Foreshadowing

“Cut!” the director shouted for the fifteenth time. Nancy made a new mark on her notepad. A gang of Extras had spent the morning waiting on their hard folding chairs, most too sleepy to make conversation. Writing down each command had given Nancy's mind a purpose, though that purpose was meaningless. The moment she had forced herself from bed in the dark that morning now felt like it was months behind her. And yet there was more daylight ahead.

The gaffers, best boys, the runners, the lighting team, the script girl, the caterer, hair and makeup, the director and her loyal assistant looked as freshly showered and eager as they had when they arrived. They camped by the caterer’s table set with steaming Starbucks coffee boxes and aluminum trays of assorted bagels, lox and cream cheese. The Extras had their food station, but Nancy Jackson (i.e., Extra Player #11) could hear the crew at their bagel-laden table laughing at amusing stories of past shoots. 

The few people at the Extras station who spoke kept their voices low and soft. 

If Nancy didn’t stay standing and pace around every few minutes, her eyes began to close involuntarily. Like a large friendly dog, a gentle and determined force kept nudging her toward the old tufted leather couch where she could easily sleep for the rest of the day. The couch was off-limits to the Extras, or she’d been told. They’d been waiting for hours while the stars read their lines and acted.

Carmen Luna-Delgado, their confident, up-and-coming director, had studied and made notes on her script for Apmedifar, the new diabetes breakthrough drug we would all be talking about soon.

Her low-budget film had been shown just a month ago at Sundance to encouraging reviews. That alone produced a halo of golden light around her. Even as she directed a commercial.

Nancy had tried out for one of the principal roles in the Ampmedifar spot but wasn’t among the chosen. The Casting Director did say she would be considered for the big party scene. Background only. Nancy felt a pinch of resentment but talked herself down by reminding herself she was lucky she’d made it that far.

“Tired?” a young Asian guy with dyed blond hair surfaced next to her.

She hesitated for a few too many seconds. You just never know how admitting to human frailty can bite you in this business. Then she smiled at herself. In this business? This was her second job. She barely qualified to call herself in this business.

“Falling asleep,” she admitted. 

He nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Me too. I read that sitting still for more than an hour is stressful on the mind and body.”

“Oh, that’s good news,” she laughed, feeling the initial thrill of being hired for her lowly position drain away. “For some reason, I thought we were moving on to the rooftop scene sometime in the last century.”

“That’s next” he pretended to answer cheerily.

#

“Testing, testing, one, two, three, testing,” Red, the freckle-faced AD, remarked into his bullhorn. “Would all the extras please join me up top on the roof. All of you, ladies and gentlemen, upstairs. Please.”

Looping wires of Christmas lights hung above a battered wooden plank that had been laid down by the crew. The chosen stars would dance under the lights, surrounded by anonymous Extras who would only move, not dance, as they were told. Up on the roof, the sun was lower in the sky but the air was still a toasty 85 degrees.

Nancy congratulated herself for wearing her strapless spangly top and her designer jeans, accented with black patent leather high heels. Her lips were deep red and her hair strategically fell in all the right places. She was possibly too thin for the ad’s demographic, but she hoped her charm might override that detail and she would ultimately be upgraded to principal status 

A long forty-five minutes later, Red appeared in the center of the floor wearing a headset. He waved his arms above his head and swiveled his hips in an awkward circular motion. “Let’s jump!” he shouted. But there was no music, just the sound of rush hour traffic a few stories below them.

An invisible hand pushed a button and “Boogie Wonderland” – a song Nancy hadn’t heard since she was nine years old – came through two plinky speakers. Someone let out a whoop and the group swept as one onto the dance floor. Red shouted “Look happy! look healthy! you’re having the time of your life!” Nancy grinned mindlessly at anyone who came into range, raised her arms, then swirled away toward another partner.

As soon as she crashed into her new friend, the blond Asian man, he wrapped his arms around her and managed to keep the two of them upright. Soon they were furiously swing dancing, like professionals in a competition. Nancy had a vision of Dick Clark’s Dance Party from the time her mom had pulled it up on YouTube. All the right steps came to her. Red looked at them suspiciously. 

Her partner was genuinely beaming at her, or seemed to be. Nancy couldn’t tell if he was acting or if he meant it. The lights and the room itself streaked around her.

Nancy’s ears were ringing and she felt a little seasick. The room tilted. Her new friend threw an arm around her just as her left knee buckled. “Whoa, steady partner,” he breathed into her ear. “Don’t leave me now.”

Red barked into his megaphone over the music “One more time! And no real dancing!” The speakers crackled.

“What’s your name? And why are you saving my life?” Nancy shrieked, not insincerely, in her savior’s direction.

“Ming,” he said. “As in Dynasty. And why shouldn't I save your life?”

The music track slid into “Disco Inferno.” Some of the Extras started singing “burn baby burn.” until Red put a stop to it. Copyright issues. The light outside was a smoggy orange now, casting a witchy spell over the crowd. Nancy had lost Ming for the moment. But the day was coming to a close, she just knew it.

At last Red called “Cut!” Everyone was breathing hard and sweating. Two make-up artists swept in to pat them down. But within seconds the music started again. And again the crowd swayed. Ming was moving toward Nancy just as her peripheral vision darkened, causing her to skid into a tall woman in a mini-skirt and Afro. This time she felt the urge to crumple like a abandoned marionette, her bones clattering to the floor, her consciousness extinct.

#

When Nancy rejoined the world of the living, she was lying on the floor trying to focus on Red, who looked back at her searchingly. Ming was there too. She could remember their names and what she’d been doing up until that moment. The more she knew, the more her confidence grew. This is the real me she thought. This is the real, sloppy, human me. She was proud and forgave her collapse. She had exposed herself to everyone, the classically hopeful young woman who thought she could become a movie star someday.

Red was wordlessly mouthing questions, but when Ming put his hand behind her back and helped her sit up, Nancy’s hearing came back with a loud pop. She was fine, more than fine, and now she could see her future so clearly. Another commercial or two, a role on a Netflix streaming series, the part of the best friend in an indie film, a few good reviews, and, finally, a starring role in a box office hit of her own.

Her fame wouldn’t last forever. She knew that too. But as she sat on the hard floor, like a spoiled child, her legs straight out in front of her, she was dazzled by her brilliant life to come. She heard a few voices in the group murmur encouragement, urging her to stand, breathe. Ming took both her hands in his and pulled her heavenward to stand in her bare feet, her heels nowhere now. Nancy believed it was in those few seconds of oblivion as she lay senseless on the dirty dance floor that her stardom had been made real and inescapable.