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

by Nikki Ashton

  Copyright © Nikki Ashton 2018

  All Rights Reserved ©

  Do You Do Extras?

  Published by Bubble Books Ltd

  The right of Nikki Ashton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. A reviewer may quote brief passages for review purposes only

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people for resale. Please purchase this book from a recognised retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Do You Do Extras

  First published July 2018

  All Rights Reserved ©

  Cover design – JC Clarke from The Graphics Shed

  Formatting by—JC Clarke from The Graphics Shed

  Edited by – Brooke Bowen Herbert

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my grandad, Bill Barlow, who I’ve been thinking and talking about a lot recently. He was a quiet man, but when he spoke you listened.

  When I was a teenager, he told me it didn’t matter if I didn’t succeed, as long as I tried.

  Well, I tried Grandad and I hope I made you proud

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Coming Next from Nikki

  Acknowledgments

  Please be aware that some of the spellings in this book are American English, due to the nationality of some of the characters

  Phoebe

  Do you ever get to the point where you’ve held your wind in for so long your stomach feels like it harbours Mount Vesuvius? Yep, me too. At this very moment the inside farts are rife. As the Pope walks past me, a huge one bubbles and churns, and I’m sure he heard it. The Pontiff continues walking, however, still munching on a tuna roll.

  It isn’t the real pope, of course. He’s an extra for the latest film I’m shooting. I say I’m shooting it, but not in the sense that it’s my film and I’m the director, or even the lead. I’m actually ‘Third girl in Vatican Square’. I’m the one with the map in my hand, waving it at two other girls who are both looking around faking confusion. Yep, I’m an extra in films, TV shows, even advertisements. You need someone to look suitably nonchalant in the background, then I’m your girl.

  I’m Phoebe Drinkwater, age twenty-six and I live with my sister Beth and her two adorable twin boys, Callum and Mackenzie. It works for us; she needed help with the mortgage after her deadbeat husband, Steven, left her with twin boys of a year old. All because his nubile, twenty-one year old assistant ‘sucked dick magnificently’. I kid you not, that was one of the lines from the ‘Dear Beth’ note that he left on the bedside table. Beth, nor the boys, have seen him since that miserable, rainy Wednesday over five years ago. Personally, I think she’s better off without him. He was a big head who thought every woman wanted him and every man wanted to be him. Let me tell you, he wasn’t all that. He may have been okay looking, but his breath smelled like rancid meat – which is probably why Miss Cock Sucker, the assistant, chose to blow his cock rather than kiss his mouth. Anyway, I digress. Beth needed help with the mortgage and I can’t get a mortgage because, as I said, I’m an extra. Extras don’t have long-term contracts. We never know when we’re going to work next and the pay is shit, but we do it because we feel like we’re actors, only without the fame and fortune, which suits me just fine. Anyway, my beautiful sister cleared out her sewing room, squeezed a double bed and chest of drawers in there, and welcomed me with open arms. I was also grateful because after flat-sharing with two gay guys, Andy and Dermot, I didn’t want to go back to my childhood home when the boys decided to move to Andy’s homeland of Australia. I have a somewhat fractured relationship with my parents - basically they hate me because ‘I’m such a disappointment’ and will never be as wonderful as my younger sister, Melania. Melania is a blonde haired blue-eyed, perfect size ten; with a loving husband, who is a brain surgeon, and two perfect children who behave impeccably. She’s also a successful doctor with her own practice, but is sought out by hospitals all over the world to help them diagnose bizarre and unknown diseases. Perfect isn’t she? Yep, and she also doesn’t exist. She’s a figment of my parents’ imagination and musings when they’re letting me know exactly how disappointing I am. Being compared to a figment of their imagination doesn’t exactly bring family harmony, so seeing them as little as often works for all of us, me especially.

  “We should have gone ahead and had Melania,” my mother said to my dad one day when I’d been thrown off a film set in Finland for belching loudly during a death scene. I have no idea what the fuss was about. They were able to reshoot it and the light just about held up – I didn’t know they only had around five hours of daylight that time of year. And okay, it was the last day of the massively over budget movie and time was tight, but I defy anyone not to belch after eating herrings on toast for lunch. “She would have been such a beautiful daughter,” Mum continued while Dad shook his head and rolled his eyes at me. “I know, Deborah,” he replied, sighing heavily. “She’d be working in third world countries by now, saving lives and making us proud.”

  So, that was why I didn’t want to go home to 37 Grosvenor Drive, Rickeby. As for Beth, well she never hesitated offering when I cried out in pain after she asked me if I was going to go home. She immediately said, “Phoebes, you’re coming to live with me and the boys. We’ll work out your rent later, but you can help me with the boys when you’re not working, which means I can do some overtime. It’ll be great.”

  I tried to argue that she wouldn’t want me around, cramping her style – surely there must be a man in her life, I asked? I knew there wasn’t. We told each other most things, and I knew the only sexual experience Beth had had in the years since Steven disappeared was when she accidently brushed her hand against her boss’s cock when she’d squeezed pa
st him behind the counter of the bank that she worked in. Apparently Gerald, her boss, almost chocked on his own spittle and Beth almost peed herself from laughing with her friend and colleague, Angela, in the break room. Gerald, her fifty-eight year old, very married and very rotund boss, went home with a migraine and didn’t return until the following week.

  Beth, the boys, and me had a lovely time living together. We were the Fantastic Four, according to Mack, and we fought crime in the dead of night. That boy had a vivid imagination. Callum, on the other hand, had told his friend’s mum that he had two mothers, and that Beth and I were in a lesbian relationship. The mere thought had me puking in my mouth on many occasions. I’m not homophobic, please don’t think that, it’s the thought of being a lesbian with my sister – wrong on so many fronts. She’s very beautiful, with her dark auburn hair and brown eyes, but she’s my sister and to be honest, I’m a cock girl through and through.

  As the last scene had been shot – the lead man running through the streets of Rome with a seven foot tall man-mountain chasing him, we were all in the dressing trailer removing our costumes. Thankfully, the only things left to do were close ups on the lead actors for the final scene of the film, so it was my last day. That meant no standing around for continuity photographs, no hanging around to be fitted with another outfit, and no more shitty on-set food that totally disagreed with my bowels on a regular basis – hence the wind and subsequent inside farts.

  “Where you go next?” Policeman number six asked me, pulling off his jacket.

  “Back home,” I replied with a sigh. “I’ve got a job on the new Addison Yates movie. It’s being shot locally to where I live.”

  Addison Yates was an action series that was now on its fourth movie and for some reason it was being shot in Manchester at the studios with some location shots in the city. Usually they were big, Hollywood blockbuster type of movies with huge money spinning effects and amazing car chases. I wasn’t sure how it was going to look without the gorgeous sunshine and California backdrop, but I didn’t care too much. It meant I got to work on a big budget movie and go home at night to see Beth and the boys. The fact it was big budget also meant I was paid better, which meant Beth could stick to her usual three days of working for a while. Plus I had two lines of dialogue, which meant I got a speaking part stipend – thank goodness I had a great agent, Barbara, who insisted on it. I would also be working in scenes with the leading man – Grantley James. I was playing a ‘studious looking tech girl who worked for Addison’s security company’. Grantley had played Addison Yates in the last movie, taking over from the previous lead, Ryan Rushton. Ryan had become a little too fond of the nose candy and when his septum practically dropped off during an interview with Ellen DeGeneres, the studio decided enough was enough and replaced him with Grantley. What had caused uproar was soon forgotten when Grantley brought a whole lot more sex appeal to the character of Addison. Ryan was hot, but Grantley was better looking and also ripped to perfection – he was another level, with his sexy stubble and taper fade haircut that was always styled to perfection. He also had a penchant for chunky rings and leather bracelets, giving him more of an edge than the immaculately put together Ryan. Rumour had it Ryan’s six-pack was spray painted on, but there was nothing fake about Grantley. Even the three-inch scar on his left forearm was real. The studio explained that away with Addison having a scuba diving accident on his vacation after his last job, i.e. the last film – no one knew the reason why Grantley had a scar in real-life, but I doubted it was from scuba diving.

  All in all, I was looking forward to shooting the movie. The director, Alexi Rodrigo, was known for encouraging the whole cast to mix together and become a family. Extras weren’t hidden away, they were encouraged to mingle with the lead roles, so it was definitely going to be a different experience for me.

  “I ‘ope you enjoy,” the policeman said about my next job, in his sexy Italian accent. “You wanna fuck tonight?”

  He lifted his chin as he asked his question. His dark eyes hooded and sultry.

  I looked him up and down, hands on my hips.

  “Yeah, okay. Let me get changed and I’ll meet you by the food trailer.”

  “Si,” he replied. “We can have dinner first.”

  As he left the trailer, I shook my head and continued to undress. Who said romance was dead – not the Italians, that was for sure.

  Grantley

  “Is this fucking rain ever gonna stop?” I asked Barney, my security guy.

  We were in the hotel and all I could see through the damn floor to ceiling window was rain, rain, and more fucking rain.

  “Any chance that fucker will break its banks?”

  Barney chuckled his usual deep boom. “That fucker is the River Irwell, I believe.” He shook his head and smiled while he continued to tinkle the keys of the baby grand piano that was in my room.

  “Whatever,” I grumbled. “The point is, if this weather keeps up are we likely to be flooded?”

  “I checked the forecast, and the rain is due to stop around eight-thirty.”

  “That fucking exact, hey? Well great, just another three hours of this shit.”

  I heaved a sigh, missing the LA sunshine and pushed away from the window, making my way to the kitchen of my suite.

  “You want coffee?” I asked.

  “Nope, I’m good.”

  Barney had been with me for almost three years, and as well as my security he was pretty much my only friend, seeing as most of my old friends had gotten sick of my miserable ass a long time ago. Sure, when I’d hit the big time a few crawled back out of the woodwork, but I’m smart enough to know when I’m being used – hence it usually being just me and the big guy.

  I’d employed him after I’d seen him deal with a real stupid dude who tried to get into the LA club where Barney was doing security. The prick, having already been thrown out, thought he could rush Barney and get back in – needless to say the guy ended up out cold, on his back, on the sidewalk. I’d just got a part in a movie and knew it was gonna be big, which meant in turn so would I. Call me a big-headed prick if you want to, but I know how fucking good an actor I am. With fame comes Paparazzo, horny housewives who literally want a piece of you, and idiot douchebags who want to gain their own bit of fame by being the guy to put you on your ass – hence why I employed the 250 pounds of black muscle.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to take this place, if the weather is like this all the time,” I called back to Barney, scratching at the stubble on my chin.

  “Maybe if you quit moaning like some pansy-ass-pussy, you’d stop worrying about it.”

  “You do know I fucking pay you to take care of me, not insult me, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  That was followed by another deep laugh and a new tune on the piano. I smiled as I heard Beyonce’s, ‘Crazy in Love’ being played. Who’d have thought an ex-brawler like Barney could tickle the ivories to a pretty good standard.

  “You called your mom?” I asked.

  “Yep, you called yours?”

  I paused putting the stupid little pod into the coffee machine. I mean come on, what the fuck is wrong with grounds, hot water, and a jug?

  “Did you?” Barney’s deep voice growled.

  “No, and I’m not going to.”

  As I reached for a mug, the piano playing stopped and I knew Barney was on his way into the kitchen. We had the same argument at least three times a week – why hadn’t I called my loving mother? That would be because she’s a drunk bitch who couldn’t give two shits about me. She never had and never would. As long as I deposited money into her account every month she didn’t give a damn whether she ever saw me again.

  “Grantley,” Barney said from behind me.

  “Listen Barney, we’ve been over this. I give her money and that’s about the sum total of my devotion to that woman. You have no-”

  “I have no idea what it was like growing up with her as my mother.” Barney placed a hu
ge hand on my shoulder. “I know Grant, you’ve told me many times, but take it from someone who knows, don’t leave it until it’s too fucking late.”

  I shrugged my shoulder from under his hand and turned away. I never let anyone see the hurt that I knew was in my eyes when talking about my mother. Barney had no idea what I’d gone through as a kid. All he knew was that he was at odds with his dad when the guy dropped dead of a heart attack and he would never forgive himself and thought I should take heed from his mistakes. Me, well I was a cold-hearted fucker who didn’t care whether I never spoke to my mom again. I only gave her money to stop her selling stories about me for cash. I could hand on heart say, if she died tomorrow there would not be one microscopic bit of guilt on my part. Fuck it, I might even throw a party with fairground rides and fire-eaters.

  “I’m not discussing this with you, Barney. We’ll agree to disagree.”

  Barney sighed and reached around me to snag an apple from the display of fruit that the hotel replaced every damn day – another total waste of money. A few grapes, a couple of bananas, and some berries in the refrigerator would be perfectly acceptable. That’s what you got for being a Hollywood movie star, I guess.