07 September 2007
A Rather Drunk Englishman in New York
July, 1856.
Ludlow led Botter and I into his considerably spacious abode on the outskirts of New York City, stubbornly refusing to impart more information about my father’s continued existence. “Oh, don’t let us worry about that now!” he kept saying absently, ignoring my desire to very much worry about it now. I could have throttled the blighter, but then I remembered that he was my half-brother, and more importantly that he would be hosting a large party in the evening. Strangling one’s host is right at the top of the list of things one should not do when attending a social function, just above the rule stating that one should not slip anything into the hostess’ vagina, or backside.
As I sent Botter upstairs to prepare my room and unpack what remained of my luggage, Ludlow introduced me to his wife, Emily-Rose, a rather chubby and busty young lady, with blonde curls and a radiant complexion. I wondered if Ludlow would let me pump her, as I was family after all, but thought better of asking there and then lest Ludlow took offence, and never spoke to me again. I would never find out anything more about my errant father should that happen.
After the introductions had been made, Ludlow and Emily-Rose scurried off to prepare for the evening’s celebrations, barking orders at various servants and maids who ferried large plates of food to the dining-room, and rather more interestingly, numerous bottles of alcohol. I stopped one striking looking maid, and relieved her of two bottles of wine, informing her that her master had asked that I test the piquancy of the two wines. She curtsied gracefully, then hurried on, leaving me with a desire to not only polish off the two bottles I now held, but also to polish off my Lord Palmerston all over the delightful backside of the young maid. Cheered by this thought, I cracked open one of the bottles of wine, took a few gulps, then hastened up to my room to prepare myself for the evening’s gathering.
By the time the first guests begun to flock into Ludlow’s house, I had worked my way through both bottles of wine, three glasses of whisky and several shots of vodka, thus I was really quite merry and more than ready to party. I left my room, telling Botter to stay put and guard my shoes, then took to the large, winding staircase that led down to the dining-room.
“Ah-ha! Here he is! My brother, ladies and gentlemen – Lord Likely!” cried Ludlow, who was entertaining some smartly dressed people in the dining-room. I smiled and waved, then lost my footing somewhat, and wound up tumbling down the remaining stairs and landed atop of some fellow I did not recognise.
“Pardon me,” I slurred. “I think my foot is on your balls.”
Ludlow dashed over, and lifted me up.
“Sorry, sir,” he said to the gentleman I had accidentally smothered. “Excuse my brother. He is an English aristocrat, and is therefore prone to excessive drunkenness. Many apologies.” Ludlow nodded to a nearby servant, who dashed over to the man’s aid. Meanwhile, my half-brother marched me over to the other side of the room.
“That was the deputy mayor you just fell upon,” Ludlow hissed, angrily. “Please, try and control yourself, man. All of these people are very important. Some are Very important, with a capital ‘v’, so it’s imperative you try and not act like a complete jackass.”
“What is it with you Americans and donkeys?” I asked, swaying gently.
I was to receive no answer, however, for our brotherly tete-a-tete was interrupted by two men joining us.
“Ludlow!” cried one, shaking my brother by his hand. “How goes it?”
“Freddie!” Ludlow replied, clearly pleased to see someone who wasn’t as pissed as a fart. “How are you? Good to see you, good to see you. Oh! Calvert! Good to see you, too, my friend!”
“Likewise, dear Ludlow, likewise. Always a pleasure!” the other man said, in an accent that made me snap to attention.
“Bugger me!” I roared, causing the three men to jump in shock. “You’re an Englishman, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” replied Calvert, regarding me with a degree of apprehension.
“Why do you suppose these Americans are so obsessed with donkeys?”
“I really don’t-”
“So, what brings you to this side of the pond, then?” I continued, not waiting for Calvert’s answer to my previous question.
“Well, I’m a landscape designer and architect,” he answered. “I’m working on some projects over here, with Frederick.”
“Oh, Ludlow!” Frederick interrupted. “That reminds me. We’ve got quite an exciting project on the go right now! Do you remember there was all that talk about setting up a park in the city?”
“Ah, yes. The park in the centre of the city. What was it called again?”
“Central Park.“
“Ah, yes, of course,” Ludlow said, propping me up against a large grandfather clock as I began to sway more dramatically.
“Well, the Central Park Committee are going to launch a landscape design contest, to determine how this park shall look. Calvert and I are going to submit our design, this one here, look – ” Frederick began to unroll a large sheet of paper.
“Park?” I cried. “I could design a park. I could design a park with my hands tied behind my back, and my back tied to a ruddy donkey. Give me that!” I snapped, snatching the paper from Frederick’s grasp. I tried to make sense of the squiggles on the page, snorted derisively, then flipped over the page and began sketching furiously on the back.
“Um…have you experience in landscape design, then?” Frederick asked, nervously.
“I once built a library that looked like a cock. And I have been in a park, before.” I continued drawing.
“Oh! Have you been to Birkenhead Park in Liverpool, England?” Frederick asked. “I have to admit, that in democratic America there is nothing to be thought of as comparable with that People’s Garden. It is magnificent.”
“I have been there, yes,” I said. “I believe I had intercourse with a schoolmistress in the bushes, there. My, she was quite a dirty bitch, as I recall. She tried to insert a pine cone into my anus. Oh! And on another occasion I shat in the pond.” Frederick turned to my brother for assistance, but all Ludlow could do was shrug his shoulders, and knock back a glass of champagne.
“There we are…just add a couple of bandstands and – voila! My design for your Middle Park, or whatever you call it.”
I held aloft my sketch, which cause my small audience’s jaws to drop in astonishment.
“Rather good, isn’t it?” I beamed proudly, noticing the group’s stunned expressions.
“That…that’s just a drawing of the female torso,” Calvert observed.
“Well, what is wrong with that?” I sniffed. “Unless, of course, you would rather it was in the shape of a male torso? Are you a homosexual man, Mr. Calvert? Do you prefer to garden uphill? Do you like to wheel the pink wheelbarrow up the back garden? Do you, Mr. Calvert, lust after the cock and the balls?”
“Of course not, it’s just – “
“Why, you should try getting some good, hard cock inside you. It should do you the world of good, I shouldn’t wonder. It might loosen you up a bit. In more than one sense.”
Calvert mouthed a silent curse, then turned on his heels, and strode off.
“I do quite like the small, bushy copse,” Frederick noted, then followed his associate. Ludlow, meanwhile, was rubbing the top of his nose, looking rather stressed.
“I cannot imagine this evening getting much worse,” he sighed.
“Well,” I said, taking a swig from Ludlow’s glass, “the night is still young.”
Ludlow’s shoulders sagged, and I wobbled out into the room to mingle some more.
