Magillacurdy skipping sideways in through the basement kitchen door. To stand there on the flagstones a benign loving smile across his face.
“Ah now me boyo. I came to apologise I have. For causing you all your trouble. But didn’t we hit the headlines with a bang, though.”
“We hit them alright Magillacurdy. You’re a publicist par excellence.”
“Ah now surely that’s not all I’m good for.”
“Magillacurdy I’ll give it to you straight. And you know all this yourself already. You are the biggest genius I’ve ever encountered in showbizz.”
“Ah bless you and may your years in showbizz have been legion.”
“But Jesus christ almighty Magillacurdy, never again please will you, shout out the window of a car we’re in that you’re being kidnapped.”
Magillacurdy pulling his blazing red forelock, his eyes welling with moisture. Tears slowly oozing to tumble down his pale cheeks. And go rolling over the corners of his lips dimpled in a smile.
“Ah me boyo, me boyo, me boyo. I’m conscience stricken. Contrite.”
Magillacurdy’s miner’s boots thumping across the kitchen floor. His massive arm reaching around the back of Schultz’s shoulder.
“Ah me boyo. Is it not a pity the world has no place for me. Except right at the very top.”
“And Magillacurdy do you on top of everything else, also have to be devastatingly charming.”
“Ah me worst fault that. When me charm gets the better of me. Sure no one can resist it. And I have victims all over the place.”
From up under his thick blue sweater, Magillacurdy pulling his script.
“On closer prolonged scrutiny this is the greatest load of awful shit since vanity in the theatre was invented but me boyo you’re sincere, I can see that. So I’m going to accept and take the part for your win ningly lovable sake alone. Ah but as I suspected the lyrics did just lend themselves to revisions. So make a fresh script out of this now. And after I’ve consulted with the Director, Choreographer and Composers and given the author a Welsh miner’s boot up his hole, you won’t have such a bad little show on your hands after all. Now do you have a bottle of health giving stout handy.”
With a glass of whiskey, another rib creaking hug and a resounding kiss on Schultz’s cheek, Magillacurdy danced light footed out the kitchen door. And went roaring away up the basement steps having sung four new astonishing numbers he’d written into the script.
Schultz, undressing to soak in a hot wet tub in his wet blacked out bathroom, could still hear the voice of Magillacurdy serenading down Arabesque Street. Warm water lapping at the lobes of Schultz’s ears. Silence now. Like a Saturday noonday with folk gone on their weekend ways to the country. Be sued for a big fraction of my whole show’s budget. Here I am thinking I’ve escaped from all the witch and bitch-hood of American fucked up womanhood. And right in the middle of England I walk into the worst bitch of my life. Jesus the British secret service could be creeping up on me to bounce bullets off the side of my bath.
Schultz suddenly alert sitting up in the bubbly water. A creak of floor board on the stairs and coming closer out in the hall. Schultz gripping both sides of the tub. Levering himself up half ready to crouch down again submerged behind the porcelain. One hand slipping and Schultz plunging splashing backwards bodily in the bath head under water nearly drowning. Framed in the door the female silhouette of Pricilla.
“That’s you Sigmund isn’t it.”
“Yes it’s fucking well me.”
“Why are you in the dark. Aren’t you ready yet. Well I’m asking you, aren’t you.”
“To your first question I’m in the dark because there’s no light. To the second question. No. I’m not ready. I’m fucking drowned. To your third remark in that tone of voice. I’ll get up out of this bath and knock some more of your teeth out.”
“Darling please, don’t get angry with me. I’m only asking because of the Ambassador’s party we’ve been invited to. And we’re late.”
“If I wasn’t lying down in this bath here taking a much needed rest I swear I’d clip you one right again in the fucking mouth.”
“O darling isn’t one sock in the jaw quite enough.”
“Not for you it sure enough isn’t. You got some nerve coming back here. You know don’t you you’re trying to sue me. In my own house. You and that geriatric creep Al.”
“But why should that stop us from going to the Ambassador’s party.”
“I’ll tell you something to stop us. Just tell me who the fuck other than me you’re fucking.”
“Darling that’s offensive.”
“Cut the shit. Who else are you screwing.”
“I assume you are accusing me of having slept with other men, and I emphatically have not. Besides my past is none of your business.”
“You honey have infected me with a dose of the clap.”
“How dare you. I have never had such a thing in my life.”
“You should have been a fucking actress honey. The way you play those lines.”
“How dare you.”
“You’re just beautiful. Every inflection perfect.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“Hey get the fuck away from me. Or I’ll throw this soapy water all over you and that dress I paid for you’re wearing. You’re clapped up honey.”
“No one has ever spoken to me in such an insulting manner before in my entire life.”
“Get used to it honey. You’re a walking health hazard. The source of my fucking infection. Jesus I nearly said affection. Wow.”
“You foul horrible insensitive thing. I’ll have you know that the man to whom I was recently engaged was titled. And was just one among the many men who have adored and worshipped me. Even though he was an aristocrat he followed me about like a faithful dog.”
“Woof woof.”
“Be smart. Go ahead. You got your clap from one of those common trollops who appear on your doorstep.”
“I didn’t honey. I got the clap straight from you. And you better go see the doctor and get a big needle up your nice soft white arse.”
Pricilla picking up the hem of her long dress, spinning around and tiptoeing out over the sopping towels and squelching wet carpet of the half lit bathroom. Her footsteps down the stairs. Schultz wrapping in a towel. Sticking his feet in his slippers waiting dry, out in the hall. Tip toeing down. To see if Pricilla was further wrecking the house. Instead of sitting as she was in the drawing room reading a fashion magazine open across her knee.
“Hey come on you. Out. This is no fucking private club for you to sit around in. After clapping me up and going to a fucking lawyer. Suing me. With that big bullshitter Al who thinks he’s some kind of big father figure and protector of ladies in distress. Look at this place. You turned the fucking faucets on. The library is ruined. They’re trying to get me for thousands of pounds for the damage.”
“O darling, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.”
“Yes I am. Please forgive me for whatever I’ve done.”
“Well, what the fuck did you do all these things for.”
“I don’t want to be taken for granted.”
“Holy shit. You don’t want to be taken for granted so you should then practise inhumanity on me.”
“You did damage too darling.”
“Sure I did when I was so furious out of my fucking mind over the damage you did. So what are you still sitting there all dressed up for.”
“And why are you standing there in a towel undressed.”
“Because honey soon I’m going to sit smouldering like any good producer should, right where you’re sitting, with cigars sticking out smoking all over me in my silver lamé shirt I’ve got upstairs and a gold medallion clanking on the hairs of my chest waiting for these limey British cunts to come try and get me, a red blooded American, out of this fucking house before my lease is up. So before I get back down here again. You better be gone.”
Schultz in his bedroom. Peeking out the curtains to across the street. Cars and limousines arriving at the Ambassador’s house. Unloading emissaries, envoys, proconsuls and ministers. Chauffeurs jumping out to open doors. The long radiant flowing dresses of wives and mistresses. The plenipotentiary glamour. Two butlers taking coats inside the Ambassador’s black and white marble floored hall. Jesus, what am I alive for. Instead of worrying about legal actions and fucking wasting time going to bed, I ought to bandage over the worst scratches and go over there in my sunglasses and tuxedo and mix in with some of those nice folks. And even though one’s going to feel awfully dirty and clapped up, it will be a nice little elegant normal distraction. Amid the pieces of diplomatic undiseased ass, caviar and vaults of unlimited champagne.
Schultz dressing. Snapping up across his shoulders his emerald green braces over his silk shirt. Putting on his cummerbund and polishing his dancing pumps with the sleeve of his tuxedo. Tying a knot in his bowtie with what Binky said was the necessary amount of foppishness. And Schultz heading down into the hall. Picking up the phone from the floor just as it was ringing.
“Hello.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you like this, but are you the occupant of what I think must be number four Arabesque Street.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t want to alarm you sir but I’m sure you’ll understand that in attempting to keep up standards in the area I really thought I should inform you direct instead of calling the Police. My wife has just got a rather nasty shock. I do think you should look out into your garden.”
“What’s wrong.”
“Well sir I don’t quite know how to put this but there appears to be a person there. Who does not appear well.”
“Holy shit.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Sorry it’s just a religious expression. Thanks for calling.”
Schultz hanging up and heading into the library to look out the window. The tiny fish pond with no fish and a statue of a cherub holding a wand out of which the estate agents said water would come upon depressing a switch inside the kitchen door. And nothing happened even when you hit it with a hammer.
“Jesus I can’t see a god damn thing out there. O Jesus. There is something. Come on. When the fuck is my life ever going to get tranquil again.”
Beyond the edge of paving stones a garden bench. A lady’s silver slippered foot sticking out. Schultz rushing past the pantry and down stairs. Twisting a knee and stumbling as he went. And a grab at the bannister dislodging one end of it from the wall.
“Holy shit something else to get sued for.”
Schultz limping out into the darkened confines of the garden. Ivy covered lattice around the walls and dried up rose plants in beds. On a little patch of lawn, in a long gown. Pricilla stretched out spreadeagled on her back in the grass.
“Jesus Fortnum’s may as well charge her up to me along with the dress.”
Schultz hobbling back into the kitchen and filling a bucket of water. Returning to stand over Pricilla with the brimming white porcelain pail. Swinging it back in order to deliver the entire cold contents splashing on the prostrate body. Pricilla sitting bolt upright and shouting.
“Don’t you dare.”
Schultz did
And she screamed.
Blue bloody murder
As she
Got doused
11
With the invitation pushed through his letter box, Schultz proffering it to the Ambassador’s major domo. Who stood in his gold braided regalia on the marble black and white landing at the top of the curved staircase. He bent whispering for the lady’s name. And the exalted commissionaire’s voice booming out identities of these two new arrivals. From just across the street.
“Mr. Sigmund Franz Schultz and Miss Pricilla Prune.”
Schultz had one or two additional contusions. Received from Pricilla’s pummelling fists and groin kicks uppercutting from her silver slippered foot. Following the bucket of cold water straight splash into her face and all over her bosoms and the rest of her. As she sat propped up by her arms. Schultz grinning for the first time in days. Her pale pink garment turned a darker shade. But on her feet screaming, Pricilla punched, scratched, gouged and attempted to bite Schultz all around the fish pond. Till police came rushing out the kitchen door into the garden.
“Come on honey, move forward, you’re holding up the reception line.”
Pricilla was now in a cloud of musky perfume and her black clinging see through gown. Her drenched Fortnum’s haute couture creation left hanging from the kitchen ceiling to dry. And her brand new patent leather opera bag held up under her left noticeable nipple crested marvellous tit. Smiling with her lower lip stretched over to hide her lower missing bicuspid.
“Come on honey, what are you trying to do, hog the limelight.”
“Shut up you.”
Schultz pushing Pricilla forward into the large drawing room and pressing his bandages down on his cheeks and also rubbing his knee to realign the ligaments stretched out of place in the rush down his kitchen stairs. As he now straightened up with his slightly lessened limp to confront the beaming dark complexioned face of the Ambassador.
“Ah Mr. Schultz. Please. Enter. It is so good of you to come.”
“Thanks Your Excellency. It’s swell to be here.”
“And of course I have not had the pleasure.”
“O yeah, sorry. His Excellency. Pricilla Prune.”
“I am enraptured my dear.”
“You are very very charming Your Excellency.”
The ebony rotund head of the Ambassador lifting away from Pricilla’s outstretched hand. His white teeth blazing in a smile. Beyond him stood London’s black and white diplomatic corps in their dark regalia. And military gentlemen conspicuous in their gold braid, shiny insignia and medals flashing and jingling. Flowers on the marble topped tables. Seated on Louis the Fourteenth sofas, ladies with long cigarette holders. And a distinct additional babble in the din of voices in the area of the room to which Pricilla navigated. To stunningly take up a position near a painting, Camels in Caravan on the Nile.
“Madam.”
A pale faced waiter just managing to proffer a glass of champagne through the throng of gentlemen surrounding her. Schultz squeezed away facing the backs of ministers plenipotentiary, assorted chargé d’affaires, attachés, and first and second secretaries four deep. A smiling gurgling Pricilla bathed in the stream of flatteries wafting her way from every direction. Jesus you’d think these guys had never seen a real beauty before. But holy shit. Be a great way to get rid of this bitch. Just beat it and leave her to hand out a dose of clap to the whole diplomatic corps in London. And leave it to the Arabs to blame it on the Israelis or the Israelis to blame it on the Arabs.
“Ah Mr. Schultz, my dear neighbor. The gladiator of Arabesque Street.”
“Your Excellency I got a few little cuts all right. Tripping down the stairs.”
“Ah my dear sir never mind, so many things one must be careful of in this city of London which offers so many wonderful pleasures. But it is so good to see you. After all the ambulances, all the Police.”
“Yeah they’ve been a few ambulances and Police all right.”
“And all the pretty women. Who come to your house all the time.”
“Now and again they do.”
“But there you are, already alone, and your beautiful friend surrounded. But was there something again this evening that happened.”
“Nothing. Just someone trying to rob me fell in the fish pond. My neighbors living behind me called the Police. But this is a nice party you’ve got going.”
“Yes we do rather pride ourselves on our good parties. But of course the addition of you and your latest lady friend does help you know. She is by far the most attractive of all the attractive ladies. Let me congratulate you. Did you notice, how the entire male assemblage have immediately congregated about her. Such a thing could put a strain on the rafters and
send London’s diplomatic corps tumbling to the floor below. N’est-ce pas.”
“Yeah I notice that, Your Excellency.”
“You are not jealous.”
“Your Excellency, ugly guys like me just have to be patient and wait their turn.”
“Ah but you are much too modest Mr. Schultz. You clearly have an incredible way with the ladies. You don’t kid me.”
“Likewise Your Excellency you don’t do too bad yourself.”
“Ha ha, Mr. Schultz, it is how do you say, in the nature of the diplomatic profession to keep everyone happy. But perhaps we, the two of us, might keep in touch about such things as beauty and the wonders of London. And perhaps you and your lady friend would come some evening to dine with us. In a more intime situation perhaps.”
“Any time Your Excellency wants to give me a tinkle, you just do that little thing.”
“I shall Mr. Schultz, I assure you, I shall.”
A hush over the gathering. The last glasses clanking on marble tops and clinking against each other. Whispers dying away. All the seated standing. The Ambassador stationed at the white gold leaf embellished open double doors. A drum roll. Bugles sounding a fanfare. And the commissionaire’s voice throbbing out over the gathered expectant guests.
“His Royal Imperial Highness Field Marshal King Buggybooiamcheesetoo and Her Royal Imperial Highness.”
The King Buggyspendthriftboob, as some chargé d’affaires whispered behind Schultz that he ought to be called, came in massively rotund and slightly rolling on his feet with a large mouthful of shiny gold teeth that looked like they might, if you got too close, take a big bite out of you.
“Hey do you mind telling me who the hell’s this making an entrance.”
“He is the Emperor His Royal Imperial Highness King of the Sovereign State of Boohooland.”
“Jesus, never heard of the place.”
“It is sir a few million acres of mountain range, lakes, a deep navigable river to the sea and some hundreds of thousands in population.”