Setting:

A bar.

Present day. Late afternoon.

A high wire runs high in the air, from stage left to stage right.

 

Characters:

 

Rob                    m., any age, any race.

A man’s man; talks a big game. Slick.

 

Aldo                    m., any age, any race.

He appears to be just emerging from a slightly catatonic state,                                                                           like a man wrestling with the reverberations of a recent trauma.

Words don’t come easy.

 

Waiter                 m., formal to the point of absurdity, as if from a former era. Any

age.

 

Aerialist:           f., aerial dancer, expert at using either aerial-silks, rope, trapeze,                                                                       hoop, or some combination thereof.

 

Productions might deploy one lone aerialist, many aerialists (as in: a flock of aerialists), or no aerialists at all.

 

Note about choreography:

In the script, there are places where the aerialist is instructed to enter, exit, drift, float, twist, turn, stay in the shadows, occupy a prominent position center stage, and so on. But directors and choreographers should have complete license to reinvent their own manner and method of choreography, to interpret all and any stage directions loosely, however they wish, or even to disregard them altogether.

The physical movements of the aerialist might emphasize, offset, punctuate, obliterate, or render mysterious certain moments in the script. She may use silks or rope or hoop or trapeze or scaffolding or whatever aerial equipment she prefers.

There are no hard and fast rules when it comes to the choreography for and interpretation of the aerialist-as-theatrical-figure. She might seem an abstraction, a dream, a figment of the actors’ or the characters’ imagination(s), or an absurdity: in other words, as a literal woman suspended in the air in a bar.

Up to you.

*

 

Prologue:

In darkness, melancholy music plays, mysterious and full of longing. It might be a single flute, or a violin, or a cello.

The Aerialist appears, her long hair pinned up in a bun.

She dangles, mid-air, immune to the laws of gravity.

The light must hit her just so.

She aerial-dances, suspended high above the ground, as if casting a spell.

Then magically disappears.

Lights out.

 

Scene 1:

 

In darkness, sounds are heard: horns honk, subways screech, traffic, hollering, planes drone: the rumbling hustle-bustle of a city.

Lights up, revealing…

ROB and ALDO, dressed in business casual, seated at table in bar. Rob has a glass of whiskey; Aldo, an empty glass. An ashtray contains a few cigarette butts.

 

ROB

Well, that’s horrible.

ALDO

(shrugging it off)

It’s just sporadic.

ROB

You go blind and black out and wake up in a place you’ve never been before? How often does this happen?

ALDO

Once in a blue moon.

ROB

Did you fall off the wagon or what?

ALDO

Been sober almost a year to the day.

ROB

Maybe that’s the problem.

ALDO

Ha-ha.

ROB

Look, I’m not gonna bullshit you. Sounds like an odd form of narcolepsy.

Or a fabrication.

ALDO

It’s not a fabrication. Narcolepsy, maybe.

ROB

And this happens… how often?

ALDO

I told you. It’s intermittent.

ROB

But more than once or twice?

ALDO

Sure.

ROB

How many times exactly?

ALDO

I wasn’t counting, Rob.

Rob removes a business card from billfold, hands it to Aldo.

ROB

Listen, I got someone you should call. Kathy and I saw her when things got crazy on the home front. Helped a lot.

Aldo scans the card.

ALDO

Really, Rob? A psychiatrist?

ROB

Hey, beats blacking out in broad daylight.

(slugs back whiskey)

One more club soda before I hit the road? I’ll order their finest brand.

ALDO

I’m good. You?

ROB

Prob’ly shouldn’t, my friend. Cindy awaits.

ALDO

Cindy?

ROB

My latest “escapade.”

ALDO

I thought you swore off “escapades.”

ROB

Cindy’s not an escapade. She’s a serious hobby. Love to stay, but Cindy’s a stickler for punctuality. Plus, she charges by the hour.

(flags waiter)

The check, good sir!

Aldo reaches for his wallet; Rob holds up one hand.

ROB (CONT’D)

It’s on me.

ALDO

Big spender.

ROB

Not a chance! It’s on the company. I can expense it.

ALDO

Expense away.

ROB

Oh, c’mon, don’t look at me like that.

ALDO

Like what?

ROB

Like that. C’mon, we all need a little Cindy in our lives. No guessing games, no smoke and mirrors, no wild goose chases. No exorbitant mating rituals. No dinner, no dances, no flowers. No expensive jewelry. With Cindy, what you see is what you get.

(slaps cash on table)

That’s basic to a man.

Rob starts to get up, put on jacket. Overhead, in shadows, the Aerialist begins to descend. For now, she’s a silhouette.

ROB (CONT’D)

Anyway, I say give the good doc a shot. Whattaya got to lose?

Aerialist hovers, dips. She flickers, momentarily.

Pause.

Rob stares at Aldo, who seems to be concentrating hard on a point somewhere deep within himself. Aldo struggles to speak.

ALDO

Actually? A lot.

Aerialist belays a little closer, turns herself inside out.

ROB

(studying Aldo, skeptical)

I don’t get it.

ALDO

No. You wouldn’t.

Aerialist spirals, as if in free fall, then collects herself.

Aldo might stare at Aerialist. He might stare off into the distance. He might close his eyes. Whatever he does, it’s in response, on some level, to the movements of the Aerialist.

Rob watches Aldo, perplexed. WAITER approaches with check. He’s strangely formal, old-world.

ROB

Little change of plan here, chief. One more club soda for my friend, and another CC on the rocks for yours truly. Thanks, mon ami.

Waiter nods stiffly, exits.

Overhead, the Aerialist extends an arm as if casting a spell, ascending higher. She holds as much focus as the men beneath her, if not more. Her every movement should constitute a kind of response to the conversation below.

ALDO

And what of the punctual Cindy?

ROB

A few minutes I can spare. Help me understand something, Aldo, lowly worm that I am: when you “wake up” in these heretofore unknown places, how do you manage to find your way home?

Aerialist gestures, unravelling: a smooth, fluid movement.

ALDO

It always seems to work out.

ROB

So you’re not waking up in Timbuktu or Madagascar? These strange, unforeseen places you land just happen to be conveniently located right here in town?

ALDO

Actually, the last time it happened? I was in Eastern Europe somewhere.

Aerialist executes a contortion, as if bending her soul.

ROB

What, like Slovenia?

ALDO

Maybe Croatia.

Aerialist turns and turns, mid-air, as if finding her way in the dark. She reaches out one toe, locating the high wire. Supporting herself with silks (or ropes or scaffolding or hoop) she steps onto the wire, checking her balance.

ROB

So you’re dreaming. Hallucinating. Tripping the light fantastic, to put it mildly.

ALDO

I don’t think so, no.

Aerialist places other foot on high wire. Wobbles, catches herself, pirouettes in other direction.

ROB

‘s gotta be night terrors then? Sleepwalking? Borderline psychosis? Okay, okay, when was the most recent episode?

ALDO

Recent enough.

ROB

Can you be a little less vague?

ALDO

You hunger for specifics.

ROB

Hey. I’m nosy that way.

Rob pilfers a cigarette from Aldo. Aldo lights it for him.

ALDO

Last night. Happy now?

The aerialist executes a breath-taking move, perhaps a teardrop or a split upside-down. Perhaps a figurehead. It should have some grand sweep to it, the illusion of risk.

ROB

(taking a drag)

Sleepwalking, definintely sleepwalking. Some dissociative, dream-limbo state. Land of repressed memories. Amnesia’s linked to trauma, you know. There are studies about that.

ALDO

If you say so, chief.

ROB

So, yesterday, when you found yourself in some… Croatian… wonder-scape… where exactly were you? On the banks of the Danube?

ALDO

The Danube doesn’t run through Croatia, Rob.

ROB

I never took geography. So shoot me.

The Aerialist and Aldo make a connection. It’s subtle.

ROB (CONT’D)

Fine. If not the Danube, where were you?

Slight pause, as the Aerialist ups the ante.

ALDO

On a high-wire. Of sorts.

ROB

Hey, I get it. These incidents would be precarious for anyone.

ALDO

No. I mean I was. Literally.

ROB

Literally what?

Cue: mysterious, melancholy melody from opening of play.

ALDO

On a tightrope wire, a hundred meters or so up in the air. No net.

Rob stares at Aldo. The Aerialist executes a gorgeous move, takes her time. The movement should have breadth and width, encompassing a wild, reckless kind of beauty.

ALDO (CONT’D)

It was some kind of… European circus. Not in a tent, just. Out in the open air. In some kind of… town square.

ROB

In Slovenia?

ALDO

Croatia, Rob.

The Aerialist speeds her movements, gathering momentum.

ROB

This is either neurological, or it’s a load of horse shit.

ALDO

Truth is stranger than fiction.

The Aerialist slows. Dangles in limbo. Perhaps she hides in the rafters. Perhaps she disappears.

ROB

Fiction, maybe. But science-fiction? That’s another story.

Waiter enters, with another round.

ALDO

To Cindy. May she be running late.

ROB

Goddammit, Aldo! You got me all turned around.

Rob starts to drink. Stops. Puts his glass down.

ROB (CONT’D)

Ya know, I miss when you used to drink. You weren’t so fucking weird then. I actually miss you, man.

ALDO

I have nothing to say in my own self-defense. It is what it is.

ROB

Sobriety?

ALDO

That, too.

ROB

Yeah, well, who needs booze when you’ve got other diversions to fall back on. High wire acts, hallucinations, tall-tales and all.

A swift, sharp move by the Aerialist, a touch of venom in it.

ALDO

You think I’m lying.

ROB

Lying? You? Nah, I’ll just take this whole circus thing as a metaphor. With your permission, of course.

Aerialist becomes agitated, unhappy, her movements insistent.

ALDO

But I don’t mean it metaphorically! I just. Mean it. Last night, when I came to, I found myself walking along a tight-rope wire towards a beautiful girl.

The Aerialist commands focus, both of Aldo and the audience.

ALDO (CONT’D)

There were stars in the sky. A full moon. And darkness all around.

Aerialist holds the moment, in extremis. Long pause.

ROB

Sure you don’t want my shrink’s number?

ALDO

What for? So she can cure me? I’d have to be crazy to let that happen.

Aerialist swings up and out of reach, as if being set free.

ROB

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute! You’re saying you actually like these episodes?

ALDO

I don’t like them. I love them. Live for them.

The Aerialist spins rapidly, with abandon. Exultant. Sublime.

ALDO (CONT’D)

I pray for them to happen! Pray for the lightning bolt to drop out of the sky and hit me every time! You see, there’s always this beautiful woman…

ROB

Don’t tell me. The high-wire lady?

The Aerialist slowly comes to a halt, floats in darkness.

ALDO

Sure, the high-wire lady. Of course the high-wire lady! Who else would I bump into on a tightrope, a hundred feet up in the air, with nothing but a filmy layer of sawdust between us and the ground?

Aerialist extends her whole being towards Aldo. Tears fall.

ROB

How d’you make it down alive? That’s my question.

Pause: Aldo wrestles with some persistent, ancient feeling.

ALDO

She helps me. Every time.

Pause. Rob takes in Aldo, mystified. Aerialist extends her arms.

ROB

Aldo? You in love?

ALDO

(considers)

Is that what you call this?

ROB

You got all the telltale signs.

ALDO

Huh.

ROB

Take my advice. Nip this thing in the bud. Pills, hypnotism. Acupuncture, the little needles in the spine. A phone sex session. Heck, I can give you Cindy’s number if you want.

ALDO

No. No Cindy.

ROB

Look, you’re on the jagged edge of some kinda crazy freefall here. Grab the wheel with both hands! Take the bull by the horns! Regain a modicum of control, for the love of god!

The Aerialist begins to drift. Further, then further still.

ALDO

(considers, then balks)

I can’t. Can’t give it up. Not yet.

ROB

Can’t give up what? Losing your mind? You could get hit by a truck, or walk off a cliff. Hell, you could fall right off the high-wire! It’s risky, if you ask me. Cut it out.

ALDO

If gaining control means losing her, then, no, I don’t want it.

The Aerialist swings like a pendulum, looking from Rob to Aldo and back to Rob, as if watching a game of ping-pong. She holds her breath in suspense. A bird in mid-flight.

ROB

Hey, hey, Aldo. Hey. Easy there. Look. I get it. Beautiful girl up on a high wire, who could resist?

Aerialist expands ever-outwards, arms and legs.

ROB (CONT’D)

Still, it’s a crap-shoot. Risky at best.

ALDO

I don’t know how long this will last…

ROB

In my experience, these things are fleeting. Easy come, easy go.

Aerialist turns upside down, head toward the earth.

ALDO

I just. Want to stay in the present. I don’t want to analyze it too much. She’s. How do I explain it? She’s. Teaching me things, Rob.

ROB

Things like what?

Aerialist, as if in a trance, reaches one cautious hand to her head, and removes one of many hairpins from her hair. She might slowly, purposefully, drop each hair pin, one by one, onto the floor near Rob and Aldo.

ALDO

How to keep my balance. How to not to look down. How to keep my eyes on the target. How not too dwell on how far I’ve come. Stuff like that.

Rob looks at Aldo, a little mystified. Aerialist continues removing hairpins, one by one.

ALDO (CONT’D)

She almost fell. Last night. From the high-wire. She was doing great, but then she– she lost her footing. A noise in the crowd snagged her focus. The dancing bear broke out of his cage and lunged for one of the clowns and… For an instant– for one terrible instant– her concentration wavered, and she lost her balance. For a split second, she faltered. Faltered hard. But you know what? I was there to catch her. Me, Rob.

ROB

Grabbed her by the tutu, did ya?

ALDO

No, Rob.

In one swift, certain movement, the Aerialist lets her hair come completely undone and fall to the ground. The hair is wildly, strangely, surrealistically long. The Aerialist might release a high-pitched, fantastic wailing sound, sound of a bird or animal, or a whispered cry, off-key.

ALDO (CONT’D)

By her hair! She has very long hair. Extremely long. Six or seven yards.

Aerialist rights herself and walks the wire, hair loose now. Aldo looks up at her, rapt.

ALDO (CONT’D)

Her hair goes past her feet, it drapes like a curtain all around her when she walks the wire. She’s never cut that hair. Not once in her whole life, I don’t think.

Aerialist continues to walk the wire. Rob looks up, notices Aerialist for the first time, does a double-take. Shakes it off, regains his bearings, focuses on Aldo.

ROB

She told you this?

ALDO

Her hair’s a big part of her act. She walks the high-wire with this long, luminous hair shining in the spotlight. Just her hair alone is a major draw. People come for miles to see that hair, pay big money to say they’ve seen that hair at least once in their lives.

Rob and Aldo gaze up at the Aerialist walking the wire.

ROB

(rapt, looking up)

You caught her by the hair.

The Aerialist freezes, mid-wire. She doesn’t move an inch.

ALDO

I almost lost her. But then, I didn’t.

ROB

Wow.

ALDO

It could have been very bad, Rob.

ROB

No doubt.

ALDO

I mean, very bad. The dancing bear had gotten loose, broken out of its chains. That beast eats small ponies for breakfast. One bite is all it takes, and poof! There goes happiness.

Slowly but surely, the Aerialist climbs out of sight, moving into the shadows. Perhaps she watches from afar. Perhaps she peeks out from behind the curtain. Perhaps she adjusts one of the stage lights, dimming it, adjusting the angle slightly.

ROB

(anxious)

But it didn’t?

ALDO

No, thank god. It didn’t go anywhere.

ROB

You pulled her back up onto the wire.

ALDO

It took some effort, but yeah, I did.

Rob’s cell phone dings! – incoming text message.

The Aerialist vanishes from sight.

Shift to more “realistic” lighting.

ALDO (CONT’D)

Lemme guess. Miss Punctuality herself?

ROB

I’m cancelling. I– I can’t stand it.

ALDO

Stand what?

ROB

Another “escapade.” I just– can’t.

Rob texts a reply, puts phone away. Pause. Both men are visibly changed: Rob, viscerally shaken; Aldo, at peace.

ROB (CONT’D)

(agitated, unnerved)

I’m gonna buy some flowers for Kathy. Take her out. Maybe I’ll take a long, hard look at– I don’t know. Her hair.

ALDO

Well, sure. Sure you are. How could you not?

(slides cash on table back to Rob)

That’s basic to a man.

Rob hesitates to take back his cash.

ALDO (CONT’D)

Take it. Go on. I got this round.

Aldo calmly reaches in his pocket, pulls out a money roll, doles out a few bills on the table. Gets up and exits the bar with purpose. Like a man who’s just undergone an exorcism.

The Aerialist might reappear, flickering, to watch Aldo go, then turn to lock eyes with Rob.

Upon locking eyes with the Aerialist, Rob freezes. Sits stock-still for a moment, mystified.

Rob starts to check cell phone, then stops. Puts cell phone down. He fidgets. He looks up. He looks around. Reaches for cell phone one more time, sets it down again. He puts his head in his hands. Stays there a while. Then stands, puts on coat.

As he puts on his jacket, he notices a long, winding crack in the floor. He stops and stares at it. Then he looks around. Seeing no one around, he reaches out one toe, places foot on top of the crack, as if walking on a tightrope. He places his other foot in front of the first, and stands there, arms akimbo, checking his balance. Painstakingly, he begins to walk the length of the crack as if walking a high-wire. He might hum a tune– perhaps the same melody from the play’s opening moments. He might make a low whispery sound, the same high-pitched sound, or the same fantastic animal sound the Aerialist made earlier.

Sometimes he falls off the crack. Sometimes he stays on. Either way, he concentrates very hard.

ROB

(raising his glass)

To love.

(reconsiders, re-phrases)

To losing control.

(thinks, re-phrases again)

To the whole damn circus!

Rob walks a few more paces along the crack. Finds his groove.

He might make an attempt to imitate one of the Aerialist’s moves. At first, he does so tentatively. Then with more commitment. Finally he puts his whole heart and soul into it.

Waiter appears with a tray, but stops short when he sees Rob.

Waiter glances upward, searching for something overhead.

He continues to scan the air.

Rob, oblivious to the waiter, continues to make his way precariously along the imaginary high-wire, sometimes coming close to falling, catching himself, then trying again.

Sensing someone, Rob looks up, sees waiter observing him.

Embarrassed, waiter quickly busies himself. Occasionally, though, he still glances upward.

Rob continues to steal glances at the waiter, occasionally catching the waiter looking up. When he does, the waiter tries to look even busier.

Rob takes in the moment. What is going on? He might laugh.

ROB (CONT’D)

You, too, huh?

The waiter says nothing. Stays busy, remains tight-lipped.

ROB (CONT’D)

Ah, buddy, no need to explain.

Embarrassed, the waiter shoots Rob a dirty look. Goes back to tidying up. Then exits, indignant– but not before casting one last anxious look up in the air, checking for the Aerialist.

ROB (CONT’D)

(to himself)

No need to explain at all…

Rob raises his glass.

ROB (CONT’D)

To life on the high-wire…

He nods, that feels right. He raises his glass in the direction of the waiter, then to the offstage Aldo, and finally to the invisible high-wire lady in the sky.

ROB (CONT’D)

May you always stay on it.

Rob starts to toss back the last of his drink, but stops himself.

ROB (CONT’D)

(calls)

Uh, waiter? Little change of heart. I’d like to get your finest brand of club soda, right here…

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF PLAY