Schultz

10

His own comb having been commandeered by Magillacurdy rushing to adjust a curl on some lady’s dog in the street, Schultz asked for a loan of his Lordship’s or Binky’s who both demurred. Especially as at that very next moment Schultz had the effrontery to attempt to also borrow a handkerchief before heading down to his taxi ordered to take him to Harley Street. Where the attractive nurse smiled welcome in the dark hall and led him with her prick stirring legs up the stairs.

“Of course Mr. Schultz it can hit that hard and that fast as you put it. The incubation period can be anywhere from two to ten days. From our previous conclusive tests it is established that you have never had gonorrhea previously. But this does unquestionably look like a particularly virulent case of clap, to use its more common appellation. It could also be a form of non specific urethritis.”

“Just cure me Doc just cure me. I really am in a hurry.”

“May I enquire if you are likely to be exposed again to the source of this present infection.”

“Doc, can you just give me something so I don’t get it again.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Schultz I can’t. You are simply going to have to refrain from sexual intercourse for a while.”

“Doc, it’s the one thing in my life I can’t do without.”

“Well Mr. Schultz let me say that that is extremely apparent. As indeed I fear you went right ahead with the intercourse which gave you your present infection without waiting for clearance from me as to your possibly being already infected.”

“Doc this girl imposed on me. And gave me this what I’ve got. I was really trying to control myself.”

“I see. Just bend a little forward. Well now let’s find a suitable spot on your buttock. Your punishment as it were is ready to be administered.”

“Holy shit, excuse my language Doc. You’re not going to shove that all the way into me are you.”

“You won’t feel a thing except a sudden deep jab or two into a very large muscle.”

“Jesus Doc I got a special aversion to that kind of pain from big needles.”

“You seem if I may say so Mr. Schultz, to take your other injuries rather well. Black eyes, and the rather deep scratches on your face. I hope I’m not maligning you. But I do believe I’ve been reading about you. You are the Mr. Schultz to whom the papers recently refer.”

“Yeah Doc. Regrettably.”

“Well the theatre must be becoming a very lively place these days.”

Schultz with his pained arse in a taxi heading south across Oxford Street. Down New Bond. Grand emporiums of auction houses. Art dealers and women’s fashions. Turn west on a sedate and grey stoned Brook Street. Grosvenor Square and its flat green park. Tall elms. The statue of an American President standing solemn in a cloak with a cane. The Embassy with its great eagle spread high over its entrance. Christ if clap has to get mentioned in the renewal of my passport. Have you at any time had a virulent venereal disease. How often. Caught it from whom. And when infected how many other people did you then give it to. Do you intend to disloyally import it into the United States. In which case can you give the names of those people who will risk exposure to you on your return home.

Down Park Lane. The dear Dorchester radiant in pink rays of sun. Late afternoon whores patrolling. Even thicker than they did when I first came to this town. And spending every cent I had, trying to live like a big time producer. Till I was broke with nowhere to live, without a penny in my pocket. Cold and hungry on a last desperate day. Standing around the corner from Piccadilly Circus in Air Street. Before I was going to deliver myself to the Embassy. For a taxpayers’ sponsored ride back to America. Kind hearted Lizzie from Limerick stepped up behind me in the shadows. Supported me for six peaceful weeks. While customers were pounding her in the next room. And I pounded her after her night’s work without even getting so much as a cold. She gave me pocket money and the least troubles I ever had from a female. Except when she made me go into a Catholic church on Sunday. To stand around freezing my balls off with a bunch of vacuous mumbling Irish.

Circling Hyde Park Corner. Wellington Statue. The great Arch. And the Artillery Memorial. The traffic in its thickening stream. Slowing bumper to bumper. At least one person in every two cars has got to buy a ticket to my show. Everybody needs entertainment. If only there was no censorship I could sell serial rights of a T.V. film of my fucking life, for a fucking fortune and retire forever from being a producer. Got to keep my mental faculties together. Stick Binky and his Lordship with the rest of the investment. And start paying off bills stacking up at the Dorchester.

The taxi cruising past the ambulance entrance of St. George’s Hospital down Grosvenor Crescent. Into Belgrave Square. The cream painted facades. The always shrouded secret park in the middle. Down my nice private quiet street. Lights all lit in all the windows of the Ambassador’s house. He’s about the only friend I’ve got in London.

“There are you Squire, Harley Street to Belgravia.”

“Thanks. Keep the change.”

“Thank you sir. And enjoy your stay in Britain.”

Schultz looking up at his splintered front door as he pushed open the squealing gate in the railings to the steps down to the basement. In the cold kitchen, sticking a knife in a jar of peanut butter. Suck a big glob of the stuff off the blade. Take a spoonful of strawberry jam. Gnaw on a piece of stale bread. Sustain me till I see what new shit is going to hit the fan. Climb up the stairs. Peek in the pantry. And wince into the library. The front door propped closed with the hall table stacked with wet books. Everything is worse than I thought. Jesus the end of the world can come hidden away in your own life.

On the hall table, atop the soaked books, two envelopes. Hand delivered and shoved down from the letter box. Schultz with his finger ripping one open.

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance & Nightingale.

Dear Sir,

Upon certain newspaper reports having come to the attention of our clients Mr. & Mrs. Adams Apple-Apple, they did upon our advice instruct their surveyor, Mr. Johns, to inspect the property of No. 4 Arabesque Street in your absence, which is permitted under the lease which lease we hold no longer valid.

Mr. Johns’ report is now in our hands. The general condition he described the house to be in, is to say the least, entirely deplorable. Extensive damage has not only been done to the valuable contents but to the fabric of the building. Walls everywhere are fingerprinted and marked and smudged as if items of food were flung about the premises. Indeed a piece of Gorgonzola cheese was found adhering to a signed and dated eighteenth century painting “Hounds Taking the Scent.” And the valuable plaster work on the ceilings of the bathroom and library have been entirely destroyed.

The disappearance has also been noted of the fourteenth century bust of Justinian, from the landing. In this latter matter we would be glad to have your immediate check in the amount of fourteen thousand pounds being the assessed value of the piece. As soon as builders’ estimates are in our hands we will advise you of the final amount required to cover other damage. Meanwhile your early check in the amount of ten thousand pounds as part payment is required forthwith.

Aside from the clear evidence of moral turpitude expressly forbidden in the lease, and in other extraordinary circumstances prevailing and in order to preserve that more damage does not take place and, without prejudice to any other remedy we may have in the matter, we are instructed by our clients to hereby serve notice upon you to vacate the premises of No. 4 Arabesque Street, Belgravia within seven days or legal proceedings will be taken against you so to do.

Yours faithfully,

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance & Nightingale

P.S. As a personal note from a senior member of this firm, I should like to make the point that this is not what one would expect from a citizen of that country which came to fight beside us so gallantly following our winning single handedly the battle of Britain.

Schultz holding the letter up shaking it. You dirty bunch of British tight assed fuckers just let me give you a fucking point or two. In the first place that bust of Justinian was unadulterated plaster and a piece of lousy cheap junk. In the second place the bathroom faucets all exploded leaking till I got a wrench myself to twist the fucking things shut. In the third place the place was practically a sewer when I moved in. In the fourth place all my fucking problems are caused by women. In the fifth place none of you are going to get a red cent out of me.

Schultz leaning against the wall, momentarily relaxing from his shouting match with the physically unrepresented firm of Chary, Leer etcetera. Taxi diesel engines throbbing by in the street. Schultz’s finger slowly ripping open the second envelope. With the same black heavily engraved letterhead. Jesus christ at least no one can accuse me I’m handicapped by my optimism at this fucking time of my life. They’ve added a really appropriate new partner’s name since their previous letter two minutes ago.

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance, Voyeur &

Nightingale

Dear Sir,

We are instructed by Mr. Al Duke and Miss Pricilla Prune to act upon another matter separate from the one concerning clients from whom you have leased No. 4 Arabesque Street.

In court proceedings this morning you pleaded guilty to assaulting our clients. Who as a result of such assault were both treated for abrasions and contusions. Miss Prune, who now requires extensive dental work having lost and swallowed her tooth as a consequence of being struck by your fist, also suffered severe bruising to her chest area and will be unable to work for some considerable time. She must also due to dental damage eat slops.

Mr. Duke who so bravely defended the honor of Miss Prune, had to have administered prolonged medication to stop the persistent bleeding of his nose. The clothes he was wearing as were those of Miss Prune were stained with blood and cannot be worn again.

Mr. Duke however, has agreed to waive his right to any damages subject to your fully compensating Miss Prune who had a brand new dress of hers scorched irreparably through your having kicked it up on top of a lamp bulb. We would be glad to have your immediate check in the amount of six hundred and forty nine pounds and ten shillings to cover the above as well as our own out of pocket expenses, otherwise we are instructed to issue proceedings against you for this amount and hold you liable for all costs in so doing.

Yours faithfully,

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance, Voyeur &

Nightingale

P.S. As a senior partner of this firm, one hopes that your unchivalrous treatment of a lady will reach the attention of the Home Office and the appropriate action ensue.

“You fucking sons of bitches I’ll give you something to sue about.”

Schultz sailing his right foot into a hall chair. Kicking the brocaded seat upwards out of its frame. His left foot sailing through the presently knee high lamp shade on top of which Pricilla’s dress scorched. Tearing down a painting from the wall and sending another foot through into the infinities of its rural scene. Schultz as his Lordship would say, was in an excitable state. And foot kicking crazy. As well as foot kicking mad. Till hearing a voice. And fingers widening an aperture in the splintered door.

“Ah let me give you a hand in there me boyo, that’s no way now to wreck a house. You’d be hours doing it. Here let me show you now how that’s done. As soon as I break me way in.”

“Jesus Magillacurdy the door’s blocked, go downstairs for christ’s sake. Don’t do nothing. I’m a ruined enough man as it is.”

“Nonsense. Nonsense. Sure what kind of dissident black bile talk is that to oppress the breast. When there are pints of the finest to be drunk off hundreds of mahogany bars all over London. And women to be downed with them. Ruined. Never. Redeemed is more like it.”

Magillacurdy skipping sideways in through the basement kitchen door. To stand there on the flagstones a benign loving smile across his face.

“Ah now me boyo. I came to apologise I have. For causing you all your trouble. But didn’t we hit the headlines with a bang, though.”

“We hit them alright Magillacurdy. You’re a publicist par excellence.”

“Ah now surely that’s not all I’m good for.”

“Magillacurdy I’ll give it to you straight. And you know all this yourself already. You are the biggest genius I’ve ever encountered in showbizz.”

“Ah bless you and may your years in showbizz have been legion.”

“But Jesus christ almighty Magillacurdy, never again please will you, shout out the window of a car we’re in that you’re being kidnapped.”

Magillacurdy pulling his blazing red forelock, his eyes welling with moisture. Tears slowly oozing to tumble down his pale cheeks. And go rolling over the corners of his lips dimpled in a smile.

“Ah me boyo, me boyo, me boyo. I’m conscience stricken. Contrite.”

Magillacurdy’s miner’s boots thumping across the kitchen floor. His massive arm reaching around the back of Schultz’s shoulder.

“Ah me boyo. Is it not a pity the world has no place for me. Except right at the very top.”

“And Magillacurdy do you on top of everything else, also have to be devastatingly charming.”

“Ah me worst fault that. When me charm gets the better of me. Sure no one can resist it. And I have victims all over the place.”

From up under his thick blue sweater, Magillacurdy pulling his script.

“On closer prolonged scrutiny this is the greatest load of awful shit since vanity in the theatre was invented but me boyo you’re sincere, I can see that. So I’m going to accept and take the part for your win ningly lovable sake alone. Ah but as I suspected the lyrics did just lend themselves to revisions. So make a fresh script out of this now. And after I’ve consulted with the Director, Choreographer and Composers and given the author a Welsh miner’s boot up his hole, you won’t have such a bad little show on your hands after all. Now do you have a bottle of health giving stout handy.”

With a glass of whiskey, another rib creaking hug and a resounding kiss on Schultz’s cheek, Magillacurdy danced light footed out the kitchen door. And went roaring away up the basement steps having sung four new astonishing numbers he’d written into the script.

Schultz, undressing to soak in a hot wet tub in his wet blacked out bathroom, could still hear the voice of Magillacurdy serenading down Arabesque Street. Warm water lapping at the lobes of Schultz’s ears. Silence now. Like a Saturday noonday with folk gone on their weekend ways to the country. Be sued for a big fraction of my whole show’s budget. Here I am thinking I’ve escaped from all the witch and bitch-hood of American fucked up womanhood. And right in the middle of England I walk into the worst bitch of my life. Jesus the British secret service could be creeping up on me to bounce bullets off the side of my bath.

Schultz suddenly alert sitting up in the bubbly water. A creak of floor board on the stairs and coming closer out in the hall. Schultz gripping both sides of the tub. Levering himself up half ready to crouch down again submerged behind the porcelain. One hand slipping and Schultz plunging splashing backwards bodily in the bath head under water nearly drowning. Framed in the door the female silhouette of Pricilla.

“That’s you Sigmund isn’t it.”

“Yes it’s fucking well me.”

“Why are you in the dark. Aren’t you ready yet. Well I’m asking you, aren’t you.”

“To your first question I’m in the dark because there’s no light. To the second question. No. I’m not ready. I’m fucking drowned. To your third remark in that tone of voice. I’ll get up out of this bath and knock some more of your teeth out.”

“Darling please, don’t get angry with me. I’m only asking because of the Ambassador’s party we’ve been invited to. And we’re late.”

“If I wasn’t lying down in this bath here taking a much needed rest I swear I’d clip you one right again in the fucking mouth.”

“O darling isn’t one sock in the jaw quite enough.”

“Not for you it sure enough isn’t. You got some nerve coming back here. You know don’t you you’re trying to sue me. In my own house. You and that geriatric creep Al.”

“But why should that stop us from going to the Ambassador’s party.”

“I’ll tell you something to stop us. Just tell me who the fuck other than me you’re fucking.”

“Darling that’s offensive.”

“Cut the shit. Who else are you screwing.”

“I assume you are accusing me of having slept with other men, and I emphatically have not. Besides my past is none of your business.”

“You honey have infected me with a dose of the clap.”

“How dare you. I have never had such a thing in my life.”

“You should have been a fucking actress honey. The way you play those lines.”

“How dare you.”

“You’re just beautiful. Every inflection perfect.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Hey get the fuck away from me. Or I’ll throw this soapy water all over you and that dress I paid for you’re wearing. You’re clapped up honey.”

“No one has ever spoken to me in such an insulting manner before in my entire life.”

“Get used to it honey. You’re a walking health hazard. The source of my fucking infection. Jesus I nearly said affection. Wow.”

“You foul horrible insensitive thing. I’ll have you know that the man to whom I was recently engaged was titled. And was just one among the many men who have adored and worshipped me. Even though he was an aristocrat he followed me about like a faithful dog.”

“Woof woof.”

“Be smart. Go ahead. You got your clap from one of those common trollops who appear on your doorstep.”

“I didn’t honey. I got the clap straight from you. And you better go see the doctor and get a big needle up your nice soft white arse.”

Pricilla picking up the hem of her long dress, spinning around and tiptoeing out over the sopping towels and squelching wet carpet of the half lit bathroom. Her footsteps down the stairs. Schultz wrapping in a towel. Sticking his feet in his slippers waiting dry, out in the hall. Tip toeing down. To see if Pricilla was further wrecking the house. Instead of sitting as she was in the drawing room reading a fashion magazine open across her knee.

“Hey come on you. Out. This is no fucking private club for you to sit around in. After clapping me up and going to a fucking lawyer. Suing me. With that big bullshitter Al who thinks he’s some kind of big father figure and protector of ladies in distress. Look at this place. You turned the fucking faucets on. The library is ruined. They’re trying to get me for thousands of pounds for the damage.”

“O darling, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.”

“Yes I am. Please forgive me for whatever I’ve done.”

“Well, what the fuck did you do all these things for.”

“I don’t want to be taken for granted.”

“Holy shit. You don’t want to be taken for granted so you should then practise inhumanity on me.”

“You did damage too darling.”

“Sure I did when I was so furious out of my fucking mind over the damage you did. So what are you still sitting there all dressed up for.”

“And why are you standing there in a towel undressed.”

“Because honey soon I’m going to sit smouldering like any good producer should, right where you’re sitting, with cigars sticking out smoking all over me in my silver lamé shirt I’ve got upstairs and a gold medallion clanking on the hairs of my chest waiting for these limey British cunts to come try and get me, a red blooded American, out of this fucking house before my lease is up. So before I get back down here again. You better be gone.”

Schultz in his bedroom. Peeking out the curtains to across the street. Cars and limousines arriving at the Ambassador’s house. Unloading emissaries, envoys, proconsuls and ministers. Chauffeurs jumping out to open doors. The long radiant flowing dresses of wives and mistresses. The plenipotentiary glamour. Two butlers taking coats inside the Ambassador’s black and white marble floored hall. Jesus, what am I alive for. Instead of worrying about legal actions and fucking wasting time going to bed, I ought to bandage over the worst scratches and go over there in my sunglasses and tuxedo and mix in with some of those nice folks. And even though one’s going to feel awfully dirty and clapped up, it will be a nice little elegant normal distraction. Amid the pieces of diplomatic undiseased ass, caviar and vaults of unlimited champagne.

Schultz dressing. Snapping up across his shoulders his emerald green braces over his silk shirt. Putting on his cummerbund and polishing his dancing pumps with the sleeve of his tuxedo. Tying a knot in his bowtie with what Binky said was the necessary amount of foppishness. And Schultz heading down into the hall. Picking up the phone from the floor just as it was ringing.

“Hello.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you like this, but are you the occupant of what I think must be number four Arabesque Street.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t want to alarm you sir but I’m sure you’ll understand that in attempting to keep up standards in the area I really thought I should inform you direct instead of calling the Police. My wife has just got a rather nasty shock. I do think you should look out into your garden.”

“What’s wrong.”

“Well sir I don’t quite know how to put this but there appears to be a person there. Who does not appear well.”

“Holy shit.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Sorry it’s just a religious expression. Thanks for calling.”

Schultz hanging up and heading into the library to look out the window. The tiny fish pond with no fish and a statue of a cherub holding a wand out of which the estate agents said water would come upon depressing a switch inside the kitchen door. And nothing happened even when you hit it with a hammer.

“Jesus I can’t see a god damn thing out there. O Jesus. There is something. Come on. When the fuck is my life ever going to get tranquil again.”

Beyond the edge of paving stones a garden bench. A lady’s silver slippered foot sticking out. Schultz rushing past the pantry and down stairs. Twisting a knee and stumbling as he went. And a grab at the bannister dislodging one end of it from the wall.

“Holy shit something else to get sued for.”

Schultz limping out into the darkened confines of the garden. Ivy covered lattice around the walls and dried up rose plants in beds. On a little patch of lawn, in a long gown. Pricilla stretched out spreadeagled on her back in the grass.

“Jesus Fortnum’s may as well charge her up to me along with the dress.”

Schultz hobbling back into the kitchen and filling a bucket of water. Returning to stand over Pricilla with the brimming white porcelain pail. Swinging it back in order to deliver the entire cold contents splashing on the prostrate body. Pricilla sitting bolt upright and shouting.

“Don’t you dare.”

Schultz did

And she screamed.

Blue bloody murder

As she

Got doused