The Axeman's Jazz

don’t.”
    Involuntarily, she laughed. How could this man be a murderer? “Candor,” she said, “will get you nowhere.”
    “I guess that’s my problem. We could take a walk after dinner.”
    “Listen, what’s wrong with your apartment in the city? Why come all the way out here?”
    “Echh, you should see the place. Besides, the Campbells have black satin sheets.”
    “Who are they, anyway? How do you know them?”
    “The Campbells? The same way I know you—from the inner-child group. They’re very large in the whole thing—in fact, they’ve given several parties for us here. Frankly, they must be pretty hard up for friends.”
    “New in town?”
    “Yeah. What’s that about? Who’d move to this decaying, beat-up old place?”
    “You, for one.”
    “Yes, but that was because of the decay, not in spite of it. Anyway, they’re your basic boring, middle-class jerks with nothing better to do than go to these stupid groups all the time and no better friends than me to take care of their insipid hideaway that looks like a motel.”
    Though the sentiments weren’t wildly different from hers, his harshness seemed to vibrate in the artificially cooled air, the Campbells’ air, lent in the spirit of friendship.
    Well, it’s the Southern way, Skip thought. Not only are we blamers, we’re backbiters, a culture of backbiters.
    But there was something different about Alex’s style. It seemed nastier, for one thing, but what else? After a moment it came to her; it was usually Southern women who were treacherous. And not all of them, either, only the wildly unhappy ones who’d gotten trapped in the steel-magnolia syndrome and resented it in bilious undercurrents that made their families miserable and erupted at funerals and weddings—any inappropriate time guaranteed to embarrass everyone present.
    What was Alex’s excuse?
    “Let’s don’t talk about boring people,” he said.
    “I like the Chardonnay,” said Skip. “A little too oaky, but…”
    “Oh, stop! I hate boring subjects.”
    “What are boring subjects?”
    “Food, wine, and football.”
    “What’s interesting?”
    “Sex.”
    “Sorry I asked.”
    “You know what? They hate me in Germany. I got a royalty statement today. My book hasn’t sold a single copy. Not one.” He turned around to deliver the announcement, smiling as if he’d just announced he’d made a million dollars.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “People don’t get it.”
    “Dolts.”
    “Where did you go to college?”
    “Ole Miss.”
    “And before that?”
    “McGehee’s.”
    “My first girlfriend went to McGehee’s. Caroline Bousquet.”
    “There must have been dozens since; hundreds. How on earth do you keep them straight?”
    “What have you heard about me?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “People say I’d mount a dog. It’s not true.”
    Skip searched vainly for another topic, desperately wanting to leave this one. Nothing came into her mind but food, wine, and football.
    “I mean, do I want to go to bed with every pretty woman I see? Yes. Do you blame me? It’s not the same thing. Caroline Bousquet was the most perverse woman I’ve ever met. And she was seventeen at the time.”
    “Have you ever been married?”
    “I can’t ever imagine being really relaxed with another human being. Can you?”
    “Was that a no?”
    He only shrugged.
    “You must have been in love.”
    “I was, but the woman was a relative. It was sad—the saddest thing that ever happened to me.” He had a way of announcing catastrophes with a dazzling show of teeth, just the happiest guy in the world. “Did you know Caroline?”
    “No.”
Thank heaven. Because I’m about to know everything about her
.
    “She made me a slave. We did things I’ve never done with anyone else.”
    “What things?” She hadn’t meant to ask. She was falling under a spell of morbid fascination.
    “She said she wouldn’t sleep with me unless I did everything she told me to. She’d set time limits in which I had to bring her to orgasm.”
    Ah, so that’s it. I’m supposed to think he can perform miracles on
the black satins
.
    “Other stuff too. Things I thought were disgusting—not even sexual. She made them sexual. Have you been married?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Way too young.”
    He put the fish on and began sautéing. Skip was glad of the respite. She searched for silverware and set the table for two.
    “Do you like rough sex?”
    He moved toward her, in each hand a plate with a