‘Hey what are you kidding. Get out of here. You’re trespassing breaking and entering. How did you get in.’
‘To half our legal house we’ve got keys.’
‘The pair of you bitches have already done enough damage to me as god damn thieves, vandals and arsonists. Your daughter has already served me with a writ. So our miserable relationship is sub judice terminated.’
‘Terminated, my foot. We’ve got claims. Who do you think you are, someone. Riding around in a big car. We’re British subjects. You’re nothing but a blow in American. And this is our Queen not yours.’
‘Excuse me sir I shall go and prepare a late lunch.’
Jorricks gently making his sideward way past the mountainous presence and dirty looks of the behemoth and towards the kitchen staircase and looking back over his shoulder at this massive female clothed in the biggest mink coat of all time in which four normal women could fit at once. That’s where my money has gone. Holy shit when I need him most Jorricks leaves me now. Jeez late lunch. Which if I don’t get rid of this bitch I won’t be able to have late dinner or even a late late breakfast. Left with a person known not only to be violent but one sworn to castrate me. And when with my bandaged up balls I can’t protect myself, all she’s got to do as she even tried once before is give one tug on my testicles and I’m going to faint in agony. But jesus as I do I’m going to pull that new wig off her head and over that face that I can’t believe was good looking once. Holy jeez and also I can’t believe she has the nerve now to demand to be presented to the Queen, no less. Jesus that’s all people like her and the black cloud want out of life is to be in glad rags to go glitter somewhere in front of flash bulbs and cameras rubbing elbows with nonchalant celebrities like me and the Queen to whom all it is, is hard fucking and sweating work letting the public see us in person.
‘You get the hell out of here.’
‘This house belongs as much to my daughter as it does to you and don’t you think you’re going to get away with going on living here in fifteen rooms, putting on your fancy airs as if you were important. My daughter is going to be presented to the Queen otherwise our lawyers are informing the Lord Chamberlain that you are a tax dodging practising peeping tom adulterer. Her Majesty shouldn’t be allowed to meet people like you.’
‘I don’t believe this.’
‘You better believe it because it’s the last day you’ve got before we go straight to St James’s Palace.’
‘The pair of you, would do this kind of criminal slandering blackmail wouldn’t you.’
‘You bet we would. Because it’s the truth about an upstart like you. Who belongs back in the place Woonsocket you come from and back in the bargain pornographic lingerie trade your parents engage in. We’re respectable people. We have standards. My daughter wasn’t brought up to marry someone as lower class crass as you.’
‘The procuring pair of you are fully maintained living in luxury stealing and spending my fucking money nearly twenty thousand pounds of which was just stolen out of this house.’
‘Prove it.’
‘I’ll prove it.’
‘Go ahead and prove it Romeo.’
‘You bet I’ll prove it you big fat bitch.’
‘Don’t you call me a big fat bitch. Don’t you use that language to me. You dirty Jew boy.’
‘Hey you stay where you are. Don’t come near me you big fat anti Semitic monster.’
‘I’ll come near you. You damn adulterer.’
‘I’ve just got out of the hospital. Don’t you put your hands on me.’ ‘I’ll put you back in the hospital where your balls should be kept in ajar, you Romeo you.’
‘Holy shit. Jorricks. Jorricks. Come quick. For Christ’s sakes get up here. I’m being attacked.’
‘I’ll show you. In your pervert’s raincoat. Frightened of me now are you Romeo.’
‘Jorricks. Jorricks.’
‘Need your fag butler do you.’
‘Fucking slandering bitch I need only to get rid of you and that other big black cloud out of my life that’s what I need. Holy jeez don’t touch me. I’m an injured person. Jesus stop. Stop.’
Schultz backing up, his left fist feinting out in the face of the behemoth and a right hand cupped over the bulge of his privates as this oncoming freight train throws him back against the hall table. The lamp capsizing to the floor and the behemoth’s foot crushing the shade and bulb. Holy jeez, how many more times does the fine art have to be risked and that fucking light and a brand new shade have to be broken in the battles that have taken place in this battle scarred hall. This is just like she attacked me once before like some kind of two ton walrus with her tits heaving like ocean waves in a hurricane.
‘You bitch you’re attacking a defenceless hospital patient who is already damaged, and is convalescing.’
‘Don’t worry, Romeo when I’m finished with you you’ll be pushing up daisies.’
Jorricks at the swing hall door, a rolling pin to hand as he rushes forward to grab at the behemoth’s shoulders to pull her back. The behemoth swinging round her arm, the weight of it landing across Jorricks’s face, laying him out backwards on his arse on the floor. Holy shit what a haymaker, he didn’t keep his guard up. And jesus she’s even gained weight since she last assaulted me and is now like a fucking army tank and battleship combined. Jorricks get up, get up. Shit he’s gone down again, up ended stepping on the rolling pin. Jesus as good as he is at butlering, he’s a dead fucking loss in a fight. O my god this is the slaughter of the innocents. Help. Deliver me from this new Arab Israeli war. I am getting another object lesson. Only I don’t know what the fuck I’m learning. Except to get as far away as possible forever from these two scheming witches. Last time of her attack I at least had my naked blatant erection to distract her. When then she tried with a brass lamp to smash my prick together with my balls into a non kosher coleslaw of cold cuts.
Jorricks get up, get up. Welt her one behind the ear with the rolling pin.’
Schultz shoved by the shoulders crashing backwards to the floor, his head banging against the umbrella stand. Mrs Prune advancing on the supine raincoated figure, her hands outstretched like giant pincers of a lobster. Her great heaving belly pressing into her knees as she struggles to bend over to descend her claws down on Schultz’s throat. Slippers dislodging from his feet. Sound of tearing. Holy cow my new trousers are not only already losing their crease but have just ripped up the seam.
‘Stop. Stop.’
‘Call me a fat bitch will you, Romeo.’
‘I’ll call you an even fatter bitch, you witch.’
‘I’ll fix you Jew boy.’
‘You bloody big bitch bigot, my ancestors made philosophy for the world to follow before yours could even drink water out of a cup.’
The three pigeons escaping from their wrapping. The behemoth stopping in her tracks waving her arms around her head, as the pigeons in a panic flapped and beat their wings about her. At last something has put terror in her face. I’d rip her wig off if only I could stand the shock of seeing that bald head again which gave me nightmares for weeks after I first saw it. Holy jeez the pigeons are diving at the behemoth’s wig attacking her all over the face. Go guys. Go. Show her what Jewish pigeons can do trained on the best champagne money can buy. Jesus thank you Rabbi Low. I’ve got three friends at last.
‘Attack. Attack. Attack.’
‘Get these birds off me. Get them off.’
‘Attack. Attack.’
The mink befurred behemoth screaming, punching her arms in all directions and making for the door, pulling it open and jumping out on the stoop. A concussion shaking the house and rattling the windows as the door slams. The pigeons flying up the stairs to the landing, one perched on the skull top of the bust of Justinian. Jorricks slowly sitting up, and getting to his knees. Brushing himself off, blood seeping from his nose and taking a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe his face. The embattled Schultz swivelling round on his arse and pulling himself
up pressing his hands for support against the table. Jorricks bolting the door.
‘Sir are you all right.’
‘Yeah Jorricks, are you all right.’
‘Yes I am sir. But has something happened to your forehead.’
‘Jesus feels like I got blood there. O my god, it’s a load of pigeon shit.’
‘Very good luck, sir.’
‘Boy I needed it. And thanks Jorricks for the assistance.’
‘I’m sorry sir that unlike the pigeons I couldn’t have been of greater help. I’m afraid I occasionally do suffer a slight fibrillation of the heart muscles which can bring on a dizzy spell.’
‘Well let me tell you that bitch should be prime time wrestling to be seen on television.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, sir. But the door is securely bolted top and bottom and luncheon will be ready in fifteen minutes. Shall I serve it in the dining room.’
‘No just give me a tray in the drawing room. That way I can keep an eye on the street.’
‘I’ll light the lire sir.’
Schultz hobbling into the drawing room to peek out the window. The behemoth on the pavement shaking her fist at the house. Jeez that a beautiful girl could be born out of such a monster must be a miracle of nature. But it’s no miracle her daughter turned into such a bitch just like her mother. Holy jeez she’s kicking the fenders and doors of the car. And the Ambassador, with his big white teeth is grinning in his big black mouth thinking it’s so fucking funny. No wonder his bloody country is always throwing a coup and catching him and his dictator off guard when all he’s ever doing is watching this house with his binoculars. Jesus there’s another saga I might have learned a lesson from. Why didn’t Priscilla go marry that big African black gorilla King Buggybooiamcheesetoo who was chasing her ass all over London and then she could have got herself presented all over the jungles as a queen. O christ at last, a taxi is coming to the rescue if that bitch can ever fit in the door. Holy jeez the Ambassador is waving at me. Maybe he’s glad to see I’m still alive. Of course some kind of attempted coup is going on in here nearly every fucking five minutes. Maybe that’s how he learned to survive so many coups of his own.
Schultz wrapped in a blanket finishing his lemon sole and chablis and with a coffee and an Armagnac reading the morning’s papers in front of the blazing drawing room fire. Holy jeez here it all is. Binky’s mother’s obituary. Measured with the metacarpel of my thumb, two whole column inches.
Lady Doris Ottoline Fitz-herbert Crawford Sunning-dale of Radiator Castle, near Perth, Scotland, who has died at the age of 49, was the daughter of the sixteenth Marquess of Radiator. Educated at Heatherdown and Roedean, she served as a nurse in the Second World War and married the industrial magnate R. D. F. Sunningdale who, before his death, presided over a worldwide business in textiles, oil and meat processing. Regarded as a great society beauty, Lady Ottoline, as she preferred to be known, successfully ran several large estates inherited from her father and was an accomplished shot and horse woman who hunted with the Pithquick. She is survived by a daughter, Catherine, and a son, Binky Sunningdale, the well-known theatrical producer.
She had a title no less, while Binky the shrewd cunt goes around pretending he’s a commoner, no doubt because show biz has such a long reputation of fleecing the aristocracy. Holy cow what the fuck was she doing walking out her door after dinner to plummet to her death. With everything, except a wonderful, honest trustworthy son, to live for. When I saw her at his Lordship’s wedding she was even eminently fuckable. Christ with a beautiful mother you must think sometimes of fucking her. Even though I wouldn’t go near mine with a barge pole. I don’t even know where I got my good looks from. My father, lines harrowed deep by business worries into his face, sure didn’t resemble any movie star. Holy jeez maybe this isn’t really the ripe time to get Binky the son of a bitch. But I could vet every damn contract and deal he’s got in that office. Christ if my own mother died I’d expect everybody who could to rat on me. And here I am standing on sentiment. When in this business with so much happening on every single battle front, treachery is the inevitable norm. Binky’s out to crush me. While money is pouring out of the fucker’s trust funds a mile long, if that’s how they measure the fucking things. And he’s no doubt now inheriting a million acres and five castles like his Lordship does from some aunt every few months. But this afternoon and tonight I really got to in these few hours to convalesce. And by the law of averages and by the pigeon shit dropped on me, something wonderful has got to happen. I’m counting on it. Jesus maybe I should do what I shouldn’t do. Fuck it. Don’t. Stop. Why can’t I keep my fingers out of dialling certain god damn numbers on the phone.
‘Hello.’
‘Louella it’s Sigmund.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you I know who it is. There’s nobody else with a voice like yours.’
‘Hey jeez honey that don’t sound like any compliment.’
‘It’s not supposed to be a compliment it’s a simple matter of fact. Why didn’t you call me back from the hospital.’
‘They had to suddenly redress my wounds honey. I was leaking blood.’
‘O god. Are you all right.’
‘O yeah, fine, fine.’
‘I've just been trying to urgently ring you. The hospital said you’d checked out. And the exchange told me your number in Arabesque Street is changed and ex directory.’
‘Yeah. I had to change it for security reasons. And it was getting a little claustrophobic over there at the hospital. Did the funeral happen. Is it over.’
‘Al is not dead yet.’
‘O jeez sorry. I thought you said last time you were telling me that his life was ebbing away after his operation.’
‘I did not say his life was ebbing away. I said complications had set in.’
‘O sorry. O shit I mean sorry there were complications. Hey jesus. Look. Just while you're waiting through the new crisiswhy don't you come over and see me. Before more complications set into my life. I'm home. Having a nice Armagnac by the fire.’
‘Your wife this morning was on the telephone to me. Saying among her other unpleasant accusations that she was on her way to jump in the river.’
‘At high tide.’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact. How did you know.’
‘Well she always waits for high tide on the Thames to jump off. To make sure it’s deep enough. She looks it up in the papers. Here wait I’ll tell you the exact time she would have phoned you. Got it right here. Eleven seventeen. Isn’t that right.’
‘Yes.’
‘The tide’s at eleven forty two. And she would have calculated the taxi took twenty five minutes to get from Kensington to a bridge. She used to be a high diving champ. Also held some record for the one hundred yard backstroke.’
‘I see.’
‘Well come on over honey. Let’s have a little fucking fun in life. I got a big fire roaring here. The place is all looking beautiful. Not a trace left of it being wrecked in the fire.’
‘Your wife sounded so serious as if she meant what she said. Don’t you have any sympathy for her.’
‘No I don’t. We are totally fucking well fatally estranged. Hey look, a dozen times she’s done this, either a fainting fit on a floor or sitting on a window sill. Ask Al. I used to have to telephone him what to do. Even to holding a mirror in front of her mouth to see if she was breathing. Her own mother was just here a while ago trying to murder me. The family is just like that. They got some idea I’m some kind of ore deposit they dip into to pull out handfuls of gold nuggets. They’re a bunch of hysterics. By whom I’m being systematically tortured into my grave.’
‘Don’t be such a big cry baby.’
‘Cry baby. Hey honey. Only a little while ago I was knocked down in my front hall. Not only do I need companionship but I need protection.’
‘OK can you give me a couple of hours.’
‘O jesus honey, that means at least two hours, are you rea
lly coming.’
‘I’ll be there in three hours. I have to wait to phone the hospital in Los Angeles.’
‘Jesus honey, don’t get my hopes up and then not show up. My 'piritual resilience isn’t up to abject disappointment. I’m a little bit hors de combat here.’
‘How bad was your accident.’
‘Honey, just let me tell you all about it when you arrive. OK Jesus. This is the best news I’ve had. No shit. Or rather no pigeon shit, which was recently shat on me. And which I know from now on is going to bring me good luck. I’ll give you a glass of the best champagne you ever had. And you can even meet my new faithful companions.’
Schultz falling asleep, a hand still round his glass of Armagnac. Jorricks covering him in a blanket. Darkness settling on Arabesque Street. Late afternoon traffic purring by. Tiny hail stones tapping the window panes as a wintry squall blows over London. Five thirty bells booming of Big Ben. Jeez. I fell asleep. Where am I. Woonsocket.
What time is it. Christ it’s late. And I was dreaming it was three o’clock after school back in Woonsocket. When I ran all the way home to be down my mother and father’s basement lingerie store. My suicidal job coming home every day was to be stationed at the brassiere counter to politely as I could, ask the customers please don’t handle the merchandise with dirty hands. No memory do I hate more. And holy shit let me tell you the dirty looks you get for doing that. And even worse when one afternoon a big black woman nearly the size of the behemoth punches me square right in the nose nearly busting it and right while I was minding the cash register alone in the store. I had to run up the stairs to escape and try to find a cop. And the black bitch went out of the place stealing not only a couple of dozen brassieres that didn’t fit her but every brand of stockings, bloomers every colour, panties every shape, scanties every size, even boudoir caps we were featuring in a sale. Jesus the awful things big grown up people do to little children half their size. The ordeal left me shaking all over and I pissed in my short pants. Everyone could see the piss down my leg. That day Uncle Werb came to visit, found me crying. He made me a present of a tiny diamond I still got to this day carried in my wallet. Jesus what a kind man he was. In contrast to the miserable violent types we had more than a few times coming into the store. He said, Sigmund never cry standing by the cash register in case people think business is bad. Always even though you’re crying keep smiling as if business was good. Even though it’s bad.