The Axeman's Jazz

lesson we’ll ever learn is that we’re all children, don’t you think? But the most valuable. That’s what the inner-child group’s all about and why I love it so much.”
    Skip had the sensation of trying to catch feathers borne on a light breeze. She searched for a subject that would bring the goddess to Earth. Perhaps now was the time for the “problem” she’d brought.
    “Sometimes,” she said, “my life seems so empty.”
    “Oh, no! You’re a goddess; remember that.”
    “Could I ask you a personal question?”
    Di nodded slightly, but only very slightly.
    “You’re a person who seems to have everything—looks, brains. You do seem like a goddess. But what does a goddess do all day? Do you work?”
    Di laughed her pretty laugh. “My work right now is healing myself.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Have you been ill?”
    “I prefer to use the term ‘dis-ease.’ As in ‘not at ease with oneself ; perhaps ‘not at ease with one’s inner child.’ Today I went and had my hair tested. Have you done that yet?”
    “No. I never even heard of it.”
    “They can analyze your hair for toxins. Everybody should do it—particularly in this kind of world. I had too much selenium.” She gave Skip a cheery smile; apparently, it wasn’t serious. “Listen, the other thing—have you read Bradshaw’s book on the inner child?”
    “Not yet, but it’s next on my list.” After
Fake It Till You Make It
.
    “I’ll lend it to you. It’ll really help a lot.”
    It was a clever feint, but Skip refused to be distracted. “Listen, I feel bad about your illness. Doctors are so expensive.”
    “Oh, I don’t go to M.D.’s. Not anymore, I mean.” Skip caught a flicker of something—anger? “I try to go to three meetings a day.”
    Was that a non sequitur? Had she changed the subject, or was she speaking to it? Skip said, “Instead of doctors?”
    “Sort of.” And Di laughed again, which seemed her normal procedure when she’d thoroughly confused her questioner.
    It’s as if she knows.
    “Tell me about yourself.”
    There it was. It had to come sometime. Skip shrugged, trying to hide her nervousness. “There’s not much to tell. I guess if there were, I wouldn’t be going to Coda.”
    “Oh, not necessarily. Remember Leon from the other night? He’s from an extremely prominent family. Very high-powered sort of guy.”
    “No kidding! He seemed very nice.”
    “A little old for my taste.”
    “I thought age didn’t matter.”
    “State of preservation does.” Her mouth turned up in a way that could only be described as lecherous. Skip went with the mood.
    “I know what you mean. Speaking of which, I’m not usually attracted to older guys, but…”
    “Don’t tell me. Alex.”
    “I guess he’s got quite a fan club.”
    “He doesn’t do it for me at all. But everyone under thirty goes nuts for him.”
    “What’s his story, anyhow?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. He claims to be ‘an unsuccessful writer.’ Sounds right to me.”
    “And he goes through the ladies like so many pairs of socks, I guess.”
    “Oh, Skip, they all do.” She picked up her glass again and stared at it, as if summoning the nerve to take a sip. “Are you married?”
    “No. Are you?”
    “No, and never again. I wish I hadn’t done that. I should have followed my bliss. You’re so lucky, Skip! You can do anything you want. Or do you work?”
    “I just have a civil-service job.” Quickly, she looked at the table, as if too ashamed of her job to meet Di’s eyes. “Nothing to make my family proud.”
    But Di seemed to have lost interest. She was looking at her untouched glass. “You know,” she said, “I don’t think I’m a drinker anymore.”
    “Would you like something else?”
    “No, thanks. I think I’d better go home. Do you want to come with me and get the book?”
    Skip was so taken aback, she almost forgot which book. She made a quick call to let Cappello know where she was going.
    Di’s apartment was exactly as she’d imagined it except that she hadn’t expected the fireplace. It gave a homey touch but would be about as useful in this city as a snowplow.
    But if the place itself was conventional, the eccentricity of the furnishings compensated nicely. The coffee table was covered with a velvet cloth in which crescents and stars had been worked in silver thread, and on the cloth reposed a large crystal ball. Tarot cards were laid out, apparently from Di’s last reading. Three large