‘Attack. Attack. Pigeons. Get the behemoth. Attack.’
‘Good god sir, my throat sir, you’ve got my throat.’
‘Don’t jump. Go ahead jump you bitch, jump.’
‘Sir. Let go of me.’
‘Shit. Where am I.’
‘You’re in Edinburgh sir. For the last three hours. Please let go of me.’ The train attendant straightening his collar and tie and picking up his eyeglasses from the compartment floor. Schultz sitting up out of bed. A loudspeaker announcing a train for Glasgow. Doors banging. The sound of a train whistle, and the puffing of an engine leaving the station.
‘Jesus I’m sorry. I must have been in a dream. Or a nightmare I guess.’
‘I guess you were sir. Perhaps I can get a porter to help you off the train. All passengers must be off now sir.’
Schultz splashing cold water on his face and dressing. Holding up a jacket in the light. For the funeral, my suit belonging to Jorricks is going to look if not the wrong colour then absolutely the wrong fucking size in every direction. And especially too short in the sleeves and legs. Plus his tie he’s loaning me is going to be no bloody help to my social acceptance. That’s one thing the upper class English know is your fucking tailoring. They can spot the cloth and the hand stitching a mile away. And all the time they talk to you they are staring at your lapels. And if they’re the wrong lapels they hold it against you like a criminal offence. While they try to figure out what direction is fastest to get away from you. How the hell do I tell them my vindictive wife burned my suits and I borrowed one from my butler. Hey shit. That sounds good. That’s exactly what I’ll tell them. Jesus one thing is certain. This is better than being back in the bowels of New York. Groping around in the black abyss of my vocation. O momma meeo I pray don’t let the willies get me again.
A porter with Schultz’s bags and picnic hamper preceding him along the platform. Past passengers hurrying to catch the train for Glasgow. Schultz employing a wide footed walk to make room for his bandaged balls. The porter stopping to wait as Schultz pauses to look around the station in the chill morning mist. Where the fuck do I now go. Doors there which jesus at least look as if they go somewhere warm. Out of this fucking cold. Now I’ve missed his Lordship wherever he was. After last night with no one else to blame but the brandy and Armagnac, I feel as if an atom bomb has exploded in my brain. And I don’t even know where to find the funeral. Go Schultz. Put your body behind the punch. Go. Fuck I’m going. Towards the North Pole. Last night at a hundred miles an hour and this morning at two miles an hour.
Schultz exiting out from the barrier. Hobbling to a standstill in the middle of the station. Looking around again as people turn to look back. And one or two do a double take. A gentleman walking by suddenly stopping Schultz by the sleeve.
‘Excuse me sir, you are aren’t you Mr Schultz I saw on telly last night. Well I’d like to well and truly shake your hand. I have never heard a sentiment better put. It’s about time someone had the public courage to put these scandalmongers in their place.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me, Mr Schultz, thank you. But what brings you to Edinburgh.’
‘I’m on my way to a funeral.’
‘Well sir please let me say you certainly showed them who was being buried.’
A great throbbing diesel roar filling the station and blast of a whistle, as the Edinburgh train leaves for Glasgow. Holy shit imagine. I’m being appreciated. This is unbelievable. And I’m being complimented. Christ maybe instead of a heel, I’m a hero. But meanwhile I wonder where the fuck his Lordship is. If having his own private railway station at one of his castles is anything to go by, he may have his own private railway car I could have been in. Holy jeez I really am being recognized way up here miles away in Edinburgh. I just saw the station master look at me as if I were a ghost or what is more likely a split second TV star who said a four letter word on the national network. Why didn’t I put my fucking foot in my mouth and shut myself up. Maybe there’ll be a replay I can watch. Get a video tape to view in private. I’ve got to go full total tilt into the fucking long term possibilities of my future. Into which at the moment I don’t even want to peek. Since everybody now whether I like it or not, seems to want to know what the fuck’s going on in my life. So along with the prolonged sexual yearning and pain I also got the sweat and strain of conspicuousness. When at this time of my existence I should be starting to become an elder statesman of show biz. Jesus maybe it’s a principle of life that never can you ever let yourself be beguiled by the fucking tendency to relax.
Schultz, followed by the porter with his baggage entering the doors from the station into this high ceilinged elegant lobby and scratching his head and running his fingers through his black curly locks. Opening up Jorricks’s raincoat in the soothingly warm morning air of this palatial hotel. Tall pillars, painted panels along the corridors. Holy shit. I’ve really done it now. Seven thirty in the morning. Hungry. Stranded. Plus I feel my bowels are in a state of impenetrable constipation. And jesus I can’t even remember if his Lordship said there was breakfast on the train. And if there was I missed it having my nightmare. Here I am in the middle of nowhere. Nearly killing the train attendant. I sincerely think the next thing I do after I hire Daniel the bodyguard is to hire a psychiatrist. But before I do that and try to shit, at least I’d better eat.
Schultz entering this great high ceilinged dining room. Waiters to and fro amid the white tablecloths. Industrious sound of voices, delft and clattering cutlery. And there along the wall, a newspaper propped up in front of him. His Lordship. Jesus there he is eating with a massive plate of bacon and eggs.
‘Ah Schultz. At last. You’re here.’
‘Hey jesus I overslept. You could have woke me up. I was waiting on the platform looking for you.’
‘Good god Schultz. I was certainly not going to run the risk of confronting you in purdah again.’
‘Yeah well I should be in purdah after the nightmare I had last night.’
‘Well Schultz you may have another one in store. Have you seen this morning’s papers.’
‘No.’
‘You are I fear an item of national attention.’
‘Holy shit no. Not again.’
‘It would appear your four letter word uttered to the Press has rather put you on the map.’
‘Don’t say anymore. I can’t look. Don’t show me. Just let me see the menu.’
‘Well you always wanted publicity Schultz and now you’ve got it. Especially as I see headlined here that your wife is selling what appears to be her life story to a major newspaper. My god sit down Schultz, sit down.’
‘I don’t believe it. Let me see that fucking thing. Holy jesus christ. This is too fucking much. It’s unbelievable. That bitch is pillorying me in public. How could she do this, make me the subject of ridicule. I’ll sue this fucking rag for libel. Jesus where’s the phone I’m going to call my lawyers right now.’
‘For god’s sake Schultz sit down and order breakfast. You can’t sue until you are libelled. And your wife jumping off a bridge hasn’t libelled you. Just made you seem a bit of a shit, that’s all.’
‘I’m going to be libelled, I know it. I know the fucking kinds of things that bitch is going to say. And things she’s already said. I got to get an injunction.’
‘Sit down and get your bloody breakfast Schultz and shut up. And do please remember that we are on the way to a funeral.’
‘I can’t stand anymore. Jesus with all this fucking worry descending on me do you know I don’t even know what the gross was at the theatre last night. Or even for nearly three previous nights.’
‘Well last night Schultz it was two thousand two hundred and twenty seven pounds eighteen shillings and three pence, up a total of seventy three pounds over last week with the four seats sold behind the pillars, and thirteen more squeezed into standing room. And the advance stands at over one hundred and twenty seven thousand and building by the hour
I understand. That news seems to have relaxed you somewhat Schultz.’
‘Yeah it has. Jesus if the money keeps coming in like this maybe I can face anything. It’s amazing how in a few seconds a few blissful figures on the credit side soothe the spirit.’
‘Well then for god’s sake have breakfast Schultz. And accept the fact that your wife is a national heroine. And looks, even you must admit, quite commendably attractive in bathing costume. Or to use one of your favourite expressions, absolutely gorgeous. Indeed Schultz, with such legs I’m surprised you haven’t tried to cast her in something.’
Schultz taking off his coat and slumping back down in his chair. The smiling waiter laying out a napkin across Schultz’s knees and handing him a menu as he brushes a crumb from the edge of the tablecloth and tilts his wavy black haired head and ruddy complexioned face to the side.
‘And what can I get for you Mr Schultz. Start with a little freshly squeezed orange juice. The kippers are very good this morning. I can recommend them. Preceded with a little porridge perhaps. Very nice.’
‘Yeah. Swell. And some toast and strong coffee.’
The waiter clicking his heels bowing and departing with his order. Another waiter weaving his way quickly between the tables, taps an associate on the shoulder, who both turn to look at Schultz along with two breakfasting businessmen breaking into broad grins. Nectarine leaning forward across his plate of bacon and eggs holding open the newspaper for Schultz to see.
‘Did you just hear that Schultz. That waiter knows who you are.’
‘O god. Yeah. And by the looks of it, so does everybody else. Hey don’t show me that paper for Christ’s sake. I don’t want to read or see another fucking thing about it.’
‘Ah but Schultz such instant notoriety must have something to do with your wife’s promise to bare all.’
‘What. What do you mean bare all.’
‘This paper uses the expression topless.’
‘What. Let me see that. O holy shit. I got to get an injunction. She’s not going to get away with exposing herself to the fucking British public.’
‘Schultz these scandal sheets are known to pay top prices for such exposures and Schultz I fear that since your wife’s bosoms are her own property she’s entitled to lawfully exploit them as she wishes.’
‘Like hell she is. She’s assumed my fucking name. They’re Schultz’s wife’s tits.’
‘Ah you might indeed have a point or two there Schultz. No pun intended of course.’
‘You bet I got a point. I got a fucking decent public reputation to keep up. It’s taken me years fucking cliff hanging on the verge of disaster to get where I am and to meet real royalty. I’ve even been practising bowing my head to address Her Majesty as ma’am. Rehearsing to have all the right small talk ready as soon as she says she liked the show.’
‘Dear me Schultz you do I think take this royal business a little more seriously than it merits. The Queen meets dozens of people every day, of whom, only the tiniest fraction will she ever see again. Admittedly most will not be quite as memorable to Her Majesty as you. And although she certainly will not say so, she may certainly think the show’s the most absolutely awful old rubbish she’s ever seen.’
‘Holy shit your Lordship. Royalty are a normal everyday occurrence in your lives. It’s easy for you and Binky. The pair of you are already up there constantly fucking around in those circles.’
‘I should hardly put it like that Schultz.’
‘Well I put it like that. Members of the Royal Family coming to the show could add two years to the run. I’m having the Royal retiring room at the theatre entirely refurbished. It’s got a beautiful fireplace I’m going to have a real fire in. I mean this was my fucking dream for Christ’s sake, shattered to a million pieces last night.’
‘And several more million pieces this morning Schultz. Your publicly uttering to the entire nation at peak viewing time what is commonly considered to be the most obscene word in the language, has driven even a major ministerial call girl scandal off the front pages. Hardly entitling you to a decent reputation encouraging to the Lord Chamberlain to have you officiate receiving members of the Royal Family.’
‘Hey come on who doesn’t use the word fuck sometimes in exasperation.’
‘Well for your private information Schultz, vexation in royal circles is invariably expressed by the words, drat or dash. As in, dash it all. And in extreme cases of annoyance, the expression O pish and pother is permitted.’
‘Thanks a bunch for telling me. OK from now on it’s O pish and pother. Only the fucking words just don’t say what I fucking feel.’ ‘Well Schultz one way or another your wife has certainly succeeded in putting you conspicuously on the map.’
‘Don’t worry. That bitch isn’t going to get away with doing this to me. This is going to be a battle to the finish.’
‘She’s already got away with it Schultz. As indeed these days it must be said ladies are taking the forefront in many matters, leaving men to get rather the raw end of the carrot or is it stick. What you need Schultz is to find a loyal witty and willing lady friend who will welcome you into her arms without intrigue or treachery. And O dear.’
‘O dear what.’
‘I do hesitate to read this Schultz which has just caught my eye. It appears the first instalment of your wife’s series is to be entitled “Impresario A Smash Hit On Stage But A Flop In Bed”.’
Schultz grabbing the newspaper across the table out of his Lordship’s hands. Schultz smoothing out the crumples as he holds open the paper to read and rises up out of his chair. And flops back down again, taking a deep breath and letting out a long sigh. The waiter arriving at the table side with a trolley and kippers warming on a hot plate. And placing in front of Schultz a steaming bowl of porridge.
‘Bon appetit Mr Schultz.’
Schultz staring down at his breakfast. The waiter smilingly bowingly retreating from the presence. As Schultz pushes back his chair from the table and slowly rises from his seat.
‘Now what’s wrong Schultz. You’ve gone absolutely as white as a sheet.’
‘Oh my god. I can’t eat. I’m sick. My whole stomach is in turmoil. I walk in here ten minutes ago utterly constipated and now I got to get to the lavatory with the fucking shits.’
‘Schultz don’t stay shitting too long. Binky’s sent a motor to be here in front of the hotel prompt at nine and there’s a long drive ahead.’
The snow turning to sleet outside. Nectarine assisting Schultz bent over holding his stomach and helped by the hotel porter out the lobby door to a waiting ancient long black Daimler motorcar. Nectarine attempting to point out sights of interest as they drive through Edinburgh along Princes Street and Queensbury Road.
‘This is Schultz a city of some considerable if austere dignity that it is a pity for you to miss seeing.’
‘Don’t worry I can miss seeing it. I don’t want to ruin anything beautiful to look at with the way I’m feeling.’
North beyond the waters of the Firth of Forth, Schultz, head under a blanket, now snoring asleep. An eye opening occasionally to peek at snow covered mountains and glens and at blue black lochs and lakes. The passing empty moorlands mile upon mile. The air getting colder. The wheels skidding on these winding icy roads through forests and up through dales and valleys. A flash of morning sun brightening the dark greens along the steep banks of the tumbling bog brown waters of a burn. Nectarine reading in a tome open across his lap and pressing the switch to lower the glass division to ask the grey haired ancient chauffeur to stop at the next village. Schultz waking and stepping out of the motorcar as Nectarine goes for a pee and returns with another newspaper. A full front page picture of Tower Bridge. Schultz moaning in the cold air and putting his hands up over his eyes.
‘Not to worry Schultz just a provincial version of the same old hackneyed stuff carried by the national dailies. But up here where of course there is not much in the way of scandal, papers do tend to use considerably larg
er pictures and headlines on the front page.’
‘O god. I want to be from now on just a private bloody person. Why does this all have to happen to me in the middle of while I’m making all this money.’
‘Buck up Schultz. Get back in the car. Take a few lungfuls of this fresh air with you. And blow those old cobwebs of paranoia out of your brain. In just a short while we’ll be there.’
The motor pulling out again on the road. The sheep grazed countryside hills ascending in the distance to whitened granite mountains which loom and bulge with boulders strewn on their slopes. Schultz sitting back in the corner, knees covered by the plaid rug. Nectarine his foot nervously jigging up and down, again reading in his book.
‘Holy cow I didn’t know it was this far all the way up here miles from nowhere.’
‘You had but to refer to a map Schultz.’
‘Jesus you want me to look at maps while I’m besieged.’
‘Surely you knew where Scotland was.’
‘We haven’t seen a house for half an hour. Hey in this isolation are there likely to be any women up here suffering from the disease of nymphomania. That I always hope every girl I meet will have.’
‘It would appear Schultz that the fresh air has revived you and that in spite of your emotional turmoil and difficulties you seem to have regained your abnormal amative appetite.’
‘I never lost it. And as strong as that appetite is thank god there is no law in England that can ever compel me to fuck my wife again.’ ‘Good god Schultz you’re the limit beyond which women are driven I think when they murder men.’
‘Hey thanks a bunch your Lordship that’s real nice and encouraging for my confidence what you just said.’
‘Your confidence Schultz needs little encouragement in that quarter. Indeed one might suggest that with your recently sewn up balls and national celebrity you might go fuck on the top of the mid span across Tower Bridge while all England watches. Cheer the nation up as well.’
‘Jesus your Lordship, this really is miles and miles from civilization and I’m the one who should be getting fucking well cheered up. Where the hell are we, there’s nothing, nothing anywhere except this bereft landscape. Which you’re not even bothering to look at.’