A faint smile from Louella. Sweeping her gown closed. God she’s wonderful. Not even a day gone by. And I know she’s the one for a lifetime. My fucking wife. Demanding champagne to celebrate our first month of misery. I saw stars when the cork of the bottle exploded out, hit me in the eye and sent me reeling around the room knocking over a vase. You’d think she’d worry I was hurt. Instead she shouts, stop you’re ruining the house you fucking bastard. Jesus thank god recent events have given me a welcome partial amnesia to all the other horrors at her hands. At last. The way I feel now. Streaking across the stage. Like the ballet dancer I saw the night I fell asleep in the theatre with Lulu. Only when the world invents something faster than light, only then will I need a head start. My life suddenly going again. Somebody like Al is just in everything for the money. Contracts and deals I saw stacked up in every drawer of his desk. Jesus, I got to get this innocent girl out of this lousy commercial atmosphere. Up here with him. Young and vibrant. Imagine, the woman I love. Forced to suck his decrepit wrinkled old prick. Jesus I don’t think I can even face the past history of it. A second ago Al should have been here listening. To the radio discussion on hair, baldness, greyness and drying of the scalp. O god. I mustn’t knock him, the poor shit. I ought to hope his concert last night was a wonderful sell out. And as beautiful sounding as the sky is looking this moment out there. Christ over these last months the patches of bad luck were getting wider and wider. You nearly couldn’t leap across. Till the abyss I finally jumped last night. Fantastic. His Lordship only miscalculated by thirteen shillings. The man would be a genius at any bank. From now on I’m unstoppable.
“Hi honey, you look absolutely gorgeous.”
“Do I.”
“Jesus no words could do you justice. I swear.”
Louella standing naked at the open bathroom door. Steam steaming out behind her, misting over the windows. The casual London Sunday sounds. Drums beating. A parade somewhere. O god. Already I’ve got another fucking hard on. It comes up like a jack in the box. Her eyes. Not even moving. Like the most magnificent statue standing there. My hands dying to grab her. Her eyes and my eyes. Right while I keep on chewing. We’re bathing each other in the juice of each others souls. Jesus, even every noise is beautiful. That sounded like a crash down on the street. And she quivered and her nipples just shivered that fraction. This girl is going to give my life the finished touch. Not like what my mother wanted to give me. Those Jewish girls. Who whenever their mouths opened in a smile you could see the sneer. There she is mom. Just what you would advise against, even worse than my wife. My Louella. There standing framed stark naked in the bathroom door. Screwed each other in every direction. Tongues up each other’s asses. That’s how deep love can get. Holy shit. What’s wrong. Her jaw just dropped and she gasped ashen faced. Hey what’s the matter.
Schultz turning to look. Where Louella’s eyes were looking. In spellbound horror. At another figure. An unidentified flying object. Lifesize at the bedroom door. Except for the toupee, looking like fifty thousand Arabs. Converging on a single Jew taking a crap next to the wailing wall. A time now for every flea all over the face of the earth to fart. And try and make a sound in all this silence.
“You cunt, you schlemiel, you cunt.”
“I can explain Al, what happened.”
Schultz catching his breath. Al disappearing. Feet pounding down the hall. Christ, the crazy train I’m on is moving again. Good morning folks, welcome to Horrorsville, you have just left Happytown Junction three thousand miles behind.
Louella now with a towel, transfixed, dazed and watching. Schultz heaving over the breakfast tray. Dishes, bottles, jam, butter, maple syrup, honey and the jug of coffee crashing on the floor. Schultz hop skipping and jumping. For his clothes. And life. One foot in the honey, the other in the jam. And a heel crushing a lens of Al’s sunglasses. Who’s at the door again. His toupee off. Brandishing a breadknife.
“Stay where you are. Don’t either of you move.”
“Al don’t be crazy. I thought you were in New Orleans.”
“Yeah. You thought. And now think again. Because you don’t think, do you. That your own wife has you followed. You didn’t think of that smart guy, did you. That she would phone me. That I would get a plane so fast back here. To catch you. You never figured that wise guy, did you. That your balls are coming off.”
Louella holding her towel up. Wish the color wasn’t so blood red. O god if it was white it could be me imprinted on that, like the image of Jesus Christ on the shroud. And that poor kid is trembling and pleading.
“O please, Al, please. It’s all my fault.”
“Louella, you keep quiet. I still love you. No matter what happens. But him. I hate. I despise. I loathe. Up here. Wearing my sunglasses. With my wine, my woman. He had all this planned.”
“Never Al, I swear. Don’t be crazy Al. It just happened to us.”
“Well now this is going to happen to you.”
“Christ Al no. Please I’m begging. For your sake more than mine. Spending the last years of your life in prison. Or your last seconds on the end of a rope. Al I can explain everything.”
Al stepping forward a step. Schultz backing away. The foot in the jam now into the honey. And the other foot in the honey, now in the jam. Because holy shit, jelly don’t shake or feel like that. What thoughts come into your mind at the end of your life. They were irresponsible to abolish capital punishment.
“I came here with flowers, for you Al, I swear.”
“And for you, you lousy rat, your grave is going to get the flowers.”
Al taking another step forward. Schultz pushing back against the bed. Christ my fucking nerves are making me shake looking like I’m scared shitless. Jesus I am. With Al’s breadknife held out like his prick should be if only he ever could get a hard on. Poor Louella, clutching the towel over her face. Her sobs. And plaintive cries. The poor kid.
“O Al, Al please no, don’t. Please.”
“This is what happens behind my back. You trespassing rapist. In my own home. My dining room table in there, still with the wine glasses. My bed, defiled. My food, feeding him. My girl, used. By this sneaking cunt.”
“Al I’m telling you. Let’s talk it out. You could be hung. If the death penalty comes back. Put the knife down. I’m in love with Louella. We love each other.”
“You love that thing hanging between your legs. That’s all you love. And I’m going to cut it off.”
“For fucks sake Al.”
“Your own wife, your own wife has to go to Court to take possession of the matrimonial home. That’s right. She has a court order. The locks changed on the doors. With a policeman there to protect her life. And the twins she’s pregnant with. From the likes of you. Cowering there.”
“Twins. Holy mackerel. And I’m not cowering Al. You put down that knife and I’ll knock the fucking shit out of you.”
“You will huh, will you.”
“Come on, Al. Face truth. She loves me. Don’t you love me Louella. Tell him. To his face.”
Louella her head hung down. Like the wet strands of her hair. Legs quivering. Her hands trembling the towel. Al turning to her.
“Louella. Now I’m asking you. And I want you to tell me the truth. Choose between us. This sneaky cunt is not worth killing. So choose. Is it me or is it him.”
Louella, her whole body shaking. Her lips moving, as she tries to make a sound. Holy Jesus, this is all this fucker can do. Force her to choose at the point of a breadknife. The quality of the American people is declining like hell. Here is a prime example. The son of a bitch has said things for which he is going to be sorry for later. If I got that knife I’d shift it up through his fucking belly, rip his guts out, sprinkle them with rat poison, and stuff his mouth shut forever with entrails. O Jesus, amazing how even the most satisfying thoughts can find fertile ground in a desperate mind. I’d also tear that I’m king of the apes expression right off his face. Tell him Louella. Come on kid, tell him. That tonight he’s not taking you down to the East End like he usually does on Sundays to eat jellied eels and then stuff salt beef, bagels and pickles down his gullet. His Lordship asked me once if I had ever noticed how people who have not had much luck in life are always out of breath. I feel as if I haven’t had oxygen in two years. If I could scare Al backwards. Grab something to throw at him. Maybe words are better at this time. With the size of that foot long knife. His Lordship said I should be more English about my remonstrations. Don’t say I could kill you. The proper expression is Schultz, sir I assure you I shall shatter your stumps and make mugwump of what remains. Holy christ I knew it. Knew what. Know that guys stop whistling at a certain time in a woman’s age and she doesn’t know when till it’s happened. Also I know. That I don’t want to be around for my wife’s menopause. And maybe there’s nothing else I know. Except that something else could happen. Like it has. When yesterday in a Piccadilly churchyard. A few minutes resting. A bird shat on my shoulder. That was good luck. That I didn’t want to press too far. I got up and changed my seat. And another bird shat on my sleeve. And that was bad. But you’d think I wouldn’t be so dumb as not to take the warning. When the god damn bird crapped again right down on my chest over my heart. I should have gone back to the hotel last night. And happily without life threatening complications, jerked off. And been followed and watched, would you believe it, by a private eye.