by Evan Dara
Then she survives again. Again, very lucky. The ’99 heat wave, two years ago, not as brutal as ’95 but longer, more grinding. Our local cataclysms. Again your aunt is hospitalized, duration eight days. Again released. To a Chicago that, this time, lost 110 people. Most, once more, old, disfavored, both. Though your aunt again manages to pull through …
Virginia picks up her life, thereafter leaving little public record. Living on the dole, seen in neighborhood markets, longstanding prescription for thyroid supplements at the 17th Street Apothecary. Helps out with Meals on Wheels program to bring warm lunches to elderly residents in her corner of town, then, on May 28, passes away due to undiagnosed hyperlipidemia, which triggered a sequence of difficulties leading to stroke—
—Yes. Four weeks ago. I am sorr—
—And oh, you know, oh: the crushed hazelnut paste at Genie Di Mendatio’s re—
—Yes. Again, I’m sorry. Nothing could be done. It was eleven days before you contacted this office—
—It would seem, yes. It’s likely you were still with Mr. Dardan then—
—this really Gatsbyan—
—No alcoholism associated with her condition. No record of—
—Burial by state proxy at Homewood Memorial Cemetery, about 40 minutes from down—
—Potter’s—
—According to Cook County, she maintained no records or indications of next of kin. So no: no attempt at contacting. No means. Her opposition seemed total. Again, I am—
—Worldly effects taken by Salvation Army. Now distributed. Sold. Except – maybe – for her ring, her wedding ring, which I am still—
—Perhaps a pastor from somewhere in town. Maybe. Probably—
—But I understand I can give you a round of congrat—
— … doesn’t take a sleuth to hear that you—
—The vrum and gurgle was coming from the kitchen, just the lovely low moaning of the machine at its watery task. And when that was louder than the surf-roar from the street – then, and only then, it was evening. Auran looked forward to this transition – unnamed, unheralded – whenever she came home. From urgency to domesticity, from outside to in, this was a withdrawal that was also an expansion. It so made the Chamomile taste better …
It had been a long, long day, but nothing unusual in that. A morning bullpen session at the Academy; a press lunch for a Turkish designer; meetings and meetings and – meetings. Then, tonight, the launch of Wilderness of Mirrors, a new comedy club on North Wells. But, for her, no. She politely demurred. After such a day, just the latest in the sequence, her absence at this unfortunately-houred event would indeed make her heart grow fonder …
It was too late to get started with her Conan O’Brien tape. OK, she was too tired. So she cued up Bobby – Paper Music, one fine CD, even nicer than Beyond Words – and used it to mask the burrs of background life as she sat to her living-room eat-table and visited with a few memos she had dissed during the day. She kept the CD player at a volume that no neighbor – either a wall, a floor, or a ceiling separate – would ever be bothered by, would ever know is there …
One thing, though, had sparkled her afternoon. She’d happened to be passing Cynthia Rowley, just a bit north from here, and by the time she’d completed that passage she had eloped with another great, great vase. Milkglass long and tapery and Deco-y, lily-like, as if the thing had been designed by Erté. And she loved it. She loved what it did for her corner table. She loved what it did for her …
That made three. No, she did not – would not – find it odd that she was buying vases but not bringing in flowers. She liked the vases’ shapes. She liked that glass, usually an icon of fragility, was here being used for support, for strength. Listen, she just liked them. And when the time came for her to bring in flowers, she would. Really, she would …
Then the thought came: No one should be doing work in flipflops. Flipflops – once she’d heard them referred to as moules – marked the limit. The limit beyond which no chores should go. The memos could wait, and she wouldn’t, because it was late, and because she wanted to take half an hour, forty-five minutes for herself, before bed. Maybe put in a call to her mom, to her service, just to leave a few words of message …
Hm. She really must be tired. She’d gone and poured herself a second cup of Chamomile, having forgotten all about the first. Back in her living room, she sat to the two identical cups on the table, drifting steam, and pushed her workpapers off to a far corner. In whatever order. Whatever. She’d sort all that out tomorrow …
She thought about not answering the phone, the cell. But Lincoln needed her, to help him remove some girl from his apartment. Without too much fuss. Drunk, she was, he said. There also may have been Ecstasy.
—Then, you know – and oh Jeez—
—I mean, it must – it must have been—
—I mean, what did—
—What did—?
—I mean no, you know, no, Mr. Selwyn, what I – what I did was have it called back, OK?, I went and – yes, sorry, of course I’m – but I don’t know, OK, I – I don’t know how it, why it got there, to the building when it was closed, OK?, I don’t – there must have – there must have been some indication, some special instruction or so did you speak with? – and did he? – so yes no I’m sorry, OK?, I’m really – but it’s it won’t – right: next time; I promise it won’t – I tell you what: I’ll take personal charge, OK?, I’ll look after it myself and personally to – OK?, so don’t, don’t, I’ll—
—So, where are we.
—We’re looking at ’04, that’s—
—Yeah. So: People: what have we – what have we got.
—Contusions.
—Tradition, Jim. I’m in favor of pitching tradition. Go with the strong suit.
—Yeah. Same here. No one can compete with us on that. It sets us apart, unique.
—We’ve had 25 conventions. Baltimore’s had ten. There’s no comparison. No comparison. So let’s lead with that. Go with—
—Tradition. Picking it up. Good. We gotta make ’em want to come back so soon after ’96. So, tradition: good. A new tradition. Based on an old tradition. Good. Come back to Chicago tradition.
—And both of ’em, the Reps and the Dems, both of ’em want to be parts, parties of tradition, their tradition. It can work – it can work for both of them—
—Yeah. Launch your man from a base of – tradition.
—Contusions, certainly.
—So, OK. Here’s what we’re thinking. How about: The Next 25!
—Or Where Else but Chicago!
—Or hey: By Now it’s Conventional—!
—National Conventional!
—And abrasions.
—Yeah: Put the idea out to pick up the rhythm again—
—Make us the standard again—
—Abrasions over almost—
—Good.
—And hey: if any candidate wants to push a connection, the lineage with Lincoln—
—Yeah: we launched Lincoln!
—We did, you know.
—Hey: we did have another Lincoln in this country!
—Abrasions over almost her entire—
—And our numbers – 10.4 percent higher share in households watching than San Diego in ’96—
—And we’re centrist – we’re good for the centrists. Center of the United States—
—And the Mexican, the Latino—
—We got a call—
—We got a call from the Academy—
—Push the hotels, proximity, convenience, the Lake—
—Always O’Hare—
—Over almost her entire left side, and her back.
—Tell them word’s come down, OK, that this, that the delegates’ll be priority number one—
—And run shuttles—
—And that they can count on great backup in transit, and traffic—
—Yeah. Just before. Just before the meeting, to explain why she wouldn’t, she couldn’t—
>
—And Swing State – you know, push that: get us, get your man all the way in.
—Possibly a few—
—Promise the utmost I mean the ut-most efforts by our guys, no matter which party we—
—Communications support, tech support—
—And broken—
—Can we promise Jordan, or maybe Pippen? Or maybe Rod Templeman can get—
—And nothing like Chicago hooers—
—Internal—
—With Charlie’s presentation, his packet, the CD-ROM—
—Internal—
—Country’s best record of working with the FBI—
—What the hell—
—Room service every night—
—What the hell was she—?
—Jimmy your wife know about all what you’re—
—Internal bleeding.
—Remind them the United Center has the biggest, the best media room in the country—
—What the hell was she doing walking out on East Randolph, way over by Lake Shore Drive?
—And every club on Miracle will be—
—Let them know we’ll do what’s necessary. We’ll bid. If there’s some kind of bid required, or gesture, we’ll—
—What was that … ? What did I hear … ? Nineteen sixty-what?
—Lost consciousness.
—Tell ’em otherwise Chicaga’ll kick their—
—Jim, you know Corny Williams at Republican national headquarters—
—I used to be partners with—
—A taxi. Hit—
—By next month, let’s try to have proposals—
—Bids, proposals are due at their committees by October ’02, right? —Prep the packages—
—Intensive—
—We’re sending delegations to both of their—
—Struck her when she—
—Sponsorship is tricky, beyond deals that preceded—
—Typically it’s 170, 180 mil for the local, in local boost—
—Intensive Care U—
—And good.
—Unit—
—And good.
—Serves her bloody right—
—Nah, it can be more – way more than 180 in local revenue—
—And you know, in during all the craziness, the chaos – whew!, so many poss—
—You know—
—Really. More than disciplined, I mean he was just so discreet—
—Just so refined in how he—
—Absolutely. The best. The guy wouldn’t disturb the meeting, he would not let his private affairs disrupt—
—Must’ve been tough. But—
—Didn’t say a word. Wouldn’t do anything that might—
—At the reception for Hildy Stalling—
—At the reception for—
—When Sharon Davis gangbustered in, you know how she does that, sweeping around and saying two words to everybody with her husband trailering behind her, and of course she’s in Givenchy and of course she’s wearing Carenton, and she cheeks Cynthia Cincotti and she hugs Lincoln and grabs his hand, and he smiles and she smiles and she—
—And Linc—
—And he—
—At the reception—
—The recep—
—The ’cep—
—I know …
I know that, sir …
And I’m sorry. We’re sorry …
Shouldn’t have happened, OK … ?
No way …
Freakish …
But look here—
No, sir …
No …
Eduardo. Hank transferred to another division of the company, sir …
Yes, sir …
But look here …
Look: Somehow that routing slip got that wrong address, you know what I’m sayin’ … ?
And when, as soon as we, we picked it right back up, OK? …
We went and …
So our system is still working, OK?, even when it ain’t working zackly right, you know what I’m sayin’? So now we’re gonna get this goodworking system and get it to work for you, OK? That sound good … ?
So we’ll get on it, OK? I’ll get on it …
Today. I’ll get on it right—
—And so he went, you know—
—He went—
—That’s to say at Thornton Connor’s—
—But those crêpes, you know, these like little sweet folded raviolis, with pear-drops and raspberry coulis and mmm, you know, they just so mmm, Clarissa Hawn Clayton was so proud to find them – I know she got them from Chez Ubuntu – and Ron Deesey said he loved them and Caroline Chambers said she loved them and also Lincoln but he always does, the sweetie, the big fibber, and Mayerson Mills took one after another and Jules Hadwedge went back again despite his cholester and he even asked Clarissa but she wouldn’t—
—And they were just so, so – you know what I—?
—But what does it matter?, OK?, how much can it matter when he’s getting calls from Kissinger. I mean, I heard, I have reason to believe—
— I know—
—Yep, apparently Lincoln’s doing work for him, he was called and asked to contribute to—
—To consult on, or open up contacts—
—In Argentina!, get in on the boom—
—With Washington’s consent—
—Ever see how he’s like puffy around the neck—?
—And what I heard is—
—What I heard—
—In the Trib, on Thursday, Terry Armor, he—
—He just mentioned, just whispered—
—That there was something—
—Something you know going on between Henry the K. and our new, our newest inductee, as he put it, into The One Hundred—
—Just hinting—
—Yeah, he was covering the Summerfest opener, out at the Millennium Park Music Pavilion, such a great warm night, all the summer fashions in full bloom—
—Just really warm and beautiful, and these really classy black-tie string musicians, the Augustinian Octet – they play all the time at these receptions – and the tuxedo waiters—
—Up in the bandshell and all on the concrete dance-area there—
—And Faith Nordhoff kissing Wilhemina Henry after all that stuff between them, and Peter Hurler arriving with Curlee Johns—
—And running over and greeting Lincoln with that big hug of his—
—And Lincoln just standing—
—Indeed.
—It was 10:30 AM, and hot, already hot, summer-hot, when Lincoln arrived.
—By car. His private car. His Peugeot.
—U Illinois Hospital.
—Big broad building. Lots of dark windows.
—Tiered.
—He went in a separate entrance, the emergency-ward entrance.
—But staffers, candystripers, they sent him upstairs, to the second floor, to ICU.
—It was two days after the—
—Because he had—
—He had a presentation he had to—
—The ward, green-gray, was gently lit.
—Quiet.
—Lincoln walked past walls offering hand rails—
—And chairs, chairs in the halls with people sitting—
—And nurses noting, and papers taped to the walls—
—And—
—And nurses reading clipboards, and stepping—
—Quietly, softly.
—Pokes of acrid-sour, and idle equipment—
—And curtains. Green plastic curtains hanging from round-cornered ceiling rails.
—And machine hum. And sour smell. Sour smell.
—She had a plastic mask on: see-through cartilage clamped over her nose and mouth.
—Connected by piping.
—And a loose white Johnny-coat, soft across her collarbones.
—Under sheets. Thick bedsheets.
—And the drip. The hang-bag.
—And the monit
ors with the little screens, neon lines on grids, swoopy or stock-markety—
—And the commode, standing alongside the bed. Clamps, little bottles, ready bandages—
—She looked the same. Of course paler, and bruised, with her eyes closed, and patched up—
—Bruised blue on her temples and arms and—
—But it was her.
—Her.
—The nurse, Natalie, followed him into the room, then inside the green hang of plastic curtains. Lincoln turned to her, nodded, said he brought these.
—Leave them with me, Natalie said. I’ll take care of it.
—I’ll make sure she gets them.
—I’ll put them in water.
—Auran was asleep.
—Wristband.
—White; in plastic; black-lettered.
—Natalie left, Natalie returned with empty hands.
—Well, she said. She’s doing fine. Very well.
—Steady. She’s strong.
—And sleeping well. Generally stable.
—When she’s awake, she’s in good spirits, Natalie said.
—Talking, aware—
—Probably out of here in five or six—
—Then upstairs for—
—Can I speak with her?, Lincoln said.
—Better not, Natalie said.
—It’s better not to disturb her.
—She’s resting.
—But—
—If you’ll excuse me, Natalie said, and opened a whorl in the curtain. Then she turned. Visiting hours are over at noon, she said.
—There’ll be an announcement, she said, and stepped out.
—Breathing.
—She’s sleeping. And breathing.
—Calmly.
—Regularly.
—Round rails around the bed. Round rails overhead.
—Her arms: blue-brown bruises under transparent tape. Seeps from the feed-points.