Do You Do Extras? (An American in the UK Book 1) Page 2

  “Okay, but just think about it.”

  “I have, not gonna do it again and I’ve decided she can go fuck herself. Okay?”

  I looked at him with wide eyes and arched brows and waited, finally he nodded and turned to leave the kitchen.

  After a few minutes, I followed him and found him standing by the couch, scrolling through his cell.

  “You mind if I go out for a while?” he asked, without looking up at me. “Mr. Rodrigo said he’ll send someone around, if you’d feel safer. In fact, my friend, I think he told Marcia you were never to be left alone.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. “I’m not a fucking baby, or more to the point, that dick- Ryan Rushton.”

  Alexi Rodrigo was the producer/director and franchise holder of the Addison Yates movies and after what happened to my predecessor – he lost half his fucking nose through snorting too much blow -was paranoid about anything happening to me, so he was a little over protective. Marcia Silva was my agent and was one of the best in the business – mainly because she didn’t take shit from anyone- directors, producers, and certainly not her clients.

  “I’d love to know what Marcia said about that,” I muttered, imagining her telling Alexi to go fuck himself at trying to tell her what to do with her client.

  “Yep, I’m thinking the same,” Barney replied with a deep chuckle. “I think he’s pretty glad she’s stuck in Tahoe trying to get Jen out of that movie.”

  Jennifer Barbuda was a stablemate of mine and her previous agent had signed her up for some shit, soft-porn movie without telling her. When it became apparent that Jen was going to have to do some pretty salacious scenes, without a body double, Marcia took the first flight out there to, in her words, ‘sort the fucking ass wipe’s clusterfuck out and rescue Jen’.

  “I think I’ll be safe in the suite and I’m definitely not going out in this rain. I’ll do a final read-through for the scenes we’re going to be shooting tomorrow. Where you going anyway? Unless you don’t want to tell me of course.”

  I grinned at Barney as his head lifted. I hated arguing with him, so I felt relieved when he flashed his teeth at me in a wide smile.

  “Lady I know lives nearby.”

  “How the fuck does a man from the Bronx know a woman who lives in Manchester, England?”

  “She worked in New York for a while, a couple of years back. Used to come to the club most Friday nights and we got…shall we say, friendly.”

  I rolled my eyes and flopped down onto the couch, grabbing my script with my spare hand. Lifting my coffee mug to my lips, I looked over at Barney, who was punching out a text.

  “You coming back tonight?”

  He looked up at me, his thumbs still flashing across the screen of his cell. “Yep, not sure what time, but I’ll be back in time to wake you, don’t worry.”

  I nodded and let out a long exhale. I rarely slept well through the night, usually dropping into a real deep sleep just before dawn. It then became a huge struggle to wake. One time, Barney had to douse me with a vase full of water I was in such a deep sleep. In the past, I’d missed my studio car a couple of times and one time slept through my shoot time. That had nearly cost me the job and ultimately it would have been my reputation in the john, so since then Barney was always around to wake me.

  “You sure you’ll be okay?” Barney asked as he came out of his bedroom, dressed to impress and smelling of my fucking cologne.

  “I will if you stop stealing my stuff.” I complained, taking off my black-rimmed glasses. “Don’t I pay you enough to buy your own cologne?”

  “Sure do, but I’m thinking my lady might like me smelling of the great Grantley James.”

  “She’ll have no fucking clue what I smell like.” I shook my head and pointed at him. “Is that my fucking sweater, too?”

  Barney shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well I can’t fucking wear that again, can I?” I protested. “You’re as wide as a fucking tank, it’ll be stretched now.”

  “Gee, sorry boss.”

  The fucker winked at me and opened the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Just go you thieving bastard.” I waved a hand at him, dismissively. “And have a great time.”

  “I will.”

  When the door clicked behind him, I picked up my glasses and went back to my script. A script that I could recite backwards if I needed to. I was ready for the next day, in fact, I’d been ready for months. The script was engraved deep into my brain, my body was sculpted to perfection after hour upon hour in the gym, my mind was clear and I was hungry to start. So why the fuck did I feel as though something scary was about to happen?

  Phoebe

  The rain had finally let up, but the tiny piece of the sun peeking through the clouds still wasn’t enough to provide any warmth.

  I finished off my take-away coffee and threw the corrugated, cardboard cup into the bin before turning the corner for the studio security gate. I flashed my pass at the guard and smiled at him as he nodded me through.

  You’d think I would have been excited about starting a new film, especially one with Grantley James as the lead, but I couldn’t summon up any enthusiasm. I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t getting the usual flight of butterflies in my stomach that the first day of shooting brought. And I had lines - that in itself was worth a little hop, skip, and a jump. I picked up my pace and did a little jump in the air, but nothing. My legs felt leaden and I knew there wasn’t a skip in them.

  “Hey Phoebe.”

  The shout that came from behind, startled me. I looked over my shoulder to see Declan, a guy who I’d been on quite a few things with, including two movies and three episodes of Coronation Street. Appearing on Britain’s longest running soap gave you kudos in the world of extras, believe me.

  “Hi, Declan. What are you shooting?”

  Declan gave me a supercilious grin and a little head wobble. “Only the latest Addison Yates movie. What about you? You playing dead body number three again in that daytime hospital drama?”

  God, what a dick he was. Just because he’d had a lead role in a thriller once, about ninety years ago, he thought he was better than everyone else. You’d think he’d won an Oscar for his performance, but in reality, had never won a lead role since – or any role for that matter.

  “Oh, well,” I said with an air of nonchalance, “we’ll be working together then.”

  Declan stopped in his tracks. “What? You’re on it as well?”

  “Yep. In fact, I have some lines. How cool is that?” I asked, twinkling my eyes at him. “I’m going in as an extra, but coming off it as an actor.”

  Declan’s lip curled – result, he was pissed off.

  “You got lines,” he said in astonishment. “How on earth did you manage that?” He puffed out his chest underneath his bright blue Puffa jacket that was unzipped and showing off a Ted Baker shirt that was stretched to its limits.

  “Barbara, my agent, put my name forward, I did a quick test and they said yes. The director said if there’d been a bigger part available it would have been mine.”

  He didn’t of course. I hadn’t even met him. I dealt with one of the casting team who had half-watched and half-listened to me at the same time as texting on his phone. Declan didn’t need to know that though. It wouldn’t hurt to bruise his ego a little.

  “I wonder why Raymond didn’t put my name forward,” Declan mused, swiping the back of his hand at the beads of sweat that were forming on his massive forehead.

  “You okay, Dec? You’re looking a little bit…” I waved my hand up and down in front of his face, “hot and bothered.”

  He made a strangulated groaning noise from the back of his throat and pushed my hand away, before striding towards the main building.

  “Stupid little arsehole,” I muttered, as I watched him stomp away.

  Declan pulled open the door with force and, without glancing back, he walked inside letting it slam shut. I sighed and shook my head. H
e was always so jealous. He hated it if someone got even a single word of dialogue, he hated it if someone was in shot longer than he was, and he hated it if someone managed to get a proper acting job where they appeared on screen for longer than a minute at a time and got dialogue of more than a couple of lines. In truth, he hated everyone except the leads and as far as they were concerned, he hadn’t got the nickname Brown Tongue for nothing, the big arse licker.

  As soon as I walked inside the building, I noticed the massive difference in temperature. While it hadn’t been arctic conditions outside, the rain had caused a cold, damp air to linger. I unravelled my scarf and unzipped my coat as I walked over to the PA at the registration desk; a large woman with long hair and thick glasses, who had red painted lips in a wide smile.

  “Morning,” she sing-songed. “What’s your name, hun?”

  “Phoebe Drinkwater.” I showed her my pass and my driving license.

  After studying them, she looked down the list, her forefinger snaking down the page of names until she finally stopped halfway down. She stabbed at the paper and then with a flourish, struck a tick next to my name.

  “Lovely.” She smiled up at me. “Do you have your booking sheet?”

  I handed it over and the woman signed it and then stamped it with the studio stamp.

  “There you go.” She handed it back to me with my voucher. “Go to dressing room three and then onto the holding area once you’re ready. You’ll be called from there.”

  “That’s great, thank you.” I replied, returning her smile with one of my own.

  “You know where you’re going?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do thanks. I’ve worked here before.”

  “Enjoy, but a word of warning,” she whispered, quickly scanning the corridor. “Our leading man is a little testy today.”

  “Okay, thanks for the heads up.” I replied with a giggle.

  “My advice,” the woman said, “admire him from afar.”

  “I’ll try and avoid him.”

  I’d heard that Grantley James could be a little difficult at times, but I was always one to give people a chance. I never listened to gossip, preferring to find things out for myself. Wondering whether this was one time I should listen to gossip, seeing as it had come from the PA, I started towards the dressing rooms. All filming for the next few days was going to be on the interior set, so only a few extras would be around. This meant we were using the studio dressing rooms, rather than a trailer which was the usual. Knowing where I was going, I began walking down the corridor. I had only gone a few steps when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

  Pulling it out, I looked down at the screen to see a text from Beth.

  Beth: Good luck for today, sis x

  It was accompanied with a cute photograph of the boys, heads together and each giving me a thumbs up.

  I started to type out a reply when I went smack into a long, hard body.

  “What the…”

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

  “Could you watch where you’re going instead of looking at your damn cell?”

  I hadn’t really registered who was standing in front of me, not until I realised I was listening to an American accent. Very slowly I lifted my head, and inch by inch, took in the specimen of perfection that stood before me.

  “You’re Grantley James,” I gasped as my gaze landed on his face.

  His pale green eyes stared at me through his dark brown hair that was sexily dishevelled.

  “Yeah I am,” he snapped. “And you’re damn clumsy.” He reached down and rubbed his knee. “Fuck.”

  “Sorry did I hurt your knee?”

  I dropped my head to look at his injured joint and as I did, Grantley lifted his, and his skull cracked against my forehead with such force I felt my teeth rattle.

  “Ah shit,” I cried. “That hurt.”

  Grantley took a step backwards and glared at me as he rubbed his head.

  “Are you determined to kill me?”

  “It was your head that hit mine.” I felt for a bump on my head, worried that I wouldn’t be able to film if I had a big purple egg on display.

  “You weren’t watching where you were going,” he growled. “That’s the exact reason why fucking cell phones should be banned.”

  He pointed at the mobile phone still in my hand.

  “So you don’t have one?” I narrowed my eyes at Grantley, waiting for him to respond.

  “Nope, I don’t.”

  He ran a hand over the scruff on his chin and looked at me with defiance in his eyes. If I hadn’t been around actors for the last five years, I’d have probably believed him – he hadn’t won a Critics’ Choice award for Best Young Actor on his first film for nothing. Yes, he was good, but I still saw it; the tell-tale look to the side. It was quick, I’ll give him that, but I saw it.

  “Liar!”

  Grantley straightened and put his hands to his hips and the slight thrust he gave, drew my attention. I glanced down to see he was wearing grey sweat pants and I registered a number of things.

  He was definitely commando. I could see the outline of his dick against the grey-marl fabric.

  It was a fair size dick, because ‘It’ rested at least eight inches down his leg. (I’d had a job in a menswear shop for a year after college, so knew these things.)

  His pants were hanging so low, I wondered if he was a wankster.

  If he wasn’t a wankster, was he actually someone’s bitch?

  Grantley’s growl brought me back to the matter in hand –the fact that I had an angry, Hollywood movie star standing in front of me – with no undies on.

  “Did you call me a liar?” he asked, leaning forward from the waist, into my space.

  “Yes,” I replied, surreptitiously breathing in his delicious smell. “You said you don’t have a mobile and I think you do.”

  “If I say I don’t have a cell, then I don’t have a cell.”

  “And I call bullshit.”

  Grantley glared at me with his nostrils flaring. “What’s your name?”

  “Why?” I dropped my bag and scarf to the floor and folded my arms over my chest.

  “I want to know. I’m guessing your working on my movie in some capacity, and I want you off it.”

  My eyes widened as I gasped. “You can’t fire me just because I called you a liar.”

  “Can’t I?” He cocked a brow and smirked.

  “No, you can’t. You’d have to give me a verbal and then a written warning first, otherwise I’d call my union and get this film brought to a halt quicker than you can say ‘liar, liar, knickers on fire’.” I gave him a sarcastic smile, knowing I had him.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  We stared at each other, both waiting for the other to break, but no way was I losing – I played this game with Callum and Mack all the time. I was the reigning champion.

  Grantley’s chest heaved in time with mine as we continued watching each other and then the silence was broken.

  His bloody mobile rang, chiming out the chorus of ‘Hangin’ Tough’ by New Kids on the Block. Totally forgetting the reason for our argument- I squealed, clapped my hands, and did a little hip wiggle – I bloody adored 80’s music.

  “Oh God,” I cried. “I love this song.”

  “Fucking Barney,” Grantley hissed, and reached into the back pocket of his sweat pants for his mobile.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I shrieked realising what was happening. “I knew it, you do have a mobile.”

  Grantley curled his lip at me and stabbed at the screen.

  “What do you want and when the fuck did you change my ring tone?”

  I heard a deep chuckle on the other end of the line, and then whoever it was started talking. I watched as Grantley listened and stared back at me.

  “Just a minute,” he snapped down the phone and then looked at me. “You can go now, but I’ll be watching you.”

  I rolled my eyes, picked up my bag, an
d walked away. I had only got a few steps when I heard a roar behind me. I quickly turned to see Grantley sprawled on the floor, but to his credit he still had hold of his mobile.

  “You okay?” I asked, rushing over to him.

  He lifted his head and exhaled deeply before speaking back into the phone.

  “I fucking tripped over a scarf that some idiot had left on the floor.”

  With a quiet gasp, I looked down to see my scarf tangled around Grantley’s feet. I must have dropped it, but I wasn’t telling him that.

  “Oh dear,” I said, holding back a giggle. “You should watch where you’re going instead of looking at your damn cell.”

  I didn’t hang around because the words that came out of Grantley James’ mouth were just rude if you ask me.

  Grantley

  “Please tell me she’s not.”

  “Not what?” Penny the make-up girl asked, as she touched up my nose.

  “Her.” I gave a quick nod to the side. “She’s not playing the nerdy assistant?”

  Penny glanced to her left before sighing and continuing to dab at me with a sponge.

  “Don’t tell me, you’ve upset her too.”

  Penny was my regular make-up girl on the Addison Yates’ films, so she was well aware that my reputation of being a miserable dick was justified. She was also someone else that I saw as a friend.

  You see, I didn’t just have Barney as a friend, I had Penny too; go me.

  Penny and I were drinking buddies from time to time, but as I wasn’t a big drinker, more often than not I ended up being Lone Wolf while she flirted her way around the bar. Usually resulting in me grabbing a cab back to whichever hotel we were staying in, while Penny disappeared with her latest hook-up.

  “I haven’t upset her.” I snapped. “She almost crushed my skull in and broke both my legs.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “I’m guessin’ you’re over exaggeratin’ as usual, honey,” she drawled in her rich Texan accent. “She’s such an itty bitty little thing. Can’t see how the hell she can have hurt you as bad as you say.”