Belleville

by Amy Herzog

  BELLEVILLE

  BOOKS BY AMY HERZOG

  PUBLISHED BY TCG

  Belleville

  4000 Miles and After the Revolution

  The Great God Pan

  Belleville is copyright © 2014 by Amy Herzog

  Belleville is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,

  520 8th Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10018-4156

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this material, being fully protected under the Copyright Laws of the United States of America and all other countries of the Berne and Universal Copyright Conventions, is subject to a royalty. All rights, including but not limited to, professional, amateur, recording, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are expressly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed on the question of readings and all uses of this book by educational institutions, permission for which must be secured from the author’s representative: John Buzzetti, William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, 1325 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10019, (212) 903-1166.

  The publication of Belleville, by Amy Herzog, through TCG’s Book Program, is made possible in part by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature.

  Special thanks to Paula Marie Black for her generous support of this publication.

  TCG books are exclusively distributed to the book trade by Consortium Book Sales and Distribution.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Herzog, Amy.

  Belleville / Amy Herzog.—First edition.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-55936-771-4 (ebook)

  I. Title.

  PS3608.E79B452014

  812’.6—dc232014027910

  Book design and composition by Lisa Govan

  Cover design by Carol Devine Carson

  First Edition, October 2014

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank James Bundy, Jennifer Kiger and Amy Boratko of the Yale Repertory Theatre for their infinite patience; and Virgil Blanc for his indispensable help with the colloquial French.

  BELLEVILLE

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Production History

  Characters

  Scene One

  Scene Two

  Scene Three

  Scene Four

  Scene Five

  Scene Six

  PRODUCTION HISTORY

  Belleville was commissioned by and received its world premiere at the Yale Repertory Theatre (James Bundy, Artistic Director; Victoria Nolan, Managing Director) in New Haven, Connecticut, on October 27, 2011. It was directed by Anne Kauffman; the set design was by Julia C. Lee, the costume design was by Mark Nagle, the lighting design was by Nina Hyun Seung Lee and the sound design was by Robert Kaplowitz. The production stage manager was Gina Noele Odierno. The cast was:

  ABBY

  Maria Dizzia

  ZACK

  Greg Keller

  ALIOUNE

  Gilbert Owuor

  AMINA

  Pascale Armand

  This production of Belleville transferred to New York Theatre Workshop (James C. Nicola, Artistic Director; William Russo, Managing Director) in New York City on March 3, 2013. The cast and personnel remained the same with the following exceptions: the lighting design was by Ben Stanton, the production stage manager was Terri K. Kohler and Alioune was played by Phillip James Brannon.

  CHARACTERS

  ABBY

  American, white, twenty-eight

  ZACK

  American, white, twenty-eight

  ALIOUNE

  Senegalese-French, twenty-five

  AMINA

  Senegalese-French, twenty-five

  TIME AND PLACE

  A one-bedroom apartment in the Belleville section of Paris. Mid-December of the recent past.

  NOTE

  A slash ( / ) indicates overlapping dialogue.

  Scene One

  The main room of an apartment in Belleville. An old building with character; many layers of paint cover the original moldings. Tastefully but inexpensively decorated. A mix of convincing knockoffs of stylish modern furniture pieces and accents that suggest North African fabrics and crafts. IKEA meets Parisian flea market. Floor pillows augment the scant seating options. The residents here are temporary.

  At lights up, it’s late afternoon. No lights are on in the apartment. Indirect sunlight filters in from a window or two.

  From within the bedroom, we can barely hear music.

  A key in the lock.

  The front door opens and Abby enters in lots of winter layers, carrying a yoga mat and several shopping bags. She drops the mat, the bags and her winter coat on the floor. She closes the door. She turns on a light. She goes to the couch and drapes herself over it, her back in a deep arch. She closes her eyes.

  In her stillness, she hears the beat of nearby music and indistinct voices. She opens her eyes and listens. She stands. She walks slowly and quietly to the bedroom door, where she stops and listens. Hesitantly, she turns the knob and opens the door. She screams. She runs to the front door.

  With the door open, we can identify the music as a porn soundtrack. Zack enters from the bedroom, buttoning his jeans.

  ZACK: Hi.

  ABBY: Hey.

  ZACK: I thought you had class.

  ABBY: No one showed.

  (Brief pause.)

  ZACK: Probably people have already left town.

  ABBY: Yeah, maybe.

  (Pause.)

  ABBY (Simultaneously): What are you doing home?

  ZACK (Simultaneously): So you went shopping?

  ABBY: What?

  ZACK: You went shopping?

  (Brief pause.)

  ABBY: Just for the last few Christmas presents. I want to mail everything by tomorrow to be safe.

  ZACK: Did you use the new credit card?

  ABBY: Yup. It works.

  ZACK: Good! What did you get?

  ABBY: For your parents some, um. Tea.

  ZACK: That’s fine, they’ll like it.

  ABBY: Well.

  ZACK: They’ll pretend to, which is the same thing with them.

  ABBY: And chocolate for my dad from that place he remembers going once with my mom. And for the baby, this Eiffel tower, um. Onesie.

  (She shows him.)

  ZACK: Cute.

  ABBY (Apologetically): My sister will like it.

  ZACK: Maybe the child will be born with a keen sense of irony. Maybe she’ll wear the onesie ironically.

  ABBY: Not if she takes after / her father.

  ZACK: Her father, true.

  That’s it?

  ABBY: Zack, what are you—?

  ZACK: What?

  ABBY: Doing home?

  (Pause.)

  ZACK: I took the afternoon off.

  ABBY: Why didn’t you call me?

  ZACK: Because I thought you were teaching.

  ABBY: Are you sick, or—?

  (Brief pause; he misunderstands.)

  ZACK: I’m sorry, meaning—?

  ABBY: I mean are you—do you have a / cold—?

  ZACK: Just . . . kinda tired. Playing hooky. I know.

  (He slaps himself on the wrist.)

  You don’t look so good.

  ABBY: I just . . . need a sec . . .

  ZACK: T
his is such a big deal?

  ABBY: I guess not.

  ZACK: I mean, it’s embarrassing, for me.

  ABBY: I don’t mean for you to be embarrassed.

  ZACK: No? Because you’re having a slightly Victorian reaction.

  ABBY: I am?

  ZACK: Mmmm—

  ABBY: I thought I was home alone. It was a little scary.

  ZACK: Just me.

  (He smiles. She smiles back, making an effort.)

  I’m gonna jump in the shower, if that’s cool.

  ABBY: Yup!

  (He hesitates.)

  I’m fine! I am cool, this is me being cool. Go. Finish up.

  (Off his look) Kidding! Maybe, or maybe making a real suggesti— Go. I’m not talking, go.

  (He exits into the bathroom. She is still. The shower starts offstage. She opens her eyes. She goes toward the bedroom. She hesitates at the threshold, then goes in. From the bedroom, offstage, we hear the sound of the porn soundtrack resume. It plays for a few seconds, then stops. Abby reenters from the bedroom, stony. She closes the door behind her.

  A knock at the door jolts Abby back into alertness. She goes to the door and opens it to reveal Alioune.)

  Hey.

  ALIOUNE: Abby!

  ABBY: What’s up?

  ALIOUNE: Sorry, I—

  ABBY: What?

  ALIOUNE: I thought I saw Zack come in a little while ago.

  ABBY: Yeah, he’s in the shower.

  ALIOUNE: I’ll come later.

  ABBY: It’s okay, come in.

  (Abby walks back into the apartment, leaving the door open, then turns to see that Alioune is hesitating.)

  Come on, he’ll just be a couple minutes.

  ALIOUNE: You don’t mind?

  ABBY: Are you hungry? I made—

  (She exits. Alioune comes all the way into the apartment, uneasily. He notices a book on the coffee table and stoops to look at it. He straightens up slightly guiltily as Abby reenters with a tray of sugar cookies in Christmas cutouts.)

  ALIOUNE: Thank you.

  (He takes one, sees she is still holding the tray out, and politely takes another. She takes one herself.)

  ABBY: You can look at that, I just put it out for that reason.

  (He picks up the book and dutifully looks through it.)

  ALIOUNE: It looks nice.

  ABBY: It was nice.

  ALIOUNE: Big.

  ABBY: A hundred and fifty people. Midsize.

  ALIOUNE (Impressed): Is this your house?

  (Abby laughs.)

  ABBY: No, that’s a manor.

  ALIOUNE: A—?

  ABBY: It was somebody’s house once, and now it’s a place you rent for weddings. We don’t have a fountain at my house. Or a rose garden. Or ice sculptures, on a typical day.

  ALIOUNE: It’s very, it’s . . .

  ABBY: Yeah, it was fine, if I were gonna do it all over again I’d have like ten people meet us at city hall and spend the money traveling with Zack for a year before he started med school. But we were the first of all our friends to do it, we didn’t have any basis for . . . It was nice, though, I was really happy that day.

  (Alioune turns the page. Something makes him smile.)

  What?

  ALIOUNE: It’s Zack’s face, he’s so—

  ABBY: I know, he’s such a ham. He hates having his picture taken.

  (He turns the last few pages and politely replaces the book on the table.)

  ALIOUNE: Thank you for showing me.

  (Brief pause.)

  ABBY: How’s Amina?

  ALIOUNE: Fine.

  ABBY: And the baby?

  ALIOUNE: Great.

  (He gives her a thumbs up to accentuate his answer. More silence as they eat.)

  Will you go home? For the holidays?

  ABBY: Oh—Zack didn’t tell you?

  ALIOUNE: No.

  ABBY: We can’t. There’s a problem. With the visas, I don’t understand it, honestly, but apparently we won’t be able to get back / in if we—

  ALIOUNE: Oh, no.

  ABBY: Yeah, it sucks because my sister’s about to have a baby. Like any minute. So it’ll be the baby’s first Christmas. Not like she’ll know we’re not there.

  ALIOUNE: Your sister?

  ABBY: The baby. She. My sister. Will know. My sister is not happy about it. I’m not sure if Zack mentioned that my mom died a few years ago?

  ALIOUNE: Yes, and I want to say, that I am / so sorry—

  ABBY: No no no, just to explain, that holidays in my family have become especially weighted. Almost to the exclusion of fun, it’s like hours of meaningful eye contact, it’s exhausting, actually. But no, I’m being glib, I fucking love Christmas with my family.

  ALIOUNE: I’m so sorry.

  ABBY: Well.

  (She shrugs: “what can you do?”)

  What are you guys doing for Christmas?

  ALIOUNE: We’re Muslim.

  ABBY: Oh— (The cookies) Oh!

  ALIOUNE: It’s all right.

  ABBY: I just gave you a—

  ALIOUNE: It’s okay, we’re not very strict.

  ABBY: Well I hope not, since you’re in the process of eating an angel. I feel so dumb that I didn’t . . . because you guys are from . . .

  ALIOUNE: Amina was born here. Originally, I’m from Dakar.

  ABBY: Uh-huh. Which is in—

  ALIOUNE: Senegal.

  ABBY: Right. Which is Muslim.

  ALIOUNE: Mostly.

  ABBY: Sorry.

  ALIOUNE: It is really, it’s okay.

  ABBY: No, yeah, it’s good, I’ll just set out to confirm every stereotype you may have about Americans.

  ALIOUNE: The French, they are not so much better.

  ABBY: That’s comforting. Because the superior thing that they do, it’s very convincing. Do you know that I get nervous before grocery shopping here? I have to psych myself up for every interaction, it’s deeply sad. You’re very sweet but you don’t have to keep eating those.

  ALIOUNE: I am afraid you do not like it here.

  ABBY: Me? Oh no, I love it. It’s the city of love, or the city of lights, which is it? Is it both? And I especially love this neighborhood, I love the—um, well I hate the word “diversity,” I just feel like a button on a denim jacket in the late eighties, oh God there’s no way you get that reference, but it’s so—but, you know, there’s a lot of life here, I don’t feel like I’m living in an artifact, and it’s nice not being the only, um, foreigners, you know, feeling like we are among others making a life in this sometimes hostile . . .

  (She really wishes she hadn’t started talking.)

  Anyway it is not about me. Zack is doing research to prevent children from contracting AIDS, I can be a big girl and deal with a little homesickness, right? So, what do Muslims do for Christmas?

  ALIOUNE: Uh . . .

  ABBY: Joke, Alioune, that was a / joke.

  (A sickening thud comes from off, where the shower is running. Alioune and Abby look at each other. No other noise beyond the sound of the shower.)

  Zack?

  (No response.)

  Homey, you okay?

  (She knocks on the door, no response. She opens it.)

  You okay?

  (Muffled, Zack’s voice off. Abby goes into the bathroom and closes the door. Alioune stands, uncomfortable. Abby reenters.)

  He’s fine. He just dropped the shampoo. God, I’m jumpy.

  ALIOUNE: I will come back.

  ABBY: He’ll just be a sec, I told him you’re here.

  ALIOUNE: I feel it’s not—I have chosen a bad time.

  ABBY: No, I—it’s not a bad time, I’m sorry if I’ve, that I’m such a downer—

  ALIOUNE: No, Abigail—

  ABBY: I’m like going on and on about—I really apologize, I just don’t have enough to do.

  ALIOUNE: Stop. Stop apologizing.

  (Brief pause.)

  You know, Zack, he always say you are a wonderful actress.

&nb
sp; ABBY: Really? Yeah, I’m all right. But to be an actor you have to love to suffer and I only like to suffer.

  I’m a yoga teacher right now. And that’s fine. The dharma teaches you to say “good enough.” You know?

  (Pause. The shower stops. She calls off.)

  Zack, our landlord urgently needs to smoke a bowl with you.

  ZACK (Offstage): What?

  ABBY: Hurry up, you’re keeping Alioune waiting!

  ZACK (Offstage): Oh, pardon, une minute, / Alioune!

  ALIOUNE: Ça va, ne t’en fais pas!

  ABBY: Ça va. That means “I’m okay.”

  ALIOUNE: Or “it’s okay.” I see your French classes are proceeding at a very advanced, euh / rate.

  ABBY: Oh that’s sarcasm, that’s good. I stopped going, actually.

  ALIOUNE: Why?

  (Around this time Zack crosses from the bathroom to the bedroom in a towel.)

  ABBY: Because the teacher made fun of my pronunciation, and because everyone speaks English here. As long as I know how to say “pardon” when I bump into someone and “laissez-moi tranquille” when men bother me on the metro / I—

  ALIOUNE: A lot of men give you trouble here?

  (Brief pause.)

  ABBY: Surprise though that may / be—

  ALIOUNE: Not a surprise.

  ABBY: Too late, you gave yourself away.

  ALIOUNE: I only, I am disappointed, in my other, how do you say—?

  ABBY: My fellow men.

  ALIOUNE: Thank you, that they do not treat you with respect.

  ABBY: Uh-huh. How old do you think I am?

  (He considers.)

  ALIOUNE: Thirty . . . two?

  ABBY: Okay, get out. Seriously, get out.

  ALIOUNE: Seventeen.

  ABBY: Funny. I’m twenty-eight.

  ALIOUNE: Sorry, your . . . (He gestures vaguely toward her hair)

  ABBY: We gray early in my family, okay? God, you can see it from there?

  How old are you?

  ALIOUNE: Twenty-five.

  ABBY: What?!

  ALIOUNE: What did you think?

  ABBY: You have two kids! And a property management business!

  ALIOUNE: Yes. And I am twenty-five.

  ABBY: Let me ask you this. When you were little, did your parents intone, over and over, “It doesn’t matter what you do when you grow up as long as you’re happy?”