Schultz

30

“My fucking god. So this is serenity.”

Schultz lying propped up by the linen swansdown pillows. In the potentate sized bed. A breakfast tray across his belly. Staring out into the passing clouds and heavens. Soft guitar music. The sound of water pouring in the tub in the mirrored walled bathroom beyond the door. The distant steady roaring hum of the city below. Blue and white Meissen plate of sausages, pancakes and maple syrup. Jams and honey. Butter, hot rolls and croissants. A jug of coffee. All the morning’s newspapers. And Louella. There standing looking down. In her dressing gown. After thirteen hours of sleeping. With bouts of solid insane fucking in between.

“Are you alight, can I get you anything else Sigmund.”

“Alright, are you kidding. I’m wonderful. Fucking wonderful. I’m just borrowing these sunglasses of Al’s.”

“I’m just running my bath.”

“Hey just open that dressing gown. O christ close it. My tray is going upwards on a hydraulic lift.”

Louella stepping in the bathroom. Steam coming out the white door just ajar. A shelf full of model replicas of Al’s cars. Beyond sliding doors, Al’s three hundred suits and hundred and fifty pairs of shoes. If only they weren’t all in such bad taste I could get outfitted while Al’s away. Jesus this is really waking up to living. To a whole new ball game. After striking out for eight innings. And in the ninth. Whamo bammo. I belt a fucking home run over the bleachers with bases loaded. Or said like his Lordship might say. Ah, an agreeable sup, sucking snipe brains out of their skulls, after a long fatiguing journey, don’t you think. The British are always saying don’t you think. But I love the sound of his Lordship’s voice when I asked for a beer at his club. Schultz I deeply regret to say that it is insufferably improper to look for beer at one’s better clubs. Christ now I can walk up Fifth Avenue in ecstasy. Looking for beer anywhere. And no longer looking for ass everywhere. Last night nearly died with only seconds to spare before I got the good news. One thing I don’t remember how to do anymore, is to die gracefully. Lulu staring at me when we were last in bed. After a fuck. Telling me I was smug and patronizing and looked like a corpse. Well fuck you honey. Because, here I am. Anything but. Sigmund Franz Isadore Schultz. No longer not all alone and ignored, having thoroughly lost the race for prestige and success. There he is folks limping but alive crossing over the finish line. A fucking god damn winner. The only thing that can ever ruin me now is my next six flops. But always in bliss, something happens. You get cheated, short changed and reminded again of the world. Once love is over it conveniently turns to hate. Holy shit. Al maybe he won’t take it like a man. At his age he’s desperate enough to come looking for me with a gun. With everything around here in his personal life showing symptoms of him being super stupid rich. Christ I’d do it. I’d murder Al with my bare hands. She’s the first woman I’ve ever met worth killing for. In a day or two. I’m going to be in Prague. Give her time to unload Al. I knew the moment I clapped eyes on her on opening night. This girl and I. Meant for each other. There she was. Just standing there in all that blaring vulgar fuss, totally serene. Christ, when it happens. When it hits you. You fall in love like a ton of bricks. And don’t know or care how. Everything about her. All her little physical faults are the most precious beautiful things. That you want to kiss and pour your love all over them. Church bells ringing. Today Sunday. Where I would be meandering down into the lobby of the Dorchester. Sitting all alone. Like I did last week. Staring at the fan of grey and white marble in the floor. Rugs green and orange. The gleam of limousines glinting in the glass of the revolving doors. The pampered women passing who want to be told how perfect they are. And always looking at the displays of gems. Like if I was the jewel, I’d feel in there, like a mouse with a cobra the other side of the glass, ready to strike. And then these rich dolls walk out. To wait for the green, gold braided doormen patrolling over their terrain, to open their big limousine doors. To take them in their own kind of self worship contentment to beauty appointments all over town. Tomorrow I’m going to go get a hair cut. Whatever this marvellous girl suggests. After Al, my black curly head must feel to her like an entire Canadian forest. God the whole body spills itself into somebody that you love. Why. Why did it have to be Al, I’m doing this to. Jesus the way these sausages and pancakes taste. Jars of honey I never even heard the name of before. The fucker is nothing else but a geriatric pleasure seeker. I could call him my most very best friend I ever had. And when you find a friend who is good and true fuck him before he fucks you. That’s what us guys always said in the Coast Guard. Or maybe I read that in an unexpurgated etiquette book somewhere. Saturday leaving the office, his Lordship said, Schultz, you’ll be exquisitely careful won’t you. As if something terrible was going to happen to me. Instead of the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. Jesus christ, his Lordship might be someone sorry to see me die. He’s a guy who could run a whole god damn kingdom. If only socialism would let him. A fucking shame the qualities he’s got went out of style years ago. Yet he’s so practical. I’m sure the son of a bitch’s ancestor must have been the inventor of the pitched roof. Binky once said to me, when I asked about all this English fucking reserve. Ah my dear Schultz an Englishman does not step out of his private soul in case someone would behave to him in a shitty manner. What am I doing. I’m talking now in my unexpected happiness, like I love those pair of exasperating guys. Who used my balls for billiards and made me piss all over myself dropping down skeletons behind my back for laughs. Maybe I just don’t know when people love or hate me.

Louella passing across the room. In that marvellous flowing silk fabric. My father would try to give it a name like The Princess Breakfast Dress. Then add twelve dollars, ninety nine cents to the price. Poor kid looks a little bit sad. Guess you don’t kick somebody’s teeth out that you’re fond of without a little remorse.

“Jesus Louella. Stop. Just there. Open that beautiful kimono. O baby. Jesus. Soon as you do that. Only that these sausages and pancakes are so fucking necessary to get my strength back I’d eat you instead.”

A faint smile from Louella. Sweeping her gown closed. God she’s wonderful. Not even a day gone by. And I know she’s the one for a lifetime. My fucking wife. Demanding champagne to celebrate our first month of misery. I saw stars when the cork of the bottle exploded out, hit me in the eye and sent me reeling around the room knocking over a vase. You’d think she’d worry I was hurt. Instead she shouts, stop you’re ruining the house you fucking bastard. Jesus thank god recent events have given me a welcome partial amnesia to all the other horrors at her hands. At last. The way I feel now. Streaking across the stage. Like the ballet dancer I saw the night I fell asleep in the theatre with Lulu. Only when the world invents something faster than light, only then will I need a head start. My life suddenly going again. Somebody like Al is just in everything for the money. Contracts and deals I saw stacked up in every drawer of his desk. Jesus, I got to get this innocent girl out of this lousy commercial atmosphere. Up here with him. Young and vibrant. Imagine, the woman I love. Forced to suck his decrepit wrinkled old prick. Jesus I don’t think I can even face the past history of it. A second ago Al should have been here listening. To the radio discussion on hair, baldness, greyness and drying of the scalp. O god. I mustn’t knock him, the poor shit. I ought to hope his concert last night was a wonderful sell out. And as beautiful sounding as the sky is looking this moment out there. Christ over these last months the patches of bad luck were getting wider and wider. You nearly couldn’t leap across. Till the abyss I finally jumped last night. Fantastic. His Lordship only miscalculated by thirteen shillings. The man would be a genius at any bank. From now on I’m unstoppable.

“Hi honey, you look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Do I.”

“Jesus no words could do you justice. I swear.”

Louella standing naked at the open bathroom door. Steam steaming out behind her, misting over the windows. The casual London Sunday sounds. Drums beating. A parade somewhere. O god. Already I’ve got another fucking hard on. It comes up like a jack in the box. Her eyes. Not even moving. Like the most magnificent statue standing there. My hands dying to grab her. Her eyes and my eyes. Right while I keep on chewing. We’re bathing each other in the juice of each others souls. Jesus, even every noise is beautiful. That sounded like a crash down on the street. And she quivered and her nipples just shivered that fraction. This girl is going to give my life the finished touch. Not like what my mother wanted to give me. Those Jewish girls. Who whenever their mouths opened in a smile you could see the sneer. There she is mom. Just what you would advise against, even worse than my wife. My Louella. There standing framed stark naked in the bathroom door. Screwed each other in every direction. Tongues up each other’s asses. That’s how deep love can get. Holy shit. What’s wrong. Her jaw just dropped and she gasped ashen faced. Hey what’s the matter.

Schultz turning to look. Where Louella’s eyes were looking. In spellbound horror. At another figure. An unidentified flying object. Lifesize at the bedroom door. Except for the toupee, looking like fifty thousand Arabs. Converging on a single Jew taking a crap next to the wailing wall. A time now for every flea all over the face of the earth to fart. And try and make a sound in all this silence.

“You cunt, you schlemiel, you cunt.”

“I can explain Al, what happened.”

Schultz catching his breath. Al disappearing. Feet pounding down the hall. Christ, the crazy train I’m on is moving again. Good morning folks, welcome to Horrorsville, you have just left Happytown Junction three thousand miles behind.

Louella now with a towel, transfixed, dazed and watching. Schultz heaving over the breakfast tray. Dishes, bottles, jam, butter, maple syrup, honey and the jug of coffee crashing on the floor. Schultz hop skipping and jumping. For his clothes. And life. One foot in the honey, the other in the jam. And a heel crushing a lens of Al’s sunglasses. Who’s at the door again. His toupee off. Brandishing a breadknife.

“Stay where you are. Don’t either of you move.”

“Al don’t be crazy. I thought you were in New Orleans.”

“Yeah. You thought. And now think again. Because you don’t think, do you. That your own wife has you followed. You didn’t think of that smart guy, did you. That she would phone me. That I would get a plane so fast back here. To catch you. You never figured that wise guy, did you. That your balls are coming off.”

Louella holding her towel up. Wish the color wasn’t so blood red. O god if it was white it could be me imprinted on that, like the image of Jesus Christ on the shroud. And that poor kid is trembling and pleading.

“O please, Al, please. It’s all my fault.”

“Louella, you keep quiet. I still love you. No matter what happens. But him. I hate. I despise. I loathe. Up here. Wearing my sunglasses. With my wine, my woman. He had all this planned.”

“Never Al, I swear. Don’t be crazy Al. It just happened to us.”

“Well now this is going to happen to you.”

“Christ Al no. Please I’m begging. For your sake more than mine. Spending the last years of your life in prison. Or your last seconds on the end of a rope. Al I can explain everything.”

Al stepping forward a step. Schultz backing away. The foot in the jam now into the honey. And the other foot in the honey, now in the jam. Because holy shit, jelly don’t shake or feel like that. What thoughts come into your mind at the end of your life. They were irresponsible to abolish capital punishment.

“I came here with flowers, for you Al, I swear.”

“And for you, you lousy rat, your grave is going to get the flowers.”

Al taking another step forward. Schultz pushing back against the bed. Christ my fucking nerves are making me shake looking like I’m scared shitless. Jesus I am. With Al’s breadknife held out like his prick should be if only he ever could get a hard on. Poor Louella, clutching the towel over her face. Her sobs. And plaintive cries. The poor kid.

“O Al, Al please no, don’t. Please.”

“This is what happens behind my back. You trespassing rapist. In my own home. My dining room table in there, still with the wine glasses. My bed, defiled. My food, feeding him. My girl, used. By this sneaking cunt.”

“Al I’m telling you. Let’s talk it out. You could be hung. If the death penalty comes back. Put the knife down. I’m in love with Louella. We love each other.”

“You love that thing hanging between your legs. That’s all you love. And I’m going to cut it off.”

“For fucks sake Al.”

“Your own wife, your own wife has to go to Court to take possession of the matrimonial home. That’s right. She has a court order. The locks changed on the doors. With a policeman there to protect her life. And the twins she’s pregnant with. From the likes of you. Cowering there.”

“Twins. Holy mackerel. And I’m not cowering Al. You put down that knife and I’ll knock the fucking shit out of you.”

“You will huh, will you.”

“Come on, Al. Face truth. She loves me. Don’t you love me Louella. Tell him. To his face.”

Louella her head hung down. Like the wet strands of her hair. Legs quivering. Her hands trembling the towel. Al turning to her.

“Louella. Now I’m asking you. And I want you to tell me the truth. Choose between us. This sneaky cunt is not worth killing. So choose. Is it me or is it him.”

Louella, her whole body shaking. Her lips moving, as she tries to make a sound. Holy Jesus, this is all this fucker can do. Force her to choose at the point of a breadknife. The quality of the American people is declining like hell. Here is a prime example. The son of a bitch has said things for which he is going to be sorry for later. If I got that knife I’d shift it up through his fucking belly, rip his guts out, sprinkle them with rat poison, and stuff his mouth shut forever with entrails. O Jesus, amazing how even the most satisfying thoughts can find fertile ground in a desperate mind. I’d also tear that I’m king of the apes expression right off his face. Tell him Louella. Come on kid, tell him. That tonight he’s not taking you down to the East End like he usually does on Sundays to eat jellied eels and then stuff salt beef, bagels and pickles down his gullet. His Lordship asked me once if I had ever noticed how people who have not had much luck in life are always out of breath. I feel as if I haven’t had oxygen in two years. If I could scare Al backwards. Grab something to throw at him. Maybe words are better at this time. With the size of that foot long knife. His Lordship said I should be more English about my remonstrations. Don’t say I could kill you. The proper expression is Schultz, sir I assure you I shall shatter your stumps and make mugwump of what remains. Holy christ I knew it. Knew what. Know that guys stop whistling at a certain time in a woman’s age and she doesn’t know when till it’s happened. Also I know. That I don’t want to be around for my wife’s menopause. And maybe there’s nothing else I know. Except that something else could happen. Like it has. When yesterday in a Piccadilly churchyard. A few minutes resting. A bird shat on my shoulder. That was good luck. That I didn’t want to press too far. I got up and changed my seat. And another bird shat on my sleeve. And that was bad. But you’d think I wouldn’t be so dumb as not to take the warning. When the god damn bird crapped again right down on my chest over my heart. I should have gone back to the hotel last night. And happily without life threatening complications, jerked off. And been followed and watched, would you believe it, by a private eye.

Louella’s head bent down, still shaking all over. Her ankles are a little heavy but Jesus she has a nice curve to her calf. Come on. Honey. Tell the fucker. Do it. Before his heart trouble needs an ambulance to the hospital.

“I want to stay with you Al.”

Al wheeling around. Crouched moving towards Schultz. Who backing away, knees buckling, sat down onto a stainless steel four pronged fork on the bed. Schultz jumping up. One hand clutching his arse. Al holding forward the knife. Schultz sticking his arms up over his head. Louella screaming.

“Don’t Al. Please. Let him go.”

“I’m letting him go alright. Unless he makes another false move. Come on you. You just gather up what you can get of your clothes in two seconds flat. And you get the fuck out of here. And don’t ever let me see sight of you again as long as you live.”

Schultz grabbing in all directions. Hands sticky with honey, fingers encrusted in jam. Clutching undervest, undershorts, Tripping over his shirt tails. O motherfucker my shoes I took off in the next room. And my pants I flung over the bronze bust of Al’s head. But thank god so far I haven’t provoked the fucker with a hard on.

“Al please let me put on something. My pants.”

“You get out that front door or this knife will be sticking out your ass.”

“Al I got only half my clothes. I’m naked. At least let me call a limousine.”

“I’m counting to three. One. Two.”

“I’m going, please, can’t you let me find my pants, my shoes.”

“I’ll find them. And throw them out the window. You catch them down in the street. You creep. You’ll get the bill for the damage too. Now get out that fucking door. And never set foot through it again.”

Schultz taking the service elevator down to the basement. After a scream from a lady occupant of Al’s floor collecting in her stack of Sunday newspapers. O god. You’d think that fucker Al’s heart couldn’t stand it. But it’s like his hatred of me has given him a new lease in life. Imagine that fossilized geriatric gloating while I’m now walking barefoot around the world in shirt tails.

Schultz crouching along the wall of the garage driveway and looking up. Shoes. Plummeting down. Schultz ducking away as they bounced. The fuckers throwing them straight at me trying to hit me. Holy cow my trousers floating past all the windows in slow motion. Like it’s taking years. Three people’s heads already stick out to look. Thank god, the English don’t believe in god. And are not all over the streets going to church.

Schultz, his sticky hands pulling on his trousers inside the tower’s boiler room. Tins, cans and bottles thundering down a chute and crashing in a big iron cradle. And Jesus the cunt. He’s sliced open my shoe laces. Stabbed the zipper out of my fly. I’m down here among the dust bins. With London grime on the windows, sashes and sills. Corroded facings. Bubbling paint. Like I’ve been thrown out with the garbage.

Schultz heading across the grass and through the trees. Towards the stone mansion civilisation of Park Lane. Shuffling in shoes. Past Speakers Corner. While I walk. I hobble. With O my god, my fucking wallet gone. Son of a bitch blacks up there on crates bellyaching they got troubles. I could tell you troubles. Which would turn your skin white. I should have known a detective was following me. When Pricilla phoned Lulu Lullabyebaby to give her some of that I’m a poor abandoned wife shit. And Lulu who is no slouch when it comes to losing her temper, lashed into her with a vocal ferocity so intense that Pricilla dropped the phone and dared not pick it up again. Here I am. Glad even for the heat of a bus engine enveloping me as it pulls up to a bus stop. Cork tipped cigarette butts in the gutter. Greasy dust. Greasy pavements. This London. This life. This is what I don’t understand. I’m sentenced to ignominy. For doing what god and nature ordained. Fucking hell. I’d shout out right here blue bloody murder. Only that his Lordship says that in England it’s mildly bad manners to say things that people will listen to.

Or make

Them shudder

When I

Holler

Out of

Lonely pain