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Part 2

The saga continues…

By the end of April, I’d still heard nothing from the 007 folks. Decisions had to be made about my travel plans to return home, and to be honest, the weather was killing me. Having grown up in the southwestern desert of the US, six months of gray skies and snow in April were getting me down. Finally, at the beginning of May, I decided: to hell with it. It wasn’t meant to be.

I booked a flight home on the 25th of May and told my landlord I’d be moving out. Booking the flight wasn’t as easy as it sounds; my former employer was paying a fixed amount for the flight home (as per our contract), so the cheaper I got the ticket, the less I had to pay.

Naturally, the day after I reserved my flight, the phone rang.

“Hello?”
A woman’s voice, with a pronounced (but very charming) Czech accent.
“Mr. McIver?”
“Yes…”
“This is Zuzana with Extra Films in Prague. Are you still available for the James Bond film?”
I hesitated for all of a nanosecond. To hell with the ticket. “Yes, I am.”
“Excellent. We have scheduled you for ten days’ work, May 17 to May 27.”
Ten days! I was hoping for one! Woo-hoo!
With a Herculean effort, I controlled my voice. “That will be fine,” I said.
“You will play a gangster,” she said.
I sighed. Years ago, I’d lived in L.A., and done a lot of extra work. With my long, hawkish face, I was always the bad guy. Ah, well. They also serve who never get the girl.
“Great,” I said. “No problem.”
“Can you come to Karlovy Vary tomorrow for a wardrobe fitting?”
“Certainly.” Hell yes, I thought. I can go to London, if necessary!

“Fantastic,” she said. “Do you have any elegant clothes?”
I said I did.
“Please bring them, and the wardrobe people will make the decision if you will wear them. If not, they will provide you with clothes.”

Zuzana told me when to show up, and we rang off. One minute later I called my best friend in the Czech Republic.

“Prosim?”
“Hey, Lada!”
“Hello, Grant.”
“Guess who’s in the next James Bond movie?”
“Really?”
“Of course,” I said smugly. “They recognize talent when they see it.”
“Sure,” he said. “They must need a dead body.”

The Czechs are no strangers to irony. “Very funny,” I said. “You can forget about any free movie passes from me.”

The next day I was back in Karlovy Vary at the Hotel Pupp (pronounced, ‘Poop’). I lugged my garment bag for nearly two miles from the bus stop to the hotel (I hadn’t figured out the local bus lines yet), and when I got there I was startled and pleased to see that the name on the hotel had been changed to “Hotel Splendide.” Cool. Carpenters were constructing awnings to cover existing signs, and electricians were building huge scaffoldings for outdoor arc lights.

But the reality of it hit me when I passed the tiny VIP parking lot in front of the hotel. Parked front and center, crouched like a beast of prey, was a silver Aston Martin. I’m here, I thought. I’m really going to be in a James Bond movie! Later, one of the crew told me that the car I’d seen was provided by Aston Martin for Daniel Craig’s personal use. Another benefit of “being” Bond, apparently.

I checked in and received a small pass and an ID number identifying me as an extra. I was shown into a huge ballroom which had been taken over by the wardrobe department. To the right were a few dozen long racks of clothes—everything from police uniforms to evening gowns. The rest of the space had been divided into halves, forming the mens’ and womens’ dressing areas. Above, a wraparound balcony had been converted into the makeup department, and several dozen tables had been set up for the extras to use.

I presented my pass to a young guy sitting at a table near the door. When he spoke, I realized that he was one of the English crew members.
“You’re here for a wardrobe fitting?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” He called to a woman across the room, Jane, the assistant wardrobe designer. She came up and eyed me critically.
“Okay, who are you?” she asked.
“They told me I was a gangster.”
“All right,” she said. “Let’s see what you brought.”

We opened the garment bag and riffled through my clothes. She held up my dark grey suit. “This is nice,” she said. She sorted through some more, and pulled out a grey shirt. “And I like this, I think.” A glance at the sleeves. “Oh, French cuffs. Do you have cufflinks?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” A look at my tie selection. “A little on the conservative side,” she said. She went over to the rack and returned with a dark maroon tie woven so that when it caught the light, the color shifted from red to black. “Let’s try this.”

A few minutes later I presented myself for inspection.

“You look good,” she said. I tried not to blush. “Do you have an overcoat?”
“Sorry, no.” I felt an explanation was needed. “I’m from Arizona.”
She nodded, smiling. “Not much call for them there, is there?”
“Maybe one day a year.”
She laughed, then said, “Well, let’s see what we have. I have to tell you, if I see any more black leather, I’m going to scream.” I tried to look sympathetic.

After trying to find something in my size, she finally gave up and pulled out a black leather overcoat.
“Oh well,” she said. “We’ll just assume you’re a gangster who’s not into cutting-edge fashion.”
I pulled on the coat and she stepped back again and gave me the once-over. “I like it,” she said.

I looked over at Joe, the young English guy at the table. “What do you think?” I asked. “Do I look like I could tear your lungs out?”
He smiled and flashed me a thumbs up.

I took off the coat and my suit and handed them to one of Jane’s assistants, who checked my ID number, then hung everything up on a hanger with the matching number in the dressing area.

Jane said, “Now let’s see about evening wear.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure we have anything in your size,” she said. “You didn’t happen to bring a tux, did you?” she asked, clearly expecting a negative answer.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I said.
Her face lit up. “Really?”

(A brief digression: When I’d quit the teaching job and started the new job, I’d flown home for a combination of business and pleasure. Upon returning, I’d brought a lot more clothes, so I could be ready for any eventuality in my new job. I had looked at my tuxedo long and hard, and finally decided to toss it in the suitcase. This decision proved to be one of the more intelligent ones I’d made lately).

Five minutes later I again presented myself for inspection. My pre-tied bowtie was rejected, and her assistant returned with a “real” one. She stood on tiptoes to tie it for me, then stepped back to let her boss pass judgment.
“Perfect,” Jane said.
I grinned. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I said.
She grinned back. “Okay, give those clothes to Marta and put your street clothes back on. Go out and see Jiri and he’ll tell you when your call time is.” She turned to the next person in line. “Okay then, who are you?”

When I’d disrobed again and the assistant had hung up my tux, I dressed in my jeans and leather jacket and went out to check on my call times. As I passed Joe, I said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, mate.”
“Does the fact that I’m really excited about this mean I’m immature? Seriously, I feel like I’m ten years old again.”
His answer warmed my heart. “Of course not,” he said. “I mean, it’s a Bond film, innit?”
“Just what I was thinking,” I said.

Jiri was a smiling, good-humored production assistant of about thirty. A member of the Czech crew, his English was excellent. Later, when filming started, it seemed he was always surrounded by people asking him questions, or was striding purposefully somewhere with his head cocked down on his shoulder, speaking into his walkie-talkie microphone. Today he was relaxed. He looked up my name on a sheet, then wrote a series of dates on the back of my pass.

“These are your shooting days,” he said. “The first two you must be here at 6:00 a.m., and you will finish at about five or six in the evening. The rest are night shoots. You must be here at 17:00, and you will finish about six in the morning. Is this okay?”

“No problem.”
“Good. I’ll see you in a week.”
“Okay. Thanks!”

I headed back to the bus station, walking on air.

Checking the bus schedules that night, my euphoria evaporated. Oh no! The earliest bus didn’t arrive in Karlovy Vary from Sokolov until 6:00 a.m., and I had a 30 min. hike after that! Unless I found another way to get there, I’d be late my first day! Would I get fired? Relegated to “extra hell?” Damn…

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