Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (46 page)

They both entered her home, with her
responding, “Well, that was then and this is now. My premiere
dinner is not going to be till February.”

“Great, just great, now he’s probably going
to rub it in my face that he’s a star. This is just perfect,” said
Jose in a sarcastic tone as they both began to walk up her
staircase.

“Listen, you’re going to be busy tomorrow,
you’re probably not going to have time to see and talk to Darell.
He’s going to be busy too, he’s not gonna have any time to make you
jealous, if that’s what he’s going to attempt to do.” They both
entered her room and lay down on the bed, with her adding, “Now,
first get a change of clothes on, I don’t want my bed smelling like
coughed-up liquor.” She pushed him off the bed with her leg.
Falling onto the floor, he jumped up and just stared at her.

He took off his shirt and hopped into the
silk-made bed, saying, “Just promise me one thing, Julienne.”

“Did you get any vomit on your pants?”

“No, I didn’t get any on them. Now, Julienne,
could you promise me something?” Jose questioned again, hearing
Darell’s limo driving by Julienne’s mansion again; this time he was
blasting the car stereo.

She got up from the bed, with the light for
the outside moon guiding her way, and went over to the window,
closing it to block out the sound that Darell was making as he
passed.

“What is it, Jose?”

“Promise me that everything’s going to go
perfectly tomorrow, please?”

She hopped back into bed, covered herself
with silken, white-flowered covers, and responded, “I promise you,
Jose. Tomorrow you are going to be on your way to stardom. Just
wait and see.”

She closed her eyes, and Jose gave her a
gentle kiss on the lips. “Alright, goodnight, Julienne.”

“Goodnight.”

“One more thing, Julienne,” he said in a low
tone.

“What is it now?” Julienne asked in a voice
of stress, she was getting upset at Jose for interrupting her
beauty sleep, a sleep that didn’t even begin yet.

“Thank you, thank you for everything,” Jose
replied before his eyes closed.

“Thank me when you become Hollywood royalty.
But, for what it’s worth now, you’re welcome.”

After she noticed he was asleep and snoring,
she said in a low tone, with moonlight guiding her eyes again to
the sight of Jose, “You better be on your way to stardom tomorrow.
Oh please, Julienne, don’t screw this one up...”

Getting out of her bed, she tiptoed out of
her room and went to the staircase, guiding her eyes to the
chandelier that hung its titanic form over Miss Wells’ head.
Julienne took out a cigarette and stared at the fresco picture that
lay on the ceiling, above her foyer. She stared at God, being
confused, and exhausted, Julienne gazed at him, as if he was really
alive in the picture, watching her overhead, to see if she was
following morality to its greatest form. One puff, two puffs, three
puffs, and then four, she took drags of her cigarette and then
stared at God even more. Julienne then closed her eyes and
whispered to herself, “Well, I just hope it works...”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Tom Fryer stared at Darell with sinister
pupils in his sockets, gawking and gazing at Darell’s hung-over
head and messed up tuxedo. He knew he was drinking last night;
smelling the liquor aroma throughout the limo, Tom’s mind was
aggravated with him. While Darell tried desperately to open up a
bottle of aspirin, biting it, and even punching at it, not
remembering that you first have to press down on it, Mr. Fryer
asked, “Where the hell were you last night?” Darell didn’t hear his
question, he was too busy popping aspirin down his throat after he
opened it finally. Tom looked at him again with the same eye
formation, and questioned again, but with loudness that pierced at
Darell’s hung-over mind, “Darell, where were you last night?”

“What?” Darell’s tone was drunk, slurring the
question and smiling at the same time; he was still in a world of
his own.

“My God, boy, are you drunk still?” Mr. Fryer
watched as Darell swallowed the aspirin with a glass of champagne.
“Give me that,” he yelled, grabbing the glass from Darell. “This is
the last thing you want to swallow. What do you think you’re doing?
You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not, I’m just a little bit tired is
all,” Darell slurred; one of the aspirin got caught in his throat
when he talked, it caused him to cough it up toward Mr. Fryer.

“Yeah right, I think you’re a little bit
drunk is all.”

Darell wiped off the saliva from his bowtie,
hearing Tom add, “Darell, we are going to be at your premiere for
your movie in about twenty minutes. What I want you to do is roll
down the window and stick your finger down your throat.” Directly
after his words, Darell vomited all over the champagne bottle; the
smell was staining already in the air. “I guess I spoke too
soon.”

The limo stopped at a red light when Darell
wiped the vomit away from his mouth with his arm, saying, “Boy, I
feel a lot better.”

Mr. O’Conner rolled down the window to get
some fresh, smog-filled air, sticking his head out fully and
keeping it there by leaning on the bottom part of the window’s
frame. He was at peace, just like how a toilet could be a drunken
person’s best friend, Darell lay his head there calmly, breathing
in and out heavily, and waiting for the red light to turn green so
he would catch some wind in his smelly throat. The light turned,
and the wind caught Darell’s mouth; he opened it up wide, showing
his teeth fully to the breeze, and it blew up his mouth like wind
hitting a boat’s sail.

“Darell, where did you go last night? Also,
did anyone see you last night?”

“I just drove around, and around, and
around.” He stopped, gave a breath, and added, “And around, and
around, and around last night. I had a few shots of vodka, and
that’s it.” Mr. Fryer picked up the phone in the limo and dialed up
to the chauffeur.

“Yeah, well if you only had a few shots, then
why are there two bottles of vodka empty?”

Ring, ring, ring, ring...

The chauffeur picked up the ringing phone.
“Hello?”

“Yes, James. I was wondering where you drove
Darell last night?”

“I drove him around for a while, and then I
took him to the Starbox,” James replied, honking his horn at the
stalled car in front of him. “It’s some nightclub.”

Tom looked at Darell’s ghostly face, closing
his eyes for a moment, shaking his head in disappointment, and
saying, “Okay, that’s all I wanted to know.”

“Alright, sir, we’ll be at the premiere in
about a half an hour, there’s a traffic jam, as usual,” James
said.

Mr. Fryer blew a gush of wind from his mouth;
it was like he was releasing all the rage and anger he had toward
Darell at that moment.

Still holding the phone up to his ear, and
watching as Darell’s face started to regain his normal color, Tom
asked, “One more thing, James, what time did you drive him back to
the hotel?”

James was trying to drive through a traffic
jam. Honking his horn and talking at the same time, he responded in
a stressful voice, “It was about 3:30 a.m. or 4:00.”

Tom hung up the phone, slamming it down with
all of his rage, and gaped at Darell’s face, trying to calm his
nerves a bit. “Did anyone important see you last night?”

“Didn’t James tell you just now that he drove
me to the Starbox?” Darell asked in a sarcastic attitude.

“Yes, he did.”

Darell’s sarcasm grew stronger, saying,
“Well, the Starbox is full of important people; they only let movie
stars in.”

Tom opened his suitcase and glanced at the
four-year contract that Darell signed unnoticeably, explaining at
the same time, “Listen, when we get to the premiere, I want you to
say nothing to the media; let me do the talking. All I want you to
do is sign autographs, that’s all.”

Mr. Fryer glanced at the contract once more,
filling his mind with so many thoughts, thoughts that circled
around his conscience, over and over again.

My God, I have to put up with this for four
years.

Tom was staring at the contract still, while
Darell announced with an attitude, ironically as Mr. Fryer still
had his eyes focused on the piece of paper, “Listen, if you don’t
like what I’m doing, don’t worry. I’ll be out of your face in five
months.”

Tom stared, grinned at Darell’s signature on
the piece of paper, saying, “Well, Darell, I think we are going to
see a lot of each other.”

“What do you mean? I said I’d think about
staying with you after five months. That’s not that long a time,”
Darell said.

Mr. Fryer closed his briefcase with Darell’s
four-year career inside. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, I
want you to sit up straight and remember that dream you once had.
Do you remember that dream, Darell? Do ya? It was the dream of
fame, and now you’re getting it. If you screw up like this again,
the reality that you’re accessing now will be just another dream.
Am I making myself clear? Do you understand?”

Tom Fryer’s questions made Darell’s sobering
mind remember Sugar Valley and the oath of fame that he, Damen, and
Jose took. That day came back to him: the promise for the first
person who became famous in Hollywood, that person had to help the
other two up the ladder to success as well.

Darell watched Tom closely, he was lighting
up a cigar, and still kept that promise he made, deep inside of
him, accessing it, and slowly realizing its true meaning. He then
looked out the window, responding in a suppressed fashion, “Yeah, I
understand.”

Tom blew the cigar smoke into Darell’s face,
watching the cloud trailing in its drift, out of the window,
catching onto the wind, and then flying away with great speed. He
spoke, “Good, I’m glad to see that you and I are on the same
wavelength, finally.”

Darell suddenly pulled out the golden pen
from his pocket, mentioning, “After this gig, you have to try
contacting Jose and Damen.”

“I will, I will.”

Out of nowhere, the limo stopped, making Tom
nervous; he picked up the phone once more, and called up to James.
Awaiting the chauffeur to answer the phone, he stared nervously
outside the window, noticing flashing lights; they were the lights
of flashing cameras. James opened Tom’s side door, and before he
could open it fully, Mr. Fryer questioned with panic, “I thought
you said a half an hour? It’s only been ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir, I did say that, but I guess I was
wrong,” James said.

Mr. Fryer was still holding the ringing
phone. Turning to Darell in a frantic motion, he asked, “Why am I
so nervous, I shouldn’t be nervous, are you nervous?”

“Nope, I’m not nervous, but you’re beginning
to make me nervous. I thought you do this kind of stuff all the
time?”

James was blocking the media from pushing
their way into the limo, like a solider, guarding his people
against the shimmering bullets that flickered toward Darell and
Tom.

Tom looked through the cracks of the door
that James’ body didn’t cover. Seeing the flashing lights, the
microphones, he suddenly turned to Darell and responded in defense,
“Yes, I did do this once before.”

“You see, then why are you nervous?”

Darell finally discovered that Tom had really
exaggerated his life as an agent, thinking that he did this all the
time. Mr. O’Conner finally discovered, even before Tom answered his
question, that his past clients never made it to their premieres,
probably because they fell down the hill of fame and ruined their
own success. Yet, Darell also thought, maybe they did make it to
their premieres, but Tom never went with them. Nevertheless, Darell
stared at Tom, waiting for him to answer his question, when he
spoke, “Well, I forgot what it was like, a lot has changed since
1963.”

Darell’s eyes turned to shock, saying in a
surprised manner, “Oh, God, that’s just great. You haven’t done
this in over thirty years?” Darell closed his eyes, grabbed Mr.
Fryer’s arm and added, “Come on, let’s give the public what they
want.” He pushed Tom out the door, attempting to get him fully out,
past James’ body, but he pushed back at Darell instead, trying to
fight his force and stay in the limo where it was safe.

Tom jumped right back in the limo, looked at
Darell in confusion, questioning in a shaky tone, “Wait a second,
shouldn’t you go out first?”

One of the cameras shot Darell with a bright
flash, hitting his eyes, and causing white marks to appear. “I
don’t know, I’ve never done this before. What did you do to the
actor back in 1963? Did he or she come out of the limo first?”

Tom slammed the door shut, responding with,
“I don’t know, it was like one big dream in the ’60s.”

“Listen, chickenshit, you are my agent, I’m
supposed to be the one nervous, not you. Thank God I can still feel
a little bit of vodka. Anyway, come on, you have to remember
something. Who came out first, you or the star?” Darell rubbed his
eyes from the flash of light brought to them by a camera, and
focused in on Tom’s wrinkly face, forcing him to answer his
question through his serious glare.

“Let’s see, I think I came out first, but I’m
not sure.” Darell then opened the limo door again, still gazing at
Tom, and gave him a smile.

“Well, you better hope you’re sure,” said
Darell. He pushed Mr. Fryer out the door with force, causing him to
hit his head on the top of the door, and create a panic once he got
a hold of the media’s attention.

Tom fell to the ground, and then got up
quickly, showing his smile and saying to the lights and
microphones, “Hello.”

Darell stepped out of the limo and onto a red
carpet, blocking out all of the noise that came from the media,
fans, and spectators. His mind and ears were silent as he stared at
the big sign on the theater marquee: the sign read The Hills of
Timmy, starring Darell O’Conner. He walked slowly down the carpet
as fans were pushing autograph books in his face. He stared at the
sign; still signing the autographs, he didn’t even bother to notice
if he signed his name correctly. It was like he was in a silent
trance of some kind, thinking about his dream and how it had almost
become reality; all that was missing was the Oscar in his hands and
Jose and Damen by his side. Walking past the golden sign with his
name on it and coming up to a glass door, a man opened the
entranceway for Darell as one of the media stuffed a microphone in
his face. The journalist asked, “How do you feel about having the
lead role? Do you think the movie is going to be a hit at the box
office?”