The Axeman's Jazz

been her imagination. If Alex had emotions, he hid them well.
    He said, “Could you—I don’t know—look at him or something?”
    “Well, I don’t have an office or anything. I’m only practicing a little right now.”
    “Come to lunch tomorrow. At his house.”
    “His house? Why not yours?”
    “I’ve been staying there. I’m too worried to leave him alone.”
    “Alex, if it’s that bad, you already know the answer.”
    He took her hand as if he needed something to hold on to. “Di, please. I really need another opinion.”
    “Someone’s already seen him?”
    “I mean another besides mine, which doesn’t count.”
    He had told her he’d say she was his girlfriend, which was part of the reason she’d agreed to do it. It would be fun to see Alex pretend to act solicitous. Aside from that, of course, she was glad to help. She’d seen plenty of Alzheimer’s—ought to damn well be able to recognize it.
    The old coot who answered the door smelled like he’d already had a beer or two, but not necessarily a bath. “You the girlfriend?”
    She gave him her hand. “I’m Di.”
    “Lamar. Hot, idn’t it?”
    “Unseasonably.”
    “They gotta get those rocks back on the moon.”
    She heard Alex’s voice: “Okay, Dad, it’s all yours.”
    He appeared behind his father, in jeans as usual, meager hair still wet from the shower.
    “Too late, son. She’s already here.”
    “Hi, Di.” To his father, “I’ll entertain her till you’re ready.”
    “Ready now. If she don’t take me like I am right now, she ain’t gonna take me.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t take you. Not as far as the corner grocery store.”
    Di was tired of standing out in the heat. “Maybe I’d better leave and come back.”
    “Elec, you lamebrain. See what you’re doing?” He gestured Di into the house. “Come on, come on, come on, come on.”
    The house was dark and mildewy. The furniture looked ancient; the place probably hadn’t been cleaned all summer. A putrid smell from the kitchen said nobody’d taken out the garbage lately.
    “I thought we’d eat in the backyard,” Alex said.
    “You crazy, boy?” He kicked his son in the shin. “It’s a hundred degrees out there.”
    “Ow.” Alex held his leg and hopped around the room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you old bastard?”
    “Who you talking to like that?”
    Di resisted the urge to hold her ears.
    Skip, parked just down the block, wondered if they always yelled at each other, these two, routinely shattered the quiet of this most domestic of streets.
    A man who was setting his sprinkler looked toward the Bignell house in surprise. As soon as he’d gone back inside, Skip got out and slipped to the side of the house. The windows were closed for the air conditioning, but she could see in. The three of them were standing in the living room, Di looking a little awkward, the other two conscious of nothing but each other, faces full of fury, bodies wary, poised against attack.
    “You talking to your dad? You got the fuckin’ nerve to talk to your dad like that?”
    Di said, “Fellows, don’t you think—”
    “Who the hell do you think you are, toots?”
    Di smiled. “Now, Lamar, I’m just—”
    “Who the fuck are you?”
    She was suddenly very solicitous, voice very phony pseudo-soothing. “I’m Di, Lamar. Alex’s girlfriend. Remember now?”
    “Why the fuck would I forget whose goddamn girlfriend you are. I wouldn’t want you. No way would I take you whether you was lamebrain’s pick of the week or not. You’re skinny and you haven’t got a brain in your head. Why the fuck would I want you?”
    “Language, Dad. This is Lakeview.”
    “Language, my ass!” A look passed between Di and Alex. Skip didn’t know what to call it exactly, but thought it wasn’t conspiratorial. There was something excited about it. “I don’t give a shit what kind of fucking language I use. I don’t give a fuck!”
    He picked up a pillow from the sofa and threw it at Alex. His son started toward him, but Lamar was gone. Out the door. Beating it down the street, hollering, “Fuuuuuuck! Does everybody hear me? Fuck you, you shitheads!”
    Skip fell into step behind him. “Hey, Lamar, whereyat?”
    He stopped and turned around. “Hey, Margaret. Margaret, zat you? What you doin’ here, you pretty little thing?”
    “Came to see Alex, but I saw you first.”
    “No, I saw you first, before lamebrain did, so I get to flirt with you.” He seemed