The Extra Read Free Page B

up and down.  “Wardrobe!  I need a check here!” shouted Kevin, the first assistant director.
    A girl with long dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses, dressed in thrift-shop chic with red corduroy pants and a tightly buttoned gray cardigan sweater appeared at Warren’s side.  Strapped over one shoulder was brown cloth bag with a big flap on top.
    “Can you make him a bit rougher?” Kevin asked her.
    “We can dirty up that coat some more,” said the girl, who opened the flap on her bag and pulled out a large black marking pen.  She pulled off the cap and started putting long, black streaks down Warren’s coat.
    “Hey!” Warren yelled, jumping back.  “That’s my coat!”
    Another, larger girl appeared by his side, this one all in black, with purple streaks in her long black hair and a dress that bunched tight around her cleavage.  In one hand was an open jar.  She stuck two fingers inside and scooped out some dark grime which she then rubbed on his face.  It was all quite peculiar, Warren thought, but he might as well go along for the ride.
    “Ok, places people!” yelled Kaplan from behind a camera.
    “Come with me,” said Kevin, leading Warren across the set.  A petite girl in a long grey coat and a black beanie stood on a sidewalk next to a steel drum garbage can.  “Stand right here.  Pretend you’re warming your hands,” Kevin said to Warren before moving off.
    Warren stood in the middle of the set, staring around at all the lights and cameras seemingly pointing directly at him.  He couldn’t help but smile as he turned to the girl standing beside him.  Her head was half-cocked to one side and a few wayward strands of auburn hair stuck out from under her stocking cap.  Underneath her own layer of phony grime she had a wholesome, pretty face.
    “Where’d you come from?” Bridget asked suspiciously. 
    “Where am I?” Warren answered with a light laugh.
    “I haven’t seen you before, have I?” she added.
    “Shhh…” Warren said, lifting a finger to his lips.  
    Bridget crinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of the stale odor that followed Warren wherever he went.  She shuddered as she realized that the dirt and grime in his clothes was not the stuff of Hollywood.  Not the Hollywood of make-believe in any case. 
     “Positions please!” Kaplan shouted.  “We’ll run through a rehearsal.  Does everyone know what to do?”
    Bridget kept an eye on Warren, trying to decide whether she should move away from him somehow.  One of the film crew rushed onto the set and handed him a half-full whiskey bottle.  “Thanks!” Warren said brightly before the man hurried off without a word.   Warren uncapped the bottle and took a deep drink before spitting it out onto the floor.  “Hey, that’s not whiskey!” he said disappointedly, mostly to himself.
    “Quiet!” yelled Kaplan.  “Can I have some fire please?”
    In an instant, flames leapt up out of the trash can, singeing the hairs on Warren’s right arm as he leapt back in fright.
    “Down a little!” shouted Kaplan.  The fire receded slightly.  Bridget resigned herself to staying put.  It was too late to move now.  “Ok, quiet on the set!” the director announced.  “On my mark!  And, background!  Action!”  Suddenly the street scene came to life, with the characters moving to and fro.  Warren stared at them in awe, unsure what to do or where to go.  Bridget gave him a quick kick in the shin.
    “Ow!” he gave a low growl and glared at her with momentary contempt.
    “Shhhh!!!” she shushed him sternly with a finger in front of her lips and then scowled, nodded at her hands as she warmed them by the fire.  Warren followed her lead.  A street urchin in a newsboy’s cap ran onto the set.
    “Sound the alarm, it’s the fuzz!  It’s the fuzz!” yelled the boy.
    People on the street gasped and ran for cover.  Warren looked back and forth in alarm.  What was he supposed to do?  He had no idea, so he