Schultz

23

Lights blazing outside the theatre. Pedestrians lining the pavement. Cars bumper to bumper jamming the street. Police on foot and horseback. Flash bulbs popping. London’s glittering people pouring out of taxis and limousines in one orgasm of celebrity after another. Two fanatic fans holding up a sign.

MAGILLACURDY

FOR

PRIME MINISTER

Big Al in a black velvet dinner jacket. Pricilla and her mother both in blazing red. Arriving out of Al’s limo, their faces beaming at the cameras and waltzing like royalty into the thronged lobby. With a sprinkling of first nighters from Hornchurch, Bromley, and Golders Green. Voices babbling. Matches striking, cigarettes lighting. Eyes flickering here. Eyes flickering there. Eyes flickering everywhere.

Schultz that late rainy afternoon, comforting Rebecca in his Lordship’s office. Then taking her to a snug Chinese restaurant up a narrow little Soho alley. Where this saddened creature poured out her heart over the sweet and sour pork.

“Jesus kid no man is worth your marvellous kind of love. Plenty of guys are dying to adore a wonderful girl like you, marry and settle down and have kids. But if you have to love somebody, love some guy who needs it. Like me for instance. See, you laugh. So now you’re going to start feeling all better.”

Schultz, at ten minutes till curtain time, coming down the lobby stairs from his private balcony box, where the previous half hour he sat subdued screened away in darkness. Without answering the deputy stagemanager’s knocks concerning a screaming tooth and nail female fight in a chorus dressing room. As other words of Binky’s echoed around between his ears.

“My dear little one Schultz, spent the entire second night of our honeymoon weeping and sobbing in my arms, saying among other things, that she had trapped me by her being with child and that any time I wanted I could abandon her. Cast her out cold and naked on the moors. Alas owned by her father fifteen miles in each direction. But I mean of course, we were overwrought, the nearby waterfall thundering in our ears with a recent heavy rainfall. By dawn I simply loved her. Loved her truly. My dear sweet cherished poppet, my petkins.”

Schultz tearing himself out of his solitary reverie. Went towards the lobby. Stood on the staircase, his hand on the gleaming brass rail. Looking back into the grey sad eyes of Rebecca. And her beautiful hands manipulating her chopsticks. Putting her fingers touching mine, when she said thanks for comforting me. We went back out on the London streets under the encouraging clearing skies. Our lonely taken Chinese meal in both our bellies. Her honesty, her shyness, her warmth. Now the perfumes of these fucking people. Who look like they don’t have a care in the world. Except bored curiosity to see if this is a smash hit or a dismal flop and whether tomorrow I should be smiled at or shown an ice cold shoulder. Fuck you, you cunts all of you, I’ll show you. Jesus, even some tiaras, and more than half of the audience are in evening dress. While I’m in physical and mental incarceration. Give a little bit of yourself to a woman, and they keep wanting more. Till they got all of you. Till they think you’re some fucking ornament they wear in their lives. Thank god a production shuts out the entire rest of the world. But tonight it lets them all back in again. Everybody, Jesus everybody down there in that lobby thinks they’re such hot shit. Not a trace of humility anywhere. Except that girl in a nice sombre black suit. No staggering beauty but what a serene nice face. Holy fuck, could that be Al’s new girl friend. Jesus, I know her from somewhere, that soft nice lovely brown hair. O god what new complication is this in my life. In the kind of recent erotic escapes I’m having, I could have maybe even fucked her in a blind hurry without even knowing it. On top of all the other crazy things that are happening to me recently in the dark. Still taste that god damn athlete’s foot paste, it’s going to be in my mouth for the rest of my life.

Schultz sneaking along the wall across the jammed lobby. Stopping behind a pillar to drink in this delicious sight of people lined up at the box office and snaking all the way out into the street. If only business would be like this every night. The phones jangling. Wallets opening and peeling out the cash. My god, Lady Lullabyebaby. Over there. On her aristocratic treetop. With that big gawking guy who may be her husband. The marvellous imperious way she sweeps her head. And sticks that cigarette holder in her mouth. Not giving a fuck about anyone in sight. Blinding everybody with a necklace of diamonds and emeralds. What a doll. And Agnes. Wow look at her. She must think this is a bathing beauty contest. Tits popping out of the top of her dress. Some kind of chinless hawknosed stockbroker she’s got in tow flashing his teeth and eyes in all directions especially at Agnes’s gorgeous creamy cleavage. And shit and shinola, the fucking Ambassador turning up out of the woodwork. Stealing the show with that wild looking towering ebony absolutely bald beautiful creature he must have flown in fresh out of the steaming jungle and twice as black and tall as he is. God, his Lordship right next to them. Killing himself as usual to be inconspicuous while everyone is breaking their necks turning to look at him and the radiantly beautiful Countess. Christ I’m shaking. Jesus I’ve missed the real emotional boat in life. Why can’t I have someone unbiased out of the blue love and adore me like Rebecca loves and worships Binky.

“Why won’t you sit with us.”

“Because I can’t honey. I got to be ready to jump backstage for any catastrophe.”

Pricilla stalking off. Schultz repairing alone back to his box. The buzzer going. Take your seats please my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen. Safety curtain lifting. Lights going down. Strike up the band. Whoopsie doodle. This is it. Curtain up. The moment of Chinese torture. Come on now, you fucking overpaid clackers, clap clap. For the sets. Jesus at least we got over that one. Christ the fucking chorus is off key. And now latecomers. The smug cunts. For months you string your guts out and these fuckers come barging in right at a magic fucking time looking for their god damn seats. Christ Magillacurdy is shaking his fist at them. Jesus Magillacurdy don’t overdo it. Just let’s get through this number. Sometimes I ask myself are actors the lowest form of life on this earth with only actresses lower.

Schultz wiping the sweat from his brow. As the clapping outlasted even the paid clackers at the interval. With two boos and a few whistles and someone slamming a door storming out of the theatre. Followed by the harassed theatre manager knocking with news of a problem in row E of the stalls. Schultz peering cautiously out from behind his screen down into the interval emptied seats. With one on the aisle still absolutely full. Of Pricilla’s mother. Who, with two usherettes tugging at her by the arms, could not be budged.

“How dare you sit up here laughing at my mother who could have a heart attack down there. I’ll kill you.”

“Shit honey. Don’t make my life complex as usual. Please.”

At the second interval, Al trying to direct the rescue operation. Pricilla ashen faced, her mother beet red huffing and puffing. With the assistant master carpenter and the chief engineer attempting unsuccessfully to dismantle the seat from around this mass of imprisoned flesh. And only succeeding in stabbing the fat occupant with a screwdriver. Her screams fortunately drowning out Schultz’s hysterical guffaw.

“Holy Jesus christ, this really is one for the fucking books.”

A photographer coining down the aisle to take pictures. Pricilla’s mother heaving a spare box of chocolates at him. Jesus this behemoth bitch while she’s making my laughing muscles sore is also stealing the whole show. I hope the fuck they never get the seat off and shift her with it still attached so she can sit in god damn exile somewhere.

The salvage undertaking interrupted again by the returning audience. Who shushed the protesting prisoner. Lady Audrey and Lady Emeline and husbands sitting viewing just two rows back. And the concerned Ambassador two rows in front turning around to watch with his entire black party. Holy shit, what have I done to myself in the middle of my fast expiring youth to have a hippopotamus anchoring me in a sea of nightmares. With a wife demanding to be loved and then wrecking things all over the house. And speaking of nightmares there’s one from the past, my Doc, from Harley Street. Sour faced Herbie laughed for the first time when the engineer’s screwdriver dug deep into my mother in law. Sylvia going around now whispering insults under her breath. Expects me to leave my prick behind in her when I had to run out on stage to stop a murder. Got to accept people for what they are, dirty rats. While I’m busy in the thankless task of catapulting a gang of unknowns into celebrity orbit. That incredible hulk Magillacurdy going head first. Each potential massive disaster on stage he turns into a mini holocaust which flames up around him in all his burning glory. Only every five minutes now he bothers me to compare the length of pricks.

“Ah now me boyo take out that yoke I know you’ve got there and show it to your regimental sergeant major again. Sure I served two years in the Irish Guards and never did I till now see an organ the likes of which at a stretch might compare with me own.”

Magillacurdy’s finest moment came in the last act in an angry aria, wrecking a table set for tea. With a swipe from the back of his hand sending the china pot smashing into smithereens. And throwing a bottle across the stage at a mirror. The bottle missing and bouncing off the scenery. The mirror two long seconds later, breaking. At the same time a bag of flour plummeted from the flies landing bursting on Magillacurdy’s head. Smilingly he blew the white clouds off his face, bowed and brought the house down with laughter, cheers and applause.

At the final curtain amid the bravos, and shaking fists, two fights broke out. Al flailing his arms in the aisle and creaming someone in his tracks who had punched him in the ear. And as he symbolically wiped his hands in victory, he stepped straight into his girl friend’s open box of chocolates knocked to the floor, tripped, fell and lay on the carpet both hands clutching at his weak heart.

Pricilla’s mother’s dress ripped as she was lifted in her seat by six stage hands out into the aisle. Safely reclining on a couch in a dressing room, a seamstress sewing her up trying to stitch the fabric back together over the roll of fat bursting through. While Mrs. Prune polished off a box of dried figs.

“I’m going to sue the theatre, the management and last but I’m telling you not least, I’m suing the producer.”

After all the horror Schultz reenacting every dance and replaying every note of the show in his head and sneaking to the corner of the stall bar for a quick double scotch and soda. And just as he felt to see if his flies were undone there was a nudge on the elbow. The blond flowing haired bejeweled sparkling eyed Lady Lullabyebaby handing him his wallet.

“Holy jeeze.”

“I’m sorry to be so late in returning this. You lost it at the wedding along with your shoe.”

“Hey wait you look gorgeous, don’t go, Jesus I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Sorry, I must I must.”

Lady Lullabyebaby turned to look back from the door and gave a little smile over her shoulder. Schultz opening his wallet thumbing through the notes. Christ my four different currencies, still ready in case I got to leave at a moment’s notice for a foreign land. And everything else intact. Jesus how honest can somebody be. And a card. White and pristine. Holy cow it’s her phone number. Knightsbridge 1234. At last, something in my love life looks like it’s ready to go right for me.

Schultz turning from the bar to go backstage. Pushing halfway through the smoky crowd. A figure blocking his way.

“You’re Schultz.”

“That’s right.”

“You want to sell this show, kid. I’ll give you a good price right now tonight before the reviews come out in the morning and I’ll take it straight to Broadway.”

“No deal.”

“What’s the matter. I’ll give you more than the show’s worth. It could be worth nothing tomorrow.”

“It’s worth a fortune tonight and it will be priceless in the morning.”

“You know who I am don’t you.”

“Yeah I know who you are. Joe Jewels.”

“Well what’s the matter kid, you like taking risks or something.”

“That’s right.”

Schultz turning away and heading straight into the ever smiling resplendent Ambassador with his towering black lady looming behind him.

“Ah my dear gladiator. A truly magnificent evening. I am so happy to see that all the hard work you do casting and auditioning at your house has produced such marvellous results.”

“You’re too kind, Your Excellency.”

“Ah let me introduce you to my friend.”

“How do you do honey.”

Schultz shaking hands with this long ebony armed amazon as she answered in an unfamiliar drum beat rhythmic tongue.

“Zeek geek goo bug ding doo.”

“And the same to you, honey you’ve said it all.”

Like as if the pair of them had nothing whatever to do with the show, Binky and wife slipped silently away as did his Lordship and his Countess who were catching a train to the country.

“Ah a splendid evening maestro which both I, my dear wife and his and her Royal Graces enjoyed thoroughly.”

“Jesus, Binky you fuckers you’re completely abandoning me.”

“Ah I wouldn’t put it quite as subtly as that Schultz. It’s simply that domesticity calls.”

Al with four tables booked at the Savoy. And with marzipan and crushed rum truffles adhering to the soles of his shoes and his heart beating again as usual, he went backslapping and shepherding his party of show backers growing larger by the second out to his and their limousines.

“Sigmund, put it there, a great show. See you at the Savoy.”

“Thanks Al.”

Schultz from dressing room to dressing room squeezing between the backstage visitors, his head popping in the doors. At least tonight unlike some other nights, it’s not like a morgue backstage. Maybe I stopped the curtain calls too soon. Fuck it. Four should be enough for anybody. Some people don’t know when to stop milking the adulation. It’s like I got to be a father to a bunch of children. Wiping noses. Shaking hands. Waving. Thumbs up.

“You were great. Just great. Keep up the good work kids. I love you all.”

At the Debutant’s dressing room. Schultz calling out over the heads of her bubbling bevy of admirers. The Debutant making her way through to Schultz. Between all these smart assed smoothie men about town.

“O Mr. Schultz was I alright really.”

“You were sensational, honey believe me. Sensational.”

The Debutant kissing Schultz on the cheeks as his hand headed straight down to cup around her arse, one of the most magnificent ever to go waltzing spotlighted on a London stage. And she, dear girl, threw her pelvis forward to concuss this producer upon his now famous and instantly tingling cock. Schultz at this split second of appropriate moments urgently whispering in her musky aromatic ear.

“Honey, maybe after the matinee on a pouring rainy afternoon we could together just have a little food sent in and talk about your future here in your dressing room.”

“Maybe we could, Mr. Schultz.”

“Jesus sweetie pie I could listen forever to your melodious voice.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

Declining all lifts and invitations in the direction of various parties, Schultz making his way back up the private stair past his box and along the shadowy passage towards the lobby. Stopping to look at a photograph of a fabled female previous star on the wall. Jesus nobody ever puts up a picture or a statue to a producer. Fuckers won’t even let me into Who’s Who.

“How dare you be just standing here, hiding. Deserting us and my mother like that. After she’s had such a terrible shock and ordeal. We’ve been waiting out front of the theatre for seventeen minutes.”

“Honey don’t you know I got to go backstage to congratulate the stars. What are you crazy or something, you don’t know about that.”

“I’m hungry. My mother’s hungry. And we want to go and eat. Now.”

“Eat. Go eat. Eat. Go get the fuck out now. Right out that way is the door. Go eat. With the hippo. I’ll order two tons of hay sent to the Savoy for her.”

“I could scratch your face. You’re hysterical and rude.”

“That’s right. Fucking right I am. After I’ve been sweating my balls off for months to see this night happen. All you and that whale can think of is to fucking eat. Then go and fucking eat.”

“I will scratch your face.”

“Like fuck you will honey.”

Pricilla lunging out. Schultz side stepping back as the claws whistled down past his cheeks. And the open palm of his left hand hooked upwards in a resounding slap on Pricilla’s face. She stands glaring. Groans. And as usual topples. And lays in a heap at my feet. Christ while there’s a distant sound of happy voices and glasses clinking in the bar. Holy shit. Blood. Trickling out of her nose. I did it now. Killed her. What the fuck did I have to go and do this for. Jesus to last in this business you got to speak with a languid voice. If somebody sees us. It will end me up again in exactly the wrong kind of publicity for the show.

Schultz dragging Pricilla by the arms along the carpet and into his private box and closing the door. This is just like a murder. How do you dispose of a body in such a blazing red dress.

“Honey if you can hear me, don’t move while I get a bucket of fresh water to throw on you.”

Schultz rushing backstage down his own little empty cul de sac corridor to his cubbyhole dressing room. Filling a fire bucket with a glass ladling water out of the basin. Stopping to examine his face in front of the mirror. In this silence. His Lordship says he has aunts living quietly in the country who have the art of slowing their lives down till they are just ticking over so that nothing ever distresses them. And me with the fuses blown in Arabesque Street, pissing and missing the toilet bowl. Drenched my box of paper handkerchiefs on the floor. That I later go to blow my nose with. And get a face full of urine. Holy christ when is there going to be a trace of contentment in my life. When this could be my moment of triumph. Of dancing on the waves. A big deal for two seconds before I’m swallowed up in the deep. Sometimes you wonder why you do it all. You know it’s because people want to always reach out and touch something that seems glamourously beyond their own lives. When they turn and maybe see you. Debonair, calm as a glacier. Gee that guy in the expensive sunglasses, he did all this. Gave us a real glittering alive magic. Yeah that’s right you fuckers. I did. Against all god damn odds let me tell you. While everybody else was just twiddling their thumbs wondering if they should fart or belch or something. I’ve been playing sudden death roulette dialling telephones. Every moment ten seconds away from disaster. Funny now how finally you don’t care if people want to come touch you on the arm for your magic. Not until they stop wanting to. Then, Jesus, all over again you want them to. Especially beautiful women. Sure, touch me. Go ahead. But unless you’re gorgeous don’t smudge the fabric. Of Sigmund Franz Schultz. Impresario par excellence. Major fucking domo of the West End. Holy jeeze I’m going loco. Looking like this at myself in the mirror. Shaking a fist and talking to myself. With a pregnant wife laid out on her arse.

Schultz abandoning his bucket and rushing back to his box with a glass of water. Cleaners now picking up the cellophane wrapping and paper cups in the empty theatre. Pricilla’s mother’s dismantled seat still sitting out in the middle of the aisle. Sound of people still drinking in the bars. Jesus, who’s this in the passage way ahead. Might have already discovered the corpse. It’s the fireman on duty.

“Well Mr. Schultz. It’s going to be a hit. I can al ways tell. By the quality of the clapping.”

“You really think so.”

“No doubt about it.”

The box deserted. Schultz drinking his glass of water. Where’s that bitch gone. Probably screaming to her mother I murdered her. O Jesus I was just beginning to feel a glow of hope. In this great theatre. The luxurious brocaded fabric on the walls. Where I could be ensconced for years doing nothing but screwing the Debutant and counting the gross. The nice embellished figures decorating the ceiling. The last of the perfume smell left by an applauding audience. The fireman says the quality of the clapping indicates a smasheroo. When Jesus I nearly hired half of it. Uncle Werb used to say, what’s cheaper than doing it yourself. Getting somebody else to do it for less. Binky and his Lordship without a single emotion just come and go. Like they’re disowning me. Before we hardly said hello. As if it were their duty to vanish. Al at least saved me from the lawyers again. While at the same time trying to dump on my doorstep the whale who nearly stopped the show. The libeled member of the cast now is with a brand new Jewish girl friend with her brand new Jewish family flurrying about them. In this world it doesn’t take people two seconds to replace each other. There always comes a time in everybody’s life when you sit on the street curb weeping because of what someone recently indecently did to you.

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