The warm pink sun sinking beyond the rooftops of Belgravia. At the sacred hour of tea time. Each chair in the mellow panelled drawing room occupied. The Debutant’s open script propped demurely atop her uppermost knee of her crossed legs. Magillacurdy stretched back in an armchair, head resting, booted feet akimbo, as he pulled his sweater up and down like a shade on his hairy pink belly while trepidatiously watched open mouthed and wide eyed by the Director, Author, Choreographer and Composers who had just witnessed a series of life chilling imitations of most of the world’s reigning stars of all ethnic persuasions and accents.
“Ah now, I challenge any of you to tell me that my mimic and mime isn’t more like the man than he is himself.”
Schultz, stationed in his corner by the window, hand clapped his appreciation. And was hesitatingly joined by the rest of his production team. And when the blond Debutant started reading her script, Magillacurdy reaching his own lines, suddenly jumped to his feet, arms waving, voice booming as he declaimed and sang back and forth with the delighted actress. The Director attempting to be part of the theatrical miracle, dropped crouching on one knee, and was promptly swept over backwards thumping on his arse as a gesticulating arm of Magillacurdy’s whistled over his bald head.
“Ah pardon me you’re getting in the way of me words.”
Schultz removing his sunglasses at this stunning rendition. The author smiling in astonishment. The Composer and wife team making notes on their pad and regarding each other with blissful reassurance. With the words of this show nearly shattering the windows of Schultz’s drawing room. Where this producer now licked his lips by the window drapes trying to suppress his greediest of smiles. As he stood utterly pleased watching people stop to listen awed in the street. After all these months and wakeful distressing weeks. Here before one now. A showbizz team to erupt beyond the footlights. And send critics everywhere. Into dizzy inspired paeans of praise. And dare it ever be said. Even whispered.
Holy shit
I have
A Hit
Which at last
May not be
On the back
Of my
Head
8
Even as Schultz’s audition raged his Lordship was already being besieged by the police regarding urgent particulars and explanations concerning the kidnapping effected in his motor chariot that afternoon in the Strand. And his Lordship as he tried to ring found Schultz’s phone busy. For just following his guests’ departure with all piling into his Royal Grace’s limousine to be delivered to their various destinations, Schultz had grabbed the phone.
“This you Al.”
“Speaking.”
“Sigmund here. Jesus christ Al, the fucking guy is a genius, I’m telling you. All I can say is my humble thanks.”
“I told you didn’t I.”
“Yes you did Al. Only you didn’t tell me Magillacurdy scares the shit out of everybody in sight. Except the Debutant who fortunately thinks he’s marvellous. The Dircetor was trembling in his tracks.”
“Good. So now you decide why don’t you that you’re going to keep your nose clean and treat that beautiful creature I sent you nice.”
“Jesus Al do you always have to get back on that subject so fast.”
“Look I’m like the girl’s father she ain’t got. All she’s got is a mother.”
“Her mother is the size of three fathers already for Christ’s sake.”
“Boy you are a real funny guy you are talking about a woman who has a serious condition.”
“She’s got a fucking serious appetite, Al, that’s what she’s got.”
“So we all eat too much.”
“Anyway Al you got my best four complimentary seats in the house for opening night.”
“Don’t worry about complimentary, I’m paying for them seats on principle. All I want you to do is take alright care of the girl.”
“Don’t worry Al I’m taking her out to a party the Ambassador’s throwing across the street.”
“That’s good.”
“But Al I got a problem. And Jesus, it really is very personal. Can I trust you.”
“Sure.”
“You sure I can trust you, really trust you.”
“Sure didn’t I just say so.”
“It’s the most confidential thing I’ve ever said in my life.”
“You haven’t said it yet.”
“O.K. Al I’m going to say it. Well the fucking bloody thing is I might have some kind of Oriental clap. What should I do.”
“Why you fucking dirty son of a bitch.”
“Jesus Al stop screaming.”
“Stop screaming. Why you cunt you. You should be stopped fucking that’s what.”
“Will you please listen Al.”
“Listen, you want me to listen. To this. When you could already contaminate that girl.”
“Al if you’d only listen that’s exactly what I told her myself. That I could contaminate her. She was begging me Al to.”
“Begging you to contaminate her.”
“Yes.”
“You mean you did it. You contaminated her.”
“Shit Al you don’t understand.”
“Did you contaminate her. I’m asking you.”
“Yes Al. I did. I contaminated her.”
“Hey just let me tell you. Even with my heart condition I’m coming over there. And I’m going to beat your lousy brains out. You son of a bitch.”
“Don’t bust a blood vessel shouting Al. You don’t understand how it all fucking well was.”
“You son of a bitch I understand. You’d put your prick in a fucking mangle if you thought it would squeeze off your rocks.”
“Hey look Al I got to hang up somebody’s just coming in my door. Believe me I’ll explain everything later. I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”
Pricilla pushing in the front door with her arm full of packages. Schultz rushing to help. Catching a foot in the telephone cord and clanging the instrument off the table to the floor.
“Holy shit that’s all I need now is to break the phone. What have you got here honey.”
“O just some things. And did I hear you say I was just somebody coming in your door.”
“Yeah. Sorry. You did. What kind of things you got.”
“A dress or two.”
“Where did you get them.”
“Fortnum’s. And why don’t you put the phone back on the hook.”
“Don’t worry about the phone. Worry about Fortnum’s. You want to watch it. That’s an expensive place.”
“O not really.”
“What do you mean not really.”
“Well I put them on your account, I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Now hold it baby, how much was a dress or two.”
“Well they were only four hundred and eighteen pounds for two. Reduced.”
“For two. Reduced. You mean increased. From what you could have got in a cheaper store. Or I could have got wholesale for half what you paid. Four hundred and eighteen pounds, for Christ’s sakes. That I’m paying for. You could have asked me. And if you did I would have said fucking well no. With a capital N.”
“Your shouting is spitting on me. And I’ll take them back if that’s the way you feel.”
“You take them back honey, and quick right fucking well now take them back.”
“The store is closed. I thought you wanted me to look nice for the Ambassador’s party.”
“What. Look nice for four hundred quid. You could look devastating for a tenth the price in a dress you already got. You can’t just go in a store and spend that much of my money.”
“You can afford it.”
“I can afford it. With your mother and the champagne caviar. What are you, crazy honey. I can’t even afford to take a shit at this fucking time of my life.”
“Your constant awful language.”
“That’s right. And what’s more it’s going to stay constant. Hey Jesus don’t start crying. What
is it with you. You think money grows on trees.”
“You live in this big house. You go to all the best places. You know all the best people.”
“I live here and go to the best places because I fucking well have to. I’m a producer for Christ’s sake. I got to keep up a big front. And I don’t know nobody who wouldn’t shit all over me the second my back’s to the wall. And stop fucking well crying will you.”
“I don’t feel well.”
“Tough tit.”
“You’re the most inconsiderate person I think I have ever met. And I feel I’m going to faint.”
“Faint for christ’s sake, there’s tons of room. And padding under the carpet. Only don’t knock anything over. Like the phone.”
“I didn’t knock it over. You did.”
“Honey it was you making me nervous coming in the fucking door with the packages.”
“I’ve given you dedicated weeks of my life. I’ve given you the greatest gift a woman can give a man. I’ve given you my body.”
“And it took long enough to get too.”
“How dare you say that.”
“So O.K. you gave me a gift, your body. O.K. and I already said thanks. But you’re giving me a fucking headache now honey.”
Schultz bending over. Brushing a whorl of carpet wool from his knee. When the slap landed. Just as the packages hit the floor. His face spun around by the sting. The burn of fingernails digging in his cheeks. The feel of sticky blood on his fingertips.
“Jesus you bitch you fucking well clawed me. Right on top of what your fucking mother already did.”
“And that’s not all I’ll do. You horrid mean person you.”
“Goodbye honey. Get you, your dresses, your suitcases and your ass and get the fuck out of here. And for the last time. Leave me to enjoy my fucking life. That I was enjoying. Before you showed up.”
Pricilla rushing up the stairs. Schultz standing scratching his head. Until he saw the boxes on the floor and started kicking them ceiling high all over the hall. Pricilla, rushing back down the stairs, jumped on his shoulders, her fingers sinking locked in his hair and tugging him over backwards on to the floor. As the phone rang.
“Jesus let go for christ’s sake it’s the phone, this time of evening it could be an important call from Hollywood you bitch, let go.”
“Fuck your bloody stupid Hollywood. Kicking my dresses like that.”
Schultz knocked on his back got one hand loose and with an almighty right hook his fist caught Pricilla on the jaw laying her backwards unconscious across his legs. Schultz tugging the ringing phone off the table, catching the instrument before it hit the floor and holding his distinctly loosened hair and scalp with one hand and the telephone with the other.
“Schultz is this you.”
“Yes. Who’s this.”
“My god. I’ve been trying to ring you for the last twenty minutes. This is Basil Nectarine. What have you done with my motor car.”
“Nothing.”
“The police Schultz are looking for it. All over London. They say it kidnapped someone.”
“It kidnapped nobody.”
“Where is the car Schultz.”
“It’s taking the cast and my Director, Author, Choreographer and Composers home.”
“O my god.”
“What the fuck’s the matter.”
“Well they could all be arrested.”
“Holy shit.”
“And Hubert gets awfully upset when things go wrong.”
“Jesus. Hubert you worry about. When my whole show could be in jail.”
Schultz reaching to pick up his sunglasses. Putting them on as he lay back staring at the ceiling. In the middle of triumph. Here I am on my fucking back in the middle of chaos. Four hundred and eighteen pounds. Add that to the rest of my bills. Jesus christ add it to everything. As well as Oriental Venereal Plague put on my bill of health. And my whole production imprisoned. But what a beautiful punch it was. Be the first time she’s ever really fainted unconscious. A minute of silence is bliss. All the dead weight of her on my legs. She’s still breathing. But what’s that sound. Of dripping.
Schultz shoving Pricilla. Levering her off with his upraised knees as she rolled over and he pulled out his feet Schultz crawling a few paces and jumping up. Rushing into the library. To see the ceiling billowing downwards with water pouring and dripping over tables and bookcases.
“Jesus fucking christ now I need a rowboat in the house.”
Schultz rushing out and up the stairs and into the bathroom. All taps on. The basin, the bidet and the tub overflowing with water. The once beige carpet several shades deeper and squelching underfoot. Schultz turning off the taps and throwing towels around the floor which merely sank soaked into the deluge. The front bell ringing as Schultz closed the bathroom door where water was pouring out into the hall. And at the top of the stairs holding wet hands up over his eyes.
“I should need a flood right at this time of my existence. This fucking bitch is just ruining my life completely by gradual degrees.”
Schultz step by slow step down the stairs. The inert body of Pricilla stretched on her back hands upturned. The smell of burning. One dress box stuck on top of the shade of the table lamp where it had landed kicked by Schultz’s foot. And the doorbell still ringing.
“Jesus, who now is at the door. Wearing out the bell. Hold it will you, I’m coming.”
Schultz opening the door. Stepping back to await the blue uniforms and tall helmets of the London Metropolitan Police to come enquiring in about a kidnap. Instead of the irate red flushed face of Al in heather colored tweeds and bright orange tie. To enquire about a knockout. And whose taxi was just pulling away in the street.
“For christ’s sake Al it’s you.”
“You’re god damn right it’s me.”
“Jesus Al I’m busy. I got a flood. Don’t come in. Can you come around later.”
Al pushing past Schultz. The wind blowing through the hall and slamming the front door closed, trembling and tinkling the crystal chandelier. As Al wide eyed with horror and hands raised elbowed Schultz aside.
“Hey what the hell happened.”
“Take it easy Al. She fainted. She does it all the time. Like I told you.”
“Why you dirty no good son of a bitch. She’s got blood on her lip. You hit her.”
“I did like hell hit her Al.”
“You fucking hit her. Look at this. She looks dead. Her jaw and lip bruised. Blood.”
“She jumped on me from behind. I’m telling you, she’s a wildcat. And don’t worry she’s alive.”
“You son of a bitch. Come on. Pick on me. A man. Why don’t you. Go ahead. I’m taking the glasses off. Put your fists up.”
“I’m not going to fight you Al. And all your mid west morals. You’re a generation older. I could physically kill you.”
“You just try it. Let’s see you. With your diseased prick. You contaminate the girl. Then you hit her. Come on. Put em up.”
“Al come on, act your age. I got my whole cast and show out in a car in London at this second with the whole police force after them.”
“You got clap that’s what you got.”
“Don’t shout that out Al it was confidential.”
“Confidential. It’s clap. It’s contagious.”
“I got neighbors for Christ’s sake. Keep your voice down.”
“You no good shit, you no good dirty shit. And hey watch where you’re stepping on the girl.”
Schultz turning to step back one leg over the prostrate Pricilla who emitted a long low groan. Al lunging. His left arm out to grab Schultz by the lapel. Schultz reeling back crashing into the table. The phone starting to ring. Schultz reaching out with a right hand for the receiver and raising his left to ward off a roundhouse fist sweeping jawwards from Al. Which connected high up on the side of Schultz’s head as he ducked. And made him see sparkling exploding stars.
“Shit you bastard you hit me. Al I’l
l kill you.”
Al with a neat skip over Pricilla, wading in, heart condition and all. Sending right crosses and left uppercuts as Schultz shouted into the phone before dropping it.
“Hello whoever you are. I got a temporary problem. Please call me back.”
Schultz punching now for his life. Connecting with a straight left ka plonk on Al’s nose which instantly cascaded bleeding blood. Schultz momentarily still and aghast at the horrifying crimson sight of Al’s face. Al undaunted cutting free with a looping right connecting with Schultz’s unblack eye. Schultz hanging on in a clinch.
“I’ll kill you Al. If you don’t cut it out right now. I’ll fucking well kill you. I don’t care how fucking near the grave you are already. I’ll kill you.”
“Try it. Go ahead try it. Let go. And get some more of what you’re getting.”
“You asked for it Al.”
Schultz pummelling lefts and rights into Al’s belly, driving him back just as Al again caught Schultz on the side of the head and Schultz fell to the floor. Al momentarily surveying his handy work. Stepping backwards and promptly tripping over the just reviving Pricilla. Crashing down arse and elbows first on top of her. Pricilla letting loose one of her more prolonged bloodcurdling screams.
“Now it’s you you fucking dumbbell Al who’s killing her.”
Schultz scrambling to his feet. The sudden sound outside of police car bells and racing engines. Heavy boots pounding on the front steps. Schultz’s heart in his chest quivering waiting for the doorbell to ring. His bloodied fists unclenched hanging at his sides. Pricilla groaning hands to her ribs where the backs of Al’s elbows had landed. The front door splintering asunder. And smashed wide open limping from its hinges. Two vast London bobbies falling into the hallway. Followed by four more. Two with sawn off shotguns levelled at Schultz.
“Hands up. Don’t move.”
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot for christ’s sake.”
I’m
A theatrical
Producer