And way
Down
In Schultz’s
Soul
It hooted
Holy shit
4
As were all Schultz’s afflictions, the ankle and toes were treated in Harley Street. By a theatrically fashionable doctor who took an easily amused view of the previous bed chamber injury. And came out from behind his massive antique desk.
“Ah now. And what do we have this time Mr. Schultz.”
“Doc you have a repeat of crippled feet.”
“Well you’re still upright. And although painful, it’s not a major sprain. And one hardly breaks a toe, but you have certainly again rather bruised your phalanges a bit.”
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.”