Something Extra

“Tandie, hon?  Yeah, it’s me.  Listen, I think my cover’s blown.”

“Where you at, girlfriend?”

“The middle of fricking nowheresville.  With bugs, bugs bigger than a fucking Greyhound bus, that’s where I am.”

“Take a breath, sweetie, and tell your agent all about it.”

“This guy shows up, driving a Toyota, can you believe that, a Toyota, and he’s supposed to be the male lead and he’s got, like, no clue about dialog.  Keeps talking like some fricking escapee from Sea World.  I can’t understand half of what he’s saying, it’s like this Irish or Scottish something or other.”

“Babe, calm down.  The casting agent said he was the best they could find on short notice.  And besides he had that ‘something extra.’

I could see Tandie doing the finger quote thing.  I hate that, makes my teeth hurt.  I need something for my nerves, the damn buzzing’s driving me bat shit. “Yeah, yeah, that ‘something extra’ is kinda cute in a way.  I’m a sucker for that sort of thing.”

“Well, now, you see, sweetie?  It’s all good.  You can do this thing.”

I’m up for whining now, the itching’s getting to me big time.  “Tandie. Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. NOW.”

“Darling, you know we can’t do that.  Your people talked to his people, they got the Humane Society involved, we have contracts in place.”

“Fuck the contracts.  I’ve got elk hide giving me a rash in places you don’t wanna know about, straw in my cleavage … and let me tell you ‘bout that idiot costume designer who came up with this damn Daisy Mae frilly-fucking-boob-squashing blouse monstrosity and I can hardly breath and if I bend down that damn …”

“Deep cleansing breath, dear.  It will be fine.  I’ll send someone out with some of those special flavors he likes so much.  You keep him happy, you’ll be happy.”

I scratch at a welt on my ass and think about things for a bit.  Tandie might be right.  Maybe I could salvage the cluster fuck this whole David Mamet script had turned into.  Whatever was that man thinking?

“What was he thinking, writing this part that’s got Oscar written all over it and lets that idiot casting agent send us something from the Ninth Level of Hell?”

“He was thinking of you, dearest.  You know how he ‘loves’ your work …” fucking finger quotes again “… and he’s been promising this for your Women’s Institute for a long time.  He crashed and burned on that Broadway play, let’s not aggravate the man any further.”

“Alright, alright.  Send me the next set of pages.  The director, what’s his name again…?”

“Uh, let me look…” papers shuffle and I can hear Tandie taking a drag on her cigarette “… Bill somebody.”

“Bill somebody.  Uh-huh.  And does this yahoo have any credentials?”

“Some academic type, friend of David’s I think.”

Oh, this was just getting better and better.

“Ah, found it!  He’s the editor of The Sub-Transatlantic Review of Applied Sociology.  Gave David one of those nice pity reviews on his blog.”

“Wait.  You mean that award winning one?  What’s that called again?”

More shuffling, keys clicking, Tandie was hitting cyberspace.  “Here it is … ‘Living, writing and other stuff’.”

“Oh shit, I know that one!  I was just reading ‘Dinsdale the Whale’ and thinking that’s what we need to be filming, not this piece of shit David wrote for me and Sea World-man.”

“Why don’t you talk to David and see if he can incorporate some of the Dinsdale stuff into your script?  You’ve already got that…” already I’m cringing “…something extra that’s gonna send it right over the top.”

Sighing, ‘cause I suspect she may have just put her finger on how to salvage this mess, so I acquiesce.

“Enough, Tandie, you convinced me.  Send that flavor box, make it the jumbo-sized one, he’s really cute and I cain’t hardly resist.”  Oh fuck, did I just say ‘cain’t hardly’?

“It’s in the mail, sweetie.  Now go out and do what you do so well.  Ciao, bella.”

I click the cell shut and ponder my options.  Tandie’s right.  That’s why I pay her the big bucks – to keep me on track.  I hear a noise at door #2.  Hoping against hope I ease it open, then smile.  He’s here.

“Come on in, big man.  I have to make another phone call, then you and I can play for a bit.”

I press speed dial and wait impatiently.

“Brad, honey?  Can you feed the kids for me?  I’m stuck here and don’t know when I’m getting home.  Tandie calmed me down and I have my buddy here with me.” I look down and smile indulgently.

“Damn it, Coco, stop humping my leg, I’ve got the Snausages coming special delivery.”

Fuck. My ‘something extra’ just came all over my jeans.








About Nya Rawlyns

Nya Rawlyns doesn’t write typical romance. She writes emotion as a contact sport, rough and often raw. It need not be pleasant, heart-warming or forever after. What she seeks is what lies beneath—a dance of extremes, the intersect of need and desire, and the compromises we make when pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. ***** She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. ***** When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or three pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
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2 Responses to Something Extra

  1. Scarlet Darkwood says:

    Fan-damn-tastic! This one’s a home run!



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