HATEFUCK excerpt by Rehana Lew Mirza

Hatefuck

by Rehana Lew Mirza

c/o Leah Hamos/Vern Co, Gersh 212.634.8153 lhamos@gersh.com; vco@gersh.com

Setting: just outside Detroit, Michigan

Characters: Layla Mahdi: 40s, female, South Asian American: professor at the local Wayne State College whose social activism streak clouds her ability to connect with others and succeed Imran Siddiqui: 40s, male, South Asian American: award-winning and best-selling novelist who uses his success to sometimes cover for a fragile sense of self

1.

SCENE 1 The sounds of a cocktail party. Imran’s loft apartment.

Imran, holding a glass of wine, passes an open doorway where he sees Layla casually lingering in a more private room.

He’s both startled by her presence and obviously intrigued by the only other brown person at the party, but he’d never say it. Layla knows this.

IMRAN Hi? LAYLA Hi. IMRAN I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?

LAYLA No. We haven’t. This is nice. You have a nice place.

IMRAN Thank you.

LAYLA It's very ‘kind’ of you to open your apartment and host another writer’s book launch.

IMRAN Well, my agent asks, so. You know Duncan?

LAYLA Only in name.

IMRAN Sure, he’s in town just a few times a month.

LAYLA And yet he’s done you well.

1A. IMRAN Do you know Shane?

LAYLA Shane?

IMRAN Yes. The person whose book I’m helping to publicize?

LAYLA No. I’m just here to see how the zoo animals are kept.

2.

IMRAN So. Are you a novelist as well?

LAYLA Nope.

IMRAN ...OK... Well. Fans are welcome. I hope you enjoy.

Imran’s opinion and interest of Layla has lowered, he’s turned out to look around as she speaks.

LAYLA Fans of who? You or Shane?

IMRAN ... It’s not a competition.

LAYLA At least not between you two. (emphasizing the names with accents perhaps) Shane Taylor and Imran Siddiqui. Not much overlap there.

IMRAN I don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing.

He clearly pays attention to that sort of thing.

LAYLA Uh-huh. Are you sure this little soiree for Shane isn’t just an excuse to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

IMRAN I try not to speak in cliche.

LAYLA (sweetly) But ... is writing in them okay?

IMRAN Ha, cute.

Imran gives out another insincere laugh, not even looking at Layla.

3.

LAYLA Why do you keep looking around with that weird grin?

IMRAN I'm not.

LAYLA Yeah, you're facing out instead of facing me, and desperately trying to draw attention to yourself.

IMRAN I like to keep myself open. In case other folks want to join another conversation.

LAYLA This party's pretty much done... There's barely anyone here.

IMRAN Well all the more reason to not block people out.

LAYLA Afraid of being seen talking to the only other brown person in the room, are you?

IMRAN Not afraid at all. Like I said, I don’t pay attention to that sort of thing.

LAYLA And it’s confirmed, you’re terrified of the brown.

IMRAN Not terrified, just.

Small piece of advice. Standing off to the corner like this, it makes us seem unfriendly. Cliquish.

LAYLA That’s funny. All the white folks don’t seem worried that they seem unfriendly or cliquish. So maybe we're fine.

IMRAN I'm sorry, and what did you say your name was again?

LAYLA I didn't. But it's Layla.

4.

IMRAN I see.

LAYLA Trying to figure out if it's Hebrew Layla or Muslim Layla? ... Or Eric Clapton’s Layla?

IMRAN Not at all.

LAYLA Because you already recognized one of your “tribe,” right?

IMRAN You're reading into this conversation an awful lot, aren’t you?

LAYLA No. I'm just commenting on some very obvious body cues. You seem to be going from looking at my boobs to looking at everyone else.

IMRAN Well maybe if your face was as interesting as your boobs...

LAYLA Ahhhhh there he is. Finally, I’ve broken through all the polite chit chat.

IMRAN Really? That was me being polite still. Trust me, I can get much, much worse.

LAYLA I’d like to see that.

IMRAN Would you? (beat) So if you don’t know Shane, and you’ve never met Duncan, who is it here that you do know?

LAYLA Clearly not a fan of foreplay, eh?

IMRAN Sometimes I just like to get in there.

5.

LAYLA I’m a professor over at Wayne State. Contemporary Literature. Duncan invites me to all his events. At least, the ones that involve you. Either he’s trying to be a matchmaker IMRAN Ha! He’s an unreformed bachelor and thinks everyone should be.

LAYLA Or he’s trying to get me to put you on my syllabus, because... obviously.

Layla holds her hand up against his - their skin tones match. It’s a surprising moment where they let their hands touch a little too long. Neither wants to be the first to back away. Finally, Imran slides his hand down.

IMRAN So why are you holding out?

LAYLA Excuse me?

IMRAN Duncan clearly keeps inviting you to these events because you’ve been holding out on teaching me. When I’m such an ... obvious choice.

LAYLA Are you?

IMRAN I mean. I’ve been on the best seller list enough times to warrant a read at ...Wayne State, don’t you think?

LAYLA It’s not just about how well you sell yourself, Imran.

IMRAN And you know, Duncan’s right. I would think as a fellow brown person, LAYLA Oh so you finally / acknowledge it

6.

IMRAN I would think that you would want me on your syllabus. Given the community there at Wayne State. I would think they’re hungry for someone like me!

LAYLA How would you know? You seem to stay as far away from the community as you can.

IMRAN (looks her up and down) I doubt you lead the call to prayers. And I know of the Muslim population at Wayne State. I live in Detroit after all.

LAYLA Outside of Detroit.

IMRAN ...Yes. Just outside. Does that make me seem less... hard... to you?

LAYLA I haven’t seen enough of you yet to decide that. (beat) And it seems that you simultaneously think Wayne State is beneath you while being insulted that your work is withheld from them.

IMRAN Oh wait, I know why you’re depriving the children. You’re one of those socalled educators who includes “Catcher in the Rye” as Contemporary Literature and won’t even bother to read anything with a glossy cover.

LAYLA I've read all of your books, Imran Siddiqui.

IMRAN (pleased) Ahhhh, have you now?

LAYLA Yes, I have.

IMRAN And yet, you don’t want to share me with the future of America?

LAYLA Definitely not.

7.

IMRAN But you’re here. At my home.

LAYLA Yeah, I’ve been dying to find out for myself: Are you a terrorist?

Imran laughs.

IMRAN Ey-Ohhhhh: the T-word.

LAYLA It's just, all six of your novels have Muslim men who are terrorists or turn into terrorists by the end so… going off the statistics you yourself have set up, there's a pretty good chance that you're a terrorist, no?

IMRAN I didn’t have you pegged for one of those overly anxious community members, afraid to air the dirty laundry of her people.

LAYLA In your novels, I am the dirty laundry of her people.

IMRAN And I bet you have a nice fifteen part Twitter screed that will solve all the world's prejudice, don't you?

LAYLA I’m not on social media.

IMRAN That’s very Muslim of you.

LAYLA Because I’m a luddite who likes her privacy?

IMRAN Look, I get it, it also took me awhile to fight through those cultural codes telling us we need to be private and secretive.

LAYLA You are right about one thing. I have been too private. Too private about my intense dislike for your novels.

8.

IMRAN And yet... you read all six.

LAYLA They’re like a bag of chips. Once you have one...

IMRAN But in my case, they’re both delicious and nutritious.

LAYLA Not quite. I walked in on one of my colleagues reading your latest and she looked up and said, “There’s nothing we can do, is there? They’re animals. All of them are animals.” Thanks for that.

IMRAN That’s not on me.

LAYLA Ohhhhhh. Did someone ghostwrite your book?

IMRAN And, what about you? Did you let her assume you were just a dark-skinned Latina and now you’re coming after me as a way of assuaging your guilt?

Layla leans in and enacts the following as she speaks.

LAYLA No, I leaned in close, let my breasts brush up against her arm, softly letting my tongue touch her ear as I whispered, “I’m a Muslim. Ooga booga!” (backing up) She came and peed herself at the same time.

IMRAN You must be a hit at faculty parties.

LAYLA I tend to stay away from parties.

IMRAN And yet.

He gestures around them. Layla moves closer to Imran.

9.

LAYLA Just needed to see for myself if you’re like the books you write. It’s amazing what curiosity can drive a person to do. (whistling, holding up a wine glass) Real crystal wine glasses. You’re like a modern Moorish warlord.

She drops the glass. It shatters.

LAYLA Oops.

Then. The sound of the DOOR suddenly slamming shut. They both turn to look around.

LAYLA Besides it’s not much of a party when the last of em just exited.

IMRAN Everyone left? That’s [weird] Imran walks swiftly offstage.

Imran re-enters.

IMRAN Well. Duncan said I looked ‘occupied’ and he didn’t want to disturb me with good-byes. Thanks for that.

LAYLA Ooof. Sorry. Your reputation must be in shambles now.

IMRAN I’ll get my PR person on it right away.

LAYLA Yeah you best do that. Write like you represent the community but All-h forbid you are seen ‘involved’ with the community.

IMRAN I try not to involve myself with trouble.

LAYLA But how do you know unless you try it, Imran?

10.

Beat. They begin moving in even closer to one another.

IMRAN So. Has your curiosity been sufficiently satisfied?

Now that you’ve finally seen the inside of the author’s home you’ve been highly fascinated about?

Layla snorts.

LAYLA Fascinated? Not quite. More like ... piqued... by.

IMRAN Piqued? The only professor in this state not teaching the works of a local award-winning author has to be more than... ‘piqued’ ... by me.

LAYLA You think highly of yourself, don’t you?

IMRAN I don’t need to. Not when the Pulitzer committee already does.

LAYLA Right. What’s left for you then?

IMRAN Being put on your syllabus, I guess.

LAYLA The answer to both is no.

IMRAN Both?

LAYLA My syllabus. And... on whether or not my curiosity is satisfied. It’s not. It’s not even close. Because the only thing that will satisfy me is to see you crying. To make you scream my name for mercy. To see you writhing beneath me, not knowing if you’re in pleasure or pain, your cock bent to my will as I fuck you until you bleed tears, until you feel so small that you know with absolute certainty that you are insignificant, just a mess of cum and sweat, muttering unintelligible syllables. Because then. I know.

11.

You’ll be rendered harmless. Until then. I consider you... everything you say... everything you write.... inimical to humanity.

They stare at one another for a moment. Then kiss violently.