Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (68 page)

“Listen, you first have to get your feet wet.
As soon as you get in this, or any other commercial, then we’ll
begin trying for the big time roles. But, for right now, I want you
to start small. You worked as an extra already; now the next step
is commercials.”

Damen lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke
toward the fan, feeling it returning to his own image, he then
agreed with sarcasm, “Alright, I trust you, I mean, you have been
my agent for about twenty-four hours. So I guess I’ll hold my
career in your hands.”

Chuck laughed, chuckling, “Alright, you
smartass, you’re up in about five minutes.”

Damen started to cough up smoke from his
cigarette, shouting toward him, “What? I didn’t even have any time
to practice my lines.”

Chuck laughed again, saying back with
stronger sarcasm, “Oh yeah, you got big lines alright. Damen, the
only thing you have to say is ‘Man, how do I get rid of these
pimples,’ and that’s all.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have any motivation.”

Chuck laughed out harder, looking at Damen
with widened eyes, and speaking, “Motivation? Motivation? I’ll give
you motivation—a good kick in the ass sounds like the trick.”

Damen laughed out as well, seeing that
Chuck’s firm sense of humor was captivating, in the sense that it
could bring a smile to a person’s face, even if he was nervous as
could be, like Damen was at this audition. But, abruptly their
laughter ceased, died ever so quickly, without warning, when they
saw a man walking out of the casting room and entering into the
waiting room, showing all the actors his nervous, intimidating
presence. Damen was full of fright, seeing and hearing this man,
who was a casting director, announcing out loud, “Alright, could I
please see Damen Schultz? Is Damen Schultz here?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Damen got up from his
seat, and turned to face Chuck. “Wish me luck.”

Chuck laughed and kicked him lightly in the
butt with his foot and cane at the same time. “Yeah, yeah, good
luck.”

He walked up to the casting director, hearing
him say, “How are you doing? My name is Allen Frank, I’m one of the
casting directors that will be supervising your audition.”

He shook Damen’s hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Allen.”

He then followed Allen into the casting room,
fastening his eyes on four other casting directors that sat by a
rectangular table, staring at him as well. Allen sat down next to
them, pointed to a circular jar that sat on the table, and
explained, “Alright, Damen, all you have to do is hold the product
and say your lines.”

Damen picked up the pimple-cream jar and
walked to the center of the room. “Should I begin now?” he asked,
staring at the four casting directors in confusion.

“Yes, whenever you’re ready,” Allen replied.
“Oops, one more thing, you have to say your lines into the camera.
But first, before you do that, give your slate into the camera.

“Slate?”

“Yes, where you give your name, then turn to
the side, and say the agency you’re with,” Allen explained. The
casting directors all looked at Damen funny, like he should have
known what a slate was.

Turning to the camera, watching it gawking at
him like a gun, remembering the gun hole that was placed next to
his head yesterday, he said in a high-strung voice, “My name is
Damen Schultz.” He then turned to the side, adding, “And, um, I’m
with, um, I guess, Chuck’s Talent.” He paused, turned back to face
the camera, but before he said his lines to the script, he looked
down at the pimple cream. “Hey, I used this cream before, it
doesn’t work either.”

All the casting directors started laughing at
his remark. “That’s why you’re going to act as if it works,” Allen
laughed out.

“Alright, I’m ready.” He turned to the
camera, showed it the pimple cream, and spoke, “‘Man, how do I get
rid of these pimples?’”

They noticed he said it with a little speed,
showing some nervousness, or fright, at this audition, as well as
toward the camera. “Alright, now, say it a little bit slower. Also,
don’t make that funny face,” one of the casting directors stated as
he started to grin. “Just keep on doing it over and over again in
the camera, until we say stop.”

So, Damen obeyed the orders of the casting
director. He said his line over and over again, and screwed them up
a lot in the process. But the way he said his lines and tried
covering his mistakes made the casting directors laugh, feel a
sense of natural humor that he produced. He kept on saying his
lines while the directors were talking about him.

One of the men turned toward Allen and
whispered, “This kid’s very funny.”

“I know, I think if he makes the public laugh
during the commercial, maybe that would cause the viewers to go out
and buy the product. Do you think so?” questioned Allen, still
gazing at Damen making more funny faces. To Damen, it was natural
to make those expressions, but to the casting directors, it was a
gift from God.

“Yes, I think the viewers would buy more of
the zit cream if we made them laugh during the commercial,” another
man whispered toward Allen.

“Man, how do I ge--”

Suddenly Damen was cut off by Allen speaking,
“Excuse me, Damen, but um, your audition is over with.” Damen
looked down to the floor, realizing he did screw up a lot with the
script. As he looked up, knowing for sure he didn’t get the part,
Allen added, “You got the job.” Damen suddenly began to feel
shocked at the news, and it caused him to drop the cream on the
floor and break the container.

“I do?” Damen then realized that the cream
was smeared all over the floor, adding with monstrous panic, “I’m
so sorry for breaking it. I’ll clean it up.”

“Don’t worry, Damen, we got that. What we
want you to do is go get your agent. Is he here?” Allen asked.

“Yes, I’ll get him right now.” He ran out of
the room with excitement in his rhythm, announcing in a loud manner
toward Chuck’s face, “Chuck, I got the part, I got the part. Come
on, they want you to come in there.”

He pulled Chuck’s old figure to his feet,
grabbing his cane for him, and putting it in his hand. Damen’s
aura, the light that shined around his body, showed itself, through
his smile, glee, through the way happiness finally presented itself
to him a bit. Chuck and him walked into the audition room, seeing
the casting directors smiling and acting as if Damen was their
boss, offering both of them their own seats, kissing up to them as
much as possible. They sat down and received coffee from one of the
men, while Chuck started showing a bit of a smile, but not all the
way. With Chuck, he doesn’t think it was professional to show any
excitement in front of men of importance, such as these casting
directors he saw before him. But this news of Damen’s achievement
allowed his exhilaration, gaiety, to show a bit with the smile, but
then he put on a straight face, waiting to do business with these
men. Allen explained to Chuck about when and where the filming for
this commercial would be held. Then, he explained how much he was
going to pay Damen.

“Now, we’re offering $5,000 for the role. It
was less before Damen came in here, but then we all discussed
giving him more lines to say because he’s very comical,” Allen
explained as Chuck’s eyes lit up.

“Cool, five thousand is good,” spoke Damen,
watching Chuck placing his cane by his chin and bending over to
lean on top of it.

“Sixty-five hundred,” Chuck announced; Damen
looked at him with distress on his face.

Damen turned to Allen, and looked at him with
even more shock on his image after hearing Allen say, “Six
thousand.”

“Sixty-four hundred.”

“Sixty-three hundred.”

“Sixty-three hundred and fifty dollars, take
it or leave it,” Chuck said with tension.

Allen looked at Damen and then back at Chuck,
holding out his hand and saying, “You got a deal.”

They signed the contracts and then walked out
of the room. Damen and Chuck exited the building while Damen was
silent, mute, some form of presence or thoughts were lurking in his
mind, causing him to only speak words in his consciousness.

“What’s wrong, Damen?”

They both hopped into Chuck’s rusty old car,
and fastened their seatbelts. Damen paused but then said,
“Nothing.”

“I know something’s wrong, you just got an
acting job and you’re acting depressed about it.”

Chuck started to drive away from the audition
building with speed to the car’s body. Damen didn’t answer him yet,
he rolled down the window and just stared at the outside of it.
Feeling the wind blowing against his hair, the warm breeze that
tangled every strand of his hair, he still was silent. But then, he
looked in the passenger’s side window, and answered with
seriousness, “I don’t know, it’s just, I didn’t like the way you
and Allen were fighting over money. It was like I was some sort of
a product or something.”

“Damen, you have to realize that you are a
form of a product. When you go and try out for these auditions,
you’re trying to sell yourself to them,” Chuck explained, stopping
at a red light.

“I know, it’s just, money isn’t that
important to me like it is for you. I’ll get over it.”

Right there and then, Chuck looked at him as
if he was looking at his own son. Watching Damen as he stared at
his own reflection, he spoke, “You know, my son said the exact same
thing you said.” Damen turned and looked at him, hearing Chuck add,
“Damen, what do you want to get out of acting?”

“Who’s your son?”

“Well, before we discuss that, I want you to
tell me what you want to get out of acting? I mean, you don’t care
about the money. So, what is it you want out of it?”

Damen looked down at the floor and stared at
all of the junk that lay on it. He knew what he wanted out of being
an actor, but he was too afraid to say it. He started to construct
questions, conversations in his thoughts, wondering why he was
afraid to say it to Chuck.

I used to always say it. Just tell him what
you want out of acting.

He slowly looked up at Chuck, saying with
hesitation, “Fame, that’s what I want out of it. It’s weird the way
I think about it.”

The light turned green, and Chuck started
driving once more, asking, “How do you mean?”

“Well, if some movie offered me four million
dollars, you know what I would do with half of it? I would give it
away to some charity that needs it. I don’t know why, but I would.
Every check that’s in the millions, I would give half of it away, I
just want fame. I just want to be a famous movie star. Is that
weird?” Damen’s question was very deep in thought, wondering about
it his whole life, and finally saying it verbally to a person that
knew the business. He was afraid of what Chuck would say to him,
knowing that it was very strange to give up some money for a
career; but it was his vision, his dream, and Chuck totally and
utterly understood Damen’s mind.

Chuck answered in a low tone, “No, that’s the
same thing my son did with his money. You see, after my son made it
big, he was too embarrassed to say that his father worked and owned
a coffee shop. You can say that he wanted to keep his reputation as
being nothing but famous. But, that’s what my son did, and still
does, with his money. So if he makes a million dollars, he’ll give
five hundred thousand away. And if he makes twenty million in one
picture, he’ll give five or ten million away to charity.”

“Really? What’s your son’s name?”

Chuck turned toward Damen’s eyes, left them
there for a second or two, and then answered, “John
Smitherson.”

His eyes widening, Damen feeling those words
in his mind, the excitement, and great delirium that Chuck was the
father of a superstar. “What? You mean the movie star? That John
Smitherson?” yelled Damen in enthusiasm.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“But your last name is Fritter, how could you
be his father?” he questioned with interest, thinking that Chuck
was surely lying.

“Easy, he changed his last name. He was
originally called John Fritter, but he changed it to John
Smitherson.”

Damen grew a huge smile, knowing that he was
in the right hands, knowing that God placed him that alley, last
night, out of all the alleys in Hollywood, and finally allowed
Damen a chance at achieving fame; it was a simple twist of
fate.

Chapter Fifty-Six

A circle of people, standing on the very top
of the green hill, surrounded a burning cake, showing flames that
came from candles swaying about from the English wind. It was cold,
but the flames still danced about, showing their warm beauty,
soaring around the cake of sweetness. “Happy birthday, Jose, happy
birthday to you.” The people finished singing to Jose, and now he
was about to blow out the candles.

Darell patted him on the back, shouting with
a smile, “Now blow out the candles.”

Jose blew with force, all of his might, and
with all of the air that his tar-filled lungs could give,
extinguishing twenty flames, leaving only one flame to stand alone.
The flame still stayed, even the soaring wind from the hill’s top,
couldn’t blow it out. “Come on, make a wish,” Dennis Schultz
said.

Jose blew out the final candle and closed his
eyes, making the wish in his mind. He then opened his eyes, grabbed
a knife, and cut himself a piece of the large cake, hearing Darell
saying to him, “It’s already been two weeks we’ve been working on
this film, it feels like it’s been two years. Thank God today’s our
day off. You know what we should do? We should call up Damen and
wish him a happy birthday.”

Jose coughed up a piece of his cake, saying
in a frantic and loud voice, “No, no, no, that’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

Jose didn’t know what to say. Julienne was
standing across the table from him, with the cake and crew members
blocking her view; she was frantic of what Jose would say to his
question. “Because, um, um, it’s gonna be a long-distance call,
it’s going to be expensive,” Jose replied, seeing Julienne giving a
deep sigh of relief, staring at her through the snuffed-out
candles.