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I'm a writer by trade, but when the chance came to become an extra on a new TV show, I jumped at it. 

Because I didn't have an agent, and my acting resume could fit on the head of a grasshopper, it didn't hurt that the pilot's first assistant director happened to be a good friend. Propelled by the encouragement, my thespian partner, Gary Cohen - who's usually an optician - and I signed up as extras for "South Beach," the latest series from Dick Wolf ("Law & Order," "Crime & Punishment"). The two-hour pilot airs Sunday night at 9 on WNBC / 4, before moving into its regular time slot, Tuesday at 9 p.m. 

For the fifty bucks a day offered we swore we'd work anytime, anywhere and as any kind of extra. We wanted to be on television, even if we ended up as blurs in a crowd scene. 

"South Beach" - set in the trendy Miami Beach neighborhood - is loosely based on the French cult film "La Femme Nikita." But that movie's heroin-addicted murderess-turned-government assassin wouldn't be a good TV role model, so a few changes were made. Kate Patrick (Yancy Butler) is a con artist with a past who gets recruited to work undercover for a shadowy government agent named Roberts (John Glover). The other leads are Roxanne (Patti D'Arbanville), Kate's pal, who runs an Ocean Drive deco hotel, and Caesar (Tony Guzman), Roberts' Latin comrade-in-arms. 

Because a producer liked the Polaroid I had submitted to the casting company, I became one of six shadowy figures known as "Roberts' men." They, like Kate, had been caught committing a crime or had tarnished pasts. They were given a choice - go to jail or work for Roberts. In the pilot and the subsequent episodes, the six Roberts men were always there in the background, lurking, arresting, typing, carrying top-secret folders. 

Our first call was on a chilly Friday, March 5, at 8:30 p.m. I remember the date, because I'd framed my "extra talent voucher" figuring it was our only time on the set. The location was a bridge in downtown Miami - not a very safe area, especially at that hour. I was apprehensive about being on the set, meeting new people, seeing celebrities and not having any idea of what I was to do. The principals, even extras with a speaking line or two, had scripts and prepared for the scene. The producers just told us we were "Roberts' men," to dress casually and show up. 

At the time I had no idea how many Roberts' men there were, what they did or what they looked like.

After arriving I went to the wardrobe designer, who, to my surprise, loved my look: a Pete Rock / C.L. Smooth baseball cap, black jacket, T-shirt, jeans and red sneakers. Next, the prop guys gave us guns and holsters (realistic looking plastic .38s) and put Gary and me in an unmarked police car. It had been completely stripped, bucket seats up front, no seats in back and no door or window knobs. 

Then somebody told us to park at the foot of the draw bridge and, when given the cue, speed up behind a Land Rover, screech to a halt and bolt out, guns drawn, and arrest everybody. 

After a few rehearsals, a couple of Miami cops who were assigned to keep the area safe, approached me. They taught me about "jump-out cops" and the correct procedure on how to kick the door open, with revolver in hand, and exit a moving car. And after a few more rehearsals, we learned the proper stance and attitude in making an arrest, and even who it was we were arresting. 

For another scene about an hour later, the director, David Carson, asked the show's stunt coordinator, Artie Malesci, to drive the deathmobile instead of Gary. So with Artie at the wheel, Gary jammed between us, and James Givens, another one of Roberts' men, behind him, we took off. Artie revved up the motor, took the turn at 50 on two wheels, and came to a dead halt inches from the Rover. Everybody barreled out of one door, shaking, and running up to help Roberts and Caesar arrest the Russians. Carson, a perfectionist, had Artie do that 10 second chase at least 15 times more. Each time I gripped the door frame so hard my fingerprints are probably still there. I was beyond saying novenas; I just had to tell myself that Artie knew what he was doing, and we weren't going to end up in the Miami River. 

The worst part, however, about being on any set is the "hurry up and wait" syndrome. It's no one's fault, really - there are a lot of people working at breakneck speed with heavy and delicate equipment. While the crew sets up the next shot, the creative team is restructuring that same shot another way. It's a vicious cycle of patience and tolerance. 

Yet, that first night, it was exciting, even though we were there for more than 10 hours. We got to meet Glover, who immediately made us feel comfortable and important. He'd tell anyone, "These are my men," and I'm sure he had a hand in keeping us on as regulars. 

After acting as a stand-in for another character, I hung around that bridge until 6:30 a.m., without being used again. I figured this was my only shot. 

I was wrong. A week and a half later we had an 8:30 a.m. call at a new location, the deserted Sears building on Biscayne Boulevard, which looked from the outside like the set of "Escape From New York." The inside looked worse. 

Things were looking better for us, though. There were six Roberts' men now: Gary, James, myself, Ming Tran, a stockbroker who moonlighted as a waiter, Juan Miguel, a tall, skinny aspiring actor, and Felix Cordova, a pony tailed Latin Belushi type. We had our own trailers, three men in each, with "Roberts' Men" on the door. During the long hours of waiting, and as relief from the burning sun, those trailers became home.

The first floor of the building had been made into Roberts' headquarters: a holding room, our offices, a firing range and Roberts' own area with fish tanks, his desk and world maps that glowed from colored lights strategically placed behind them. 

We were at that set for three days that week and one day the next. We were in every scene shot in Roberts' headquarters for the pilot. We all had our own desks, portable phones, files, typewriters, and on my desk sat a sophisticated, expensive PC. Someone had come up with the idea of making me the computer whiz of the Roberts' men. Usually I have trouble working a toaster. After having erased valuable programing by accident a few times, they decided to shoot my desk scenes from an angle where it looked like I was busily working on my computer - except the whole system was shut down. 

While Yancy, John, Tony and the guest stars did their scenes in the foreground, we Roberts' men kept busy in the background, moving files and folders from one desk to another, studying maps, practicing at the firing range. After a while I instinctively knew where the camera was located, and tried to make myself seen. 

And the smoke machine was always going. The perfectionist director must have been looking for a Studio 54 aura. Whenever the PAs yelled "Cut," everybody was looking for oxygen. 

When Roberts' men weren't needed, we hung around "the compound," as we tended to call the fenced-in set. Outside, in the real world, homeless winos would cling to the fence and ask for our autographs. Gary sun-bathed, Ming studied The Wall Street Journal, Juan Miguel slept, Felix practiced his martial arts techniques, and James and I played hip-hop tapes. Whenever our "Boss," as we'd come to call Glover, was around, we'd chat, comparing "La Femme Nikita" to the American remake, "Point of No Return," or discussing his outlook on his character and "South Beach." 

And so it went. One or two days a week we'd work. Just as in the "Nikita" movies, we'd get phone calls at any given time to be at the set the next morning at 6. An arrest with FBI extras on Ocean Drive. A stakeout at a pier with the smoke machine at full blast. Another arrest at a marina. 

The sixth and final episode is coming up. Where we'll be or what we'll be doing maybe only the fish know for sure. I do know that what started out as six nondescript extras has evolved into part of the family of "South Beach." Since the first episode the producers have gone out of their way to upscale our whole look. Now we're wearing dark Armani suits with silk shirts and ties, except for James who wears a leather bomber jacket, baggy jeans and a floppy hat. Unfortunately for me, the hair stylist caught me without my baseball cap and gave me a Julius Caesar hairstyle that made me look like a European mad bomber. 

Roberts' men were now being included in the scripts, and we were getting pages with directions in advance. If the show goes to full season, maybe we'll start getting lines. . . maybe an episode where we save Roberts. Hey, I started this gig anticipating a half-second pan during a crowd scene at the Orange Bowl. Now I'm thinking . . . spinoff . . . "Roberts' Men, the Series."