Two weeks later.
Emily sits at the dining table. With a cup of morning coffee, the day’s paper open before her.
Amir stands opposite her.
EMILY (Reading): “The defendant, surrounded by a gauntlet of attorneys, struck a defiant tone. He spoke eloquently of the injustices he’d experienced, and what he called an ‘unconscionable lack of due process.’ Amir Kapoor of Leibowitz, Bernstein, Harris supported the imam, stating, ‘As far as anybody knows, there isn’t a case. And if the Justice Department has one, it’s time they started making it.’ ”
(Beat)
I don’t think you look like counsel for the defense.
AMIR: That’s because you know I’m not.
EMILY: It’s because it doesn’t say you are.
AMIR (Taking the paper): “The defendant, surrounded by a gauntlet of attorneys, struck a defiant tone.” And then she quotes an attorney. Me. Implying that I’m one of the gauntlet of attorneys. She doesn’t quote another attorney.
EMILY: But she says you’re just supporting him.
AMIR: I don’t see a just. There’s no just supporting him.
EMILY: It’s implied.
AMIR: I think it reads very clearly that I was supporting his defiant tone. That I was supporting him being defiant.
EMILY: Isn’t he justified?
AMIR: That’s not my point, Em.
EMILY: Maybe it should be.
AMIR: The man’s basically an alleged terrorist.
(Off another look at the paper)
Amir Kapoor supported the imam…
EMILY: Even if it does make you look—
AMIR (Leaping in): So it does?
EMILY: I don’t think it does. But even if it does, why is that a bad thing? What you did is right. You’re standing up for due process.
AMIR: It’s just…
EMILY: What?
AMIR: Don’t you think people are going to think…
(Beat)
I guess they’ll look at the name; if they know anything at all—
EMILY (Over): Amir.
AMIR: —they’ll know the name isn’t Muslim.
Beat.
EMILY: Amir. What’s going on?
(Beat)
If this bothers you so much, call the Times. Have them retract.
AMIR: But the thing is, I did say this.
EMILY (Proudly): I remember.
AMIR: But after clearly saying I was not counsel for the defendant.
(Beat)
Why did they have to mention the firm?
Pause.
EMILY: Baby.
You did the right thing. I am so proud of you. So was Abe. And you’ll see. Mort’s gonna be proud of you, too.
AMIR: Mort’s not the one I’m worried about.
EMILY: This is going to be good for you at work.
AMIR: Good for me?
EMILY: Look at Goldman.
AMIR: Goldman?
EMILY: Sachs.
Jamie? He took all that philanthropy so seriously…
AMIR: What does your douche-bag banker ex-boyfriend have to do with this?
EMILY: Isn’t that how it works?
Isn’t that how all you guys cover up the fact that all anybody cares about in your world is making money?
AMIR: I have to get going.
(Still caught up by the paper)
“… supported the imam…”
EMILY: Honey, honey. Look at me. Stop it.
The intercom BUZZES.
Sudden silence.
EMILY (CONT’D): That’s Isaac.
AMIR (Off Emily’s shift): Yeah?
EMILY: Well, I mean he’s here.
AMIR: Okay.
EMILY: What?
AMIR (Disgusted): Nothing.
EMILY: Do you want to keep talking about this?
AMIR: I need to go.
EMILY: Are you annoyed with me?
(Beat)
Honey, this is a big deal. I have a studio visit with a curator from the Whitney.
AMIR: And who do you think made it happen?
EMILY: Really? Now? Can we talk about this tonight?
AMIR (Curt): There’s nothing to talk about.
Amir exits to the bedroom.
Emily goes to the intercom.
EMILY: Hi. Yes. Send him up.
(To Amir, off stage)
I mean, I’m sure no one’ll see it. It’s buried in the back…
AMIR (Returning): Don’t.
EMILY: Don’t what?
AMIR: I know your mind is elsewhere.
EMILY: I just… I think you’re overthinking this.
AMIR: Let me get this straight: Some waiter is a dick to me in a restaurant and you want to make a painting. But if it’s something that actually might affect my livelihood, you don’t even want to believe there could be a problem.
EMILY: What does one thing have to do with the other?
KNOCKING at the door.
Beat. Tense standoff.
Amir checks his pockets.
AMIR: I left my phone in the bedroom.
He exits again.
Emily gathers herself as she heads to the door…
And opens it to show…
ISAAC—40, white, smart, attractive. A curator at the Whitney.
ISAAC: Hi.
EMILY: Hi. How are you?
ISAAC: Great.
EMILY: Find it okay?
ISAAC: Quick ride up Madison. Couldn’t be easier.
We hear SOUNDS offstage of Amir slamming around in the bedroom. Looking for his phone.
EMILY: Amir’s on his way out…
Amir reenters.
The tension between him and Emily still palpable.
AMIR: Isaac.
AMIR: Good to see you.
(Beat)
Thanks again for a wonderful weekend in the country.
ISAAC: Was our pleasure.
AMIR: I—uh—gotta run. I’m late for work.
ISAAC: You’ll probably still get there before my wife.
AMIR: Always do.
(To Emily, coldly)
See you later.
EMILY: Bye, honey.
(To Amir, intimately)
It’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.
Amir exits.
Beat.
ISAAC: Is this a bad time?
EMILY: No. No.
ISAAC: You sure?
EMILY: Yeah.
ISAAC: I mean—okay.
EMILY: Can I get you some coffee, tea?
ISAAC: Sure. Coffee’d be great.
EMILY: Milk? Sugar?
ISAAC: Black is fine.
Emily heads for the kitchen.
Leaving Isaac onstage. He takes a look around. Perhaps just a hint intrusively.
He picks up a book off the shelf.
Emily returns with a mug.
ISAAC (CONT’D): Constable’s great, isn’t he?
EMILY: Love him.
ISAAC: It’s one of the things I love about going to Frieze every year. My little pilgrimage to see the Constables at the Tate.
(Putting the book back)
You ever been?
EMILY: Tate, yes.
Frieze, no. Though my dealer suggested I go this year.
Isaac takes the mug.
ISAAC: Thanks.
So I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about our discussions since last weekend.
EMILY: About me being a white woman with no right to be using Islamic forms?
I think you’re wrong about that.
ISAAC: I think I might be wrong, too.
Beat.
EMILY: What happened?
ISAAC: Well, I found a few images of your work online…
EMILY: You read Jerry’s review.
ISAAC: Yes, I did.
I don’t always agree with Jerry. But he did have some compelling things to say…
(Turning to the painting above the mantel)
This is the one you wanted me to see?
EMILY: This is the one in the apartment.
There are more at the studio.
Isaac inspects the paintings for a long beat.
ISAAC: Mm-hmm…
I have to admit…
It has presence…
(Stepping back, assessing)
The surface tending toward the convex…
It’s a bending of the picture plane, isn’t it?
EMILY: Exactly.
ISAAC: Which is why Jerry was talking about late Bonnard.
EMILY: The mosaics in Andalusia are bending the picture plane four hundred years before Bonnard. That’s what I mean. That’s what I was saying. The Muslims gave us Aristotle. Without them, we probably wouldn’t even have visual perspective.
ISAAC: That’s quite a statement.
EMILY: And I can back it up.
(Beat, then off Isaac’s reaction)
What?
ISAAC: I don’t know…
It’s the earnestness. The lack of irony. It’s unusual…
EMILY: Irony’s overrated.
ISAAC: Can’t say I disagree with that.
EMILY: But?
ISAAC: You know what you’re going to be accused of…
(Off Emily’s silence)
Orientalism…
I mean, hell. You’ve even got the brown husband.
EMILY: Fuck you, I think.
Beat.
ISAAC: Good.
Because that’s what they’re going to say.
Beat.
EMILY: Yeah. Well, we’ve all gotten way too wrapped up in the optics. The way we talk about things. We’ve forgotten to look at things for what they really are.
(Beat)
When you’re at Frieze this fall, after the Constables, you need to go to the Victoria and Albert. The Islamic galleries. Room forty-two. Remember that. It will change the way you see art.
ISAAC (Warmly): Them’s fightin’ words.
Beat.
EMILY: The Islamic tiling tradition, Isaac? Is a doorway to the most extraordinary freedom. And which only comes through a kind of profound submission. In my case, of course it’s not submission to Islam but to the formal language. The pattern. The repetition. And the quiet that this work requires of me? It’s extraordinary.
ISAAC: You sound like a midcentury American minimalist, trying to obliterate the ego.
EMILY: The Islamic tradition’s been doing it for a thousand years. Pardon me for thinking they may have a better handle on it.
It’s time we woke up. Time we stop paying lip service to Islam and Islamic art. We draw on the Greeks, the Romans… but Islam is part of who we are, too. God forbid anybody remind us of it.
ISAAC: Huh.
EMILY: What?
ISAAC: No, this is good.
EMILY: Yeah.
Lights Out.