The Axeman's Jazz

fifty.
“Maybe it wasn’t that,” he said. “She was acting weird. Like she was here to help me with something. Like there was something wrong with me.”
    “She says she used to be a shrink, you know.”
    “Does she?”
    “Should we tell Skip about her? Is she acting that weird?”
    “I don’t know.” He didn’t know if she’d really been out of line or if his growing revulsion for her only made it seem so.
    Missy had often been to his parents’ house, and though she knew perfectly well what to expect, he noticed she had deliberately dressed down. She was wearing linen pants, a silk T-shirt, and sandals. Passable, but definitely not standing on ceremony. She thought it was nuts to put on a coat and tie to go to dinner at your parents’ house on a Friday night, and had said so. Sonny did it because it was his ritual. Because he tried to anticipate what anyone could possibly find wrong with him and plug up all the holes before they started burrowing in them; be better than the best little boy in the world. He wouldn’t have said it to Missy, but the formal clothes felt like armor to him.
    His dad met them in shirtsleeves and tie, as if he’d just come home from work and taken off his coat. He was in his mid-fifties, prematurely gray, and might have been handsome if not for the odd redness of his face and the way his brows knit; there were deep creases at the bridge of his nose, as if he’d worn them there, frowning. “Look at this girl, she’s gorgeous.” He kissed Missy on the mouth.
    Sonny could see her struggling not to wince. She hated to be addressed in the third person.
    His dad shook hands with Sonny, ushered them in, gave them drinks. His mother was in the kitchen.
    The house was on St. Charles Avenue, a mansion; a show-place. The furnishings had been lovingly selected over the years by his mother and a decorator she seemed to employ practically full-time. Missy had actually gasped the first time she saw the Chinese rug in the living room.
    His dad had made money and so had his dad’s dad; every girl at McGehee’s and Country Day who didn’t like her nose had had it snipped by one of the Gerards; their mothers had been tucked and lifted as well. It all added up, and the Gerards liked to spend their money. But his mother still did her own cooking. She stewed and sweated over it too—they probably wouldn’t see her for ten or fifteen minutes.
    Sonny was melancholy, thinking of the interval, but didn’t quite know why. His dad said, “How’s classes?”
    “Great. Great.” His armpits were getting clammy.
    “Haven’t seen you in church lately.”
    “Well, I haven’t had that much time.”
    His father raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
    “Studying.”
    No answer. The expression on his face said, “In bed with your little girlfriend.”
    Missy said, “Sonny and I…”
    Oh no. He knew what she was going to say. His dad, of course, had seated her near him, so that Sonny didn’t have her close for comfort—and for cueing. He couldn’t squeeze her hand, make her shut up before it was too late.
    “We’ve been exploring a different spiritual path.”
    “Oh?” Again the raised eyebrow. “Y’all Buddhists or something?”
    Her laugh was a little too high-pitched; nervous. “Nothing like that. It’s real mainstream. It’s kind of a philosophy that talks about ‘God as we understand him.’ That’s very nice, don’t you think? All faiths are welcome.”
    She was so sweet, so naive; wanting so much to help him, rescue him. She had no idea how much trouble she was making.
    His mother came in with stuffed mushrooms, and in the ensuing greetings he hoped it would all be forgotten. She was a short woman who’d gotten slightly dumpy. She hadn’t had a facelift, hadn’t even had her eyes or chin done, and wore her hair in a short style that emphasized the plumpness of her face. Sonny wondered why she’d eschewed the requisite nips and tucks, had even asked her. She’d said she liked herself the way the good Lord had made her.
    “Jess, Missy here tells me she’s converted Sonny to a new religion.”
    “Now, Dad, that wasn’t exactly what she said.”
    His mother settled herself on the sofa next to him. “Sonny, you’ve always been such a strong Christian.”
    Sonny’s tie felt suddenly tight. “Well, I still am, Mama. No fear about that.”
    His dad said again, “Haven’t seen you in church lately. Y’all been going to this other church?”
    “It’s not a church,