Throwback Thursday: ‘The Extra: Frankie Ray Stands Alone’ by Mel Anastasiou

Frankie faced the director. She was distantly aware of Marietta’s red dress, the movie set of a park in Paris, the enormous gleaming camera, and the crowd of staring extras. If she didn’t grasp this chance at a part, even one without words, one of the other extras surely would.

She asked, “What would you like me to do?” There was something wrong with that sentence. “Sir?” 

The director looked at the assistant director.

The assistant director barked, “Do what you’re told.”

“Do what we chose you to do.” The director grinned around the cigar in his mouth. “Look sad, kid.”

Frankie checked her physical position. It wouldn’t do to put her hands in her pockets, so she cupped one hand inside the other to stop her fingers shaking. She guessed that amateur actors, if asked to look sad, would screw up their eyebrows and cry. Instead, Frankie did nothing but think about the body behind Villa 7A. It wasn’t difficult — she hadn’t stopped thinking about that poor man all morning. 

The director grunted and tapped the ash from his cigar. 

“I told you,” Marietta Valdes said. “She is right for this scene.”
 
“There’s no screen credit in it,” the assistant director told Frankie. “And same pay — as a general extra.” 

This was rather unfair, but she said, “Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t talk. You have no lines.” The assistant director jerked a thumb at the pedestal underneath the statue of the soldier on the horse. “Where’s that damned pigeon handler?”