Sheri Cobb South Read Online Free

whisper. “They say she gives her best performances on her back.”
    “On her back?” Frankie echoed, baffled by this seeming impossibility. “But she would have to be lying—oh!” She blushed crimson at the implication.
    “Not that she’s the only one, not by a long shot,” Roxie continued. “Lots of girls figure it’s the fastest way out of Central Casting and into a studio contract.”
    Frankie shook her head. “Not me. I could never do such a thing!”
    “Never say ‘never,’ ” cautioned Kathleen, suddenly solemn. “When the perfect role comes along, some girls figure it’s worth any price. After all, you may not get another shot at stardom. You do what you have to do, or you go home a failure.”
    Or you throw yourself headfirst from the Hollywood sign, like poor Peg Entwhistle had done a few years back. Either way, Frankie couldn’t imagine any role worth such desperate measures. Still, she didn’t want to quarrel with her new friends, so she was relieved, if a bit bewildered, when Roxie steered the conversation in a new direction.
    “So, have you registered with Central Casting yet?”
    “I don’t think so,” Frankie said doubtfully.
    Roxie laughed. “If you don’t know, then you haven’t done it.”
    “Central Casting is the office the studios call when they need to hire extras,” Kathleen explained. “They’re small parts, usually non-speaking, but at least you get acting experience.”
    Frankie tried hard not to let her disappointment show. “I’d hoped to get a contract with one of the big studios.”
    Roxie let out a bark of somewhat bitter laughter. “Don’t we all! Unfortunately, every female in Hollywood has the same thing in mind. Working as an extra may not be glamorous, but it pays the rent. Besides, there’s always the chance you might catch the eye of someone important.”
    “But—”
    “It’s easy to register,” Kathleen added, apparently seeing nothing wrong with this plan for Frankie’s future. “All you have to do is go to the Central Casting office and fill out a form. If you have a recent photograph of yourself, leave it with them. If not, it’s worth the expense of having one professionally made.”
    Photographs, or a lack thereof, were no problem. Mama had taken her to have her photo taken in the full-skirted white chiffon gown Frankie had worn to her debutante ball. She’d worn her grandmother’s pearl earrings, and her hair was pinned up in a sophisticated style. In fact, she’d looked every inch the Hollywood starlet she still hoped to be. But she was reluctant to add her own likeness to the hundreds of anonymous photos at Central Casting without first trying her luck at the major studios. And so the following morning, dressed in a cream-colored linen suit and armed with a map and a bus schedule, she set out to storm the citadel.
    Her first stop was Columbia Pictures, where the receptionist hardly even looked at her. “We get most of our extras through Central Casting,” she said in the world-weary accents of one who had made the same speech more times than she could count. “Fill out a registration card with them, and if anything comes up, we’ll let you know.”
    “Can’t I at least leave my photograph for the casting director?”
    The receptionist smiled regretfully and shook her head. “I’m afraid it would only get lost in all the clutter.”
    Since Frankie could see her own reflection on the surface of the pristine desk, she understood this excuse as the dismissal it was clearly intended to be. She thanked the receptionist politely—Mama’s daughter would do nothing less—but knew better than to hold her breath.
    From Columbia she went to MGM and from MGM to Paramount, with no greater success. She dug a bit deeper into her purse for bus fare and ventured farther afield to Universal and Twentieth Century-Fox, but the story was always the same.
    “Don’t call us,” one industry insider recommended, taking Frankie firmly by the