“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.