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I thought the interview was going well. In my hands all I held was a tiny fragment of bone, but I’d put together an amazing, and possibly even true, story about how that piece of collar bone had ended up inside the wine bottle, down in the recently excavated cellars of the old duke. I’d just got to the part about the servant girl, when Richard, the director, slammed his clipboard down on the table and yelled, "Oh for fuck’s sake !" "Cut," said one of the crew. "What ?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "Your hands, Geraldine," seethed Richard, as the smoke poured from his ears, "Look at your bloody hands !" "What ?" I repeated, staring blindly at my palms. He snatched up my hands and roughly twisted them over. "Look at the state of them !" he yelled, his nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge. "Well what do you expect, I’m an archaeologist, not a bloody television presenter, " I protested, pulling my hands away. "It’s not the mud that I object to, " said Richard in a quiet, strained voice, "It’s the bloody great cuts on your knuckles. You look like some sort of Neanderthal !" I looked down again at the back of my hands. He was right, I’d grazed the knuckles of my left hand, probably whilst I was struggling with that big rock that none of the blokes had bothered to come and help me with. I hadn’t even noticed the cuts until now. It’s just something that comes with the job. You get used to it. I shrugged. "Well ?" Richard demanded. "Well what ?" I demanded back. "There’s nothing I can do about it now, is there ?" "Well what are people going to think ? A woman with bleeding hands on the telly ? It’s, it’s obscene, that’s what it is. Obscene !" He slumped back into the grubby director’s chair, anger giving way to resignation. "Now who’s the Neanderthal, you sexist git !" I laughed. "Okay, let’s do the shot again, " said Richard, "But try to keep your wounds out of the picture, will you ? Time Team goes out at tea time on a Sunday you know." "Maybe we could get a body double for my hands, " I suggested, "There’s bound to be some dolly bird with perfect nails somewhere nearby." I looked around and gave the crew a wink. "Don’t tempt me – or I’ll get a body double for that smart mouth of yours while I’m at it !" said Richard, but the temper had gone from him. "Okay, Slave Girl Bone In Jar Scene, take two. And, action !"
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© Scarlet 2002
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I wrote this piece as an assignment in a creative writing course. It was focused on dialogue and had to be brief. I was inspired by seeing a female archaeologist on the telly with cuts on her hands. It was fascinating, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.
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