A Night in the Life of an Extra Read online

  Kelly rushed forward to get her manacles and with adroitness elbowed one of the elder slaves out of the way.

  "I'm so sorry, I tripped. Let me help you up."

  Not convinced by her apology the older woman allowed Kelly to help her to her feet.

  The orchestra began to play The Triumphal March and mesmerised Kelly. She recognised the music; and smiled for the first time since entering the auditorium.

  All the cast for the slave scene were on stage; dancers rehearsed the scene prior to the manacled slave walk.

  Nikolai walked to the middle of the stage and stamping his feet and clicking his fingers got the attention of all around him. He spoke in Russian but the gestures were in a language universally understood.

  First the jewel-bearing men, the tusk slaves, followed by the fire juggler and next the dancers. The manacled slaves to go on after the fire juggler and dancers came off.

  Kelly understood her role; she turned around smiling into the stern face of Sacha.

  "Rehearse."

  Sacha grabbed Kelly by the arm and positioned her behind the jewel-bearing men.

  "Go now tusk girl." Unable to resist the urge Sacha pushed with a little more force than was necessary.

  Finally, Kelly was on stage. Half an hour before curtain call, the auditorium filling up and she had no idea what she was doing. Her eyes bored into the back of the man in front of her. Kelly felt elation at reaching the other side in one piece, without tripping up or dropping the tusk, all's good she thought.

  Turning for praise Kelly noticed the muscular men and the other tuskers had disappeared. She walked close to the back of the stage, hoping Sacha's eyes were elsewhere. The velvet of the curtain distracted her for a while and Kelly moved the fingers of her right hand over the pleats.

  Sacha came behind Kelly, hands on hips, "do again, too fast."

  "But how can I go too fast, I can't overtake the men and their jewels."

  He took a step forward and Kelly took a step back. "Do again, too fast."

  Kelly took a deep breath and, rather than throw a tantrum, resolved to take the constructive criticism on board and do the walk again. Second rehearsal she walked to the beat of the music and the three girls behind her kept pace.

  At the end of the tusk walk, Louise pushed Kelly towards the stairs leading under the stage. The tuskers ran along the length of the stage and back up two flights of stairs to the backstage area where they had started; no complaints. Except for Kelly.

  "I appreciate slaves didn't have shoes back in the day, but running on concrete in bare feet. Is there?"

  Sacha stared at Kelly making her lose the power of speech. She rationalised to herself if she wanted to progress in this career she had to suffer for her art. This noble gesture comforted her and she joined forces with the other tuskers to watch the juggler and dancers.

  "Good, good. We all do together again." Sacha appeared to be happy with our second performance.

  Nikolai joined Sacha on stage and began a heated conversation.

  Curtain up was soon and Kelly had no idea how the manacled procession would proceed. As if he had read her mind Sacha turned to the people on stage.

  "Altogether. Rehearse."

  The full line up for the procession congregated at the back of the stage. Comprising pike carriers, flame carriers, buglers, treasure chest carriers, tusk carriers, child slaves, male slaves and female slaves at the end. The manacled female slaves didn't have enough manacles so Sacha mimed to huddle amongst the women that did have manacles.

  Sacha said, screwing up his face. "Look scared, look frightened."

  Kelly wondered if that face was Sacha's idea of what scared and frightened looked like. She had different thoughts on the matter.

  Sacha walked to the middle of the set and dropped to his knees facing the plinth and held his hands in the air.

  "Beseech the king."

  Kelly's jaw dropped. "Did he just say beseech?" Kelly turned to a woman beside her who ignored her. She turned back to Sacha who had heard Kelly.

  "Yes, tusk girl, beseech." Kelly noticed Sacha had developed a tendency to shake his head after speaking to her. She decided not to take it as a personal slight against her.

  With a deep exhale Sacha continued, "Knees, beseech to king, hands to guard, guard free you."

  Kelly sensed panic rippling through the slaves and overheard one of the older female slaves say, "If I kneel down there's no way I'm getting back up again without a lot of help." Numerous slaves voiced agreement.

  The third rehearsal was, well, it was interesting.

  The tuskers, including Kelly, did a sterling job and got back in time to join the back of the procession and manacle themselves up.

  The frightened manacled walk and subsequent beseeching had elements that only several hours of rehearsing would improve.

  "Help me up please."

  "How do we know when to get up?"

  "You've just punched me."

  "My knees; oh my god, my knees."

  "I can't do this, I've got arthritis."

  The scene was not pretty, women falling into each other, hysterical giggling and groans. Louise took charge. "Don't worry, we can help you up. It's what would happen back in Aida days anyway."

  "Thank you so much but I'm not too sure love."

  Kelly asked "Did you think you would just be standing on a plinth? I did. I didn't know about walking over the stage and then this kneeling stuff."

  Silence descended and Kelly sensed it was not because of her profound words; she felt Sacha's energy behind her. In slow motion, she turned and looked up into the reddening face of Sacha. Kelly smiled at him.

  "Beseech to the king and chorus. Take lead from chorus. Arms in the air."

  Kelly had no idea what he was saying and thought better than to ask him. Time constraints and the nerve throbbing on the left side of Sacha's neck meant further rehearsals were impossible. Nikolai intervened.

  "Dressing room 20 for costumes and wigs." He turned on his heel and gently led Sacha from the stage.

  Kelly, although not proud of her actions, used her agility. She grabbed her possessions and pushed her way to the front of the column wending their way up the back stairs to the dressing rooms.

  "Where's 20? I can't find 20." Kelly dashed up and down the short corridor, determined not to be left with the ill-fitting costumes.

  The dressing rooms only went up to number twelve and, at the doorway, a woman, one hand on her hip the other hand grasping a bundle of rags. Kelly believed she had the correct room.

  The waving of the bundle of rags like the proverbial red rag to the bull, and as one the group hurled themselves at the wardrobe woman. This had obviously not been her first time of dealing with a marauding group of extras. At the last second, she turned and threw the bundle of rags into the room, onto the table. The extras followed and she stepped back with a satisfied smile on her face.

  "Dress."

  The less than fresh aroma in the room threatened to overpower the occupants. Kelly held her breath and dove into the bundle of rags; the stench emanated from the rags themselves. She grabbed a costume, held it in front of her and dashed to a corner to change.

  "I had that first."

  "That's not going to fit you. Give it me."

  "For the love of god if you don't let it go I will drag it from you."

  A tug of war is never a pleasant sight; a tug of war between thirty women in various states of undress bordered on a drunken barroom brawl. The fact that the room could only fit ten people helped to exaggerate the bawdiness.

  "It reeks in here." One of the older women stepped back to the doorway. "I'm sorry I'm not putting on those smelly clothes."

  "Oh my god, you can almost see my backside." Another older woman expressed her unhappiness with her costume. "I won't be able to stand up after kneeling, if I flash my backside to the audience, then? No. I'm sorry, I'm out."
/>   Bras, t-shirts, blouses thrown into the air, arms flailing, unintentional grabbing of breasts, faces slapped. Kelly was sure she would leave this part of the story out when retelling it to others. It was not dignified.

  "Wigs here." The wardrobe woman threw into the room what Kelly saw to be a matted mound of black wool and beads.

  Wigs to one person were to Kelly cheap nasty Rastafarian type wigs.

  The freefall at the beginning died down and civility took hold. Several swaps of costumes occurred to avoid the baring of breasts and buttocks by two of the older women.

  The wardrobe woman re-entered the room. "Who is tusk girls?"

  Kelly, Louise and two others stepped forward to be given braided wigs with gold beads. Smugness returned to Kelly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The waiting for their turn on stage began at 7.30; the slave scene would be at 9.00 p.m.

  Louise asked one of the older women "Have you done this before?"

  Sat on the table, the woman laughed, "No, I've done extra work for years now. This is my first time in an opera though."

  Kelly took mental note of who to cosy up to for future steps in her career ladder.

  "What about you Louise?" Kelly wanted to get back on her good side.

  "I've got experience of extra work on Hollyoaks and once or twice on Coronation Street. I think this maybe the first time there's been extra work for an opera. It's exciting." Louise sat crossed legged on the floor and did seem excited by the whole thing.

  One of the younger girls explained she was a drama student and had volunteered because it would look good on her CV.

  "What about you dearie?"

  Kelly turned and realised the question was aimed at her. The room became silent, waiting in anticipation for pearls of wisdom to utter forth.

  "My feet are cold. Are yours?"

  As one the room realised Kelly, even with her haughty, stuck up air offered nothing to the group.

  One of the other tuskers broke the silence. "Can you take a photo of me? For my portfolio."

  The word portfolio ignited something in Kelly. "I'll take it."

  Twenty minutes later and everyone had a photo taken of themselves in costume and wigs. Kelly looked at her photo and marvelled at how it was possible to be a happy slave. She thought about asking for another one to be taken and toning down the idiotic smile.

  Louise spoke of gossip backstage at Hollyoaks and one of the older women had some titbits of information about upcoming scheduling of Coronation Street. Kelly tried not to show her excitement. How could she show excitement at soap opera gossip if Hollywood stardom beckoned?

  "There's a certain middle-aged actor on the Street who's got a bit of a problem with gambling but the powers that be are always covering it up." Guess the name of the actor followed.

  Kelly withdrew, envisaging a movie scene, clapperboards, director's chairs and her own dressing room trailer.

  ***

  The call came at 8.45 and the slaves ran down the eight flights of stairs. Out of breath, cold feet and nervous they huddled backstage. Closing her eyes and caressing the velvet curtain something took hold of Kelly. Call it stupidity, bravado, call it what you will, she decided to peek around the curtain. The house was full.

  "Oh, I can't, I can't." Kelly sat on her haunches, clutching at the woman in front of her; she put her head on her knees. "Please god, help me."

  "You'll be okay, love, it's alright." An older woman helped Kelly to stand up and, even in the darkness, noted the blood had drained from Kelly's face. She would later remark on this fact to her family.

  Kelly gulped; her mouth dry and sphincter muscles contracted. She knew if the feelings returned to her legs she would walk off the stage. The feelings returned to her legs when Sacha gripped Kelly by the left arm.

  "Now."

  Sacha pushed Kelly forward put a tusk in her shaking arms and, again, with more force than was necessary, pushed her to the rear of the jewel-bearing men.

  Kelly heard the applause, the orchestra playing The Triumphal March and she followed the jewel-bearing muscular men onto the stage. The applause grew and Kelly's eyes picked out a hole in the tunic of the man in front of her.

  "Please, I promise to do whatever you want if you just let me get to the other side." This whispered prayer by Kelly offered to god knows who.

  The stage seemed longer, the tusk heavier and the ability to breathe had escaped Kelly. In seconds the beginning of the procession reached the other side. An undignified dash by the tuskers ensued. Under the stage back to the left side and they joined the end of the procession.

  Kelly wanted to rest on her laurels and marvel on the elegant walk she had made but decided it was more beneficial to start breathing again.

  "Sixty seconds. Monocles."

  Sacha made a beeline for Kelly but was foiled by Kelly spinning and dashing away. He began pushing the slaves on stage. The manacled slaves took their position in front of the king, dropped to their knees and cowered.

  Kelly, crouched on the floor, head bowed, and the realisation hit; she couldn't see the chorus.

  "Shit, I can't see the chorus. We're supposed to take the beseeching lead from the chorus."

  The chorus and the king high up on the plinth could not be seen by the slaves. Kelly felt it incumbent upon her to peek under her fringe and save the day.

  In a true stage whisper, Kelly said: "Okay follow me, I can see when they throw their hands up in the air."

  The world would discover how Kelly saved the day, saved the opera, get Sacha's and Nikolai's respect and maybe even a trip to Chisinau.

  The weight of responsibility rested on Kelly's shoulders as she peeked at the chorus and the king as they threw their hands up in the air.

  "Now." She beseeched and turned to her fellow slaves; they weren't beseeching in time. The chorus threw their hands up in the air and then the beseeching slaves threw their hands up.

  "This looks like a frigging Mexican wave." As she spoke these words Kelly started to giggle. She bit the inside of her cheek and tasted blood and her shoulders started to shake. She turned and saw the slaves behind her randomly lifting their hands up into the air. The beseeching was woeful.

  The tears fell down Kelly's face. All around her, she saw the seriousness etched on the faces of the slaves coupled with the ludicrous arm flailing. On the upward flail, she glanced under her right arm to the auditorium. At least they were enjoying themselves.

  The guards released them and the curtain fell to rapturous applause.

  "Quick, go."

  The slaves tried to stand but after several minutes of kneeling on the bare wooden floor, some had lost the use of their limbs.

  "Please help me."

  "Ow, you've just stood on my hand."

  "My dress is caught on something, it's going to rip." Kelly pulled on her dress and fell into the slaves too slow to get out of the way.

  The men stood to the side of the stage watched and laughed; in fact general hysteria and pointing followed the wrap.

  The applause died down and the loud humming of conversation in the auditorium eased Kelly back into the moment.

  Liz, the production manager stood to the back of the stage, smiling.

  "Good. Please get changed and then go to the stage door for your fee."

  "Fantastic. I thought this was unpaid." Kelly said.

  "Your fee is a programme."

  "Oh, right."

  Kelly felt exhilarated and ran up the stairs to the changing room. She would be back tomorrow to hone her talent, take the beseeching lead and be recognised for her work. Her retelling of the story would only be exaggerated a little.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Alan Peters walked into the office shocked to see Kelly at her desk. A large bouquet of Stargazer lilies placed prominently on her desk, the aroma permeating the air. She was an hour early; then he remembered and sighed; it was too late to r
etreat.

  "You're still here then? I thought the bright lights of the stage might tempt you away."

  Kelly ignored the sarcasm in Alan's words and set about re-living her fifteen minutes of fame.

  "You should have seen it, Alan. You should have seen me. Do you go to the opera? You probably don't, but it's amazing. The production was amazing."

  Alan entered his office praying someone else would come into work early.

  "I'll make some coffee, come back and tell you all about it. In the meantime, here's a photo of me dressed as a slave and here's the programme they gave us. I'll be back in a tick."

  Alan had to think fast, he couldn't take an hour of listening to Kelly stretch her fifteen minutes of glory.

  "Here you go. Okay, let me take a seat."

  "I'm really sorry Kelly but I need to make a conference call so?"

  "With who? I've not put anything in your schedule."

  "No, I arranged it myself after you left last night. You do remember the conversation we had yesterday?"

  The blank expression on Kelly's face gave Alan his answer.

  "Kelly I don't want you disrupting the work of the office for a second day in a row so I've got an idea. Why don't you write an email to everyone and they can read about your escapade at their leisure." Under his breath, he continued, "Or not."

  Kelly's eyes grew wide. "Oh Alan, what a great idea; then if people want to talk to me about it, we can go to lunch or something."

  "Yeah. That's the spirit. Thanks for the coffee. Could you please close the door on your way out?"

  "Right, sure, no problem." Kelly scurried back to her desk and spent the next half an hour writing down the events of her evening. She was conscious of the fact it could be used by her colleagues in the future so used the online thesaurus and dictionary. If the email reappeared on some I Worked with Kelly Ferguson Special the grammar and spelling needed to be perfect.

  She read it over and gave a second thought to the close friendship developing between her and Sacha. Kelly decided it was necessary for the plot and she pressed send. Kelly resolved she would ingratiate herself with the crew tonight, in particular, Sacha. She sat back and began daydreaming of her future life on the road as an actress. As she stood up to get more coffee, Kelly noticed Alan working on his computer.

  "What happened with your conference call?"

  "No idea, Kelly, absolutely no idea."