Schultz

1

When Lord Nectarine of Walham Green resigned his mastership of foxhounds, got rid of his wife and shut of his children and happily set up as a bachelor again, installing an attractive erudite housekeeper, and a male secretary hard of hearing, in his new commodious town house, Schultz enjoyed to consult, lunch and dine with his Lordship with as much frequency as his Lordship’s tight schedule of social events allowed. Discussing with the noble peer how he might cut adrift from his own burdensome spouse.

“Of course Schultz, you know that foul methods such as murder are out of the question. In any event the black eyes your wife has succeeded in repeatedly giving you demonstrate that you might come a cropper in violently attempting her death.”

At a quarter to noon each day his Lordship’s chauffeur deposited him at Hyde Park Corner where he enjoyed to stroll up and down the slight hills along Piccadilly. Although he limped slightly from a cricket ball having smashed him on the knee, his nordicly blond Lordship was tall, slender, icy blue eyed and handsome to the extent that young ladies daily walked into walls and posts turning to look at him. He had attended some of the finer schools in England and owned one palace and more than one of the bigger and better castles here and there in various of the more prominent counties.

“I do beg to remind you Schultz, that I am not, repeat not, made of money.”

His Lordship rarely made such remarks concerning his wherewithal. Unless Schultz particularly irritated him to. For along with his widespread and substantial assets, plus a prized pack of foxhounds, came numerous liabilities and tribulation as his Lordship was smashed reeling by staggering death duties, blistering taxes, and an unending list of old family retainers to maintain. To all of which had now recently been added his wife’s vast separation settlement, his Lordship not believing in divorce. And many was the long arduous hour he spent down in the deep sunless rooms of the city in consultation with firms of lawyers and accountants with whom he could at times be more than abrupt, cutting through their smug drawling pomposities by speaking as he frequently did in a no nonsense manner.

“Schultz you do not impress me in the least.”

This was Lord Nectarine’s statement upon the occasion of his first meeting with Schultz. A winterish gloomy day of pouring rain. And drops were still rolling off a black curly Schultz’s head, which had just hysterically rushed across half London by foot, bus and taxi to meet the rich peer. But suddenly and prophetically during their confrontation, it became a spring afternoon as the storm clouds passed and bathed in golden light, the two of them were standing centre room in the chairman’s suite of this long established theatrical producing company tucked up a narrow street just off Piccadilly. But the flooding warmth of sunshine did nothing to soften his Lordship’s scepticism.

“From what I have already heard of this production of yours Schultz you are entirely wasting your time attempting to solicit funds from me.”

Binky, one of his Lordship’s oldest friends, and equally rich, had acquired this showbizz operation to amuse himself and make it simpler to meet and wine and dine ladies of the theatre and those eager to be of that calling. But such arrangements did not come about without a little sand in the ointment. For, most unfortunately, upon the company’s reconstruction after a bankruptcy and through a typist’s error, the company had been named Sperm Productions instead of Spear Productions. And all attempts to explain Sperm as Spear only led to analogies being drawn between these two words as two items one might get shoved up one. Nor did a simple straightforward apologetic explanation always work.

Dear Madam,

Please ignore our rather suggestive company name, and we hope you will understand that it in no way indicates the nature of what we do.

But as Binky selected his dining and bed companions from his tomes of actresses’ photographs listed among juvenile and juvenile character women, this dreadful mistake frequently brought outraged replies from the more established actresses in the field who jumped to the nude conclusion that they were being offered a part to play in a porno film. Instead of in Binky’s bed. At such tricky times his Lordship would be requested to sit in on these touchy interviews. Which invariably ended up with an actress ready and upon occasion even begging to play any role these heavenly handsome aristocratic gentlemen could think of.

“This is my dear and old friend, his Royal Grace, who has long been charmed by and admired your splendid performances. He has, I am delighted to say, just joined Sperm Productions as one of our senior directors.”

However his Lordship refused to have any of his more elevated entitlements listed on the letterhead. But following passionate implorements from Binky that the company desperately required the elite air his title gave, his Royal Grace did finally consent to being included as Lord Nectarine of Walham Green.

“You are an absolute brick my dear, to honor us top of the page like that.”

Although far more shy and retiring than Binky, his Lordship did enjoy to witness these tête à tête occasions with London’s leading ladies of stage, screen and radio. Secretly savouring to watch Binky, equally as handsome as his Lordship, lay on thick his languid sleepily drawling manner which so captivated the visiting stars as he stood on tiptoe during introductions, ceremoniously intoning his Lordship’s long string of titles.

“Allow me to present you to his Royal Grace, Prince Basil, Earl of Eel Brook Common, Viscount Fulhambroadway and Lord Nectarine of Walham Green, MFH who is, I might add, also a fully accredited Fellow of the Royal Academy of Dancing and a paid up Knight of Malta.”

His Lordship much disliked his titles being used and preferred wherever and whenever possible to be merely known as plain Mister Basil Bright or Nectarine. But Binky to whom his Lordship allowed nearly any latitude, would upon the merest of occasions boom out his Lordship’s honours, styles and distinctions. And although painful to his Lordship he would patiently and good naturedly stand there through the ordeal, always eagerly awaiting the anonymous lighter moments when upon occasion the pair of them were dealing with the going and coming of minor showbizz personalities when they enjoyed to be asked by these upstarts why didn’t both of them with their stunning good looks go to Hollywood.

“Ah now what about that Basil, my dear, should we, do you think we really should become film stars and abandon all this, the ups and resoundingly downs of the London theatrical whirl. Ah but I think not. No I think not. The West End needs us.”

Even some major female stars who were now and again carefully entrapped into calling, suggested that either, with their matinee idol faces, could be their leading man in their next movie. But Lord Nectarine only smiled upon these overtures just as he did when he erected various follies on his estates and stood then later when they were expensively completed sadly wondering why he had bothered to build them.

“But of course one builds out of nervous hysteria caused by the ochre hue of one’s architect’s suede shoes.”

But then, to his Lordship, amusement, as it was to Binky, was of the highest priority. And now by taking certain relatively modest handfuls of his vast cash flow and backing shows, he was while forsaking his other risky financial evening pastime of gambling, not only amusing himself immensely but also saving money. He particularly savoured to find the musical type of production featuring scantily clad leggy females and especially would wax delirious were the latter darker skinned. But his Lordship was just not all fun and games, he was also a stickler for artistic standards. And where these fell, his Lordship recoiled and retreated.

It was on such an occasion that Schultz was doing his anxious best to convince his Lordship to part with money. Precisely as his Lordship had done a few minutes previously having just returned from having purchased for five figure sums, three rare snuff boxes in one of London’s major auction rooms. To which latter he was constantly departing at various times of day. And now in lieu of lunch he had his mouth full of sliced calves’ tongue which a secretary had just fetched for him from that marvellously elegant nearby food emporium of Fortnum’s.

“Come on your Highness, the chorus line is full of dark complexioned females. It’s only a few thou. The only remaining sixteen thousand quid investment left. You get top billing as producer in a size and type of print not less than one twentieth as big as the stars. All other producers would be listed practically unseen underneath you.”

“In fact Schultz I think you are a creampuff.”

Creampuff was a word his Lordship was fond of using. Especially with people overheating themselves in their efforts to impress him. Or attempting to play upon his private proclivities. But Sigmund Franz Schultz, although his expression took on a corpse like demeanor, never for a second stopped faintly grinning. Hoping in spite of these bolo punch remarks to penetrate his Lordship’s recently increasing financial caution and to prise loose this sizeable investment from his Lordshpi’s aristocratic clutches.

“I mean it stands to reason, three flops in a row, even the law of averages says I got to have a hit.”

“The law of averages, Schultz, may more likely say you’ve got to have bankruptcy.”

However, showbizz happened to be having one of its momentary upswings at the time. And Schultz unbeknownst to himself, had found his way into Binky’s and his Lordship’s favour when they came upon an overnight satchel of Schultz’s left at the office and which, along with an address book listing some of America’s fabled richest men with their private phone numbers, also contained three pure silk shirts. These latter more than anything else improved Schultz’s image in their eyes as they back and forth handled the garments between their unbelieving fingers.

“By jove your Royal Grace these are from a good shirtmaker as well, could it possibly be that Schultz is not a man of straw.”

“Yes most surprising discovery this.”

It was decided then and there that Schultz if nothing else would be most useful as a front of office man who could hold at arm’s or breath’s length the streams of conmen constantly arriving pushily on the scene. Who seemed to enjoy monopolising conversations in the elegant surrounds of the chairman’s suite of Sperm Productions thereby cramping his Lordship’s and Binky’s style with the visiting ladies. And Schultz, who was adept at making the inferior feel even more so, would be ideal in deterring such chaps with a blistering barrage of impolite intimidation.

“I mean to say your Royal Grace let us pop old Schultzy boy in the little cubbyhole next to the telephonist’s switchboard. And the numerous arriving unwanted can be shunted in there.”

Not that his Lordship and Binky did not thoroughly enjoy the occasional appearance of a brash conman obnoxiously full of his own self importance, who would with assumed accents and social credentials, attempt to divest them of monies or, which was harder, gain their admiration and friendship. But there was also now the increasingly delicate matter of dealing decently and humanely with recently abandoned young lady actresses, from whom his Lordship and Binky, adoring variety, no longer required services and did not want to unkindly turn away.

“Schultz could not only take care of the outflow of ladies but also those numerous purveyors of criminal improprieties we seem to attract.”

Happily it was one of those totally unexpected brief periods in London’s West End during which those in pursuit of satisfying their vanity in the theatre were in short supply. For many of these overblown smug superior bombasts had in the two previous seasons been socked soundly into bankruptcy and wound up having to sell their cars and houses and in one instance even to putting the wife out to ply an ancient trade on the streets. As Binky had, while perambulating one of London’s better known boulevards, recently observed.

“I say your Royal Grace, I could have sworn I saw thing’s wife.”

“Who.”

“You know, thing. Who sold his motor cars, thoroughbreds, and fatally mortgaged his estate to save his miserable play. I am absolutely certain I rather bumped into her lurking in the Park Lane shadows of the Dorchester Hotel last night.”

“O dear.”

“Yes indeed and she rather used a variation of that expression to me. I think it was dearie she said. One would think that going on the game like that, that she would be somewhat more discreet. And poor woeful chap her husband. He was lurking on the threatrical edge in the lobby of the Comedy Theatre on that awful first night on Monday.”

“How distressing Binky.”

“Ah your Esteemed Highness, I think there are more than just a few jealous bitter observers about during this currently healthily booked up season.”

Binky and his Lordship had also dropped buckets of cash, but their buckets were happily refilled from drips that still dropped gold in profusion from the one or two admirable hard working ancestors of the many previous generations. Plus they also had several shows profitably touring the provinces. And now with the new use to which Schultz might be put, his Lordship was far more accommodating of Schultz’s entreaties for money but nevertheless insisted to keep him in his place.

“Not only Schultz do I think you are a creampuff but also a pettifogger.”

Such remarks did stiffen somewhat Schultz’s cheek muscles but he invariably continued grinning. While not in the least knowing what a pettifogger was. But he certainly knew by heart the tales of his Lordship’s ancient family’s considerable investments in South American railways, Bolivian mines, Canadian forests not to mention vast cattle ranches in North and South America. Plus the many tales of his Lordship’s not only very direct but sometimes totally rude manner. But there was one aspect of his Lordship’s personality that one could always depend upon. And that was his kindly indulgence of the lesser advantaged. And he especially lavished a sporting affection on the unmitigated underdog or anyone so unfortunate as Schultz was, to have been born in Woonsocket, Rhode Island.

“Ah Schultz, but let me add however, that although you are a pettifogging creampuff there is I think running through you the golden thread of innocence.”

During his younger days his Lordship upon his tutor first making him aware of the industrial revolution, somewhat sympathised with socialism. And despite the fact that this was more than to some faint degree, intellectual, nevertheless it was genuine. But in relation to his more major tax difficulties, his Lordship was fond of jokingly saying that they were the result of a heinous bureaucratic plot hatched by the unionised idle working classes to undo him.

“Of course it is quite unjust for a certain element of the population to own the lion’s share of the wealth of the nation but equally it is entirely tiresome for so many pompous damn complicated letters to have to be written by officialdom to extract such sums from me.”

However his Lordship now took a wry joy in his complaint since he had over these past three tough years inherited not only from an amply rich father but also, as he had recently discovered, hugely staggering amounts left in trust for him by two great grand aunts. And assets were literally pouring and tumbling into his coffers more quickly than they could be squandered, taxed or spent.

Of course there were many occasions, usually on a rainy Monday or abysmally dull Sunday, when his Lordship lonely melancholy seated in a chair in the damp shadows of one of the great public rooms of one of his great castles, panicked about the endless expense in his life. And deeply down in the dumps, he would then hysterically make a selection of antiques from some long unused gallery, or utensils from some long abandoned kitchen, hire a lorry and have them carted up to a London auction room.

“Ah but then Schultz you do take the fucking cake sometimes. You really do. You are so preposterously bluffing that it becomes quite endearing.”

In the plush ornamented chairman’s office of Sperm Productions, his Lordship, through the mildly entertaining afternoons, often sat there in his brocaded Edwardian chair just glowing with approval at the sorry financially impoverished mess that Schultz was usually presently in. Needing as he so desperately did not only the sixteen thousand quid requested of his Lordship but also about sixty thousand more. And his Lordship would sit back delightfully amused as the uncontrollable Schultz paced the carpet smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand, repeating over and over.

“Jesus christ, Jesus christ, I got to fly to fucking New York.”

“Schultz if I may say so, you are already flying. Over the fucking carpet that you’re prematurely and unnecessarily wearing out.”

But again too, his Lordship realised that Schultz, even seen in his very worst panics might be the real McCoy. And a genuine man of the theatre. Who knew deep in his aesthetic bones what the unpredictable public wanted. And his Lordship was becoming nervously suspicious that this, Schultz’s latest musical attempt following his three previous resounding flops, might be the one which would set the West End ablaze with its glory.

“Ah Schultz you read all the theatre and film trade magazines cover to cover. You know off by heart the current gross of every Broadway and West End theatre. You have on your fingertips the name of every actress’s agent as well as the actress’s home telephone number. Surely that must impress investors to invest.”

“Come on your Lordship, do you want to be fucking well left behind, I’m telling you, it’s going to be a big hit.”

His Lordship as he often did stood up and changed his seat in this Sperm Productions’ most commodious office. With its satin royal crimsons which dripped and draped everywhere. And which did provoke some unfeeling persons to refer to the decor as Whore’s Georgian. His Lordship now crossing to sit down on the blue and white striped chaise longue to regard the pleading Schultz benignly as the latter like an all in wrestler stood there in the foreground, waiting to come to grips with his hair carefully combed to accentuate his black curly locks and his foot idly kicking to dislodge little whorls of wool from the new crimson carpet.

“God you are a poor wretched sod Schultz, aren’t you.”

“Sure sure, O.K. but I’m telling you this is a fucking hit we’re talking about.”

The wall photographs of past Kings and Queens of London’s theatre and of current famous Hollywood stars flashed in the bursts of afternoon sunlight. But through it all, his extremely eccentric Lordship, who upon occasion wore his shirts inside out or even brushed his teeth with the back of his toothbrush, merely seemed to wait for Schultz’s anxiety to explode.

“Ah Schultz, if you did but realise it, I do at times expect to find you left in scattered pieces all over the floor.”

“Sure. But I get the fucking show on the road every time.”

“Ah Schultz, but there are other times, that you can be found to be such a charmer.”

“Come on, holy shit your Lordship don’t you want to become fucking rich.”

Although his Lordship did not hugely enjoy making bad business judgements he would, when he found people at their most abject and in their most miserable moments, back them when no one else would. Taking it all in good grace when later the time came to heartily and most financially regret. But such instances he regarded as adding spice to life.

“Now Schultz, something that intrigues me. Where did you unearth your list of investors. In this morning’s post alone came four returned letters marked deceased. I think that might indicate that your list is not quite up to date. Or else you obtained it from some funeral furnisher.”

And on this particular day and in this last hour of rapidly hung up telephones, Schultz’s every other investing prospect had opted out and the afternoon was ending in real deep horror for this embattled impresario. Yet not once did Schultz offer to increase his Lordship’s share of the profits on his sixteen thousand pounds. Which was lucky. As this made his Lordship cautiously conclude that there might be some real possibilities in the deal after all.

“Ah Schultz indeed, perhaps you do have some actual acumen in you.”

“Boy thanks a lot.”

“Don’t thank me. I think you should thank that uncle of yours the diamond merchant.”

“Jesus Uncle Werb. Don’t remind me. Sometimes I think I should have listened to him. I wish the fuck I had some of the money that bastard has. He’d say, now Sigmund, before your very eyes. That. That is two million dollars worth of diamonds.”

“Of course Schultz, didn’t he want you to apprentice. To that more than likely profitable trade.”

“Holy shit. I didn’t want to go haggling around in those black hatted and coated little groups with those yiddish guys for the rest of my fucking life. And hey your Lordship, meanwhile would you mind if I borrowed a cigarette.”

“My god Schultz you’ve got your nerve to ask me for a cigarette at a time like this. And you must not address me as your Lordship unless you merely intend being amusing since it is the style used by those assuming an employee status.”

Regarding cigarettes, these same words were used by his Lordship on his first meeting with Schultz and persisted throughout their relationship. As Schultz had given up smoking only during such times as he was not in his Lordship’s presence. But whenever his Lordship lit up, Schultz would invariably request a white tube of tobacco to light up as well.

“For god’s sake Schultz why don’t you buy your own cigarettes.”

“Well I don’t smoke.”

“Well you smoke whenever you see me.”

“Well, the rest of the time I don’t.”

“Well I do sometimes wish you would Schultz so you’d have your own cigarettes. And although I myself indulge this insanitary and unhealthy habit I dislike encouraging it in others.”

“Now come on, if you won’t come in for sixteen thou the least you can do is give me those addresses and phone numbers of these rich aristocrat friends you know all over the place.”

“I assure you Schultz that the words rich and aristocrat which were once so inseparable are no longer and it is more than likely you’ll find that either word rarely these days becomes the adjective of the other in describing any of my acquaintances.”

Their strange compatibility seemed to proceed on these lines. First his Lordship’s absolute refusal then a slight weakening and finally after nonstop afternoon’s harassment his Lordship’s acquiescence. Except that his Lordship always firmly reneged in the matter of Schultz being allowed access to his Lordship’s affluent influential friends.

“Come on for christ’s sake, how can that hurt you if I meet these other aristocrats you know. Well what about your sisters or their husbands then. I meant christ, they’re family. They’d understand.”

“Good god Schultz do you think I would for one second release you uncollared upon innocent people. To rip and tear at them the way you do me. Sometimes Schultz you are exactly like a stage show.”

“What do you mean, stage show. What stage show.”

“One which ought to be closed.”

Above all his Lordship was most relieved that Schultz had not managed to impress his two younger and stunningly beautiful sisters Lady Audrey and Emeline who from time to time when up to London shopping, left packages and messages at the offices of Sperm Productions. And who were contentedly married to gentlemen in the Foreign Office, and Royal Navy respectively.

“Jesus your Lordship I got real starring parts to cast your sisters in.”

“Schultz. I shall cast you. Out the window. If you’re not careful.”

The many times now that his Lordship sat or stood observing Schultz, a mild amusement overcame him. For Schultz, upon each occasion of meeting these two wondrous ladies, slapped himself repeatedly on the forehead exclaiming.

“Holy shit. Jesus if I only knew you had such sisters I could have married one of them.”

“And thank god for them Schultz that you didn’t.”

“But Jesus they’re so fucking beautiful and so fucking rich.”

“And you Schultz in your fucking ridiculous excitement are like a fucking roaring bullock. With your balls cut off.”

But it was upon an afternoon when Binky had the same morning departed in his grey topper, striped trousers and cutaway coat to take part in a spot of racing at Ascot, that his Lordship had really come to grips with Schultz. A pair of pigeons had nested together under a water tank out on a back rooftop terrace. And his Lordship who had been out late lunching with the board of directors of one of London’s larger banks always liked to return to see if any of the eggs had hatched. And he now appeared at four o’clock out of the lift and cheerfully greeted by the secretaries, came along the hall and took his turning left and was about to turn his usual immediate right when he heard Schultz in the chairman’s office talking in a highly British accent.

“That’s correct, this is Lord Nectarine. Speaking. Yes, Lord Nectarine of Walham Green.”

His Lordship with his movements now speeded up more than somewhat, bounding into the room. With Schultz standing behind the chair’s desk on the telephone. In three large strides his Lordship was across the carpet. And in a lightning grab with his knuckles turning white hot his Lordship had hold of the phone.

“How dare you Schultz. Give me that. What do you think you’re doing.”

Schultz, inadvisedly attempting further polite remarks into the black instrument, hung on. To suddenly find himself lifted bodily from the floor and before he knew it, with feet aloft, he had already completed one and a half orbits of the room.

“For fucks sake. Don’t kill me.”

“I’ll kill you Schultz.”

Schultz luckily on the next circuit, before flying through a window, crashed into the chaise longue. Separating the upright backrest from the lengthier reclining part of this colorful piece of furniture. And he was, with eyes focusing to see straight, now lying on the floor, still holding the phone trailing its broken wire. And crowned with a shattered picture of a female Hollywood star propped on his head.

“I’m only using your title for fucks sake.”

“You have no right to do so.”

“What is it, going to fucking well hurt you for christ’s sake. Look what you’ve done, broke the furniture and ripped out the telephone. And I got to fucking call New York.”

“My dear Schultz let me assure you, if ever you do that again, you’ll be calling the fucking undertakers.”

And be

Unable

In your

Rigor mortis

To pay

The bill