a while, but he wasn’t at all sure she heard. Her body had taken over; what was happening with her was happening somewhere he couldn’t reach. He turned his head and caught the cop’s eye.
    “You’re here about Ham?” he said.
    “I’m here to talk to Miss Thiebaud,” she said primly, in that way cops have, that smug, arrogant way that made him want to belt them.
    “She was with me that day,” he said. “We were together the whole time.”
    Ti-Belle, tight against him, kissed his neck to let him know she’d heard and she was grateful. He was glad he’d done it; it would be good for both of them.
    “Well, it’s about time somebody broke down and admitted it,” the cop said.
    Ti-Belle let go of him, turned around, astonished. “You knew all the time?”
    “I knew you two were seeing each other. Tell me—were you together all day Tuesday?”
    “Yes,” they said together.
    “There was no time at all when you were apart?”
    Ti-Belle shook her head. Nick held her tight around the waist. “No,” he said.
    It went on like that for a while, light fencing, the cop trying to pick a hole here, a thread there, and then she asked him to leave.
    Ti-Belle nodded, letting him know she’d be okay, and he knew she would be. She was strong. True, she’d been under a lot of pressure—various kinds of pressure—and she’d nearly cracked, but with his support she was fine. The minute he’d spoken, he could feel her spine straighten, feel her drawing strength from him.
    He left. Proctor, who’d been