J. Donleavy - Schultz

S. F. Schultz

At some speed the two limousines motored along the winding byways of his Lordship’s estate, until the skies clearing, the sun shining, they arrived down a long straight stretch of narrow road lined with lime trees. His Lordship busily leafing through sheafs of catalogues in preparation to attend an auction scheduled for three in Bond Street.

“Hey where the hell are we going Binky.”

“To the railway station, Schultz.”

“What for.”

“The cars Schultz will go by road and we and the stags will proceed by rail.”

On the steps of the little station with a sign reading Nectarine Castle, a gold braided station master bowing to his Lordship alighting. Splendidly attired porters rushed to unload the stags. The monstrously long train for London sticking out down the track. Steam pouring out of its throbbing hissing locomotive.

“Hey really what is this all about Binky. Is this his Lordship’s own private station.”

“This Schultz is. By his Royal Grace’s request the London train stops here. And you must be absolutely confidentially quiet about it. Some people of course don’t like it one bit. I dare say it’s envy. Rather an unpleasant amount of that about these days. But it is after all, his Royal Grace’s land the train crosses.”

“This is fucking too much. But I love it. Holy shit look at that. A red fucking carpet. I can’t wait to get my feet on it.”

“Schultz hold fast.”

“What for.”

“Well as a matter of fact a small ceremony accompanies his Royal Grace’s mounting the train.”

“Wow. This I got to see.”

The station master and porters now lined up as his Lordship with tiny frequent nods of his head proceeded between them on the red carpet. Followed immediately by a widely grinning Schultz who gave all the watching eyes from the train windows his personal Woonsocket hi sign.

A small panelled drawing room inside the train. A side table covered with the day’s newspapers. Schultz plopping himself on a sofa chair and staring into space. Binky smoking a cigarette and taking in the passing acres of Nectarine Castle. His Lordship smilingly contemplating Schultz.

“Ah my dear Schultz, you really will now be glad to get back to the familiar comforting ways of the city. Tell me. What’s on your mind.”

“Well aside from slowly tearing my appetites away from all this privileged bliss and back to attend to the problems of the production, I’m thinking christ you guys. I never know what’s going to happen next.”

And nothing

Sacred or

Profane

Would surprise

Me

Schultz, his Gladstone bag toted behind him, popped up his town house steps in Arabesque Street. Pressing his key in his door absolutely restored to its previous undamaged gleaming green condition. In the hall, the smell of fresh paint. The painting of a rural scene back on the wall. Schultz lifting his case up on the newly repaired chair. Standing and listening. And suddenly began to run. Up the stairs. Past a new bust of Justinian back on his plinth again. Towards the sound of bath water pouring into a tub.

“What the fuck are you doing here.”

“O darling please don’t shout. Where have you been. I’ve been worried sick here waiting for you. I’m here because I love you. I love you deeply darling.”

“You love me. You’re worried sick. You’re waiting for me. I’ll tell you what you’re doing. You’re suing me. Do you think I’m out of my mind. Letting someone sit using my hot water in my bathtub while they’re suing me. I saw you disappear with that big fat fucking black King.”

“Darling he wants to invest money in your show.”

“What, are you kidding. The closest that big black cunt’s ever been to showbizz is a fertility dance.”

“I did it for you. Can’t you see.”

“What did you do for me. Let him shove up his big black prick.”

“Darling you’re as crude and rude as he was impeccable and charming.”

“Impeccable. Charming. The fucker is cutting everybody’s balls off except his own all over Africa.”

“Well I speak only for myself. And I don’t know a thing about his balls. He is one of the most wonderful gentlemen I’ve ever met. He knows how to treat a woman. To make her feel marvellous. To make her feel wanted, loved, adored.”

“Come on honey. You get your fucking teddy bear there sitting on my crapper and you just go back and swing from his big black prick then. Out.”

“He’s gone. He’s gone back to Africa. And darling nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened huh. Only that you left me sticking out like a sore thumb nearly getting murdered. While you were eating grapes he peeled. And flashing your ass around dancing your head off with him.”

“Darling none of that would happen if we were married. It’s not my fault that I’m beautiful. And that men want me. Don’t you see that.”

“I see plenty. Especially the fucking damage you did in this house.”

“Well darling the damage you did to me. Doesn’t that occur to you. I’ve been hours at the dentist. And everything is fixed in the house.”

“Only by a fucking miracle. O.K. come on. Out.”

“You’re staring at my body.”

“Cover it up.”

“I think you’re jealous. And in fact I have a standing invitation to His Imperial Highness’s palace.”

“You mean to his tree hut in the jungle. With about three hundred other pieces of ass he’s got collected waiting around powdering their fannies behind the foliage.”

“You are jealous. Please hand me that towel and avert your eyes. And get out while I dress.”

“I’m not getting out of my own bathroom while you throw another fucking coma as soon as my back’s turned.”

“For your information I won’t in future need you or your bathroom. His Imperial Highness’s London embassy is available to me any time I wish. And any time I care to go to Africa a private plane will be sent for me. I’ll have a palace all to myself. With all the eunuch servants I want.”

“Here’s the fucking towel. Now while my balls are still intact let me tell you something. You get dried. You get dressed. You get down those stairs. And you. Honey. Get the fuck out. And stay out. And leave the keys to this house behind you. And now stop the crying.”

“I won’t.”

“Where’s my mail.”

“Your mail is down in the kitchen. I tried to do everything to help you. Don’t you see that. In your stubbornness and meanness. And a Mr. Magillacurdy called. He left a whole new script for you he said. And did I do anything. With that opportunity. When he’s beautiful handsome and so poetic. No. I didn’t.”

“Honey I wasn’t there. Besides you’re such an actress that nobody could tell you weren’t fucking your head off all afternoon. Just like you could have been doing with those vine swinging African apes.”

“And what would you care anyway if I were.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“For your information those vine swingers as you call them are potentates and all products of England’s very best schools. While you’re merely from Woonsocket.”

“Hey honey, get dressed. And for your information, Woonsocket is the best fucking place to be out of on the face of the earth. Plus don’t forget I spent time in Brooklyn.”

“How could I forget.”

“O.K. Duchess, just without a tearful ceremony get out of my life. I’m going to give you ten minutes.”

Schultz turning. A long moaning wail erupting as he walked back out into the hall. Reaching the door of his bedroom. My sweating palm turning the crystal nob. Big Ben booming. More sobs rending Belgravia. In spite of everything sensible my mind is telling me. I’ve got a hard on. Which fucking human nature uses to pole vault me out of old disasters into newer bigger ones. Like already hit my father with my mother. And made his neck go all stringy with tension. My uncle dropped dead of heart attack in the bathroom. My aunt hysterical looking at his inert heap. If this keeps up. Could be me in a few more years. An ambulance came to collect him. The guy with the stretcher says don’t worry lady this happens all the time, he’s the fourth I collected since lunch. Unbelievable. Half hour after the most wonderful weekend. And I got fucking death all of a sudden on my mind. As well as her luscious bloody tits. Which I would love to fuck off her at the rate of one semi quaver per second. Throw her gorgeous body backwards into the tub. With a splash. Jump right in on top in the suds. Holy Jesus what was that. That was a splash. Or the whole fucking bathroom has fallen through the ceiling.