Who doesn’t take a bath. Working in my own fucking theatre that I’m renting. And here I am believing that the guy that wins at life is supposed to have his first choice and selection of women. And the guys that lose have to wait in line. Now here’s some fucking girl who wants it both, no three ways. She’s got Al panting for her on his deathbed and who although gone a little geriatric before his gaskets blew, at least was a big fucking winner. Then she’s got me chasing her nearly-fucking begging. And then holy shit, what is she doing, all the time she’s got some kid screwing her and she’s jealous because the kid’s got two other girlfriends as well. And the pink bearded fucker’s the worst fucking carpenter of all time and not even a fucking bonafide fully paid up member of the Union yet. Momma meo. Such moments as these require bravery. And I’ve got to go on as if I’m going on living. But how could she do this to me Rabbi. Sigmund easy. Some ladies think having a good fuck is good for them. And getting it frequent is even better.
Schultz walking up the garage ramp from tax dodgers’ towers. Out into this overly familiar street. Jesus this is nearly as bad as the last time I crawled away from here. Maybe worse. In a cloud of doom. Which thank god had the silver lining of my show giving the first signs of becoming a hit. But my tail still between my legs. Nothing to bolster my ego. Like Jorricks cruising up and opening the door of the limo. And getting into the soft upholstery of that sanctum. At the theatre tonight a false alarm, a bomb, and royalty. But jesus just to see that little kid there so enjoying himself. Dreams of grandeur in his eyes. That to me is joy enough. And when the cast heartfelt gave the best performance ever. A final standing ovation of ten minutes. Eleven curtain calls. Tears in everybody’s eyes. Fuck unfaithful women. Who needs them. With bravoes still ringing in my ears. For such moments lasting a few seconds one lives nearly a fucking lifetime. Fighting all the fights. Climbing grabbing with your fingers. Clinging on each little cliff edge of hope every time you put down the telephone or wrote a letter. Desperate that this time something good would happen like a piece of money to get you just another few days’ survival. But lose your grip, panic for a second. And the fall is nearly all the way back down to the bottom of oblivion again licking wounds. And staring at a phone that doesn’t ring. Then always in hope, slow, slow, rolling with the rebuffs, agonizingly climbing all the way back up again. To finally get there and have what you’ve always dreamed about. The summit. A smash hit. But you never never and I mean never throw in the towel. Or depend upon a woman. And hey Sigmund, let me throw in my two cents. This is Rabbi Low tuning in. So you know plenty of struggle but who are you to talk faithfulness when already you go bang bang between so many legs all the time. OK, forgive me Rabbi. I’m reformed.
Schultz shambling down this street. Past the shops, looking in the windows. Smell of coffee. And I never even noticed that shop before. Selling beans of dozens of different varieties. Or a dogs’ hairdressers. Maybe that’s where Al sends his toupee to be shampooed. Hey jesus it’s still raining. And I didn’t even notice. I can’t even raise my arm to wave for a taxi. Shows you. That a dream you dreamed can leave you finally and for all time, utterly shattered. Jesus who’d mind if the guy was somebody. Like Al at least with a gold lame evening cloak, a few limousines and a jet. But a fucking stage carpenter on my show. No wonder I caught him a couple of times looking sideways at me. He could have been helping even to repair my house after the fire. Imagine. I should have such an appetite. Go back and eat his dinner. Fucking hell she even invites me. To a nice heaping dish of real ignominy. Instead of sticking to my principle, hold nothing against women. I should have at least shaken a fist if not my prick in her face. That’s what love finally is all about, isn’t it Rabbi. Proximity. With your prick out. And ah Sigmund, ladies like a lot of them around them sticking out so they can decide which one to use first.
Schultz crossing the road. Towards the shadows of all these big towering trees. A waning moon disappearing in the sky behind black clouds. Christ here comes a bobby on the beat who’s any second going to say, ’ere ’ere you, move on, no loitering. Jesus and I just find a coin in the gutter. A whole half crown. A good omen I’m going to keep. Shows at least I’m not totally blinded by grief. Slip through this bit of broken fence. Take a walk I don’t need. Short cut across Hyde Park. And hope I can get out the other side. But don’t look back at the lights in that tower. Jesus crossing the wet grass like this I could actually be down and out. Like a bum. Cold. Walking with nowhere to go. I ain’t got no coat. Soaking my shoes. And it’s freezing where my crotch got wet. The water of the Serpentine shimmering. If there weren’t so many ducks and seagulls shitting in it, I could throw myself in there drowning in the melancholy moonlight that’s just peeked out again from behind more clouds. Boy there’s a fucking word, melancholy. Jesus at least I’ve got reserves of an ass or two to fall softly back upon. Only I sincerely wish Cynthia’s father wasn’t an income tax inspector. And I could do worse, do worse, than Catherine. Said a guy’s erection was like a little flag letting you know you were admired, desired, desired. And let’s face it. All fucking women are mad. Why not be with one who’s officially recognized and authenticated as a mile off her rocker. At least I’ll say this for her. She’s extraordinary not ordinary. And with her nurse in tow the three of us could go riding on the crest of my wave. Before maybe it goes to crash too soon somewhere. Leaving my fucking wife a celebrity. And me in the fucking dust. Boy do I need a friend. And a little cheering up. But jesus Rabbi you were right. Always suspect that someone else is fucking them.
When
You ain’t
19
Schultz slowing in his tracks. Moving forward again. Jesus. I have just gone off the path and walked into a fucking tree. With now suddenly a fog landing all over the park out of the god damn sky. Not even the temperamental weather can be trusted for two seconds. Christ I’m fucking lost. I could now really walk into the Serpentine and get drowned. What’s now this looming up. Holy cow it’s a bandstand. Jesus go around it. To the tune of Marching Through Georgia. O my god now I’ve just tripped over a fence. I’m in a flowerbed. Up to my ankles. My god mud is packing around my shoes. Now something has caught the sleeve of my jacket. O christ something’s ripping. Jesus taking a walk to calm my nerves has turned into a death march. Fuck keep walking. That’s what I’ll do walk off this fucking depression. Or crawl it off. Look at me. As if I’ve been sentenced to execution. Doing what I can’t stop. Grinding my footsteps across the ground. Because the woman I love is being unfaithful. Without ever, when I think of it, being faithful. O jesus London. Fucking London. Lonely London. London. My town. This wonderful place I’ve grown to adore. And now jesus in the middle of financial joy which should have given me such utter happiness I am having a nervous breakdown. Christ I’m even weeping. I got to go on walking. She’s kicked me right in the fucking heart, Rabbi. What am I going to do. She’s opening up her legs for somebody else. Sigmund listen, don’t be such a big cry baby. I told you. It might be better that way. You could do worse than celibacy since the venereal plague. Jesus thanks a whole generous bunch, Rabbi. But the trouble Rabbi with all this good advice you keep giving me is that in my desperation to play tickling games and get laid again, the wisdom you offer gets completely wiped out of my mind. I am hardly across Hyde Park before I am nearly crawling back on my hands and knees through the leaves thick on the ground to Louella to eat the fucking stage carpenter’s dinner. And now you tell me she could be contaminated. Sigmund listen. It’s you too, who could be already contaminated. Jesus Rabbi, my both feet fucking encrusted in mud and now I should need such an extra spiritual burden of killer microbes added to the mental ones already crawling around my depressed brain tonight. It’s a fucking time to call battle stations. General fucking quarters. All hands on deck. And I can hardly even remember I was once a trained fucking officer in the Coast Guard. On a diver class medium endurance cutter. Fifteen hundred tons standard displacement. Two hundred and thirteen feet bow to stern. Thirty nine
feet in the beam. Drawing fifteen feet of water. Three thousand horsepower spinning down two shafts sending us anchors aweigh at fifteen knots slashing through waves heaving over the depths. Jesus if we took off a stripe and the coast guard emblem it would have been exactly what I need in a yacht for the Riviera. Ah Sigmund, you get a yacht on the Cote d’Azur and even I will get out of my grave and come aboard. Aye, aye Captain Rabbi, I hear you talking. I’ll be your gunnery officer. Blow the shit out of every one of my wife’s fucking lawyers within miles. But holy shit, where am I, I’ve come in the wrong fucking direction in the fog. I’m at last out of the park. Holy jesus I’m not that far from his Lordship’s. Something in his street, always makes me feel good. Christ maybe it was that moss green tweed suited lady I once saw with such beautiful knees and thighs getting into her car.
Schultz walking down this terraced familiar street of marble town-houses. Their steps up to their gleaming doors. Iron grills locked over the windows. Holy fuck I could really do with a heartfelt commiseration with his Lordship. Whose life is so perfectly contented. The way he just quietly calmly pursues his comfortable habits. He and Binky are probably out on the moors deer stalking with their gamekeepers. They marry women like they were breeding horses keeping the mares in a stable. The pair of them oblivious as they always are to the pain of love and life. And Binky even with death. Behaving like banks. With nice cold hard financial indifference. Unless you can’t pay back the capital then you get colder harder attention real fast. Maybe that’s the secret. Do like you’re buying and selling people. And holy fuck you soon find out who can be bought and those who charge compound interest on the price. And here I am with my simple minded belief that there was a woman, just one, who I could finally get and who was somebody in whom I could trust. Maybe not with my life, but at least until I was thirty nine and on the verge of old age when it doesn’t matter anymore.
The fog turned now into mist. The glittering whiteness of the lamps in this grey pedestrian deserted street. Schultz stopping to survey Lord Nectarine’s mansion. Shutters closed on all the windows. Four across to my three and each is double in size. And there are six floors over the basement. What the fuck does he do living in such a great empty place and hardly ever there. At least my house small as it is compared to his, was for a short while a family home with lots of au pairs nipping in and out. Hey shit, when his staff should be asleep, there’s fucking lights on behind the chinks in the shutters and curtains. Jesus on every floor. Holy fuck, his Lordship could be being robbed. The staff tied up. In there in the front hall alone he’s got fucking candelabra and jars and vases from various fucking Chinese dynasties worth a fortune. Shit if I knock, they could run out of the back. I better just go up and listen. Without, jesus, looking like a robber myself.
Schultz tiptoeing up the white stone steps to the porch. Leaning over with his ear to the white gleaming door. Sound of high heels inside clicking across a marble floor. Jesus what’s that crack. Like a fucking whip snapping. Holy shit. That’s bloody music in there somewhere. Some fucking kind of robbery this is. Maybe I’d better get to the hotel around the corner and call his Lordship in Scotland. Jesus don’t, maybe there’s no time. Because by that time they could have loaded up a couple of vans. Two blue ones are parked down the street. I better call the police. Or maybe scare them out of the place. First slam the knocker and then run holding my wet balls and hide behind that next stoop where the beautiful doll came out of and so they don’t shoot me while they’re escaping. And then safely see from a distance who the fuck comes. Jesus let’s see, get out my thin nail file pick off my knife. Shove it in to push the little cover flap aside. Maybe I can peek in. Jesus I can just see a fraction. Wow. That’s Noble, the butler. He’s carrying a big cake. What’s he doing with a cake, it’s past midnight for Christ’s sake. A woman behind him with Pekinese dogs. Or are the grey curly haired things poodles. Six of them on leashes. Can only see her legs and what legs. Hey christ. Maybe his staff is gone berserk. Even though it’s live and let live I’m going to ring the fucking bell. Find out what the fuck is going on. And report to his Lordship, the only fucking friend I’ve got left in the world who I can trust just a little. Who if anything happens to him, could ruin any optimism I got left in human nature. O god. I can’t. No. I got to. Got to ring this door bell. And give this knocker a few slams. At least if something’s wrong I can let his Lordship know.
Schultz ringing the bell and pounding the knocker. Retreating down the steps, backing across the pavement and waiting on the kerb. The door slowly opening. The light pouring out across the stoop. Noble’s head peering out.
‘Hey Noble.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Hey Noble it’s me Mr Schultz.’
‘Who is Mr Schultz. Would you mind stepping a little closer please.’
‘Schultz, you know, his Lordship’s friend. You met me once, remember. I was just going by. I was just staying with his Lordship up in Scotland.’
‘I see. Are you calling upon us sir.’
‘Well I’m sort of deliberating. Jesus you wouldn’t have a glass of water or something would you.’
‘Well I do believe that we might quite possibly provide a glass of water. And do I anticipate sir, that you are visiting.’
‘Well yeah, sort of, I wasn’t entirely sure of the time, I mean that’s why I’m knocking.’
‘O then you are expected sir.’
‘Yeah, that’s right I’m expected.’
‘Well please do forgive this ceremony sir. But I’m afraid with this severe draught I must close the door. Do please come in. And over by the fire. Awfully foul old foggy night out there without a coat. Dear me sir. Have you encountered some difficulty. Sir’s sleeve is hanging off.’ ‘I got lost in the fog in the park.’
‘O dear dear dear, sir, how beastly for you and we are wet aren’t we as well.’
‘Yeah we are wet all right. As well.’
‘I’m sure his Lordship can provide you with some dry clothes.’ ‘Hey I wouldn’t want to intrude. Like going into his wardrobe or anything.’
‘No problem sir I assure you. Indeed sir might then like something a little stronger than water to drink.’
‘Hey I would.’
‘And what sir, would you like.’
‘Maybe I’ll take some of that pure malt stuff from the Highlands on the rocks.’
‘You mean with ice, sir.’
‘Yeah ice.’
‘Will you take it in the ballroom sir.’
‘O no. Don’t bother. Here in the hall’s just fine. Get dry by the fire. I only knocked because I was worried when I saw all the lights on.’
‘I don’t believe I quite follow you sir.’
‘Well you know there are robberies happening every second all over London. Could have been somebody was in here who shouldn’t be here.’
‘I beg your pardon sir.’
‘You know like being a good citizen. Keep out a watchful eye. Like there was even a suspected bomb at the theatre tonight. Could you call me a taxi.’
‘You are sir, going to have your drink and join his Lordship first.’ ‘Join him. Jesus how can I.’
‘I’ll show you to the ballroom sir.’
‘The ballroom.’
‘Yes sir. We only open it for such occasions.’
‘What occasion.’
‘To celebrate Madame Dipompididor’s birthday sir. Which his Lordship does every year, I thought you knew.’
‘You mean Basil. Is here.’
‘I mean Lord Nectarine sir. Master of Foxhounds and the Earl of Eel Brook Common.’
‘Yeah well that’s who I mean too. One of England’s all time best cricketers.’
‘And if you will excuse me, sir, I was on my way to fetch something when you knocked. I just must attend to a small matter. And I shall only then be just a moment. Supper is not yet served, and Madame Dipompididor has yet to do the blowing.’
‘The blowing.’
‘Yes sir, thirty
six candles on the cake.’
‘O boy. Hey make that whisky a double. No correct that. Triple.’
‘Very good sir.’
Schultz rubbing his hands in front of the blazing hall fire. Watching Noble depart across the expanse of black and white marble tiles to disappear through a door under the curving staircase. Holy shit, his poor fucking Lordship. Madame Dipompididor’s birthday party. Holy cow. Jesus that’s the sound of glass crashing somewhere. This is fucking awful. Doddery old guy is gone completely nuts out of his mind. While his Lordship’s four hundred miles away in Scotland. Must be his age. Imagine I thought things were bad over at my house. And here they are chaos. Imagine. Basil in the ballroom. Does this place even have a ballroom. If it doesn’t it at least sure has fucking dogs on a lead going by. And those legs. I never, no matter what, forget a pair of legs. And boy there was something familiar about every nice long shimmering inch of thigh to the knee, over the calf and right down to the ankle bone. Madame Dipompididor is going to blow out the candles. Maybe more likely she’s blowing old Noble and sending blasts of steam out of his ears. The fucker is probably an old randy roue. Jesus. Soon as I thaw a second and down the whisky, I got to get to somewhere to call his Lordship. I got to. In spite of all this pleading poverty, death duties and taxes that he does, I know that the son of a bitch is loaded. But nobody can afford a whole gang gone totally wild in their house with such heirlooms as this place has got. Jesus I can hear girls’ voices, noises and music. Sounds like there’s a whole bunch of people inside. Jesus maybe I should investigate. Fuck. No. Without thawing. Without whisky, I’ll get out the door fast before he gets back. And call his Lordship.