by Evan Dara
—Minutes.
—Lincoln bends to her—
—No.
—No, she says.
—Muffled, slurry-garbled, through the milk-breath mask.
—Don’t talk.
—I don’t want, I don’t—
—About your other life.
—Your private life.
—She says.
—Don’t.
—
—He straightens up. Pulls back.
—Looks at her.
—He puts his hand on her shoulder.
—He sees—
—Notices—
—The pillow is wet.
—By her downside cheek.
—Dark, moistened, shining somewhat, right where the plastic mask meets the pillow fabric.
—Lincoln closes his eyes.
—Opens them.
—Then opens the curtain to let Carla-June, a friend, step out. Then follows.
—They walk off, past empty chairs and curtained beds, past glass-brick walls and toting, striding—
—Perfume.
—That was—
—No. None—
—She wasn’t wearing her perfume.
—She wasn’t—
—Lincoln thrusts his hand out.
—Between the closing elevator doors.
—And makes the doors stop, in a jump.
—He swats the leading edges of both doors.
—Until they pull back—
—Until they’re all the way open.
—He extends one hand to the doorframe, and holds it true, to keep the doors from sliding shut again.
—He holds the elevator.
—For his friend.
—Then follows her into it.
—To ride down.
—It was there.
—You see.
—Right there.
—Better, certainly, than walking down two floors to—
—Hoo it summer, sure’s now a-kickin’ in, just hoo the air when you’re outside and when you’re inside and sweat slippin’ and change your T just as soon you got it on—
—At Ralph Boggs’—
—And at Gelsey Tendlar’s – one serious reception there—
—And—
—And uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m up on this … And I uh … Yeah. It’s like, it’s like I really don’t know how … Yeah. It’s like the truck, y’know … Yeah. It broke down … It never got there … Yeah. And like we’re sorry, Mr. Selwyn, we’re really … Yeah, Eduardo, he like … He like left the company … Yeah. And so like … Yeah, like, yeah … But um like listen: I mean, you know what I’m sayin’—?
—And like Perry Sterlsman, at his re—
—And Tracy Keene at—
—And for Perry and Tina Villanova’s silver anniversary, I was hoping, I’d wanted to see Lincoln there—
—And Carolla Tesserson, she was so hot, at her—
—Oh, yes, things did happen, exceptional things, and, frankly, they lent spice to what had become a rather slow July. I had delayed my departure for Calgary – we took a cottage there, up near Mount Tisco, we like it there very much – so I could keep a tiger eye on the beginning of the landscaping. That’s the critical moment, of course; afterwards, I could trust Jo. And, oh yes, Connie Littleton had to replace a huge mirror in her apartment when the poolman broke it with the back of his cleaning rod, and Reese Wylie finally received her shipment of pashminas from Nepal – two months late, of course, but I told her to count her blessings. And Lincoln also had a setback, when he left his attaché case in a cab, but Chrissy was so proud when she tracked it down and got it back without a thing missing. Lots of calls and a quick run across town to the dispatcher, and Lincoln had it for his next day’s meeting at Ingram. And Chrissy was also good, I’m told, in helping Lincoln put together a collection for Auran’s brother, or half-brother, I believe, to tide him through some difficulties, a legal situation he’s having. It’s a lovely gesture, don’t get me wrong, but I understand the brother’s just always in trouble, and has been for years. Regardless, we all do hope he straightens out, that he owns up to his behavior. Maybe he’ll have to now that his sister isn’t supporting him. And now that Lincoln has received an appointment from the archdiocese—
—But he did get, he got the instructions, but Sir – Sir – there was no one there to sign for it – no one, you weren’t there to – yes it was the correct address, 151 North Wabash, I verified three times, and the driver got there at 2:15 just like, like the instruction said, he called in to verify so I know he was there, but – but how long can he wait, he’s got an entire truck to – and even so, I held him there for twenty minutes, twenty, OK?, but you, but no one—
—But even so, you know—
—But why—
—Hey—!
—And he just, he just—
—He’s kind of a bore—
—And the temp: whew—!
—The tempera like reaching up—
—Like ninety-three, ninety-four—
—Just soaring—
—At this great reception at Zina Rosenber—
—This amazing recep—
—This amaze and ’cep—
—And ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—And Rita Keller-Stall is saying—
—And Randolph Stern’s inviting—
—And like Zeke Zinkata, he’s standing there kinda near the swinging doors where all the food platters come out, and he’s wearing this superdapper black Lagerfeld blazer and like sipping and talking about like how magnificently the hippies and the deconstructionists and the multiculturalists and like that whole zoo of righteous leftists, with like their Hiroshima collapse of values and forward-looking faith, and also like the identity-mongers – I’m a walleyed Pachuko!, I’m a polymastic octoroon Polynesian! – how like all of them were just like kicking each other’s knees and so had abandoned the field to and therefore precipitated the rise of like money absolutism? And so like how they were a gift, a precious gift, to the marketeers and their ravages, and like how they were all moles for the WTO—
—’N ’cep—
—And Mr. Selwyn—
—Mr. Selwyn how you—
—How you doin’? It’s—
—It’s Touvil—!
—Touv – long time no … —!
—And guess—
—And hey—
—And yeah wow hot Mr. – Yeah—
—But guess—
—Like I’m doing a new television thing—
—Yeah—
—WGN, they asked me to—
—Like one of those—
—One of those unscripted—
—A reality thing—
—Unbelievable – they’re lettin’ me get away with this—!
—But I’m wondering, you know—
—I’m wondering if you—
—But sure—
—And hey—
—And when Jimmy Greenfield mentioned in The Daily Herald—
—And Shandra Waterson told Rick Kogen in The Trib—
—How does he, OK? Just how does he—?
—And Hayes Corrender—
—And Irina Kotliar—
—And Izzy Apelki—
—And recep—
—’N ’cep—
—And Alan Socal—
—And I, you know—
—I never found his hands all that—
—’N ’cep—
—And Mandy Tong—
—’N ’cep—
—And like Lincoln, you know—
—I mean like amazing—
—Like he was talking about this peace institute—
—In Amazonia—
—He wants to—
—He says he wants to—
—As part of his donation to UC—
—’N ’cep—
—And Simi Taylor—
—And Paula Forster—
—And Ral
ph Whittinger sitting there reading Vanity Fair—
—How can he carry that big fat thing around—?
—And amazing, you know, I remembered I have to get to the dry-cleaners before it closes—
—And Arlie—
—And Michael—
—’N ’cep—
—And yeah, nice, makes my hips look smaller—
—And like Peter Hurler, he—
—He’s doing, like, this—
—Amazing—
—And hugging—
—With Chicago Mag—
—’N ’cep—
—And Daniella—
—But—
—But it—
—You see it’s—
—It’s mostly known—
—It’s like a condition—
—It, like, it mostly strikes medical practitioners—
—’Cause you see—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—And Jake—
—And Robbie—
—And Name—
—And James—
—And Name—
—And what’s it—
—It’s—
—It like ninety-six—?
—Ninety-seven—?
—Today—?
—It’s ho like shit like ninety-seven today—
—It just a smiter, OK?, just a—
—A blisterer—
—It a recycler, you know what I’m sayin’: collect separately, burn together—
—’N shew—!
—Terra fucking cotta—
—It just callin’ you to the air-conditioner—
—No shades left at all—
—’N ’cep—
—And Name—
—’N ’cep—
—And Name—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—And like Mr. Selwyn, OK—?
—Mr. Selwyn—
—We’re like sorry, OK—?
—Like sorry—
—Like wrong address—
—OK—?
—Sorry—
—Don’t know—
—Don’t—
—And sorry—
—Wrong address—!
—And sorry—!
—Hey: another strawberry—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—And Name—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—And Name—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—And Name—
—’N ’cep—
—And Name—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—In step—
—In step—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N ’cep—
—’N—
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—
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—You!
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…you…
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Well, I heard
I mean, I understood
I understand he was in Lexington
In a hardware shop – I heard he was seen in a hardware store
In Crowly, just north of Dallas
What can you say about a genuinely great man?
He went into a pharmacy in Wichita
Yeah, Lincoln was in Colorado Springs, in some big Costco in
In a feed-supply place, he was speaking in Great Bend with a guy who sells
It is enough – fwehhhhsh he, his airplane …
What can anyone say about greatness?
… We see him hit the ground, the hundred tons of stressed metals cushioning and cradling him. There’s ground-kiss, and bounce, and rearward thrust. Overhead rubbers, surrounding plastics sway, and crackle, and wobble. Whistling thunders rise and crest like overtures to …
… The long flight done. Its every move, every rise and swerve and banking, save those of the last ten seconds, he knows, navigated by automatic pilot …
Sel – SELWYN … ? IS THAT YOU—?
… He snakes through crowds all snaking in the same direction. They are walking, some with uptempo urgency, some dawdling, drifting, barely awake. Aisles and corridors angle left, then left again, then debouch into a large, canyonlike room, where a sign freestanding on two girder legs indicates with a dense downward arrow that he must go forward. He carries nothing, beyond one leather shoulderbag. He will get what else he needs …
… His efforts will not be wasted. His efforts cannot be wasted …
… Has it gotten smaller? Or has he gotten larger. The airport seems minuscule, tidy, everywhere-shiny. Reasonable numbers of people move easily through reasonable numbers of options. Floors in corners, by service walls, under wastebaskets are driftlessly clean. Signcolors tend to green, to orange, to soft-focus blues, but muted, self-containing. Officials in deep-blue uniforms smile, and laugh, not in a hurry. People sit soft and cheerful on upended valises, in molded plastics. But values are perturbed. There is strangeness. There are so few people …
… Walking through laterally-separating doors, Lincoln enters the reception hall, clustered with eagerfaced families, cumulused with name-signs, hand-scrawled and printed, private and professional. He stops, a weight shifting strangely. And then: They have gone to the Euro. Post-Maastricht. The numbers, the values are off, transvalued. All the currency-indicators have changed, have become McDonald’s arch-signs standing on their sides. Everywhere in Holland. Everywhere in Europe, a transvaluation of all values. Everything is half what it used to be. To form a common market, a larger one. To compete with the States. Same country, half values …
… Counterhelpers smiling. Counterhelpers saying May I help you, and May I help you, and May I help. Your hearing it before, without, their saying it …
… Had he left America? Were the sidewise arches just wave-laps of some oceansized sea-change? …
… He walks to a Postbank cash machine, withdraws his Visa, withdraws bills. New colors. New words and sizes. Same numbers. Gone the old, caricatured Dutchmen, angly drawn. Different values …
… He will rise to this. This is part of the effort. Thinking where there once was none …
… But he need not think. He doesn’t have to. He needn’t care. He doesn’t care …
… Counterhelpers smiling. Counterhelpers saying …
… Just two tiny byways. Just one tiny row of cabs …
… The buildings are so small, so low to the ground. Who would know if, in Amsterdam, one of them fell? …
… And tilting, listing, tumbling all over one-another. The buildings slant left, slant right, slant forward. Livingplaces that can’t even stand up on their own …
&nb
sp; … He puts his shoulderbag down in the narrow reception area of the hotel he had booked, the Van Onna, on Bloemgracht. A white-mustache man smiles behind the counter, but there are metal racks of tourist fliers and a white plastic coffeebrewer on a magazine-tossed table. He had passed this hotel hundreds of times when he lived on Elandstraat, and had seen the cabs with trunks aroar, had seen the outside-stacked valises. Now, he sees the quiet. The hotel sits on one of the city’s stillest canals, narrow, nearly earless, smiled upon by patient, many-windowed, storybook houses, beneath tapering gables and corbie steps. Sometimes tourists will stroll, sometimes a small boat will slide. A refuge …
… The man behind the counter gives him a larger room than he had booked. All but insists that he take it. But it is still minuscule, Amsterdam-tiny, origami not fully unfolded. A bed, a dresser, a mirror, a closet, all accessible via one pivot. A bathroom that leaves knees in view. But this, as well, he thinks, will be good. It will be an incentive to leave. To be out. He will not want to return to this, to linger amid it …
… He sees a small photograph hung above the bed. It holds a familiar face. Later, he will check downstairs, and find that the room had been used in a movie, Another Woman, acted by Anthony Perkins. The counterman will say he knew Lincoln would like this. But now the room looks different than in the photo. The room has been renovated. Repainted, redecorated. New bedposts. No photo of Anthony Perkins in the photo of Anthony Perkins. Lincoln does not care …