“Jesus your Lordship I got real starring parts to cast your sisters in.”
“Schultz. I shall cast you. Out the window. If you’re not careful.”
The many times now that his Lordship sat or stood observing Schultz, a mild amusement overcame him. For Schultz, upon each occasion of meeting these two wondrous ladies, slapped himself repeatedly on the forehead exclaiming.
“Holy shit. Jesus if I only knew you had such sisters I could have married one of them.”
“And thank god for them Schultz that you didn’t.”
“But Jesus they’re so fucking beautiful and so fucking rich.”
“And you Schultz in your fucking ridiculous excitement are like a fucking roaring bullock. With your balls cut off.”
But it was upon an afternoon when Binky had the same morning departed in his grey topper, striped trousers and cutaway coat to take part in a spot of racing at Ascot, that his Lordship had really come to grips with Schultz. A pair of pigeons had nested together under a water tank out on a back rooftop terrace. And his Lordship who had been out late lunching with the board of directors of one of London’s larger banks always liked to return to see if any of the eggs had hatched. And he now appeared at four o’clock out of the lift and cheerfully greeted by the secretaries, came along the hall and took his turning left and was about to turn his usual immediate right when he heard Schultz in the chairman’s office talking in a highly British accent.
“That’s correct, this is Lord Nectarine. Speaking. Yes, Lord Nectarine of Walham Green.”
His Lordship with his movements now speeded up more than somewhat, bounding into the room. With Schultz standing behind the chair’s desk on the telephone. In three large strides his Lordship was across the carpet. And in a lightning grab with his knuckles turning white hot his Lordship had hold of the phone.
“How dare you Schultz. Give me that. What do you think you’re doing.”
Schultz, inadvisedly attempting further polite remarks into the black instrument, hung on. To suddenly find himself lifted bodily from the floor and before he knew it, with feet aloft, he had already completed one and a half orbits of the room.
“For fucks sake. Don’t kill me.”
“I’ll kill you Schultz.”
Schultz luckily on the next circuit, before flying through a window, crashed into the chaise longue. Separating the upright backrest from the lengthier reclining part of this colorful piece of furniture. And he was, with eyes focusing to see straight, now lying on the floor, still holding the phone trailing its broken wire. And crowned with a shattered picture of a female Hollywood star propped on his head.
“I’m only using your title for fucks sake.”
“You have no right to do so.”
“What is it, going to fucking well hurt you for christ’s sake. Look what you’ve done, broke the furniture and ripped out the telephone. And I got to fucking call New York.”
“My dear Schultz let me assure you, if ever you do that again, you’ll be calling the fucking undertakers.”
And be
Unable
In your
Rigor mortis
To pay
The bill
2
It was Schultz’s crass indifference to the obvious slight that so intrigued his Lordship. Not only how he seemed to arise sprightly from insult and injury but especially the nervy way Schultz would come up on the rehearsal stage to the elbow of a leading actor or actress and attempt to look over their shoulders as they read their personal fan mail.
“Schultz you really do at times behave in the most overly familiar manner.”
“Holy shit what are you talking about.”
“I’m talking about your sometimes discomforting proximity Schultz.”
“What do you mean proximity. What do you want me to do. Stand outside the door. I got to know what the fucking public thinks of the fucking show.”
“Ah Schultz you do so easily get hot under the collar.”
In his continued association with both his Lordship and Binky in the regrettably named Sperm Productions Schultz was, after much guff and rubbish, as his Lordship was fond of referring to company general meetings, finally made a company director. His Lordship and Binky owning equally between them nine hundred and ninety shares and Schultz the remaining ten.
“Holy shit, ten shares. You guys are squeezing me out already before I’ve even got in.”
“But of course, Schultz, with your three flops surely you don’t expect to be invited to be chairman of the board.”
“Jesus, you generous guys.”
Although his Lordship and Binky were pleased that Schultz had acquired a patina of British upper class habits to practise in the acceptable places, they did rather enjoy when Schultz got overexcited and lapsed back into his hysterical American mannerisms. Which inevitably happened when Schultz, ever eager to gather his show’s investment together, would confront his Lordship and Binky, their feet up and saucy magazines open as they late afternoon contentedly perused the latest in filthy illustrated literature.
“Don’t you think your Grace that the position this extremely black chap has taken up upon this extremely white lady affords him little opportunity to enjoy the position the other extremely white lady has taken up upon him.”
And one particularly peaceful afternoon during a stretch of no phone calls, Binky had on his desk his usual copy of a theatrical photographic reference book featuring actresses and children, a gold ruler weighting open a page displaying juvenile and younger juvenile women. And Binky, holding his head slightly tilted back turned to announce to his gathered fellow directors.
“Now in this Sarah. We have here a red head. Five foot six and a half inches. The way the light is thrown across the bosoms makes for a young lady I do believe our provincial audiences might quite fancy. A most remarkable cleavage. She’d do for replacing Suzie in It’s A Long Way To Piccadilly. Obviously the daughter of a parson. Just gave her agent a little call earlier. The good chap just this second rushed over more particulars by hand. Either straight or musical. And ah. Her abilities seem rather extensive. Recently played Putsie at the Palace Theatre, Western Super Mare. How nice. And my word. Schultz.”
“Yeah.”
“She played Margo in your ill fated and Sperm Productions’ ill advised provincial tour of The Best Bloody End’s Up.”
“Hey Jesus what are you reminding me for.”
“It’s her efficient agent Schultz, reminding us of her previous martyrdom under our joint banners.”
“Christ she couldn’t dance to save her arse. But Jesus what a fucking arse.”
“Ah Schultz. Then we absolutely must think up something new and naughty to audition her for. One always searches for perfection in the theatre. And therefore it demands that the likes of this young lady must be explored fully. Do you remember the creature, Basil.”
“Bottoms do make their impression on me Binky but I don’t recall this particular lady’s.”
“Pity. She’d do for this rather promising recent script here. I mean she does character, tragedy, comedy or farce. Even dialects. Yiddish, Cockney, Lancashire. Even American. What about that Schultz.”
“All these god damn girls put down a string of god damn things they can do as long as your arm whether they can do them or not.”
“O dear, Schultz. I suppose you’re right. That’s the thing I hate most about show business. You really do feel sometimes that these girls care only about furthering their careers. And will grossly misrepresent themselves to gullible producers and prostitute their talent in anything just to do so. While we who love the theatre with all our hearts are put upon to suffer such subterfuge.”