J. Donleavy - Schultz

“Shit you hit below the belt.”

“Gentlemen feel it much better there. In their spiritual solar plexus.”

“You’re fucking tough.”

“Out of my misplaced regard for females pretending otherwise, I won’t comment on that.”

“I’ll drink my apple juice. And beat it.”

“Please don’t hurry. You know, all most women want Mr. Schultz, is just six kids and a farm in the country with horses, hens and a house cow.”

“Thanks for telling me. I’m learning everything tonight. And boy I’m learning less and less about you.”

“I must then tell you more. Did you know that I keep extremely fit. I do a naked standing run at the open window every morning.”

“You mean here.”

“Yes.”

“Holy christ, the neighbors.”

“Well yes, unless it’s dark or extremely before dawn it does attract considerable male binocular neighborly attention. But I also own the building opposite.”

“Boy you’re a real Lulu.”

“Shall I tell you more about me.”

“Shoot honey, shoot. I’m listening. You’re driving all the worries in truck loads right out of my mind.”

“I have an extremely wide circle of extremely mixed friends. I’m given to moods and angers. I huff and I puff. And I will sometimes literally scream the house down if I don’t get what I want.”

“Yes. That figures.”

“But Mr. Schultz. I make up for it all. By occasionally being a riot of laughs. By being a good cook, a good lay and compassionate when sufficient tragedy requires.

“Ah honey. You’re looking at it. A sufficient tragedy. I’ve had my worst day yet. Everything is a shambles. We’ve just had a nice long strained pained evening together. But one mistake I’m not making. Is asking you for one ounce of compassion. All I’m thinking of just now. Is how do I get up from this sofa and as unmiserably as possible, go out your fucking door and crawl home to Park Lane.”

“I hope upon leaving you will at least give me a token peck on the cheek.”

“I’ll give you a token peck on the cheek as I leave.”

Lady Lullabyebaby shifting her stance. A knee and strong thigh showing through her pale blue dress. A glass of champagne in her left hand, the veins swollen blue across the back of her right. A chime tinkling the half hour in a domed golden clock on the chimney piece. Schultz pulling himself forward. Pushing himself up. Halfway there and falling back again.

“Look at that. Can’t get the fucking hell to my feet. Whew. Well there. Now I’m up. Honey it was sure swell knowing you. Like running a mile barefoot over upturned razor blades. I should in my best English be saying, madam allow me to present my compliments and to abide your preference as to whether I should linger longer. But I know when I should no longer linger.”

“And Mr. Schultz, what on earth are you going to do back in a lonely hotel. Where I presume you’re going.”

“Countess. I’ll tell you. Exactly. Now when I get back there. And if I had them, which I don’t have, which is my red polka dot silk dressing gown, and my custom made slippers. But if I did have them I’d put them on. Switch on the television. Put my feet up on the foot rest. And wait till my favourite meal in all the world was wheeled in from room service. Vichyssoise soup. Mixed salad with extra onions and a garlic dressing. Shish kebab with brown rice. Whole meal rolls and unsalted butter. And an ice cold bottle of Prague Pilsner beer. So goodnight. O and I forgot to mention, at two p.m. sharp I always have ordered a big plate of strawberry ice cream. Well upon that gastronomic note I leave you.”

Lady Lullabyebaby following Schultz along the blue carpeted hall of marble topped gilt side tables and mirrors. Crossing this large arched entryway. Schultz turning the latch on the door.

“And now here’s your peck on the cheek, honey.”

Lady Lullabyebaby reaching up her arm and putting her hand on Schultz’s shoulder. Her soft soft eyes, tiny little lines crinkling at the corners as they nearly but never smile. And her lips. So soft too. Quietly speaking.

“Hey come on.”

Come back

Into bed

As the nail biting week went by. Business at the box office creeping up in amounts agonizing in the extreme. The returns slipped in a white envelope under Schultz’s hotel suite door each morning. And holy shit which I should avoid reading till after breakfast. Even knowing already the figures inside. I leap on the envelope, ripping it open like an animal into a carcass.

And this the fatal morning. Following the appointment with the chiropodist. Who comes ministrating, nail cutting and my corns excised. Leaving me after a foot massage, like I was walking on a cloud. Stare out between the curtains of my peaceful sitting room windows. It’s worse dying like this. Enjoying luxury you want to cling to. If I had something to lead up to it. Like months of terrible boarding house rooms. From which death is an escape. It wouldn’t be so bad. Like a guy I saw in New York. Fat Jewish and ugly. Wearing suede shoes and searching trash cans at Fifty Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue. I thought what a disgrace or compliment to the race, whichever way you want to look at it. Plus now I’ve met the most exasperating woman of my life. Lady Lulu Lullabyebaby. She said I fucked her to a standstill. Then said I looked as smug as a corpse. Momma meeo. She is the most open, the most closed, the coldest, the warmest, the most incredibly generous and the most hugely selfish female I have ever met. And what’s a million times worse. I could after she’s driven me crazy, be in love with her.

Schultz heading this noonday east on foot across Mayfair. Birds singing up in the big plane trees they say grow so well from the bodies of plague victims buried here in Berkeley Square. To this meeting Al so urgently arranged. Christ with this barracula Joe Jewels, god’s gift to the theatre. Who would bite your legs off to the knees over fifty cents. Al with his little get together planned to convene in the pre lunch time cocktail lounge of a brand new hotel. Got to give the guy at least an E for effort. Which would get hidden by the big D he gets for being dumb sometimes.

Schultz checking the shows ads in the newspaper’s classifieds as Al came through the door.

“Holy shit Al, what the hell’s happened. Jesus, not now you too. A toupee. My god.”

“What’s the matter don’t you like it.”

“Jesus no, throw it away, it makes you look like something they’re getting rid of out the back door of a funeral parlour.”

“Throw it away are you crazy. It’s specially matched to the color and texture of my own natural hair. It cost me a fortune, it’s made out of the best most expensive tresses, curls and ringlets in the world.”

“Al has she seen you in it.”

“Who.”

“Louella.”

“No. Not yet. Today I’m just taking it out on a test flight.”

“Well for me Al, you just crash landed.”

Joe Jewels entering in a black vicuna coat. Crossing the cocktail lounge to Schultz and Al. Where he fell back into a chair and slammed his feet up on the cocktail table, rattling the ashtrays. Schultz puce faced. And Al chewing his cigar, blood pressure up, face lathered, half conciliatory, half angry. Beads of sweat on his brow below his new hair line. Jewels waving away the smoke with his hand.

“O.K. kid, just give me a figure.”

“Joe please don’t straight off ask Mr. Schultz here for a figure. We should discuss this a little philosophically further as gentlemen.”

“As long Al, as my name is Joe Jewels I can’t operate without figures. I need figures. What figures kid, have you got in mind.”

“The show’s not for sale.”

“Look kid, don’t waste my time. And don’t be stupid, I’m offering you a deal. Who else is going to take the show off your hands. When I could be telling you to go find someone else to buy into the flop you’ve already got. Come on give me a figure.”