Schultz

by J. P. Donleavy

  Lady Lullabyebaby shifting her stance. A knee and strong thigh showing through her pale blue dress. A glass of champagne in her left hand, the veins swollen blue across the back of her right. A chime tinkling the half hour in a domed golden clock on the chimney piece. Schultz pulling himself forward. Pushing himself up. Halfway there and falling back again.

  “Look at that. Can’t get the fucking hell to my feet. Whew. Well there. Now I’m up. Honey it was sure swell knowing you. Like running a mile barefoot over upturned razor blades. I should in my best English be saying, madam allow me to present my compliments and to abide your preference as to whether I should linger longer. But I know when I should no longer linger.”

  “And Mr. Schultz, what on earth are you going to do back in a lonely hotel. Where I presume you’re going.”

  “Countess. I’ll tell you. Exactly. Now when I get back there. And if I had them, which I don’t have, which is my red polka dot silk dressing gown, and my custom made slippers. But if I did have them I’d put them on. Switch on the television. Put my feet up on the foot rest. And wait till my favourite meal in all the world was wheeled in from room service. Vichyssoise soup. Mixed salad with extra onions and a garlic dressing. Shish kebab with brown rice. Whole meal rolls and unsalted butter. And an ice cold bottle of Prague Pilsner beer. So goodnight. O and I forgot to mention, at two p.m. sharp I always have ordered a big plate of strawberry ice cream. Well upon that gastronomic note I leave you.”

  Lady Lullabyebaby following Schultz along the blue carpeted hall of marble topped gilt side tables and mirrors. Crossing this large arched entryway. Schultz turning the latch on the door.

  “And now here’s your peck on the cheek, honey.”

  Lady Lullabyebaby reaching up her arm and putting her hand on Schultz’s shoulder. Her soft soft eyes, tiny little lines crinkling at the corners as they nearly but never smile. And her lips. So soft too. Quietly speaking.

  “Hey come on.”

  Come back

  Into bed

  27

  As the nail biting week went by. Business at the box office creeping up in amounts agonizing in the extreme. The returns slipped in a white envelope under Schultz’s hotel suite door each morning. And holy shit which I should avoid reading till after breakfast. Even knowing already the figures inside. I leap on the envelope, ripping it open like an animal into a carcass.

  And this the fatal morning. Following the appointment with the chiropodist. Who comes ministrating, nail cutting and my corns excised. Leaving me after a foot massage, like I was walking on a cloud. Stare out between the curtains of my peaceful sitting room windows. It’s worse dying like this. Enjoying luxury you want to cling to. If I had something to lead up to it. Like months of terrible boarding house rooms. From which death is an escape. It wouldn’t be so bad. Like a guy I saw in New York. Fat Jewish and ugly. Wearing suede shoes and searching trash cans at Fifty Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue. I thought what a disgrace or compliment to the race, whichever way you want to look at it. Plus now I’ve met the most exasperating woman of my life. Lady Lulu Lullabyebaby. She said I fucked her to a standstill. Then said I looked as smug as a corpse. Momma meeo. She is the most open, the most closed, the coldest, the warmest, the most incredibly generous and the most hugely selfish female I have ever met. And what’s a million times worse. I could after she’s driven me crazy, be in love with her.

  Schultz heading this noonday east on foot across Mayfair. Birds singing up in the big plane trees they say grow so well from the bodies of plague victims buried here in Berkeley Square. To this meeting Al so urgently arranged. Christ with this barracula Joe Jewels, god’s gift to the theatre. Who would bite your legs off to the knees over fifty cents. Al with his little get together planned to convene in the pre lunch time cocktail lounge of a brand new hotel. Got to give the guy at least an E for effort. Which would get hidden by the big D he gets for being dumb sometimes.

  Schultz checking the shows ads in the newspaper’s classifieds as Al came through the door.

  “Holy shit Al, what the hell’s happened. Jesus, not now you too. A toupee. My god.”

  “What’s the matter don’t you like it.”

  “Jesus no, throw it away, it makes you look like something they’re getting rid of out the back door of a funeral parlour.”

  “Throw it away are you crazy. It’s specially matched to the color and texture of my own natural hair. It cost me a fortune, it’s made out of the best most expensive tresses, curls and ringlets in the world.”

  “Al has she seen you in it.”

  “Who.”

  “Louella.”

  “No. Not yet. Today I’m just taking it out on a test flight.”

  “Well for me Al, you just crash landed.”

  Joe Jewels entering in a black vicuna coat. Crossing the cocktail lounge to Schultz and Al. Where he fell back into a chair and slammed his feet up on the cocktail table, rattling the ashtrays. Schultz puce faced. And Al chewing his cigar, blood pressure up, face lathered, half conciliatory, half angry. Beads of sweat on his brow below his new hair line. Jewels waving away the smoke with his hand.

  “O.K. kid, just give me a figure.”

  “Joe please don’t straight off ask Mr. Schultz here for a figure. We should discuss this a little philosophically further as gentlemen.”

  “As long Al, as my name is Joe Jewels I can’t operate without figures. I need figures. What figures kid, have you got in mind.”

  “The show’s not for sale.”

  “Look kid, don’t waste my time. And don’t be stupid, I’m offering you a deal. Who else is going to take the show off your hands. When I could be telling you to go find someone else to buy into the flop you’ve already got. Come on give me a figure.”

  “Joe don’t ask him, please. Let’s talk artistic standards first.”

  “I’m only asking for a figure Al. Artistic standards can come later. O.K. kid. Give me the number of figures you got in mind. Three figures. No. Then it’s four figures. What. No. Hey kid you’re nuts.”

  “I told you Joe. Please. Don’t ask him. I’m telling you please don’t ask him money at this stage. It’s too volatile.”

  “Al keep your shirt on. Mr. Schultz, AI, don’t worry, he’s got a price. And the number of figures in the price is all I’m asking.”

  “And Joe I’m begging don’t ask him the number of figures right now.”

  “Kid, O.K. what is it. You don’t sit there and tell me you’re trying to go above four figures in dollars on this.”

  “It’s five figures. And it’s in pounds sterling.”

  “You see, Joe. Didn’t I tell you. I told you, I told you, didn’t I, not to ask him. And you had to ask.”

  “So now Al, we got near a figure. It’s five figures. So we know at the low end of the scale that means at least ten thousand pounds. So Mr. Schultz, you tell me, is it ten thousand pounds you want.”

  “It’s fifty Mr. Jewels.”

  “So sonny boy, let me tell you what you can do with the numeral five that is followed by four zeros. You can, in pounds, shove them. One zero at a time right up your ass. I’m not interested. What are you, Mr. Schultz, some kind of maniac that you go around asking for that kind of money with a show dying on your hands.”

  “That’s right. But you wouldn’t be here if it was dead. With two of the biggest star discoveries in recent theatrical history.”

  “Well goodbye Mr. Schultz, it takes me a phone call to a publicity agent to create all the star discoveries the public can stomach in any one week. Nobody with fifty thousand is stupid enough to buy at your price.”

  Joe Jewels shrugging and squaring his shoulders. The corners of his mouth turning down in a nose dive as he stood up. Departing in his black vicuna coat. His black silk socks in his black patent leather loafers sliding forward on his tiny feet. Al turning on Schultz. A fist made which he shakes.

  “You son of a bitch. Now he’s gone. You stupid son of a bitch. You blew it. Blew it. What t
he fuck’s wrong with you. Asking like that for a ransom. If the show dies now it’s dead for always.”

  “Jesus Al, you are the one that’s stupid. He’ll be back. With his tongue hanging out.”

  “Stupid. Huh. Look you fucking son of a bitch, if your cock should be out right now I would choke your stupid mouth with it. I went through the embarrassment of my life getting that guy even to sit down with you again. Now you’ve fucked this up like you have done everything else. You’re dead. Believe me. You’re dead.”

  “Hey Al your toupee is slipping.”

  “Never mind my fucking toupee. I got a mirror right here anytime I need to straighten it.”

  “Jesus Al, not in public like this. You’re not turning into a narcissistic creep are you.”

  “Never mind what I’m turning into. You’ve turned into an asshole. Who should be covered up in bandages. I had in the dining room there for lunch already reserved the best white wines of this century.”

  “Jesus everybody gets to hate me for doing what I think is right.”

  “With good reason because it’s wrong. What is it with you Sigmund that you cause in me always guilt, always anger. Always shame.”

  “Hey shit Al stop it. All this about guilt, anger and shame. How about innocence, joy and pride too that I cause.”

  “Ha, ha, I’m laughing. You, you bum, you should go in search of yourself with an analyst. Showing you the direction. You’re so lost.”

  “I’m right here having my grapefruit juice, Al, that’s all I need to know.”

  “You use people. That’s what you do.”

  “Jump off a cliff will you Al. Please.”

  “Not only are you a business disaster but your sense of beauty and love is destroyed.”

  “What are you trying to be a fucking humourist Al.”

  “I’m at least functioning as a human being. While your ego has taken you on a balloon ride miles out of reality.”

  Al standing. His open hands shaking at his sides. Taking a long last look at Schultz. And turning and storming out of the soft blue hued cocktail room. Bumping into a table on the way. Knocking over four empty glasses. His voice shouting as he pushed through the plate glass door.

  “That’s the ungrateful thanks you get. For helping a schlemiel.”

  Schultz dumping back his grapefruit juice. Paying the bill and passing the waiter picking up the broken glass left by Al. Jesus christ, maybe I fucking well did make a shambles. When I see a shit like Jewels so fucking smooth. So fucking sure of himself. It makes me see red.

  Schultz out of the hotel popping into a taxi. Through the familiar streets of Belgravia. A moving van parked in front of the Ambassador’s. The windows shuttered. And the Zumzimzamgazi flag at half mast as Pricilla stood shouting out the open door of number four Arabesque Street, with Schultz hopping away down the steps. Taking another cab back into the West End. Approaching a counter with his big battered box. The assistant opening it. And frowning deeply as he slowly handled the garments.

  “I fear sir, that not only is this morning suit and top hat and accessories long overdue but I’m afraid they are also a total write off.”

  “Hey what’s wrong, a few little rips and dents, can’t you sew and clean them up.”

  “I regret not sir, our clientele simply would not want to wear these after this extent of damage has happened to them.”

  “What’s happened, nothing. I was raised in the garment business. I know fabric. A little tear down the back of the coat, simple to fix, the threads must have been weak in the first place.”

  “Considerable force, sir, would be necessary to part this garment in this manner. This hat sir is in an absolute state of destruction.”

  “Just knocked around a little bit, that’s all.”

  “Sir I suggest you keep these and have them repaired yourself.”

  “What do I want with them, I’m never going to go to another damn wedding in my life.”

  “Well sir that’s entirely your affair. Our affair is to keep our customers satisfied.”

  “I’m a customer. I’ve also been hiring clothes and costumes from costumiers all my life. Satisfy me. Fix them up and rent them out again who’s going to know.”

  “Sir this firm is long proud of its reputation and we simply won’t do such a thing.”

  “Wipe your fucking ass with them then.”

  “I beg your pardon sir. I think I had better call the manager.”

  “You call him.”

  “I shall. And meanwhile here you are sir, in return for your cheque which I shall be happy to accept in the amount of one hundred and fifty guineas, they’re yours to keep.”

  The assistant pushing the clothes back at Schultz across the counter. Schultz picking up the trousers and held by their braces, swinging them across the assistant’s face.

  “I told you once, I don’t want them.”

  The assistant stunned. Staring at Schultz in horror. Schultz two handed taking the grey top hat and clamping it down over the startled assistant’s ears. Who pulled the hat off and threw back the trousers across the counter into Schultz’s arms. The battle on. A crash of glass as Schultz lashed out with a fist. And kicked a plaster cast morning suited mannequin in the balls. Clothes flying in all direction. As other assistants’ shouts brought the manager running.

  “I say what is the difficulty here.”

  Schultz proffering his cheque in the manager’s office. Outraged sensibilities soothed and ruffled feathers smoothed. One hundred and fifty guineas. For the writing off of the wedding regalia. One hundred and sixty five guineas for the damage to three male display mannequins and the busting of a display case containing silk handkerchiefs now sprinkled with broken glass. Because a fucking customer could get a bloody nose if he blows with one. Holy living shit. Why do I have to go cause damage in a place charging in guineas. Which means three hundred and twenty five pounds and ten shillings down the drain. How much longer can I stand it.

  Schultz stepping out on the street. With more packages now than when he went in. And enough silk handkerchiefs to last two lifetimes. A man standing obstructing his way.

  “Sir, do please excuse me stopping you like this. But I should like to firmly and warmly shake your hand. I’ve been wanting for years to do what you’ve just done in there. I simply never had the courage. Thank you.”

  Rule seven

  Always

  Thank god

  For admirers

  Thank

  You

  God

  28

  His Lordship returned to town. This noonday, Binky in the chairman’s office with his gout stool nearby ready to take up his seat on the side lines. His hair gleamingly brushed and himself attired in a camel hair suit, suede waistcoat with gold fox head buttons, cricket shirt and orange tweed tie. As he stood behind the desk, his back bathed in sunlight from the window. Schultz rushing in.

  “Hey where the fuck is his Lordship.”

  “Ah good afternoon Schultz. May I just pause here for a moment and look at you. With your packages under your arm. Yes indeed. Certain words in an under rehearsed manner come immediately to mind of a biblical bent, albeit, to wit, lay not up for yourself treasure upon earth where moth and dust doth corrupt and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up for yourself treasure in heaven where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt and where thieves, Schultz, do not break through and steal.”

  “Come on you bastard, don’t do this to me. There’s not even seconds to lose.”

  “Read that awe inspiring quote in this morning’s newspaper. Heading the agony column it was. I was most touched. And right underneath it Schultz, in the same column was another insertion, instantly reminding me of you. Which read, St. Jude help me, please never let it happen again.”

  “Binky come on, I’m begging you. Don’t fuck around. I got the figures here. We can just buy enough seats to bring the gross up to keep the theatre. I got everybody ready to go start buying. Why don’t you kick off, p
ut up a thousand.”

  “Schultz I do appreciate the splendid effort you’re making. But I do think it would do my miserly blood awful insult to lose one further penny.”

  “Who’s talking about losing. You could make.”

  “Having already sentimentally and foolishly bought back, at a substantial discount of course, the piece of the show I so wisely sold to Gayboy, I could Schultz, like you, be far away up shit’s creek. Without, as you say, an outboard engine. Now why don’t you Schultz very softly and briefly just bounce a cheque.”

  “I’m not going to bounce a cheque, you fucker. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Everybody is demanding cash paid for everything. I’m telling you, Binky. The show’s building. Believe me. You can see yourself. We did triple the business on a Wednesday night that we did on last Saturday.”

  “And of course Schultz, we did fuck all on last Saturday.”

  “Hey what are you Binky, a saboteur. Here, some silk handkerchiefs for you. Of all fucking varieties.”

  “Ah I must say, how nice Schultz. My aren’t they nice. And may I select.”

  “Select, sure. Anything you want. Here have this one too.”

  “I’ve already taken four, Schultz.”

  “You’ve taken five, but who’s counting.”

  “Ah Schultz, to be sure, I have. How mistaken of me. This is indeed the age of misgiving. Schultz such nice things as these could have brought joy to the Pygmies is the days when one was on safari there. As indeed these will now do so nicely as a spot of color to enliven the tableau of a shooting party knocking the woodcock out of the sky.”

  “Shit. Stop. Fuck the haberdashery. Let’s go. Let’s go. Fuck misgiving. Fuck tableaus. This is the moment of life and death with no god damn room left for giving or misgiving.”

  “Yes Schultz I do see your point. I believe Gayboy is desperately trying to get the theatre back to give to another show.”

  “The son of a bitch is never going to get me out of there.”

  “Now Schultz as one father to be, to another, let me invite you to a little seance this afternoon to relax you.”