Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (47 page)

Darell’s silence became noise, literally
ripped out from his trance, he responded with, “Um, it feels great
and I hope it will be a hit.”

“What was it like working with Mr. Schultz?
Do you think he’s a good director?” another newsperson asked as
Darell got another microphone shoved into his face.

Tom pushed the microphones away from Darell’s
face, and pushed him slowly into the doorway, saying, “I’m sorry,
we’re not going to answer any more questions now. We have to get
inside and watch this fabulous movie, the movie that my client
starred in.”

Darell stopped in the doorway, turned around
and looked at Mr. Fryer with serious eyes. Darell questioned, “Hey,
let me at least answer his question, alright?”

“Alright, but make it quick.”

Mr. O’Conner turned to the newsperson,
answering, “It was great to work with Henry Schultz, I think he’s
an excellent and talented director.” He then walked past the
doorway and into the theater, turning around and watching the
doorman closing it shut, seeing the newspeople pushing at its
glass; it looked like they were trying to walk through the door’s
glass body.

The theater seats were filled from top to
bottom with stars and directors, Darell watching and looking at
some of the movie stars as they looked at him. He saw stars that he
idolized, and stars that he hated. He was amazed to see everyone
smiling at him; it was like his birthday, and having everyone
there, knowing them for so many years, to celebrate his date of
birth. Darell caught on to these humans, learning that if you’re
successful, they will kiss your ass, but if you fail, then these
smiles will most definitely and inevitably turned to frowns.

The lights went off in the movie theater,
with Mr. Fryer speaking in a low and excited way, “Well, here we
go.”

The movie lights appeared on the screen.
Watching and hearing the sounds before the movie showed itself to
them, Darell spoke. “Yep, yep. You know what would make this moment
complete, Tom?”

The movie title appeared. Seeing Darell’s
name, Tom glanced at it for a moment and then whispered, “No,
what?”

“A nice big box of popcorn,” Darell replied
before Mr. Fryer’s nerves turned into laughter.

Tom’s nerves turned to laughter, chuckling,
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“What are you laughing about? I’m serious, go
get me some popcorn.”

Tom Fryer’s laughter ceased, ended, was
ripped away, having his nerves appear again, and asking, “Are you
joking?”

“Yeah, I had you there for a second,” he
laughed.

Mr. Fryer started to think again in his mind,
feeling the thoughts pressing against his forehead, trying to shoot
out of him, and leave him be. Tom watched as Darell appeared on the
movie screen, still thinking his thoughts, running around his
consciousness like fire burning down a tree. Maybe these four years
won’t be that bad. I’ll wait till the five months is up, then I’ll
tell Darell about the four-year contract. Maybe by then, he won’t
be that upset.

Darell lay back in his seat and thought about
how he’d been waiting for this day a long time, and how it was
finally here: the day when he would become a star.

Chapter Thirty-Five

She was old, in her late eighties, having a
large figure to guide her age, and five wrinkles under both eyes,
that meant she squinted a lot over the years. She had a very long
cigarette in her right, trembling hand, with an ash that hung off
it, as if she hasn’t ashed her cigarette ever in her life; a
talent. This woman drank her coffee, sipped it once, and then
pushed the five wrinkles together, squinting in a hateful way,
looking at the coffee in confusion.

As she stared at it, the café was full of
drunks, being that it was late, and night already had fallen over
Hollywood, the café had an aroma of urine mixed with booze, as new
customers would come in, showing their drunkenness, and only
wanting one thing: coffee.

Chuck stared at this elderly woman, seeing
her face reactions of negative nature toward his coffee that he
brews himself, directly from beans, and waited for her to complain
or say something about it. It was a face where you knew she would
verbally present her thoughts about the coffee, squinting her eyes
down so far that you could hardly see her green eyes. Chuck started
to get aggravated in his wait for her words, complaints, tapping
his fingers on the counter of the café, and still gawking at this
woman, literally looking at her reflection in her coffee cup. Then,
he gave up for her to speak first, went over to Damen, and said,
“Would you take care of that customer for me?”

“Sure, boss, whatever you say,” Damen replied
in a smart-alecky nature. Mr. Schultz had a lot of things roaming
around his mind, and his attitude was showing that he did; he
wasn’t about to take anyone’s crap tonight.

“Hey, don’t get smart with me, I’m still
holding your paycheck.” Chuck’s tyrant’s voice made Damen roll his
eyes toward him, and then he walked over to the woman.

She held up her coffee, like a priest holding
the glass of wine up high in the air, as Damen put on a fake smile,
asking, “Welcome to Wood Café, what would you like this
evening?”

“Taste this.”

“What?”

“Taste this?”

“Once again, what?”

She pushed the coffee cup near his face,
chanting once more, “Taste this.”

Damen grabbed the cup, staring at the coffee,
he questioned, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Taste it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s cold, I want another one now,” the
woman said in a villainous fashion, staring into Damen’s eyes with
a look of hatred.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Damen walked over to Chuck, gaping at him
with remorse and anguish, and then poured another cup of coffee. He
wanted to leave; he wanted to quit; he wanted to pour this hot cup
of coffee over that woman’s head and then tell her off for her
rudeness.

“Don’t look at me like that. You knew today
was going to be busy. After all, it’s New Year’s day,” Chuck said,
watching Damen placing the fresh cup on the counter next to the
woman.

“Could I go on my thirty-minute break
now?”

“No, wait till Vivian gets here. I need
someone out here to take the orders from customers,” Chuck
replied.

At that same moment, Vivian came soaring in
through the doors and looked at her watch. Chuck seen her, watched
her, and then said to her, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss
Tardy Vivian.”

Vivian ignored his sarcasm, put on her green
apron, and kissed Damen on the cheek. She turned toward Chuck,
explaining, “I’m not late, I start at 7:00 p.m.”

The old woman started to complain about her
coffee again, with Chuck stating, “It’s 7:05 p.m. In my book,
you’re late. Now, help that woman over there, she’s complaining
about something ... again.”

Damen took off his apron and began to walk
into the backroom of the restaurant. “Where do you think you’re
going?” Chuck asked, handing Damen his apron again. “I didn’t say
you could go on break yet.”

“Sir, you said as soon as Vivian...”

“I don’t care what I said. Now get back in
there and work,” Chuck demanded, noticing the depressed and
saddened look upon his face. He took in a deep breath and added,
“Alright, you can go on break now, but be back in thirty
minutes.”

“Thank you, sir, I’m just gonna be out back
smoking my pack of cigarettes.” Damen grabbed his lighter and
walked toward the back entrance of the café, which led to an alley.
It was a wide corridor he had to walk through and a big silver,
thick door, that stuck a lot, which he had to go through. But once
he reached the dirty alley, Damen lit up a cigarette and allowed
the silver door to close with the push of his hand.

Ten minutes went by, and he was still out
back on his break. Chuck went over to Vivian and pulled her aside,
causing her, by accident, to spill the coffee on the ground.
“What’s wrong with Damen? He’s not acting himself, Vivian.”

“I don’t know, sir, I have no time to answer
that question seriously, this man over here wants coffee, he’s
drunk,” she responded, wiping up the spilt coffee from the
floor.

Chuck grabbed his cane and walked to the back
door of the café. Opening it a crack, he saw Damen staring up at
the sky; it was as if he was staring at a map, a map that would
guide his lost spirit to wherever he was destined to go. Chuck
walked out into the dark alley that revealed light from one source,
that source was a small light that hung over the café. Walking
slowly to an upside-down garbage can and sitting on it
unnoticeably, he looked at Damen and then looked at the dirty
alley. He thought in his mind, I have to hire someone to clean this
alley fast. I don’t want rats in it.

Suddenly, a single rat that was as big as a
football jumped out from behind a red dumpster right next to Chuck.
He gave a silent yell before Damen turned around. Chuck didn’t want
him to think he was afraid of a little rat, so he said, “It’s a
nice night,” in a timid way.

Damen took a drag of his cigarette and
exhaled into the wind, watching it float for a distance, and vanish
from his sight. He was confused as to why Chuck was out here,
taking his own time to come and sit in an alley, looking as if he
was about to give a serious talk. Chuck was usually very vicious to
Damen, but now, he talked with a calm voice, sort of like it was a
test for Damen, to see if he could put up with the fake sinister
that Chuck gave to him. Then he stopped the silence, and Damen
spoke. “Yeah, it got dark early.”

Chuck placed his cane on the alley floor,
speaking, “Damen, I’m gonna cut right to the chase. What’s the
matter with you?”

“Nothing’s the matter, I’m just tired is
all.”

“Listen, I know you’re lying, you’re not that
good of an actor,” he spoke, seeing Damen turn away from the sky
and staring at him in a shocked way.

“I’m not?” Damen dropped his cigarette and
swallowed his saliva in a loud fashion. Walking slowly over to
Chuck, he felt something crunching from underneath his foot. He
felt it every time he took a step closer to Chuck. When he looked
down, he noticed that it was coffee grains. So, he looked up again
and asked, “I’m not?”

“You’re not what?”

“You said that I’m not a good actor, do
really mean that?”

“So, that’s what this is about. Damen, I
don’t know if you could act good or not, it’s just a way of saying
that you’re lying to me.”

Damen turned back to the sky, saying in
defense, “Oh, alright, if that’s what you meant. I am a good actor,
I really am.” He wanted to trick his mind into believing that he’s
good at acting, but the denial was overpowering his mind.

“Alright, if you say so. Tell me what’s
wrong? I know it has something to do with acting.”

Damen just stared at the sky and watched the
stars twinkle within the smog, watching small insects fly about
this scenery, dancing in circular flight. “You know, I stared at
these stars for ten minutes now, and, and I still feel confused.
Every night, every frickin’ night I would stare at the stars and
wonder if there is really a God up there. And every night, there’s
always a certain star that twinkles in the distance, a star that,
that stands out from all the rest. It’s my way of knowing that a
God really exists,” Damen explained as Chuck tried finding the
star, the star that twinkled over all the stars in the sky.

“So, what’s the problem, then?”

Damen lit up another cigarette, saying in a
loud voice, “The problem is, why isn’t the Lord helping me? Why,
why is he helping Darell and Jose? They don’t even believe in a
God. Why?”

“I’m confused here.”

“Darell’s probably in New York still, signing
autographs and movies contracts. Jose’s on his way to becoming what
Darell has already seen. With me, I’m still far behind in the race
for, for fame, and I don’t know why,” Damen said quietly.

Vivian came over to the back door and opened
it a crack to eavesdrop. Hearing every word they spoke, she
crunched down on the ground and stared at them.

The customers came pouring into the café,
waiting for a waitress to wait on them, but Vivian was nowhere to
be found; everyone was in the back. Vivian listened behind the
door. Through the crack, Damen listened, in front of his eyes, when
Chuck explained, “Maybe, just maybe, God is helping you. Maybe he’s
waiting for that one moment, that one moment when the doors of
Hollywood open for you. Who knows. I’ve seen many actors over the
years, and there has always been one actor, one special actor that
stood out from the rest. Those actors were usually the ones, the
ones that made it to the top...” Chuck paused, feeling that this
moment was getting too personal, but then continued with, “I’ve
always admired those actors, I treated them like ... they were my
own kids. What I’m trying to say is you’re one of those actors.
You’ll make it, Damen, you just have to give it time.”

“I’m not strong, that’s it, I’m not. I’m not
like Darell and Jose, they’re the strong ones.”

Vivian looked away from the crack in the door
and saw a drunk customer coming toward her, stumbling over bags of
coffee and urinating in his pants; she heard the sounds of water
dripping and knew what it was.

“You’re right, you’re not like them at all,”
spoke Chuck, not hearing, through the crack in the door, a drunk
man tripping over a bag of coffee grounds and falling on his
face.

“Thank you, at least someone agrees with me.
Well, you’re the first person I discussed this with, so I guess
that’s a start,” Damen stated in a tone; a tone that was defensive,
lost, and surprised at the same time.

“Yeah, because they are the weak ones, and
you’re the strong one. Tell me, how many resumes and photos did you
send out to agents?”