J. Donleavy - Schultz

“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

Schultz rubbing his eyes walking along a lamplit Charing Cross Road. Past the closed shops of this desolate deserted street. A chill rainy mist falling. Released from jail, and now getting wet. And in six bloody hours I’ve got to be in Court. When I should be planning every last ditch emergency strategy for the show.

Schultz sending a shrieking whistle out between his lips. A taxi stopping two blocks away, turning and coming back. Thank god. At least I can still pipe out a long distance signal for a cab.

“Welcome aboard Gov, where to.”

Schultz alighting at number four Arabesque. Tiptoeing silently in. So far she hasn’t changed the locks on the door and stationed a policeman on the stoop to protect her life. But christ one can’t avoid bitterness after what that bitch has done. Holy jeeze where the fuck will she or her mother be sleeping. And that outsize walrus busting springs in some bed.

Schultz up the first flight of stairs. And up the next. Pressing the light switch. Fucking lights still out. Go into this bedroom at the top back of the house. For peace and quiet. What a night. My head is swimming. About six hours sleep in the last two days.

Schultz wearily taking off his jacket in the dark. Holy shit sounds like there’s a cat loose or something in here. I’m getting jumpy. Like Al nearly went out of his skin when he thought I knew his girl friend. A sweet fucking charmer that she is. I should have rung her. But for my unending adversity I would have done. And met her before that greying geriatric strips a gear on his organs trying to fuck her.

Schultz undoing his shirt, stopping listening again. I heard something, Jesus christ, fucking well move. Dear god I beg you, don’t after what you’ve already done to me make me be in the bedroom of the behemoth. Holy jeeze. There really is something fucking well in here breathing.

Schultz with shoelaces untied, trousers dropped to his ankles. Touching and feeling around him. Shit now if I move I’ll fall over. Or a skeleton will drop out behind me like it did with me getting drenched pissing all over myself in his Lordship’s castle. Christ I haven’t even yet recovered from that heart stopping shock. And Jesus I really do feel like I’m going to shit. My nerves are shattered. I’m just not going to last the course. Escape back to America. The land of the free. The home of the brave. Uncle Werb. Here I am. I want to go into the diamond business. Ah Sigmund what a good boy. Welcome to the reality of practical sense. Here, two million dollars worth of stones, take them over to Izzy my old pal on the top floor. They’re his for three million. You keep ten per cent of the profit for yourself and like a sensible boy go buy a good raincoat and galoshes, in case next time I have to send you out with diamonds to bring to Amsterdam when it’s raining. Holy jeeze. I’d do it. I’d really do it. I’d sell diamonds stark naked in the snow. Even for five per cent commission. And I could be fucking Dutch girls like Greta all over Holland.

Schultz touching his way across the room. Where’s the fucking bed I remember was right here. No Jesus, this is the wardrobe. Ah, my knees are touching the mattress. At last I’m going to be warm. Blankets on the bed.