Rachel Cash

No Small Parts Rachel Cash • Fiction

Burgaw, North Carolina, October 1984

One Friday afternoon in the Pender High School cafeteria, Ron Snyder’s best friend Danny suggested they audition for the Stephen King movie, Silver Bullet, filming in Wilmington and Burgaw.

“It’ll be fun!” Danny said. “If we go to the open audition, we might get cast as extras.”

“I should stay home and study,” Ron said. “I take the SAT in three weeks.”

Danny gave him a look, which prompted Ron to add, “I’ve never failed a test in my life.”

“I know,” Danny said with a sigh. “It’s so pathetic. Listen, we’re seniors. In eight months we graduate and in less than a year you’ll be off at Yale curing polio—”

“Polio’s been cured, Danny.”

“And I’ll be at community college. Don’t you want to do something radical before you leave and forget me forever?”

The two boys had been friends since junior high and not once had Ron gone along with one of Danny’s schemes. However, being an actor was a pipe dream of his.

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Ron loved old movies and dreamed of living in the black and white world of Humphrey Bogart, Gregory Peck, and Jimmy Stewart. Something about movies compelled him and going to the movie theater was his favorite pastime. Ron might have considered a Hollywood career if he wasn’t so shy. The thought of being in a movie like his heroes—even if it was for two seconds— convinced him.

“Fine!” Ron said. “I’ll audition with you.”

“Wicked!” Danny said. “I’ll pick you up at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning. Make sure to bring a Polaroid of yourself to use as a headshot.”

After the open casting call the following day, Danny and Ron left the Cripple Creek Corner Dance Studio with instructions to come to set Monday for a scene.

“We got parts in a movie!” Ron said, beaming.

“We’re extras,” Danny said, opening the driver-side door of his dad’s beat-up station wagon. “We’re hardly movie stars.”

“Still!” Ron said as he buckled his seatbelt. “We’re going to be in a Stephen King production!”

“Mm-hm,” Danny said, speeding away from the curb.

“Why did you even want to audition?” Ron asked. “You don’t seem excited.”

“I am too excited,” Danny said. “Nancy Kowalski said she’d go on a date with me if I became ‘relevant to society,’ whatever that means. She’s not going to believe this.”

Ron ignored Danny and, as “Hungry Like the Wolf” blared over the stereo, he daydreamed of his big break.

He could see it now: Dino De Laurentiis would come to set, see his gripping performance as Townsperson #6, and give him a few lines—maybe he would get promoted to a five-liner.

Perhaps one of the secondary characters would have to pull out of the production last-minute, Ron thought, and I could take their place. Maybe I’d be given a principal role!

Ron imagined a scene with Gary Busey or donning a werewolf costume. His dreams of being a movie star would come true after all—

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“Earth to Ronnie!” Danny snapped his fingers in Ron’s face. “I said, we’ll have to ditch school to film.”

The casting director told Ron and Danny to show up bright and early Monday for the Labor Day Picnic scene at the Pender County Courthouse.

Danny continued, “I know you’ve got to study for your precious SATs—”

“I can miss one day,” Ron interrupted.

“Mr. Never-Failed-A-Test is going to skip school?” Danny said with a laugh. “Hollywood’s changed you.”

Ron was excited for their scene, but the haunting inevitability of failure overwhelmed him. Worry clouded his thoughts and the night before the shoot Ron didn’t sleep well at all. His nightmares showed him being chased by a pack of horrendous beasts—not werewolves, but nasty movie critics.

“Zero stars for Townsperson #6!” disembodied voices taunted.

The critics turned into his acting heroes. Jimmy Stewart hurled insults, Bing Crosby mocked Ron through song, and Fred Astaire tap-danced his disappointments.

Ron didn’t hear his alarm go off after his terrible sleep. He rolled out of bed just as Danny honked the horn of his station wagon.

After a few minutes, Danny banged on the Snyder’s front door and yelled, “C’mon, Ronnie!”

The door flew open, and Ron shoved past Danny. “I know, I know, I’m late!” he said. “Let’s go!”

All Ron had to do was catch a football.

The camera was going to pan over him and Danny for two seconds, and in the span of that time, Danny was going to throw a football for Ron to catch. It was that easy; a simple maneuver, and they could go home for the day.

Unfortunately, Ron wasn’t the athletic type. His pacifism and years-long boycott of football were coming back to bite him. That coupled with three hours of sleep meant he was failing spectacularly.

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“Take Twelve!” a tired-looking assistant said while holding up the clapperboard.

“Focus, Ronnie,” Danny said quietly as they took their places— again.

Ron wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and prayed for a sports miracle.

“Action!” the director shouted.

Danny threw the football in a graceful arc. Ron reached his arms up to catch it, but he got distracted when he heard Jimmy Stewart’s voice in his head say, “Don’t mess up!”

The football hit Ron square in the nose.

“Cut!” the director yelled. “Someone get this kid an icepack— and some talent.”

“It was my fault,” Danny said. “I threw it too hard.”

“You did great,” Ron grumbled as an assistant handed him a frozen bag of peas from the corner store.

The casting director who had given Ron and Danny their parts walked over a few minutes later with a strained smile on her face.

“You two have given us great material,” she said, “but we need to move on and film the next scene.”

“You don’t want us to do another take?” Ron asked. “Maybe this time, I could be the one to throw the football—”

“No!” the casting director and Danny shouted simultaneously.

“You two can head home now,” she said, a slight edge in her voice. Ron started to hand the bag of peas to her and she said, “Keep them.”

They hadn’t even left the field when they heard the director say, “I’m never working in movies again.”

A year later, Ron and Danny decided to go see Silver Bullet in the theater. Danny even brought Nancy Kowalski—his now steady girlfriend—to witness his Hollywood East debut.

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After the opening scene—a gruesome werewolf attack that left the town drunk decapitated—Danny whispered, “It won’t be hard to spot us in the next scene. We’re the clumsy football players.”

Nancy giggled and leaned forward in her seat.

Ron scanned the screen as the picnic began but couldn’t see himself stumbling.

“Hey, who are those clowns?” Danny hissed.

Sure enough, the boys throwing a football back and forth were not Danny and Ron.

“They cut us out of the movie!” Ron said, shocked.

“Daniel Rich, I can’t believe you!” Nancy whispered, glowering at him. “You said you were in a movie! Liar!”

“I am! I swear!” Danny said. “Babe, you’ve got to believe me!”

Nancy threw her popcorn bucket down and stormed out of the theater, Danny right on her heels.

Ron, disappointed, followed them out—he wasn’t interested in watching the subpar horror movie alone.

These Fish Bite • 17