Are You Listening, Rabbi Löw
‘Jorricks, it’s me. Come to the hospital. Right away. Bring the new pants. I’m coming home to convalesce.’
"That is good news, sir. I’m delighted. And shall be there directly.’
O god. How the fuck do I arrange right after my divorce, to marry my butler. And with our pigeons exist in a paradisiacal garden. Never, never is he not ready to do what I want. Imagine. How once in maybe every ten thousand years some good things can occasionally happen. When Jorricks first came into my life. He was standing there dignified in the alleyway of a stage door. And you couldn’t have known that he was literally starving silently to death. Without a penny, just a sliver of soap and a comb in his pocket. But everything about him immaculately clean and neat. Jesus what sad obsession gets in people’s heads to be on the stage. Or worse to try to stay there when they get there. And Jorricks stops me as I pass, to ask was he at the right place for the auditions. I was nearly in one of the worst hurries in my life, on my way out the stage door alley ready to jump into my car with my hired chauffeur to go to Victoria to catch the train to Brighton and just as it begins to rain. Poor Jorricks late to audition for of all things, the walk on part of a butler, because he had to walk from Camden Town without bus fare all the way to St Martin’s Lane. A part that just was cast five minutes earlier. When I told him, his face fell a mile and tears came into his eyes. And as I tried to gracefully tear myself away, it was a total joke I thought I was making to cheer him up to say I needed a butler at home. And he follows me out the alley.
‘Sir you are Mr Schultz, aren’t you.’
‘Yeah I am.’
‘Sir permit me to offer my services. I can assure you of my every attention for the most modest of emoluments. I am long experienced in the theatre. But have in fact also done a spare time bit of butlering. I can provide you with any reference you may require.’
I was dumbfounded that he meant every fucking word he was saying. I thought shit. The theatre is my life. And for this guy for whom the theatre was his life as well, I can at least wait another half hour for the next train. I even vaguely knew his picture from Spotlight. A respected journeyman actor. Here he was in front of me five foot eight with light brown eyes with all kinds of credits and years of playing in the provinces. And as the rain was now pouring down in buckets on both our heads, I couldn’t believe what I was doing until it was too late. Because jesus, once you start being charitable in the theatre, it’s endless and knows no bounds. My rented chauffeur has the door of the rented car open. Jorricks just stood there. As if a guillotine was about to come down on his head and that I was going to tell him to fuck off. And christ what a smile broke out on his rain dripping face when I said when can you take up duties. The chauffeur was gnashing his teeth getting wet in the rain. And Jorricks just like the best boatswain’s mate I ever knew in the Coast Guard squared himself up to attention.
‘Sir from this moment as I am standing here now, I am at your service.’
Christ that fucking afternoon, I can’t help it, it still brings tears to my eyes. Somehow you see the bravery of the theatre in people’s blood. The fucking courage of going on when it’s a goose egg around you everywhere. His only problem was he had to vacate his room in an hour or else pay another week’s rent. I gave him five quid, a set of keys to the house, put him in the rented car to take him to get his stuff to bring to Arabesque Street and I took a taxi to the station. When I got back from Brighton two days later at midnight I was so tired that all I noticed was the house smelled beautiful. And then when I woke up late the next morning to find my room immaculate and the cleaning done, the shopping completed and not a vegetable or a fruit with a bruise on it. The garbage put out. The vines and shrubs in the garden trimmed. But my first lovely perception, as I am hobbling out in my pyjamas in the hall, was the aromatic smell of freshly brewed coffee. And on his way up the stairs past the bust of Justinian on the landing, is Jorricks with a tray full of breakfast and all the mail and morning newspapers. Jesus for a second I thought I’d made some fucking mistake and was locked out of my room at the Dorchester. I took a piss and got straight back into bed. To face a big tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. To find the coffee just as delicious as it smelled. The hot croissants just perfect. The marmalade he bought as good as my own mother made. Normandy butter looking that lovely pale gold from France. The eggs soft boiled to exactly how I always dreamed I might like them if some fucking person could ever boil them that way. Hello, Rabbi Low. Are you listening. Yes Mr Schultz. It sounds like some breakfast. But I hope it did not include ham. Rabbi Low it included bacon, three slices. It was four you had Mr Schultz and I’m counting. Rabbi it included toast just toasted with not a fraction burned and wrapped in a hot linen napkin. You should have had matzos, Mr Schultz. Rabbi Low, listen. No English butler worries to bring you matzos and at the door Jorricks is bowing.
‘Bon appetit, sir.’
Let me tell you Rabbi Low I can still taste that breakfast. Then I couldn’t believe it. I had to that afternoon go to Liverpool to see a show and Jorricks had already worked out the weather report and had filled my suitcase with exactly what I needed to wear. For three weeks straight he never even took one single hour off. And to top it all, with the miracle of miracles he even knew the names of people to whom one could go to raise money. Plus the cast and what was playing in every West End theatre and could reel off the current gross of every enemy show in London. So much for the bliss and now for a few faint blots. His only little drawback, which could when you think of it be a fucking big advantage was, he got moody and irritated the moment a female was around, and curt to any woman calling on the phone. Then sullen if she turned up at the house. Even when I was pretending it was business with an assistant stage manager I had over from the theatre who had only half a kidney and part of a lung missing but was completely two fitted and as sensuous as a cobra, and into whom I was contemplating throwing a full hearted fuck. Of course she tried to do something helpfully domestic which was suggesting she’d make tea and that was the non fucking end. Jorricks growled her straight out of the kitchen. But O god. The day Priscilla came. And Jorricks answered the door in his cutaway coat and striped trousers he just put on for the first time that morning. He jumped back. To find this tigress screaming at him on the front stoop.
‘You fag. You couple of homosexual fags, living together in there in this house in my matrimonial home.’
Jesus Jorricks really got a jolt. But so did Priscilla in her big purple hat. Jorricks lets you know even though he’s closing the door quietly that he really is slamming it. But that day he slammed it right in Priscilla’s face. The whole embassy from across the street were watching the whole thing. One guy through his binoculars. Priscilla kicked the door and screamed and ranted more homosexual abuse. And I must say it was the first time it was ever put as a possibility in my mind. My god maybe they wouldn’t let you into Westminster Abbey to consecrate the union like it all happened at his Lordship’s wedding that beautiful day I attended. But if you want comfort and convenience that’s the solution, marry your butler. With the only problem of wondering which one of us would wear the wig and gown going up the aisle. Wilt thou have this factotum to thy wedded wife, to live together in matrimony. And in sickness and in wealth forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him or her till death do you part. I do. And do you Jorricks. Take this fucker Siggy, as his business partners affectionately refer to him. And with his split balls still in a sling, wilt thou obey him and serve him as your master. For all the days remaining. That his avaricious wife does not get her hands on his house. I do. Holy god do something fast.
Deliver me
When my balls again
Swing free
A true beloved piece
Of ass
Before I go
Queer
10
Upon that late February day, a mild breeze blowing over London. The sun out, the snow melted away. A photographer and reporter on the steps of Celestial Pavilion Hospi
tal taking a picture as Schultz was handed his three pigeons wrapped in a towel. And draped in Jorricks’s raincoat was assisted by that gentleman’s gentleman in his black suit and cap, across the pavement into the waiting limousine. Schultz presenting a bottle of champagne to the Matron and two nurses loading the remains of the cornucopia and they stood smiling and waving as the gleaming black vehicle’s wheels whirred away down the road.
‘Is sir comfortable back there.’
‘Fine Jorricks, fine.’
Schultz slippered feet up on the jump seat and a plaid rug over the knees. The limousine circling Piccadilly Circus and motoring westwards past Fortnum’s emporium of exotics. The white stone elevations of these clubs and odd hotels looking out over the now green again little rolling wooded hills of St James Park. A gorgeous day. Out among the healthy and the living once more. With only the last disastrous thing I have to learn from Daniel who was just in to check to see if I was by any chance ready for the last round up, and I find that they have sent the remnants of my pants together with the zipper and the remnant of my testicular flesh to the incinerator.
‘Jesus, I need them pants and zipper as evidence.’
‘Ah now sir I could go sifting among the ashes and can’t guarantee to find the cloth but the zipper might be there.’
‘OK find it and you’ve made a fiver. And hey Daniel, would you like an occasional job which might require physical strength. How tall are you.’
‘Six foot four in me stockinged feet.’
‘And how heavy.’
'I am without socks at all every bit of sixteen stone. And have lifted Angle handed a fat dead man twice that weight.’
'How would you like to once in a while work for me. For a fee.’
'Certainly your honour and what would I have the privilege of doing.’
’Scaring people.’
'Ah now since I do that naturally and for no extra remuneration whatever, I’d not object to being paid for it. And as sure as I am .•mown as Daniel the Dangerous I would even include without further fee the breaking of faces, legs, arms and neck of any man, any time, any where upon whom there was an incumbency so to act. So help me God. And he who dares to sigh loudly in your presence shall forever thereafter be in his trepidation trembling in his tracks for fear of my surefire vengeance.’
‘Daniel it might be a woman who might be screaming and scratching.’
‘Ah in that case, I’ll smother her in kisses and render her ecstactically comatose with an injection of me own personal tranquillizer. And after that she won’t need the life frightened out of her. But I might stand accused of being the father of the unborn.’
‘Here take this number I think you’re the man I’m looking for. Keep in touch.’
‘Right your honour.’
The size of the Irishman. Nearly as big as Magillacurdy and filling the whole doorway. And with him coming into your hospital room with his cart, if you were still living, he’d be collecting you anyway having scared you to death. Jesus, as a bodyguard he could make my life safe again in London. Where I could go everywhere freely enjoying myself. Without having to look over my shoulder every two seconds for some private detective. Like I am now. Looking out the window making sure we’re not being followed. By one of these fifty cars going now around Hyde Park Corner. Where all was white two days ago under the piles of snow. Holy shit Rabbi Low, whoever invented the torture of marriage. He should get desecrated. Mr Schultz, listen, it was a woman who invented a wedding as the highest price you can pay for a fuck. Touche Rabbi Low. I should know. Because I’m paying. But god it’s wonderful to be out in the world again under a presently blue sky. The only thing is I hope I don’t have to depend upon Binky and his film evidence. The damages I win when I sue the fuckers who did this to me and maimed my balls could be tax free. Plus the award for punitive damages for the mental cruelty added by the prolonged anticipation I now have of getting the stitches ripped out. Then add the damages for interruption of my sexual rights. I could make more money this way than I’m making in show biz. Holy jeez we’re only just getting to Belgravia and just thinking of all the legal actions I got to implement is tiring me out already. But I got to do a complete reconnoitre of the contracts that that fucker Binky thinks he has signed with my stars. It’ll be a good time to do it while he’s bereaved. Give me a chance to catch up to any further treachery he’s been doing to me while I’ve been out of action two whole days. Without being able to call up a single person to make a quick deal. And now with only a few days left to get to the tailors to look good for the Queen. And jesus I must remember not to call that pigeon by the name of Jorricks.
‘Sir, you’ll be pleased to hear the house is again in apple pie order, the stage manager as requested sent over the designer, carpenters and painters. And they quite wrought a miracle working until four a.m. But I’m afraid that Mr Sunningdale has sent you a rather large bill.’
‘That dirty fucker.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir but that’s exactly the sentiment I had in mind myself, sir.’
The limousine circling Belgrave Square and the trees towering over the shrubbery hidden lawns in its little park. Embassy flags flying. Christ maybe this is getting to be a dangerous place to live with all the international coups going on. Jeez when we passed the Ritz Hotel I was already thinking of taking Cynthia in there under the cherubs painted on the ceiling. Only christ she might before I rushed her back to Arabesque Street, get up between courses and strip for a nude dance and call me pops in front of the waiters. But after that blow job she can call me anything. Holy jeez how do I put that evidence before the judge. Your worshipful honour I couldn’t go for a normal fuck and so couldn’t control the wonderful explosion and that’s how in blowing my load it undone my stitches. It’ll sound much better in an English accent delivered by Queen’s Counsel. My Lord I am sure will appreciate that Mr Schultz’s private part could not be inserted in the usual manner and therefore was being sucked in such fashion that in so exciting him, it caused an involuntary eruption in Mr Schultz’s testicles leading to a fracture of the suture thread holding his scrotum together and I am sure your Lordship will further appreciate that this led to more anguish than you could shake a gavel at. O jeez, the tabloids could have a field day with the testimony. Balls of Impresario Caught In Court Uproar Following Zipper Zapping Gonads. Anyway, one thing’s for sure, that blow job ended the plan to take the grey eyed Matron to Paris. Plus for the first time ever knocked Louella out of my consciousness. Or was I just knocked out. Don’t even know Cynthia’s last name. And for the sake of her father, I hope the fuck she knows next to nothing about me. But by the way she blew proves she has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. To be added to what she already savvies. Which is plenty that she’s already learned in eighteen and a half years. Maybe in addition to my black long curly locks she even likes me for what I am. Being for five minutes famous and rich. Which I became honey, after five years of much persistent practice of being wholly insignificant and penniless. Or am I deluding myself. Into being dumbfounded listening to fucking insights about life which are mostly glaring fucking oversights mostly about women which you don’t want to know about anyway. Because if you did, the consequences of such knowledge would never ever let you get an erection again. And that’s today’s Torah. By Schultz.
‘Jesus Jorricks someone’s on our stoop. Don’t stop.’
‘Shall I drive around the block sir.’
‘Yeah.’
Schultz crouched down in the back of the limousine. On the third circuit the way finally clear. And the possibility of peace reigns once more. That was the behemoth. And she even had an umbrella like she did once before to beat me over the head while the Ambassador laughed his off while watching from across the street. When are they ever going to let me alone. Already they must have heard I was in the hospital. Jesus vulnerable as I presently am, what her nineteen fleshy stone of her could do to me. Always amazed me how fast she could move. Holy shit I should have hir
ed Daniel on the spot.
Schultz helped step by step up the steps of number four Arabesque Street. To a brightly gleaming newly painted door flanked by the boxwood shrubs in their yellow bright barrels. Jorricks unlocking three locks and helping Schultz into a fresh clean spotless hall. And under the chandelier, a wide bodied apparition standing waiting. Of Mrs Prune, Sigmund Franz Schultz’s still legal mother in law.
‘You pansy. You miserable pansy. You’re forcing us to drag our good family name through the courts.’
‘Hey jesus christ you tub of lard. What the hell do you want. How did you break into my house. Get out.’
‘My daughter has a legal right to be presented to the Queen. We’re going to be there whether you like it or not. Marrying my daughter was how you got the money for that rubbishy show in the first place.’ ‘Hey what the fuck are you talking about.’
‘Don’t think we don’t know that you were promised investment money by Al Duke as a wedding present.’