Just Another False Alarm

8/9/2019 Just Another False Alarm

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JUST ANOTHER FALSE ALARM.

A

PLAY

BY

T.J.COLLETT.

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CHARACTERS:

Ezra Podwick: An American artist.

Amy Ashpit: An English model.

Marcel Malzac: Companion of Ezra.

LOCATION: PARIS.

TIME: 1950s.

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Act One. Scene One.A large room divided by a curtain. On the left side is a bed and chest of drawers. On

the right side is an easel, a table with brushes, paints, and palette. There is an old sofa

against the wall lower stage right. A window is on wall stage right. There is a door

upstage and a small door leading to a toilet/washroom upper stage right. Ezra is

standing by his easel facing a blank canvas. He stares at it for a few moments thenwalks back to stare at it from a different angle. He sighs. He is clothed in well worn

jeans and an old shirt. Ezra sighs again. He moves forward to the canvas and touches

it with his right finger. There is a knock at the door. Ezra ignores it and continues to

touch the canvas. There is a knock again at the door. Ezra sighs and goes to the door

and opens it. A small man stands there in a smart black suit.

Ezra: Marcel, this place is a dump. I cant feel any muse here at all.

Marcel: Give it time, Monsieur Ezra, you have only been here a week.

Ezra: And nothing has moved me to put brush to canvas. And the studiofeels damp and the beds uncomfortable. (Pause. He ushers Marcel into thestudio and closes the door after him. Marcel walks slowly downstage and scans the

room. Ezra follows.)And I thought you were going to find me a model. How

can a guy paint if hes got no model? I need a model, preferably a good-

looking dame with a body like a goddess.

Marcel: I am looking for the right one for you, Monsieur. You wouldnt

want a girl, who did you no good or did not inspire you, would you?

Ezra: And the view from the window is dismal. How can I get inspired

looking out at that bland view? (Goes to the window and peers out.)And what

about giving me the names of a few fellow artists so that I can meet and

discuss art with them? Do you think I can work in isolation? Im no

hermit. I need human contact. Need to feel and hear the companionship of

other artists and intellectuals, preferably those that speak some English.

Marcel: In good time, Monsieur. (Walks around the studio looking at the bare

walls and in through the curtain at the bed.)Rome, it was not built in a day. I

will find you a model. (Turns to look at Ezra at the window.)You need

something on your walls. They are too bare. It is like a mausoleum in

here. No studio should look this bare. You need paintings surrounding

you. Something to urge you on to work.

Ezra: I havent got round to putting things up, yet. (Turns and walks towards

Marcel.) Ive got a few paintings to go up, but theyre on their way here

from my home in the States.

Marcel: Ah, the United States of America. I have wanted to go there for

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many years and so far have I been unable to make it. It may seem like a

dream, but one day, Monsieur, I shall get there. I shall walk the streets of

New York, see the sights, and hear the Jazz bands.

Ezra :( Picks up a brush from the table and touches the canvas with it.)And oneday, Marcel, I shall paint a work of art that will change the history of art.

Then both our dreams will be fulfilled. (Drags the dry brush along the

canvas.)Its inspiration I need, Marcel. Get me that model and make it

soon. I feel like a damned monk here.

Marcel: I think I know who will be suitable, if she will come. Her name is

Mademoiselle Amy Ashpit. An English woman. Been here for a few

years. Modelled a few times for Josef Brodsky. I think shes still around.

I will find out for you, Monsieur.

Ezra: You do that, Marcel. You do that and make it soon before I dry up

like an old hags vagina. (Pause.) Do you know what my father said about

art? He said it was all a sham.A huge pretence at doing something

important, when it was all just a deception to avoid real work in the

world. He said all artists were impostors. Charlatans and fakes. And he

included me in that list when he spoke. Hed sit there in his office, look at

me, and say it without as much as blinking an eye. He wanted me to be in

business like him. To make something of myself. To be somebody. (Puts

the brush back on the table and wipes his hands on his shirt.)To be somebody

according to my father you had to be in business. Had to know how to

make deals and make money. Art to him was a sideline for failures and

fakes. (Laughs.) My sister, Ruth, now she had to be the good wife thing.

The stay at home and mind the kids and husband kind of thing. No room

for women in business he said. Women are too damned emotional, he

said to me once when he thought I was going to follow him into the

business. Too damned blind to the bigger picture of things. Always

worried about the tiny things (Smiles briefly.)What a guy. What a screwed

up guy. My sister made the grade by knuckling down to what he wantedand married some grub with a small potential and a big mouth. Now shes

got a kid, a house, a ducks piss of life and she pretends shes happy.

Marcel: Perhaps she is, Monsieur. Some women want little more than

that. My mother was content with what she had and so was my

grandmother before her.

Ezra :( Shakes his head.)Marcel, Marcel, my sister had potential. She played

the violin with the skill to make it into an orchestra, but my father said it

was not for her. He said. Not her. Him. God damn him.

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Marcel: Your father is still alive?

Ezra: Yeah, he still alive. Still plunging his damned finger in all the

business pies, he can get his clammy hands on.

Marcel: Does he know how you feel?

Ezra: Oh, yeah, he knows all right. I made sure he knew how I felt about

his damned business ventures and the way he treated my sister. We had as

they say a few words. Yeah, he knows. He knows how I feel. Not that he

cares a damn how I feel, but there you there, thats how it is. I am who I

am and he is who he is. Were like two different sides of the same coin.

Same base metal, but two different aspects. Two opposites.

Marcel: Well, Monsieur Ezra, I hope one day you will make peace with

your father. It is not good to be at logger heads with ones parents.

Ezra: Ill make peace with him when he makes peace with me, until then

he can go rot for all I care.

Marcel: Monsieur, such sentiments are not good for your sense of justice.

How can you create with such ill feelings floating around your mind?

Ezra: Youd be surprised what inspires me, Marcel. Now, find me that

model so I can get some oils on the damned canvas. (Looks around the

room.)And some names of fellow artists. Names and addresses, whatever

youve got. I need contact, Marcel, contact.

Marcel: Very well, Monsieur, I will seek Mademoiselle Amy out and see

what she says. And I hope your paintings come soon to fill up this

blankness on your walls.

Ezra: Yeah, well, they should be here soon. Im getting bored looking atthe bare walls myself. (Follows Marcel to the door and opens it for him.)And an

outlet where I can sell my work. I need money. I need someone to buy

my work and the sooner the better.

Marcel: I will do what I can, Monsieur. I will be in touch tomorrow.(Marcel goes out. Ezra closes the door and leans against it. The light fades.)

End of Scene One.

Act One. Scene Two.

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The studio the next day. A number of paintings are against the wall facing inwards

stage left and right. The easel has a blank canvas on it. The studio is silent with only

light coming from the window. After a few minutes, the door opens and Marcel enters

followed by a young woman with long brown hair and clothed in a knee-length green

dress. The woman enters and looks around the studio. Marcel closes the door andwalks behind the woman.

Marcel: Monsieur Ezra? (Pause. Walks a few paces.)Monsieur Ezra? (Marcellooks around the studio and into the curtained off area. The woman looks at the walls

and the canvases turned inwards.)

Amy: Perhaps hes gone out. (Walks to the easel and stares at the blank canvas.)

Marcel: Unlikely. Monsieur Ezra rarely goes out in the morning. (Looks

under the bed and around the studio.)He should be here. The door was

unlocked.

Amy: Maybe he ran out of milk and has gone to get some. Artists are

only human after all. (Brushes her finger along the canvas.)

Marcel: Monsieur Ezra? (Walks downstage to the edge of the stage and peers

out.)These Americans, they have no sense of time.

Amy: Did he say he would be here at this hour?

Marcel: No, but he rarely goes out in the mornings. (Stands with his armsfolded at the edge of the stage.) How am I to arrange things if he is here there

and everywhere?

Amy: My knowledge of artists tells me they are a law unto themselves.

(Wanders down to where Marcel is standing.)Ill wait if you have to be

elsewhere, Marcel.

Marcel: No, no, I will wait. I cannot leave you here. (Sighs. Looks

upstage.)Monsieur Ezra is young and a stranger to Paris. I hope he has notgot lost. It happens you know.

Amy: Quite bare this studio. Has he been here long?

Marcel: A week, that is all. He says he has paintings coming from

America. That will make it more like a studio one hopes.

Amy: Well, in his own good time. Im in no hurry.

Marcel:Never tell an artist that, Mademoiselle Amy. They are ones to

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take advantage of other peoples time and fate. (Looks at Amy.)Always tell

them you have to be elsewhere at such a time and that you have other

engagements or they will treat you like an appendage that is always there.

Amy: I know artists, Marcel. I have worked with them for the last fewyears. They think everyone is there for their convenience. And manners

are a thing they think too bourgeoisie to consider. (Stares at the blank

walls.)Blank walls. This one must be a babe in arms or a monk.

Marcel: He is new to Paris. An American. But where is he?

(Sighs.)Monsieur Ezra? (Pause.)Monsieur Ezra? (The door opens and Ezraappears with a loaf of bread in his hand.)

Ezra: Ah, yes, Marcel. (Closes the door behind him)Sorry about that. Had to

get some bread. (Sees Amy.)Oh, and who is this young lady?

Marcel: This, Monsieur is Mademoiselle Amy. Mademmoiselle this is

Monsieur Ezra. (Amy nods her head. Ezra stares at Amy.)At last, you have met.

The artist. The model.

Ezra :( To Amy.)Hi. So, youre the model. (Pause. Ezra looks at Amy from the

front and slowly walks around her. Amy stands still and stares at Marcel.)Yeah,

youll do.

Amy :( Sarcastically.) Thank you. Im always glad to please. (Pulls the hem of

her green dress up revealing a thigh.)And when would you want me to start?

Ezra: Have you modelled before? (Walks to his easel and fingers the canvas.)

Amy: Yes. Ive had no complaints.

Ezra: Good. (Pause. Walks to Marcel.)Well, Marcel, The paintings have

come. I need a little time to arrange them and have them hanging fromthe walls. This, dame, shes for real?

Marcel: For real, Monsieur?

Ezra: Shes a real model? Not just some dame who said shes modelled

before?

Amy: I am here you know. You can ask me questions.

Marcel: Mademoiselle Amy is a model and I have known her for a few

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years. She worked for Monsieur Brodsky and Monsieur Bonet. And

maybe others.

Ezra: Right, so good. (To Amy.)You mind posing in the nude?

Amy: Not if you dont.

Ezra: I need some one whos not afraid to show flesh.

Amy: I have posed in all sorts of positions and in all of stares of undress.

(Pause. Marcel walks and turns a few canvases round and peers at them. Amy stands

and stares at Ezra. Ezra nods his head and follows Marcel.)

Ezra: These are my favourites. I left those I wasnt sure of in the States.Didnt want to fill the place with things I didnt really want. (Amy follows

Ezra.)I need these around me. These are paintings with my soul in them.

Amy: When do you want me to begin?

Marcel: I can maybe find a buyer for them. There is a market at the

moment for this kind of thing. People are buying art now. It is the said

done thing. An investment. A way to invest ones money.

Amy: Today? Tomorrow? Next year?

Ezra: Investment is a horrible word to me, Marcel. I think of these

paintings as works of art, not just investment items. They are things to be

admired and meditated over. Not just to invest in.

Marcel: You have to live, Monsieur, Ezra. Paintings are your bread and

butter.

Amy: An answer today would be nice. (Touches Ezras arm.)When do you

want me?

Ezra: Now. Always until I have achieved my masterpiece. (Amy and Ezrastare at each other.)

Amy: A life time job then? (Smiles.)What do you want me to do first?

Marcel: Monsieur Brodsky has sold five paintings this month. He is much

in demand.

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Amy: He let me go. Hes gone all abstract.

Ezra: You can begin by being quiet for few moments. I need quiet as

much as anything else. Peace is a thing that help me focus on what I amabout to start.

Marcel: Well, Monsieur Ezra, if all is well I had better move on to my

next engagement. I am a busy man. No time to stand and chatter as you

they say.

Ezra: O.k. Marcel. Thanks. Ill be in touch about the work to be sold. Ill

sort them out.

Marcel: It is vital I know soon, Monsieur. The market is very quick and

things change very fast.

Ezra: Ill be in touch, Marcel, dont worry. Ill sort them today. (Marcel

bows slightly and moves towards the door. He smiles at Amy and goes out.)That is

some guy. He knows the art business like a whore knows the inside of a

mans pants.

Amy: I like him. Hes polite. Hes French. (Walks upstage and stare at the

walls.)These walls are too bare. Its like a monastery in here. When are

you going to put up these paintings?

Ezra :( Wanders upstage and turns over a few paintings.)They need sorting first.

Those to be sold and those to be hung.

Amy Hung? How brutal? (Turns over a painting and stares at it.)And how will

you decide? This one for instance is it to be sold or will you hang it?

Ezra :( Looks at the painting Amy has turned over.)Cant sell that. Thats myfavourite. I need that. Need it to remind me what I can do if the muse is

with me.

Amy: And what do you paint like if the muse is not with you?

Ezra: I dont paint things if the muse isnt with me. I have levels of

works. If the muse is close, I paint well. If the muse isnt then I paint

things to sell. (Lifts the painting and lifts it to the wall.)This one can hang.

Amy: Today?

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Ezra: Yeah, today. You and I can sort these works out and hang what

isnt to be sold and put aside what Marcel can sell.

Amy: Im a model, not a labourer.

Ezra: Do you want work?

Amy: Yes, but modelling, not labouring.

Ezra: A few lousy paintings. Im not asking you to dig ditches or build a

wall. Just a matter of sorting out. No big deal. (Amy sighs and walks to the

sofa and flops down.)What is it these days? No one wants to work?

Amy: Im resting while you gabble on. When you want me to work justsay and Ill move myself. (Ezra moves to the sofa and sits down next to Amy.)

Ezra: Do you know a good painting when you see one?

Amy: Good or bad, its all instinct with me. I know what I like and what I

dont like and I suppose all critics are the same. Some are paid for it some

are bribed.

Ezra: I know what I want to keep. Some paintings are not for me, even if

I did paint them.

Amy: Well, what do I do? Save what you like or what I like?

Ezra: What I like is best. I want what I love next to me. (Ezra looks at Amy.

Amy shrugs her shoulders.)Its like selling your own children for Christs

sake. How would you like it if you had to sell your own children?

Amy: I dont have children. I have just me and my mother and sister in

England.

Ezra: Well I have these paintings and theses are my children.

Amy :( Pause. Pulls down the hem of her dress and stares at the easel.)Havent got

very far yet have you?

Ezra: Im awaiting the muse. (Looks at Amys dress.)I dont start without the

muse.

Amy: And when does this muse come?

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Ezra: When she will. Ive no command over her. (Looks at Amys hands and

then her face.)But she can come at any time. Just have to wait.

Amy :( Looks at Ezra.)So, you want me to help you sort out this lot?

Ezra: Yeah. (Looks at Amys eyes.)Sort things out. (Moves forward to be closer

to her eyes.)Blue? Or green?

Amy: What?

Ezra: Your eyes. Blue or green?

Amy: Blue. And yours are a sort of black kind of blue.

Ezra: Are they?

Amy: Yes.

Ezra: Oh. (Pause. Ezra sighs.)Ive not seen eyes like that for years.

Amy: Look in lost of eyes, do you?

Ezra: All the time.

Amy: Must be fascinating.

Ezra: It is. Part of my vocation to observe. To see and paint.

Amy: And mine is to pose and wait. (Looks at Ezras hands.)So, theses are

the hands of an artist, are they? Look very soft and clean for an artist.

Ezra: Im an artist not a lumber jack. My hands are my tools. My means

of expression. (Lifts his hands and shows them to Amy.) These are my tools.

Amy: Nice tools they look too. I hope they behave themselves when I

begin posing in the nude?

Ezra: They are as pure as priests serving the mass.

Amy: And I suppose you are the pope of oils? (Both look at each other insilenced foe a few moments.)

Ezra: I am like a minor god. I create out of love. I create what was notthere before. Art is another sacrament. It has its place beside the

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confessional and the last rites.

(Pause. Ezra gets up, walks to the canvases by the left wall, and begins to sort through

them. Amy stands and watches. Ezra passes her a canvas.)

Ezra: This can be sold. (Amy sets it to one side.)This can be sold, too. (Amy

moves the painting and sets it down with the other one.)This one can be hung.

Amy: What is it?

Ezra: A painting.

Amy: I mean what is it of?

Ezra: What is it of? A work of art isnt of anything, it just is.

Amy: And you hope to sell this?

Ezra: Yeah. Ive sold a few in the States. They like this sort of thing.

Amy: Oh, the States? That explains it.

Ezra: Marcel says it will sell here too. (Sorts through more paintings. Amy

stands by to take the ones to be sold.)I need my model to have confidence inmy work. No good if she doesnt appreciate it. I cant have negative

feedback.

Amy: If I see what is good I will say so. And if its crap then Ill let you

sell it. (Both sort through the pictures. Amy puts to one side paintings for Marcel andto another side paintings to be hung. Ezra watches her as she sorts through the

paintings. Amy shakes her head at one painting and Ezra looks over her shoulder to

see what the fuss is about.)

Ezra: A self-portrait. I thought it was an honest painting. Me inmediation.

Amy: Constipation more like. You need to be more removed.

Ezra :( Looks at the painting and then at Amy.)What do you know of art?

Amy: I know a constipated man when I see one.

Ezra: Marcel knows about art from the buyers perspective. But you? Youknow only what a woman knows of art. Real art belongs to us men. No

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woman has ever painted a masterpiece. They paint as they live too

shallowly.

Amy: Im not shallow. I have depth that would drown you.

Ezra :( Stares at Amy.)Well see. Time will tell who drowns whom.

(Pause. Ezra goes upstage to the washroom area. Amy sorts through a few more

paintings. She picks out one, drags it out, and stares at it.)

Amy: This is one to keep! (Looks upstage.)Perhaps you have some talent

after all. (Ezra returns with two glasses of wine. He hands one to Amy and keeps one

for himself. He stares at the painting Amy has selected.)Is this someone you

love?

Ezra: My sister Ruth.

Amy: Your sister? You must love her. You paint her with passion.

Ezra: Shes dead.

Amy: Dead? Oh, I am sorry.

Ezra: Dead to me, not in life. She has buried herself in a useless anddegrading marriage to some bum who thinks more of business than he

does of her or her kids.

Amy: And you painted this out of a sense of loss?

Ezra: Yeah. A memorial. (Snatches the painting a puts it back against the

wall.)Look you can go. Come back tomorrow. Ill have need of you then.

Amy: All right. (Moves upstage. Stops.)Shes very beautiful your sister.

Ezra: See you tomorrow. And dont waste compliments on the dead. (Amynods and goes out the door. Ezra pulls out the painting and looks at it. He sighs. After

a few minutes, he outs it back and the light fades as he sorts out other paintings.)

End of Scene Two.

Act One. Scene Three.

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The following day. Ezra is asleep in bed. The curtains are drawn and there is dimness

around the room. A few paintings are on the walls. The easel has a blank canvas

sitting on it. After a few moments, there is a knock at the door. Ezra stirs, but does not

wake up. Then after a few moments, there is a knock again. Ezra stirs, but does not

wake. The door opens slowly and Amy enters. She closes the door and walks further

into the studio. She looks around the room. She stops and looks at a few of thepaintings. After a few minutes, she wanders downstage, looks behind the curtain, and

sees Ezra in bed. She stands and looks at him for a short period.

Amy: All are alike when asleep. Even the darkest villain looks like a

child while asleep. (Pause.)Sleep like death is the great leveller. Look how

he sleeps. (Moves forward and stands just over Ezra.) What woman couldnt

feel something for such a sleeping child? Yet as soon as they wake all

their darkness awakes as well and their innocence that seemed to flood

their features skips off like a child at play. (Pause. Puts her hand on Ezras

head gently and he stirs slowly. Amy moves back.)I wonder what he dreams

about? What nightmares haunt him? (Ezra stirs again and slowly opens his eyes.He sits up suddenly as he recognizes Amy.)

Ezra: What are you doing here?

Amy: I came as you asked me to.

Ezra: What time is it? (Looks around him.)What time of day is it that you

hound me like some she-wolf?

Amy (Looks at her wristwatch.)Its nearly ten oclock. Am I too early?

Ezra: What time of day do you think I wake? I never wake before noon.

Go away and come back at some civilized hour! (Lies down again.)

Amy: Who do you think you are? Im not some servant girl to be ordered

here and there. If you want my services then youll have to get your

backside out of bed in the mornings and start some work. Im not hanging

around for you to slumber like some hibernating bear.

Ezra: What are you? What was Marcel thinking hiring a model that

haunts me at this hour? Go! Ill find another dame to model for me and at

an hour that is to my liking not hers. (Pulls the covers over his head.)

Amy: Suit yourself, but dont come running to me when you cant find

the muse to stir you from your laziness. (Turns to go, but stops and looks at

Ezra.)Time isnt your servant. It works at its own pace not yours.

Ezra :( Sits up and sighs.)You still here? What are you? My mother?

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Amy: If I were, Id have you out of that bed with a slap across your

backside. (Stands with her arms folded.)

Ezra :( Laughs.)I guess you would by the look on your face. But youre

not, so go and leave me to my peace and quiet.

Amy: I wouldnt stay if you asked me to. Ive better things to do than

wait for some second-rate artist to stir from his bed. I can get work

anywhere when I like. I only did it as a favour to Marcel who is a

gentleman and a friend.

Ezra: I wouldnt ask you to model for me if you were the last model in

Paris. Go and model for some other nut! And who the hell are you calling

second-rate? Ive painted better works of art than any youve modelledfor.

Amy: I doubt it. And even if you have, I still wouldnt model for you if

you got on your bony knees and begged me.

Ezra: Youll have to wait until hell freezes over before I do that.

Amy: What is it with you Americans that you think you own the world

and all that it contains?

Ezra: What is it with you English that you think the world owes you

something?

Amy: Were you born rude or have you cultivated it over many years?

Ezra: What is it with you dames that you get your freedom and you

squander it as whores do their virtue?

Amy: If youre an artist of any merit, Ive yet to see any proof of it. Idont model for second-raters. I only model for those who are worth my

time and talent.

Ezra: Why dont you just go and leave me to my bed and slumber. I dont

need this. I dont need you. I need my sleep and peace.

Amy :( Walks out of the curtained area and wanders downstage to the easel.)When

you cant fill this blank canvas because the muse wont come maybeyoull think of this moment and curse yourself for your rudeness and

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talent less pride. (Looks at the paintings on the wall. Stops at one. It is Ezras

sister.)I bet your sister isnt as shiftless as you are. At least she has a life of

some value. (She listens for Ezras reply.)I bet you father was glad to see the

back of you. I would if you were son of mine. (Ezra sighs and climbs out of

bed reluctantly.)I cant think of a worst nine months spent than bringing youinto the world. Your mother must be either a saint or masochist. (Ezraenters out of the curtained area and stands staring at Amy. She sees him and returns

his stare.)So your legs still function?

Ezra: Did my father hire you to irritate me? Are you on some mission by

him to make my life hell on earth?

Amy: I wish he had. It would have been worth the money just to do

something for a just cause.

Ezra: I must have words with Marcel. Hes let me down badly. I thought I

was getting a model not a shrew. (They walk towards each other and stop face to

face.)And what right have you got to make comments about my sister?

You dont know her. You dont know what she did to satisfy that father

of ours. Shes got no real life. Shes sacrificed her life to appease his will

and ideals. Damned if would or will. He can go rot in hell for all I care,

but Ruth I care about. Ruth I had as a close companion and he killed her.

Left only a skeleton of her behind to do his will and bidding.

Amy: Isnt it up to her what she does with her life?

Ezra: Do with her life? She has no life. Shes wasted it on that gumboil of

a husband and given way to a father, I wouldnt spit on if he were on fire.

Amy: Do I detect a hint of bitterness?

Ezra: Always the understatement with you English, isnt it? You and your

stiff upper lip and cold stare.

Amy: So, youve noticed? Strange what civilisation does to a nation as

old and historic as ours.

Ezra: We have our history. We have our civilisation.

Amy: Your history is just a footnote compared to ours. And decadence

and second-rate thinkers already taint your civilisation.

Ezra: I think youd better go. Youre just a model. Just a dame who

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poses. Just a dame whose mouth spins like a top with as much purpose.

Amy :( Walks downstage to the edge.)If I were Ruth, Id consider myself well

served to have angered you in such a manner.

Ezra: You know nothing of her.

Amy: Did you?

Ezra: Like my own soul.

Amy: Does she have her dark corners too?

Ezra: Dont we all? Dont we all have dark areas were ashamed of?(Walks downstage to where Amy stands.)Are you so pure youve no darkness

in you?

Amy: More than youll care to know about. (Pause.)

Ezra: Maybe I might want to know. Maybe that might be my muse.

Amy: Maybe it might have been. Too late now.

Ezra: Then go. Dont waste my time. I cant have time wasted on dames

who care nothing for my art or me.

Amy: And I cant waste time and my life on second-rate artists who cant

shift themselves from their slumbers at a civilised time of day.

Ezra: Ill see Marcel and get him to find me another. (Ezra stares at Amy.She looks at him for a few moments then shaking her head she goes upstage.)

Amy: I hope you find this model. Shell need the features of an angel andthe skin of a rhinoceros.

Ezra: And dont slam the door on your way out, the hinges are weak.(Amyopens the door, stares back at Ezra, and then slams the door behind her. Lightfades.)

End of Scene Three.

Act One. Scene Four.

The next day late morning. Ezra is at the easel staring at the blank canvas. He sighs.There is a knock at the door. He looks upstage, but does not answer. He picks up a

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clean brush and dabs it on the canvas as if he were painting. There is a knock again at

the door. Ezra sighs and looks upstage.

Ezra: Come in if youve got good news, otherwise go jump in the Seine.(Door opens and Marcel enters. He closes the door and walks into the studio looking

at the room and the walls.)

Marcel: The room is looking better, Monsieur Ezra. (Looks at Ezra and thecanvas.)But, alas, the muse has not come to you, yet?

Ezra: No, she hasnt. Im damned if I can paint a wall let alone a canvas.

Have you found me another model? I need one, Marcel, like a drunk

needs drink. (Paints an invisible circle.)And have you seen that Amy broad?

Marcel: I have tried to look out for another model, but with no success.(Pause. Walks around the room.)Mademoiselle Amy has not been seen. Do

you wish to see her again or employ her services?

Ezra: No, Ive no wish to see her or employ her services again. (Puts the

brush back on the table and stares at the canvas.)I just wondered where she was

and if she was gainfully employed. (Looks at Marcel who is at the

window.)She and I didnt hit it off. I cant work with that kind of stress.(Pause.)The dames always on my back and poking holes in me. I dont

need that. I dont need her. Find me a model soon, Marcel, or Ill be dead

in the heart.

Marcel: Mademoiselle Amy didnt say where she was going?

Ezra: No, not to me she didnt.

Marcel: Shes a good model, Monsieur Ezra. Ive heard of no complaints

before. Monsieur Brodsky thinks highly of her, as does Monsieur Ganet.

Ezra: I dont need her type. Just find me another and make sure shes got

the face of an angel and the nature of a contemplative nun.

Marcel: That will not be easy, Monsieur. Models are models. Nuns are

nuns.

Ezra :( Goes to the table and picks up a brush.)You know what my father would

have done with this brush had he seen me with it as a boy?

Marcel: No, Monsieur Ezra.

Ezra: He would have broken it over my head. Yeah, and thats no joke.

He never took us to art galleries. Never mentioned art in any positive

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way. Only to malign it in light of big business. He couldnt look at a

painting a see any wonder in it. To him it was a primitive activity. One

best fit for cave dwellers or degenerates. And I guess he saw me as a

degenerate in the end. One of those misfits who hang around dark street

corners selling their wares or begging for a dime. He and me we justdidnt see eye to eye. Id have been some screwed up twat in big business

if he'd had his way. Id be driving a big car with a bank balance the size

of the USA and with the soul of a burnt out match.

Marcel :( Walks to the table and looks at the brushes and paints.)Has your father

never liked art?

Ezra: He has one painting in his office. A portrait of himself done in oils

by some unknown he hired for the job. His taste in art is non existent. Hehates the superficiality of art. He looks for the functional in things. Where

they fit in and what theyre for and so forth. He sees no purpose in art. No

function.

Marcel: Does he not see the purpose of art?

Ezra: No, he never could. To him art lacked a functional purpose. His

only mirrored reality he said. And mirrored it badly. Why hire a

degenerate artist when a photographer can do a better job and at far leas

the cost. He looked at things that way. Everything had to have purpose

and function in life. Music and art were to him purposeless and

functionless as an earthquake.

Marcel: Your father never saw the beauty in art?

Ezra: No. He only saw beauty in the colour of money and in the patterns

on a dollar bill. (Pause. Both men walk around the room for a few moments and

then stop at the painting of Ezras sister Ruth.)That is beauty.

Marcel: And who is this woman?

Ezra: Thats my sister, Ruth. I painted it myself. She posed for me many

a time when father wasnt about. That was before she married and died.

Marcel: She is dead?

Ezra: She is to me. Since she married that nonentity, shes dead as far as

Im concerned. Our father wanted her to do as he thought. She could have

been somebody. She could have made something of her life, but she gaveinto him and sank herself into a life with that dope of a husband.

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(Sighs.)Im sure our father saw beauty in her and wanted to extinguish it.

He hates beauty. Hates anything that he cant control or manipulate.

Thats the kind of guy he is.

Marcel: And your sister has she said anything to you about her life? Hasshe complained to you about her life?

Ezra: No. I just know shes not happy. I can sense it. He has killed her

soul. He has killed the beauty in her. Has snuffed out her creativeness.

Marcel: Maybe, she wanted to be married and was willing to sacrifice her

beauty and creativity for her partner? No? That is possible is it not?

Ezra: No, no, thats not possible. She was scared of him and his power.She gave way to him in fear of his rage and anger and of being without

his blessing. Thats the reality of it. Thats the kind of man he is. I hate

the guy!

Marcel: Monsieur Ezra, one should not hate ones parents in such away.

There is good in each of us somewhere and it is only by looking that it

can be found. (Stares at Ezra.) Honour thy father and mother the Bible says.

Ezra: I dont give a damn what the Bible says, Marcel, if theres goodness

in my father he keeps it well hidden and well out of sight of prying eyes .

Marcel: This may destroy your art. Hate does nothing for art.

Ezra: Love, hate, or nothingness itself can inspire me if the muse is with

me. I need a model. I need her now, Marcel. (Sighs.)And maybe, if you

find Amy againSay Ezra would like to see her. Say he would like to

apologize. (Sighs deeply and wanders upstage.)I think she might be my muse.

Marcel: Then I will do what I can to find her, Monsieur. Paris is large, butmaybe I will be able to find her if I look in the right place. (Marcel bowsslightly and goes out the door. Ezra looks at the door.)

Ezra: Find her Marcel. Find her. (Sighs as the light fades.)

End of Act One and Scene Four.

Act Two. Scene One.

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A week later. Mid morning and the studio is quiet. Ezra is in bed. The walls are full of

paintings and other paintings lean against the walls face inwards. After a few

moments, the door opens and Amy enters. She closes the door behind her and

wanders into the studio looking around the walls. She stops at the easel and sees the

blank canvas. She smiles. Moving around the studio, she goes to the window and

peers out. After a little while, she moves upstage to the curtain, looks in at the bed,and sees Ezra there. She moves in by the bed and touches Ezras shoulder.

Amy: This wont get the paintings done.

Ezra :( Sits up suddenly and stares at Amy.)What the hellYou back from the

dead? (Wipes his eyes.)No ones seen you since the day you left. People

were beginning to talk about you drowning in the Seine or me hiding you

from them in some hidden room in Paris. Where the hell have you been?

Amy:( Moves back from the bed.)

I went into the countryside for a while toget my thoughts together.

Ezra: So what you doing here?

Amy: I heard last night that you had been looking for me.

Ezra: Marcel had been looking for you.

Amy: And you, too, Josef told me.

Ezra :( Moves to the edge of the bed.)That Brodsky talks too much. Im

surprised he gets any painting done. Hes like a gossiping old woman.

Amy: Josef manages to paint pictures, which is more than youve done

since youve been in Paris. (Pause. Ezra walks towards the washroom in his

underclothes. Amy watches as she walks slowly after him.)At least Josef gets up

in the mornings.

Ezra :( Goes into the washroom. Amy wanders off around the studio. Ezra talks offstage.)Why dont you go back to him, then?

Amy: Because hes gone all abstract. He doesnt need me at the moment.

Once he gets this abstract thing out of his system Ill go back I expect.

(Stops and stares up at a painting of a nude woman.)And whos this woman

without a stitch on? The face is familiar. Its not Ruth is it? It is. Its

Ruth. You painted your sister in the nude?

Ezra :( Off stage.)Sure, occasionally. She was my muse at the time.

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Amy: But shes your sister.

Ezra: I know shes my sister.

Amy: Why her? Couldnt you find another model?

Ezra: I wanted to paint her. I didnt force her to pose.

Amy: Im not sure about you. I thought I knew you, but Im not sure I do

now. (Stares hard at the painting.)If your father saw this, hed have coronary.

Ezra :( Off stage.)Sounds like a good idea.

Amy: Has Ruth seen this?

Ezra: Yeah, of course shes seen it. She was there at the time.

Amy: And she doesnt mind?

Ezra :( Off stage.) Too late if she does. (Enters the studio in his

underclothes.)Anyway, she probably thinks I destroyed it.

Amy: But you havent. Arent you ashamed about painting your sister?

Ezra :( Walks into the curtained area to put on trousers and shirt.)Ashamed? I

painted her thats all. She wanted to pose and I painted her, so whats the

crime?

Amy :( Looks back at the curtained area.)If you dont understand then what

can I say to enlightened you? (Looks back at the painting.)Why have it

hanging up here for all to see?

Ezra :( Enters the studio dressed.)Because it inspires me. I love the painting. Ilove my sister.

Amy: Perhaps Id better go. This is more than I can understand. (Turns and

faces Ezra. They stare at each other.)Has anyone offered you a price for it?

Ezra: Sure, but I wont sell. I couldnt have another man leering over my

sister.

Amy: Just you? Just you are allowed to leer over your sister?

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Ezra: I dont leer over my sister, God damn it! (Walks to the easel and stares

at it.)I dont see it that way. I see it as a work of art, not pornography. The

muse is beyond that. There is only the inspiration and the art performed

from it. The muse inspires and the hand and eyes perform.

Amy: Thats what worries me.

Ezra: What do you know of art? Youre just some dame who poses. You

know nothing of the workings of art and the philosophy of art.

Amy: I know whats good and what isnt and this isnt good.

Ezra: In what context? Morally or aesthetically?

Amy: Both. (Stares at the painting again.)How can that inspire anyone?

Ezra: For those who have eyes let them see. For those that are blind who

cares? Why should I care what the narrow minded and weak souls think

or say? I create. I paint. I draw. I live for my art. I live to paint.

Amy: Very recommendable, Im sure. But this is not art, Ezra. This is

Well it isnt art.

Ezra: And whats art? Do you know what art is? Have you any

understanding what true art is?

Amy: Not painting your sister nude. Thats not art.

Ezra: Sure its art. Art is creating something truthful and meaningful and

without reference to any preconceived morality or ethical dictates.

(Pause.)

Amy: So art is beyond morality? It has no ethical boundaries?

Ezra: Yeah, thats right. Now youre beginning to understand true art. If I

feel inspired to paint an object and do so without any reference to a

preconceived notion of what is good or bad I have created something

fresh and new. I have not copied. I have created anew.

Amy: Shes your sister for all that.

Ezra: Shes all women in one. Shes pure in that there was no lustinvolved in the painting of her. I saw and I created anew. I saw and I had

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to paint what I saw, but did so in a new sense that she ceased to be my

sister, but an object of purity to be captured.

Amy: Thats nonsense and you know it.

Ezra: Did you come here for a reason? Or have you some other pressing

engagement?

Amy: I came back because I heard you wanted me back and so I thought

Id come back and see what you wanted. And now Im not sure I want to

stay.

Ezra: Then go. If youre going to act like some damned priest, then go

and leave me to my art.

Amy: You havent painted a damn thing since youve been here. Why?

Ezra: No muse. (Pause. They both walks in different directions for a few moments,

the stop.)I think youre my new muse. You could inspire me to paint again.

Amy: Im not sure I want to.

Ezra: Of course you do. You feel the need to pose and I to paint. We need

each other. Were destined to be together for the sake of art.

Amy: I could have gone with Claubert and posed for him, but I didnt.

Ezra: Claubert? You could have posed for him?

Amy: Yes, but I turned him down.

Ezra: Why?

Amy: Because I wanted to pose for you and you had turned me out. And I

was angry and thought of giving up and going back to England and

becoming a nun like my sister.

Ezra: But you didnt. You came back. Came back to me.

Amy: Yes. Josef said you were looking for me and wanted me back.

Ezra: Curiosity. Mere curiosity.

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Amy: Well Im here. Do you want me to pose or not?

Ezra: Do you want to pose?

Amy: If it means youll paint a picture again, then, yes.

Ezra: Good. Thats good. Right. Now first things first. I need to sketch

you a number of times to get the feel of it.

Amy: Do you want nude or me as I am?

Ezra: As you are for now. I need to capture your features. I need to

capture your eyes and hands. To feel you grow on me and feel myself

enter into you.

Amy: Dont get carried away, Im only posing for you, nothing else.

Ezra: Yeah, I know, I know. I mean as an artist I have to enter into your

being artistically. Its all art from now on.

Amy: Well thats all right then.

Ezra :( Goes to the table and picks up a sketch book and pencil.) On the sofa. Sit

there and relax for the moment.

Amy :( Goes to the sofa and sits down.)Shall I take off my coat?

Ezra: Yeah, take off your coat.

Amy :( She takes of her coat, sits back, and crosses her legs.)This all right?

Ezra: Too relaxed. Sit more as if you were going to seduce me.

Amy :( Sits seductively.)Like this?

Ezra: Yeah, thats right. (Begins to sketch in the book.)Hold that pose. (Amyposes and Ezra sketches with concentration as the light fades.)

End of Scene One.

Act two. Scene Two.

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The next day. Late morning. The studio is quiet and the easel and canvas are covered

by a cloth. The door opens and Marcel enters. He closes the door behind him and

wanders to the easel. He stares at the walls and then back at the easel. Lifting the

cloth, he looks at the canvas beneath. He looks at the canvas for few moments then

lets the cloth fall back in place. He looks at the painting of Ruth and sighs. Voices are

heard off-stage and Marcel walks towards the door as the door opens and Ezra andAmy enter.

Ezra: Marcel, what are you doing here? I thought you were off with your

other artists to the coast?

Marcel: No, Monsieur Ezra. I am here until Friday. (Looks at

Amy.)Mademoiselle Amy. I have looked for you everywhere. Monsieur

Brodsky said he saw you and sent you here. Where have you been?

Amy: In the country for a while to think.

Ezra: Yeah, to think, Marcel. Thats a miracle in itself is it not?

Marcel: I was worried something had happened to you, Mademoiselle.

Paris has it dangers for young women.

Amy: Dont all cities? I have lived in Paris for a few years and know how

look after myself.

Ezra: A woman that thinks is a dangerous thing.

Marcel: I am glad that you are well, Mademoiselle Amy. And the

modelling is it well?

Amy: Ive known worse poses.

Ezra: Shes got me painting again, Marcel. The dames got the muse on

the move.

Marcel: That is good. Have you anything for me to sell?

Amy: Only those he dislikes.

Ezra: Ive sorted some over there to be sold if you can. Those you cant

sellBring back here and Ill paint over them.

Amy: Marcel, have you eaten? Would you like to eat or drink?

Ezra: Yeah, forgive us our bad manners, Marcel. Weve been to thegallery to inspire our tired minds.

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Amy: We worked until one this morning and then he went to bed and I

slept on the sofa.

Marcel: I have already eaten. (Pause. Marcel walks to the easel and looks at thecloth.)May I look?

Ezra: Not done, yet. I dont like eyes to see it until the jobs done.

Amy: Its coming along, Marcel. He actually picked up a brush with oil

on yesterday. We spent hours sketching and then we started to put oil to

canvas.

Marcel: Good, good, Monsieur. That is excellent news.(Amy comes behind

Marcel and looks at the cloth.)I must take your word for the state of the

canvas, Mademoiselle. We must not upset Monsieur by peeking before

the picture is finished.

Amy: Ive seen worse starts. Marcel. He actually worked hard.

Ezra :( Moves to the table and picks up his sketch book and shows it to

Marcel.)Here, look through this.

Marcel :( Takes the sketch book and looks through it slowly. Amy and Ezra move to

the sofa and sit down.)This is more like it, Monsieur. This shows the muse

has come indeed. (Ezra smiles. Amy looks at Marcel.) You have captured

mademoiselle quite well. The eyes especially. Yes, the eyes.

Ezra: The eyes were a nightmare to capture.

Amy: He worked like a slave over those eyes.

Marcel: And the profile is good. The head is very good.

Ezra: The rest was a piece of cake compared to the head and eyes.

Marcel :( Turns over pages slowly. He comes to a stop.)The nude sketches are

well drawn. You took your time I see over this. Many pages of the legs

alone.

Amy: Yes, it was painful to hold that pose for so long. Hes a sadist.

Ezra: I havent started yet, Honey, wait until I really get going.

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Marcel: Monsieur Claubert says he wanted you, mademoiselle. He was

disappointed when you turned him down. Such an offer is rare from

Claubert.

Ezra: Claubert will have to wait. Ive got the dame first.

Amy: I was reluctant to turn Claubert down, but I knew I had to try with

this American.

Ezra: Shes the muse Ive been lacking for some time. Now I have the

muse and can get going again.

Marcel: Monsieur Ezra will do your beauty justice I hope.

Ezra: Justice? I will make this painting the envy of any hot blooded male

in this cold world. It will melt the hearts of the coldest beasts.

Amy: This is art, isnt it, Ezra? I mean Im not just a piece of painted

flesh for men to drool over am I?

Ezra: No, no, my dear dame, youre the goddess of beauty. Men will

worship your beauty not lust after it.

Marcel :( Closes the sketch book and hands it to Ezra.)You have made things

better for Monsieur Ezra, Mademoiselle. I hope it will be the start of

something long lasting.

Ezra: Shes here to stay. I cant let her out of my sight.

Amy: We will see. I make no promises.

Marcel: Yes, of course. (Pause. There are a few moments of silence as they all

look at each other.)Then I must be going. I will send Emile to fetch thepaintings for sale later. And take care of him, Mademoiselle. He is like a

rare hot house plant that is in need of tender care.

Amy: I will take care not to water him too much.

Marcel :( Smiles and laughs mildly.)Let the muse guide you, Monsieur. Let it

flow gently through you.

Ezra: Yeah, I will, Marcel. The muse shall have me body and soul.

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Amy: Im satisfied with the soul.

Marcel: Yes, that is wise, mademoiselle. Monsieur Ezra has a tendency to

explore the boundaries of his models.

Amy: Not this one he doesnt. Marcel.

Ezra: See, Marcel? What have you brought me here? A nun in a models

frame?

Marcel: If that is so, then, Monsieur, you have been blessed by the Lord

himself.

Ezra: I dont need any blessings. I just need my muse.

Amy: Well, take care, Marcel. See you soon?

Marcel: I will be on touch. I have to see a client for few days out of Paris.

(Walks towards the door. Ezra and Amy get up and walk with him to the door.)Take

care, my dear children. Do not play too rough or too long.

Ezra: Youre a spoilsport, Marcel. Go back to your monastery. (Laughs.)

And give my love to that lady friend of yours. Whats her name again?

Marcel: Albertine.

Ezra: A beauty. A real beauty.

Amy: Best keep her away from here then, Marcel.

Marcel: I shall, Mademoiselle Amy. I have no desire for her to see the

company I am forced to meet.

Amy: Good for you. (Kisses Marcels cheek.)And thank you for your

concern.

Ezra: Off you go, Marcel, you pure priest of art. Go kiss your dame.(Marcel goes out of the door and Amy closes it after him. They look at each other and

then move upstage as the light fades.)

End of Scene Two.

Act Two. Scene Three.

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A few days later. Late afternoon. Amy is naked under a white towelling robe and is

standing by the window. Ezra is at the easel painting.

Amy: My parents have almost disowned me. Compared to my sister Im a

lost cause. Shes a nun and Im an artists model

Ezra: And how long as your sister been a nun?

Amy: Ten years. She entered when she was eighteen.

Ezra: Does she write to you?

Amy: No. Ive not seen or heard from her since she entered. My mother

writes occasionally to give me news. But its done out of a sense of duty

not love. (Sighs.)I suppose if Id become a nun Id be one of my parents

blessed ones like my sister.

Ezra: Does your father disapprove of you, too?

Amy: Disowned me since I came to Paris and spoke of being a model to

Groust.

Ezra: Groust? You modelled for him?

Amy: Yes, for a while. But he painted at odd hours and I couldnt keepup with it. I would fall asleep and hed moan at me for dozing when I

ought to been posing.

Ezra: So we're both disowned? There is something there for us to chew

over in our lonely hours.

Amy: Id rather forget. There are more important things to think about

than being disowned.

Ezra: Youve moved. I need you where you were. (Goes across and moves

Amy where he wishes her to be.)Now try to keep that way. Try not to move.

Amy: All right for you. I get stiff and my bones ache after a time. How

long is this going to take?

Ezra: You want me to rush it?

Amy: No, I want you to paint and not chat so much.

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Ezra: And I want you to pose and not move around like a hooker on the

sidewalk.

Amy: Maybe youd like it if I were comatosed? I need to move a bit or

Ill collapse in a heap on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ezra: Do you have to talk so much?

Amy: Im not a piece of fruit in a bowl. This isnt a still life painting is it?

Ezra: All right, all right. Move if you must, but make it minimal.

Amy: I admire Degas and his dancers. I bet he didnt tell them not to

move. Thats an artist. He is one artist Id have died to model for.

Ezra: Well you cant because hes dead and Im alive. So make the most

of it. (Amy moves again.)Why dont you leap around the studio while youre

at it. Keep still. At least for little while longer. (Goes and moves Amy where

he wants her.)Thats it. Now stay there. No more movement.

Amy: I wish I had been a nun sometimes. At least I wouldnt have to pose

like a statue in this cold chamber semi-naked for a grumpy artist.

Ezra: Finish here first, then go and be a nun.

Amy: I hope this is worth my time and pain. If this turns out to be one of

those pictures, as Ive seen Brodsky do, Ill murder you.

Ezra: Is that before you become a nun or after?

(Pause. Silence for a few minutes as both carry on their tasks.)

Amy: Have you ever wondered why you became an artist?

Ezra: Because I had to. It was something I felt drawn to do. I could have

been big in my fathers business, but I wanted more than what he offered.

I wanted to be an artist and paint. I breathe and I paint. I paint as I

breathe. Thats what I do. Thats what I do best, so I paint.

Amy: Groust said something similar. He paints at night and sleeps most

of the day. He said he had to have the night air about him. He needed his

night muse, he said.

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Ezra: I saw a few of his paintings in some exhibition he did with a few

others in the States. Not bad. Didnt see anything with you in it.

Amy: I was after his abstract expressionism. He decided he needed to go

down a different road and that I was his muse for the new direction. Untilhe went back to abstract expressionism again and I became as obsolete as

horse shoe in a Ford factory.

Ezra: I dont see things like that. I go my own way. I go where the muse

leads me. (Puts down his brush and wipes his hands on a cloth.)Thats all for the

moment. You can move again now. (He places a cloth over the canvas.)

Amy :( Moves about and limbers up her arms and legs.)I often wondered what it

would be like being a nun. Shut away like my sister behind those wallspraying and chanting throughout the day. And thrown in with all those

other women with nothing to chat about except God and such. Id not last

a day. Id go running mad around the church screaming blasphemies.

Ezra: Its a vocation. Like painting. The sister was probably drawn to it as

I was drawn to be an artist. Shes happy doing what shes doing because

its what she had to do. You werent. Youre happy doing something

different. Youre a model. Your sister couldnt model.

Amy: She wouldnt want to. She wouldnt even undress with me in the

room.

Ezra: Well thats the way of things. Some model, some become nuns. The

way of life. Things are as they are. No two people are the same.

Amy: No. No, youre right. We are different my sister and I. We always

were. Even as children, we were different. She and I were like two sides

of a coin. She was the head I was the tail. She wagged me like one too.

Ezra :( Goes upstage to the washroom and running water is heard.)Well you go if

you want to. Im getting cleaned up and going out for a meal.

Amy :( Goes to the canvas, lifts the cloth, and stares at the painting.)Alone?

Ezra: No, Im meeting a few friends. Business and pleasure.

Amy: How nice. (Looks closer at the painting.)Anyone I know?

Ezra :( Off stage.)A few fellow artists. Two are from the States.

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Amy :( Stands back and stares at it.)Good God.

Ezra: And a German called Milke and a Spaniard called Boya. Milke sold

well recently. I think Marcel favours him. Im sure he does.

Amy :( Draws down the cloth over the canvas.)Is that me?

Ezra: I thought Marcel favoured him more the other day when he spoke.

Amy :( Sits on the sofa.)Is that how you see me?

Ezra :( Enters the studio.)What?

Amy: Is that how you see me?

Ezra: You looked? I hate people looking until the paintings complete.

Amy: Is that how you see me? (Ezra moves downstage and sits beside Amy.) I

look as if death is about to claim me.

Ezra: Maybe it is. Maybe I see things unwittingly. Maybe Mr Death is

just around the corner with his scythe and waiting for you, Honey.

Amy: Thats no joke. Its frightening. I cant pose for you anymore.

Ezra: You cant stop now.

Amy: I can and I will.

Ezra: Its how I see you. I see what you cant.

Amy: I dont want to see me how you do. I want myself to be as I am.

Ezra :( Takes her hand and holds it against his cheek.)Youre my muse. I need

you. I cant paint a damn thing if you go. Come on dont be silly.

Amy: Why like that?

Ezra: Its how it is. I paint what I feel and see. Would you have me be

false to my art and myself?

Amy: Am I becoming as death is? Am I cold, dark, and seeminglyremote? A mere layer of skin across dull brittle bones?

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Ezra :( Amy moves away.)This is part of you. This is you expressed in art.

You drawn and quartered across the canvas in coloured paints in dabs and

stabs and dragged out lines. Its you, Honey. You as the world will see

you and know you. You as you are in art and for all time. (Amy gets up andwalks upstage.)Leave me now and you leave yourself undone. Leave

yourself incomplete and unfinished. Leave yourself dead.

Amy: Good riddance. (Stands by the easel.)Id burn this if I had the nerve.

Ezra: And cast yourself into hell?

Amy :( Lifts up the cloth.)I have become as death is. Cold, dark and

seemingly remote.(Stares at the painting.)

Mere skin and bone with the soulfled. (Lowers the cloth and stares at Ezra.)I wont pose after this is finished.

Ill not pose again. Not for you or anyone else.

Ezra: All right. (Sighs. Gets up from the sofa.)Just complete what weve

begun. It needs you. You are the life blood of this work of art.

Amy: So it seems.

Ezra: So it is.

Amy: Is that how I look to you?

Ezra: I see and I paint. I dont judge what comes and from whom or what. I paint. I

see. I breathe. Thats what I do best. Thats me. Thats the artist in me.(Pause. Walks slowly towards Amy.)I see truth.

Amy :( Stares at Ezra for a few moments in silence.)Whose truth? Yours or

mine? Or everyones truth? Or no ones truth? Or truth as nothingness?

Ezra: Whos to say? (Tries to hold her, but she walks off.)Who knows?

Amy: I cant say anymore.(Pause.) Ill see you tomorrow. (Goes out thedoor. The light dims as Ezra turns away.)

End of Scene Three.

Act two. Scene Four.Two days later mid morning. Ezra is at the easel painting. He stops and stares at what

he has done. He dabs here and there fussily. He stands back and looks at the painting

from different angles. There is a knock at the door. He stops and stares up stage.

Ezra: Come in and save my soul from purgatory. (Marcel enters and closesthe door slowly behind him. He stares at Ezra as he slowly walks upstage towards

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Ezra.)So, Marcel have you seen my muse? She said shed be here but

shes not turned up. I need her. Doesnt she understand that?

Marcel :( Stops beside Ezra and stares at the painting.)You have not heard then,

Monsieur Ezra?

Ezra: Heard what?

Marcel: Mademoiselle Amy was killed last night.

Ezra: This some kind of joke?

Marcel: No, Monsieur, I do not joke about death. I have seen too much of

death to joke about it.

Ezra: How? What happened? (Puts down his brush and wipes his hands on the

cloth.)She was all right when she left here.

Marcel: She drowned. In the Seine.

Ezra: Drowned? What you mean accidentally?

Marcel :( Hesitates and sighs.)Hard to say. A passing couple saw her body

and alerted the gendarme. I have no idea what happened. Whether it was

accidental or not I do not know. (Looks at Ezra.)You do not think she would

have drowned herself purposely do you, Monsieur?

Ezra :( Shakes his head.)No. I shouldnt think so, Marcel. I mean you know

her as well as I. Did she look like the kind of dame to take her life to you?

Marcel :( Stares at the painting.)Did she see this?

Ezra: Sure. Yesterday. She peeked at it. She didnt like it, but not a thingto get her to take her life over it.

Marcel: What did she say about the painting, Monsieur?

Ezra: She said it looked as if death had a claim on her. I didnt think

shed do anything like take her life over a painting. No, Im sure she

didnt. Must have been accidental. These things happen every day.

Someone drowns or is run over by a bus or is murdered or

(Pause.)Commit suicide. But Im sure she didnt. Must have been

accidental, Marcel. You know Amy she was a tough lady. Shed haveslipped or fallen some how, but not on purpose, not her.

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Marcel: Did you and she row?

Ezra: No. We had words, but not a row as such.

Marcel :( Sighs.)I liked her. She had character.

Ezra: Yeah, she did. Had character all right.

Marcel: Did you like her? You seemed to be at loggerheads at times.

Ezra :( Pauses and walks down to the edge of the stage.)I think I almost got to

love her. Strange. But, I think I got inside her and was beginning to see

things that she may not have liked.

Marcel: You think you loved her?

Ezra: As much as I know, what love is. Sure, it was a close thing if not

the real article. (Pause.)You know, I cant quite believe it. I think that

maybe its all some kind of big lie. That shes really alive and is waiting

to see what my reaction is and shell come in here and expect me to(Stops.)

Marcel : No, lie, Monsieur Ezra. Amy is dead. I have seen her body.When I heard of her death, I went to where the body was kept and

identified her.

Ezra: How was she? Was she still beautiful?

Marcel :( Stares at the painting.)Yes, she was still beautiful, Monsieur, but

more like this painting depicts her. Pale and thin and her eyes were open

staring at me in a sort of glazed way. (Sniffs and wipes his nose.)Why did

you paint this picture like this?

Ezra: It came out that way. Its how I saw her. (Hurries back to the easel and

stares at the painting.)Exactly like that. I didn't want to paint her lie that, but

its how it was.

Marcel: You have captured her in life and death. They are now the same.(Pause. Sniffs.)She had a small bruise here. (Point to an area on the

picture.)Faint. Hardly noticeable, but just visible as if some one had brush

it in for effect.

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Ezra: No, no, it cant be. I have to finish this painting. She cant die on

me now. I need her here, Marcel, tell me its all a big lie or a funny joke

shes pulled to get her own back on me. Thats it right? Eh? Shes outside

listening for me to say how sorry I am and that I got it all wrong about

her and the damned painting, right?(Stares upstage towards the door.)Hey,Amy if youre out there, Im on to you. I get it now. Yeah, one big joke.

You had me fooled there for a while, Honey.

Marcel:No joke, Monsieur Ezra. No big lie. Amy is dead and cold.

Ezra: Why did it happen like this? You search for your muse, you find

her, and then it goes. It goes and leaves you stranded like a beached

whale. And not a word of farewell. Not a how do you or nothing.

Marcel: I have no idea where her parents live in England to contact them.

Ezra: No, nor do I. Not that theyd care one way or the other. She was

disowned like me. Cast off on a raft on the rough seas of life to cope the

best she could. (Pause.)Are you sure, shes dead? Maybe it was someone

like her you saw? I mean dames are pretty much alike in some ways.

Maybe, some other dame drowned and you heard and thought it was her?

Marcel: No, Monsieur. Amy is dead. Her body I have seen and witnessed.

Ezra: Then youve been had, Marcel. Shes conned you too into believing

she was dead when all the time shes waiting for us to weep and do things

that people do when they lose someone and then shell come in and smile

and say I thought youd be like this if I was dead. Shes out there.

Waiting. Waiting and biding her time for the special appearance. And by

God, Marcel, what an entrance that would be, eh? Her here alive, kicking,

and laughing her damned head off and pointing at us and saying the

things she said. (Stops suddenly and outs his hands over his face. Pause. When he

speaks again it is muffled through the hands over his face.)It cant be, Marcel. Itcant be true. It has to be some kind of joke. Some put up shes arranged.

Marcel: No. Monsieur I have seen her laid out cold and motionless. She is

dead. No joke. No lie. No arrangements to deceive as you think. She is as

she looks in the painting. Cold, dark and seemingly remote.

Ezra: Say that again?

Marcel: Cold, dark and seemingly remote.

Ezra: Thats what she said about the painting. That it made her look like

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death had captured her. Cold. Dark and seemingly remote. Yeah, thats it.

Thats what she said.

Marcel: I must go. I have other engagements. The paintings you set aside

for me have attracted an interest. I may sell some in the next few weeks. Iwill let you know. (Pause.)I am sorry about Amy. I will find you another

model when I can. (Pause. Ezra stands staring at the painting. Marcel touches hisarm and then turns to go, but Ezra holds his arm.)

Ezra: Make sure the dames right for me. I dont want another false

alarm.

Marcel :( Marcel nods.)I will do what I can, Monsieur. I will see what can

be done. (Goes off upstage and goes out the door.)

Ezra :( Talks to the painting.)Almost had you. Almost got you pinned,

Honey, but then you flapped away and left it all undone. Wide open like a

gaping wound. You and I could have gone places. Could have reached the

top. Could have looked down on the small people and smiled the smile of

the wise. But its gone. You and what we almost had. (Leans forward and

kisses the canvas gently.)Last night I thought I found my muse, but it was all

just another false alarm to another dull day. (Stands back and stares at thecanvas. The light dims. Silence.)

End of Act Two and Scene Four.

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Just Another False Alarm

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