On Bended Knee

Chapter 6

She stared at the sickening creature that looked back at her with bloodshot eyes. Its skin was a slimy green with a deep gash under one eye and a flap of decaying skin dangling from the other cheek.

"I love it!" she squealed to her reflection in the mirror. "I can't believe it's really me. I look absolutely disgusting. You really are the best, Miranda," she said to the make-up artist who was examining her work with a critical eye.

"That's sweet of you to say, Lucy. But I'm really just a low-ranking grunt in this business. Chances are, you'll never see most of this detail in the film."

"I don't care. I'm having so much fun! I can't wait to put on the dress they chose for me this morning. And this hair? I have got to learn how to put it up in this style. Take a picture with me," she insisted.

Miranda obliged, sticking her grinning face close to Lucy's for a photo.

Lucy was babbling with excitement, she suspected, but just now, she didn't care. She was on the set of a movie that would actually make it to theaters across the country, she had the best Hallowe'en costume ever, and she was getting to hang out with Frederick. Never mind that she might end up on the cutting room floor, or that or that Hallowe'en wasn't for months, or that she'd likely only see Frederick from a distance. Nothing was going to ruin this good mood.

"Zombies, follow me for zombie boot camp!" hollered the short, balding man who was her boss for the day.

He took Lucy and the other couple dozen extras out to a large, sunny field and gave them a crash course in zombie anatomy and movements ("your muscles are mushy, your spines are twisting, and your faces are floppy" was his mantra). She stumbled and shuffled along with her fellow zombie-kind until he was satisfied that they knew the difference between a zombie's rolling amble and a mummy's stiff-armed march. She was pleased to master the basics pretty quickly. The only criticism she got was to 'quit smiling.'

After boot camp, she emerged from wardrobe, now decked in a filthy pink muslin gown with a delicate lace trim hanging in pathetic tatters, and high leather boots covered with fake, hard acrylic mud when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see Frederick looking positively drool-worthy. He walked towards her wearing almost the exact outfit she had imagined him wearing when he first told her about the movie he was shooting: tight, white pants, tall riding boots, and a double-breasted black coat with brass buttons and velvet trim. He carried a top hat under one arm and a sheathed sword under the other with as much ease as if he wore this every day.

"Lucy, you look terrible, darling," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Aw, you always say the sweetest things," she said, her goofy grin spreading across her face again. "Can you get over this dress?" she said, giving a little spin. "This might just be the prettiest thing I've ever worn, dirt and all."

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?"

"So much! Thanks again for getting me in as an extra. I thought I'd just be hanging around in the background trying not to cough when the camera was rolling and stuff."

"There's still plenty of waiting around in store today, I'm afraid," he said, idly swinging his sword.

"I don't mind one bit. All the people I've met have been fantastic. And they're feeding us! You know, a table of cold cuts and stuff, not brains. Talk about a lack of authenticity."

Frederick laughed out loud at that and she grinned even wider. His smile became tender as he leaned in and grazed a nasty glob at the corner of her mouth with the back of a knuckle. "If you smile any wider, your ooze is going to fall off," he murmured.