The fine art in all the windows of this street. And always some gorgeous creature sitting inside behind a desk. With that kind of ability to make you feel like a leper even before you’ve opened up your mouth to ask them out on a date. This is the part of the town for me. The peace and beauty around this square. And look at the grey looming edifices of these clubs along Pall Mall. Sit in there like Binky and his Lordship do, safe from all women and that bitch giganticus and calmly reading the newspapers. Jesus there’s the National Gallery. O my god I had trouble in there. Only last week. Louella please. Don’t force me to go back in there making more fucking embarrassing tries at picking up women. Jesus you’d think you’d have grabbed their leg the way some of them get so god damn touchy when all you did was just to come up to friendly pass the time of day. When instead it could be a fucking lot more interesting talking to me than looking at those dead pictures. When I’ve got a live cock between my legs. Louella please. Let me fuck you, at least while Al’s dying. Then when he’s dead I’ll meet you in Positano, you could recover from the bereavement, while I’m fucking you some more. Christ what is the painful mystery of horniness anyway. Driving one into so much humiliating predicament. Jesus what is it Rabbi, you think you’re cured after an orgasm and twenty minutes later like a disease it’s back. Sigmund you’re lucky, if you were nineteen years young the disease would be back in ten minutes. Touche Rabbi, touche. And now that I am reminded, the disease when I was sixteen, was back in four minutes and fifty seconds. And it makes you wonder who holds the world’s record. It sure ain’t his Lordship. Who said he required a prelude of dark complexioned dancing girls working up a sweat before he felt a tingle in his gonads.
Binky says his Lordship gets oiled up on the very best distillery products and merely refers to telephone numbers on slips of paper, and black ladies just appear in his Mayfair townhouse by the dozen. Maybe that’s what I should start doing. And talking about his aristocratic Lordship, so many of these London streets are named after some king. And christ the fancy fucking some of them did down the centuries. O K you, you and you. Be in my bed at sundown. OK honey baby it’s dawn, I just heard the cock crowing. Time for you to fuck off honey while the footmen bring me my breakfast.
‘It looks like it’s snowing again, Mr Schultz.’
‘Yeah I see it.’
The limousine proceeding into the Strand past Charing Cross Station. People pouring in and out. Jesus the snows in the past when a snowflake descending would make me get hysterical. And I’d count each one as if it was a bomb landing on each seat in the theatre with a sign don’t sit here you’ll get blown up. God it’s so fucking marvellous now in a blizzard knowing I don’t have to panic. With every seat booked solid for seven weeks, not one empty, and the advance building like a skyrocket every day. To have money this week, next week and to just float along on these wheels in this cosy comfort with the cold snow heaped out there. People having to wear galoshes and getting their socks wet jumping over the drifts. But jesus sometimes I get so fucking sad that all this money didn’t happen to me sooner. Christ look at that beautiful girl lifting up her skirt on what a marvellous pair of legs to step over the snow. O god Louella, Al’s demise, much as I wouldn’t really rejoice over the old fucker dying, now that he is dying, could bring us back together. And it will be like Mount Etna erupting when we fuck again. Lava is going to go flying over the moon. And christ I’d have somewhere at last sacredly into which I would love to put my prick for all time.
‘I’ll wait here sir, the police might require me to move along. If they do I’ll circle the block sir.’
‘OK Jorricks. I’m not going to be long. If the phone rings take a message and just say I’ll ring back. It could be New York calling.’ ‘Yes sir, have my pad and pencil ready right here.’
Schultz mounting the steps of the hospital two at a time. Into the smells. Phones ringing. White coats flying by. Crossing the waxed floor of this hall to the reception desk. Run a hand through my black curly locks and see if I can drape a couple of curls over my two black eyes. ‘I’m here to see Mr Al Duke.’
‘Name sir.’
‘I’m just a close friend.’
‘I must have your name sir.’
‘Yeah well I’m incognito so to speak. I want it to be a surprise.’ ‘I’m sorry sir. I would have to have your name. In any event Mr Duke is on the critical list and is not receiving visitors.’
‘Well just so I can send flowers and a few vegetables. Sorry. I mean fruits. Exotic ones. What’s his room.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t disclose that either sir.’
‘Holy cow this place sounds like a prison.’
Schultz turning on his heel. Crossing back towards the entrance. A figure in a soiled white coat passing by. Schultz tapping him on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me. Do you work here.’
‘I do.’
‘You’re not a doctor.’
‘No. I’m a porter.’
‘Hey look. Step over here a second. Now listen I’m in a little difficulty. Do you want to make ten quid. Sorry I mean two quid.’
‘I do indeed your honour. Two or ten will suit me.’
‘Hey you’re Irish.’
‘I am without shadow or substance of a doubt your honour.’ ‘You’re then just the man I’m looking for. Two quid is yours if you find out and tell me how to get to the room of Al Duke.’
‘Sure no problem sir. Hand it over and as we poor mortals stand here, I’ll issue you with the most accurate instructions that would get you to Palestine and back blindfolded and crippled.’
‘Well I’d rather be getting directions to the south of France and I already got black eyes so I don’t need to be blindfolded but how do you know the room just like that.’
‘My humble sad and profound duty sir is to collect the deceased. And by the look of things I believe this gentleman is to be soon collected.’
‘Holy shit. Here’s the money.’
‘Right your honour. Now if you just go back down that way. You’ll see a sign, Casualty. Take no notice of it. Then you’ll see a big sign on a door which says No Admittance. Take no notice of that either and go in. Climb the stairs up to the second floor. There’ll be three corridors leading off the landing. Never mind the two to the side, take the one in the middle. It will be Room A, the last door you come to down on your left. Sure I’ll be around up there any minute myself after I have a cup of tea.’ ‘You mean you’re going to collect him.’
‘No it’s the man down the right side corridor I’ll be measuring for his coffin and who’s met his maker that I’ll be fetching first.’
‘Holy christ OK.’
The heels of Schultz’s loafers clacking on the shiny hospital corridor. Groans and moans. On a stretcher, a woman with her face criss crossed with cuts, a blood soaked sheet on top of her. Holy shit. The Irishman says take no notice. I wish I had my sunglasses on, here I am hale hearty and healthy and I got to see all of this. Maim death and injury. The quicker I get up these stairs the better. That woman just prostrate with injuries with no one even noticing her. To find anyone these days who gives a shit about anyone else for five minutes is a miracle.
Bright light from snowy rooftops outside coming through tall windows at the top of a staircase landing. Schultz passing through swing doors into a brown tiled vestibule. Potted palms. This looks more like a hotel than a hospital in here. Go backwards through the alphabet on these doors. There it is at the end. By that table by the wall with vases of flowers. Holy god the Irishman’s right, Al must be due to be collected, it looks like a funeral parlour already. Why do I need such things as this in my life right now. When I could be spending the afternoon at the final reductions they got for shirts in Jermyn Street. Having to screw up my fucking courage. Son of a bitch may be dying in there but I just know he’d be more dying to kill me. This is perfect. A nurse is coming out of the room. I got to barge in by her.
‘Pardon me nurse.’
‘Excuse me sir. W
ho are you.’
‘It’s just me. I’m going in here.’
‘I’m sorry. This patient is not having visitors. How did you get up here.’
‘I walked. Up the back stairs.’
‘There is the strictest security in force on this floor sir. Who are you. Are you next of kin.’
‘I’m a friend. And already I saw through the door he’s got people in there.’
‘Well you cannot be admitted. In any event the specialists and the priests are with him now.’
‘Priests.’
‘Yes.’
‘Hey christ, you mean Catholic, those are Catholic priests in there. Hey what is this, have I got the wrong room. It is Al Duke in there. That’s the letter A it says there on the door.’
‘And I’m afraid the Press are especially not allowed sir if that’s who you are.’
‘Hey I’m not the Press I’m a life long friend. I told you. And what are priests doing in there.’
‘If it’s any of your business sir, Mr Duke is receiving the last rites.’
‘He’s Jewish for Christ’s sake. Made his bar mitzvah. He can’t be getting the last rites. Someone should be reading Kaddish.’
‘Would you mind awfully sir. I don’t know who you are. But I’m not going to stand here and have an argument with you concerning Mr Duke’s religious affiliations. This happens to be a hospital. And if you don’t leave I will have to call someone to have you escorted away.’
‘This is a circumcised Yiddish speaking life long friend, nurse, whose father was a rabbi.’
‘Don’t you raise your voice to me sir, I am in fact the head matron of this hospital.’
‘OK matron. I get excited at anything anti Semitic like Catholic priests. Sorry I shouted. Stay calm will you. Keep your cap on. I’m just giving you a couple of facts. Hey matron, has anyone invited you for a glass of champagne recently. Followed by dinner. What about it.’
‘I would appreciate it if you would go that way out those doors and down the stairs.’
‘But matron he must be really dying in there.’
‘Well that’s entirely understandable sir, if I may say so, if he has friends like you ranting in this fashion outside his hospital room. However you may enquire at the reception desk or call the appropriate number at the hospital who will give all the necessary details referring to Mr Duke’s condition. And now if you would not mind. I do have better things to attend to, thank you. Now before I summon someone.’
‘OK matron I’m going. Sigmund Schultz is the name. And I’ll give you a call.’
‘Please don’t bother.’
‘OK I apologize matron. I’m sorry. But if a close pal is dying you get excited. So long. Matron. Goodbye. You see I’m going. I’m blessing myself with the Catholic sign of the cross. But if I can’t see where I’m going because not seeing my best buddy is giving me tears which if they blind me going down the stairs and I fall and break my ass because this little confrontation with you has caused me such grief, I’m going to sue the fucking shit out of this hospital. Goodbye.’
Schultz, heels loudly clacking on the corridor floor, pushing out through the swing doors onto the landing. The hospital porter backing in front of him pulling a trolley covered by a sheet with the outline of a figure underneath.
‘Ah now your honour sir, didn’t you find your Mr Duke.’
‘Yeah I found him. Thanks.’
‘Ah he was wasn’t he passed away already. You’re seeing here right now what I’m doing. Would you like to have a look. Here let me show you. Homo sapiens kaput.’
‘Hey no, don’t bother, how the fuck do I exit, is this the main stairs down.’
The porter with gap toothed smile lifting the sheet back from a grey balding head of a man with a chain and cross around his neck, his eyes still staring open as if he’d seen a ghost in death.
‘Now you’d never know once we remove this little decorative item what he was when he was alive, by the frightened look of him dead.’
‘Hey christ, put the sheet back will you.’
‘A monsignor. A dignitary of the Catholic church. All five foot eleven of him. But I hate priests and only measured him five foot six for his coffin.’
Schultz swaying forwards raising a hand waving the porter and his trolley of death away. Heading down the stairs. Grabbing the bannister. O god. Death. The final ignominy. The Irishman’s robbing a corpse in front of my eyes. And he’s going to have one big fucking harvest ripping all the clanking gold chains off Al. Holy fuck. I’ve tripped. Now what have I done, broken or maimed. Every time I come into a hospital healthy I go out feeling I’m dying. And now shit I am, twisting my god damn ankle and nearly killing myself. I could be dead before Al is.
Schultz to the choral strains of Gounod’s Ave Maria rubbing his ankle in the back of his limousine. Slowly making headway in and out through the streets of Mayfair. Up Park Lane. The snow starting to fall again. Through the tree branches, tax dodgers’ towers looming in the distance against the grey patchy skies and its windows catching a red tint of a sinking western sun. Schultz dialling on the car phone.
‘Hello.’
‘Louella.’
‘Who is this.’
‘This is Sigmund. I’m on my way. Have you forgot already what my voice sounds like.’
‘I’m sorry. All the other phones are ringing and I can hardly hear a thing.’
‘Honey, they won’t let me see Al. I tried.’
‘I know I said come. But please. Ring me later. I’ve just had the most awful phone call.’
‘Honey I got to see you. I hear it in your voice. You’re utterly distraught. I’ll only stay five seconds. Please. That was the deal.’
‘All right. But don’t please go by reception. Come in the garage entrance. Park in one of Al’s reserved spaces, D twenty one, two or three. Take the lift and ring the door with two rings and do it twice.’
‘Hey what is it honey. Don’t cry. I’m coming to you. In only seconds. Goodbye.’
Schultz’s limousine wheels crackling over the hardened ice and snow, heading up a street of terraced Georgian houses. Turning right into a street of shops. Jesus it’s always reassuring to see my favourite fish shop outside of which I have faithfully sat so many fucking nights. With the smell of fish. Making me more than once remember I come from a hick town in Rhode Island. Where whaling was one of the state’s first big industries.
‘Take the right fork in the road, Jorricks just past the restaurant. Then turn left and go down the driveway there.’
The limousine descending a long curving ramp into an underground garage. In this shadowy labyrinth Schultz jumping out at an entrance and limping in the door. Everything connected with Al Duke seems to have a big capital letter now, even his parking space. Press the button at these elevator doors which last time they opened were casting me fucking naked out into the world. Step in. Smell of nice damn perfume. Which I got to go now ruin with one god awful fart. And here I go now upwards in some new drama. And the most dramatic one in my life was the last time I ascended in this elevator. Up to this twenty first floor. To both joy and disaster. And the most cliff hanging but wonderful time of my life. And found what I most wanted in this entire fucking world besides money, was a woman I could love. I got to steel myself. Like jesus it was like the shock I got when I was a kid, in a snowball fight. Making a dozen all stacked up like ammunition. After crouching in my bunker I stood up to throw one and just as I was taking aim I suddenly got slammed in the face with an ice hard snowball which knocked me out.
The elevator stopping at the ground floor. Door opening. A befurred bejewelled lady stepping in with two poodles in arm. Jesus she’s sniffing her nose and giving me what a fucking dirty look and she’s riding all the way up to the penthouse. OK madam there’s a stink in here but the smell could be dog shit all over your poodles’ paws or something. Although I’ll admit I had bratwurst and hot dogs for breakfast. And christ I’m just about to blast another one worse than the last. C
ould distract her from the fume if I try to sell her a ticket to the show. Might put a smile on that face of hers that makes her grimness look like it’s carved in granite.
‘Have a good day madam. And go see Kiss It Don’t Hold It It’s Too Hot.’
Schultz limping out on the twenty first floor. Barks from the poodles and a distinct inhuman growl from the lady left behind. Schultz crossing the lobby into the enclosure of a small entrance hall. Pressing the bell twice. Christ you try to say something polite to people and they flatly ignore you. But I forgot how nice and quiet and private it was up here. A spy hole in the mahogany. As well as a bell, Al’s got a knocker now in the shape of an anchor. Suitable enough since he’s sinking into the deeps. The door coming ajar. Jesus Louella open it wider. Let this Schultz step in.
‘Gee honey christ it’s me. I’m a friend. Let me in. Hey you look even more beautiful. Even under these gruesome circumstances. I really am glad to just see you. But what the fuck have you done. You dyed and cut off your hair. Jesus honey it’s blonde. With streaks no less. Hey what happened.’
‘Please. Just come in. And please. I’m too nervous and distraught. Please sit down. I’ve just got to go and turn off my bath. How is he.’
‘Hey jesus never mind Al. You’ve lost weight.’
‘Please you must tell me.’
‘Honey he was as well as could be expected.’
Louella turning away from the door of this room. Out the window the sky grey above and westwards, purple with pink slivers. Beams of warm light from a red edge of the sun peeking above the horizon. Another cloud unleashing another flurry of snow. Sit on this tweed covered sofa I remember so well. But what the fuck is this in here. Candles burning and incense and chanting music. That Russian stuff Al’s so fond of listening to. The celebrity pictures are even thicker over Al’s walls. Christ you can’t get to be president of the United States unless you’re seen photographed with Al’s arm draped around your back. And there. Would you believe it. Al in top hat in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, with Louella on his arm. He’d do anything to impress this lovely girl. But the fucker really knows how to live. Imagine he could find a girl like this to listen to him hocking and spitting all morning and watching him try out his toupee in front of the mirror. But I wish our friendship didn’t have to break up like this. Al always set an example for me. But the principle I learned in my Coast Guard career always seems to come true. When you find a friend who is good and true fuck him before he fucks you. And right there through that serving hatch, the wine bottles. O jesus the wonderful gorgeous vintages that I got served right on this bloody table. That memorable night. The crisis night of my career. Can there be anything greater than savouring a wine and peeking across its bouquet rising out of the glass while you’re gazing into the eyes of a woman whose every square inch of flesh you want to kiss and who you’re going to fuck after you’ve had two more glassfuls of velvety burgundy. And maybe topped off with a half glass of chilled Chateau d’Yquem. Christ I sound like an alki. But jesus just touching her a second ago again set my prick and balls on fire. O honey don’t for Christ’s sake let Al’s demise ruin our relationship which could be gorgeous. Jesus that matron. She did something funny to me. She must have been all of thirty eight years old. But christ she had something. I don’t know what it was. But the way she used her authority was impressive. Maybe I should call her up and talk to her about it.