Louella putting her hand over the speaker, turning to Schultz, a smile on her face.
“Sigmund, they say you’ve made it.”
Schultz’s ears twitching and straightening. Eyes opening, lids crashing up into the eyebrows. Blood pouring back into the arms. Schultz catapulting himself up off the couch. His feet taking a flying leap across the floor. Grabbing the phone from Louella.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Schultz.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve made it.”
“Holy cow. Holy cow. Holy fucking cow. Sorry about the language. Thanks a lot.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Schultz we were nearly finished and I thought the figure would surely be under. But we’ve just this moment finished double checking. And you have made it. And the advance is excellent.”
“Thanks. Jesus thanks. From the bottom of my heart.”
Schultz hanging up the phone. Holding his arms out wide. Louella hesitating. And then stepping forth in a smile. Putting her head on his shoulder. Schultz hugging her.
“Honey, no shit. I swear. I’ve just crawled up on the beach. And you’re standing here. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m ever going to do without you. Not being with me for the rest of my fucking life. So help me god. I love you.”
And it’s
Goodbye
To diamonds
And lingerie
And hello
To enjoying
Life
To the fucking
Full
30
“My fucking god. So this is serenity.”
Schultz lying propped up by the linen swansdown pillows. In the potentate sized bed. A breakfast tray across his belly. Staring out into the passing clouds and heavens. Soft guitar music. The sound of water pouring in the tub in the mirrored walled bathroom beyond the door. The distant steady roaring hum of the city below. Blue and white Meissen plate of sausages, pancakes and maple syrup. Jams and honey. Butter, hot rolls and croissants. A jug of coffee. All the morning’s newspapers. And Louella. There standing looking down. In her dressing gown. After thirteen hours of sleeping. With bouts of solid insane fucking in between.
“Are you alight, can I get you anything else Sigmund.”
“Alright, are you kidding. I’m wonderful. Fucking wonderful. I’m just borrowing these sunglasses of Al’s.”
“I’m just running my bath.”
“Hey just open that dressing gown. O christ close it. My tray is going upwards on a hydraulic lift.”
Louella stepping in the bathroom. Steam coming out the white door just ajar. A shelf full of model replicas of Al’s cars. Beyond sliding doors, Al’s three hundred suits and hundred and fifty pairs of shoes. If only they weren’t all in such bad taste I could get outfitted while Al’s away. Jesus this is really waking up to living. To a whole new ball game. After striking out for eight innings. And in the ninth. Whamo bammo. I belt a fucking home run over the bleachers with bases loaded. Or said like his Lordship might say. Ah, an agreeable sup, sucking snipe brains out of their skulls, after a long fatiguing journey, don’t you think. The British are always saying don’t you think. But I love the sound of his Lordship’s voice when I asked for a beer at his club. Schultz I deeply regret to say that it is insufferably improper to look for beer at one’s better clubs. Christ now I can walk up Fifth Avenue in ecstasy. Looking for beer anywhere. And no longer looking for ass everywhere. Last night nearly died with only seconds to spare before I got the good news. One thing I don’t remember how to do anymore, is to die gracefully. Lulu staring at me when we were last in bed. After a fuck. Telling me I was smug and patronizing and looked like a corpse. Well fuck you honey. Because, here I am. Anything but. Sigmund Franz Isadore Schultz. No longer not all alone and ignored, having thoroughly lost the race for prestige and success. There he is folks limping but alive crossing over the finish line. A fucking god damn winner. The only thing that can ever ruin me now is my next six flops. But always in bliss, something happens. You get cheated, short changed and reminded again of the world. Once love is over it conveniently turns to hate. Holy shit. Al maybe he won’t take it like a man. At his age he’s desperate enough to come looking for me with a gun. With everything around here in his personal life showing symptoms of him being super stupid rich. Christ I’d do it. I’d murder Al with my bare hands. She’s the first woman I’ve ever met worth killing for. In a day or two. I’m going to be in Prague. Give her time to unload Al. I knew the moment I clapped eyes on her on opening night. This girl and I. Meant for each other. There she was. Just standing there in all that blaring vulgar fuss, totally serene. Christ, when it happens. When it hits you. You fall in love like a ton of bricks. And don’t know or care how. Everything about her. All her little physical faults are the most precious beautiful things. That you want to kiss and pour your love all over them. Church bells ringing. Today Sunday. Where I would be meandering down into the lobby of the Dorchester. Sitting all alone. Like I did last week. Staring at the fan of grey and white marble in the floor. Rugs green and orange. The gleam of limousines glinting in the glass of the revolving doors. The pampered women passing who want to be told how perfect they are. And always looking at the displays of gems. Like if I was the jewel, I’d feel in there, like a mouse with a cobra the other side of the glass, ready to strike. And then these rich dolls walk out. To wait for the green, gold braided doormen patrolling over their terrain, to open their big limousine doors. To take them in their own kind of self worship contentment to beauty appointments all over town. Tomorrow I’m going to go get a hair cut. Whatever this marvellous girl suggests. After Al, my black curly head must feel to her like an entire Canadian forest. God the whole body spills itself into somebody that you love. Why. Why did it have to be Al, I’m doing this to. Jesus the way these sausages and pancakes taste. Jars of honey I never even heard the name of before. The fucker is nothing else but a geriatric pleasure seeker. I could call him my most very best friend I ever had. And when you find a friend who is good and true fuck him before he fucks you. That’s what us guys always said in the Coast Guard. Or maybe I read that in an unexpurgated etiquette book somewhere. Saturday leaving the office, his Lordship said, Schultz, you’ll be exquisitely careful won’t you. As if something terrible was going to happen to me. Instead of the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. Jesus christ, his Lordship might be someone sorry to see me die. He’s a guy who could run a whole god damn kingdom. If only socialism would let him. A fucking shame the qualities he’s got went out of style years ago. Yet he’s so practical. I’m sure the son of a bitch’s ancestor must have been the inventor of the pitched roof. Binky once said to me, when I asked about all this English fucking reserve. Ah my dear Schultz an Englishman does not step out of his private soul in case someone would behave to him in a shitty manner. What am I doing. I’m talking now in my unexpected happiness, like I love those pair of exasperating guys. Who used my balls for billiards and made me piss all over myself dropping down skeletons behind my back for laughs. Maybe I just don’t know when people love or hate me.
Louella passing across the room. In that marvellous flowing silk fabric. My father would try to give it a name like The Princess Breakfast Dress. Then add twelve dollars, ninety nine cents to the price. Poor kid looks a little bit sad. Guess you don’t kick somebody’s teeth out that you’re fond of without a little remorse.
“Jesus Louella. Stop. Just there. Open that beautiful kimono. O baby. Jesus. Soon as you do that. Only that these sausages and pancakes are so fucking necessary to get my strength back I’d eat you instead.”