To the Artist's Page 
To our home page
To Robert Levin's previous pieceWaiting for the Cut
(A two-character skit after Waiting For Godot)
Two men, STEVE and HAROLD, both in their early twenties, and with exceptionally long hair styles, are standing outside a small hair cutting salon on a sweltering August afternoon. The salon is closed. STEVE, after offering a cigarette to HAROLD- who waves it off-lights one himself and begins to pace.
STEVE: [Checking his watch.] I hate fucking Brooklyn.
HAROLD: Brooklyn? I don't know about Brooklyn. Brooklyn may not be that terrible. It's hard to form an opinion when you're rapidly losing consciousness and about to puke your guts out.
STEVE: Brooklyn's where you have to wait for this jerkoff.
HAROLD: [Rolls his neck.] This can't be what you meant when you said he always keeps you waiting. He doesn't pull this every time you come here, does he? [Feels his wrist.] Shit, Dawg, now my pulse is gone! [Holds his head with both hands.] And my memory-the whole last year-it's gone too!
STEVE: Then you can still remember the last time you got laid. [Peers down the block.] He's never been this late before. He's gotten much better at it. Shit, he ought to think about turning pro. [Looks at his watch again.] Jesus, even my watch is sweating.
HAROLD: [Pulls out a handkerchief. Wipes his face.] I think they said last night that, factoring in the wind-chill index with the temperature-humidity thing, today would be the hottest day in the history of the world.
STEVE: [Distracted.] If they did they finally got it right. [Looks up and down the block.] It's a goddamn hour. Where IS this asshole?
HAROLD: I mean, don't quote me on that. I could be way off.
STEVE: I probably should have mentioned something else: He can also fuckup sometimes. In fact, he can also fuckup sometimes in a major way. There was one fuckup that was actually beyond major, really spectacular-worthy of its own wing in the Hall of Fuckups.
HAROLD: Yeah?
STEVE: He loved what he did. He was proud of himself. He even took a Polaroid.
HAROLD: Yeah? I don't remember...
STEVE: You don't remember because you didn't see me for a month. I canceled all my public appearances.
HAROLD: Wait. That was...? It was that bad?
STEVE: Put it this way: I would definitely have gotten mucho blowjobs-if it'd been 1964 and I had a cockney accent.
HAROLD: You looked like a Beatle?
STEVE: Early Ringo Starr.
HAROLD: Okay. I've got a statement and then a question. The statement is: Yeah, when you were insisting that I give him a shot and finally getting me to make this trip-which I never wanted to do because nothing I've seen of his work for you has blown my skirts up past my ankles-YOU FUCKING PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE MENTIONED THAT! The question is-and I'm anxious to have your wisdom on this before it's too late, while your brain scans are still registering occasional blips. Do you figure I can find my way back to the city by myself. The "3" train, right? What is it-four blocks this way, then hang a left?
STEVE: Let's give him a little while longer.
HAROLD: I was expecting an acceptable level of mediocrity. I thought the worst thing I had to worry about was getting wasted in a crossfire.
STEVE: Listen, speaking of "getting it right..."
HAROLD: You're sure you didn't screw up the time? You're sure he's even supposed to be open today?-
STEVE: Man, I made the appointment yesterday.
HAROLD: -Because the barber shop in the 86th Street subway station-it's beginning to loom as a viable option.
STEVE: We'll give him another fifteen minutes. Okay? [Looks at his watch.] Fifteen minutes. Exactly fifteen minutes. You can handle fifteen minutes, can't you?
HAROLD: [Hugs himself and pretends to shiver.] My sweat just turned very cold. You ever hear of anyone freezing to death in their own sweat?
STEVE: Listen. Let me tell you this. There was a haircut before that one-and it was weird because I asked him for just a simple trim and, at first, that's all that I thought I got, you know? There was nothing noticeably out of the ordinary. If anything, it seemed a little on the flat side.
HAROLD: Right. But after you washed it-and probably factoring in certain favorable atmospheric conditions...
STEVE: No. Yeah-maybe something like that. I don't know what the fuck it was, what he did, and whenever I bring it up he draws a blank.
HAROLD: When was this?
STEVE: 1998.
HAROLD: 1998? That's four years back in the dank and murky past-that's back when you were with Beth, the love of your wretched, woebegone life.
STEVE: Actually it was the day before I met Beth.
HAROLD: [Startled.] He gave you a haircut the day before you met Beth?
STEVE: [Looks away.] When I came here for the haircut after that one Beth came with me. It was a perfect fall afternoon-cool and clear. You could smell apples in the air.
HAROLD: [Stands back and stares at STEVE long and hard. Then abruptly turns away from him; walks a few steps off; stops; comes back.] Let me have one of those.
[STEVE gives HAROLD a cigarette, takes another one himself; lights them both.]
HAROLD: If he's not here yet he's not coming-we know that, don't we?
STEVE: Yeah-I guess.
HAROLD: [Turns away again. Turns back.] Actually...
STEVE: What?
HAROLD: No, I was just thinking that he COULD be coming. I mean there's a chance that he stumbled into a serious crisis situation on his way here, you know? It's possible that he was called upon to administer multiple emergency shags and buzz cuts and shit, and he could have every intention of showing up when he's done.
STEVE: This is uncanny. I was just thinking the very same thing myself.
HAROLD: [Motions toward STEVE's watch.] How much time did you...?
STEVE: [Looks at his watch.] Twelve minutes now.
HAROLD: Considering that the disaster he may be dealing with could have a heartbreaking size and scale, he'll likely need more than just another twelve minutes.
STEVE: A disaster of the magnitude we're talking about...Yeah, I'd say he...
HAROLD: -What I think is that, under the conceivable circumstances, we should go another round-give him another full hour.
STEVE: [Emits a quick laugh. Beholds HAROLD approvingly. Nods his head.] Looks like we're on the same page now.
HAROLD: Hey, another hour's not unreasonable, man-not under the conceivable circumstances.
STEVE: [Smiles.] No, that's true. Absolutely. Another hour's more than reasonable.
HAROLD: And, if you think about it, man, under the conceivable circumstances we owe him that much, don't we? Under the conceivable circumstances it BEHOOVES us to give him another hour.
STEVE: [Grins at HAROLD.] That's very good. Damn, I could learn a lot about living from you.
HAROLD: You know, it's not like we even have any respectable options here.
STEVE: I can't think of any.
HAROLD: [Anxiously.] Then we're doing it-we're doing another hour?
STEVE: Hey, not only are we bright and sophisticated, we're also men of character. Could we live with ourselves if we didn't? [Looks at his watch.] Make that sixty minutes. [Squints down the block. Looks at his watch again. Purses his lips. Grimaces.] Exactly sixty minutes.
HAROLD: [Sits on his haunches. Wipes his face with his handkerchief. Thinks aloud.] Yeah, another hour. Who knows? That might do it. That might be just what the prick needs us to give him.
BLACK
To the top of this page
