Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (12 page)

“I know,” Damen announced. He walked over to
a motel called the Hollywood Inn, and left Jose and Darell behind
once again. Damen was a type of person that knew what he
wanted—without mentioning it, he knew. Once he saw something that
he wanted, he wouldn’t bother telling anyone, explaining his reason
for going to that thing he wanted; he would just do it.

“Where are you going?” asked Jose.

Damen turned around and faced them, even
though they were across the street. He looked through the expensive
cars, through some people with birds on their shoulders, and
concentrated his sight on Jose and Darell. After he focused,
through this maze of exotic new stuff, he shouted, “I think we
should go and get a room. I’m tired and I know Darell’s tired
too.”

Damen then walked into the motel. “Come on,
we could go out later on tonight and look around. Right now we
should get unpacked and rest a little,” he added, seeing Jose and
Darell entering the motel as well.

“He’s right, we should get a room, take a
shower and rest a little bit,” Darell agreed. He followed Damen to
the check-in counter and watched this tropical setting in an awed
way. He stared at the palm tree that was inside the foyer of the
motel, and smiled toward it. Darell thought it was funny to have a
tree inside of a motel without having any reason to do so, except
for decoration.

“Didn’t you guys get any sleep on the plane?
I know I did,” asked Jose. Damen grabbed the room key after he paid
for the room and Jose still waited for an answer.

“No, I didn’t get any sleep. Would you just
cooperate, please,” confirmed Damen. He walked to the room, with
Darell and Jose walking behind him, straggling along like they
always did. Damen was tired and cranky, he didn’t want to have to
explain himself to Jose; at least, not now.

They walked into the room, opening a cheap,
blue door, and closed it half way. Staring at this room, cheaply
made up, with pink, flowered wallpaper, gave them all a sense of
being disappointed. “Fine, you’re right, we should get some sleep,”
replied Jose. Darell closed the door, the door that protected them
from Hollywood, the door that should never be opened again, and
looked at his friends with tired eyes. The boys had found a new
setting in their lives; the setting that was called “reality.”

Before any of them went to sleep, Damen
looked at each of their faces and said, “Don’t worry, things will
get better for us.” Sleeping on the floor, and staring at Jose and
Darell’s closed eyes as they slept on a single bed in the room,
Damen mumbled under his breath, “I promise... ”

Chapter Eight

Mr. Fryer paced around his office looking at
photos of actors. Some photos he kept, others he cleaved, ripped up
without even having a motive to do so. He looked out the window of
his Hollywood office at the sun, watching it slowly go down, into
the earth, and staring at the lampposts, in the streets, on how
they clicked on. Each piece of sweat that fell down from his face,
meant a new photo being ripped to shreds, a dream being destroyed
right in the mist of the sun’s rays going down into the depths of
the Hollywood lights.

Tiredness came over his mind, his thoughts,
so he left the window behind, and walked over to a mirror. He
looked at his image closely, staring and examining it like he was
trying to find some form of meaning to his complexion. He looked at
his wrinkles that had been covered up by years of plastic surgery,
and then stared at his eyes, very deeply. During this examination,
Mr. Fryer thought about the actors that he made stars; all those
years wasted on humans that couldn’t handle stardom. Every actor
that he made famous would only last in the Hollywood spotlight for
a little while.

You can say that he made bad judgments on the
people he thought could make it. The thoughts kept on coming back
to him, on how he’d wasted all this time on people, who couldn’t
handle Hollywood, who weren’t strong enough for its world, and that
caused him to close his eyes suddenly, blocking out his reflection,
and pound the mirror with his fist, without breaking it.

“All these years wasted,” he said in a low
manner. Mr. Fryer then made up his mind on how he could please
himself with his own career, and make a judgment that would put his
mind at ease. He said to himself that he would only make one more
actor a star. If he or she didn’t make it, he’d retire. Knowing
that the clients he had now only did small, low-paying commercials,
he knew that he had to do this. This was something that he’d
thought about for a long time, and now his thoughts were final,
completed, and would be placed into action; exercised.

Walking over to the phone, he called his
secretary, telling her to come in his office immediately. He wanted
to tell her his plan before it went away once again, and he forgot
about it. Mr. Fryer was serious about this, and his seriousness
could be seen when he called his secretary into his office again,
but with a much louder voice.

His secretary went by the name of Vivian.
Vivian was the one who helped Tom Fryer with these kinds of
judgments; sort of like a counselor. Being that she was only
twenty-two years old, and an actor herself, she still helps him out
a lot by being a good secretary and talking to him about decisions.
Also, she was very beautiful—seeing her long, chestnut-brown hair
made him feel good, and above all, motivated.

“Yes, Mr. Fryer,” Vivian said, walking into
his office and getting her notebook ready. Vivian looked at him,
seeing his anxiety within his wrinkles and staring at his sweat;
she knew something was bothering him.

“Vivian, I just want you to know that this is
not a mid-life crisis that I’m suffering from, nor is it some
desperate attempt for change in my life. But, anyway, um, well, I
made a decision about my occupation, a decision that might end it
or begin it,” Mr. Fryer stated. He looked out the window at the
smog-covered night, and Vivian still waited to hear what else he
wanted to say.

Vivian’s eyes widened as she asked, “A
decision? What kind of decision?”

“Vivian, I’m fifty-two years old. I’ve been
in this business for over thirty-one years and I’ve only found
actors that lasted less than a year at the top. Once a year goes
by, they either get arrested for drugs, or else ruin their
reputation by saying something stupid on a talk show, or being
caught by those cheap, but highly paid gossip magazines. I’ve had
it... That’s why I’m going to give it one more shot. I’m one of the
top talent agents in Hollywood, for the time being, and I have come
to this,” he replied with a sigh. “I’m going to take one more
actor... I’m going to try my best at making that actor a star. If
he or she can’t last in Hollywood, then I’m going to retire or go
into some other occupation,” he announced as he turned around and
glared at Vivian. “I’ve been an agent, and a manager many times,
this is what I’m gonna do.”

“Wow,” she said. Small tears generated,
undefined as they may be for now, they still began to show, slowly
but surely, in her eyes. “Um, are you for real?” Vivian questioned,
still staring at his back.

“Yes, I’m for real,” he returned with
seriousness. “I know that this is a moment to moment thing, but
I’ve been contemplating it for quite some time now, traveling from
city to city, trying to search for that perfect face, that perfect
talent, and finally today, just a few moments ago, I made up my
mind. I’m sick and tired of searching, and searching for talent,
for a face that could meet my standards, as well as the world’s.
And now, I realized, that I have to take action where action is
finally needed, and do this,” he explained as more tears filled
Vivian’s eyes.

“Well, are you, are you going to choose
someone that you know already?” Her voice, and the way it trembled,
meant she wanted to be that actor, that face he was going to
choose. Muting on and off, and battling with her speech, and at the
same time, trying to keep her tears in, she said, “Because, um,
well, if, if I were you, which I’m not, but if I were, especially
for this drastic decision, I would definitely, without a doubt,
choose someone that I work with, I mean, someone that I already
know. So, are you, are you going to choose someone you know
already?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have got about
seven in mind,” he said, sitting down in his chair and lighting a
cigar at the same time.

“I thought you said you only wanted one?” she
asked. Vivian got up from the chair and looked out the window at
Hollywood, hoping that he would say her name, would say he was
going to choose her.

“Yes, I did say that. I am only going to
choose one out of those seven.” Tom then blew smoke out of his
mouth that resembled a circle.

“Really, well, why don’t you choose two?” she
asked, feeling a tear slip out of her eye, a tear that meant she
wanted to be a star. “I mean, two would be better.”

Tom Fryer looked at the reflection of her
face, on the window, and saw tears coming from her eyes. That’s
when he questioned, “Why should I choose two?”

“Never mind, it’s up to you what you want to
do. If you want to choose one, then fine,” Vivian said, brushing
away her tears, not knowing that Mr. Fryer already saw them. He
knew what the tears meant, symbolized, but for some reason, he
didn’t want to talk to her about them; it was as if he was playing
a game with her emotions.

“Listen, I don’t know what I’m going to do
... but right now it’s only going to be one person. I think I
already know who it’s going to be,” he said. He was staring at her
face very heavily, as if he was about to say whom he wanted to
choose when the phone began to ring, loudly.

“Hello,” spoke Tom, holding the phone with a
tight grip. That’s when Vivian walked toward the door of his
office, still trying to wipe away her tears unnoticeably.

“Yes, hi, this is Darell O’Conner calling. Is
this Mr. Fryer?” he asked while Jose and Damen listened by the
phone.

“Yes it is, could you hold on for one
moment?” asked Tom, putting out his cigar quickly, staring at
Vivian’s walking figure.

“Sure.”

Mr. Fryer covered up the speaking part of the
phone and said, “Hey, Vivian.”

She froze, with her hand on the doorknob.
Vivian thought about all those years she spent working for him,
trying to get a good resume and trying to get him as an agent. She
said in her mind, Three years I have been working for you. Slaving
to get noticed by him each day she came into work, and constantly
putting up with his arguments with her, and many other negative
things, Vivian grasped onto the doorknob tighter as each of these
flashbacks came to her thoughts. Turning around slowly, with just a
crack in the door from her almost closing it shut, Vivian fixed her
watery eyes on Mr. Fryer’s emotionless face. She said in a low
tone, “Yes, Mr. Fryer?”

“Maybe that actor I’m choosing could be you,”
Mr. Fryer stated as he smiled at her.

Knowing that Tom Fryer was a businessman
allowed Vivian’s mind to not believe his sincere words. She wasn’t
going to get her hopes up; but still, to her, there was a little
chance that his words had some truth to them. “Well, just give me a
list of at least some of those actors you chose. I’ll look up their
resume and picture for ya.” It was back to work for her; and for
the time being, that was all she was going to concentrate on, to
avoid not going crazy with Mr. Fryer’s new decision. “Um, are all
these actors already listed with your agency?” Vivian questioned
with a mild voice.

“Yes,” he replied, noticing his cigar was
still smoking in his large glass ashtray.

“Alright, then, I’ll have the resumes and
photos for you within this week. Okay?”

“Okay, thank you,” replied Tom before Vivian
closed the door. To her, it was like she was closing the door to an
important moment, a sector in her life that could have, and should
have, been her big break. She stopped, waiting outside of his
office, with her hand still on the doorknob, wondering if she
should go back in there and beg him to be her agent. But the door
was already shut, and the moment was already lost, so she let go of
the doorknob with her sweaty hands, and walked away from his
office.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Darell. So,
when could you come in here?” Tom asked. He then lit up another
cigar, waiting for Darell to speak.

“My friends and I could come in there
tomorrow.”

“You mean you ... could come in here
tomorrow?” Mr. Fryer’s voice sounded controlling to Darell’s ears,
allowing him to fear Tom for the first time.

“Yes, that’s what I meant, Mr. Fryer, but my
friends will get to meet you too? Isn’t that right?” he asked,
seeing Jose and Damen putting their heads down in their laps, it
was like they were waiting for an answer from God: “Heaven or
hell?”

“Right, but for now, I want you to come in.
Tomorrow, come in at 3:00 p.m., if that’s alright for you. Is it
alright?” Darell’s face had an expression of happiness melting into
empathic sadness, knowing that Jose and Damen would be upset with
him.

“Okay?” Tom spoke again in a demanding
way.

Darell replied, his head beginning to dawdle
away from the phone, “Sure, 3:00 p.m. is fine.”

“What was that?” Mr. Fryer questioned before
Darell put his mouth against the phone.

“I said yes, 3:00 is fine.” Darell just
stared at Damen and Jose, as if he said something wrong.

“Okay, see you then ... bye,” said Tom. He
put out his cigar and hung up the phone.

Darell listened to the dial tone and
pretended that Mr. Fryer was still on. Darell said, “Okay, Mr.
Fryer, me and my friends will see you tomorrow, we’ll discuss
everything, bye.” Darell hung up the phone, and the heads of Jose
and Damen popped up from their laps, faster than a fly could hit a
speeding train.