Schultz

11

With the invitation pushed through his letter box, Schultz proffering it to the Ambassador’s major domo. Who stood in his gold braided regalia on the marble black and white landing at the top of the curved staircase. He bent whispering for the lady’s name. And the exalted commissionaire’s voice booming out identities of these two new arrivals. From just across the street.

“Mr. Sigmund Franz Schultz and Miss Pricilla Prune.”

Schultz had one or two additional contusions. Received from Pricilla’s pummelling fists and groin kicks uppercutting from her silver slippered foot. Following the bucket of cold water straight splash into her face and all over her bosoms and the rest of her. As she sat propped up by her arms. Schultz grinning for the first time in days. Her pale pink garment turned a darker shade. But on her feet screaming, Pricilla punched, scratched, gouged and attempted to bite Schultz all around the fish pond. Till police came rushing out the kitchen door into the garden.

“Come on honey, move forward, you’re holding up the reception line.”

Pricilla was now in a cloud of musky perfume and her black clinging see through gown. Her drenched Fortnum’s haute couture creation left hanging from the kitchen ceiling to dry. And her brand new patent leather opera bag held up under her left noticeable nipple crested marvellous tit. Smiling with her lower lip stretched over to hide her lower missing bicuspid.

“Come on honey, what are you trying to do, hog the limelight.”

“Shut up you.”

Schultz pushing Pricilla forward into the large drawing room and pressing his bandages down on his cheeks and also rubbing his knee to realign the ligaments stretched out of place in the rush down his kitchen stairs. As he now straightened up with his slightly lessened limp to confront the beaming dark complexioned face of the Ambassador.

“Ah Mr. Schultz. Please. Enter. It is so good of you to come.”

“Thanks Your Excellency. It’s swell to be here.”

“And of course I have not had the pleasure.”

“O yeah, sorry. His Excellency. Pricilla Prune.”

“I am enraptured my dear.”

“You are very very charming Your Excellency.”

The ebony rotund head of the Ambassador lifting away from Pricilla’s outstretched hand. His white teeth blazing in a smile. Beyond him stood London’s black and white diplomatic corps in their dark regalia. And military gentlemen conspicuous in their gold braid, shiny insignia and medals flashing and jingling. Flowers on the marble topped tables. Seated on Louis the Fourteenth sofas, ladies with long cigarette holders. And a distinct additional babble in the din of voices in the area of the room to which Pricilla navigated. To stunningly take up a position near a painting, Camels in Caravan on the Nile.

“Madam.”

A pale faced waiter just managing to proffer a glass of champagne through the throng of gentlemen surrounding her. Schultz squeezed away facing the backs of ministers plenipotentiary, assorted chargé d’affaires, attachés, and first and second secretaries four deep. A smiling gurgling Pricilla bathed in the stream of flatteries wafting her way from every direction. Jesus you’d think these guys had never seen a real beauty before. But holy shit. Be a great way to get rid of this bitch. Just beat it and leave her to hand out a dose of clap to the whole diplomatic corps in London. And leave it to the Arabs to blame it on the Israelis or the Israelis to blame it on the Arabs.

“Ah Mr. Schultz, my dear neighbor. The gladiator of Arabesque Street.”

“Your Excellency I got a few little cuts all right. Tripping down the stairs.”

“Ah my dear sir never mind, so many things one must be careful of in this city of London which offers so many wonderful pleasures. But it is so good to see you. After all the ambulances, all the Police.”

“Yeah they’ve been a few ambulances and Police all right.”

“And all the pretty women. Who come to your house all the time.”

“Now and again they do.”

“But there you are, already alone, and your beautiful friend surrounded. But was there something again this evening that happened.”

“Nothing. Just someone trying to rob me fell in the fish pond. My neighbors living behind me called the Police. But this is a nice party you’ve got going.”

“Yes we do rather pride ourselves on our good parties. But of course the addition of you and your latest lady friend does help you know. She is by far the most attractive of all the attractive ladies. Let me congratulate you. Did you notice, how the entire male assemblage have immediately congregated about her. Such a thing could put a strain on the rafters and send London’s diplomatic corps tumbling to the floor below. N’est-ce pas.”

“Yeah I notice that, Your Excellency.”

“You are not jealous.”

“Your Excellency, ugly guys like me just have to be patient and wait their turn.”

“Ah but you are much too modest Mr. Schultz. You clearly have an incredible way with the ladies. You don’t kid me.”

“Likewise Your Excellency you don’t do too bad yourself.”

“Ha ha, Mr. Schultz, it is how do you say, in the nature of the diplomatic profession to keep everyone happy. But perhaps we, the two of us, might keep in touch about such things as beauty and the wonders of London. And perhaps you and your lady friend would come some evening to dine with us. In a more intime situation perhaps.”

“Any time Your Excellency wants to give me a tinkle, you just do that little thing.”

“I shall Mr. Schultz, I assure you, I shall.”

A hush over the gathering. The last glasses clanking on marble tops and clinking against each other. Whispers dying away. All the seated standing. The Ambassador stationed at the white gold leaf embellished open double doors. A drum roll. Bugles sounding a fanfare. And the commissionaire’s voice throbbing out over the gathered expectant guests.

“His Royal Imperial Highness Field Marshal King Buggybooiamcheesetoo and Her Royal Imperial Highness.”

The King Buggyspendthriftboob, as some chargé d’affaires whispered behind Schultz that he ought to be called, came in massively rotund and slightly rolling on his feet with a large mouthful of shiny gold teeth that looked like they might, if you got too close, take a big bite out of you.

“Hey do you mind telling me who the hell’s this making an entrance.”

“He is the Emperor His Royal Imperial Highness King of the Sovereign State of Boohooland.”

“Jesus, never heard of the place.”

“It is sir a few million acres of mountain range, lakes, a deep navigable river to the sea and some hundreds of thousands in population.”

“Thanks for the information. It’s amazing isn’t it how these vine swinging upstarts think they own the world suddenly when they got a few snake infested steamy acres of impenetrable jungle to crow over.”

“I think sir that you might find if you cared to investigate that there is more than just some steamy jungle to crow over.”

“Well look at the guy, he can hardly stand up with all his medals. His wife looks like she just escaped out of some Harlem jewelry store in the middle of a riot. By the way who are you.”

“I am the Foreign Minister of the State whose Sovereign you have just attempted to describe sir.”

“O hey I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

“Sir while I was at one of the better known schools in England situated on one of its best known rivers, I learned that one must be charitable to those who speak out of ignorance.”

“Well Minister, if you’ll excuse the undiplomatic language, I put my fucking foot into it didn’t I.”

“Well perhaps. But a foot at least is not your entire leg sir. And by the way Her Imperial Highness is His Imperial Highness’s sister.”

“Well at least let me wish you entire luck with your whole nation Minister.”

“Thank you sir.”

Schultz crushing between his teeth several creamed mushroom and smoked salmon canapes washed down with three glasses of champagne. And watching the African political celebrities, he avoided all further loose talk. Till another fanfare and drum roll. A major domo announcing dinner. The assembled guests following King Buggyboo proceeding down the curved grand staircase. Through crystal chandelier lit reception rooms opening out on a covered terrace and down steps to a vast marquee stretched over a large garden. With even a fish pond and fountain. White tables on which candles flickered. A dance floor built over the grass. Gloved waiters behind long linen counters of heaped up victuals. And on a raised banquet dais a floodlit table gleaming with gold plate.

“Boy these rich wog bastards don’t fool around when it comes to fucking lavish feasting. They make the British look like the stingy fuckers they really are.”

Schultz looking the way his face looked, took up a lonely vigil at a table set amid the thicker shrubberies. Examining the silver George III candelabra decorated with Egyptian female figures, oak leaves and fan motifs. Sipping a glass of champagne. And taking up to his lips a piece of toast heaped inch deep in Beluga, that he was just about to bite.

“Holy shit.”

At the high table set for the King. His Imperial Highness carefully peeling and holding up a grape between his fingers. To place the skinless green ripeness between Pricilla’s opening lips. Who sat smilingly seated at the King’s right elbow which at the moment is nudged deeply into her tit.

“Jesus I get invited and she takes the glory.”

The clank and clang of delph and cutlery. The string orchestra at the far end of the tent playing a medley of English boating tunes. Waiters hurrying platters of chicken legs, pigeon legs, pheasant legs, turkey legs and all matter of other parts of roasted and non roasted beeves and birds not to mention lobster, smoked trout, prawns and the endless pouring out of this booming Echezeaux and Chablis grand cru.

A dark shadow hovering near Schultz. A smiling beribboned dark complexioned gentleman bowing and touching the back of a chair.

“Ah sir, may I.”

“Sure.

“I should first like sir to present the compliments of His Royal Imperial Highness King Buggybooiamcheesetoo.”

“Sure. Who are you.”

“I have just had the honor as recently as last week to present my letters of credence as Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from Boohooland to the Court of St. James’s.”

“Sit down. Great little country you have, Your Excellency.”

“Thank you sir. His Majesty hopes you will not be offended for his having rather commandeered your most attractive lady friend this evening. He sends his apologies but she is so striking and it is the custom of our country, that the King always pays his respects to the most beautiful woman present. And he hopes you will not mind.”

“Tell the King to help himself and make himself at home.”

“Then you do not mind.”

“Your Excellency. Just let me take off my sunglasses for a second. And take a look at my face. What do you see.”

“Dear me sir.”

“That’s right. Guess who gave me all this.”

“I quite understand sir.”

“Hey out of interest. Back in your country. If the King likes a girl he sees.”

“It is the custom that he takes her sir. Which of course, being a gentleman as well as a King, he would not dream of doing.”

“And if some guy objects you cut off his hands or something.”

“No we cut off his ears. Cutting off so many pairs of hands would affect our economy. But I do thank you sir for being so understanding. And I will convey this to His Majesty.”

“You do that.”

“He will be most pleased. Although His Majesty is a warrior and soldier he prefers not to transgress upon the sensitivities of others.”

“But Your Excellency before you go, there’s another little thing you ought to know.”

“And what is that sir.”

“Well it’s a rather confidential and intimate matter. And I hope I can rely on you to keep it that way.”

“But of course you can sir, you have my word as a gentleman as well as an Ambassador.”

“The girl has a social disease.”

“Ah. I see. That is most extremely good of you to be so forthcoming sir. But I do not think that will matter in the least. His Majesty’s doctors take such things in their stride so to speak.”

“Well they’re going to have real fun getting in stride with this one let me tell you.”

The Ambassador regaining his seat. Schultz tucking into a nice dark bit of turkey and taking a sip of Echezeaux. The Ambassador’s silk cuffs each linked with a massive diamond set in an ingot of gold as he folds his black white palmed hands carefully together on the linen. His chin lifting as his eyebrows closed together over his broad shiny dark nose.

“Do please sir, enlighten me further.”

“Well this humdinger is called the Oriental Venereal Plague.”

“Excuse me please sir I am not familiar with that word. What is this humdinger.”

“It means something remarkable. Out of the ordinary. Every doctor in London is trying to cure me at this second.”

“Sir you must tell me immediately concerning this.”

“That’s exactly, as you might say, what I’m doing. My balls are swollen out like grapefruits.”

“I must sir, excuse myself and get to the King at once.”

“You do that. You wouldn’t want the King’s testicles to come plummeting off.”

Schultz, not a man to imbibe too deeply, drank off his glass of Echezeaux in a swallow and poured another. As the Ambassador, nearly tripping on his face, pushed his way through the throngs of feasting people. Rushing now around a boxwood shrub manicured in the shape of a peacock. And bam. The Ambassador upsetting a lady’s drink on her dress. Patting her about with napkins and summoning waiters and flunkies from the royal entourage. And just managing to pay his last apologies to the lady as the master of ceremonies announced.

“My Lords, Your Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen. His Royal Imperial Highness will now start the dancing, thank you.”

Schultz watching over the rim of his wine glass. As the King of Boohooland led Pricilla by her hand held high out on to the dance floor. The assemblage breaking into applause. The orchestra playing. And the big bellied King and Pricilla gliding about fox trotting cheek to cheek in the many hued splendors of flashing light.

“Jesus now she really thinks she’s the fucking Queen of Sheba.”

The Ambassador standing at the edge of the now crowded dance floor undiplomatically rubbing his anxious hands together. No doubt contemplating that the King’s medical advisers will never find a needle big enough to penetrate deep enough into the royal fat black arse and are really going to have to go digging all over the jungle to find herbs they think are strong enough to cure their Sovereign’s humdinger dose of Oriental Venereal Plague.

Six coal dark drummers in loincloths joining the orchestra. Faces streaked with paint, ankles jangling ivory bracelets and hands slapping their double ended tom toms. Bugles blowing. Dancers making room for the King as he erupted into a sweat flying, bug eyed, lip licking war dance hoofing in all directions. With Pricilla, hands wagging over her head, cavorting to the throb of drums, her hips pumping, legs kicking, arms writhing and head flung back and forth like her tonsils were exploding.

“Jesus christ the two of them look like they’re going to fuck right there and now. The son of a bitch’s big black hand just grabbed her straight on the tit. She smiled. I’ll kill her. What the fuck does she thank she’s doing. Making an ass out of me all here alone like I had leprosy at this table.”

On the sidelines, the Ambassador patting his white hanky at his ebony forehead. The King and Pricilla center floor. Surrounded at an admiring distance by the other frenzied oscillating guests. The King’s whooping mouth wide open. Medals bouncing on his chest. Fist shaking around his head. The diamond studded gold braid of a Field Marshal hanging askew off one shoulder. Any second now his fly is going to bust open. To treat us to a flash of his big black famous prick.

“And look at that fucking bitch will you. In a hula, a shimmy, can can, belly roll and cha cha cha, all rolled into one. And doesn’t even know I’m alive. This is the fucking thanks you get for taking a person to a party.”

The Ambassador from Boohooland still waiting for His Imperial Majesty to come in off the dance floor. A military attaché at his shoulder. The two of them in urgent conference. No doubt worrying about their own balls being chopped off and being hung in the sun to dry when His Imperial Highness’s private parts go swelling up like canteloupes and clatter off bouncing around their jungle kingdom like stale coconuts. This would be exactly the right time to slip away from this undiplomatic incident. Except no fucking two bit King is going to take a fucking girl away from me. Just throw back a big shot of this excellent cognac. And go cut in on that big black bastard. And maybe get some fucking justice and fair play and peace of mind for one night.

Schultz setting off to the dance floor. Stepping and dodging between the couples and putting his ligament out of place once more. And just as he reached the swirling King and Pricilla with a finger poised ready to tap His Imperial Highness on the shoulder, Schultz tripped over a loose royal foot. Grabbing as he did so a balancing hold on the Field Marshal’s gold braided epaulette. Which ripped off as Schultz fell. To suddenly find himself with the aid of five uniformed members of the royal entourage being forcibly air lifted from the floor.

“Hey get your fucking hands off me you cunts.”

The Ambassador from Boohooland covering his face. Schultz shaking and twisting loose from the grasping enclosing arms. Regaining his feet. Swinging a looping haymaker. Catching an equerry smack on the jaw. And sending him flat on his arse. As shouts went up and the lights suddenly went out. To the deafening screams of the ladies.

“Assassination.”

“Save the King.”

“Fuck the King.”

Reinforcements called. With members of Scotland Yard’s Flying Squad on duty in the street rushing inside. And Schultz immediately overwhelmed by an army from Boohooland, was knocked unconscious dreaming. Of standing one youthful day on an apartment house stoop. With his violin. The pink setting sun flashing on windows. As all the little girls on the block collected to listen. Smiling in admiration. Adoring as they heard.

This

One time

Child prodigy play

The battle hymn

Of the Republic