J. Donleavy - Schultz

“Darling, please, wake up, wake up. I didn’t mean it.”

Schultz opening eyes. Rolling over on his hands and knees. Lifted to his feet by Pricilla. Hobbling back and forth outside his bedroom door. Dabbing the blood dripping on his face. Shaking his head, rubbing his neck.

“My adam’s apple is crushed. And holy shit, I left Al on the phone.”

Schultz carefully guiding by the bannister, back down the stairs. Breathing in the perfume. Christ just like my uncle’s funeral. When it was stacked with roses.

“Al.”

“Hey Sigmund, for christ’s sake, what took you so long. I heard like violent noises in the distance.”

“Al, you did. Boy let me tell you. The subject matter is still there. I need a fucking bottle of champagne. See you at the Savoy.”

“I’ll send my limo for you.”

“Thanks Al. Believe me, tonight it would be a big help.”

Pricilla radiant. Her body clinging moss green low cut dress. Milky breasts ready to squirt at you. Carrying a rose. Turning heads everywhere. Smiling at the commissionaire bowing her out of Al’s limousine. Her ass wagging across the pavement under the shiny entrance of this hotel.

“Good evening Mr. Schultz. Good evening Madam.”

“Hi.”

Schultz following through this pink brown marble evening lobby. Pricilla swirled in as if she owned the place. Sweeping past men hopefully and friendly rising half up out of their seats. The hostile eyes of women looking her every inch up and down. And christ they’re even getting to know me. Up these familiar stairs. And through to the bar. Al. Jesus there he is. The son of a bitch. Full of his bonhommie. I think he’s trying to get me to keep this filly in my stable feeding her hay and oats and kicking the shit out of me, while he smells around for a way to shaft her in his king sized celebrity bed. But for some fucking reason I can’t stop loving him. Maybe it’s his bad taste. He’s in another one of his semi-rustic evening numbers which might also do on a grouse moor.

“Pricilla, my darling. And Sigmund. Sigmund. Hey what the hell happened.”

“A cement truck. Hit me Al.”

Al kissing and hugging Pricilla and then taking Schultz’s hand in both of his and pumping up and down. And all seated at the table. The champagne corks popping.

“Hey Al, here’s to you, happy happy birthday. And this is on me.”

“No kids. It’s on me.”

“O.K. Al you convinced me. At the recent price of this stuff, it’s on you.”

Al and his party escorted by half the Savoy’s staff to his table by the window in the River Room. The Beluga heaped up throne center on its tiers of plates in coffers of ice. With more champagne corks popping. And not ten minutes passed shovelling in these fish eggs when who do you think should sweep in. Accompanied by a tail coated major domo, assisted by two waiters taking up the rear.

“Now Sigmund, stay right where you are. Sit down for christ’s sake. Now you’re here, let’s not ruin this pleasant little party. Pricilla’s mother just thought she might drop over. Like for to celebrate my birthday.”

“Well pardon me while I rejoice dropping through the fucking floor like I’m going to do.”

“Don’t you insult my mother like that.”

“I’m not insulting your mother. I’m stating a matter of physical fact. And if I don’t go through the fucking floor I’m going to go through the fucking roof. Which do you want.”

“Come on Sigmund. For your old pal Al. Do this for me. I’m begging you. A whole cake’s coming. With my hard earned candles on it. The orchestra is ready to play my own latest hit tune I composed. Make it a happy family.”

The recent addition to the happy family polished off in one serving flat, the entire remainder of the caviar. Schultz sat through the music, soup, entree. The cake, the sauterne, with his jaw muscles twitching on a stony face. Ordering ice water while Pricilla’s mother ordered everything else from the menu. Her plate empty seconds after her plate was full. And in addition to the food I’m the big subject of interest once more when suddenly the big black King of Boohooland has gone back to his jungle.

“Mr. Schultz I understand your family is in manufacturing textiles. It must be so nice with that business back home to be able to change your interest when your hobby with the theatre gets too dull for you. Of course I hope you will be settling down now with the new event.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Prune I don’t understand. What new event.”

“O of course you know. I don’t have to tell you.”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“My daughter.”

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Schultz. Surely you know she’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant.”

“Aren’t you my dear. The blessed event is expected, November ninth.”

“Well. So November ninth. That’s swell. So.”

“Well as the proud father aren’t you pleased.”

“Pleased. Me. The proud father. Holy shit. I can’t believe my ears, what is this, some kind of blackmail.”

“Sigmund, Sigmund that’s no way to talk. Respect what’s being said. You go right away flying off the handle. Mrs. Prune here just wants to protect her daughter’s interests.”

“Yes Mr. Schultz. Since my daughter here is with your child. Her chances with the aristocracy are ruined. Now that it’s known all over London. That you’re responsible. We can prove it. If you think blood tests are necessary. And unless you know what’s good for you we’ve got lawyers.”

A barge hooting out on the river. The clink and clatter of cutlery and dishes. The stillness at Schultz’s table. Till a waiter jumping to pick up the chair sent flying backwards, tripped and catapulted into another carrying a massive armful of soups. Schultz ashen faced, managed to stand upright.

“You got lawyers have you. Well I’ll tear the fucking bunch of you to ribbons, and spit you out like tobacco juice. And bury the gang of you in those fucking roses.”

“Be reasonable Sigmund. For the sake of the one and only god come back. Sit down.”

Pricilla’s mother, all two tons of her in a shiny scarlet dress rising up from her seat. Her hands sup porting her monstrous shoulders and bosoms as she leaned forward over her newly replenished plate and now as she shouted, lifting one arm to point in the direction of the departing Schultz.

“That man leaving, inseminated my daughter.”

Schultz making his way out across this familiar room. All its assured sombre plushness. The haunt of ladies and gentlemen. Amazing what new things you notice in old familiar surroundings when the brain has received a shattering shock. The gleaming gold base of the marble pillars holding up the restaurant ceiling. The nearly empty wood panelled lobby. The white frieze high around the wall. Carts, oxen and ladies dancing to flute players. Out under the gleaming canopy of this hotel. Got to look up. A bronze warrior with a shield and spear on the roof. Jesus I should be him. They sounded like the wedding’s all set to happen. How did they do this to me. Excoriate me. Convict me. So I should go marching down the aisle. Into the depths of hell. Or up the steps into the chamber of horror of some fucking registry office. Why didn’t I put a condom on my prick. You want to feel flesh. And Jesus you end up feeling you’re falling into a snake pit. Just when in the incredible bliss of Shangri La I learn from his Lordship what life could be all about. They get together a birthday party. To fuck me. For my whole life.

Outside the revolving doors, Schultz doubled up, hand on his stomach, hobbling back and forth. The doorman calling up Al’s limousine. Schultz unable to lift an arm to wave it away. The concerned commissionaire holding the car door open. Waiting as Schultz bent further over. Both hands across his stomach. And the doorman niftily jumping back. As Schultz delivered from his lips. With a heaving groaning roar. His champagne, caviar, vichyssoise and steak tartare. Into the rear blue soft carpeted interior of Al’s limousine.