Schultz stepping out into the evening air. Crossing the street in front of the theatre. Looking up at the lights and signs. There it all is. Come on all you suburban cunts, come to the show. Jesus and what’s this coming. A squad car. Bell clanging roaring down the street. Screeching to a stop. Four constables jumping out slamming doors rushing into the theatre. Jesus she did it. Called the Police. The fuckers are after me already.
Schultz retreating back into the shadows of the pub doorway. Lights of the theatre switching off. Limousine coming around the corner. Chased by fans. Magillacurdy. He’s got the Debutant. Stealing her right from under my nose. And she’s not shouting out the window she’s being kidnapped. Holy christ I got to slip away down around the corner. Like a pursued culprit. Right at the moment when I just might have a success. My mind goes wild at the thought of it. A fucking armoured yacht on the Riviera. In Monte Carlo. Have on board Lady Lullabyebaby. Provisions stacked down the hold. Escape to sea without a wife and her mother dragging me down sinking. Greta, Roxana and a few other of your naked chested things could be cook and crew. Sylvia and Herbie could wait on table. Serve me just like Sylvia suggests Herbie and I could make a meat sandwich of her. White slices from the front. Dark from the rear. While between courses, Lady Lullabyebaby and I could screw into eternity amidships.
Schultz heading south towards the river. Taxis and the odd limousine ferrying away the last of the theatre traffic. What a relief to be alone by myself. Without having to want to scream to everybody, hey for crying out loud will you just shut your ass for two seconds. Click of my heels on the cement. Telling me with each step through the fresh breezy air. That shit, this town could be mine. Mine. To wake up to in the morning. Having breathed in this London night. An intoxication nothing like it anywhere. Clapping still ringing in my ears. Even my own bravos I was shouting. I can’t hardly fucking well wait. All we need is fourteen rave reviews. The critics, Jesus they can’t just be that dumb to pan us.
Schultz cutting through the narrow familiar streets of Covent Garden. The soft sweet smell of vegetables and fruit. Trucks and lorries halted on the shiny cobblestone. Porters drinking tea and chomping on sandwiches at the kiosk in front of the great pillars holding up the church. In there they have plaques on the wall commemorating theatrical immortals. And holy shit all I can suddenly think of is those showbizz friends who are never heard of again. Vanished. Replaced by a whole new set of smart alec shits scurrying on the scene. Jesus even a poor son of a bitch director who was a theatrical household name. Saw him one freezing New York night shambling along Eighth Avenue. Shabby, stooped and old. While I was a few steps away leaving a Broadway show, glad handing under the marquee lights. And there he was, so cold, so lonely and abandoned. Like a leper you couldn’t go and touch. Even ghosts staying to the other side of the street, flapping their big aprons of death in the dust and grime all whorled up by a bitter icy wind. Jesus I swear I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t get myself to go to him. He was already so dead. That I just wanted to get the fuck out of there quick in a hurry. Even now it makes me walk faster by these bags of onions and sprouts. Down a dark Southampton Street. Into the gloomy nearly empty Strand.
Schultz turning right. The silvered front and green shining lights of the Savoy entrance. Stepping through the glass doors. Everything is prepared for privilege. Every little kid who’s growing up in America at least knows he can be President one day. In this fucking country you don’t get to be Prime Minister unless your father was.
Schultz halfway across the restaurant floor. As Al comes rushing forward. And a group of folk suddenly standing at their tables. Clapping. Schultz turning to look back over his shoulder. Faces grinning at him from other tables. Schultz stopping alarmed in his tracks. Jesus they’re clapping at me.
“Hey what are you Sigmund, the reluctant hero. Come on. Meet everybody.”
“Al what’s all the fuss.”
“Sigmund. We’ve all been waiting for you. Where’s your beautiful wife.”
“I don’t know I thought she was with you.”
“No she went to find you. Well anyway Sigmund. This is an important night. That we all want as investors to fondly remember.”
“Al, unless they make a profit, people forget historically touching moments. And there’s no proof yet of a profit.”
“Mr. Cynic once more.”
“All this is ever going to be to me, Al, is a nostalgic explosion down memory lane. Which I hope has left my balls still between my legs.”
“O.K. well if it’s not too much trouble then, drag your testicles over and come and sit down.”
“Jesus Al, it’s hard enough to get myself to come here in the first place, I don’t want to meet these fucking people. You got to keep investors at a distance.”
“Come on, don’t embarrass me. Have nice manners.”
“Al, they’re getting such a good deal I don’t need to give no nice manners as well on top.”
“Sigmund out of respect for me then, show courtesy at least. You’re going to meet my lovely wonderful companion, who with god willing is going to be the next Mrs. Al Duke.”
“Al at your age don’t be so crazy. Don’t do to yourself what you made me get done to me. Believe it or not in spite of the things I can’t forgive you for, I also like you.”
“Sigmund I’m going to be honest with you. You’re sometimes just such an enigma I can’t believe I know you personally.”
“Well I’m by nature a private introspective type of guy.”
“Champagne, caviar, filet mignon, Clos de Tart. For christ’s sake. What could be more introspective than that. Come meet the folks.”
Schultz shepherded by Al to one table after another. Nodding his black curly head to the grins. Shaking hands and smiling as Al made his quips.
“Here’s the guy, ladies and gents, who wears the laurel wreath tonight.”
Al crossing to his own table stopping to wait as his girl friend returning from the powder room approached. This darkly tailored tranquil lady, a strand of pearls at her pale throat.
“Sigmund let me introduce you now to the most wonderful loveliest creature in London. Louella this is the one and only Sigmund Franz Schultz. And Sigmund this is Louella the greatest girl you’re ever going to meet in your life.”
Schultz stopping in his tracks. Looking at this friendly forthright face. Long brown hair parted in the middle gleaming amber in the light. The soft kindly eyes.
“Hi Louella how do you do.”
“Hello.”
“But don’t I know you from somewhere.”
A white pallor bleaching Al’s face. As he looks from Schultz back to his girl friend now wreathed in a smile of recognition.”
“Yes you do Mr. Schultz.”
Al slumping at the knees. His trouser lengthening over and covering the diamond studded gold buckles of his evening slippers.
“Hey what it this. You two know each other.”
“Hey I just thought I did, Al. I’m sure it’s a mistake.”
Louella shyly smiling at Schultz. As she squeezed her fingers against a black beaded handbag in her hand and touched the silver initials above its clasp.
“Don’t you remember Mr. Schultz.”
Al’s jaw dropping a further forty miles on his alabaster face. His eyes bowls of horror as he turned to stare at Schultz wracking his brain.
“Yeah I do I guess. It’s just somewhere on the tip of my head. Hey are you alright Al. Jesus you’ve gone completely white. Let me give you some water.”
“Never mind giving. Let me ask. Point blank if you don’t mind. Do you know each other or not. I want an immediate explanation.”
“Al christ you need medical attention with such a color change on your face.”
“I don’t need nothing but an explanation in black and white and I want it right this second.”
Louella putting her hand up to her cheek. Her lower teeth pressing out biting her upper lip. And a tiny catch in her breath.
“I
met Mr. Schultz on the floor.”
“You met this philanderer where. On the floor.”
“Yes. He fell down the stairs.”
“Where were you and he so that he fell down the stairs.”
“Al, my darling, please, it was only in an office building.”
“Sure Al. Relax. I just remembered. This sweet girl and I met late one night in a hotel hallway when I helped her get her key in her door. And I was so overcome by her charm I then fell down the stairs.”
“I don’t want to hear any more, you hear me.”
“Hey Al, it’s a joke. I’m joking. All it was. We met for a split second when this really sweet girl picked me up when I fell down the stairs of an office building. She dropped her whole file of papers to assist me. I even have her telephone number.”
“You what.”
“Relax again Al. I got her number so I could sue and have a witness. Al you really are jumpy.”
Al placing Schultz to sit between two investors’ wives. As he himself sat readjusting his bowtie and licking his lips between taking in big lungfuls of air. Just as a waiter leaned over him and said he was urgently wanted on the phone. Al popping a pill into his mouth, slowly making his way past his guests and out into the hall. Schultz reaching to ferry a grapy delicious champagne to his lips as one of the investors’ wives pressed her big tit into his elbow. And then leaned close to whisper breathingly upon his neck.
“Mr. Schultz where ever did you find such a magnificent singer like Mr. Magillacurdy. He’s so utterly wonderful.”
“In a cemetery.”
“I see. You’re hinting you do not want to continue this conversation.”
“Madam believe me. That’s where I found him.”
“O very well then I can see you can’t talk seriously.”
Al returning into the room. And now puce faced and fuming. Reaching behind his dinner jacket as if to hike up his trousers. Signalling with an angrily beckoning finger for Schultz to leave the table.
“So Al, so now what’s wrong.”
“So I ask where is your wife. And you say you don’t know or maybe you just don’t care.”
“How should I know Al. She vanished.”
“Well I just come from talking to her on the phone.”
“So where is she.”
“She is at your house attended by doctors.”
“Doctors.”
“Yes doctors. With her mother also having to recuperate after her shock tonight in the theatre.”
“That fucking walrus.”
“Never mind the name calling. I just can’t believe it. You attacked a woman again who is your wife now. Up to your old tricks hitting defenceless women.”
“Defenceless. She tried to scratch my eyes out.”
“What kind of excuse is that. You could run.”
“What you don’t know Al is that you have teamed me up with a ferocious tiger. And now her mother. Right in my house now. Which like the seat in the theatre it would take two bulldozers to shove her out.”
“Mrs. Prune in her present nervous condition couldn’t climb all those flights of stairs up to her flat.”
“So she goes climbing the steps up into my house. Jesus Al think of my nervous condition once in a while will you. And I’m going back to sit down and eat in peace if you don’t mind.”
Schultz about to slice through a big thick juicy filet mignon arrived in its chive and butter melted yumminess. Surrounded by creamed spinach and mushrooms. The soul soothing Clos de Tart tasting on his palate. As two dark suited gentlemen entered the restaurant and approached the table. One tapping Schultz on the shoulder who turned with his mouth full chewing, looking up.
“Mr. Schultz I’m afraid I must ask you to accompany me please.”
“What for.”
“It’s a private matter sir you may prefer to discuss elsewhere.”
Schultz sitting in the upstairs of a police station beside a desk. A shirt sleeved constable at a typewriter.
“Well sir it happens in the best of families. But it is an assault occasioning actual bodily harm committed upon your wife Mrs. Schultz and accordingly you’ve been charged.”
“I was protecting myself. It was only a love tap I gave her on the cheek.”
“Well sir, I understand. But you admit you did hit her.”
“Shit I wish to hell now I broke her fucking ass permanently forever.”
Schultz handing over his valuables and led to a cell. The door clanging closed. The tan tiled walls. A shelf to lie on. On opening nights of all nights. Who would believe it. Jesus even my first production. Which I thought had it’s bad moments with mayhem galore. Didn’t end up in incarceration. Even when all living hell broke loose way before the final curtain. With hissing, booing and catcalling. And there I was sitting in the audience so terrified by the unified, unanimous response raging around me that I became the most audible of the demonstrators. Even shouting and shaking my fist at the scared shitless actors on the stage. The courageous author with such volcanic discourtesy erupting, had already beat it back to Fulham somewhere with his prick trembling between his legs. Shit I thought if they hate it that much, why not attract the international press and start a wholesale riot. Which Jesus was already started. And attracted the flinging of anything that wasn’t screwed down including a few of the looser seats. With people even jumping up on stage to wreck the scenery, busting everything. I had to accept that the whole audience had stood up to humiliate me so why not join in. I jammed ice cream down a lady’s back who was trying to steal a prop off the stage. You think that if you apprentice through such moments like that, that never never again could anything be worse. But now here I am on a night like this. Arrested. My teeth dragged out of the most delicious filet mignon I’ve had for years. To go sit on a bare mattress. In a cell. Locked behind bars.
When
In my last
Emotional
Energy crisis
I was a
Burning symbol
Happy and free
24
Schultz rubbing his eyes walking along a lamplit Charing Cross Road. Past the closed shops of this desolate deserted street. A chill rainy mist falling. Released from jail, and now getting wet. And in six bloody hours I’ve got to be in Court. When I should be planning every last ditch emergency strategy for the show.
Schultz sending a shrieking whistle out between his lips. A taxi stopping two blocks away, turning and coming back. Thank god. At least I can still pipe out a long distance signal for a cab.
“Welcome aboard Gov, where to.”
Schultz alighting at number four Arabesque. Tiptoeing silently in. So far she hasn’t changed the locks on the door and stationed a policeman on the stoop to protect her life. But christ one can’t avoid bitterness after what that bitch has done. Holy jeeze where the fuck will she or her mother be sleeping. And that outsize walrus busting springs in some bed.
Schultz up the first flight of stairs. And up the next. Pressing the light switch. Fucking lights still out. Go into this bedroom at the top back of the house. For peace and quiet. What a night. My head is swimming. About six hours sleep in the last two days.
Schultz wearily taking off his jacket in the dark. Holy shit sounds like there’s a cat loose or something in here. I’m getting jumpy. Like Al nearly went out of his skin when he thought I knew his girl friend. A sweet fucking charmer that she is. I should have rung her. But for my unending adversity I would have done. And met her before that greying geriatric strips a gear on his organs trying to fuck her.
Schultz undoing his shirt, stopping listening again. I heard something, Jesus christ, fucking well move. Dear god I beg you, don’t after what you’ve already done to me make me be in the bedroom of the behemoth. Holy jeeze. There really is something fucking well in here breathing.
Schultz with shoelaces untied, trousers dropped to his ankles. Touching and feeling around him. Shit now if I move I’ll fall over. Or a skeleton will drop out behind me li
ke it did with me getting drenched pissing all over myself in his Lordship’s castle. Christ I haven’t even yet recovered from that heart stopping shock. And Jesus I really do feel like I’m going to shit. My nerves are shattered. I’m just not going to last the course. Escape back to America. The land of the free. The home of the brave. Uncle Werb. Here I am. I want to go into the diamond business. Ah Sigmund what a good boy. Welcome to the reality of practical sense. Here, two million dollars worth of stones, take them over to Izzy my old pal on the top floor. They’re his for three million. You keep ten per cent of the profit for yourself and like a sensible boy go buy a good raincoat and galoshes, in case next time I have to send you out with diamonds to bring to Amsterdam when it’s raining. Holy jeeze. I’d do it. I’d really do it. I’d sell diamonds stark naked in the snow. Even for five per cent commission. And I could be fucking Dutch girls like Greta all over Holland.
Schultz touching his way across the room. Where’s the fucking bed I remember was right here. No Jesus, this is the wardrobe. Ah, my knees are touching the mattress. At last I’m going to be warm. Blankets on the bed.
Schultz Page 30
