Three months later.
Lights come up. On the terrace, Amir. A drink in hand.
He drinks. Drinks again. Stares down into the bottom of his glass. Burning.
Beat.
Then all at once, he SMASHES the glass on the terrace floor. Shards fly.
Beat.
The burst of violence doesn’t seem to have soothed him. He comes into the apartment. Going to the bar for a glass, and another drink.
Finally, we hear—KEYS…
The door opens and Emily enters with grocery bags.
EMILY: Hey, honey.
AMIR: Hey.
Where were you?
EMILY: At Gourmet Garage. Getting a few things. For tonight.
AMIR: Tonight?
EMILY: Isaac and Jory. You didn’t forget, did you?
AMIR: That’s why it smells so good in here.
EMILY: I made pork tenderloin. And guess what…
(Pulling something from the bag)
… they had La Tur! And that liver mousse you love so much.
AMIR: Great.
EMILY: Can’t be bad news, right? “I’m coming to your house to eat your food and tell you you’re not in the show.” Nobody does that, right?
AMIR: So you’re in.
EMILY: God, I hope.
Emily approaching him. Sexual.
AMIR: Honey.
EMILY: What?
AMIR: We’ve talked about this.
(Beat)
It doesn’t help.
EMILY: I miss you, Amir.
AMIR: I know.
Beat.
EMILY: So I’m assuming you forgot the wine.
AMIR: I did. I’m sorry.
EMILY: Amir.
AMIR: I said I’m sorry.
Beat.
AMIR: Nothing.
EMILY: Something’s wrong.
Pause.
AMIR: I had a meeting with a couple of the partners today. I mean, if you could call it that. I’m in my office, red-lining a contract due at six. Steven comes in. With Jack. Sits down. Asks me where my parents were born.
EMILY: Pakistan.
AMIR: I said India. That’s what I put on the form when I got hired.
EMILY: Why?
AMIR: It technically was India when my dad was born.
EMILY: Okay.
AMIR: But the names of the cities you’ve listed are not in India, Steven says. They’re in Pakistan.
My father was born in 1946. When it was all one country, before the British chopped it up into two countries in 1947.
And your mother was born when?
1948.
So it wasn’t India anymore, was it? It was Pakistan?
My clock is running, and I’m wasting time on a fucking history lesson.
Turns out, Steven’s trying to ascertain if I misrepresented myself.
EMILY: It sounds like you did.
AMIR: It was all India. So there’s a different name on it now. So what?
He knew about my name change. Your birth name is not Kapoor, Steven says. It’s Abdullah. Why did you change it?
EMILY: Didn’t he already know?
AMIR: I never told them.
EMILY: They must have run a background check.
AMIR: I—uh—had my Social Security number changed. When I changed my name.
EMILY: You did?
AMIR: Yeah. It was before I met you.
EMILY: Is that legal?
AMIR: They do it all the time. When people go through identity theft.
Steven must have been digging around. He has it in for me. I knew I never should have gone to that hearing.
EMILY: That was months ago. What does that have to do with anything?
AMIR: A lot, honey. A lot.
Beat.
EMILY: Have you talked to Mort about it?
AMIR: I can’t get ahold of him.
The intercom BUZZES.
EMILY: Wait a second. What time is it?
AMIR (Checking his watch): Ten past.
EMILY: What’re they doing here?
I still have to get ready.
AMIR: Go get ready. I’ll get it.
AMIR (CONT’D) (At the intercom, off stage): Yes?
Send them up.
EMILY (As Amir reemerges): You gonna be okay?
AMIR: I’ll be fine.
EMILY: You sure?
AMIR: Yes. Go.
EMILY: Can you get the appetizers? They’re on the counter in the kitchen.
AMIR: I got it.
Emily exits.
Amir goes to the door. Turning the bolt to prop the door. Then takes the bags into the kitchen.
We hear NOISES outside the door. Then the door creeps open.
WOMAN’S VOICE: Amir?
Just as Amir emerges—
AMIR: Come on in, Jor.
Enter:
Jory—mid-to late 30s, African American—is commanding, forthright, intelligent. Almost masculine.
We’ve seen Isaac before.
Both shed their coats as Amir gets to them.
ISAAC (Shaking hands): Good to see you again.
jory: Hey, Amir.
AMIR: Hi, Jory.
Did we say seven thirty?
ISAAC: I was sure she said seven.
JORY (To Isaac): I told you.
AMIR: She’s still getting ready.
jory: No worries.
AMIR: More time to drink, right?
JORY (Showing a box): We brought dessert.
AMIR: Magnolia Bakery? Thank you.
JORY (Heading off): This should go in the fridge.
ISAAC (To Amir): I was at the Knicks game last night.
AMIR: You were?
ISAAC: Aren’t you a Knicks fan?
AMIR: I’m sorry to say.
ISAAC: No dishonor in it.
AMIR: No dishonor. But lots of pain.
ISAAC: I’m a Cubs fan. Don’t get me started on pain.
Jory returns to hear:
AMIR: Oh, the Bartman.
ISAAC: I mean, I didn’t think he should be killed.
But I had friends…
AMIR: Killed?
jory: Who’s Bartman?
ISAAC: Honey.
AMIR: The fan who stole the ball out of a Cubs outfielder’s hand…
ISAAC: Moisés Alou. Eighth inning.
AMIR: And denied the Cubs a trip to the World Series.
ISAAC (To Jory): You don’t remember this?
JORY: It’s ringing a bell.
(Beat)
Smells great in here.
AMIR: Em’s making pork tenderloin.
(To Isaac)
You eat pork, don’t you?
JORY: Every chance he gets…
ISAAC: Gotta make up for all the lost years…
Could I use your restroom?
AMIR: Down the hall on the right.
ISAAC: I remember.
Isaac crosses to the hall. Exits.
AMIR: What are you drinking?
JORY: You have scotch?
AMIR: Still have that bottle of Macallan that you gave me.
JORY: I expect more from you, Amir.
AMIR: We’ll finish it tonight.
On the rocks?
JORY: Neat.
AMIR: You’re not kidding around.
Amir begins to prepare the drink…
JORY: You hear about Sarah?
AMIR: What about her?
JORY: She got her terrier back.
AMIR: How?
JORY: She hired a dog investigator who kidnapped it back from Frank.
AMIR: Lord.
JORY: Frank’s gonna sue her.
AMIR: On what grounds?
JORY: Just to make her life miserable.
AMIR: The two of them.
JORY: Tell me about it.
(Taking a drink from Amir)
She and I ran into Frank at the courthouse.
AMIR: Oh, you were in court today?
JORY: Proctor insurance arbitration.
AMIR: How’d it go?
JORY: Fine. We’re just dancing around the number now. They have to pay and they know it. They just need a little time to get used to the idea.
AMIR: Mort there?
JORY: Steven took it over. He has me on it now.
AMIR: But Proctor’s Mort’s.
JORY: Was.
AMIR: Why is that not a surprise?
JORY: Mort couldn’t be bothered. Rather be meditating.
AMIR: Yeah, instead of taking his Lipitor.
JORY: You know he took me to lunch and tried to teach me to meditate? I actually tried it a couple of times. Ended up gaining five pounds. I just kept thinking about food. I’d get frustrated, give up, and pig out.
AMIR: What’s up with the offer from Credit Suisse?
JORY: I’m not gonna do it.
AMIR: Didn’t they come back with two hundred more?
AMIR: I told you that move would work.
JORY: You were right.
AMIR: But I don’t think you can get more…
Beat.
JORY: The partners are countering.
AMIR: I doubt it’s two hundred more.
JORY: I’ve put down roots.
Beat.
AMIR: Kapoor, Brathwaite.
JORY: What?
AMIR: You and me. On our own. In business.
Steven and Mort got ahead underpricing the competition. Back in the day, when they got started.
JORY: Well, downtown WASPs didn’t want to be doing mergers and acquisitions.
AMIR: Yeah, fine. That’s why Jews were doing it. And then mergers and acquisitions became all the rage. And guys like Steven and Mort became the establishment.
We are the new Jews.
JORY: Okay…
AMIR: We go about it the right way? We’ll get to where LBH is now in a quarter of the time it took them.
JORY: You coming up with this on the fly?
AMIR: This afternoon.
That firm will never be ours. It’s theirs. And they’re always going to remind us that we were just invited to the party.
JORY: I don’t think it’s a bad idea.
Amir—
Just as…
… Isaac returns from the bathroom, holding a book.
ISAAC: Who’s reading this?
… Sorry, am I interrupting?
JORY: Well…
AMIR: Just talking shop.
Just as Emily enters, looking lovely.
EMILY: I’m so sorry.
(To Jory)
Nice to see you.
JORY: Nice to see you, too.
ISAAC: Hey, Em.
EMILY: Hi, Isaac.
ISAAC: I’m sorry, I thought I heard seven.
EMILY: Look. As long as you don’t mind waiting for dinner…
AMIR: Honey, they got cupcakes from Magnolia.
JORY: Banana pudding, actually.
EMILY: Oh, my God. I love that stuff.
JORY: It’s like crack.
AMIR: You want something to drink, Isaac?
ISAAC: Scotch’d be great. On the rocks…
AMIR: Honey?
EMILY: Port.
JORY: Port? Before dinner?
EMILY: I know I’m strange. I just love it so much…
Amir gets started on the drinks.
ISAAC (To Emily): So who’s reading Denial of Death?
EMILY: I am. Since you suggested it.
AMIR (To Isaac): She’s been raving about it.
ISAAC: The only reason people remember this anymore is because it’s the book Woody Allen gives to Diane Keaton on their first date in Annie Hall. And tells her: “This is everything you need to know about me.”
AMIR: Denial of death.
JORY (To Isaac): You should’ve given me a heads-up, too.
ISAAC: You think?
It’s an amazing book. I actually got the title for my new show from here…
AMIR: What’s the title?
Amir hands out drinks.
ISAAC: The title… Well, first let me say—
It’s been generations and generations of consumerism and cynicism.
JORY (Over): Get comfortable.
ISAAC (Continuing): … And an art market that just feeds the frenzy. But something’s shifting. There’s a movement of young artists who are not buying into it anymore.
They’re asking the question—how to make art sacred again. It’s an impossibly heroic task they’ve set for themselves. Which is why I’m calling it…
(Gesturing to Jory to hold her criticism)
Impossible Heroes.
She doesn’t like it.
JORY: It sounds like a segment on Anderson Cooper’s 360.
AMIR: About Paralympic athletes.
JORY: The impossible heroes.
ISAAC: Very funny.
How about you, Em? What do you think of the title? After all, it’s your show now, too…
Beat.
EMILY: You’re kidding?
ISAAC: The work you’re doing with the Islamic tradition is important and new. It needs to be seen. Widely.
EMILY: Isaac, that’s amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much.
Ensuing congratulations overlap…
JORY: Congratulations, Emily.
EMILY: Thank you.
AMIR: That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you, honey.
ISAAC (Lifting his glass): A toast is in order. To—
AMIR (Over): To your show. And to Emily in your show.
ALL: Cheers…
All drink.
AMIR: So… how many?
ISAAC: What?
AMIR: Of her paintings?
EMILY: That’s my husband. Always talking numbers.
ISAAC: I’ve got room for four or five.
AMIR: Five. That sounds great.
ISAAC (Pointing to the canvas above the fireplace): I definitely want that one. The couple I saw in the studio. And I’ve been thinking about the Study After Velázquez’s Moor. But I’m not sure…
JORY: Moor?
Haven’t heard that word in a minute.
EMILY: I did a portrait of Amir a few months ago…
After an episode we had at a…
Noticing Amir’s reaction to her bringing up the story, Emily shifts gears…
EMILY (CONT’D): I’d just been to the Met and seen the Velázquez painting.
Emily goes to the bookshelf in the corner.
JORY: Which one?
EMILY: Portrait of Juan de Pareja—who happened to be of Moorish descent.
(Returning with the book)
This is the original portrait.
JORY (Recognizing): Oh. Of course.
EMILY: It’s a study after the Velázquez. I’m using the same palette, same composition. But it’s a portrait of Amir.
AMIR: Your very own personal Moor.
EMILY: Muse is more like it…
ISAAC: I think I’d rather stick with the abstract pieces. Keep the impression of your work consolidated. But I’m tempted. I mean, it’s a stunning portrait. Quite a tribute to you, Amir, if you ask me…
ISAAC: Standing there in your black suit. Silver cuff links. Perfectly pressed lily-white dress shirt…
(To Emily)
… which is so magnificently rendered. You can almost smell the starch on that shirt.
AMIR: Not starch, Isaac. Just ridiculous thread count.
JORY: People do not stop talking about your shirts at the office.
AMIR: Really?
JORY: Sarah was joking you must spend half what you make on shirts.
EMILY: Wouldn’t be far from the truth. Charvet, always.
JORY: How much do those run?
Amir seems reluctant to reply.
EMILY: Six hundred.
JORY: Dollars?
ISAAC: So there you are, in your six-hundred-dollar Charvet shirt, like Velázquez’s brilliant apprentice-slave in his lace collar, adorned in the splendors of the world you’re now so clearly a part of…
And yet…
AMIR: Yeah?
ISAAC: The question remains.
AMIR: The question?
ISAAC: Of your place.
For the viewer, of course. Not you.
It’s a painting, after all…
Pause.
AMIR: I like the stuff she was doing before.
ISAAC: The landscapes? Not a huge fan.
JORY: Isaac.
ISAAC: What? She knows that. I think it’s smart she moved on. It’s not as fertile a direction for her.
AMIR: I think the landscapes are very fertile.
EMILY: Amir…
AMIR: What?
EMILY: We both know why you like the landscapes.
JORY: Why?
EMILY: Because they have nothing to do with Islam.
ISAAC (Before Amir can speak): What she’s doing with the Islamic tradition has taken her to another level.
A young Western painter drawing on Islamic representation? Not ironically? But in service?
It’s an unusual and remarkable statement.
AMIR: What’s the statement?
ISAAC: Islam is rich and universal. Part of a spiritual and artistic heritage we can all draw from.
(To Emily)
I loved that thing you said in London. At the Frieze Art Fair. About humility and the Renaissance…
EMILY: Right. The Renaissance is when we turned away from something bigger than ourselves. It put the individual at the center of the universe and made a cult out of the personal ego.
ISAAC: Right.
EMILY: That never happened in the Islamic tradition. It’s still more connected to a wider, less personal perspective.
ISAAC: I’m using that in the catalogue.
EMILY: Stop it.
ISAAC: I’m serious. You’ve got a major career ahead of you.
I’m just one of the first to get to the party.
Emily Hughes-Kapoor. A name to be contended with.
AMIR: Hear, hear.
Toasting…
JORY: Kapoor.
Where in India is that name from?
Pause.
AMIR: Why are you asking?
JORY: Did I say something wrong?
AMIR: No, no…
Steven came into my office today and asked me the same thing.
JORY: He did?
Awkward pause.
EMILY: You know—it’s a pretty common Punjabi name.
ISAAC: I’m headed to Delhi day after tomorrow. That’s in Punjab, isn’t it?
AMIR: Not really, but… Same country… So… Why not?
Laughs.
EMILY: What are you doing in Delhi, Isaac?
ISAAC: Sothi Sikander has deigned to offer me a studio visit.
EMILY: How exciting. I love his work.
(To Jory)
You going, too?
JORY: Ezra has school.
ISAAC: Jory’s being polite. It’s not because Ezra has school. I have a… little bit of an issue when it comes to flying.
JORY: That’s one way of putting it.
ISAAC: I hate flying.
It’s a primal thing.
The thought of not being on the ground… opens up this door to like every fear I have—and the hysteria around security only makes it worse.
AMIR: It’s a nightmare at the airports.
JORY: And now there’s a whole new attraction. You get to decide between being ogled over or felt up.
ISAAC: Felt up. Definitely.
JORY: Why is that not a surprise?
ISAAC: It actually calms me down.
(To Amir)
What’s that like for you?
AMIR: What?
ISAAC: Security at airports.
(Awkward beat)
I mean, you hear stories…
AMIR: Wouldn’t know. I cut right to the chase.
EMILY: He volunteers himself. Goes right to the agents and offers himself up.
JORY: What? To be searched?
AMIR: I know they’re looking at me. And it’s not because I look like Giselle. I figure why not make it easier for everyone involved…
JORY: Never heard of anyone doing that before…
AMIR: On top of people being more and more afraid of folks who look like me, we end up being resented, too.
EMILY: Those agents are working hard not to discriminate…
Then here’s this guy who comes up to them and calls them out…
AMIR: Pure, unmitigated passive aggression. That’s what my wife thinks.
ISAAC: Maybe she’s got a point.
JORY: I think it’s kind of admirable, Amir. If everyone was so forthcoming, the world would be a very different place.
ISAAC: It’s racial profiling.
JORY: Honey. I know what it is.
ISAAC: I can’t imagine you’d like that if it was you?
AMIR: It’s not her. That’s the point.
JORY: … And it’s probably not some Kansas grandmother in a wheelchair.
AMIR: The next terrorist attack is probably gonna come from some guy who more or less looks like me.
EMILY: I totally disagree. The next attack is coming from some white guy who’s got a gun he shouldn’t have…
AMIR: And pointing it at a guy who looks like me.
EMILY: Not necessarily.
ISAAC (To Amir): If every person of Middle Eastern descent started doing what you’re doing…
AMIR: Yeah?
ISAAC: I mean, if we all got used to that kind of… compliance?
We might actually start getting a little too comfortable about our suspicions…
AMIR: So you do have suspicions?
ISAAC: I mean, not me, I’m just saying—
AMIR: Look. Hell. I don’t blame you.
EMILY (To Amir, abruptly): Could you get me a glass of port?
Emily hands Amir her glass. As…
Her cell phone RINGS—on the coffee table.
Emily checks it. Without answering.
EMILY (To Amir): It’s Abe.
AMIR: Abe?
EMILY: Your nephew?
AMIR: What’s he calling you about?
EMILY: Did he call you and you not call him back?
AMIR: Yeah.
EMILY: So he’s calling me.
You gotta work on that, honey.
(To Jory and Isaac)
You guys hungry?
JORY: Getting there.
EMILY (Getting up): I’m starting us with a fennel salad.
(To Jory)
You eat anchovies?
JORY: Love them. And I love fennel.
AMIR (Pouring a drink): Her fennel-anchovy salad is a classic. A fucking classic.
JORY (To Isaac, but indicating Amir): See, honey.
An exemplary instance of spousal support. He never compliments me on my cooking.
ISAAC: I do most of the cooking.
JORY: Because you don’t show me any love when I do.
ISAAC: Look. You make a good omelet.
JORY: I haven’t made an omelet in ages.
ISAAC: Might be the best thing about them.
EMILY (Getting up, for the kitchen): I can’t believe you just said that.
JORY (To Emily): Would you like some help?
EMILY: Thank you, Jory. I would love some.
ISAAC: Just keep her away from the ingredients.
Emily and Jory exit.
ISAAC (CONT’D) (To Amir): So…
I’m sorry if I brought up something sensitive…
Between you and Emily, I mean…
AMIR: You didn’t.
ISAAC: Oh.
AMIR: It’s not a secret. Em and I don’t see eye to eye on Islam. I think it’s… a backward way of thinking. And being.
ISAAC: You don’t think that’s maybe a little broad?
I mean, it happens to be one of the world’s great spiritual traditions.
AMIR: Let me guess. You’re reading Rumi.
ISAAC: Amir…
Actually. Yes, I’ve been reading Rumi. And he’s great. But that’s not what I’m talking about.
Do you know Hanif Saeed?
AMIR: I don’t.
ISAAC: He’s a sculptor, he’s Muslim, he’s devout. His work is an amazing testimony to the power of faith. He carves these monolithic pillar-like forms—
AMIR (Interrupting): Have you read the Quran, Isaac?
ISAAC: I haven’t.
AMIR: When it comes to Islam? Monolithic pillar-like forms don’t matter…
Just as Emily and Jory return with the salad and bowls…
AMIR (CONT’D): And paintings don’t matter. Only the Quran matters.
EMILY: Paintings don’t matter?
AMIR: I didn’t mean it like that.
EMILY: How did you mean it?
AMIR: Honey. You’re aware of what the Prophet said about them?
EMILY: I am, Amir.
JORY: What did he say?
AMIR: He used to say angels don’t enter a house where there are pictures and/or dogs.
JORY: What’s wrong with dogs?
AMIR: Your guess is as good as mine.
ISAAC: Every religion’s got idiosyncrasies. My ancestors didn’t like lobster. Who doesn’t like lobster? What’s your point?
AMIR: My point is that what a few artists are doing, however wonderful, does not reflect the Muslim psyche.
ISAAC: Muslim psyche?
AMIR: Islam comes from the desert.
From a group of tough-minded, tough-living people.
Who saw life as something hard and relentless.
Something to be suffered…
JORY: Huh…
ISAAC: Not the only people to have suffered in a desert for centuries, Amir. Don’t know what it says about the Jewish psyche, if that’s the word we’re going to use.
AMIR: Desert pain. I can work with that.
Jews reacted to the situation differently.
They turned it over, and over, and over…
I mean, look at the Talmud. They’re looking at things from a hundred different angles, trying to negotiate with it, make it easier, more livable…
JORY: Find new ways to complain about it…
Jory chuckles.
Isaac shoots her a look.
AMIR: Whatever they do, it’s not what Muslims do.
Muslims don’t think about it. They submit.
That’s what Islam means, by the way. Submission.
ISAAC: I know what it means.
Look, the problem isn’t Islam. It’s Islamo-fascism.
EMILY: Guys? Salad?
AMIR: Martin Amis, right?
ISAAC: Hitchens, too. They’re not wrong about that…
JORY (Under): I’m starving.
AMIR: You haven’t read the Quran, but you’ve read a couple of sanctimonious British bullies and you think you know something about Islam?
Everyone is moving to the table…
EMILY: Amir…
AMIR: What? That’s not fair game? If he’s going to offer it as a counter, it’s fair game.
ISAAC: He has a point. I need to read the Koran.
EMILY (To Isaac): Did you want fresh pepper?
JORY: I had to read some of it in college. All I remember is the anger.
AMIR: Thank you. It’s like one very long hate-mail letter to humanity.
EMILY: That’s not true!
(With the pepper)
Jory?
AMIR: It is kind of. Grant me that at least…
EMILY: I’ll grant you that the Quran sees humanity as stubborn and self-interested—and it takes us to task for that. And I can’t say it’s wrong to do so—
ISAAC: All I was trying to say with Islamo-fascism is that there’s a difference between the religion and the political use of it.
AMIR: Isaac. In Islam there’s no difference. There’s no distinction between church and state.
JORY: Don’t you mean mosque and state?
AMIR: I do. Thank you.
I’m assuming we’re all opposed to people who think the Bible is the Constitution?
Last person has been served. All begin to eat.
EMILY: Bon appétit.
ISAAC: Bon appétit.
JORY: Mmm. This is so good.
AMIR: Did I tell you, or did I tell you?
EMILY: It’s so easy. You slice everything up…
ISAAC (Looking at his plate): Fennel, peppers, celery…
EMILY: … carrots, radishes…
ISAAC: What are these?
EMILY: Baby artichokes…
JORY (Coming in): What gets me just as much as people who treat the Bible like the Constitution are the people who treat the Constitution like it’s the Bible. I mean, trying to figure out what a text written more than two hundred years ago really meant? Like it’s going to solve our problems today?
EMILY: Like all that bullshit about the right to bear arms. It was 1791, people.
AMIR: That’s my point. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Honey.
ISAAC: Mmm. This is delicious, Em. Really.
EMILY: I picked up the recipe when I was on a Fulbright in Seville.
ISAAC: I love Spain. I ran with the bulls in Pamplona.
JORY: You did not run with the bulls.
ISAAC: I watched people run with the bulls. It was thrilling.
AMIR: We went to Barcelona for our honeymoon.
The chorizo. The paella. The wine.
Spanish wines are so underrated.
ISAAC: See, this is the problem I’m having…
You’re saying Muslims are so different. You’re not that different.
You have the same idea of the good life as I do. I wouldn’t have even known you were a Muslim if it wasn’t for the article in the Times.
Pause.
AMIR: I’m not Muslim. I’m an apostate. Which means I’ve renounced my faith.
ISAAC (Overlapping): I know what the word apostate means.
JORY: Isaac?
AMIR: Do you also know that—according to the Quran—it makes me punishable by death?
EMILY: That’s not true, Amir.
AMIR: Yes, it is.
EMILY: Have you even read that part?
Have you?
It condemns renouncing the faith, but it doesn’t specify punishment. The tradition has interpreted it as punishable by death.
JORY: Impressive…
EMILY: He’s repeated it enough, I checked. I have a vested interest, after all.
Women laugh.
AMIR: Fine.
So let’s talk about something that is in the text.
Wife beating.
ISAAC: Wife beating?
JORY: Great. Could you pass the bread?
EMILY: Amir, really?
AMIR (Passing the bread): So the angel Gabriel comes to Muhammad…
ISAAC: Angel Gabriel?
AMIR (Mocking): Yeah. That’s how Muslims believe the Quran came to humanity. The angel Gabriel supposedly dictated it to Muhammad word for word.
ISAAC: Like Joseph Smith. Mormonism.
An angel named Marami came down in upstate New York and talked to Joseph Smith—
JORY: Moroni, honey. Not Marami.
ISAAC: You sure?
JORY: It was on South Park.
Beat.
AMIR: So like I was saying…
The angel Gabriel shows up and teaches Muhammad this verse. You know the one, honey.
I’m paraphrasing…
Men are in charge of women…
EMILY: Amir?
AMIR (Continuing): If they don’t obey…
Talk to them.
If that doesn’t work…
Don’t sleep with them.
And if that doesn’t work…
(Turning to Emily)
Em?
EMILY: I’m not doing this.
AMIR: Beat them.
JORY: I don’t remember that being in the Koran.
AMIR: Oh, it’s there all right.
EMILY: The usual translation is debatable.
AMIR: Only for people who are trying to make Islam look all warm and fuzzy.
EMILY: The root verb can mean beat. But it can also mean leave. So it could be saying, if your wife doesn’t listen, leave her. Not beat her.
ISAAC: Sounds like a pretty big difference.
AMIR: That’s not how it’s been interpreted for hundreds of years.
JORY (Suddenly impassioned): No. See. Sometimes you just have to say no.
I don’t blame the French.
ISAAC: The French?
JORY: For their problem with Islam.
ISAAC: You’re okay with them banning the veil?
JORY: You do have to draw the line somewhere.
ISAAC: Okay, Mrs. Kissinger.
EMILY: Endearing.
ISAAC: I’m married to a woman who has a Kissinger quote above her desk in the den…
JORY: “If faced with choosing justice or order, I’ll always choose order.”
EMILY: Why do you have that above your desk?
JORY: To remind me. Not to get lost in the feeling that I need to get justice.
You pull yourself out of the ghetto, you realize real soon order is where it’s at…
EMILY: Me. Justice. Always.
JORY: You know what they say? If you’re young and not a liberal, you’ve got no heart. And if you’re old and not a conservative…
AMIR AND JORY (Together): … you’ve got no brain.
ISAAC: I happen to know a few very brilliant Muslim women who choose to wear the veil.
AMIR: You really enjoy playing the contrarian, don’t you?
ISAAC: I’m not playing the contrarian.
JORY (To Isaac, over): Who do you know that wears the veil?
ISAAC: You wouldn’t know them.
JORY: I think you’re making it up.
ISAAC: I’m not.
JORY: So who?
ISAAC: Khalid’s sister.
JORY: Khalid?
ISAAC: She’s a professor of philosophy at Cornell.
She wears the veil.
JORY: Khalid? Your trainer?
AMIR: You train at Equinox?
ISAAC: Yeah.
AMIR: I know Khalid. Balding? With the guns?
ISAAC: That’s him. I didn’t know you trained at Equinox.
JORY: What’s your point?
ISAAC: Khalid may be a trainer, but he comes from a ridiculously educated Jordanian background. All the women in his family wear the veil. By choice.
EMILY: It’s not always what people think. It’s a source of pride for a lot of Muslim women.
AMIR: First of all, they’re probably wearing headscarves. Not the veil. It’s not the same thing—
JORY (Cutting in): The veil is evil.
You erase a face, you erase individuality.
Nobody’s making men erase their individuality.
Why’s it always come down to making the woman pay?
Uh-uh. There is a point at which you just have to say no.
AMIR: Just say no.
That is exactly what Muhammad didn’t do.
Here’s the irony:
Before becoming a prophet? He was adamant about his followers not abusing women.
And then he starts talking to an angel.
I mean, really?
ISAAC: I still can’t believe I’ve never seen the parallel with Mormonism before.
AMIR: You keep saying that like it means something.
ISAAC: Both religions where you can have multiple wives, too. Though I think Mormons are okay with dogs.
AMIR: You still don’t get it.
ISAAC: Get what? That you’re full of self-loathing?
Jory shoots Isaac a look to kill.
AMIR: The Quran is about tribal life in a seventh-century desert, Isaac.
The point isn’t just academic.
There’s a result to believing that a book written about life in a specific society fifteen hundred years ago is the word of God:
You start wanting to re-create that society.
After all, it’s the only one in which the Quran makes any literal sense.
That’s why you have people like the Taliban. They’re trying to re-create the world in the image of the one that’s in the Quran.
Amir has since gotten up from the table and is now pouring himself another drink.
EMILY: Honey, I think we get it.
AMIR (To Emily): Actually. I’m pretty sure you don’t.
(Continuing, to the others)
Here’s the kicker. And this is the real problem:
It goes way deeper than the Taliban.
To be Muslim—truly—means not only that you believe all this. It means you fight for it, too.
Politics follows faith?
No distinction between mosque and state?
Remember all that?
So if the point is that the world in the Quran was a better place than this world, well, then let’s go back.
Let’s stone adulterers.
Let’s cut off the hands of thieves.
Let’s kill the unbelievers.
And so, even if you’re one of those lapsed Muslims sipping your after-dinner scotch alongside your beautiful white American wife—and watching the news and seeing folks in the Middle East dying for values you were taught were purer—and stricter—and truer… you can’t help but feel just a little a bit of pride.
ISAAC: Pride?
AMIR: Yes. Pride.
Beat.
ISAAC: Did you feel pride on September Eleventh?
AMIR (With hesitation): If I’m honest, yes.
EMILY: You don’t really mean that, Amir.
AMIR: I was horrified by it, okay? Absolutely horrified.
JORY: Pride about what?
About the towers coming down?
About people getting killed?
AMIR: That we were finally winning.
JORY: We?
AMIR: Yeah… I guess I forgot… which we I was.
JORY: You’re an American…
AMIR: It’s tribal, Jor. It is in the bones.
You have no idea how I was brought up.
You have to work real hard to root that shit out.
JORY: Well, you need to keep working.
AMIR: I am.
Emily has gotten up to go to Amir.
AMIR (CONT’D): What?
EMILY: That’s enough.
(Taking his glass)
I’m gonna make you some coffee.
Emily exits to the kitchen.
Long awkward pause.
AMIR: What?
(To Isaac, conciliatory)
Look…
I’m sure it’s not all that different than how you feel about Israel sometimes…
ISAAC: Excuse me?
AMIR: You’re going to tell me you’ve never felt anything like that—an unexpected blush of pride, say…
ISAAC: Blush? I don’t feel anything like a blush.
AMIR: When you hear about Israel throwing its military weight around?
ISAAC: I’m critical of Israel. A lot of Jews are.
AMIR: And when you hear Ahmadinejad talk about wiping Israel into the Mediterranean, how do you feel then?
ISAAC: Outraged. Like anybody else.
AMIR: Not everybody’s outraged. A lot of folks like hearing that.
ISAAC: You like hearing that?
AMIR: I said a lot of folks…
Emily appears in the kitchen doorway.
ISAAC: I asked you if you like hearing it. Do you like hearing about Israel getting wiped into the ocean?
JORY: Isaac…
ISAAC: No. I want to know…
AMIR: Sometimes? Yes…
EMILY (With hints of despair): Amir. We’re supposed to be celebrating.
AMIR (Ignoring, over): And I’m saying it’s wrong.
And it comes from somewhere.
And that somewhere is Islam.
ISAAC: No shit it’s wrong.
But it doesn’t come from Islam.
It comes from you.
Islam has no monopoly on fundamentalism. It doesn’t come from a text.
AMIR: You don’t need to patronize me—
ISAAC: You’ve been patronizing me this whole conversation.
You don’t like organized religion? Fine.
You have a particular antipathy for the one you were born into? Fine.
Maybe you feel a little more strongly about it than most of us because… whatever? Fine.
JORY: Isaac.
ISAAC: But I’m not interested in your absurd—and frankly, more than a little terrifying—generalizations…
JORY (Firm): Isaac.
ISAAC: What?
JORY: Stop it.
ISAAC: Okay.
Another tense pause.
AMIR: You’re naive.
EMILY: Amir. Could you join me in the kitchen?
Emily exits.
AMIR (Following her out): Naive and well-meaning. And you’re on a collision course with history.
Amir crosses to the kitchen and exits.
ISAAC: I’m naive? What a fucking asshole.
JORY: He’s the asshole?
ISAAC: Did you hear him?
JORY: What’s gotten into you?
ISAAC: Fucking closet jihadist.
JORY: Will you shut up?
ISAAC: I will never understand what you see in this guy.
JORY: Something’s off tonight.
I think maybe he knows.
(Off Isaac’s look)
About me.
ISAAC: How would he?
JORY: He’s mentioned Steven a few times…
I don’t know? Maybe Mort told him?
ISAAC: Well. He’s going to find out sooner or later.
JORY: I wanted to be the one to tell him.
I owe him that much.
ISAAC: Then you should have told him when it happened.
JORY: I’m under confidentiality.
ISAAC: Well…
JORY: I think I need to tell him.
The kitchen door flies open, and Amir comes bounding back, heading for the coats.
Emily appears behind him.
AMIR (Clearly intoxicated): You came over here with good news. We should be celebrating. It’s Emily’s night. I’m gonna go get us some champagne.
(Off Emily’s reaction)
And then we’re gonna have a wonderful dinner.
Jory and Isaac share a look.
JORY: I’m gonna come with you. Is that okay?
AMIR: Of course.
Amir puts on his coat.
Jory throws on her coat.
AMIR (CONT’D): What?
EMILY: Nothing.
Amir pulls open the door.
Both exit.
Emily turns to Isaac.
EMILY (CONT’D): You think I don’t know what you’re doing?
ISAAC: What am I doing?
EMILY: Isaac, please.
ISAAC: He’s a big boy. He can’t handle a little push-back?
Emily heads for the side table to pour herself another drink.
ISAAC (CONT’D): You guys get into an argument before we showed up?
EMILY: Why would we get into an argument?
ISAAC: You’re married.
EMILY: I don’t have the marriage you do.
(Beat)
You could have told me about the show over the phone.
ISAAC: I wanted to tell you face-to-face.
EMILY: This is my home.
Isaac…
London…
Was a mistake…
ISAAC: I don’t think you really believe that.
Isaac touches her. She pulls away.
ISAAC (CONT’D): You’re in the show now, so that’s it?
EMILY: If that’s why you’re putting me in the show…
ISAAC: Of course not. God.
The whole idea for the show came from you.
Isaac makes another move toward Emily.
Which she doesn’t resist at first. Until she pulls away again.
ISAAC (CONT’D): I had no idea your husband was such a mess.
And a fucking alcoholic to boot.
EMILY: He’s not an alcoholic. He had a bad day at the office.
ISAAC: Oh. So he knows.
EMILY: Knows?
ISAAC: About Jory?
EMILY: What about Jory?
ISAAC: They’re making her partner.
EMILY: Wait, what?
ISAAC: They offered her a partnership. Name on the firm.
Their counter to the offer she got from Credit Suisse.
EMILY: When did this happen?
ISAAC: Last week.
EMILY: Nobody told Amir.
ISAAC: Well, Jory’s telling him right now.
EMILY: I don’t understand.
ISAAC: There is not a lot to understand. They like her. They don’t like him.
EMILY: Mort’s like his father.
ISAAC: Mort doesn’t wear the pants. Steven does.
EMILY: Amir’s been there twice as long as she has.
ISAAC: Well…
EMILY: What?
ISAAC: The whole thing with the imam?
That Amir represented?
EMILY: He didn’t represent him.
ISAAC: That’s not what the Times said.
EMILY: He went to a hearing.
ISAAC: The paper mentioned the firm and they mentioned Amir and it looked like he was representing a man who was raising money for terrorists.
EMILY: That’s absurd.
ISAAC: That’s not what Steven thought. He went ballistic.
EMILY: He did?
ISAAC: Don’t you know this?
Jory said your husband broke down. Was crying at a staff meeting. And apparently shouted something about how if the imam had been a rabbi, Steven wouldn’t have cared.
Steven thought the comment was anti-Semitic.
EMILY: I’m sorry, but sometimes you people have a problem.
ISAAC: We people?
EMILY: Jews. You see anti-Semitism everywhere.
ISAAC: You’re married to a man who feels a blush when Ahmadinejad talks about wiping Jews into the ocean. Steven is a huge fund-raiser for Netanyahu. I have no idea why Amir would go anywhere near a guy like that imam.
EMILY (Crushed): For me. He did it for me.
Oh, God.
Pause.
ISAAC: He doesn’t understand you. He can’t understand you.
He puts you on a pedestal.
It’s in your painting.
He’s looking out at the viewer—that viewer is you. You painted it. He’s looking at you.
The expression on that face?
Shame. Anger. Pride.
Yeah. The pride he was talking about.
The slave finally has the master’s wife.
EMILY: You’re disgusting—
ISAAC: It’s the truth, Em. And you know it. You painted it.
Silence.
ISAAC (CONT’D): If what happened that night in London was a mistake, Em, it’s not the last time you’re going to make it.
A man like that…
You will cheat on him again. Maybe not with me, but you will.
EMILY: Isaac.
ISAAC: And then one day you’ll leave him.
Em. I’m in love with you.
Isaac leans in to kiss her.
Emily doesn’t move. In or out.
Just as the front door opens—
Jory enters. In a huff. Returning for Isaac and her things. Ready to leave for the evening—
JORY: Isaac, we need to get out of here—
—but stopped in place by the moment of intimacy between her husband and Emily.
JORY: What the fuck is going on here?
Amir enters, inflamed.
AMIR: You wait a week to tell me this? And the second I say something you don’t like hearing, you walk away from me in mid-fucking sentence?
Who are you?!
Jory just stares at her husband…
AMIR (CONT’D): What?
(Looking around)
What?
JORY (To Emily): Are you having an affair with my husband?
AMIR: Excuse me?
ISAAC (To Jory): Nobody’s having an affair.
JORY: I walked in here and they were kissing.
EMILY: That is not true! Amir, it’s not true.
JORY: They were kissing.
(Pointing)
There.
EMILY: That’s not what was happening.
JORY: I know what I saw.
EMILY: Isaac told me about them making you partner. I know how much longer Amir has been there than you. I was upset. I was crying.
ISAAC: I was consoling her.
JORY: By kissing her?
EMILY (Incredulous): We weren’t kissing! Why do you keep saying that?!
JORY (To Isaac): Are you having an affair with her? Tell me the truth.
ISAAC: Honey. I already said. We’re not having an affair.
JORY: So what the fuck were you doing when I walked in here?
ISAAC (Going to his wife): I was hugging her because she was crying.
JORY: Get off me!
EMILY: I was upset they made you partner.
I know how much longer Amir has been there.
I was crying.
Amir turns to Jory. Vicious.
AMIR: First you steal my job and now you try to destroy my marriage? You’re fucking evil. After everything I’ve done for you?
Jory goes over to get her purse. As if to leave.
JORY: I know what I saw.
AMIR (Exploding): You have any idea how much of myself I’ve poured into that place? That closet at the end of the hall? Where they keep the cleaning supplies? That was my first office!
Yours had a view of the fucking park!
Your first three years? Were you ever at work before anyone else in the morning?
Were you ever the last one to leave?
Cause if you were, I didn’t see it.
I still leave the office after you do!
You think you’re the nigger here?
I’m the nigger!! Me!!
ISAAC (Going to his wife): You don’t need to listen to any more out of this asshole.
JORY (To Isaac): Don’t touch me.
AMIR (To Isaac): You’re the asshole.
ISAAC: You better shut your mouth, buddy!
AMIR (To Isaac): Or what?!
ISAAC: Or I’ll knock you on your fucking ass!
AMIR: Try me!
JORY (To Isaac): GET OFF ME!!
Inflamed, Isaac finally releases his wife, facing off with Amir.
When suddenly—
Amir spits in Isaac’s face.
Beat.
Isaac wipes the spit from his face.
ISAAC: There’s a reason they call you people animals.
Isaac turns to his wife.
Then turns to Emily.
Then walks out.
AMIR (To Jory): Get out.
JORY (Collecting her things): There’s something you should know.
Your dear friend Mort is retiring.
And guess who’s taking over his caseload? Not you. Me.
I asked him, Why not Amir?
He said something about you being duplicitous.
That it’s why you’re such a good litigator. But that it’s impossible to trust you.
(At the door)
Don’t believe me?
Call Mort. Ask him yourself.
Let me guess.
He hasn’t been taking your calls?
Jory walks out.
Pause.
EMILY: Have you lost your fucking mind?!
Amir turns away, withdrawing into himself. Pacing. The inward spiral deepening.
EMILY (CONT’D): Amir!
AMIR: She’s right. He hasn’t been taking my calls.
EMILY: I’m gonna get you that coffee.
Emily heads for the kitchen…
Leaving Amir onstage by himself for a moment. As he watches the swinging door sway. Back and forth.
Emily returns. A mug in hand.
AMIR: Em.
Something in Amir’s tone—vulnerable, intense—stops her in place.
AMIR (CONT’D): Are you sleeping with him?
Pause.
Emily puts the mug down on the table.
Beat. Finally shakes her head.
EMILY: It was in London. When I was at Frieze.
We were drinking. It’s not an excuse…
It’s just…
We’d just been to the Victoria and Albert. He was talking about my work.
And…
Emily—seeing how her words are landing on her husband—makes her way to him.
EMILY (CONT’D) (Approaching): Amir, I’m so disgusted with myself. If I could take it back.
All at once, Amir hits Emily in the face. A vicious blow.
The first blow unleashes a torrent of rage, overtaking him. He hits her twice more. Maybe a third. In rapid succession. Uncontrolled violence as brutal as it needs to be in order to convey the discharge of a lifetime of discreetly building resentment.
(In order for the stage violence to seem as real as possible, obscuring it from direct view of the audience might be necessary. For it to unfold with Emily hidden by a couch, for example.)
After the last blow, Amir suddenly comes to his senses, realizing what he’s done.
AMIR: Oh, my God…
There’s a KNOCKING at the door.
Beat.
And then more KNOCKING.
Finally, the door gently opens. To show:
Abe.
Abe looks over and sees—as we do—Emily emerge into full view, on the ground, her face bloodied.
Abe looks up at Amir.
Lights Out.