Schultz

With Schultz once more hors de combat, his future wife was now saying that soon soon, the moment his toes were recovered, that miracle of miracles would happen and Schultz could enter her.

  “Look honey, that better be soon as you say because you’ve already wrecked my peace of mind.”

  The future wife meanwhile who was quite adequate at the stove, cooked up an international menu out of the noonday delivered assortment of goodies from Harrods’ meat department and the London grocery emporium of Fortnum’s with both of whom Schultz had accounts.

  “Sure honey you just pick up the phone and order what you want, no problem.”

  But Schultz, usually a later riser, noticing his mail was tampered with, now struggled up to get down stairs to collect it. While the future wife sat like the Queen of Sheba waiting for Schultz to bring her breakfast. And Schultz scalded his hand rushing back up with her tray in order to gather his personal papers together and with his letters, secrete them away locked in the desk in the library. And following another bedroom blow job interruptus finished by hand, Schultz found it but a momentary cure for his intensifying horniness.

  “Hey honey, sorry but you got to vacate today, all afternoon.”

  “Why.”

  “I’m having an audition. The director’s coming over. And a couple of the stars. And some other people. The stars get really on edge if they think laymen are hanging around.”

  And Schultz awaited the arrival of this hot little number just graduated from Drama School with her long brown hair down the back of her gymnastic bouncy body, whom he’d recently interviewed at Sperm Productions and was to now audition in the peace and quiet of his versatile town house.

  “Honey, let me tell you straight off at once, you got a feel for it, maybe even real promise but it needs hard work, real hard work and plenty of polishing. Now just do that number once more.”

  Schultz, right in the middle of these words uttered to this healthy smiling young teenager in his panelled library and just as the latter was about to commence hoofing and singing, heard what he thought was the squeak of footsteps on the stairs. And following the rendition of the present number he was about to invite the diminutive teenage lady starlet to maybe show more of what she was made of in a more comfortable room upstairs.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Schultz, really I am but I have to get to Swiss Cottage. I have a singing lesson there at five.”

  “Sure kid, that’s fine. Fine. Some other time.”

  “But thank you very much. And I can cancel my singing lesson next week if you want.”

  “Sure, sure. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be in touch.”

  Schultz suddenly out his door, escorting the hot little number around the corner to Hyde Park Tube Station. And a few steps down the street, he looked up to see His Excellency the Ambassador at his frequent position at his French window, mysteriously pointing back across the street. And Schultz stopped and turned to face back at his house. To look up and see the future wife there framed between the parted lace curtains of the bedroom, glaring at him.

  “Well you don’t own me. Get the fuck out and leave me alone.”

  Schultz shouted this with his one free scalded shaking fist, his other being gently wrapped around a can of beer as they confronted a day later in the library. For as the incidents of girls calling at Schultz’s town house continued together with phone calls and communications on slips of paper dropped in the letter box, the future wife was not only snooping but nagging.

  “You simply can’t have all these strange people working for you. Some of them hardly speak English.”

  “Honey they’re part of my production team. Don’t you understand. I’ve signed contracts. I have five seamstresses working day and night on costumes. And fucking rehearsals are due to start. Don’t for christ’s sake give me a hassle.”

  Schultz presenting this reasoned argument, was a moment later behind drawn drapes and the closed door of the library, treated to the future wife slowly removing her matching dark green cardigan and pulling her jumper up over her head. In spite of gritting his teeth and biting his tongue Schultz roared into erection as this tall dark haired lady stripped to the waist. And slowly so slowly heaving her hips, began a hula hula dance.

  “O boy honey, Jesus.”

  Schultz sat with a beer hungrily watching this fantastic body swaying and cavorting, till he would get a hand job sitting back in the leather chair, a linen napkin carefully placed across his thighs. Just as she had done yesterday.

  “Now I’ll bet you feel better don’t you Sigmund.”

  “I’m adequate honey. I’m adequate.”

  But there was no question as to her improving abilities in administering this fingertip touching satisfaction or to the astonishing and stunning beauty of her breasts, which still made Schultz gulp and swallow every time he watched them whitely lazily swinging before his eyes, but from which she presently slapped his reaching hand.

  “What did you say.”

  “You heard me. And for the last time, I’m telling you. Get the fuck out and leave me alone. Who needs this kind of fucking frustration.”

  Despite the thick carpet, Pricilla made a considerable thump. Keeling over sideways and backwards, her knees buckling and somehow getting her to the floor in such a manner that she lay carefully outstretched, one arm across her breasts and the hem of her skirt chastely at her knees. Just as one would imagine a well bred girl might do when pretending to faint.

  “Holy shit.”

  Schultz stood too stunned to move. Except to take a peek at the library shelves which shook with the thud and the chandelier which tinkled. Getting down on one knee, he gently prodded her.

  “Hey baby, baby are you all right. Speak to me.”

  Schultz did what he had always seen medical people do. And lifted the lid of her closed eye. Which seemed to struggle reshut. But his first ungentlemanly thought was to fuck her as she lay which he reconsidered on the grounds that he might be charged with having then fucked her to death.

  “Honey, hey I’m sorry for what I said. Hear me honey.”

  Schultz now held her extremely limp wrist. Feeling for her pulse whose beats seemed even calmer than his own. In a final attempt to revive her he whispered, prodded and took a good feel of her breasts, before finally goosing her. To then stand watching and waiting for this still breathing body to show a sign of life.

  “Holy christ, nagging and no ass and now I needed this. A dead body on my hands.”

  Schultz on his way to the phone found himself rubbing his fingers up and down on his jacket as if he were trying to erase the fingerprints that might now be traced to having killed her.

  “Hey Al, it’s me Sigmund.”

  “Hi ya Sigmund, what’s doing, what’s new.”

  “Jesus Al she’s on the floor.”

  “Who’s on the floor.”

  “Pricilla.”

  “You son of a bitch what did you do to her.”

  “Nothing for christ’s sake Al. I mean maybe she’s fainted or something.”

  “I’m asking you. What did you do to her. To make her faint.”

  “I didn’t do nothing Al. For christ’s sake, come on.”

  “Is she breathing. Does she move.”

  “I don’t know. I think she’s breathing.”

  “Well make sure, go find out. Go hold a mirror to her mouth.”

  “Is that what I should do.”

  “I’m telling you to. Go do it. And you son of a bitch I’ll kill you if anything happens to that girl.”

  “O.K. Al, for christ’s sake you don’t have to have kittens and conniptions. I’m just asking what the fuck I should do.”

  “I just told you. Hold a mirror to her mouth.”

  “O.K. Hang on.”

  Schultz found a mirror rummaging through her handbag. And also found four opened letters addressed to him plus extra keys to every door in his house. The mirror when he held it to her mouth became steamed over. Schultz rushing back at the phone.

 
“Al.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The mirror got steam on it.”

  “She’s breathing then.”

  “What should I do now. What the fuck do you think is the matter.”

  “She could have a stroke or a heart attack.”

  “Isn’t she too young Al.”

  “Nobody is too young to die. Call an ambulance. And she better be alright or I’m putting you on my drop dead list.”

  “O.K. Al O.K. I’ll call an ambulance and I’m hanging up.”

  Schultz took one more look in the library door at the prostrate figure and dialled nine, nine, nine. And a voice clicked in.

  “Emergency, can I help you.”

  “Yes I need an ambulance. I don’t know what happened. She just collapsed.”

  As Schultz sat in the hall staring across at a painting of red coated horse mounted figures and hounds in front of a stately mansion, he heard a groan come from the library. And rushed back in. The future wife’s hand was flapping back and forth like a dead fish and then one eye opened.

  “O my god, please, Sigmund, take me up to bed. Please.”

  “Take you to bed. Holy shit honey an ambulance is on the way to take you to the fucking hospital.”

  On a late morning once more that same week following further Schultz attempts at screaming at her to get the fuck out, ambulance men were seen running up the steps of Schultz’s town house only to depart again with their empty stretcher. Each time leaving Schultz to struggle lugging her under the armpits up to bed. And on one occasion nearly killing himself with his unconscious armful falling backwards on the landing on top of him as he tried to head back downstairs again to answer the phone.

  “Ah please, do excuse me, sir. Are you the gentlemen across from us in number four.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah, I am extremely sorry to telephone you but I am making such enquiry on behalf of his Excellency the Ambassador to learn if you are all right in your house. As his Excellency sees the ambulance calling.”

  “O hey sure. I’m O.K. We’re just having a little emergency treatment now and again. And tell his Excellency I really appreciate his call.”

  “Of course sir. And thank you sir for your kind information and may we wish you your continued good health. Goodbye sir.”

  The fourth time Schultz watched the future wife keel over, he left her fainted on the floor and calmly shaved, showered and dressed. Popping in every few minutes to see if she stirred before finally himself popping out the door under white clean clouds blown by a fresh westerly breeze. To walk briskly heading along Wilton Crescent. Passing these handsome grey stone cut houses and the quiet sombre church and then crossing the nose of Hyde Park. The little patches of green, the fish pond and fountain lying before the calm elegance of the Dorchester Hotel. Where the doorman touched his top hat.

  “And good morning sir. Nice to see you.”

  Reading The Times, Schultz took a quiet pew in a far corner of the restaurant and sat back to a marvellously prolonged breakfast.

  “Another kipper sir.”

  “Yeah sure I don’t mind if I do.”

  But upon reaching Sperm Productions, and before he could open his mail in his windowless cubbyhole, his Lordship with suitable grave ceremony confronted him.

  “Schultz, my god, where have you been.”

  “Having a peaceful breakfast for a change for christ’s sake.”

  “Are you aware that a lady friend of yours was this morning hauled out of your house unconscious in an ambulance to hospital.”

  “Jesus, holy shit.”

  “It’s well for you to say that Schultz but one does have the impression of your town house doors constantly being opened and a series of attractive women either being hurled on to the pavements or carried out by stretcher.”

  “Hey don’t look at me as if you were always fucking innocent and I’m the guy who is always guilty. What hospital.”

  “Charing Cross and I suggest Schultz you go there immediately.”

  “Immediately. I can’t. In ten minutes I got an urgent lunch appointment.”

  “Schultz you do really amaze me. Have you no compassion. You’ve just come from breakfast. And now you’re taking lunch while a young lady at this very moment may be on the operating table. Her life hanging by a thread.”

  “My life is hanging on by a thread. If I don’t get my finance. I got a property developer I’ve been waiting two fucking weeks to meet who’s dying to have an investment fling at showbizz.”

  “Schultz, good god I think you are the most unchivalrous person I have ever met. We’ve already had an irate lady shouting various distressing words at us over the telephone. Schultz you simply must cancel your lunch.”

  “Holy shit, cancel, when this rich son of a bitch could be good for ten or twenty thousand.”

  “Schultz, I may have thought previously that you were a pettifogging creampuff. But now I’m absolutely convinced that you are also an unmitigated bounder.”

  “Shit can’t you see I’m already on my fucking way to the hospital. Jesus christ what do you fucking guys demand of me. Any minute now, believe me, I’m going to become a fucking homosexual recluse.”

  “And Schultz, if you do, I fully expect to find unclothed and wretchedly abused small boys being flung out of your town house every morning.”

  Schultz, just as fast as the wheels of a taxi might carry him found himself wandering along the creamy walled and desolate corridors of this hospital stinking of alcohol. The bells of an ambulance clanging and trolleys of supine human beings rolled hither and thither. Each step he took, hammering in visions of police tapping him on the shoulder. His stomach churning and his head growing faint, as he saw a body wrapped in sheets and soaked in blood wheeled past him into emergency.

  “O my god I missed lunch to see this.”

  Schultz following the receptionist’s directions up staircases and down corridors, was again wiping off his fingerprints on his jacket front, his heart thumping and a sweat collecting on his brow. Till he reached and nearly fell vomiting into Pricilla’s room. Full of flowers. A young gentleman hairstylist arranging Pricilla’s hair. Plus a monstrously fat lady in a black clinging dress shovelling up spoonfuls of pâté de foie gras with truffles into her thickly powdered jowls. And an open ceramic jar with a sturgeon emblazoned on the side at her elbow.

  “Mother this is Mr. Sigmund Schultz.”

  “Well Mr. Schultz, it’s about time I met you. After putting my daughter into hospital like this, and putting a strain on my weak heart. You better hope that she recovers all right. And I’ll have you know that before my daughter met you she was escorted out to the very best places by the titled son of a Duke.”

  A further dazed Schultz went wiping his forehead all the way back down the hospital hall. Until running into a nurse pushing a tray of instruments. Re-swallowing his kipper breakfast which had also included two fried tomatoes. Reeling along looking for the staircase landing and turning through a pair of swing doors. Stepping further along a hall and through another door and holding his hand up to shield his headaching eyes. Suddenly in a room confronting a battery of bright lights. Peopled with masked faces, the nearest of which were turning to look at him. As a raised voice was heard.

  “He’s not scrubbed up.”

  And a nurse touching Schultz on the elbow as he was turning around to retreat.

  “Excuse me, are you Doctor Romney.”

  “No, I’m just trying to find my way out of this hospital.”

  “Well you happen sir, to be in the operating theatre in the middle of an emergency caesarian section.”

  Schultz staring at the white coated figures. And then beyond between two suddenly parting doctors who revealed a mound of blood and guts heaving on an operating table. A strange soft music played as the world faded. Schultz kneeling over backwards into the arms of this group of medical students. All standing ready with their stethoscopes.

  To listen

  To this br />
  Faint hearted

  Schultz

  Maybe breathing

  His last

  5

  Following his release from hospital that afternoon, Schultz took time out to have a sherry filled hour by himself in a small panelled bar down the hill from Charing Cross. And in the busy dingy thoroughfare of Villiers Street a little life perked back into him looking into the windows of a few dirty bookshops. All nausea nearly gone strolling now through the photographing tourists and the flocks of pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

  “Jesus look at all these pigeons just happy fucking and pecking up the popcorn and enjoying life.”

  Schultz paced himself gently along Pall Mall, cutting a sharp right into the narrow shadowy alley of Crown Passage. And was at last recovering as he made his way up the little peaceful incline of Duke Street St. James’s, past the window displays of antiques, books, shoes and paintings.

  “Jesus if I had a couple of fucking hits running in the West End I could just walk in there and buy these joints right out and surround myself with beauty instead of anguish.”

  Five minutes to four, Schultz reaching the Jermyn Street entrance to Fortnum’s. Crossing the sort crimson carpet under the radiantly sparkling chandeliers. To sit among these animated bejewelled ladies. Wait while one of these splendid light green aproned ministrating goddesses fetches a silkily soft chocolate stomach soothing slab of Sacher cake and a pot of smoky scented Earl Grey tea. Thank god there are places like this. Where I can fucking well sit suddenly in peace. Gather my wits back together again. Without having the god damn consequences of my prick always on my mind.

  Early that evening shoving a weary body down between the cool sheets, Schultz took a nap in his empty town house. Waking again two hours later hungry and energetic to go dine in his favourite small Chinese restaurant in Soho. Topping off his sweet and sour pork with an hour’s pleasant play at a Piccadilly pinball emporium. Winning fourteen games and breaking the house record for the machine.

  “Ere ere mister, you must be some kind of expert getting a score like that.”

  Before returning to Belgravia, Schultz on the previous advice of Big Al, slipped into a theatre to take in the last act of a play with a young Debutant actress whom Al thought might hoof, act and sing her way to stardom. Schultz losing no time getting backstage to introduce himself to the blond curvaceous elegant creature.