by Evan Dara
—Mm, that was a magnificent night, and Lincoln – he was just colossal. He was greeting people and shaking hands and talking with everyone, talking about his company, and about Nathaniel Branden, recommending his courses and books, and their press kits had every page printed on high-ruff paper, and they were giving out really good heavy Automat-style coffee mugs—
—All of them emblazoned with their kind of bold but kinda kicky trapezoidal logo, blue-purple with ruby red, kinda like the logo of—
—And Lincoln was saying, you know, that this was his time, that his moment had arrived, and that he was grateful to be here in Chicago, because in Amsterdam nothing like this was possible, only in America could he—
—That he felt he was taking his place in the greatness here, in that greatness of soul that marked this city, where fortune had found him, where it had smiled. A great, great thing to say—
—And of course, yes, that was the moment, you recall, when UC asked him to present a lecture. Oh, yes. To give the Turner Lecture on the meaning of modern entrepreneurship. And Lincoln was – well, he was—
—He said he was speechless.
—He didn’t like talking about it.
—He even asked me not to say anything about it.
—He was modest. What can I tell you? The boy was—
—Two-thirty on the dot. Lincoln walks into the diner, the still Fifties-feeling eat-spot, Little Nemo’s on North Orleans Street, brown-gray and murky-lit. Booths, counterplaces, sugar columns, brown-crust pies in wall-mount refrigerator racks, chalkboard specials, stools. All the classics. From before they were classics …
He walks to a booth by the east street window, its shade semi-drawn against summer shimmer. There, sitting, a man, with pea soup, spoon, saltine crackers. He’s a small man, and compact, in a trim brown-green suit, double-breasted. His features are sharp, ferretesque, with outcrop cheekbones and a small, straight nose. His hair holds a wave, but is brilliantined flat. His name is Meijer Borah.
—So, Borah says. Thank you. Here is what we have. What we can confirm. We have the approximate date of American arrival, the marriage, the divorce, the approximate residential neighborhood – we believe. Membership in some kind of food co-op, putatively defunct. A possible G&E link, in a program to be verified. We have your aunt’s maiden name, of course, and her first married name. It’s conceivable, though unlikely, she married again. Then your mother. We have her unease in Holland, her reluctance to move from England, from her family. We have the volatile temperament, the judgmentalism, the social withdrawal. Then her decline, gradual, her time in her room. We have her steep decline by spring ’98—
—Certainly by April of that year. AA sessions started, AA sessions abandoned—
—Then the disappearances—
—Overnight, twice. Then, for four days, into a motel in Amsterdam North. Then entirely, last October, precise date unknown. You had come to university—
—Understood. So not causal. Since that time, no word—
—Either to your father or to—
—Impossible, unlikely for her to contact you: she does not know your whereabouts. Father, yours, continues working, drinking somewhat himself, but not contacting your mother, or looking. Maintains situation will work itself out. His contribution is to send funds to her Dutch bank account, at ING bank, monthly. Funds known to be withdrawn regularly, from various Amsterdam locations. Mother’s living situation unknown, possibly homeless—
—OK. Thank you. Conceivably, this can be of help. But this line not to be pursued. Background purposes only—
—No contacts known to have occurred between the sisters for many years. Possibly more than a decade. So no causal relationship to be inferred. According to your remarks, no possibility of current contact. The sisters never close …
Mr. Selwyn, we will do our best.
—But no, Mr. Selwyn, no – I, I’m sorry, I can’t: it just doesn’t work like that, OK?, there are laws, legal restrictions, the protections exist for everybody … So no, I – I – and in fact, Jean de Luz is the name of a village, I did find that out, it’s the name of the village in France where the package originated, OK?, not the name of the sender, the sender’s name, the sender’s name is, is, let … Diallele, OK?, Diallele Sari, that’s the sender, sorry, sorry for my, for the, any—
—Well, sure, that’s how we work: We provide full support through the length of your inquiry, because that’s how we view this – not as a problem, but as an inquiry. We offer a full range of modalities – Byron Katie, Ayurveda, DowneyHit – for Zinkofsky’s, so whatever you, we—
—Oh, it was a good time for him, truly. He was – he was just at the top of the world, everything was going—
—Just a wonderful moment for the boy, he was at the top of his game. Like when that girl, when she – oh, this was wonderful – when Marion Deems—
—Oh yeah, that was the greatest, when Marion Crocke Deems came out and started talking, when she—
—Oh yeah—
—And so see this girl surfaces, you see, from nowhere, no one knows her, and she’s talking and holding press conferences and like she’s talking all about this romance she had with Linc—
—Said it was going on for months—
—A few months—
—She was a social worker—
—And if you ask me, not particularly pretty—
—She spoke from the steps of the California Avenue Courthouse—
—Yes’m. And so’m, mm, she saying uh that she was’m, uh, girlfriend—
—Ho boy! So this chick and her lawyer file a legal action against Lincoln, maintaining that it was like this covert grand-passion romance they had, out of the limelight, in back rooms at restaurants and in hotels, because Lincoln didn’t want to subject her to—
—Lincoln had been leading her on, she said, it was real, she said, it was the real deal for both of them—
—With Lincoln telling her like she would make a wonderful mother, and that he wanted to have a child with her—
—And she fell in love, you know, she—
—She wanted a baby, she was 43—
—She was terribly in love—
—So she broke off another relationship she’d been in for years, for five years—
—A relationship in which kids were actively being discussed!
—Also for years, but—
—But after all that time—
—And so she thought, she thought maybe now, now, this time—
—Because she was in love—
—He led her on—
—He told her they would—
—She really, really wanted a baby—!
—Now I can’t – I’ll never—!
—She trusted him, she did, this Marion Deems was crying and saying how she’d trusted Lin—
—These, then, are the grounds for our action, her lawyer said. The grounds include alienation of affection, detrimental reliance—
—All of which forms our basis for—
—They launched a non-paternity suit—!
—I’m a twelfth generation American, Marion Deems said from the courthouse steps, all fighting tears. My family traces its roots back to Colonial days, to Westermoreland County, in Virginia … We were woodsmen—!
—And I can’t, I cannot break the line, she said. I just can’t—
—Dabbing her eyes—
—And he—
—Well, of course Lincoln responded to this very seriously – very seriously indeed! He hired his own lawyers, several of them, and—
—And very quickly they had a press conference of their own. In one of the lawyer’s offices, over on North Fairbanks Court.
—Oh, yes. Lincoln was there, with three attorneys. All of them standing behind a desk. And one of them, presumably lead counsel, did all the talking, to a big bouquet of microphones. Grave tones. But confident. Confident.
—And he was saying stuff like, like—
—Entirely s
currilous, is what I remember. And Groundless, and Baseless—
—Such representations, even if made in good faith, do not create or imply a contract, the attorney said. Certainly not one ipsus gentium res. Accordingly, there can be no—
—But Deems’ lawyers wouldn’t have none of it, you know what I’m sayin’? They were vowing to fight, to fight—
—In fact, they said that they had already filed a motion to proceed with DNA, with non-DNA—
—And for over a week all this is going on – accusations, counteraccusations, rabid charges – and the Deems team starts talking about additional claims, and further damages—
—Attempts against their client’s reputation, they said, and smearing, intimidation, threats of—
—But Lincoln and his team hold strong, you know, firm, not saying any—
—Like always with him, reliable, serious—
—And some guys, like Ronald Boorsvelt and James Klam, these heavy Democrat guys, they start—
—And then – then – they find the guy, Lincoln’s lawyers find the other—!
—The guy Marion Deems left to go with Lincoln—!
—And it turns out—
—It turns out he’s a convicted criminal—!
—He’s like this slimy guy who was convicted for carjacking – truck-jacking—!
—Heisting eighteen-wheelers—!
—But Deems’ lawyers say, they say—
—And he’s in jail! The truck-robber is in jail in Cincinnati—!
—And he’s not eligible for parole for another six years—!
—They met when she was doing social work in the prison—
—Still, still, Marion Deems’ lawyers maintain—
—They absolutely hold to—
—And then Lincoln’s lawyers find—
—They find out the guy can’t have conjugal visits—!
—He can’t—!
—By law—!
—And, well—
—Well—
—Soon, you know—
—Soon—
—Pretty quickly—
—This thing, this whole story—
—The whole—
—It just dies out—
—You know—
—Just kind of—
—You know.
—Hm.
—A sordid affair.
—Even, you know, when he got The Call—
—Even then—
—When he got the call from Ope—
—He still must have been a little shaken. I mean, that’s what I think. He was still reeling from that unfortunate episode he’d been dragged through.
—I mean, I don’t blame him. I would have turned it down, too. Why relive the messiness? It was over; for him it was past. Leave your trumpet in its case. I admired him for it …
It’s not as if he didn’t have other things to occupy his time. He had just received his appointment as Ombudsman for the Chicago Residential Council, and that, surely, was plying his attention. And he was, if I recall correctly, the featured speaker one evening for Friends of the Earth, about which May Cameron Frye wrote that lovely piece in the Sun-Times, just a touching item about how Lincoln had spoken of his love for children – all children, he said, without exception – and how he was so—
—No but sorry, OK? – it happens, it happens, please try to – no not very often but yes every now and I’m we’re sorry, OK?, we’ll get right on it again – listen it’s still in one piece, OK?, it just went – I don’t know how, OK?, it, the wrong addr was on the routing the deliv – yes no it’s back right here with – no yes no, no, there’s no telephone number on the slip the invoice, try the internet, I’d give it to you, really, if I had their number even though I shouldn’t but it isn’t, OK?, it isn’t there’s nothing for the sender nothing indicating there isn’t any, any—
—And you know what that means, of course.
—I mean, do you know what that means?
—He was invited.
—He got the invitation.
—He went up to the mansion—
—He got the invitation to 851 West Webster!
—As usual, Merle Luxembourgeois hosted a speaker that evening. That’s quite – that’s what she always does. That night, it was someone from the Tuskegee Institute, I believe. Merle likes – she does that sort of thing.
—And he was most impressive, most impressive indeed. He was a professor, a professor of Economics named Matthew Francis Hecht, and he spoke about something called … wait … I’ve got the invitation right here … Exploded Marginal Differentiation. And it was very interesting, this new theory of his. I enjoyed it very much.
—Yeah, it was a good talk, pretty canny, about how certain features of markets – inherent ones – can enormously inflate the commercial play of tiny, insignificant, hey: even nonexistent differences in products and talents. So in addition to being selectively sensitive to human excellence, markets produce kinda non-linear results, these days mostly as response feeds not on worth but on prior response. And he says this is something structural, inevitably it’s gonna happen. Well, sure, what else is new, a rational system yielding irrational results, the thing isn’t accomplishing what it’s supposed to but hey: somebody benefits. But then he went into the repercussions of this for the culture, and, basically, he saw these kinds of disproportionate and unmerited rewards as not really the best, ’cause they create big BIG wastes of goodwill and genuine potential, and so exact a hidden cost on society as a whole – you know, the marketable is the enemy of the excellent, and the mediocre becomes the dream. He also thinks it instills some kind of insidious morality: valorizing quantities over qualities, that kind of thing. Well, OK, but listen: to me his deal just sounded like a formalism for luck. In fact, I’m kinda in favor of that stuff: you know, let’s give folks hope, let’s give everybody, even the second-rate, a dream and a chance. Maybe they’ll throw a good slider every now and then. I mean, who could handle a world governed by excellence? Sounds pretty bland, if you ask me. Terrifying, too. But the talk was interesting, sure it was, and I wish the guy luck in getting his thing over, I do.
—It went very well, and we gave this professor in his gold-wire glasses a big round of applause. And Merle, you know, afterwards, she just walked around her living room as the chairs were being removed, flitting like a butterfly, trailing Shalimar, a vision in dark red organdy. There were drinks served, you know, and a few servants of food, but not much – you know she never puts out too much. And she talked for a second to Carlyle Ganders, then to Carolla Cox again, then she made sure the Professor had a small plate. And then, you know, she stopped for a second with Lincoln. And that was it, you know.
—That was it.
—And, well, of course the story got out. I mean of course it was leaked—
—Come on: an accident? That’s why she—
—In two days? Two days after that Wednesday, Michael Snade had it in the Sun-Times—
—It was a lovely little thing, yes, just a lovely notice, with all the elegance and indirection that Cindy Pearlman always puts in her columns—
—Hey: congrats to the guy, to Lin—
—It showed that Merle – that nobody, really – was too concerned about Marion Deems any longer, about all that business—
—Oh, please. That’s so last paragraph—
—Clearly, the past was past. And the future a clutch of roses.
—Oh yes: summer’s lilty rhythm. Merle anoints – if she’s of a mind to – then goes off to Sun Valley for July and August. Yes sir, summer is a-comin’ in—
—Yes, a golden moment, just a fine, fine time for—
—Borah’s office was absolutely what you’d call modest, with just one desk and just one chair facing it, and a purple-brown vinyl couch against the opposite wall. Though I gotta tell you there was no way to sit on that thing: far too many files and heaps of paper had gotten there first. There were dusty metal cabinets in two of the corners
, and the window looked out on a pay-by-yourself parking lot that had more weeds and choppy pavement than cars. One wall pretty much consisted of a shrine to Willie Mays: a small bronze statute of man and bat swirled in mid-swing, a signed ball that had a good scuff on it, and also a framed arrangement that had a signed photograph of the ’54 World Series Vic Wertz basket catch, a copy of Look magazine with The Say Hey Kid smiling from the cover, and a ticket to the Polo Grounds. Lincoln said he was moved by this—
—All of your information is correct, Meijer Borah said, sitting under half-moon reading glasses at his thick metal desk. While speaking, he turned pages of a legal pad. Your aunt arrived in Chicago in March 1985. First residence at 113 West Armitage in Old Town. Continued living there with her husband after marriage to Michael Carroll, February ’86. Civic ceremony. Honeymoon at Yellowstone. OK? All that’s good …
Various un- or semi-skilled jobs, including countergirl at Marshall Fields and gal Friday for executives at Holmby Flagstone and Concrete. Divorce from Michael Carroll in April ’87. No children. One miscarriage, September ’87. Second trimester. Incidentally, I’ll be putting together all the documentation for you. Put it in a nice packet …
Moved to Rochester, New York, January 1988. Three jobs there. Two addresses. Specific link to Rochester still unknown. Member of local choir, active in one, two community groups. Helped out on school-safety and quality of life issues …
Returned to Chicago from Rochester in August ’88. Fell upon harder times. Living at various addresses in South Lawndale, mostly on or around Pulaski Avenue. One of the area’s rare Caucasian faces. Gaps in the employment record, two stays in Thorek Hospital for gastric disorders. February ’91 fall on ice, breaking two fingers. More such details available if you desire them—
—Enters period of decline. Takes lodging in state-subsidized housing on Hamelin Avenue. Welfare, then Medicaid. Signs up for energy cost-reduction program in ’93. Unclear, but seems to have been aggressed by local youths, June 1994. Police records indeterminate—
—Then ’95. Manages – just – to survive. The heat wave. You know it? Mid-July. Hospitalized for six days at Saint Anthony’s for dehydration, rapid pulse, renal teratosis, other heat-related distresses, but pulls through. Returns home. Maybe 800 other Chicago people don’t. Particularly from her neighborhood. Very hard hit. Blackouts, spoilage, compromised water-pressure. Unrelieved heat, up to 106 degrees, felt 126, eight days and nights. Shortfalls in ambulances, in EMT personnel, even revival medicines. Enormous, unthinkable losses. Twice the deaths of the 1871 fire. Hospitals and patient-transport services overwhelmed, casualties denied, turned away. Bodies stored in food-transport trucks, refrigerated, finally receiving the cooling, the comforting they needed, and couldn’t get, while alive. Very tough, in particular for older residents …