“I didn’t mean to!” I say defensively.
I feel slightly outraged. They shouldn’t have real cakes on a movie set. It goes against the whole spirit of the thing.
I look around, but no one seems to have seen me. What shall I do now? I can’t put half a cake down on the table.
“OK, we’re going again,” comes a booming voice. “Clear the set!”
Oh God. The actors are returning and I still have half a cake in my hands.
Maybe they won’t notice.
I hastily sneak off the set, my hands behind my back, and find a place where I’m almost hidden behind a stone pillar. The two actors are sitting back down on the chairs, and everyone is gathering for a new take.
“Wait a minute.” A girl dressed all in black comes running onto the set. She squints into the screen of a little camera, then peers at the table. “What happened to the other cake?”
Damn.
The actors are looking around blankly, as though they hadn’t even realized there were any cakes in the shot.
“Cake?” says the man at last.
“Yes, cake! There should be six!” She jabs at her camera screen. “What happened to it?”
“Well, don’t look at me!” says the man, sounding affronted. “I never saw the cake.”
“Yes, you did!”
“I think there were five,” says the actress playing Lady Violet.
“Excuse me,” says the girl in black tightly. “If I say there were six, then there were six, and unless you want to reshoot everything we’ve done this morning, then I suggest you don’t move the props around.”
“I didn’t move anything around!” retorts Lady Violet.
I have to confess. Go on, Becky. I force myself to step forward onto the edge of the set and clear my throat.
“Um, excuse me?” I say awkwardly. “It’s here. Sorry.”
I proffer my hand and everyone stares at the half-eaten crumby cake. My cheeks are flaming with embarrassment, especially when a chunk falls on the floor. I quickly bend to get it, feeling worse than ever.
“Shall I put it back on the table?” I venture. “We could hide the eaten side.…”
The girl in black raises her eyes to mine disbelievingly.
“You ate a prop?”
“I didn’t mean to!” I say hurriedly. “I thought it was fake, and I was just biting it to prove it—”
“I knew it wasn’t fake,” puts in Suze. “I told her. I said, no fake cake could be that good—”
“Yes, it could!” I object. “They have amazing modern technology.”
“Not that amazing—”
“Anyway.” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Maybe it’s a good thing. Because would they actually have that many cakes?” I appeal to Ant. “Six is a lot for two people. You don’t want them to look greedy, do you? You don’t want the audience thinking, No wonder Lady Violet needs a corset, if she’s eating all these cakes—”
“Enough!” Ant flips out. “Get these girls off my set!” He glares at Don. “I don’t care who they are, they’re banned.”
Banned? Suze and I exchange shocked looks.
“But we’re going to be extras!” says Suze in dismay.
“I’m really sorry we disturbed you,” I say hastily. “I didn’t mean to eat the cake. I won’t eat anything else.”
“Ant, listen a moment,” Don says soothingly. He hurries over and starts murmuring in Ant’s ear.
I can see Ant shooting us baleful looks, but at last he puffs angrily and says, “Fine. Whatever. I need to get going.”
I’m holding my breath as Don returns to us and firmly ushers us away from the set.
“Can we still be extras?” demands Suze anxiously.
“Of course!” he says, smiling tensely. “No problem. Let’s just get you to wardrobe and then … well. What I would recommend is that in the upcoming scene you take more of a backseat role.”
“You mean, don’t talk to the director,” says Suze. “And don’t eat the props.”
“That kind of thing.” He nods.
“Hear that, Bex?” Suze nudges me. “No scoffing the set.”
OK, I’m going to make amends. I’m going to be really quiet and unobtrusive on set. Or at least as unobtrusive as I can be, bearing in mind I’m in a curly red wig, blackened teeth, a hoop skirt, and a laced bodice, which makes my boobs look … well, “prominent” would be one word. “Ridiculous” would be another.
My makeup was slapped on in about five seconds by a girl listening to an iPod, but, still, I’m transformed! I look dirty, grimy, wrinkled, and kind of scary. As for Suze, she looks like an old crone. She’s got a black matted wig and some kind of tooth plate, which changes the shape of her mouth, and warts all over her hands. She’s walking around with a limp and, honestly, she looks just like a pirate. I’m not doing a limp, but I think I might do a little palsied shake in my hands. Or a twitch. A very subtle one.
