“Actual Size”
by CONRAD ROMO

I lied and for my sin I was rewarded with a half days work in a Mexican Western. The film was called Rio de Oro.  Right before the director yelled action he said to me, “don’t fuck up! ”  

   I lied about everything on my resume to get this job. I said I rode horses, that I was a golden gloves boxer, that I spoke Spanish fluently and it was these lies and a little scene that I did on public access tv playing a Puerto Rican steambath attendant, that got the attention of the casting director and led to her call. She asked if I was interested in a part in a film and then asked how’s your Spanish? She then began speaking in Spanish.  I asked her to slow down and told her that I understood most of what she said, and she responded by hanging up on me. A couple of minutes later she called back offering a tiny non speaking part. I asked if they could pay me at the end of the day and she agreed.

     I had one scene in a shoot-out. I was supposed to duck a couple of shots and fire back, then  run towards a corral fence and over it as I charged ahead firing a rifle until the director gave me the signal to die. It was a low budget film and scenes had to be done in one take. They didn’t have exploding squibs with packets of fake blood to simulate bullet wounds, but the illusion could work with a little bit of acting. I hit my marks alright but, was so concerned about not fucking up that I just forgot to act. And when I was supposedly shot I just dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I didn’t writhe in pain and kick my feet or anything. I just plopped to the ground and caused a little cloud of dust. After “cut!” was called and I got up, no one said a thing to me or made eye contact. Next film, I told myself, I’ll do better. At least my work was done and I could go home to reflect on the lessons learned. Only, before I could get my pay someone from wardrobe asked if they could borrow my pants. For continuity sake one of the characters in the next couple of scenes needed to be wearing something like my black pants and he and I were about the same size and wardrobe had fucked up, so that’s how my pants got to act their ass off while I waited for them and my pay. That was it for my acting career until Hollywood came calling about 15 years later.

          I used to rent a couple of offices from Mr. Pink right next to his hotdog stand on La Brea. And one day I ran into a friend, Chris Paine, who was working as production assistant to Michael Tolkin, who was about to direct his first feature.  He was riding on the success of having written The Player, which was a movie about the industry of Hollywood. Robert Altman directed that one. This new film was to be called The New Age.

   Chris and I exchanged a lot of quick hellos back then, but one day over a chili dog he asked if I’d like to read the script. He thought I’d get a kick out of it as there were a number of scenes dealing with phone solicitation.
 “You can maybe even offer some valuable insight,” he said.  He knew damned well that I made a pretty good living selling stuff over the phone.  Stuff of all kinds like office supplies, tax shelters, and chimney cleaning to name a few.

  Chris wasn’t coming right out and asking, perhaps out of pride, but I assumed the script might need a little doctoring. Maybe I could help straighten these guys out, I thought

     “Sure,” I said. “I’d take a look at the script.”

A couple of days later I told him what I thought worked and didn’t. He was impressed. He told me that I saw some things that never occurred to him. Of course I did, I said to myself.

     He asked if I’d like to be in the film. What he was offering actually, was only some extra work. It would be fun, he said. And I’d get at least $80 a day. I was pulling in a lot better than that, but the idea of being in a scene where I was a guy in a boiler room was just too perfect. The shoot was happening in a high rise office tower on Wilshire near the tarpits. I arrived 15 minutes early, grabbed a cup of coffee and relaxed in an empty “directors” chair.  I had barely settled and taken a sip when I heard.

“Hey pal you’re gonna be sorry if you don’t move out of my chair!”

   Apparently this professional extra had brought his very own. He was serious about his craft.

 “Relax, I didn’t know.” I said, gathered my stuff and walked away to let this pass.  I finished my coffee quickly and checked in with wardrobe.

      They handed me a pair of khakis and a Pendelton.

   “Are you serious?” I asked, hoping they weren’t.

     “Yes,” they assured me and thanked me to change my clothes. I half-expected them to ask what color bandana I wanted to complete my gang-banger attire. I felt like telling them to fuck themselves and walking, I mean what kind of racial stereo typing is this? But I thought of Chris, and knew that he needed me, so I cooled it and changed.

    Eventually all the extras were led onto the set that resembled a real deal “boiler room”. It looked like the sort of place where I cut my teeth and grew up learning the art of the scam. We were told to spread out and take a cubicle. The set designer had sales scripts thumb-tacked to the walls at eye level right over the phones.  Each work station had objection handling sheets, cross street directories, order forms, pens, pads, a coffee cup and looked ready for business.

    Near the Mr. Coffee machines with a cup in hand was Samuel L. Jackson. He was playing the sales manager and was working himself up for his big scene, pacing back and forth. If he only knew that I was a mercenary and had worked phone rooms from San Diego to Anchorage. I could draw blood with the best and show him a thing or two. Just then Tolkin showed up on the set. I wondered what my pal Chris had said to him about me? I’d met Tolkin at least twice through Chris at their office. I’m sure he recognized me. My very presence added an element of authenticity to the set.   He’d appreciate Chris for having me there so that I could be available as an unofficial technical advisor. While waiting I took it upon myself to touch up the bogus sales pitch on the wall. I resisted walking over to Samuel L. and telling him a story or two about life on the phone and then show him the newly revamped pitch of mine. He’d size me up and give me a nod that meant, “you the man!”  

    
   I had positioned myself centrally in the room. I noticed Tolkin talking to someone with a clipboard and they both looked at me while in conversation. Sure enough, his underling came over to me as I had anticipated, I readied myself to join the director for a pow-wow, but instead was asked if I wouldn’t mind trading places with the jerk with the chair that I’d had the run in with earlier. “Sure why not?” I said and moved and stewed.

    Mercifully noon rolled around and we were given a half hour break. I decided to pay a quick visit to a friend’s office a couple of floors below. Wasso was a show-biz publicist and he’d seen just about everything in his day so he’d be able to commiserate. As I rode the crowded elevator I was deep in thought. The fools, using me in the background! A throwaway, a mere extra, when if they had just been nice I could have really helped.

    A woman that I didn’t recognize faced me and said, “what did you think Conrad, that they were gonna make you the star of the movie?!”  My jaw dropped and I felt as if I’d been exposed.  Who the hell was she and how did she get inside my head! I thought and felt all this in a matter of seconds as she looked right through me. I started to stammer when from behind me another Conrad, the Conrad that she knew and was teasing, said, “naaaah not really.”  I turned to see a young black kid in the corner of the elevator smiling sheepishly. A moment later the doors opened to the floor of Wasso’s office and I felt like I had dodged a bullet.  

     I got back to the set a short while later and stayed for the rest of the day. Later that year the movie had a brief run in a few art house theatres. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t that good either. I think the box office receipts would indicate that it was a flop. Who knows, maybe they could’ve taken advantage of what I had to offer and come away with a better film. But then again, even my old black pants from Rio de Oro may not have been enough to make a difference.