Scene One
Lights come up.
High ceilings, parquet floors, crown moulding. The works.
Upstage â a dining table. Behind it, a swinging door leads off to a kitchen.
Upstage right â an open doorway leads to a hall that disappears from view.
Upstage left â a terrace and windows looking out over further buildings in the distance. Through which the season will show in each scene.
Downstage â a living room. A couch and chairs gathered together around a coffee table.
The stage left wall is covered with a large painting: a vibrant, two-panelled image in luscious whites and blues, with patterns reminiscent of an Islamic garden. The effect is lustrous and magnetic.
Below, a marble fireplace. And on the mantel, a statue of Siva.
To one side, a small table on which sit a half-dozen bottles of alcohol. Downstage right â a vestibule and the front door.
The furnishings are spare and tasteful. Perhaps with subtle flourishes of the Orient.
On stage: Emily â early thirties, white, lithe and lovely â sits at the end of the dining table. A large pad before her as well as a book open to a large reproduction of VelĂĄzquezâs Portrait of Juan de Pareja.
Emily assesses her model . . .
Amir â forty, of South Asian origin, in an Italian suit jacket, a crisp, collared shirt, but only boxers underneath. He speaks with a perfect American accent.
Posing for his wife.
She sketches him. Until . . .
Amir You sure you donât want me to put pants on?
Emily (showing the VelĂĄzquez painting) I only need you from the waist up.
Amir I still donât get it.
Emily You said it was fine.
Amir It is fine. Itâs just . . .
Emily What?
Amir The more I think about it . . .
Emily Mmm-hmm.
Amir I think itâs a little weird. That you want to paint me after seeing a painting of a slave.
Emily He was VelĂĄzquezâs assistant, honey.
Amir His slave.
Emily Until VelĂĄzquez freed him.
Amir Okay.
Emily I mean, how many times have we stopped in front of that painting?
Amir Itâs a good painting. No idea what it has to do with what happened last night. I mean the guy was a dick.
Emily He wasnât just a dick. He was a dick to you. And I could tell why.
Amir Honey, itâs not the first time â
Emily A man, a waiter, looking at you.
Amir Looking at us.
Emily Not seeing you. Not seeing who you really are. Not until you started to deal with him. And the deftness with which you did that. You made him see that gap. Between what he was assuming about you, and what you really are.
Amir The guyâs a racist. So what?
Emily Sure. But I started to think about the VelĂĄzquez painting. And how people must have reacted when they first saw it. They think theyâre looking at a picture of a Moor. An assistant.
Amir A slave.
Emily Fine. A slave.
But whose portrait â it turns out â has more nuance and complexity than his renditions of kings and queens. And God knows how many of those he painted.
Amir You know what I think? I think you should just call your black Spanish boyfriend and get him up here to sit for you. Heâs still in New York, isnât he?
Emily Honey, I have no idea.
Amir You donât have to rub it in, babe. I know all men are not created equal â
Emily (gesturing) Could you do the thing?
Amir (adjusting his arm) Way to make a guy feel wanted â
If anything, I guess I should be grateful to Jose, right? Broke your dad in. I mean, at least I spoke English.
Emily Dadâs still traumatised. He brought up that Thanksgiving on the phone the other day? (Assessing her sketch.) Anyway â I donât know what youâre so worried about. Itâs not like anybodyâs gonna see this.
Amir Baby. Jerry Saltz loved your last show.
Emily He liked it. He didnât love it. It didnât sell.
Amir Sellingâs not everything.
Amirâs cell phone ...