by Ruth Kaufman
He’s why I’m here. Usually I’m an aspiring actress, not a dancing gourd. When my agent Audrey called and said he was directing the AFMA commercial (I can’t imagine why a director of his caliber would) and next a feature film here in Chicago, I couldn’t wait to audition. Working on this shoot is my chance to impress the stellar director. My “in” to get my first speaking part in a major motion picture after toiling as an extra on more than fifty. And doing small roles in a few indie features that went nowhere...for free.
But how can you impress anyone dressed as a zucchini? What if he pigeonholes me forever as a tapping cucurbita pepo? What if he can’t see beyond the green?
“Rolling!” someone on the crew calls.
“Speed!”
“And...action!”
I resume time-stepping with a sigh. How can you want something, need it, and hate it at the same time?
Nothing is ever as good as I imagine it’ll be. I’d envisioned hanging around on set, sans unsightly costume, sweat and green face, looking attractive in my clingy black tank top and stomach-containing stretch capris, curly dark red hair miraculously frizz-free, carefully manicured toes peeping out of adorable kitten heel sandals. But GS didn’t show up while I sipped bottled water a production assistant gave me. He didn’t even show up for rehearsal.
Flap, flap, flap ball change. They’re piping in a sickly sweet chorus singing the AFMA theme song, to the tune of “A-tisket, A-tasket.”
“Fill our Farmer’s Market basket. Ooooh, oooh. La, la, laaaaa.”
Thankfully the music covers most of the crowd’s catcalls.
I’m so hot. So sticky. Every muscle aches from hours of hauling around this zucchini and the stiff movements it forces me to make.
I’m tapping too close to the rotund, papier mâché Lettuce, who’s flap-ball-changing too slowly. His feathery layers flick me in the face. I feel a sneeze coming on.
“Lettuce, hurry up!” I hiss, still smiling for the camera.
A drop of sweat dangles from my nose, á la Rosanne Rosannadanna. It itches. But I can’t scratch. Or stop, either. I careen into Lettuce. Carrot crashes into me. A loud noise fills the air as Lettuce cracks.
We all fall down.
My head hits the ground, but my thick costume cushions the blow. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. Miles of clear blue sky soar above me, but the sauna-like costume makes me claustrophobic.
“Cut! What is wrong with you people?” screams the AD.
The music screeches to a stop. Waves of laughter assault me, the kind you hear in those bad dreams where you show up to an important meeting in your underwear (not even your nice underwear, at that) and the conference room is full of executives in designer suits who guffaw and point at you.
I hear running feet.
“A little help over here,” a woman yells.
A gorgeous face appears above me. Long black hair gathered in a low ponytail, sizzling Paul Newman blue eyes, perfect Viggo Mortensen chin and Johnny Depp’s aura of sexy mystery.
It’s him. At last. Great Scott, I’d recognize him anywhere. Even better looking in person. Good thing I’m lying down, because I’m swooning.
“Um, are you ok?”
Though the first word out of the great man’s mouth is “um,” a most useless waste of breath and one of my pet peeves, coming from him it resembles a breath of fresh air.
I can’t speak. I’m in awe.
“Ms.-um-Zucchini. Let’s get you on your feet.”
Ms. Zucchini? There are only four of us in this commercial and he doesn’t even know my name.
Say something. Say, “Hi, I’m Marla Goldberg.”
No, don’t say that. Say something oh-so-clever to make him see you for the brilliant, desirable forty-two-year-old currently unemployed former radio station account executive somewhat recently divorced aspiring actress that you are.
Suddenly I’m being lifted. The world rights itself. I’m standing again. The dazzling director has touched me and I can’t even feel it.
Scott looks me in the face. He’s so close I smell those Listerine breath strips. He isn’t tall, but he’s taller than me even in heels and that’s what matters. He wears a MAKE MY DAY T-shirt and khaki shorts.
My heart races. Scott’s eyes are so blue. His concerned expression so moving.
Marla. SPEAK.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
Speak now.
Again my mouth opens. Still nothing.
More sweat pours from all pores as the voice in my head berates me. I am a green, gasping fish.
“Makeup!” Great Scott yells. “Fix Zucchini’s face.” His English accent is as scrumptious as Orlando Bloom’s. “Hurry it up. We can’t afford a delay.” Without further ado, he turns and walks toward the camera.
That’s it? That’s my special moment with Great Scott? He was literally in my face and I couldn’t spit out one coherent word. Not even “um.”
“Great Scott!” I shout, much too loud.
All activity stops. All heads swivel in my direction. Including his.
He raises a dark, sardonic eyebrow, like Clark Gable as Rhett eyeing Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett in Gone with the Wind.
Now what?
“Thanks for the lift,” I manage.
I want to collapse as he turns away. Nothing like morphing into a loser the moment opportunity knocks.
It isn’t over ’til it’s over. I must find a way to show him I’m worthy of a line in his upcoming movie. Any line will do, even “May I help you,” or “Here’s your pizza.”
How great would that be? I imagine Scott on his canvas chair bearing his name in embroidery, wearing his headset, watching me on the monitor and smiling as I articulate each precious word. As I achieve a lifelong dream.
“Brilliant, Marla. Brilliant,” he’d say. Then I’d be engraved on the roster of actors he’ll want to have in all his movies, the way David Mamet often casts his wife (Rebecca Pidgeon) and William H. Macy.
The heat must be getting to me.
“We’re losing the light, people,” someone yells.
“Doesn’t matter,” a woman replies. Awkwardly I mince around. The wardrobe mistress is tending to Lettuce, still on the ground. Humpty Dumpty after his fall. “He’s broken beyond repair.”
Scott and the producer, a man obese enough to have played Lettuce without the costume, come over to inspect the damage.
With a slight push from Wardrobe, Lettuce breaks into pieces and reveals John, the thin, perspiration-soaked man inside.
Great Scott turns his laser gaze on Wardrobe. “Fix. The. Damn. Vegetable. Now.”
As John carefully eases himself to his feet, hands on his back and a grimace on his face, the wardrobe mistress swallows. “We can put him back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty. Get it?” She giggles. I giggle. No one else does. “With lots of duct tape,” she continues. “But it’ll take a while.”
“No can do.” This from the producer, Sam, who is mopping his forehead with a hand towel. “That’s a wrap, people.”
A wrap...the end of the shooting day? But we haven’t done our big finish, the produce kick line.
“Is that a joke?” Scott asks.
“Nope. We’re out. Of light, money and time,” the producer replies. “You HAD to have Michigan Avenue. Ka-ching. You HAD to shoot during business hours and shut down the street. Ching. Couldn’t just close one half, oh, no, not you. Custom costumes. Ching. Now you’ll have to make do with what’s already in the can. You will not make your day today.”
I hold my breath and exchange a shocked glance with Carrot. Normally this kind of conversation isn’t held in front of the talent. We are frozen vegetables, awaiting Scott’s reaction.
Adversity on set tells you a lot about a person. Will he storm off, never to return, leaving the entire cast and crew standing there aghast and confused, the way a director did when I was an extra in an HBO show? Will he argue and lose, or get his way? How great is he?
Scott licks his lovely lips and
stares at the ground. Then he looks up, his eyes steely. I wonder why he’s not an actor, because the camera would love him.
I would love him. No. That’s just my liquid and protein deprived brain rambling.
“The spot won’t make sense without the remaining spots. I can finish them in two hours.” His voice is deep and measured, as if he’s trying not to reveal any frustration.
The producer shakes his head. His jowls wiggle. A shiny stream of sweat flows down his neck into his navy polo shirt. “No can do. That’d take us into overtime. Ka-ching. Not in the budget.”
My spirits sink. Don’t tell me my first national commercial won’t even get made, depriving me of the joy of telling out of town friends they can finally see me in something on TV instead of just YouTube or some company’s website. and significant ka-ching in residuals. Not that I want to stay in this vegetation torture chamber another minute, but it’s taken years of acting classes, auditions, callbacks and for me to get this far.
I rack my brain. There must be a way to save the day. I’m so steamy and sweat-ridden I now understand the true meaning of stewing in your own juices.
Scott raises his eyebrow again. “Sam. Do you want me to direct I Love my Mistress or not?”
Sam turns red as a ripe tomato. “Scott. Don’t do this. You’re under contract,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Contracts were made to be broken.” Scott’s volume increases. “I won’t allow half-assed work to have my name on it. I repeat, will you find a way to let me do my job or not?”
Clearly there’s more going on between them than the budget for this American Farmers’ Market Association spot. AFMA…the client, whose representative sits on her canvas chair sipping a venti iced coffee with the familiar green Starbucks logo, out of earshot.
Aha. I have the answer Scott and Sam are obviously too incensed to see.
“Excuse me.” Nerves kept my voice at a whisper. Let’s try that again. “Excuse me.”
Sam’s and Scott’s glares burn hot as high noon sun on a zucchini patch. I don’t wilt under the pressure.
“May I suggest that you find out what the client wants to do?” I ask.
“Talent does not speak unless spoken to,” Sam splutters as he steps closer. “Talent does what it’s told. Talent is—talent.” Flecks of spit hit my face. Fortunately, the stiff costume prevents me from recoiling. He can’t see me inside, quivering like the Cowardly Lion. “Unless you, Squash, happen to be a star. Are you Scarlett Johansson? Jennifer Lawrence? Charlize Theron? Not. Someone on their level? Didn’t think so.” He wags a sausage-fat finger at me. “I want your name. I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.”
I’m horrified as a just-picked zucchini lying on a countertop, watching a chef approach, paring knife in hand. The other vegetables gasp. Great Scott does nothing.
Oh. My. I’m cooked. Doomed. A vegetable in distress.
Do we get knights in shining armor like damsels do?
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading My Life as an Extra. I hope you enjoyed it! If you’re so inclined, I’d really appreciate an honest review.
What inspired me to share Marla’s story? I, too, wanted to be an actress and author, but feared not being good enough and the high risk of failure. I finally managed to flee corporate America to pursue my dreams.
If you’re interested, you can learn more about me and my writing and sign up for my newsletter at www.ruthkaufman.com. If you’d like to follow me, I’m on Facebook at Ruth Kaufman Author & Actress and Twitter: @RuthKaufman. My Amazon author page is http://www.amazon.com/author/ruthkaufman, and my Goodreads page is https://www.goodreads.com/ruth_kaufman (if you’re typing, it’s ruth_kaufman).
I hope you’ll choose to read My Life as a Star, in which Marla learns “be careful what you wish for” when her career and feelings for hot, famous director Scott Sampson skyrocket.
Discussion Questions
1. What is the major theme and what are the turning points in MLaaE?
2. Marla wants to believe “leap and the net will appear” and “someday is now.” Do you believe either or both? Have you incorporated either into your life? Why or why not?
3. Marla seeks inner peace. Do you have it? If not, do you do anything to find it?
4. MLaaE examines some differences between being single, in a committed relationship, and married with kids. Do you agree with Marla’s opinions and observations?
5. When were you most discouraged in your life? Most lonely? How did you deal with those feelings?
6. What’s your answer to Marla’s question, “How do you know when you’re being persistent or beating your head against a wall?” Do you believe persistence pays?
7. Marla isn’t always happy with the way her parents or siblings treat her. What is your family dynamic, and what are your thoughts about it? Do you feel obligated to follow parental advice if you don’t agree with it?
8. What do you like most and least about Marla?
9. Marla frequently takes life lessons from movies and her experience working on them. What teaches you life lessons?
10. What do you think of Marla’s career choices? What’s the most difficult career choice you’ve made?
About the Author
Ruth Kaufman is an Amazon bestselling and award-winning author, on-camera and voiceover talent and freelance editor and speaker with a J.D. and a Master’s in Radio/TV who loves living in Chicago, peanut butter and chocolate milkshakes and going to the theatre.
Writing accolades include 2016 Booksellers’ Best Award Best First Book and Best Historical winner and Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® winner.
Credits include independent feature films, short films, web series and national and local TV commercials. She’s done hundreds of voiceovers, from e-learning courses to commercials and assorted characters.
Learn more at www.ruthkaufman.com and www.ruthtalks.com. Follow her on Twitter: @RuthKaufman or Facebook: Ruth Kaufman Author & Actress.
Other Books by Ruth Kaufman
Wars of the Roses Brides Trilogy
AT HIS COMMAND
Book 1
What’s a lady to do when the king commands her to marry a lord, but she’s falling for the knight sent to protect her from undesirable suitors and is a scribe for the king’s rival for the throne?
http://amzn.com/B00QPG52A6
“A wonderful debut sure to please lovers of romance!”
—NYT & USA Today bestselling author Madeline Hunter
“With a bold knight and a strong-willed lady, Kaufman’s story is positively medieval.”
—NYT & USA Today bestselling author Tracy Anne Warren
“If a book lingers in my mind for more than two weeks, then I say the author has certainly deserved to be put on my keeper shelf.”
—Bookworm2bookworm
FOLLOW YOUR HEART
Book 2
She’s a glass-painter making her way in a man’s world. He’s on a quest to redeem his family name and estate. When unforeseen passion makes their marriage of convenience inconvenient, will his dangerous secrets keep them from following their hearts?
http://amzn.com/B00TYM7XBE
Must-read romance: “Kaufman can certainly write an entertaining suspenseful romance and brings us a happy sigh-worthy story in Follow Your Heart.”
—USATODAY.com
“Kaufman’s strong second romance…appealing protagonists…maintaining suspense and building the reader’s hope that Joanna and Adrian’s mutual respect will grow into love.”
—Publishers Weekly BookLife
“As the story unfolds, it will suck you in…fantastic!!!”
—5-Star Amazon Review
THE BRIDE TOURNAMENT
Book 3
The Gone with the Wind love triangle meets The Bachelor. The king wants her to marry the new earl, but she wants to marry her betrothed. So she holds a bride tournament to find the earl a better, more willing
bride. Who will win his hand in marriage…and his love?
http://amzn.com/B016YZEW0I
“Kaufman writes well-developed and sympathetic characters with clear motivations. The Bride Tournament is a page-turner of a historical romance that will have readers rooting for a happy ending.
—RT Book Reviews
“Appealing protagonists, a satisfying pace, engaging supporting characters, and numerous obstacles to overcome combine in this emotionally satisfying romance.”
—Publishers Weekly BookLife
“Do you like historical romances that are full of twists and turns? This is the book for you if you do.”
—5-Star Amazon Review
MY ONCE & FUTURE LOVE
Unsung Knights of the Round Table #1
When a lady on the run from her scheming uncle aids a wounded Knight of the Round Table, peril thwarts the power of love.
http://amzn.com/B01DC8XXNM
“A fantastic blend of romance and Arthurian legend.”
—RT Book Reviews
Kaufman “created a magical world that kept me glued to the pages.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“The story is beautifully written and chronicles their adventures as well as their romance. It was a great read from start to finish.”
—The Romance Junkie 5-star Amazon review