The Pied-à-Terre Affair (Act 2)
A Commedia dell'Arte Play in One Act
(Preface) All persons, places, and events in this comedy are entirely fictitious and bear no resemblance to any real public figures, political controversies, or administrative proceedings. Any similarity is purely coincidental, a product of the author’s fertile imagination and the collective unconscious of the city. The audience is invited to use their own discretion in guessing which real-world "pillars of society" might be hiding behind these masks. The resemblance is a mere accident of art, not a reflection of truth.
(Setting) The scene is a simple, low-budget stage in Central Park. A large white sheet hangs as a backdrop, onto which a video projection of Times Square (looking up Broadway) creates a deep, distorted perspective. A small band of musicians (flute, lute, and a drum) sits stage left. A crowd of extras mingles in the background, snacking and checking their phones. The band plays a frantic, Rossini-esque overture. The music cuts abruptly, and the players enter
Figaro (The Mayor, a baritone, fast-talking, energetic, wearing a bright red sash) enters first, strutting with the confidence of a man who has just signed a contract he hasn't read.
Figaro: Largo al factotum! The tax is due! The rich must pay, or I’ll have a clue! On Tax Day I promised, the rich would bleed, To fund the parks, the schools, the seed! I know the roll is messy, the database is full, But we’ll fix the bugs while we charge the bull! The opposition wants to stop the train, But I say: "Forward, through the rain!" We are confident, we are fair, The "growing pains" are just a scare! They say we hurt the poor, I say, "Nay!" The rich are hiding, they won't pay! The city will succeed, the plan is set, Unless the Judge decides to let it rest!
Pagliaccio (The Borough President, a clown, wearing a jester's cap, holding a fool's scepter) stumbles in, tripping over his own feet.
Pagliaccio: Oh, la la! The list is out! A "friends list"? No, a "haters" bout! They put my name where I don't belong, My family's home, the wrong song! It’s an "enemies list," a joke not funny, Privacy gone! What a pity! They singled us out, with a reckless grin, Now everyone fears where the taxes begin! It’s arbitrary, it’s capricious, My trust in the city is so precarious! They’ll drive us out, the business gone, The rich will flee! The city won't be known! It’s a circus! A farce! A disaster! How much more of this, oh, what a disaster!
Il Dottore (The Attorney, a pompous figure in a black robe, scratching a long, non-existent beard) enters, adjusting his glasses.
Il Dottore: Hush, you clown! Let logic speak! The city screwed this up, I speak! They cast a net, a million wide, And caught the innocent, the poor, the tried! The roll was wrong, the law was broken, The process was flawed, the rules were spoken! They didn't check, they didn't verify, Just threw the data on the fire! "Stop the train!" I cry, "Make them start!" This isn't justice! It’s a heartless art! It’s a dangerous precedent, a legal crime, The city lost its mind, lost its time! The burden's on the homeowner now, To prove they didn't break the vow! It’s chaos! It’s a mess! A legal sin! The city can't begin, can't begin!
Harlequin (The Council Member, a patchwork figure, holding a map that doesn't match the place) enters, looking confused and frantic.
Harlequin: My wife! My dad! They’re on the sheet! They live right here, they don't retreat! The city said, "You might owe tax," But they didn't check the facts! They cast a net, so wide, so deep, And put the burden on the sheep! "Speed and politics," the mayor cries, But "precision" is where the truth lies! Can the city do this? Can they manage the task? Looking at this mess, I think: "No, no task!" It’s a circus! A mess! A disaster! The city can't manage this, it's a disaster! My family's home, on the public list, While the real targets, they’re dismissed! It’s a "circus," a "farce," a "joke," The city’s competence is a broken cloak!
Columbina (The Governor, a clever servant girl with a scroll) enters, holding a sign that says "Not My Circus."
Columbina: Oh, look at them! What a mess! The city’s tax is a terrible dress! It’s up to them, the city tax, They have the rolls, they have the task! I know it’s frustrating, it’s complicated, But I’m not responsible, I’m not implicated! The state is not the boss, The city is the one who’s lost! They made the rolls, they made the call, I can’t fix their mess, I can’t recall! It’s their problem, their burden, their strife, Not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine!
El Capitano (The Judge, a statue-like figure in a white, Grecian robe enters, standing perfectly still, only moving his eyes). He does not speak. He stands silently in the center, looking out at the chaotic crowd.
The band plays a low, solemn note. The characters stop and look at him.
Figaro: His Honor says, "The process is flawed!" He stopped the train, he stopped the road! But he doesn't care, he doesn't pay, His home is small, he won't lose a cent today! He says, "The data is wrong!" He says, "The process is strong!" He says, "The city must fix the roll!" He says, "The people must be whole!"
Il Dottore: He says, "The city must verify!" He says, "The people must not cry!" He says, "The process must be fair!" He says, "The city must repair!"
Harlequin: He says, "The city must be careful!" He says, "The people must be careful!"
Pagliaccio: He says, "The people must be careful!"
Columbina: He says, "The people must care!"
El Capitano remains silent, a statue of judicial restraint. The other characters look at him, then back at each other.
Figaro: He says, "The tax is good!" He says, "The process is bad!" He says, "The city must fix it!" He says, "The city must fix it!"
Il Dottore: He says, "The city must fix it!" He says, "The city must fix it!"
The band starts playing a fast, chaotic tune. The characters begin to argue in a rapid-fire, patter-style exchange.
Figaro: Tax the rich! Tax the rich! The city needs money, it’s a trick! Pagliaccio: Privacy! Privacy! It’s a crime! Il Dottore: The law! The law! It’s a crime! Harlequin: My family! My family! It’s a crime!
Columbina: Not my job! Not my job! Not a crime!
They all point at El Capitano, who remains silent.
Il Dottore: His Honor says, "Stop the train!" He says, "The city must fix the pain!" He says, "The city must fix the pain!" He says, "The city must fix the pain!"
Figaro: But the tax is good! The tax is good! The tax is good! The tax is good!
The music swells. The characters start to dance in a circle, arguing, laughing, and pointing. El Capitano remains still, a silent judge in the chaos.
Figaro: The tax is good! The tax is good! The tax is good! The tax is good!
Pagliaccio: It’s a circus! It’s a circus! It’s a circus! It’s a circus!
Il Dottore: It’s chaos! It’s chaos! It’s chaos! It’s chaos!
Harlequin: It’s a mess! It’s a mess! It’s a mess! It’s a mess!
Columbina: Not my job! Not my job! Not my job! Not my job!
The music builds to a crescendo. The characters spin, fall, and rise again. El Capitano finally speaks, his voice deep and resonant, echoing through the park.
El Capitano: The city must fix the roll. The city must fix the roll. The city must fix the roll. The city must fix the roll.
The music stops. The characters freeze. El Capitano turns and walks off stage, leaving the others in a pile of confusion.
Figaro: Well, at least the tax is still good! The tax is good! The tax is good! The tax is good!
Pagliaccio: It’s a circus! It’s a circus! It’s a circus! It’s a circus!
Il Dottore: It’s chaos! It’s chaos! It’s chaos! It’s chaos!
Harlequin: It’s a mess! It’s a mess! It’s a mess! It’s a mess!
Columbina: Not my job! Not my job! Not my job! Not my job!
The band plays a final, triumphant fanfare. The characters bow, then exit in a chaotic, jumbled group. The screen shows the Times Square projection fading to black.
END