“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
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.
“I like your act honey. You had some real nice moments out there. You’re the best thing this show’s got. If it had more like you, it wouldn’t be closing. I’m going to send you a script in the morning.”
Just as Big Ben boomed eleven over Belgravia, Schultz stepped out of a taxi. Reaching for his key to mount his steps, a loud rapping of a knocker made his recently calmed heart start beating ultra fast again. A monstrous shadow was blocking Schultz’s whole doorway. A figure turning and looming above him. Big jowls quaking in the light of the street lamp on the face of Pricilla’s mother.
“Don’t you just think you can turn your back on us. Just walk out of the hospital like that. Don’t you just think you can take that kind of attitude with me or my daughter. Just who do you think you are. You’re nobody.”
“Hey look Mrs. Prune, it’s after eleven o’clock, you’re going to wake the neighbors.”
“I’ll wake the neighbors alright, don’t you worry. They’ll hear how you put my daughter into hospital.”
“I didn’t put your daughter in hospital.”
“Do you want to hear from my solicitor. You’re going to hear from my solicitor. You left her laying on the floor. Half naked. And walked out of your house. My daughter saw you. That’s what you did. To have your breakfast while my daughter was unconscious. And everybody in this street is going to hear what you did.”
“Holy christ lady. Come on. What do you want money. I’ll give you money.”
“You’ll give me money. Do you hear what he says. He says he’ll give me money.”
Schultz ducking and falling backwards as Pricilla’s mother’s furled umbrella whistled over his head. Holding on to the rung of a railing and squatting on his haunches as more swipes rained down across his back.
“Jesus christ lady, what are you doing.”
“I’m teaching you a lesson not to turn your back on your betters that’s what I’m doing, you cardboard romeo.”
Schultz retreating down the steps, across the sidewalk and into the gutter. Followed by this avalanche of irate flesh disturbing the peace. And in spite of all the frontal assault something made him turn his back yet again and look up. To the third floor of the Ambassador’s residence. Just above the drawing room. Where the curtains were parted. And the Ambassador stood. His black diplomatic face grinning ear to ear. Just as a haymaker sailed home blotting out half the world seen by Schultz’s eyes.
Arriving next noonday at the offices of Sperm Productions Schultz found his Lordship and Binky just finishing their own recent cups of coffee brewed by the comely ever attentive Rebecca in the little office pantry. These two fellow directors animatedly making their usual midday noises to the effect that they were seriously engaged corporate executives actively running their fast burgeoning show business empire and were contemplating momentous deals to be sealed at the end of lunch that day.
“Ah Rebecca fetch in that contract with that awful man who owns that awfully over priced theatre. You know the one I mean.”
Binky liked to pretend that his gallant banter with the winsome Rebecca, was only to make her feel at home and part of their well oiled show business team. And before the novelty had worn off, it had often been the highlight of their business day, to hold prolonged conferences on office efficiency with secretaries.
“Ah yes, a good point that, a ceramic roller to wet stamps. Prevent the health risks of licking.”
Or in earlier days when bored with these consultations an ad would be placed in a suitably serious but somewhat arty periodical. And new secretarial candidates would arrive. With his Lordship sitting on the crimson love seat just removed fresh out of his personal palace, as Binky enthroned himself behind the broad expanse of the fine George the Third desk not so freshly lugged out of one of his Lordship’s castles.
“Now tell me, Miss ah, I didn’t quite catch the pronunciation of your name.”
“Pots.”
“Ah of course Pots, that’s P for peter, O for onanism, T for titty and S for slander.”
“Well, I suppose you could spell it that way but in that case it might be better to simply call me Rebecca.”
“Ah, but of course, how nice, Rebecca. Now Rebecca tell me this may seem to you perfectly irrelevant but did you play hockey at school.”
Some of the interviewed girls were then heard running out the corridor, one screaming, another crying and another using foul obscene unladylike language. Of course this was just a little trick his Lordship and Binky were fond of playing on Schultz.