I was a fanatic. A maniac. A fangirl of LOTR going all the way.
I was a fool. Or at least that was what my dad had told me in no uncertain terms, when I had sprung my news on him.
“How can you spend all you money going to New Zealand of all places? How can you even consider spending all your savings just to be an extra in some stupid movies?” He had yelled at me, his face flushing with anger. “You should spend your summer working, or at least studying for your exams!” I had shrugged and told him it was my money and my summer.
My mother was enthused at my plan. She always is, not matter what I tell her. If I told her I had married a green skinned alien from Mars, she would only say “How perfectly lovely”.
When I told her that I had been successful in getting the permission to be a tiny extra in a real movie, she had gone and told her women friends that her daughter was an actress.
I groaned at the memory. I should have known better and not told her anything at all.
Oh, was I happy, oh, was I happy!
I was dancing along the streets of Wellington.
I had been promoted today. And Peter Jackson had actually smiled at me.
The horrible stomach disease, which had almost prevented me from coming to New Zealand, had really been worth the pain. Vomiting and sh… for almost three weeks in a row and an inability to keep anything down on a plane had made me loose fifteen pounds.
I was thinner than I had ever been before in my life, usually being more on the hobbit side of things. And as I was quite tall, I had been promoted today.
And guess what, with that promotion came the loveliest pair of pointy ears and the most beautiful Bordeaux coloured dress I had ever seen.
I had been made an elf of Rivendell today.
This called for some major celebrations!
I felt as if I was floating in the air, not walking on the ground.
Me, clumsy, stupid me – an elf!
I had been out to dinner with some of the other extras, but they had decided to turn in early, as the next shots with us were scheduled early the next morning.
But I just could not go to bed right now.
I felt exhilarated beyond anything I had felt ever before.
I decided to have a look at a pub I had hear the others talking about. It was supposed to be “the thing” around here.
It turned out to be crowded pub of small rooms set one behind the other at curious angles, almost like a hobbit hole. It was dark and smoky, and an Irish pub… or at least they served cider and Guinness.
At the bar were some of the crew, who recognized me and invited me over. I guess that almost every inhabitant of New Zealand was somehow involved in the movies.
Soon I was sipping happily at my cider and laughing at the jokes of one of the computer people from Weta.
It was wonderful to be alive.
The evening drifted by, and suddenly I noticed that I was sitting on my own, smiling into my glass of cider. I looked at my watch. I really should call it a day… I had to get ready again in only a few hours.
“May I join you?” A dark voice asked. I looked up in surprise. A young man was standing in the shadows next to me, smiling at me, grey eyes glittering in the dim light. He had long dark hair and a sensual mouth. He was… there was no other word for it… he was beautiful! Probably an actor. “Sure,” I said, my heart beating faster.
He slid onto the stool on my right. “How is it possible that such a lovely lady is all by herself?”
I shrugged and smiled at him. “I was here with a group, but all of them are working on the movies and have to get up early, so they left. As I should, too, actually.”
But I let myself be talked into another glass of cider, getting rather giggly with it, too.
He was very nice, funny and friendly and… did I mention he was beautiful?
He was laughing at a joke I had made and throwing back his hair, when I saw them.
I grinned broadly. “So you’re in the movies, too.” I said. “Are you a real actor? Or an extra?”
He raised his slanted dark eyebrows at me, grinning slightly. “How did you know I was in the movies?”
At that I could not suppress my laughter anymore and giggled uncontrollably.
“Because," I gasped, “Because you have forgotten to take off your ears!”
And off I was again, when you are drunk, everything is hilarious, and forgotten artificial ears are funny even when you are sober.
“Ears?” he asked, a look of confusion on his face.
“Ears!” I howled with laughter and caught the tip of his right ear in my fingers.
I pulled at it, hard, intending to present him with the forgotten piece of silicone and asking whether I might keep it as a souvenir.
It did not come off.
The beautiful stranger yelped with pain.
I sat there with my mouth hanging open, staring at a pointy ear, which had turned quite red from being pulled.
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