‘Ah confidentially Mr Schultz, take it from me, you’ve pulled a fast one on us all this time. Taking us to paradise, long before we ever get to heaven.’
‘Well I guess Daniel you can take it from me that everybody in this world wants to step as far away from the shit as they can and swim in the cream and bump against the fraises des bois floating in season.’
‘Well sir I don’t know about them phrase day whatever they are. But I wouldn’t mind any bumping into nurse Macphearson.’
And nurse wearing a big straw hat and a flowered long sleeved dress said she was from an island so small in the Hebrides that it rocked in the waves. I put her up on the bridge deck aft of the captain’s day room to keep her out of Daniel’s way. And by an amidship’s stair, she could get to Catherine installed in the Queen suite. To which from the King suite I had access through the secret door. And the first thing Catherine did while I went to see Joseppi for a haircut, was take a water swirl bath and use up extra fuel spinning the generators by having a sauna. As she came out on deck in a bikini, a fucking guy went climbing the mast to spy and the crew everywhere were apo-plectically trying to sneak looks at her. But even with the ship’s company’s uncontrollable erections it would still take a lot to stop this from being a fucking floating palace of bliss. Letting life wait for me instead of me waiting for life. The barber Joseppi was the funniest little Italian guy with too much garlic on his breath but a lot of good jokes up his sleeve. Only, in the styling, the fucker really made a mess of my hair. He even had eyelash curlers for the former owner’s girlfriend. After a shower, I went on another tour. Every bit of the boat more gorgeous than in the photographs. The sculptural decorations on the wood panelling, tasteful antiques like you never saw. Beautiful pornography in the library. Ebony door knobs. The poor fucking bastard who had to sell this, Carl the captain told me, had a bank overnight squeezing him by the balls. Even some of his silk socks and two silk shirts left behind in a drawer. Plus a truss and corset I didn’t need yet. But his socks, and the shirts fit. So since they were silk, why not, I wore them. And holy shit it was dawning on me, this fucking thing I got, is such a bargain I should now sell for a profit.
‘Excuse me sir, the chef would like to know at what time you would like dinner served. And would you like it in the dining room.’
‘O gee Jorricks. Let’s see. Maybe at twenty hundred hours we’ll have it outdoors aft on the main deck.’
‘Tete a tete sir.’
‘You got it Jorricks.’
‘Very good sir. The evening is expected to be balmy. And the pigeons sir, are cooing.’
Night settling over the harbour. Moon rising over Monaco. And the starboard green and port red lights on the passing boats. The gold lit windows ashore. Table set. Sparkling glass. And gleaming cutlery. A bottle of champagne popping just as Catherine in a black dress of Chantilly lace, stepped over the bulkhead out of the saloon doors. Looking so gorgeous and speaking beautiful French to the valet who was doing pirouettes of admiration behind her. Her black sandals clicking on the deck. Rabbi I nearly fainted. You’d never seen anything like it. Style to knock your eye out. Her slender pale arms look gorgeous. An antique emerald and diamond bracelet on her wrist. A jade bead necklace at her throat. A gem of a female in my possession waking up suddenly in my life. So what if she’s a tiny little bit off her rocker. The utter sanity of the soft waves of her black gleaming hair and her patrician profile more than make up for it. Just dining there a hand’s touch away in the candlelight. A long long way from Woonsocket and the lingerie store.
‘He is, isn’t he, such a gay valet.’
‘He sure is honey.’
‘And you know they are wearing their wristwatch bands over their shirt cuffs this season. Tres snob. Tres chic.’
‘Yeah honey, so I see, tres ridiculous.’
‘And you know Sigmund, I do of course try to get by without thinking but it’s entirely possible I may be well one day. And you may say well, well, well. She’s well. And I will be. I will be. If you help me. Help me. Help.’
‘Honey jesus eat that little piece of parsley there the chef put on top of your lamb chop, there’s vitamin C in it. You’ll be fine. Fine.’
In the dimmed light of the saloon, coffee, chocolate mints, and Armagnac after dinner. Sunk down deep in this soft primrose coloured couch, the two of us holding hands. Faure’s Requiem over the sound system. Jesus I swear, Rabbi, I know it seems like I’m going a little strange in the brain box. But a couple of seconds ago I was thinking of maybe buying a few racehorses. And then tears came into my eyes as I thought about the poor guy’s corset and truss in the drawer who had to sell all this. And then leave the shirts, and the socks I’m wearing, behind. Which were lying folded on top of a photograph of another gorgeous girl whose name was obvious from a hundred magazine covers I’d seen her on. Then I thought of Freddie Joy. Who in one of her low moments said if there are too many men running after one woman it never gives the woman a chance to concentrate on trapping just one guy. That should have right there put the caution light on to slow down to stop. Just me now after this girl. Beware. Women have been my downfall. And jesus I couldn’t believe it. But I believe it. I was willing to be in this gorgeous girl’s arms, trapped all over again. And maybe for even all time. And while she slipped back into her Queen suite I went a stroll up around the bridge deck looking at the lights of Monte Carlo. Taking in lungfuls of the ambrosial Mediterranean air. Wondering what tonight’s Broadway and West End gross was. And nearly for a second erasing the memory of Al Duke and Joe Jewels. Back in my stateroom I looked again at the framed photograph of the model and even put it back up on my dressing table. At least she had a nice smile like she could be from a small Rhode Island town and work in the dead letter department of the post office. At eight bells in my pyjamas I go tiptoeing into the Queen suite. Catherine reading with a pair of thick lensed eyeglasses. Tolstoy. War and Peace. Jesus something somehow with this vulnerable girl made me feel cruel as I tried to look pleasant unfurling the cat o’ nine tails.
‘Please O please Sigmund don’t beat me. I know that it does give some people pleasure but I’ve had, had already, enough pain.’
‘Sorry honey.’
‘I just prefer, prefer soothing caresses. And if they be delicious, soft and delicious I prefer them even more.’
‘Honey. No problem. I just only started recently doing this anyway. And I thought, why stop.’
‘O dear. Crestfallen. Poor poor you. You do want to play, don’t you. OK just let me turn over and lift up my negligee. And expose my contrite bottom. Now there. Not too hard. Because, because. I do. Do prefer the gentle, the soft, and the delicious.’
Rabbi I swear. I got to admit. At long last. And I can’t stop myself from saying it. Women, for all their faults, some of them are still fucking wonderful. Especially when they lay down and welcome you to lie down with them.
Touche
Sigmund
Touche
32
Rabbi the captain was really impressed by my sea duty in the Coast Guard. And working out our trip to the Aegean, it was nice to shoot the shit and scuttlebutt and get back over a nautical chart once more. Radio room reporting sea calm and weather fair all the way to Cyprus. While at the same time I could be becoming a storm tossed victim in love.
‘What I suggest Mr Schultz is that we make south for the Strait of Bonifacio and into the Tyrrhenian Sea past Ischia, Capri and through the Stretto di Messina.’
‘Sounds like just what the doctor ordered, Captain.’
Nurse Macphearson sitting in the corner of the saloon knitting and smiling. Daniel making eyes at her when he wasn’t glowering at and terrorizing the crew. He had already knocked the chef’s cap off into last night’s celery soup and threatened to stuff him through a porthole for making a remark about Jorricks. Otherwise Daniel kept dancing around like he was in a musical. Rabbi, the only thing wrong was the dining room. Chairs covered in leopard skin. Catherine wouldn’t
sit on them. But the thing wrong with dining on deck in port was, I see some son of a bitch come along the quayside walking his dog who he then lets go lift a leg up to piss on my nice white painted gangway.
‘Hey get that god damn mutt out of here.’
‘Fuck you monsieur.’
Rabbi I was really shocked at the rudeness shown by these Mone-gasques to big yacht owners. I nearly rushed up to the palace to give them a piece of my mind, if not a bust on the nose. But last night lulled by the ship’s movement and enveloped in Catherine’s arms, it was so pleasant that I was able to stare right at my own moment of death. One woman can cure you of everything done to you by all the others. And give you the best sleep of your life. It was like music just lying back and listening to her.
‘Sigmund. Can you hear me whispering. Clinging on to you here in this suite fit for a queen. Clinging to conversation. The Riviera nights are still. The vipers awake up in the piney scrublands. Where the cork and olive trees are. And men wade through the needle sharp thickets to get the bark to make their champagne corks.’
‘Honey, you really know this place.’
‘Yes. Yes. I do. I do. And above on higher land. In day, up a pine scented lane. There are sounds strange in the blinding sunlight. The noises are haunted in the silence behind your walking feet. Under the singing birds. And tonight. I’m waiting for tomorrow. Till the morning blue sea goes waving past on the cerulean blue of my cabin walls. As the engines throb and the foam crashes by over the portholes. Goodnight my sweet. I won’t cry again for help till dawn.’
‘Jesus honey. You’re a poet. Cry for help anytime. Goodnight. Sleep tight.’
Deckhands loading the provisions arriving all morning long, along the quayside. Lugged aboard on the crew’s shoulders up the gangway. Celery, oranges, tea, coffee, figs, butter, plums, steaks, non kosher roasts of pork and beef, tomatoes, peaches, cheese, bananas, lettuce, fraises des bois. And the last. A gleaming grey Mercedes Benz squeals to a halt to unload the brandy and boxes of chocolates.
At seven bells on the forenoon watch, a bank of clouds accumulating high up over the land. But the sun beaming down on Monte Carlo. Making lighter all the dark green up over the hills and brightening the white specks of villas on the hillsides. Daniel feeding the pigeons happy in their coop on top the bridge. Sailing flags hoisted. All shipshade ready for sea. The gangway lifted from the pier at eight bells. The gleaming brass capstans winching dripping hawsers aboard. Puffs of diesel smoke rising from the funnel. The sixteen cylinder twin cats throbbing and the twin screws of the Catherine Ahoy churning the water. In the main saloon, the other Catherine all wrapped up in a great pink towel robe. Her black gleaming hair brushed back loose over her shoulders. Having her smoked salmon omelette for late late breakfast. Plus figs in whipped cream to help move her bowels. And engrossed in a volume of erotica from the library. Join her for a cup of coffee. Hand her a rose and kiss her on the nose.
‘Honey I’m going up on the bridge. The captain wants me to help him take this tub out to sea.’
‘Gosh Sigmund do forgive me if one uses such a common word but this is all so really uncommonly nice. And you know, your charming little boat is so full of wonderful toys.’
‘I thought you might like it honey. I thought so.’
Schultz on the bridge in an orange and blue barrel striped jersey and Bermuda shorts. Cigar in his mouth. Taking off sunglasses to watch the radar. Whistle blowing blasts. The Catherine Ahoy slowly pulling out clear of her mooring into the open water of the harbour. Coxswain at the helm. Carl the captain looking ahead from the wheelhouse windows. A sailor signalling on the bow. Christ we’re underway. My god Rabbi the magic of it. I must have been living for this moment all my life if I only knew it. Carl a really sweet guy. Who I guess ought to be, at his salary. The boat’s whistle sounding again. And listen to the blast echoing back from the hills around Monaco. They sure know we’re coming. Or in this case going.
‘Mr Schultz, Mr Schultz.’
‘Yes captain.’
‘That vessel coming ahead over there, is not obeying the rules of the road. I may have to hove to a bit till he’s proceeded out of the harbour.’
‘What’s his tonnage, captain.’
‘Maybe a hundred net sir.’
‘Well we’re more than three times his size. We got the right of way. Proceed ahead. Cut the little fucker off, captain.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
‘Jesus will you look at that. In a hurry the son of a bitch. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. He needs a spinnaker pole shoved up the ass. Thinks he owns the fucking place. Christ he’s going to cut across our bow to get out the harbour entrance ahead of us. Some upstart in a fucking glorified gondola.’
‘Shouldn’t I take avoiding action sir.’
‘Like hell. I didn’t spend millions of dollars to buy this boat to get pushed around.’
‘Aye aye, Mr Schultz. Coxswain, ring down full ahead.’
‘Aye aye captain.’
‘Yeah. That’s it. Voom. Let’s go. Imagine. Jesus everywhere you look these guys in their damn little runabouts thinking they’re master mariners. And look at that. The nerve. Showing off to his friends. Honking his fucking hooter. Give him a fucking blast or two from our hooter. Knock him on his ass. No even better, where’s the loud hailer.’ Schultz stepping out on deck from the wheelhouse. Balancing his cigar on the ship’s rail, and leaning over the bridge wing and raising the loud hailer to his lips.
‘Hey ship ahoy. Vous etes stupides. Out of the fucking way will you.’ Heads turning. Holy jeez, wait a second. I swear I know that fucking face. The fat guy on the bridge amid the girls, with the cap and binoculars, white shirt and bow tie. My god I don’t believe this. In a deck chair under a straw hat, like he’s in a coma, that’s fucking Ezekiel, the tailor, Saul’s old father. And that. Trying to think he’s a sailor. That’s my fucking cousin Saul.
‘Captain dead slow.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
‘Stand by.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
‘Hey Saul. Saul.’
‘Hey who you shouting to, me.’
‘Yeah you. This is Sigmund Schultz shouting to you.’
‘Hey Sigmund. Not Sigmund Siggy Schultz from Woonsocket.’ ‘Yeah, the very same.’
‘Hey Sigmund. Forgive me. But is that really you. Sigmund Franz Isadore. Formerly of exotic lingerie.’
‘It’s me Saul. Up here. Who else have you seen recently with my distinctive big black curls, blue eyes and shiny teeth.’
‘How you doing up there, kiddo. Hey who’s your host with that ocean liner.’
‘I’m the host, Saul.’
‘Hey, ha, ha, quit the kidding. That boat’s not yours is it.’
‘It ain’t my rabbi’s.’
‘Hey Sigmund, let me back this thing up a little, and please, don’t rush away. I’d like to talk to you and like you to meet my friends.’ ‘Saul if your yacht down there can do seventeen knots to the Aegean, we’ll see you there.’
‘Jesus hey Sigmund, you must have made a bundle. Who did you wipe out.’
‘Lots of people. But before I wiped them out at least I always had the good conscience to sit down and cry copiously first.’
‘Hey ha ha, kid. Well I got some special mid town Manhattan real estate development situations might interest you. And I’d like to go aboard that boat.’
‘Sure Saul. And you can give me a cheque to compensate for all our lingerie customers you short changed back in my father’s store. And maybe next time when you return my calls we’ll talk. Only I won’t be calling.’
Schultz taking a long puff on his cigar and blowing out the smoke. And tapping the ash off over the side, dropping it on Saul and his guests below. A gleaming speedboat zooming by, a flash bulb going off as Schultz steps back over the bulkhead into the wheelhouse.
‘OK captain, quick, a little dangerous navigation. I’ll take the responsibility. Full ahead. Hard left rudder. That speed boat plus us wil
l rock the bastard on his beam ends in our wake.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
‘Here, let me take over.’
Schultz grabbing and spinning the wheel in a hard right rudder and the water foaming up astern. The Catherine Ahoy gaining speed. Heading for the harbour exit flanked by its twin little white lighthouses. Sweeping her two hundred and seven foot gleaming bright hull length past Saul and his guests grabbing to hold on pitching and rolling in the waves. O my god Rabbi. When I’m just beginning to live, get ready for death. We’re too close starboard, we’re going to hit the rocks below the lighthouse at the end of the fucking sea wall. Jesus hard to port, hard fucking left. Stop engines. No. Full ahead. The bow is only, if it does, just going to miss. It’s got to. Christ we’re scraping by. Just. With what I hope is only a superficial scratch out of sight below the water line. Which if it goes deep could sink us. Jesus Rabbi is revenge the strongest of all emotions.
No
Sorrow and shame is
After appalling
Seamanship
33
The Catherine Ahoy steaming south south east into the Mediterranean. A fortune in paint scraped off a still seaworthy hull bottom. Saul’s yacht left colliding with another vessel in the middle of the harbour and the two, with anchor chains entwined, churning in a circle. Rabbi I guess we’ve come a long way from Belgravia. Well, Sigmund not only that but let me tell you, after all these years in show biz, you sure have lost your touch at the helm.
Hove to, three miles off shore, the Catherine Ahoy’s Boston Whaler Outrage tender with twin hundred and fifty horsepower outboard motors, lowered and Catherine in her bikini skimming over the waves at forty knots, waterskiing. Paparazzi in a flotilla of speedboats arriving and taking photographs through telescopic lenses. Rumour having spread through Monaco that the gorgeous curvaceous raven haired Catherine was an overnight just discovered new radiant international star. Being groomed by the previous bankrupt owner, a movie mogul, no longer aboard.