“Somebody tell me, where’s Bill McGhee?!” the captain yelled.
Warren held his hands out to his sides. Who was Bill McGhee? He moved backwards until he bumped up against a wall. A stunning brunette appeared in a doorway wearing a skimpy burgundy negligee. She was a vision of beauty, with flawless features, long thin legs and a bust that seemed to defy gravity. Purple eye shadow and black mascara highlighted her large, round eyes. Warren’s pulse raced. He felt lightheaded. It was a familiar sensation. One that took him back to the heady days of his youth. Back to the very first time he’d laid eyes on Ophelia. This girl looked just like her. Close enough, anyway, that his face turned pale. His jaw hung low. Warren took a deep breath. Of course this was
not
Ophelia, he had to remind himself. He hadn’t seen
her
in ages. Not since he’d fled from New Orleans three years before, but the sight of this actress brought all of his longing right back. He did his best to bury it again where it came from.
“Nobody’s gonna tell you where Bill is, copper. You couldn’t drag it out of us,” said the woman.
“Drag it out of you I will, Maggie, if that’s what I have to do,” replied the captain smugly.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Police Man. You can leave the lady alone,” came another voice from behind her. A handsome man in his 50’s with an air of confidence walked out to boldly face the captain down. He wore a red silk robe with red slippers on his feet.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the elusive Bill McGhee,” said the self-satisfied captain.
“You should have brought more men,” said McGhee.
“Oh, I did, Mr. McGhee. I most certainly did.”
Warren flinched on instinct as twenty more officers emerged from the end of the street, clubs drawn. McGhee gazed at the police casually. “Is that all you can muster?” he asked, waiting until the cops nearly had him surrounded before he held up one hand and snapped his fingers. In an instant, thugs with guns appeared in every window and doorway in sight, perched on the rooftops and spilling out into the street, ready to do battle.
The captain scowled at the heavily armed men. He was out-manned and out-gunned. He seemed to contemplate his next move. How could he back down without losing face? Would these gangsters massacre cops in broad daylight? Warren wondered if a shootout was coming.
“You haven’t heard the end of this, McGhee!” the captain shouted. He turned with his head down and led his men back the way they had come.
“And stay out!” yelled McGhee, to the cheers of his men. “Well done, boys,” he added. “Drinks on me!”
At that an even greater cheer went up and everyone followed McGhee back inside. Warren kept his eyes on the raven-haired beauty until she’d disappeared. He wiped his brow. His heart was beating much too fast.
“Cut! Fabulous! We’ll do it exactly like that on film!” shouted Kaplan.
An assistant ran back onto the set and handed a fresh whiskey bottle to Warren while another man quickly swept up the remains of the first one. Warren looked at the new bottle with amazement. If only it was the real stuff, he thought.
“Places people, let’s go again!” yelled the director.
“Welcome to the movie business,” said Bridget, relieved that Warren hadn’t made some sort of blunder and ruined the shot. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think I’ll be here that long,” Warren answered.
“You never know,” Bridget said with a shrug.
Chapter Four
Warren stood in line at the buffet, looking over his shoulder for the guards that he expected to pounce on him at any moment. At least he was in the midst of a crowd where he could blend in a little. He had to admit, he was enjoying this little charade. It was the most fun he’d had in ages. When he neared the front of the line, Warren picked up a paper plate and some utensils. A line of caterers stood across the table, waiting to scoop food onto his plate.
“What would you like?” said one of the caterers in a bored monotone.
“Everything,” answered Warren, surprised that the question even had to be asked.
The caterer looked at Warren carefully and then took a serving spoon and dipped it into a large pan filled with red sauce. He scooped out a chicken breast and dropped it onto Warren’s plate, then used a spatula to give him a piece of fish from another pan. Warren worked his way down the line, piling his plate with carrots and potatoes, rice, salad and Jell-O. At the end, he took another small plate with a piece of apple pie a-la-mode and then filled a cup with some pink lemonade. He juggled his food and headed toward some nearby tables where he spotted the girl from beside the trashcan sitting all alone. When he sat down beside her, the girl gave Warren a polite smile, though he thought detected a cringe. It was a common reaction; just another reminder of what a social outcast he’d become. Still, he wasn’t about to pass up a free meal. He’d eat first and then he’d go.
“Damn, man, where’d you come from?” said a voice from behind him.
Warren turned around to see a clean-cut black man in a police uniform. “What?” Warren said, nearly choking on a bite of chicken.
“I been workin’ this gig three days and then some dude I never seen before comes along and gets the best spot right off. You got friends around here or something?”
“Friends?” said Warren confusedly. “Here?”
“Yeah, man. Mind if I sit down?” continued the man.
Warren’s eyes opened wide but before he could answer the man plopped down beside him, setting his own plate of food and glass of lemonade on the table. He was not a policeman at all, Warren realized; just another actor in an old-time uniform.
“It’s all just dumb luck, Charles,” said Bridget. “You know that.” She pulled the black beanie off of her head and took a sip from a cup of iced tea. Justin sat down beside her and shot Warren a distrustful glance. Warren eyed him back curiously. This kid was probably 19-years-old, Warren guessed, with an unfocused anxiety in his eyes. Warren recognized that look from the streets. It was the look of ripening insanity.
“I sure as hell could use some,” said Charles.
“Use some what?” asked Justin.
“Luck,” said Charles. “Dumb or otherwise.”
Bridget picked away at a salad quietly.
“This is your first time as an extra, isn’t it?” Charles asked.
“What’s an extra?” Warren answered.
“You’re kidding, right?” said Charles in disbelief.
“I don’t think he’s kidding,” said Bridget, eyeing Warren.
Warren glanced from one of them to the other. He took another bite of chicken and chewed it slowly before he swallowed. “I just came for the food,” he said.
“You must be one hard-up dude,” Charles replied.
Bridget laughed to herself in amazement. “I thought so,” she said.
“You better get out of here!” said Justin, trying to protect what he somehow perceived as his turf.
“Shut up, Justin,” said Charles. “Let the man eat.”
A look of shock and dismay crossed Justin’s face, then anger and finally shame. He leaned into his food and ate without looking back up.
“How’d you get on the lot?” Charles asked Warren.
“How’d you end up in the shoot?” asked Bridget.
“I don’t know,” said Warren. “It’s all a bit surreal.”
Bridget examined Warren more closely. She watched as he used his fork to shovel some corn into his mouth. She noticed the dirty, matted hair and the grime worn into his clothes. His face was hidden by a rangy beard, but when their eyes met Bridget thought she recognized an unexpected glimmer of joy. No matter his current circumstances, Warren struck her as a man who embraced life; at least what he could of it.
Charles spoke quietly to Warren. “You’re like, a real-life bum, huh?” he said.
“I can’t say that I particularly like that word,” Warren answered, none-too-eager to explain himself.
“Come on Charles, leave the guy alone,” said Bridget, beginning to warm to the man just a little bit. “He’s not asking
you
personal questions.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t mind, do you Warren?” Charles continued.
Bridget sensed Warren’s unease as he weighed whether or not to answer this question. She wasn’t sure why she felt such sympathy for him. The truth was; he didn’t belong here. If he stayed long enough he was bound to ruin a shot and possibly get them all in trouble, but there was something about him that piqued her curiosity. Where all of the other extras were busy chasing the Hollywood dream, here was a man just trying to survive. It was a refreshing dose of reality and quite possibly the most interesting thing that had happened in weeks.
“You know, this has been quite a morning, but if you don’t mind I think I’ll just finish my lunch and go,” Warren finally said, digging in to his salad.
“Don’t you want to get paid?” said Bridget.
“Paid?” Warren replied, perking up a little.
“That’s right,” said Charles. “You think we’re here for our health?”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Justin. “They don’t even know who he is. How are they going to pay him?”
Warren glared at Justin. This kid was starting to annoy him. Justin recognized Warren’s anger and shrank back toward his food without another word.
“Just get in line with the rest of us at the end of the day,” Bridget said to Warren. “You never know. Besides, what have you got to lose? Or are we keeping you from something more important?”
“How much is it?” Warren asked with hesitation.
“Sixty a day,” said Bridget. “I know it’s pretty lousy. I don’t blame you if you want to go.”
“Sixty dollars?!” said Warren with eyes opened wide.
“It ain’t pesos,” said Charles.
Warren didn’t have to think about this too long. Sixty dollars was a lot of money. “All right, why not?” he said with a shrug. “I’ll be a movie star for a day.” He took another bite of lettuce.
“Good,” said Bridget with an unlikely air of relief. “And don’t worry, we’ll make sure that Charles stops pestering you. Isn’t that right Charles?”
“What?” said Charles in exasperation. “Why am I the bad guy?”
Bridget turned her attention directly to Warren. “Just act natural and don’t look at the camera. If you can stand the boredom, it’s the easiest job in the world.”
“You never helped
me
,” complained Justin. “When
I
first got here.”
“I didn’t think you needed it,” Bridget lied.
“What’s your name?” asked Charles.
“Warren. Warren August.”
“I’m Bridget,” she said, and then motioned to her friends. “This is Justin and Charles.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Warren with a nod, his sense of ease returning. These people weren’t so bad. And Bridget, well…he knew better than to get his hopes up, but she was awfully cute. Not his type, perhaps, but still, he couldn’t help but feel a warm glow inside every time he glanced in her direction.
The man with the goatee and the cargo pants walked out of the soundstage with a bullhorn in his hand. “All right, back on the set in ten everyone and ready to work!” he announced.
“Who is that guy?” asked Warren.
“Kevin, the First AD,” said Bridget. “Assistant Director. Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”
“You keep making it sound like I’ll be here a while,” said Warren.
“Why not?” said Bridget, realizing all at once that she was doing what she’d just told herself she wouldn’t. Taking in strays. At least this one seemed to deserve it somehow. Besides, all she was really doing was giving him advice. The rest was up to him.
Chapter Five
As the day grew long and a cool ocean breeze beat back the afternoon heat, the extras lined up at a table just outside the soundstage to have their pay slips signed. Behind the table sat Kevin, barking directions to those in line as he examined each slip one at a time and scrawled his signature across the bottom. “Lunch from twelve to twelve-thirty, out time five forty-five!” he shouted.
Warren stood next to Bridget in the line, somewhat doubtful that he’d be able to pull one over on them. Why should they pay him? He was merely an interloper, after all. Besides, he didn’t consider what he’d done that afternoon to actually be work. It was all just a lark, but he might as well see it through. Bridget leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Let me do the talking.” Warren wasn’t about to argue. He was happy to leave things in her hands.
“Vouchers?” Kevin demanded when they got to the front.
“He lost his,” Bridget replied.
Kevin looked at them both suspiciously. “What do you mean lost it?” Kevin didn’t have time for this. It was mucking up the works. Thirty people still stood in line behind them, all wanting to go home.
“He lost it, is all,” said Bridget.
“I think maybe it fell in that garbage can. With the fire,” said Warren. “Burned up.”
“Come on, let’s go!” came a voice from further back in the line. “We haven’t got all day!” The voice belonged to Charles, ratcheting up the pressure on the First AD.
“Who did you sign in with?” Kevin asked Warren, annoyed.
“The same as me,” Bridget answered, placing her voucher on the table.
Kevin looked hers over. He pursed his lips, signed Bridget’s voucher, and then pulled a blank voucher from a manila folder. He handed the blank voucher to Warren. “Fill this in with your social security number and address.”
“What if I don’t have an address?” said Warren.
“What do you mean you don’t have an address? You have to live somewhere. Where are we supposed to send your check?” said Kevin.
“Can you pay me in cash?” Warren asked.
Kevin narrowed his eyes. He just wanted this man and all of his problems to go away and leave him alone. “Take your signed voucher to payroll between 9 and 5,” he said. He wrote the in and out times on the form, signed it, and handed it to Warren. “Eight a.m. tomorrow, right here. Be sure you’re in the same wardrobe.”
“No problem, it’s all I’ve got,” said Warren.
Kevin looked him over quizzically and then turned away. “Next!” he shouted.