Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (24 page)

“Ah, yes, yes we do,” spoke Damen. This bald
man stared at them with an evil look, a look that meant they’re not
wanted and they don’t belong here.

“Well, Mr. Appointment Man, what name is the
appointment under?”

“I guess ... O’Conner,” Darell replied in
confusion. The man turned away from Mr. Schultz, and stared at
Darell, seeing that they looked baffled. He took advantage of their
confusion by being a smart-aleck.

“Hello, you guess or you know?”

“Yes, it’s under O’Conner,” Damen replied
with loudness to his voice, seeing the bald man rubbing his head
for a moment.

Jose went over to Damen, watching this bald
man search his computer base for O’Conner’s name, and whispered in
his ear, “Damen, when I came in here about two minutes ago, I told
that bald ass the same thing, and he told me there isn’t an
O’Conner listed in his appointment book or on his computer.”

“What do you mean? Of course it’s
listed.”

While the man looked up the name in the
computer, he gave an evil glare toward them. Seeing Darell’s
reservation come up on the monitor, this man was agitated that
these low-class youngsters had to be accepted into his franchise by
him, forcefully. He saw Mr. Fryer’s name under Darell’s, so he
called up Tom to double-check that he had made the appointment. He
also asked about Damen and Jose, questioning their motives for
coming in. When he finished, he hung up the phone and began walking
over to them. “Hello, hello, which one is Darell O’Conner?”

“I am,” replied Darell, walking past Jose and
Damen, he made sure that he was noticed when his name was
called.

“Welcome, won’t you please step this way,”
the bald man said, putting his hand on Darell’s shoulder.

“Wait a second, what about us?” Damen
asked.

“What do you mean?” The bald man was uncaring
through his voice, not giving a damn about Damen, or even Jose’s,
existence. This caused Damen Schultz to walk into another room that
was next to the waiting room, seeing that it was covered with white
blankets and had a camera on a tripod standing in the center of it.
Damen stared at the tripod, the white sheets, and watched the man
follow him into the room and go up to his face. Staring at him,
this man gave a vile expression, telling him to leave through his
eyes.

Suddenly Jose walked in the room, pushed
Damen aside with a buoyant thrust, and spoke with anger to his
sentence, “We have an appointment here too. Mr. Fryer made it for
us.”

“I talked to Mr. Fryer, Handsome, he said the
only appointment he made was for Darell O’Conner. Now, if you want
to watch you can, I’m never against that,” the bald man said in a
mild tone, showing some flirtatious gesture through his eyes.

Mr. Schultz became puzzled, his stress
beginning to show through his eyes, rolling around in a dither. He
also comprehended, somehow, in his mind, that this bald man was
talking to them awfully strange, as if he was flirting. But, Damen
didn’t think anything of it yet, and said in a stressed-out
fashion, “I don’t understand ... I thought we all had an
appointment here?”

“Yeah, and when I came in here and gave you
Darell’s name, you said he wasn’t listed in the appointment book,”
spoke Jose.

“Listen, Handsome, I only told you that
because you don’t look like an O’Conner. If I’m correct, which I
know I am, O’Conner is an Irish name, not a Mexican name,” the bald
man replied with obvious nastiness. “As for you, cutie, understand
this, the only way to get an appointment here, is either by a
talent agent, casting agent, or any of the above. If you walk in
off the streets, you have to be a resident of Beverly Hills. Now,
do you understand?” the man added in a tyrannical manner, looking
at Damen up and down.

“Yes, now I understand.” Damen was ticked off
at the situation, as anyone would be, and didn’t like the fact that
he’d called him “cutie.”

“Yeah, me too, you racist son of a...” Mr.
Rodrigo said before Damen covered his mouth.

When he let go of his mouth, Damen noticed
this man staring at him, in a very mysterious way, like he was
thinking of something that involved his face, or even figure. “I
tell you what, cutie, if you want, I could take your picture for
free, and you could make it up in some other way,” the man spoke,
seeing Damen’s eyes widen with shock.

“Hell, no.”

“Well, for your photos, my point exactly.”
The man then turned around and looked at Darell standing in the
middle of the room, surrounded by white cloth.

Before the man started pursuing Darell in a
slow fashion, Damen’s anger grew inside of him. The way his head
started to tremble, and his fists started to tighten, he wanted
this man to know he was pissed for hitting on him, treating him
like a prostitute, and giving him an ultimatum that has nothing to
do with his own sexuality. So, his nervous hands tapped on the
man’s shoulder, saying at the same time, “Listen to me, I am an
actor, not a whore, and I have money, not your money. And, if you
ever call me ‘cutie’ again, I’ll take that camera over there, with
the tripod included, and shove it so far up your ass, you’ll be
shitting pictures for a month. Now, am I making myself clear?”

“Yes. Now, are we feeling better after
getting all that out?"

Damen looked at him, looked at Jose, and
said, “Yes. But first, Jose has to finish something. Jose?”

“Oh yeah. Bitch, you racist son of a bitch,”
yelled out Jose, bringing a simmer of laughter to Damen’s
mouth.

“Good, since we all got out our anger now, if
you want to watch, follow me,” the bald man spoke, walking fully
into this room. He then placed Darell down in a chair and had a
makeup girl put cover-up on his face, neck, and forehead.

“Damen, I don’t like this place anymore,”
Jose stated, walking into the room where Darell was. “I want to
leave.”

“I know, but stay for Darell.”

“Fine, but I don’t like it, Damen.”

They watched Darell get his photos taken.
Snap. Snap. Snap. One after another the film went; hearing the
sound of the shots the photographer took in a heartbeat, and
hearing the sound of the film rewinding, made the boys feel
intrigued by the nature of photography. Damen was thinking in his
mind on how he wished he was Darell, sitting where Darell was, and
getting the attention he was absorbing through his image. Damen
Schultz’s thoughts just lingered throughout his wanting mind.

Man, Darell’s lucky. But, I’m happy for
him.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Jose was thinking about
Julienne and how she was going to make him, mold him, and create
his image into being a star. His thoughts were something that the
Demon would have, laughing around in his mind.

Man, it’s okay, Jose, you have Julienne, and
Darell has Tom Fryer. Julienne’s better, besides, Damen has no one.
Man, hah, hah, hah, that really sucks for him...

Snap. Snap. Snap. The photographer finished
the session and walked the guys to the counter, Darell wiping off
his make-up with a damp towel; they waited for this man to speak to
them.

“Alright, that will be six-hundred and eighty
dollars,” the photographer announced, seeing out of his peripheral
vision that the bald man was walking up to the counter as well.

The bald man said to the photographer, “I got
this, Bob.”

“Okay, but don’t forget, I have a supermodel
coming in a 12:00 p.m., I really need you to send for a limo to go
get her,” Bob stated, shaking Darell’s hand at the same time. “It
was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.” Darell shook his hand and thought
in his head about the price of the photos, shocking of its sound,
tormenting to his pockets, which didn’t have those types of
figures. “Um, guys, I might need a little help with the ah, ah,
with the money.”

“Well, don’t look at me, all my money’s back
at the motel, having the roaches to guard it,” said Jose. He pushed
his wallet, filled with money, deep in his pocket, not desiring any
of it to be spent on anyone else but him.

Damen suddenly pulled out his wallet and
questioned, “Fine, how much you need?”

“Um, well, ah, about four hundred
dollars.”

Mr. Schultz shouted, “Four hundred
dollars?”

He pulled out the money that Darell needed
and slapped it in his hands, with the bald man smiling at him,
knowing Damen didn’t want to give it, but had to. That’s when Mr.
O’Conner spoke, “Thank you so much, Damen, I owe you one.”

“You bet you do. This money was supposed to
be for food.”

“Okay, sir, here’s the money. When do I pick
up my photos?”

“You don’t, we’re going to send them directly
to Mr. Fryer. That’s what he requested. We’re sending them out
today.” The bald man gave Darell a receipt and turned away, giving
them a sign that he didn’t want to speak, or be spoken to
anymore.

“Oh, okay ... see ya, then.”

The moment before Jose walked away from the
bald man, he said in defense, “By the way, ass, I mean sir, I’m
Spanish, not Mexican.”

They walked outside and waited for a cab in
silence. In silence they communicated, Jose gave facial expressions
of anger toward Darell. Damen gave expressions of hurt, the hurt
that he was feeling inside his mind. He was hurt because of the
fact that he saw everything he wanted to happen to him, happening
to Darell, and for the fact that he had to pay for most of it. They
got a cab right before Damen’s guilty expressions became verbal,
making him speak his mind, which consisted of putting his foot down
once more and taking a plan of action.

They got in the cab, and Damen Schultz’s
thoughts ran toward his mouth, saying with its speed, “Alright,
guys, it’s time for us to get jobs. I’m almost wiped out of money,
and I know Jose and you don’t have the motel fee for next week. The
joyride is over with. Now we have to be real, and keep it that
way.”

“Why should I get a job? Mr. Fryer told me
I’m going to be getting an acting job soon, making me a superstar,”
Darell brought out with a snotty voice.

Damen replied in a fast and angry approach,
“Darell, he probably says that to every actor that steps foot in
his office.”

“Well, no offense, and not to be a jerk, but
he didn’t say that to you guys....”

“Well, I guess you’re the next big star,”
Jose hollered with sarcasm.

“Listen, Darell, first off, you are being a
jerk on purpose, as well as a bitch. And if you know it offends us,
why did you say it? Furthermore, you don’t know for sure that Tom
Dryer is going to pull something up for you,” Damen argued. “And
not to be a jerk of course, but you’re a jerk.”

“Well, um, I feel that Mr. Fryer, not Dryer,
is going to get me an audition soon, and all I have to do is kiss
ass to the casting directors. Then bingo, I got myself an acting
job.” They looked at him as if he was on some sort of drug, seeing
how his fantasizing words came out of him with such truth to its
formality.

“Listen, crack-head, that will take some
time. Darell, in the meantime we have to eat and have a place to
stay. So that means, that your soon-to-be-movie-star-ass has to
work,” Damen explained in a serious manner, turning his eyes back
and forth to Jose and Darell.

“Okay, I’ll get a job, we’ll go looking
tomorrow,” Jose said, holding onto his pager, hoping that it would
start beeping due to Julienne; that way he wouldn’t need to get a
job.

“Fine, we’ll go look tomorrow,” Darell
muttered in a disappointed exercise of his eyes, seeing how they
drooped down like a puppy’s.

Just then, over Darell’s voice, Damen
suddenly took a father’s position. “What’s wrong with you, Darell?
Back home you loved to work...”

“Well, this isn’t home, it’s different. Here,
I am going to become an actor, a star, just as planned. I mean,
that’s why we took this trip, because we were so sick and tired of
acting in the Valley, and not having a chance to be known, just
like the rest of these schmucks.”

“Don’t you mean, we’re going to become stars,
as you poetically put it?” asked Damen. He knew he caught Darell
saying something he shouldn’t of, preaching it out like he was God,
and now Damen wanted him to know, wanted him to see his mistake;
subliminal as it may be, it was still a mistake.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Look, we all want
the same thing, you’re just mad that it isn’t happening to you
first,” Darell added with snootiness.

“Are you trying to say I’m jealous?”

Darell turned to look out the window. “You
said it, not me.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Guys, guys, just stop it already, you’re
beginning to give me a headache,” Jose yelled out, noticing that
they drove past a photographer’s building.

“Stop the cab,” Damen howled to the
driver.

“What is it?” Jose questioned.

“Come on, Jose.” Damen opened the door and
pulled Jose out of the cab by his shirt. “Wait here, we’ll be back
in a little bit.”

“Where are you going?” Darell sat in the cab
and hung his head out the window, waiting for one of them to answer
his question. The heat from the outside, stung at Darell’s face,
feeling the air-conditioner, from the taxi, blowing at his body,
and feeling the heat, from the sun, blowing at his head; this
change in temperature, striking him at the same time, made him feel
twice as much uncomfortable.

“We’re going to get our pictures taken. Where
do think we’re going?” Damen asked in a mad and frustrated tone as
a store marked ‘Photographer’ stood right next to the cab.

They walked into the photographer’s office
and said they only want one roll of film taken. They both shared
the roll of film and finished the session within twenty
minutes.

“Okay, that will be a hundred dollars,” the
photographer said, scratching his dirty, smelly face. This store
had cheap, cracked windows at the front, and barred windows toward
the back, leading into an alley. The smell of urine made it twice
as bad, and seeing this man, with teeth the color of yellow, and
breath that smelled like a cow’s tush, made the boys feel
disgusted.