№ 5 a full-length, one-woman play by William Allen 94 North Main Street Homer, NY 13077 607-316-7831 [email protected] © 2004 William Allen SCENE 1 (The lights rise on Coco Chanel's apartment on the Rue Cambon, Paris. There is a small, elegant sofa, a gilded chair, a dress form, and Coromandel screens as a backdrop. The screens cover a treasure trove of props that Coco drags out and uses onstage. There is a coffee table with plenty of illustrated fashion books. She is sitting at a piano ready to play. Coco is wearing an original pair of Chanel lounging pajamas, a string of pearls, and a pair of scissors around her neck. All of the illustrations mentioned in the script, those mentioned in books and the painting by Picasso, should be reproduced in the audience's program, albeit in miniature. And the program should be in the form of an invitation.) COCO (singing and playing the piano) I've lost my poor Coco./Coco, my lovable dog,/Lost him close to the Trocadero./He's far away, if he's still running./I admit my biggest regret is that the more my man cheated on me, the more Coco remained faithful./You didn't happen to see my Coco?/Coco near the Trocadero./Co at the Tro/Co at the Tro/Coco at the Trocadero./Who has seen Coco?/Oh, Coco,/Who has seen Coco? (She rises from the piano) COCO (continuing) Ah, you didn't know I could sing. You do think I can sing, don't you? Well, the patrons of La Rotonde thought so. They loved my singing, and if they didn't, what did they know? They were drunk and in love. So they called me Coco. And the name stuck. (She crosses DS.) COCO (continuing) And I like it. It's more playful than Gabrielle. It has more je ne sais pas than... (She says the name while striking a dramatic pose.) This perusal script is for reading purposes only. 2 No performance or photocopy rights are conveyed. This perusal script is for reading purposes only. 3 No performance or photocopy rights are conveyed. COCO (continuing) Gabrielle Chanel. So I started as a chanteuse. I would sing, and they would drink, and I sounded better and better as the night went on. They were all soldiers at the barracks out to make a night of it, and they thought I was their little mascot-- their little Coco. And before you say anything or even think anything, I've heard the rumors, so don't think I'm ignoring them. You can believe what you want, and I'm not here to explode you bubble--is that the expression?--well, whatever it is, I am not here to do that; but does it really matter whether or not I was illegitimate, or whether or not I was an orphan, or if I had brothers and sisters? I am a self-made woman, and I'll not let anyone else claim responsibility for my success. No one. (She reaches for a tray with a silver setting.) COCO (continuing) Would you like tea or coffee? I would offer you something stronger, but I want your mind to be sharp when you're taking notes. If you're going to write an article about Chanel, you want to be sharp. You know that as a rule I don't grant interviews. You can't trust writers, present company excluded of course. The last time I gave an interview was the day that pigs did indeed fly. (Coco laughs. The imaginary interviewer does not.) COCO (continuing) That was a joke. Not much of a sense of humor, eh? Then let's get down to business, shall we? I thought that instead of your asking me a lot of silly questions, I would just talk and you would just write. Kind of a one-way street, but it will save the time of my denying vicious rumors, becoming upset with you, and throwing you out the door like a common hack. I'm not sure what it is you are writing about--is it my life story; is it the House of Chanel?; or do you want the whole legacy--from beginning to end? It doesn't matter, does it? I'll just babble and you tell me when you need to go to the bathroom. (She studies her interviewer with some consternation. At this moment an audience member has become the interviewer. Coco approaches.) This perusal script is for reading purposes only. 4 No performance or photocopy rights are conveyed. This perusal script is for reading purposes only. 5 No performance or photocopy rights are conveyed. COCO (continuing) Will you stand up? I want to see something. Just stand up. Do you mind if I pick? (kneeling and examining a seam) Pret a port has come a long way, but can they spare the fabric? These seams should be serged and lapped. They look as if they've been glued. No offense. (as if the interviewer has said thank you) Your welcome. But what I wanted to point out is this. (She indicates one of the following characteristics: chains, anything that's quilted, anything that's masculine such as pants and pockets, tweed, anything that's beige or black or two-toned, an open collar, a tie.) COCO (continuing) Where do you think this comes from? Chanel. Where do you think this open neck comes from? Chanel. Where do you think these pockets come from? Chanel. The only reason you're comfortable is Chanel. You can thank me later. Now sit back down and start taking notes. Why should only men be comfortable? That's what I said to myself when I started wearing men's clothes. Why should only they have a pocket for their keys? I borrowed Etienne's jackets, his pants, his ties, even his boots. That's Etienne Balsan, you know. We had the same sized feet. We were riding horses, for God's sake. I wasn't going to pretend to be the Lady of Shallot while we were trampling through the woods on a sweaty horse. Men's clothes are real. Even those ridiculous Jodhpurs are real. Fashion is not fashion unless it's real. If it stays on the runway, or in the closet, it isn't worth its weight in ostrich feathers. I did away with those, too. Ostrich feathers don't do you much good when sailing on a friend's yacht in a twenty-knot breeze. But if fashion is not practical, it should stay on the runway. You want to see what I mean? You look at what men have designed. Yves St. Laurent, Pierre Cardin--their gender prohibits them from making an intelligent decision designing clothes for women. There is something about having a penis that clouds their thinking. And why is that? It's because they don't have to wear them. They prance around in comfortable men's clothing while their models hobble along in some medieval torture device. Now, I want you to see this. (She crosses to the coffee table and grabs a large book. She opens it for the writer's inspection. This perusal script is for reading purposes only. 6 No performance or photocopy rights are conveyed. This perusal script is for reading purposes only. 7 No performance or photocopy rights are conveyed. She sees a picture of some far out, impossible to wear, haute couture design.) COCO (continuing) This is what I'm talking about. Can you tell that a man designed this? Is this something you would wear to the beach or at the race track, or is it something you would wear on the moon? I've seen people in traction who were more comfortable. (Showing another picture of a haute couture showing much skin and a miniskirt.) COCO (continuing) And what about this creation? The mini-mini skirt. This would be fine on a cold day in January, wouldn't it. Men don't know women. They are only interested in painting a picture; in making a statement; in making themselves famous. Now look at this. (She grabs another book from the table-- a book of Chanel illustrations. They look at another picture--one of Chanel's creations--a smart suit of beige and black.) COCO (continuing) See any similarities? Of course you don't. At least I hope not. Smart--practical--doesn't look as if it came off a space ship. These are the shapes and styles at the Rue Cambon--the House of Chanel, and I'm damned proud of it. Are you offended if I say damned? Well, you'd better get used to it. It's going to be a long interview. So it started with this-- (picking up a hat from behind the screens) a simple boater. And my love affair with Etienne Balsan--rich and smart. My favorite kind of man. This is one of those rumors that I will substantiate. We were lovers, but I don't think there was much of a mystery. I was a kept woman. As I look back upon it, it was the right thing to do. I certainly had no qualms about living at Royallieu with Etienne and his horsey friends, and I had hardly any money. I call it a love affair, but it didn't last long enough for that. It was rather a like affair, and I was young and gullible, and he was happy and rich.