The two figures stopping on the corner of Deanery and South Audley Street. Binky bowing his head. His eyes cast down on the evening pavement. Taxis throbbing by. Under a cooler and clearing sky.
“Holy shit, Binky, you’re not serious, you’re crying.”
“Yes I am Schultz.”
“Jesus not about that, are you, that’s nothing to cry about.”
“Schultz, I’m afraid it is. Something to cry about. I was extremely hurt. I would never let England go down the drain. And I shall now use one of your silk handkerchiefs. So kindly given.”
To wipe
Away
The tears
I shall
Cry when
It does
29
Schultz, hands plunged in pockets, strolling up Park Lane. Whores whispering hello dearie. On this cool Saturday evening. Through the revolving doors. Collecting his key. Get a paper. All the sweat. And in the end. The one who gains anything out of it. Is the telephone company.
Schultz standing in his silent hotel sitting room. Touching the petals of a vase of flowers. Going to stare out the windows. Jesus this is one Saturday when I’m all alone by myself. Woke this morning putting my wrist watch on, and found it felt heavy on my arm. Rule eight. Don’t sink any deeper when each day something brand new and horrible happens. After such an anxious afternoon in a deserted office. But christ his Lordship, fighting like a trooper after everybody else had left. Even went to buy a batch of tickets himself. The son of a bitch has guts for an army. Sitting there in his shirt sleeves calculating the gross.
“Schultz by my calculations and estimations, should another twenty four seats be bought we should make it with eighteen or so pounds to spare.”
“Jesus your Lordship christ we can’t risk it. We got to buy more tickets.”
“Schultz enough suspicion has already been aroused which could mean all this money and heartache has been in vain. Gayboy and his acolytes are already on the alert for any misdeed.”
“Gayboy’s a stupid ass. Who can’t read the fucking clause of a contract.”
“My dear Schultz many a stupid ass has gone to a smart lawyer. We must just gently nudge the gross over.”
“O Jesus. I can’t stand it. We could be a quid, a mere quid under.”
Schultz now on this green hotel carpet. Pacing back and forth. Shaking clenched fists up and down. Biting his knuckles. Staring at the passing floor. Shit I need distraction. Need to refresh the force which used to be in me. This is like the hours before being taken to the electric chair. Walking my last mile in this room. I got to do something. Jesus it’s like there’s nobody left to reject me. If only I could get a rolling head start I could escape this spiritual agony. Farting is such foul sorrow. Maybe that’s what I did wrong. Last time I left her.
Schultz dialling on the telephone. This now familiar Knightsbridge number. And listening to Lulu’s abrupt cold words.
“No. I’m sorry, I’m busy.”
“Hey honey, what’s the matter, you’ve been busy, busy, night after god damn night.”
“That’s correct I have.”
“Well what’s the matter don’t you want to see me.”
“Perhaps one afternoon for tea as an acquaintance, yes. At the moment as a lover, no.”
“Hey what’s suddenly the matter.”
“I simply like a change of man. That’s all. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But you know you must easily be the most unglamorous person who has ever lived.”
“Honey that’s one characteristic I don’t mind having.”
“Well, at the moment I prefer a man who is all brawn and no brain. Who beats me. You have no idea how dull even the most interesting men get. Like a lump of pudding. Especially when they lie around luxuriating in one’s life. Besides, I think you’re looking for a mother. But you should go home and dominate your wife.”
“Well fuck you honey.”
Schultz slamming down the phone. Jesus what did I do now. That fucking bitch has problems they haven’t even invented yet. She’s viciously ambitious only I don’t know what the fuck for. Her principles last for an entire three hours. She’s a moral acrobat. She wants to be a faithful loving girl friend one minute, and a nutty nymph beat with whips the next. Dragging big brawny oafs off building sites by the hair. And bringing me a plate of oeufs en gelee in bed. Then kicking me in the teeth, by throwing the whole tray over me. Saying I’m so sorry I simply had to do that. Holy shit. She just thinks it funny ruining all the bed clothes. Well fuck her. Spoiled god damn aristocratic women. Nearly as bad as my own fucking wife. His Lordship says I should apply the statute of limitations on people’s misdeeds. Forgive them after a six year period. Jesus I’d make it sixty. And if ever after today I’m sailing again on easy street. No bitch I promise you is going to give me any lip. God, my balls are exploding. I could have really screwed her Venus de Milo body tonight. When all this time I’m feeling the only thing left to do is die and forget. When I go into bankruptcy. I want to go smothered in a big cloud of Rolls-Royce petrol fumes. Or escape to Jerusalem. Suffer my last agony in the garden of Gethsemane. Or on the frozen tundra with icy winds of loneliness wailing around you. Holy shit. Al. Maybe I at least should go see the guy. There’s nothing anyway better to do. Take the flowers there out of the vase. Buy some chocolates. Christ Binky has me still shook up. I never know when that fucker is serious or playacting. A minute and five yards later further on down the street, he was saying.
“Schultz you do not understand England do you, in spite of our having lost our Empire we do still hold our heads up with a measure of dignity if not pride.”
Schultz with a towel drying off the stems of the flowers. Wrapping them up in the morning’s newspaper. Now comb my hair. Before I start crying myself right now in this lonely room. Rule nine. I don’t know what the fuck it should be. I’ll think about it. Maybe it should be don’t ring people up. If I call Al now, he’ll slam the phone down.
Schultz through the evening gowned stirrings. Popping on foot out the door of the Dorchester. Lugging a box of chocolates and bouquet of flowers. Strolling an hour aimlessly through the streets. Past two whores tearing each other’s hair out. One kicking the other in tits when she was down. And a pimp rushing up to save his merchandise. Everybody’s got problems. But fucking suddenly I got no one. I could go back to the theatre and give these to the Debutant. Only I just couldn’t stand the box office tension of tonight.
Schultz in an unfamiliar street by a post office. Flagging a taxi and throbbing back across the town. Alighting near this tall block of flats. Count two three floors down from the top. On the twenty second floor. Lights on. Al’s in. That high living fucker. Up there in tax dodgers towers.
Schultz heading down an incline to the garage. Spying the concierge up in through the window behind a large counter. Got to get in without being announced. Through this car park basement door. Give Al a big surprise. Before he has a chance to say drop dead. Jesus, we both come from a consumer society. Encapsulated on wheels. Daily fanned by propaganda. To buy buy. To keep the whole heap glowing. And the tyres rolling and rolling. And that’s what I got to keep doing.
Schultz ascending to the ground entrance floor. Elevator door opening. The grey carpets, beige walls in the lobby of this palm festooned building. Swarthy guy and a dazzling girl get in. The lift gliding upwards in the sky. Christ that son of a bitch has just farted. And holy shit Al could punch me in the god damn face right at the door. Duck as I reach out to shake his hand. And shout to remind him how he always wants people to love each other. Can never understand how such a nice guy can be such a stupid ass. What a place to be coming. On this most crucial fatal evening.