On a
Hospital bed
Instead of on
A casting couch
9
‘Jesus, what time is it Cynthia. I fell asleep.’
‘It’s twelve o’clock, midnight. There goes Big Ben. And I like running my hand through your hair, Siggy.’
‘My mouth’s dry.’
‘Here’s some water.’
‘Thanks. Jesus wow. Hey how old are you honey.’
‘I’m eighteen and a half.’
‘Holy cow you’re only a kid.’
‘O yeah Siggy. I could teach you plenty things daddy you don’t know.’
‘Jesus I’ll bet you could. But jesus christ. You don’t want a relationship with a guy lots older.’
‘Hey what’s the matter with you pops, why not. I’ve already had a boyfriend who was as old as thirty five. And you’re going to put me in the chorus line of your show remember.’
‘Jesus honey with all we’ve had to drink let’s think about this a little bit. You don’t want to throw away a whole career just on the verge of being a nurse to hoof around a sweaty old dusty stage with a lot of desperate people who spend half their lives out of work.’
‘How do you know I don’t. I’m already hoofing around here with smelly old bedpans. Couldn’t I be a star.’
‘Jesus I don’t know honey that’s what I’m saying. To be a star takes years of just being around being nothing. You’re a lovely fucking girl who’s got a lot of lovely fucking talents.’
‘And sucking old fashioned cocks is one of them.’
‘Hey honey that’s not becoming talking like that. You got to have responsibilities in your behaviour.’
‘Hey maybe you’re pretty famous, aren’t you.’
‘Jesus honey this time of night all I am is pretty foolish.’
‘My girlfriend on duty has seen your show. Says it’s in poor taste but occasionally good Cot a laugh. She’d like a part in the chorus too. She’s a really good dancer and has got beautiful legs.
Jesus hold it honey. 1 can’t start casting this whole hospital in a show.’
‘Why not. The Field Marshal could come on banging his bedpan. Hey Siggy do I scare you.’
‘Whew. Come on. It’s tomorrow morning already. Get back to your desk. The Field Marshal instead of banging it may need the bedpan. See me in the morning.’
‘I do scare you, don’t I.’
‘Hey honey. I’ll be honest. You do.
‘It’s just because I’m a little uninhibited. But you should take me seriously.’
‘That’s what’s scaring me honey, I am.’
‘Well you’ll find me in the nurses’ annex. I’m the only Cynthia. And remember it’s only when guys are thirty six or seven that they’re really passe. Now Siggy you fussy old pops. Watch me. How I go out this door.’
Cynthia pirouetting across the floor, taking a curtseying bow holding out the hem of her uniform, her nurse’s cap askew, a lock of her hair falling forward. She steps out and her head comes back sticking around the half open door as a disembodied hand curves from behind to slowly grab and pull her head away. And the door closing with a quiet click. Jesus on top of it all, she’s a comedienne. What the fuck now has suddenly dawned in my life. The night outside. A wind blowing hard. Three drunk pigeons, if they didn’t fly then they must have rolled to their drunken deaths off the window sill. It’s been another long day. Christ I am. I’m getting fucking old and passe. When you start trying to splash cold water on a fire that’s burning in a girl like that. Holy cow. I’ll be accused of robbing the cradle. Instead of with the Matron I could be accused of robbing the grave. What the hell I haven’t yet tried necrophilia. But a fucking young woman full of youthful vibrant spirits I’ll try any time. Especially one who doesn’t yet have to be a devious bitch. Who maybe she never will be. Who knows. I’ve heard of crazier ideas for a musical called hospital. Could be hilarious with bedpans banging, bodies carted to the autopsy down stage. The chorus line skipping rope with extra long stethoscopes. Half price to those with one genuine broken leg. Cynthia and her girlfriend could keep the first ten rows with the guys pumping away under their raincoats. The gorgeous thick luxurious crop of hair between Cynthia’s legs. Jesus. The apoplexy I got when she danced with a red rose sticking out of there. Even her hands are beautifully graceful. Fingers fluttering suddenly like a butterfly. Even when she didn’t move a muscle magic was flowing through the line of every limb. Rabbi Low. Are you there. Listen. I already got pigeons but jesus tell me is this maybe what I need. A young vibrant fearless outspoken girl in my life. Mr Schultz. It’s Rabbi Low answering. Let me tell you. In five words. It’s what we all need. But in two words too. Watch out. Goodnight Rabbi Low. I heard you. Thanks for the favour of the answer. See you soon in Prague. I’ll put a pebble on your gravestone.
Dawn creeping through the dark over London. Big Ben booming seven bells. The sound of traffic coming back into the streets. The echoing rumble of the big red buses. Schultz waking to a knock at the door. A smiling grey old lady in a green smock wheeling breakfast in. Two boiled eggs. One brown, one white. Porridge. Tea. Slices of toasted soggy buttered bread. Holy cow, upon this earth upon this hospital bed, I got a splitting hangover headache. If I didn’t have a concussion yesterday I got one now. My balls are throbbing. What’s happened to me. From the heights and joy of last night I had a nightmare after falling into a drunken sleep. That someone was shouting right out in front of my house back in Woonsocket in big fucking words you could hear all over the neighbourhood. Bring this tax dodger out into the limelight. Let the internal revenue service shine their flashlights upon him. Jesus. That could be in a fucking short time. If Cynthia’s father who’s bound to be anti Semitic, starts investigating me around the globe. He could be holding up the placard. We’ve got him. This Jewish fucker who took advantage of my chaste daughter. Only a child. O my god. I just know I’m not going to be able to resist in my present desperate celibate circumstances getting in touch with her again after I escape from this hospital. She’s the sweetest fucking thing I would ever hope to fuck, as wildly licentious as anything I’ve ever met. Any girl who likes running her hand through your hair is bound to be bliss in bed. I think of such things while I should be thinking about paying attention to keeping stable. O no. O god. I never called Louella back. O christ. I got to up and get out of here. Like my whole life has been one long pigeon party. Push my buzzer. Then ring his Lordship. He’s always up early in the morning. He’s no rabbi but he’s bound to have good sensible English aristocratic advice handed down through generations. Which I could, if I could only think straight, nearly give myself. And which I am now giving. Don’t whatever you do, ever ever have a fucking thing to do with any girl whose father could put you behind bars. And who could send a message to your wife’s lawyers who would love to know how the fuck much further they can embarrass and blackmail me out of my fucking money that’s left after I maintain my wife in a palatial style in Kensington, and after what my wife has stolen already. O shit. How do I rise up out of this depression. Grab the rungs hand over hand and climb. Don’t nosedive into paranoia. Stay optimistic. Claw your way through the jungle of pessimism. Let’s go Schultz. Let’s go.
‘You rang Mr Schultz.’
‘Yeah, nurse. Have you got anything to kill some pain.’
‘Are you hurting in your testicles.’
‘No in my head.’
‘I’ll get something.’
Jesus, she’s nice enough but with a hatchet face and grey hair. Where have all the young student nurses gone. Maybe they only come out at night. Meanwhile on a piece of paper. I got to write out my priorities. Headlined first with a principle to behave by. Always remember. I conquered previously and I can conquer again. Binky’s trying to dismantle my show and bury me. Jesus you kill yourself with something new and in two seconds everyone is treating a hit like it’s old hat. Recent events have nearly blotted all my show biz worries right out of my mind. Voom. I got now
to get to New York. And if my balls do get speared on the sharp pointed top of the Chrysler building, then voom. Also to Hollywood. But before I even go take a piss in a bedpan I got now to fly to fucking Zurich to a bank with my luggage stuffed with notes to put in a secret account before I’m stripped naked. Uncle Werb used to say. To escape inhuman bondage, if you don’t have at least a few diamonds stored away then always keep a few shekels in the lining of your coat you never take off. Maybe I need a convalescing rest cure in Prague. A little lonely holiday. With just money and myself. Stay at the Three Ostriches Hotel next to the quiet flowing Vltava River. Stare at the ancient painted ceiling. But first I got to stop my show from being demolished. Life slaps you in the face every five minutes with its inexhaustible disasters. My wife’s lawyers trying to get injunctions. Against me even coming within six hundred yards of where she lives. And she comes within six inches of me and socks me in both eyes. You got to come back fighting. Get the fuckers like Binky. Get the zipper perpetrators. Who done this to me. And maybe even meanwhile Al might have at last croaked. Although give me a few Cynthias and who needs Louella. Faithful to that old fart. Holy shit I can’t start hating her now just because I love her. But Cynthia’s dynamic personality hidden under that nurse’s uniform sure gave me a release from all previous spiritual pain. To find her full of beans. That now I want to count at my leisure. Bad as marriage was, at least with two twin daughters growing up to say da da, made me feel I had two little defenceless creatures to care and fight for. A stable optimistic relationship is what I need soon and fucking bad. I’ve got to be contented for at least the whole of one week in my existence. Rabbi Low here’s another question. With all the money pouring into my life where’s the fucking happiness I’ve been waiting for. Mr Schultz. Remember good manure grows beautiful flowers. So happiness is up your ass. And that’s why you say holy shit so much.
‘Hey nurse you’re not going to stab me with that long needle.’
‘Well you’ll feel no pain. Let me move your tray. Just roll on your side and expose your buttock.’
‘Holy cow.’
Jesus will I ever get out of this hospital alive. Any second I could have Daniel calling for me. Before like all good impresarios I go to live it up on the Cote d’Azur. But maybe first I hope I’ll be blinded by the glare of publicity of old Al’s funeral. He’ll be with a rigor mortis erection, wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts, sunglasses and sandals in his coffin. Imagine at last he seems to be dying. If I can only get there in time. It’s bound to bring Hollywood to a standstill. In every restaurant everybody will stop eating. F or three seconds. As people take off their own sunglasses in memory. To say he was the biggest premature ejaculator of this or any age. Holy cow, I got to control the thoughts in my mind over breakfast. The pain in my head and the throbbing in my balls is at last disappearing. The nurse must have given me an elixir. Got to call again his Lordship. His private phone is busy busy busy. Jesus these are really hard boiled eggs. When I asked for soft poached.
‘Hello. Basil. Is this you your Lordship.’
‘Who is daring to use my Christian name at this ungodly hour in the morning. Not you I hope Schultz. Your balls must be all right.’
‘I’m sorry your Lordship. Did I wake you. And my balls are OK.’ ‘Well as a matter of fact Schultz over a spot of breakfast, I was reading my breviary and meditating on the lives of the saints.’
‘Your Lordship you’re trying to be a comedian but you fail utterly. I just wanted to thank you guys for sending all this stuff over.’
‘Stuff, Schultz. Surely I think it deserves to be referred to as something a little more appealing than that.’
‘OK. The exotic cornucopia. The wonderful fantastic champagne. Thanks a lot. It really made my day. Or rather my night. And may have changed my life. But also has given me the most terrible hangover of my whole existence. This is the highly confidential question I want to ask. My wife stole money out of my house. Can I have her arrested without anyone knowing publicly what she stole. Hello. Hello. Your Lordship are you still there.’
‘I’m here Schultz. And I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Certainly no one can accuse you of lacking cold calculation. And it is not one of your greater endearments. The normal practice Schultz, in this land where chivalry found its origins and where we trust vestiges of it still remain, is to send your wife a conspicuously expensive gift, as this points up her misdeed and her resulting feelings of reproachfulness may cause her to make restitution.’
‘Holy shit that could leave me fucked two ways from Sunday.’ ‘And I’m afraid Schultz at this exact moment from this Tuesday I’ve got to attend upon the lavatory and have a crap.’
‘Hey your Lordship you’re no fucking help in looking for justice. I’ll call you back after you’ve finished your toilet.’
Holy jeez. Everyone is either going to take a shit, or running down halls looking for bedpans. Got to get Binky’s film of my rescue. To sue those fucking haberdashers like they’ve never dreamed anyone could be sued. Get the best lawyers in town. O jesus, I knew there was something missing. The fucking evidence. The pants the pants. Snipped to ribbons. On the operating theatre floor. I got to get them. And the zipper. The trouser length. All the measurements. Just like the ones we made one day against the office wall. When Binky claimed he was taller than me. The fucker standing on his toes behind his desk announcing. I am verily I believe Schultz, a shade over the six foot one mark. That fucker has tried to best me in everything. He couldn’t stand it to find I was six foot and three quarter inches tall and a full half inch taller than he was. Jesus they talk of chivalry. Towards someone who wants to see you dead. And who wants to have every penny off you that you ever made which is worse than being dead. I’m never in two hundred years going to send that bitch an expensive gift. Unless it’s an electric chair to sit in. And that’s gospel. Written upon the Wailing Wall. By Schultz. And by now his Lordship should have had his crap.
‘Good god. It’s you again Schultz.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well as a matter of fact you have just interrupted me at my ablutions. I should never have given you my private number.’
‘Jesus, sorry, your Lordship.’
‘And Schultz before I hang up. I must let you know that as an amusement you are first rate, as a business partner you are second rate, but as a person, you are extremely third rate.’
‘Jesus christ you guys. You’re obsessed by principles of morality and so called upper class behaviour. And you know why, because people like Binky would rat on his own mother like he’s already done to me.’ ‘Ah Schultz you could not have heard. Binky’s mother died last night. In fact that’s why my phone has been busy. She was possibly one of the most magnificently beautiful women who has ever lived. Certainly the most charming.’
‘Holy christ what happened. I met her at your wedding.’
‘She walked out her French drawing room door after dinner.’
‘So what.’
‘The doors Schultz open upon a cliffledge and it is a sixteen hundred foot drop into the ravine at the bottom.’
‘O jesus no. Your Lordship. Shit. Jesus, will tragedy never cease. Fuck a duck.’
‘Your response Schultz is characteristically suitably sentimental and you may of course Schultz fuck a duck but while you are I do hope you will excuse me while I fucking well go back and complete my washing and brushing up.’
Schultz hanging up the phone. Staring out across the slate roof tops. Jesus what am I expected to do if someone’s mother dies, throw a fit of sorrow. I’m already in a deep enough fit of hangover depression. Christ maybe that’s a suitable funeral I could go to to test to see how my balls look in a new suit with buttons on the fly. And without the bandages making them appear bulging hanging over the grave side. O god the bump on my head is even bigger. The blow job last night blew my brains out. Like a defenestration that they used to do in the old days in Prague. She was insatiable eating me alive. Her head going up and down lik
e a pump on top of a Texas oil well. Sucking every drop out till there could be no sperm left in me at all. Like a woman does who’s teetering on the edge of the menopause. Jesus I’m getting worked up even thinking about it again. Even this champagne cork looks like a foreshortened phallic symbol. That kid with a mouth like that, could have me at her mercy. Begging her for a suck. Jesus put her in the chorus line and she’ll join all the other fellatrices back stage. And her violinist mother and tax inspector father with his nose sniffing for dodgers, have got to come and see her in the show. And then back stage meet the producer. How do you do. Well for a start I don’t pay my taxes. Taxation without relaxation is tyranny. And is American history they taught us in high school. Or was it taxation without representation they taught us. O jeez I’ve got to stop the hypothetically terrifying conjecturing from entering my brain. Of a computer stopping in its tracks, ringing bells, blaring bugles and blinking lights when it sees my name and makes a sudden print out with numerals so numerous and astronomical it breaks the fucking machine and attracts even more attention to me. Christ you think you’re winning. A fucking incredible gifted girl turns up on my plate in whom in two minutes and a couple of bottles of champagne I find solace. A sweet but not so innocent young girl. Till the awful complications begin to well up and explode in a doom laden cloud that’s closing down over your life. I got to get out of here. Even if I have to go out by the window and crawling over the slate roof tops. And bring my pigeons with me. Dial myself out of the fucking dilemma.