The Axeman's Jazz

controlling some man. That was what she really loved in life.
    He’d gotten so he couldn’t stand to fuck her. Just didn’t want to at all. She’d take off her clothes and he’d remember what she looked like giving birth. (He’d had to watch, it was fashionable.) She’d put on perfume and he’d get little whiffs of baby shit.
    That was marriage and the hell with it. He wasn’t doing it again. He was finding some hot little number who loved kids and getting her to move in with him. How hard could that be? He was a prominent lawyer.
    But he wasn’t and he never would be. Not in New Orleans. And it was all that bitch Cynthia’s fault. In Atlanta he was hot shit.
    And in Atlanta the women were prettier. Softer. More like flowers. There had to be some women like that here, but where? Not in these damn twelve-step programs. Certainly not in that stupid teddy-bear group. He was fed up with all that ritual crap anyway. It was too Christian. Who needed it? He’d thought the girls who went there might be disease-free, that was all. They didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, hardly ate anything, they could probably stay out of the wrong beds. And there was also a bottom line: He didn’t know where else to go.
    Nobody was introducing him to anybody or inviting him anywhere. What the hell was he supposed to do?
    Something. Not that crap anymore. Maybe he could volunteer, get on some committees. But the women would be too old, probably married. Maybe he could take a class. There had to be something. He was through with teddy bears.
    His phone rang and who should it be but the Bitch of the Bayou, otherwise known as Cynthia.
    “Abe, how are you? I’ve been worried about you.”
    Sure she had. “Great, Cynthia. What can I do for you?”
    “Listen, Jocelyn’s really having trouble with her math homework and I can’t help her with it. You’re good at that sort of thing. I thought maybe you could work with her.”
    “I have been.”
    “I meant this week.”
    “They’re with you this week, Cynthia. Surely you don’t expect me to come over there.”
    “I could bring them over tomorrow night…”
    “No.”
    “What do you mean no? You’re the one who followed me here from Atlanta, ‘just to be near the girls.’ Frankly, I’m starting to doubt your motives.”
    “What other motive could I possibly have had? It’s not like I like being here, you know.”
    “Torturing me.”
    “Cynthia, if you have a point, would you get to it, please?”
    “I have a date tomorrow night.”
    “Hip, hip, hooray.”
    “Listen, Mr. Prominent Attorney, do you have any idea how hard it is for women in this town? While you’re going out every night with a different blond tramp, I’m sitting home watching TV without even the girls half the time because they’re at your fucking house. For once I have a date, okay? And it happens to coincide with Jocelyn having terrible trouble with her math. So if your precious daughters mean so goddamn much to you, you can just goddamn take them for one night.”
    “Cynthia, do you happen to recall telling me I should see a shrink? Do you happen to recall about a million suggestions you have made in the last few years about how I can improve myself? It may interest you to know that I’m deeply involved with a group that meets every Thursday night and is devoted to spirituality and self-improvement.”
    She spat out a grim snicker. “Oh, sure you are. Honest Abe strikes again.”
    “I really don’t care what you do and don’t believe. I can’t be at your beck and call every time you don’t care to take care of your own children. I suggest you get a baby-sitter.”
    “I’ve tried. Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Her voice got shriller on each word.
    “It’s really not my problem.”
    And then the first sob came over the phone and he knew that once again it was easier to do what she wanted than put up with her crap. It was starting already: “It’s the first time! The first goddamn time since I’ve been here! Do you want me to be a dried-up old crone?”
    “Okay, okay. Take it easy.”
    Shit. Now he’d have to get a baby-sitter. Because there was no question he was going to the meeting. She’d ask the girls if he’d gone out, and if he hadn’t, she’d say he’d been lying and throw it back in his face. This way, he’d have taken the girls at a huge sacrifice to himself. There should be some leverage in that.
    The monitor showed the flat line of asystole, cardiac standstill.