J. Donleavy - Schultz

“Yes I did Schultz. Under the booing and jeering. But most distinctly of all I recognised your clapping. Or were you applauding your rather large incarcerated mother in law.”

“Binky that audience for real were being genuinely entertained. Three quarters of them loved it.”

“Ah Schultz permit me, to leaven your heartfelt words with those of sobriety. I have not yet had his Royal Grace check with his laser beam financial eye all the figures but having myself peeked under items marked hotels, lodgings, transport and especially items miscellaneous, I would say you have the overcall already spent. And my dear young man does it not occur to you that you may live to, fight another day. That this is just another little flop that people will quite quickly forget in three or four years. But to persist in the present agony is only merely prolonging the future ignominy.”

Schultz taking up the torn newspaper from the floor. Hold up the perforated review. Piecing it together.

“Rebecca, you read what that fucking critic said. Well let me quote to both of you. Genius. Shimmering grace. Spectacularly beautiful. Captivated the audience. Stage history being made. Those fucking words are going to be emblazoned all over this town. And give me a cigar Binky.”

“Schultz have you no ethics. You can’t possibly print what you’ve just blatantly quoted entirely out of context.”

“Can’t I, just watch me. These fucking critics have such egos trying to bust out of their half assed guts that when that son of a sour bitch sees his name plastered all over he won’t even murmur a sigh of protest. Rebecca.”

“Yes Mr. Schultz.”

“Take this down. A tour de force. Vulgar, brash, garish, grossly insulting, and stage history is being made. Genius is a word one uses sparingly but it would have to be applied in the case of Mr. Magillacurdy and his stunning co star whose shimmering, exquisite balletic beauty captivated the audience. See it, don’t miss it, it’s too wonderful. Got that Rebecca.”

“Yes Mr. Schultz.”

“O.K. Rebecca put it into respectable grammatical order and slam all that into the classified ads. Use caps on the see it, don’t miss it, it’s too wonderful. And I want big spreads in the Sunday papers using the same thing under the picture of the two stars. And Rebecca on that phone get me this Knightsbridge number.”

“Ah my dear Schultz sometimes I do really detect a flavour of the naval man in you, albeit one, who has cast his moral principles overboard.”

“That’s right. Just excuse me a second. Hello. Hey. Hi. It’s me. Sigmund Schultz. Yeah Sigmund Franz Schultz. Come to the ballet tonight. You got to. Why not. That’s no reason. This is life and death O.K. I’ll pick you up at seven. See you.”

“Schultz I couldn’t help overhearing. The ballet.”

“That’s right. Taking a box at Covent Garden. Just for one evening to catch my breath. To put some grace and beauty back into my life.”

“Schultz. I’m impressed with you. Yes. Very much so. You are truly remarkable. You’re not with your tail anywhere near between your legs. I think perhaps I may even decide to lose my shirt with yours.”

“You mean half your shirt.”

“Ah yes, half. But old Gayboy will only be too relieved to sell back his share. Dear me in a business which is nothing but risk, I don’t know why I’m so cautious sometimes. You know many foolish and misguided things happen in the name of friendship. And when one has assumed the responsible position of Chairman as I have, there are times when one must take decisions on an empirical rather than emotional basis. It was from a very skinflint ancestor that I’ve inherited what may be thought by some to be an unflattering tendency to, how does one put it, to hedge one’s bets.”

“You’re a shrewd hard cunning son of a bitch Binky.”

“Thank you Shultz, thank you. But at least you’ve found in me, at this moment, a trusted ally.”

“Christ that’s the last thing I need now is people I can trust. Because from now on, nobody, including you is to be trusted.”

“Ah that’s a bit of a blow to one’s team spirit Schultz. Is not even his Royal Grace to be trusted.”

“Well I might trust him. I must confess he owns so fucking much of this world that all he has to do is look out for crooks.”

Schultz brushing down his clothes. Straightening his borrowed tie. The phone ringing. Binky picking it up. Putting his hand over the speaker.

“Now Schultz, this is an historic moment. The first phone call of the afternoon. Sperm Productions here. And how rude but nice of you to say so, Mr. Magillacurdy. Your embattled producer is right here and I shall put you on to him. Schultz.”

Schultz, both hands raised outstretched in a flying leap across the floor grabbing the phone.

“Hello.”

“It’s Magillacurdy me boyo.”

“Christ Magillacurdy where are you. I’ve just been having heart attacks. They said you weren’t in last night at Claridge’s. Where were you.”

“I’m at Claridge’s now me boyo.”

“Where were you all last night.”

“Ah me boyo. It was a vow I made one awful desperate night in despair. A vow that had to be kept. I promised the poor fucker resting in peace next to me whose mausoleum I was squatting in that I’d be back sleeping next to him if ever I opened on a West End stage.”

“Jesus Terence, you could get fucking pneumonia doing that.”

“Ah now me boyo, you don’t think I’d abandon me old pal laid in rest back in Brompton Cemetery. I slept alongside of all these months chatting to just because I was a West End sensation. Now what kind of thankless indifferent behaviour would that be now.”

“Jesus just promise me Magillacurdy, you won’t do such things without warning me. And I could heat the place for you.”

“Ah a bit of hardship harms no one. But I see we’ve been slated in the press. Rumors abound the show is closing.”

“Nothing is fucking closing. And that’s from the horse’s mouth.”

“Ah glad to hear it. Just give me my cues and a soapbox and I’ll perform on stage or off stage. I’ll sing this show on top of a fragment of Nelson’s Pillar that they blew down in Dublin if necessary.”

“Jesus Magillacurdy at last.”

“What do you mean at last.”

“At last there’s someone with some fucking guts who doesn’t have to be persuaded to fight alongside me.”

“I’ll fight beside you and break any arse of any man who opposes us.”

“Just keep breaking the hearts of all the women, that’s all I ask.”

“Well said me darling boyo. Depend on me.”

“I am depending on you Terence. To save the goose that lays the golden eggs.”

“Ah me boyo, be careful. Kicking the shit out of the goose that lays the golden egg is a great Irish custom. Goodbye now. And good luck.”

Schultz putting down the phone. And a hand up to his brow. Shaking his head. Shaking his shoulders. Clenching his hands and firing his fists around him shadow boxing in the smoky air.

“Ah well Schultz, the enemy is engaged. I suppose it behooves one to see in your fighting spirit a cause for optimism, however one must in caution also remain amply armed with pessimism. But there is yet another slight little matter. Over which I regret to say his Royal Grace is alarmed.”

“Holy jeeze what did I do now.”

“Schultz you wrote an anti blood sports letter to the Times newspaper.”

“Christ I clean forgot. Hey, they printed it. That’s great.”

“They did Schultz. And as it happens, his Royal Grace being a well known Master of Foxhounds. And does not think it’s great.”

“Shit it was you you son of a bitch who told me to write it for christ’s sake.”