“Have a little drink for yourself Mr. Schultz on the way home. And do take care of that black eye.”
Evening rush hour traffic was throbbing as Schultz stopped his taxi on the way back to Belgravia. And bought a flask of whiskey. To uncork it and for the first time in his life to take a neat nip from the bare bottle of this spirit burning down his throat. To rush across the carpet the moment he got back into his hallway. Where the phone was ringing.
“Is this you.”
“Yeah who’s this.”
“This is Al. You really lousy son of a bitch.”
“What did I do now Al.”
“What did you do now. I’ll tell you what you did now. You put her in hospital. With the beautiful kid having a nervous breakdown. And her mother hysterical crying on the telephone to me just a minute ago. That’s what you did now.”
“Hey Al, can I just gently tell you one thing.”
“What gently are you going to tell me. That you broke your prick trying to fuck her, is that what.”
“No that’s not what. I’m going to tell you if you’d listen that she’s kidding for Christ’s sake.”
“Kidding. When she had to have X rays and serious tests. You call that kidding.”
“Yeah, I’m calling it kidding. Her two ton mother was there eating caviar while her daughter was having her hair done by some Bond Street transvestite and the place was filled with flowers.”
“Did you send her flowers.”
“No Al, I did not send her flowers.”
“Well I sent the girl flowers.”
“O.K. Al, so you sent her flowers. I know that was a wonderful gesture, but why didn’t you send her also a bible, a rosary, a yarmulke.”
“Hey don’t you get smart with me wise guy.”
“Look Al.”
“You look. I don’t give a damn about you running some kind of whorehouse you got there. Girls knocking on the door around the clock. But you’re not going to do this to that girl.”
“Do what and nobody’s knocking on my door. I’m a producer for fucks sake. I got to see girls all the time. And hey Jesus Al, just by the way you know, you got fucking girls girls girls coming and going day and night.”
“Yeah but there’s a difference. I’m mature about it.”
“Holy shit Al, I’m not going to get anywhere talking to you. Especially when what happened was that that poor girl’s two ton mother was waking the dead and gave me a black god damn eye.”
“Ha ha ha hey that’s good.”
“You think that’s funny Al.”
“Yeah I do. It’s exactly like you deserve. Now you go back to that hospital and apologise. Or else I’ll see to it that your name is such mud in this town that it wouldn’t be worth scraping off a shoe.”
“What is this, blackmail Al.”
“You get to that fucking hospital like I’m telling you that’s all.”
“I just come this second in from the doctor’s.”
“So what’s wrong with you. And what’s that noise.”
“They don’t know yet. And I’m drinking whiskey, that’s the noise. It’s going to take tests to find out what’s wrong. Now hey come on Al, this is all unreasonable.”
“What for you to throw this girl out. The most beautiful creature ever to cross my threshold, that I sent over to you.”
“Al you’re deluded, I’m hanging up. I’ve had enough of people for one day.”
“Well before you hang up you son of a bitch, and let me tell you, you don’t deserve what I’m going to tell you.”
“Tell me fucking what.”
“That’s there’s an Irishman who’s hit town.”
“So what am I supposed to do.”
“See him, that’s what. He’s built like a lion, moves like a cat, dances like Nijinsky, sings like Caruso and could act every leading man off the London stage blindfolded in a jock strap while crooning Rule Britannia.”
“Al he should be in a circus.”
“Look you fucking know it all. Four Hollywood producers right at this moment are gasping trying to sign him.”
“Jesus Al, is this no shit.”
“It’s no shit.”
“No kidding, we’ll forget the blindfold and jock strap, where can I see him.”
“At night he sleeps in Brompton Cemetery.”
“Come on Al, I’ve had enough bullshit for one day. I’m hanging up and going to bed.”
“I’m telling you that’s where he sleeps.”
“O.K., O.K. that’s where he sleeps. So you can get him to my office.”
“He won’t go to offices.”
“So how am I going to see him.”
“Go to the cemetery.”
“Holy fucking christ Al, I’ve been through hell today. And you’re sending me to the cemetery tonight.”
“Do you want to have the chance to star a discovery that could give you the biggest hit this town has ever seen in years.”
“Sure I do. But you’ve been wrong before Al.”
“I’m not wrong tonight. Go I’m telling you.”
“O.K. Jesus Al I must be out of my mind. I’ll go. First thing in the morning.”
“Go right now.”
“Now, Al.”
“Yeah, now.”
“How do I know where to find him. It’s dark any minute and the cemetery will be closed.”
“Go just past the hospital and when you get about twenty yards along the cemetery fence, just shout in that Al sent you.”
“Thanks Al. This is sure a great way to cast my show. And I’m really going to appreciate it after the day I’ve already had, to end up yelling my head off into a cemetery. Let me tell you sincerely I don’t need more jokes. But believe it or not I’m going.”
Schultz hailing the taxi across the street just disembarking two attractive ladies in front of the Ambassador’s house. The driver turning around to look at him as he gave his destination.
“Hey Gov. You mean Brompton Cemetery.”
“Yeah that’s just what I said.”
“That’s what I thought you said sir. Which entrance. It’s got two. Old Brompton Road. And Fulham Road.”
“Is there a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Near that entrance.”
“Sir you do know the cemetery is closed at this time.”
“That’s O.K.”
Schultz alighting by the fence. And looking back at the hospital. Its eminently legible sign up on its wall. Princess Beatrice. Schultz handing the taxi man a crisp ten shilling note.
“Thank you Gov and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Steam escaping from a pipe high up on the hospital wall. And Schultz counting the rungs along the fence. The grey and white shadows of tombs far into the darkness. Trees branching up into the night. A gentle rain falling. Holy Jesus what am I doing persecuting myself like this. On this fucking godforsaken night I could get my head stuck between the bars of the fence looking for somebody I never heard even existed before.
Schultz looking up and down the road. A man across the street walking his dog. On the corner across from the hospital, the welcome life giving lights of a pub. A laden red double decker bus swaying and roaring by. Marked seventy four. And one coming in the opposite direction with ZOO as its final destination. A limping man approaching. Who now veered out near the curb as he passed, flicking suspicious glances at the loitering Schultz. Holy christ that fucker thinks maybe I’m a grave robber or something.
Schultz waiting till the way was clear. Nervously whistling the tune, Marching Through Georgia. The limping man taking one more look back and disappearing around the corner of the hospital. Schultz now cupping his hands up to his mouth. And whispering through the rungs of the fence.
“Al sent me.”
Schultz again looking over his shoulder. The limping gent back in sight and again stopped, staring back. Schultz in his best ivy league nonchalant amble walking onwards along the fence. To stop and turn around to still see the limping man standing looking back. Holy fucking christ. Somebody already thinks I’m nuts. If this is some kind of joke. I don’t give a shit how fucking weak Al’s heart is, in two minutes I’m going to go over there to his place and bust him one right in his middle aged guts.