Rodin's Debutante (25 page)

Now he looked up to see sailboats on the horizon, a promise of summer just one month away. Still, Lee shuddered at the memory of his childhood nightmares and wondered whether aircraft remained at the bottom of Lake Michigan a mile or so offshore from the Outer Drive and all the way up the North Shore and beyond. Then he thought, Enough of that; the day was fine. He continued to stroll, the Near North Side another world altogether from bohemian Hyde Park, the men in suits and ties, the women in stylish dresses and high heels, purposeful of gait. Lee watched a flight of starlings wheel overhead, its formation changing in the blink of an eye, giving the illusion of a helix, then a hesitation and the starlings were gone, swarming north. The date was the twentieth of May, not warm but comfortable enough that people were sitting on benches, their faces upturned to the pale sun. He stood with his back to the gray lake, scrutinizing the apartment buildings on Lake Shore Drive, great vertical fortresses of granite and concrete. From their summits you could see almost as far north as New Jesper, and with the aid of a telescope to Milwaukee and northeast to the steel mills of Gary. At least that far, he thought, though he had never visited a penthouse apartment on Lake Shore Drive. Many of them were constructed in the 1920s, the golden age of lofty living in Chicago. Fifteen Hundred was the address the girl had given him at the party the night before. When he looked at her without comprehension she smiled and added, Lake Shore Drive. The girl was a friend of Laura's. Her family were art collectors, always on the lookout for fresh talent from Chicago.

Be nice to her, Laura said. You never know. Maybe you're the talent they're looking for.

Fifteen Hundred was there before him now, five black limousines arrayed nose to tail under the porte-cochère. At some mysterious signal the doors flew open and chauffeurs alighted to stand at attention as the entranceway filled with well-dressed women, all wearing furs and hats, waiting a moment in the spring sunlight before dispersing to the limousines. Lunch, Lee thought, and then the Art Institute or the opera or theater, one matinee or another. The limousines glided away, leaving the doorman in his silver-gray uniform standing as straight as a sentry, importantly shooting his cuffs, then clasping his hands behind his back and moving into the shade of the awning. A model for Degas, Lee imagined; or, if you wanted to be rough about it, George Grosz.

The girl's name was Jill White, a forceful girl who had matched him drink for drink at the party. Probably her mother was one of those in a fur and a hat bound for the Loop. He tried to imagine Jill in a cloche hat and a fox fur but could not, though Degas would. They had argued about the future of socialism in America, disagreeing but not unpleasantly. She insisted that the internal contradictions of capitalism would bring Wall Street to its knees, the revolution at hand at last, and he replied that there were internal contradictions to everything under the sun, even human beings, even God, and perhaps God most of all. The truth was, Wall Street was an abstraction to him and the capital markets were as unfamiliar as a Havana casino.

Jill White was lost in thought a moment, then asked him if he believed in God. Not yet, he said, and that brought a smile. You're not from Chicago, she said. The accent's wrong. Where are you from? Lee hesitated two beats and said, New Jesper. Jill laughed merrily and said she knew all about New Jesper. New Jesper was the town their maids came from, arriving each morning at eight via the North Shore trolley. Her family couldn't live without them, Tish and Lorraine, gems both. Tish was related in some obscure way to the singer, what was his name? Jill had forgotten the name but he was well known to anyone who listened to popular music. He was the one with the silky voice, often singing on
Your Hit Parade
and other radio programs. So I'm
au courant
with New Jesper, Jill said. Of course, Lee said quickly, I can see that. It's well known that New Jesper was a supplier of maids. If you wanted a steel worker you went to Gary and if you wanted a brewmaster you went to Milwaukee but if you wanted a maid, a professional, you went to New Jesper. In fact the city's motto was "New Jesper, City of Maids," though to people who lived there it looked like any other small Illinois town with the usual internal contradictions,
au courant
in its own way. Naturally in New Jesper the maids were required to believe in God whether they wanted to or not. Jill made a face and after a pause said, Ouch.

Bitch, Lee said to Laura later. Who does she think she is?

She's a deb, Laura said. I was watching. I think you frightened her.

Nothing will ever frighten that woman. Rosa Luxemburg bomb-throwing from her penthouse at Fifteen Hundred.

Jill and her parents are on the outs, Laura said. That's the reason, if you're interested in reasons. Jill speaks her mind.

Maybe I worried her a little, Lee said. But not enough. Jill invited me—us—to the cocktail party her parents are giving, Saturday night.

Did you accept?

I did not.

Laura said, I didn't know you had such feeling for New Jesper.

Lee said, You never forget where you're from.

Well, Laura began doubtfully.

You certainly haven't.

True enough, she said.

And the price was right, Lee said.

What do you mean by that?

Bye-bye, White collection.

LEE LOOKED AT HIS WATCH
and saw that he was due to meet his father in ten minutes. Even so, he lingered a while longer, appraising the fortress atmosphere of Fifteen Hundred. He had never been inside such a building; surely no apartment would have fewer than eight rooms, one set aside for a maid sleep-over in the event the dinner party ran late. He wondered what moves you would have to make to acquire an apartment on Lake Shore Drive, the hoops you would have to jump through; and then at a specific moment you would own the hoops and the apartment both. He watched the doorman greet a slope-shouldered middle-aged man in a white Panama hat and step smartly to the curb to blow his whistle. In seconds a taxi pulled up under the porte-cochère, the driver alighting at once to attend to his passenger as the doorman returned to sentry duty. Lee did not move, watching slope-shoulders remove his Panama hat before sliding into the taxi. The hat in his hand seemed as handsome an accessory as spats on a parrot. Lee decided then that apartments on Lake Shore Drive would surely exact a kind of revenge, something unexpected. A messiah complex or altitude sickness or a preoccupation with hats. No doubt you would walk a little taller when you lived there and be pleased with yourself at the envelopes you distributed at Christmastime, each banknote mint-fresh and crisp as parchment—and that was Lee's sudden intimation that he had left New Jesper for keeps. Home was Hyde Park, Laura's apartment and his studio on the perimeter of the university and the work he did there. Lee turned to give one last look at the flat gray lake, recalling once again the aircraft carriers far offshore and the trainer planes maneuvering into position, from that distance scarcely larger than insects, their pilots no older than boys. The routine took some getting used to. Approaching the carrier deck, the pilot would be laden with emotion, fear and exhilaration both, no margin for error. Just one wrong move, a misjudgment of speed or of wind, the position of the sun, the angle of descent, any distraction—

Adieu, Fifteen Hundred.

***

JUDGE ERWIN GOODELL
was seated at a table for two in the middle of the busy dining room, the waiter setting down an old-fashioned as Lee approached. The old man was dapper in a gray summer-weight suit and bow tie, his expression content. Lee ordered a martini and apologized for being late. His father said that was all right, he had only arrived minutes before, traffic on Skokie Highway. Isn't this a nice room? I've always liked the Drake, locally owned, good food, good service. Then he commenced an inventory of his ailments, chronic indigestion, shortness of breath, and a bad knee. For the first time in his life he was playing golf from a motorized cart, the latest thing at the club. His game was sour because of the knee. He was having trouble sleeping and now, the latest indignity, he was seeing a podiatrist to have his toenails clipped. Arthritis in his fingers made toenail-clipping a chore. He took a sip of his old-fashioned and sighed. My memory isn't worth a damn, either. What's new with wedding plans?

It'll be a while, Lee said. We think July, after graduation next summer.

In Hyde Park, his father said.

Yes, indeed. And there's something else. Laura and her mother want you to officiate. In the university chapel. I like the idea too.

Well, he said, I'm touched. Thank you. Your mother will want to know every detail.

When we know them, Mom will have them. Lee thought now was not the time to mention the participation of the English professor James James, who had recently converted to Buddhism and intended to recite a sutra of his own devising. Professor James was an old family friend and Laura's godfather, and he would not be denied, especially since he promised to shave his head for the occasion.

Have you lost weight? his father asked. It looks to me like you've lost weight.

I don't think so, Lee said.

I've gained ten pounds this year. I don't mind. Your mother minds.

Lee said, Let me ask you a question. Have you ever been inside Fifteen Hundred?

Lake Shore Drive? Sure, years ago. Some judicial conference at the Blackstone and one of the federal judges gave a cocktail party. The apartment was enormous. There must have been a hundred guests, plenty of space left over in the living room and the dining room next to it, drinks, a buffet, fully catered. Beautiful view of our lake. Why do you ask?

Invited to a party. Declined.

You should go. You should broaden your horizons, Lee. Chicago's got a lot more to it than Hyde Park. There are fine people on the North Side, professional people, lawyers and such. Then the waiter was at the table, and after giving their orders the old man lost his train of thought. Instead, he began to speak of his days at law school, the excitement of the law, its challenge, its essential virtue. You put aside bias and followed the law until it was seen that the law itself was unjust and then you overturned it, like the Dred Scott matter, and then it was not a decision by an appellate court but by the people themselves in ratifying the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. I suppose you've given no further thought to law school, he said.

Lee had never given any thought to law school but he did not say that. He said, I don't think so, Dad. I have another interest.

And what interest would that be?

Sculpture, Lee said. That's what I've been working on.

The waiter arrived with steak broiled rare and fresh drinks for Lee and his father, asked if anything else was wanted, was told no, and departed.

Did you say sculpture?

Yes, marble sculptures.

You probably don't know it but I was responsible for commissioning our statue of Lincoln and causing it to be put on the courthouse lawn. Carrara marble from Italy. That was twenty years ago. It's been judged one of the finest Lincoln statues in all of Illinois, and there are plenty of them. Is that the kind of sculpture you have in mind?

Not exactly, Lee said.

That seemed to put the conversation in a cul-de-sac.

His father said, I always hoped you'd go to law school, preferably the University of Illinois but any of the good ones would do. Michigan, even Chicago, if that's what you wanted. As you know, I worry about the politics of the University of Chicago, all those German émigrés. They come with baggage, long on theory, short on the practicalities. They have a collectivist mentality.

Well, Dad, not really.

But his father was not listening. He continued, Your grandfather was a lawyer and a judge and that's what I am and I hoped you'd be one too. The Goodell name means something in northern Illinois and I hoped you'd carry it on, and your son, if you're lucky enough to have one. I count myself lucky in that regard. You've never been a disappointment to me, son. The old man paused to cut his steak and Lee noticed that his fingers trembled. He was aware suddenly that his father was mortal, aging before his eyes. He realized once again that his father was nearly old enough to be his grandfather and that accounted for their friendship. So many of his friends had a rivalry with their fathers, and mutual wariness and always a struggle for dominance. Reconciliation, if it came, arrived on the deathbed. Lee hated to distress the old man and he knew to the syllable what was coming next. His father chewed thoughtfully and then he said, Have you sold any yet?

They're not for sale, Lee said.

Well, what does Laura think? The old man smiled brightly, a last roll of his dice. She's a sensible girl. I knew that the first time I set eyes on her. And now I understand she's going into the philosophy department to work alongside her father. He must be tremendously pleased. He must be delighted. You should talk seriously to Laura about this sculpture business. She has a good head. She's down to earth, a practical girl like your mother.

Laura agrees with me, Lee said. And her father's an economist.

Same church, different pew.

I'm sorry about the law, Lee said.

It's all right, son, his father said. That was my dream, not your dream.

Same thing'll happen to me, you know. I'll want my boy to go into the sculpture business and he'll say, Not on your life. I want to be a judge like my grandfather.

Wouldn't that be something, the old man said.

Count on it, Lee said, amused at the idea, pure fantasy. His sculpture was private and he had no interest in sharing it with anyone or making a legacy of it. But his father chortled at the idea. They sat for a moment in companionable silence.

Alfred Swan helped me out, his father said. The Lincoln statue. Alfred wrote an editorial a week for six months. Put their feet to the fire, the county board. Bullied them into it. They didn't want to spend the money even though it was well known that President Lincoln visited the courthouse once and slept the night in New Jesper. So there was a proud history, you see. Alfred was standup when you needed him. He had his faults but he was standup too.