from First Lady

CHARACTERS

OFFSTAGE VOICES OR ONSCREEN IMAGES: advisors and ministers

YASMINE: local journalist

ELISH: Ishtar’s chief of staff

GAZAL: Ishtar’s personal advisor

ISHTAR, FIRST LADY: first lady

A modern “banana republic” somewhere near ancient Mesopotamia, where something’s rotten.

Certain figures from the Sumerian pantheon inspired me: Elish, formidable scorpion-man, guardian of the temple; Sumuqan, the gazelle; Ishtar, Queen of the Underworld and a sacred prostitute to whom several kings owed their thrones, often represented accompanied by animals.

Yasmine is a Persian first name. Jasmine became the symbol of a series of revolts and revolutions that still haven’t finished transforming the world.

INTERVIEW

FIRST LADY (worried, she reads the text as it appears on the teleprompter):  My dear compatriots. Tonight I’m speaking to you, to tell you . . . I heard you, I understood you . . . I saw the fire in your eyes, I heard the strength of your voices. The future is yours. You are the children of a great people. But don’t let this passion blind you. Don’t listen to the international provocateurs who want to set our country on fire as they’ve done to our neighbors; you’ve seen it, all these alleged revolutions have already been forgotten. These supposed springtimes have turned to winter. We must maintain political stability in our country. Look at these countries whose whole peoples are taking refuge in other countries whose own people are afraid of the future! My dear compatriots, if you don’t want these tragedies to befall us, I beg you, go home right now!

(She finishes in a theatrical manner.)

And?

GAZAL:  I had goosebumps. Both sincere and serious, while . . . sweet . . . at the same time, that’s exactly how the people like to see you. You were exquisite. Yes, that’s the word. Ex-quisite.

FIRST LADY:  Are you sure, my gazelle?

GAZAL:  Oh yes, yes.

ELISH (fiddles with his earpiece):  Shush!

(To the earpiece.)

They’re where?

(He listens.)

They’re telling me a lot of them are in Martyrs Square.

(To the earpiece.)

Which has become what? Revolution Square? Ah!

(To the FIRST LADY.)

They renamed it.

(To the earpiece.)

How many are they?

(A beat.)

How many? Ah! And palace security? I see. Stay on the line.

(To the FIRST LADY.)

I have some delicate news. They’re coming towards the palace.

FIRST LADY:  Which palace?

ELISH:  The palace. The palace.

(Seeing she doesn’t understand.)

Here, I mean . . .

FIRST LADY:  Here? All of them?

ELISH:  Well . . . a lot of them.

FIRST LADY:  That is to say?

ELISH:  Um . . . No fewer than 120,000 people.

YASMINE:  120,000?!

FIRST LADY:  But . . . does palace security know?

ELISH:  They’re all gone. It’s just us three in the palace . . . well, us four.

FIRST LADY:  WHAT? What’s that supposed to mean?

GAZAL (panicked):  That means they’re going to come into the palace, take us prisoners, cut us into tiny pieces and decapitate us?

ELISH:  No, they’ll never be able to get through the palace walls, idiot!

GAZAL:  Even worse! We’re going to be cold, hungry, thirsty, sick. We’re going to crack. We’re going to attack each other and eat human flesh. We’re going to try to eat ourselves. We’re going to turn into animals. We’re going to die slowly. Suffering terribly. Our corpses will rot. We’re going to stink. Even our corpses will be monstrous. Worms are going to enter through all our orifices. We’ll become ugly. Smelly. Torn to shreds. They’ll never find us.

FIRST LADY and ELISH (together):  Shut up!

GAZAL:  Why can’t I speak in the last moments before I die?

ELISH:  Because if you’re quiet, you’ll still have a chance to die in the way you just described. But if you continue spouting off your idiotic ideas, I’m going to shoot you, and you’ll die instantly. Much less dramatic.

FIRST LADY:  So . . . what do we do?

ELISH:  I’m afraid we’ve got to go.

YASMINE:  Go? How? Is there a secret passage somewhere?

FIRST LADY:  Go? Where?

ELISH:  That’s just it. I’ve got the Minister of Transportation on the line who’s going to try to see where we might end up.

FIRST LADY:  “End up?”

ELISH:  Yes, Madame, “end up.”

FIRST LADY:  What do you mean, “end up”?

GAZAL:  Don’t you understand? NOBODY WANTS YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND! Do you really think all your first lady friends are going to say, “But of course, my dear, come spend a few days with us, while this all blows over . . . ?”

ELISH:  Idiot!

GAZAL:  Sorry, Madame, sorry . . . I don’t know what came over me . . . I’m all wound up right now. With everything I’m taking for my tits, I’ve got the hormones of a teenager!

FIRST LADY:  Wait, wait! Are you trying to say . . . I’m a persona non grata?

ELISH:  Madame, there are already several countries that have closed their embassies, saying we’re henceforth a dictatorship.

FIRST LADY:  A dictatorship? But that’s ridiculous! My husband was elected with ninety-eight percent of the vote.

YASMINE:  Exactly.

FIRST LADY:  And where is he, the old fart?

ELISH:  Who would that be?

FIRST LADY:  The President!

YASMINE:  Didn’t he already leave? Didn’t he leave the country?

FIRST LADY:  So what if I played the personal card? On camera, I put everything on my husband and I spin it: corruption, embezzlement, insider influence, and orgies with his top models from all over the world! I’m forward-thinking, I kept his sex tape in my safe.

ELISH:  That won’t work!

FIRST LADY:  Why not?

YASMINE:  Because Adolf, Bokassa, Ceaușescu, Ben Ali, all of them took their wives with them when they fell!

ELISH (to his earpiece):  How much time did you say? What? Ok. (To the FIRST LADY.) They estimate it will take the protestors seventeen minutes to get here. And once they’re here, it will be better if we are no longer in the palace. So. We’re going to organize your extraction.

YASMINE:  Extraction? Madame is going to . . . ? Are you saying she’s going to . . . ?

FIRST LADY:  Extraction? Are you kidding? Without . . . my goods? my paintings? my furniture? my car fleet? my Falcons? my shoes? my children?

GAZAL:  Take this. It’s a Valium.

FIRST LADY:  Seventeen minutes, you said?

(She swallows the pill and tries to calm down.)

GAZAL:  Yes. Well now . . . let’s say . . . it’s closer to sixteen minutes and twenty-two seconds.

FIRST LADY:  And my children?

ELISH:  They’ve already left.

FIRST LADY:  Left? But . . . how?

ELISH (to his earpiece): Great, we’re finally connected! . . . (the line connects) Hello, Mister Minister of Transportation.

MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION:  Hello Madame, hello Sir.

ELISH:  Mister Minister, how did Madame’s children leave?

MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION:  Falcon 900.

FIRST LADY:  What do you mean, Falcon 900?

MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION:  Your two sons left in a Falcon.

FIRST LADY:  The one with the mahogany armrests and the gold faucet?

MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION:  Yes, Madame.

FIRST LADY:  NO! That was my favorite jet! It was straight out of the factory! And . . . and my daughter?

MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION:  She left two days ago.

FIRST LADY:  What? So that means she knew?

MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION: It’s highly likely . . .

FIRST LADY (calm for a moment, then screaming):  THAT BITCH! That bitch! As always, she found a way. She’s bribed the whole world with MY money! While I’m being tortured in prisons of my own making, that slut will be . . . on a yacht in Monaco! In a riad in Morocco! At a suite in the Paris Ritz! My daughter is a WHORE!

GAZAL:  Maybe another Valium?

FIRST LADY:  Ever since she was a baby, she was always a double-crosser! She’s the spitting image of me! THAT WHORE!

(The line disconnects. She calms down, almost has tears in her eyes.)

How am I going to live?

GAZAL:  What’s more, in a few hours Saturn will be in perfect opposition to the sun on the karmic map, and that’s a disaster! Leaving the country is not going to be easy in these conditions . . .

ELISH:  I have the Minister of Finance on the line . . . who has a few ideas but . . . She thinks it’s going to be very difficult. I’ll pass her to you.

(The line connects, and the MINISTER OF FINANCE appears on the screen.)

MINISTER OF FINANCE:  Madame . . . As the Honorable Elish was saying, it’s not going to be easy for the official accounts.

FIRST LADY:  And my foreign holdings?

MINISTER OF FINANCE:  Unfortunately, you can’t count on them. They’re blocked, in this type of situation . . .

FIRST LADY:  By what right?

(Suddenly, a good idea strikes.)

My famous paintings! My Miró? My Picasso? My Rodin?

ELISH:  Impossible to get them out of the country. The Director of the National Museum has already confiscated them.

FIRST LADY:  Shitty director! I told you not to name that asshole to that post! Traitor!

(The line disconnects.)

GAZAL:  You’re the one who sent him to train at the Louvre so you could name him minister afterwards. You said he would be easy to manipulate. The one before didn’t want to loan you the earrings from the national treasury, so you had him fired.

FIRST LADY:  The bastard!

(A beat.)

And my husband’s gold bars?

ELISH (to his earpiece):  Get me the Director of the Central Bank.

GAZAL:  Oh yes! The President’s gold bars.

(The line connects, and the DIRECTOR OF THE CENTRAL BANK appears on the screen.)

ELISH:  Madame Director . . . Lady Ishtar is asking for . . . you know? . . . His Excellency’s gold bars.

DIRECTOR OF THE CENTRAL BANK:  How do I tell you? . . .

FIRST LADY:  Tell me!

DIRECTOR OF THE CENTRAL BANK:  I don’t have the right to . . . Well . . . Let’s just say that . . . I wasn’t supposed to know that you were in possession of . . .

FIRST LADY:  Liar! You’re the one who opened the safe for me . . . with your own keys! In exchange for you know what! What have you done with my gold bars? Tell me!

DIRECTOR OF THE CENTRAL BANK:  That is to say . . . I already gave the order to . . .

FIRST LADY:  The order to . . . ?

DIRECTOR OF THE CENTRAL BANK:  To transfer them to the public treasury!

FIRST LADY:  Communist!

(The line disconnects.)

GAZAL:  The Valium isn’t going to cut it. A Xanax, Madame?

ELISH:  We’re going to have to hurry, we only have seven minutes, ten seconds left.

FIRST LADY:  Already?

GAZAL:  Madame, I’ve prepared the first trunks. But I’m afraid . . .

FIRST LADY:  What?

GAZAL:  . . . they will also be the last.

FIRST LADY:  The last?

GAZAL:  We . . . we won’t have time to prepare any others.

FIRST LADY:  My Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, my Escada . . . ?

GAZAL:  Those . . . won’t be possible, unfortunately.

FIRST LADY:  I’m not leaving without my wardrobe!

ELISH:  Madame, you’ll be needing tennis shoes rather than furs, because I doubt you’ll be invited to Cannes this year!

FIRST LADY:  LOSERS! You’re all a bunch of losers!

GAZAL (heroically):  Don’t worry, Madame. As your official stylist, I’m not jumping ship. I will stay faithful till the end to dress you for the international press!

FIRST LADY:  You’re right, the press! The Western media won’t let me down. I’ve taken care of them the past thirty years!

ELISH:  Don’t count on the international press, Madame.

FIRST LADY:  Why not?

ELISH:  Even the fashion magazines are currently pulling the issues you appear in.

FIRST LADY:  But I’m an icon! They said I was the “rose of the desert!” I represent . . . I represent . . . They wrote it a thousand times . . . I represent “the glamorous Eastern woman!”

GAZAL:  You’ll see, Madame, everything will be forgotten in a few months and we’ll build your new image: (Like in an advertisement.) “The former first lady has created her own brand.” Less bling-bling, more serious. We’ll work with tons of sable, beige, blue-green . . .

ELISH (dismayed):  Idiot! Your Excellency, we have five minutes, fifty seconds left. I strongly advise you to get ready.

FIRST LADY:  My jewels! Oh, yes! My Chopard tiara, my Chaumet necklace, my Cartier bracelet with the thirty-two black diamonds?

GAZAL:  Actually . . . I already . . .

FIRST LADY:  Speak! Retard! Speak!

GAZAL:  I gave them to your daughter.

FIRST LADY:  What?

GAZAL:  She came by the day before yesterday and said she needed them for a party in Dubai . . .

FIRST LADY:  To . . . ? My . . . daughter? You moron! That whore! You’re a moron and she’s a whore! A real bitch! She gets it from me!

ELISH:  Madame, watch your language, we might be on tape.

FIRST LADY:  What the fuck do I care about my language now?

ELISH:  For posterity. I mean to say . . . for your potential biography.

FIRST LADY:  What biography? I don’t have an authorized biography, do I?

ELISH:  Since we’re being recorded . . . someone . . . will eventually sell this historic moment . . . to a journalist, a screenplay writer, or maybe even a playwright!

GAZAL:  Oh yes, stories like this sell really well! If that happens, they’ll do a play in London . . . No, no, on Broadway . . . Remember Eva Perón, that was a huge hit, “Don’t cry for me, Argentina . . . ” No, no! “Don’t cry for me, Mesopotamia! The truth is I never left you / all through my wild days / my mad existence / I kept my promise . . . ”

(She sings, then, seeing the others are giving her dirty looks, quiets down.)

ELISH:  Your gazelle is truly an idiot! So, Madame! As I was saying . . . it would certainly be preferable for your language to remain . . . I would say . . .

GAZAL:  There are four minutes, forty-two seconds left.

ELISH:  I would say . . . appropriate! So these last moments will be retold in a sophisticated way. So your true nature appears, your natural elegance is on display.

FIRST LADY (screaming):  I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK!

GAZAL:  A tranquilizer?

FIRST LADY:  Shut up! How much time did you say we had?

GAZAL:  Now . . . no more than . . . four minutes, twenty-nine seconds. (To ELISH.) What about your watch?

ELISH:  I have four minutes, forty-two seconds.

GAZAL:  Oh really? Is it a Rolex?

ELISH:  Obviously.

GAZAL:  Personally, I would have said four minutes, forty-three seconds . . . that’s a twenty-two second difference. Which now gives us four minutes and twenty-one seconds.

FIRST LADY:  Four minutes and twenty-one seconds?

GAZAL:  Well, now . . . twelve seconds. In this precise moment. But of course, it’s changed again! I can’t give you the exact time, in fact, it’s like quantum physics, if you observe it, what you observe changes!

ELISH:  Now you’re interested in quantum physics?

GAZAL:  What? Don’t forget astronomy and astrology are very close sciences. I could have become an astrophysicist if I weren’t a stylist.

ELISH:  Oh yes, of course.

YASMINE:  The first protestors are starting to arrive on the palace esplanade.

FIRST LADY:  I can’t reason with them? Once they’re here?

YASMINE:  No.

FIRST LADY:  How do you know?

YASMINE:  I’m following the protests on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and I assure you they’re not coming to the palace to chat!

FIRST LADY:  I told you we had to forbid all social media! That’s what makes China such a great democracy, they’ve cut everything off! It’s your fault! Everything is your fault! Incompetent! IDIOTS! PSYCHOPATHS! CRETINS! RETARDS!

ELISH:  As your advisor, I should say the word “retard” shouldn’t be used as an insult; it’s no longer politically correct.

FIRST LADY:  FUCK your “politically correct!”

(A beat.)

You’re all . . . visually impaired! Hard of hearing! Is that better?

YASMINE:  Your zoo is trending on Twitter. Hashtag: Free the first lady’s animals!

FIRST LADY:  My animals? They’re crazy!

GAZAL:  Oh no! Not the bonobos!

FIRST LADY:  My baby tigers! My lion cubs!

ELISH (to his earpiece):  Hello? Oh! Where were you? Okay. (To the FIRST LADY.) Madame, your spouse, Mister President! . . . Madame, your husband wants to speak with you!

(The line connects.)

FIRST LADY:  I don’t want to talk to that old fart!

(The line disconnects.)

ELISH (to his earpiece):  Madame will call you back, Your Excellency!

FIRST LADY:  No! Give him to me.

ELISH (to his earpiece):  Hold on. In fact, Madame would like to speak with you.

FIRST LADY:  Actually, no!

ELISH (to his earpiece):  In fact, no, Madame is busy. (To the FIRST LADY.) Madame, Mister President insists.

FIRST LADY:  Ask him where he is.

ELISH (to his earpiece):  Madame wants to know where you are. Where? (To the FIRST LADY.) Ah . . . the President is . . . far away.

FIRST LADY:  Far away?

ELISH (to the FIRST LADY):  Yes, far away.

FIRST LADY:  And he didn’t say anything to me?

ELISH (to his earpiece):  And you didn’t say anything to Madame? The files? What files? (To the FIRST LADY.) The President wants you to give me the files in the basement so I can destroy them.

FIRST LADY:  In his dreams!

ELISH (to the FIRST LADY):  The President says . . . these files could compromise both of you. But . . . (to his earpiece) Wait, wait. They concern me, too. But I don’t count, is that it? I’m just your wife’s guard dog, the stinging scorpion, but I don’t exist. You know what? You’re such a monstrous human being, so vile, so odious, so revolting, so cowardly and foul that even Richard III would seem like a Teletubby next to you! You’ve only thought of yourself your whole life, and believe me, I will see to it that you die in tremendous agony. I will leak everything I know, I will uncover all your murders, scandals, disgraces, bribes, tortures, and atrocities. You will regret everything you’ve done and everything you’ve done to me. I will see to it you can never set foot in this country again, worse, you can never appear in public in any country in the world again. You’re going to pay for my life, my career, my office, my love, for everything I’ve lost. You’re going to pay for everything you’ve taken from me, and plus, that way I’ll get my fifteen minutes of fame and power. I’ll be able to die happy and satisfied having sunk you right up to your neck in this pile of shit you created for yourself.

(A beat. He hangs up. Another beat. They applaud.)

FIRST LADY, GAZAL, and YASMINE:  Wow! Such eloquence! Such panache!

FIRST LADY:  Mmmmmm. Such sadistic pleasure!

GAZAL:  Oh yes, what a rush! Bravo!

ELISH (speaking as if nothing happened):  Madame . . . Madame Minister of Health wants to speak to you on Skype.

(The line connects.)

FIRST LADY:  What the fuck does the Minister of Health have to do with this?

ELISH:  You’re mistaken, it’s important. Listen closely to her.

MINISTER OF HEALTH:  Madame, I regret to inform you there aren’t many options left.

FIRST LADY:  Options for what?

MINISTER OF HEALTH:  To save you. But luckily you have devoted and forward-thinking advisors and ministers.

We have imagined the worst case scenario, and we were correct.

FIRST LADY:  The worst case scenario? What scenario?

MINISTER OF HEALTH:  Mister Advisor, give the tube to Madame. (ELISH holds out a tube of powder to ISHTAR, who doesn’t take it.) Madame, take the tube. Hide it well . . . I would say in your slip. Maybe even in your vagina.

FIRST LADY:  What is it?

MINISTER OF HEALTH:  Botox.

FIRST LADY:  Botox? You’re right. One never knows. I might not find any in my host country.

ELISH:  It’s not botox for your frown lines, Your Excellency.

MINISTER OF HEALTH:  It’s botulinum toxin. It’s the same poison as the one you inject with all your first lady friends . . . well . . . your former friends. Except it’s not the same dose.

ELISH:  Botox, in large quantities, is the strongest poison in the world, five thousand times stronger than cyanide.

FIRST LADY:  And you’ve injected it in my face for years?

MINISTER OF HEALTH:  In small quantities, it paralyzes facial muscles in a temporary way, while with this dosage . . .

GAZAL:  You’re going to need to speed up your chemistry lesson.

ELISH:  You could . . . how should I put it? . . . go out with dignity.

FIRST LADY:  Do you mean to say . . . ?

ELISH:  Yes, Madame. I think if they enter the palace . . . it would be preferable that . . . you, you . . .

FIRST LADY:  What?

ELISH:  You inject yourself. Not your wrinkles, obviously.

FIRST LADY:  My crow’s feet?

ELISH:  No! That you . . .

FIRST LADY:  That I . . . ?

ELISH:  That you . . .

FIRST LADY:  That I . . . ?

YASMINE:  That she . . . ?

GAZAL:  That she . . . ?

ELISH:  Yes, Madame. They’ve prepared one for me, as well.

FIRST LADY:  We . . . You mean to say that we . . .

ELISH:  Yes. Let’s say it out loud. That we kill ourselves together. With botox.

GAZAL:  How come I didn’t get any?

ELISH:  Shut up, idiot!

GAZAL:  I’m always an afterthought in this palace! I want botox for me, too!

YASMINE:  No! No suicide! Don’t kill yourself, Madame! There are still people who love you.

FIRST LADY:  You’re right, miss. I WON’T KILL MYSELF!

(The line disconnects.)

I have an idea!

ELISH:  Oh, really?

FIRST LADY:  Get me the Minister of Religious Affairs.

ELISH:  Of religious affairs? (Tired, to his earpiece.) Get me the minister of religious affairs.

FIRST LADY:  I won’t kill myself!

ELISH:  He’s on the line. He says hello and he’ll pray for you, Inshallah . . .