“Ah Schultz I have been just trying to ring you. And was as usual answered in the customary fractured English. Those vague unhelpful expressions one expects at your end of the line. He gone no here.”
“Jesus Binky come on, I got work to do.”
“Schultz I should say you have. Everyone’s been on the phone nonstop to get you. Your property developing industrialist investor friend especially. Trying to get a personal urgent message to you.”
“He just can’t wait to put more money into the show, that’s all.”
“Agents are ringing about unsigned contracts for clients. And my god, Schultz. What. More scratches on the face. What ever do you do with yourself on your quiet London evenings. O and by the way your composing team residing at the Dorchester want a larger sitting room.”
“Jesus christ what else can fucking well go wrong with my life.”
His Lordship entering the office stepping out tiptoe from behind Rebecca.
“Good morning Schultz. I’ll tell you what else can go wrong. And it’s with my life. There’s been an absolute outcry to discontinue trains stopping at Nectarine Castle station. Several prominent members of the local county council who happened to be on that train we took claim that a member of my party gave them a sign signifying the word fuck you or sentiments distinctly similar.”
“Holy shit your Lordship. Hold it. One problem at a time. Let’s take the city problems first.”
“I’m sorry Schultz if I distress you.”
“Your Lordship you don’t distress me one bit. If everyone in this world did for me what you’ve so far done. My life would be one big fucking paradise believe me. Sorry Rebecca about the language.”
“That’s quite alright sir. But I have I’m afraid further difficult news.”
“What.”
“Mr. Magillacurdy’s Agent rang to say that Mr. Magillacurdy has received an offer from Hollywood to which he cannot say no.”
“Jesus. This really is my lucky day. The fucker. Says he has no agent. Now he’s got one. Who starts right off trying to shake me down.”
“Ah Schultz, there is another matter.”
“Yeah Binky, just tell me don’t do dramatics with that up and down on the toes stuff.”
“I speak this most disturbing news flat footed I assure you. Our dear old chap Mr. Gayboy has, it appears, on this momentarily very sunny day, rented your theatre to another production.”
“He’s what.”
“Another production, Schultz, is booked in.”
“What. Just say that once more.”
“Another production is booked in.”
“I’ll kill the fucking cunt. I’ll fucking well kill him. Jesus christ, get out of my fucking way. I’m going right over there this fucking second and I’m going to kick his ass all over the West End of London.”
“Steady, my dear Schultz, steady. Gayboy will have you arrested. You may be sure everything he does is vetted by his numerous lawyers.”
“Lawyers. That fucker is going to need numerous undertakers.”
Schultz storming out the door. Down the hall. Into a secretary bearing two hot cups of coffee for her tall blond charming employers.
“Excuse me honey but I’m in a fucking hurry.”
Schultz in the soft mist capturing a taxi. Sitting upon the edge of his seat undoing his collar and tie. Leicester Square. Piccadilly Circus. Look at all these people thronging the West End with nothing better to do than buy tickets and go to my show. Maybe fucking Gayboy is a friend of Al’s and this could be a conspiracy.
Schultz jumping out of the taxi. Slapping a note in the driver’s hand.
“Keep the change.”
“Thanks Gov.”
Schultz stepping towards the curb. Holy canine shit, something soft under foot. Wipe some of it off as I go flying up these usefully carpeted stairs. Same sourpuss secretary reading the same novel she was reading last time. That’s right honey, take off your eyeglasses and jump to your feet as Schultz goes zooming by.
“Can I help you.”
“I’m going right the fuck in there.”
“Mr. Gayboy’s auditioning light is illuminated.”
“It’s going to be devastated when I’m fucking finished with him.”
Schultz striding along the hall to the door marked Private. Pushing, banging and finally pounding.
“Open this fucking thing.”
“Who is that.”
“It’s Sigmund Franz Schultz. That’s who.”
“Just one minute please.”
“You better be just one minute.”
Two minutes later. The door opening. Schultz charging in. Stopping center carpet, and hunched forward, raising a shaking fist. Gayboy behind his desk reaching for a cigar. A bosomy brunette in a finishing school pose with a script open across her lap, clearing her throat, brushing her hair back loose at her temple, an embroidered piece of white petticoat hanging lopsided down one curvaceously muscular leg.
“What’s the fucking idea you smug son of a bitch renting the theatre to another production.”
“By your abusive and threatening language Mr. Schultz, are you giving me cause to call the Police or my lawyers.”
“Call whomever you like, we had a deal and you’re going to fucking well stick to it.”
“At most we had a very informal gentleman’s understanding, my dear chap. And do mind your language.”
“I’m going to mind you boy and sue the shit out of you.”
“Mr. Schultz I do admire your nerve. Channelled in a proper direction it one day might get you somewhere but as it is, you are giving me and this young lady here offense. Now why don’t you just calm yourself down a moment. I have not, as it happens, rented to another production. But due to an unforseen large overhead recently incurred there’s been a thirty three and a third increase in the rent I shall require plus a commensurate improvement in the share of the gross.”
“Hey what is this, you not only want more fucking rent but you also want to hack an additional major weekly slice off my balls.”
“Well I wouldn’t use your precise imagery and adjectives Mr. Schultz, but that is about the summation of it. Two other productions at this moment want this theatre. They have no objections to the increase. Now it isn’t that I let money corrode the principles I most deeply cherish but.”
“You limey bastards can’t be trusted an inch.”
“Tell me Mr. Schultz, are you personally at war with England. Or is this the usual manner in which you conduct your business.”
“Both.”
“Well it’s not going to get you far. Let me tell you that.”
“Well let me tell how far it’s going to get you. Right through every court in this town. Up to the House of Lords if necessary.”
“O dear me. O dear.”
“I’ll give you ten per cent increase in rent.”
“Dear O dear. Now let me see. Here. Do. Yes do. Come on. Have a cigar. And sit down. Go on. Take it. Best Havana.”
“But no increase in the share of the gross.”
“Ah Mr. Schultz you’re not as untutored in our English ways as I thought. I see you use the penknife to make the Churchill cut on the slant. A good cigar gets more oxygen. Let me light you up. Now you know Mr. Schultz, although you exhibit behaviour totally alien to the true spirit of the theatre, I don’t think you’re such a bad sort. In view of the circumstances I’m being generous with you. I see your associates are shortly entering wedlock.”
“That’s right.”
“I assume you’ve not taken that step yet.”
“That’s right.”