Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (83 page)

Mr. Schultz showed a confusing, disarrayed
smile, responding with, “Um, I don’t know; I didn’t even know I was
nominated.”

A camera went up to his face, nearly hitting
Damen’s mouth, and a reporter bellowed to him, “Is it true that you
and Jose Rodrigo are enemies in real life?”

Damen Schultz jumped in the limo and closed
the door before he could answer the last question, never wanting to
hear that name again, knowing if he answered, the outcome would be
very hurtful to his ears.

They drove to the café while the confusion
began to expand in his mind, thinking about what the reporters told
him and asked him, feeling disoriented about the situation.

Chuck and Damen slowly walked toward the
entrance of the café, hearing silence through the night, feeling no
wind that could cool off their sweating faces, and flesh. Once they
fully came up to the entrance, the silence abruptly turned to the
opposite, and the wind showed itself to their sweat, drying it off
quickly while they turned around to face the wind and
new-found-noise. In their views, was a mob of fans, media,
reporters, and cameramen running toward them, screaming out Damen’s
name, chanting it over and over to the point of fright entering his
mind.

The thought of being trampled to death
entered Damen’s thoughts, yelling, “Come on, Chuck, open the
door.”

“I can’t find the right key.” Chuck tried
almost every single key on his key ring, filled with over twenty
small, golden keys, looking all alike to Damen’s eyes. But Chuck
knew which one was the right one, it’s just his nerves were
allowing his eyes to be obstructed to the right one.

The crowd was flying toward them, running
with great speed, with Damen seeing that they were coming closer to
him by the second. He could see their smiles and hear their yells
more clearly. “Oh my God, Chuck, please open the door.”

Chuck discovered the key was under the
doormat the whole time, bending over and picking it up. Before the
crowd could reach Damen, Chuck flew open the door and pulled Mr.
Schultz in with him.

He shut the door tightly, putting chairs in
front of it, hearing the crowd pushing against it, attempting to
knock it down. “That was a close call,” Damen muttered.

“Tell me about it, I nearly dropped my cane
out there, I was scared shitless,” Chuck laughed.

“Yeah, but it felt great. Didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did.”

Damen Schultz turned around to face the café,
and saw two big bags, thick as could be, filled up with something.
“Hey, Chuck, what is all this?”

“Well, those are letters from your fans.”

Damen was intrigued, mesmerized by the bags,
opening one of them up slowly and seeing nothing but stamped
envelopes, that were thick from letters in them; like a filled
stomach. “I have this many fans? In this short of time?”

“Yeah, you’re a sensation, Damen.” Damen
started to read the first letter, hearing Chuck adding, “You know,
I heard what that one reporter said about the Academy Award.”

Damen finished the one letter, looked up at
him, and smiled, questioning with exhilaration, “Yeah, do you think
it’s true?”

“Do I think it’s true? Well, all I can say to
you is, don’t get your hopes up,” explained Chuck, suddenly hearing
the phone ringing in the distance. “They just announced the
nominees today, and your premiere was just showed today. That means
that they couldn’t have possibly nominated you.”

Ring, Ring, Ring.

“I know, but it felt so good to hear. I mean,
when a reporter tells you that you’re an Oscar nominee, I guess it
does something to you,” he spoke in a serious, but happy manner,
watching Chuck answering the phone. “Chuck, I’m gonna go and
practice my script some more. If anyone calls, tell them I’m in
bed.” Damen then walked out of the café and into the backroom.

After Chuck got off the phone, he walked over
to Damen’s room. He walked inside, without knocking, and stared at
Damen with a calm look, an average look, showing no difference to
his facial features, showing nothing but the normal, old Chuck.

Damen saw him, and put down the script on his
bed. “Hey, Chuck, who was that on the phone?” Chuck didn’t answer
him. So, he added, “Was it your son? Are you guys fighting
again?”

Suddenly, Chuck showed whiteness to his
flesh’s tone, widening his eyes, and exhaling in utter calmness,
“No, that wasn’t my son, and we’re not fighting at all. Damen, that
was Jennifer Mitchell.”

“Who’s Jennifer Mitchell? No let me guess,
she’s a real-estate agent, right?” Damen was excited, he was
waiting for Chuck to say they’re going to move out; he hated living
at the café. Mr. Schultz felt that he could afford a place of his
own now, but he wouldn’t leave Chuck behind; Chuck was like his
father. Wherever Damen moved to, he wanted Chuck to live right next
to him and be his neighbor.

“No, she’s not a real-estate agent.”

“Great, well who the hell is she then?” he
questioned in sarcasm, becoming angered at the news of him still
having to live at the café.

Damen lit a cigarette, and listened to him
explain, “Damen, she’s the person who calls up the actors and tells
them that they’re nominees for the Oscars. Damen, they announced
your name today, I didn’t watch the TV when they did it, that’s why
I didn’t know. But, they announced you as being a nominee for the
Best Actor at the Academy Awards. Congratulations, Damen, you’re
going to the Oscars.”

The cigarette dropped from his mouth, feeling
emotionally incapable of handling this moment, showing shock toward
Chuck’s eyes, and happiness toward his own. Damen couldn’t handle
it; he was shocked and surprised, “What? Um, what did you say?”

Chuck started to knock his cane against the
floor, dancing around and shouting happily, “You’re an Oscar
nominee. You’re going to the Oscars next month, not as a guest, but
as a nominee.”

Mr. Schultz was screaming with pure elation,
shouting out loud, “Oh my God. I have to call Darell and tell him.
Better yet, I’ll surprise him by going over to his place. I’ll go
tonight.” Damen ran out of the room, and then came back to his room
moments later. “You’re not joking, right?”

“No, this is real.”

Damen went dashing down the hallways of the
back room, feeling this instantaneous moment of honest to goodness
happiness, shouting out his screams of ingenuous, genuine
ecstasy.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Waiting for the crowd to disperse and leave
the front of the café, Damen noticed that they left, so he ran out
of the building, shot across the street to Darell’s condo, having
excitement in his thoughts, inhaling and exhaling cheer. He ran up
the stairs of this large building, darted toward Darell’s condo
door, and began pounding on it, thumping his hand, whacking the
wooden frame of this door like it was a drum of some sort. He
noticed the door was opened, as each pound he made caused it to
unfold and open a little more. Sneaking inside, he yelled,
“Surprise.”

The room was moist, filled with humidity, a
soiled smell pampered to Damen’s nose in a negative way; but he
didn’t care, he was too happy to give a damn. Darell shot up from
the couch into the humid-filled air and shouted with fear, “Damen,
you scared me.”

Damen walked up to him, not noticing that Tom
Fryer was exiting the bathroom, and spoke “Guess what, Darell?”

“What?”

Before Damen could speak, he noticed Tom in
the distance, staring back at him, like a distant memory. Tom stuck
out his hand toward Damen, saying, “Oh, hello, Damen, I didn’t hear
you come in.”

Damen looked at his hand and thought about
how he raped Vivian, going back to that horrible night and
realizing it was long ago. He figured since he broke up with
Vivian, that he might as well forgive him, allowing bygones to be
bygones, and throw away his stubbornness. That’s when he replied
for the first time in a sincere tone while shaking his hand, “Yeah,
I just got here. How are you doing?”

Tom was dumbfounded, understanding through
Damen’s voice that everything was okay between them finally. “I’m
fine. I heard something about you saying ‘guess what?’”

Tom and Darell sat down on the couch, hearing
Damen question again, “Oh yeah, guess what?”

Darell couldn’t think of anything, trying to
guess through Damen’s smile, but instead speaking, “I give up.”

“Guess who’s going to be a nominee at the
Oscars this twenty-third of March?”

“Let me guess, um, um, Jose. Damen, I already
heard the news today about Jose. He’s going to be a nominee for the
Best Actor category,” Darell stated, seeing Damen sitting down in a
chair next to the couch and lighting up a cigarette.

Damen put the lighter on the end of the
chair’s right arm, and gawked at Darell in confusion, and with his
positive thoughts being obstructed by this new news. Damen Schultz
still looked at him, asking with a very serious tone, “Who did you
hear the news from?”

“Julienne told Tom and Tom told me.”

“Is it true, Tom?”

Mr. Fryer lit up a cigar and blew the smoke
into the humid air, colliding with Damen’s menthol smoke, dancing
in a flight of integration. Tom responded, “Yeah.”

“Wait a second, why are you asking us this?
Isn’t that the reason you came over here?” Darell then started to
blow his stuffy nose into a white tissue, still gazing at Damen’s
mouth and eyes, waiting for one of those features to reply.

Mr. Schultz didn’t know how to answer him,
knowing his own reason for coming over here, but finding out a new
situation that collided with his reason, creating utter
bewilderment in his mind’s eye. Damen was shock-filled,
comprehending, in this most coincidental and unlikely situation,
understanding that he was now up against his ex-best-friend, the
one who, in his mind, broke up him and Vivian, the one who ditched
him in New York, and the one who he despises now through Jose’s
deceitful exercises toward him. Yet, Damen knew he had to speak on
his own behalf, so he responded, “No, the reason why I came over
here, is to tell you that I’m a nominee at the Oscars. I’m in the
Best Actor category too.”

Darell sat there in amazement, and so did Tom
as well, but Darell was even more intrigued by this outrageous
happening, this phenomenal situation. “Wow, two friends, that are
now enemies, are up for an Oscar in the same category,” Darell
announced before he began laughing.

Damen got up from his seat and walked to the
doorway, saying with quickness, “Listen, I got to go now, I have to
tell Chuck this.”

Darell still sat on the couch, questioning
with suspicion to his voice, “Are you coming back, Damen?”

“Um, no, probably not.”

Damen ran down the hallway, down the stairs,
and outside of the condominium complex, when suddenly, out of
nowhere, he realized he had left his lighter behind. So, he ran
back into the building, up the staircase, back down the hallway,
and walked back into Darell’s condo through the opened door.

“Sorry, but I forgot my lighter,” Damen
spoke, grabbing onto his lighter, but then dropping it to a
dreadful sight. He noticed Darell sniffing cocaine in front of Tom,
slurping it up, but then abruptly stopping at the sight of Damen’s
presence.

Tom tried to cover up the cocaine by going in
front of the coffee table, obstructing its view with his figure,
and grabbing the lighter, handing it to Damen calmly. Tom then
spoke in a very calm, unsuspicious way, “Oh, here.”

The point of no return was about to be had,
breaking this innocent story of trust, into a hunt for clearing
names, and grasping onto alibis. If Damen hadn’t left his lighter,
everything would have been fine, but he did, and now all of their
fate balances in each of their actions after this moment occurs.
Damen gawked at Darell’s high self, questioning with aggravation,
anger, hurt, and puzzlement, “What are you doing?”

The drugs had already reached Darell’s brain,
causing this reality to seem funny, amusing to his eyes and ears,
grasping onto his funny-side, and showing it by him laughing toward
Damen’s straight, sincere reaction. Seriousness turned to sarcasm,
with Darell responding, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Damen couldn’t believe that was Darell, the
same innocent person that he grew up with, the same innocent Darell
that went with him to Sugar Valley every day. This was another
human being, a creature of decay, stringing his own humor along by
laughing at his own mistakes that he doesn’t know are mistakes.
Finding humor and sarcasm in such a non-blissful, and serious
matter, causing his own mind to laugh about it, instead of crying
and getting help.

Damen couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t
believe, couldn’t accept that Darell was a drug addict, sniffing
that cocaine before, and now was all wound up off of it. This
belief, mask, this contradiction of Darell’s normal self, now being
this misrepresentation, yet true vision of the way Darell was now,
was too much for Damen’s eyes to handle, too unbearable and full of
sadness. Mr. Schultz pushed Tom Fryer out of the way and saw the
cocaine on the coffee table, placed on a mirror, questioning with
anger, “Where did you get that from?”

“Mr. Fryer gets it for me. Oops, I mean Tom.
I always forget your name when I’m on this stuff,” laughed Darell.
Tom became nervous at the thought of Damen turning against him
again, feeling angered toward him for allowing Darell to do this
stuff, matter, this new paraphernalia that belongs to him now, and
then wanting him to pay for it, and not by currency either.

Damen couldn’t also contemplate, and wouldn’t
even consider that Tom, being his own agent, would allow his own
client to do drugs; it wasn’t plausible, or even accepting to
Damen’s mind. “No, seriously, where did you get this crap from?”
Damen asked again, seeing Tom sitting back down on the couch. Damen
turned to Tom and screamed, “And why are you allowing him to do
this?”