Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret)

by Stephen Andrew Salamon

  “You really want to know?

  “Yes.”

  “They said that you are the type of person who cares for nothing but himself. Now, Damen’s vibes read that he does care for other people; he’s the type of person who would help his friends make it to the top,” she replied. Jose looked down at the floor of the pool house, disappointed by the devastating truth that was hiding in his subconscious.

  He then asked with anger, “What about Darell?”

  “Darell is just plain-out stupid,” she replied as she put on her silk robe. A small grin formed on her face at that moment, hoping that it would pass on to Jose, but it didn’t.

  “So, I guess you’re psychic then. Well guess what? Your psychic ability sucks.” Jose’s anger went away and a smile came on his face; he thought his words were funny and well put.

  “That’s why I like you ... you’re tough and you don’t care about anyone. That’s good.” She turned away for a second and saw the night slowly beginning to become day. “It’s especially good for Hollywood.”

  “Well, I like you too,” Jose spoke. He closed his eyes like he was waiting to wake up from a good dream, awaiting a flash of light to come into his mind and take him out of his world in night. “But I respect my friends, they’re like brothers to me. And I do care for them.”

  “Listen to me, I don’t want to get in an argument over the vibes that I felt last night from you guys.” Julienne said her words quickly, with a little nervousness to their chimes, like she was afraid to make Jose angry or confused at this secretive moment. “Anyway, I was wondering if you want to come with me today to the screen test. Before and after it, I’ll introduce you to some people of importance, and see what happens,” she said. Trying to change the subject of the argument she almost had with him, caused Jose to see some tension on her face as the morning sun reflected off her image. But, he ignored the tension, for the fact that this was his big chance to make something of himself that every actor dreams about.

  But the excitement vanished, ran from his mind without a trace, as he realized he didn’t have the tools to show himself to the Entertainment World just yet. “I don’t have any photos of myself or any resume.” Disappointment sunk into his soul.

  “It doesn’t matter if you have a resume or not, I’m helping you get your foot in the door.” Julienne walked her precious figure up to Jose, like a female fox during mating season, and gave him a gentle kiss on his tender but saddened semi frown.

  “What about my photos?”

  “After today, you’ll get your headshots taken tomorrow. Today is just to make your name known to the casting directors and to help my nerves. I need someone there to calm them for me. Also, once the casting directors see that we’re a couple, they will definitely and hopefully want you in their movies, or future projects that come around. It’s that easy,” she replied. “So, this way it works out for me and you.”

  Jose was amazed, feeling this moment of energy, traveling up his naked spine, and feeling the cold, damp floor rush against his bare feet, allowed a prosperous smile to take over his disappointed mouth. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it ... it’s not a dream.” Julienne suddenly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and added, “This is what people like to call a ‘small big break.’”

  He was excited, ready to make love to her again, but suddenly a guilty feeling and thought shadowed his mind. “What about my friends?”

  “Well, like you said, you’ll help them get in after your fame has set in. That way you’ll be able to prove me wrong, which so far, if I may add, nobody has done yet,” she responded with a calculating cynicism.

  He itched his scar, noticed a strange, abrupt form of evil to her words, and questioned, “What do you mean, ‘prove you wrong’?”

  “Well, I told you a little while ago that you’ll forget about your friends once success in this business sets in. I see you have a short memory span,” Julienne said with laughter. She also noticed a little Southern accent when he stressed out the word ‘prove,’ a new multi-syllable musical version, and that sounded cute to her ears.

  Blocking out Damen and Darell from his thoughts, trying to enjoy this moment of happiness, prosperity, this moment of fate finally showing its mold to the greatest extent, he asked, “What time is it till?”

  “Probably until 5:00 p.m., it starts at 10:00 a.m.”

  The shadow, cloud, the drapes of sadness covered his mind once more as his memory came to him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it. Me and my friends got an appointment with an agent today at 3:00 p.m. Is there any way we could do this at some other time?” He looked at Julienne’s face, waiting for her to say ‘yes.’ Jose’s naked toes began to tap hard at the cold floor, and curl up to a tight, stiff formation, due to the tense feeling that he had.

  “I tell you what, you get your photos together and bring them here next week. If I’m not here, than that means I’m working on a movie. I’ll get in touch with you after the film is finished. At that time, there will probably be a special dinner of some kind after the premiere of my movie. You could be my date for that dinner. I’ll introduce you to some of the finest casting agents that L.A. has to offer,” she replied in an assured voice.

  No, just go with her, Jose, this is your chance.

  “How will you contact me?” Jose questioned. The rhythm, speed, the height of his thinking slowed down, but not that much. He got up from the bed, and tried to block out his thoughts and focus on Julienne’s face and mouth.

  She won’t contact you, just go with her, and forget about them. But I can’t, they’re my friends, they wouldn’t do that to me. But they’re not me. Oh, please, God, make her say some words of encouragement.

  Julienne saw the way Jose’s face was formed, like he was about to have a stroke. The way his thoughts pressed against his skull showed Julienne that his mind was about to go haywire. “Here’s my pager... Hold onto it always. My code to you will be 333. Any other numbers that show up on it, don’t answer back. Only answer to my code,” she explained, handing him the red pager. “You understand?” She said it fast, knowing that his brain was not too far from shutting down; she hoped that her words helped to calm him down.

  He grasped onto the pager like it was a ruby diamond, the same way Darell took Mr. Fryer’s business card on the airplane, and stared at it with relief, and a smile. “Sure, I’ll only answer your code.”

  “You shouldn’t get any hassle from this pager, I’ll tell everyone that I gave the pager away, besides, it’s old. But just in case, I’ll tell them; that way they won’t page it. Don’t lose it,” said Julienne before she exited the pool house. She went into her house and went upstairs to her bedroom to get ready for her screen test. Jose ran into her house and began running up the stairs, frantically, with a question in mind.

  “Why are you doing all this for me?” His voice echoed down her hallways, still searching for her, with one of her robes on his body; he asked it over and over again, till he finally found Julienne in her bedroom, putting on makeup.

  “I already told you why.” Julienne then shut the door in his face, hoping that his memory would serve him.

  He thought, staring at an oil painting of a little girl, lying on her mother’s right breast, but he couldn’t remember. So, he spoke to the closed door, “Well ... tell me again.”

  Julienne walked up to her door, and spoke back to its white frame, “Because I like you. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a big day today.”

  Jose gave a grin. Putting the pager into the robe pocket, he suddenly began to squeeze the top part of his nose and close his eyes. “Oh sure, I’m sorry... But before I go, could I have an aspirin? I’ve got a headache from the champagne last night.”

  “Sure, it’s in the bathroom, on the vanity... ”

  Jose walked over to the bathroom and took some pills that resembled Aspirin. He didn’t know that the pills he was taking were Valium. He walked down the stairs of her mansion, put on his clothes,
and yelled, “Goodbye.”

  Meanwhile, Julienne was talking to her reflection. You can say, she was arguing with it. It’s strange: some people have better conversations with their own reflection than they do with shrinks, but people with sinister aspects to their souls, always have the best talks with the vanity, for some apparent reason.

  “Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Julienne said as she blotted powder on her face. “You almost blew the whole thing. You moved way too fast with him, but I don’t think he expected anything. You think he did?” Julienne actually waited for an answer from the reflection. “Remember, you have to move very slowly with this one. He may be stupid, but he’s not gullible. I mean, saying ‘we’re a couple’ already and the ‘casting agents will discover him’ for that, I think I was pushing it a little too far. Next time, don’t push it, take it slow... You need him... Don’t worry, Julienne, it will only be for a short time.” She left the mirror behind, even though it was beginning to be an interesting conversation, and walked down her stairs. “Remember, don’t push it,” she said to herself as she stepped out of her front doorway, walked down her front staircase, and saw the limousine already waiting for her presence.

  Julienne stepped into her limo, and the chauffeur drove past the front gates, entering onto the street. During this short duration so far, Julienne still rambled onto herself. But then, Julienne shouted, “Stop.” She spotted Jose directly in front of her side window, and saw him staring at it, waiting for it to roll down. “Now, remember, don’t screw this one up, Julienne.” She rolled down her window, seeing Jose in her view, and asked before the chauffeur opened the door, “Do you want a ride?” The chauffeur then got out of his seat, walked around the limo to Julienne’s door, and opened it for Jose.

  “Sure, thank you. I was awfully tired back there, I think it’s the weather,” Jose answered. His tired body jumped into the limo. The chauffeur slammed it, got in the driver’s seat, and drove off toward Hollywood. Jose fixed his view toward Julienne with his drugged eyes and thought in his head, I’m so lucky...

  Chapter Eleven

  “Vivian, would you please step in my office,” Mr. Fryer said, yawning at his speaker phone. He sat in his office, tired to the morning, as he was each and every day, and started to put some chemical into his eyes to help them rejuvenate, open up, and wake. After the liquid settled into his eyes and the burning sensation began to bite at his pupils, he held his head back, allowed gravity to somehow make this burning chemical fall down the walls of his eye sockets, and started to push his closed eyelids, with his sweaty fingers, inwards, thinking that this exercise will help make the stinging feeling vanish; it didn’t. The liquid created tears that fell out of Mr. Fryer’s sockets, and dribbled down his old image, falling onto his black sport coat. All this pain he endures every morning, just helps him wake up.

  Tom always does the same ritual every morning, to help him begin the day: he first yawns, calls to Vivian, sprays the solution in his eyes, goes through the burning, stinging pain of it, and smokes a cigar, in which he hasn’t taken out just yet. After the ritual is complete, the exercise of introducing himself to the new day, he reads a call-sheet that all agents get every morning, showing what auditions are going on today, and what kind of human beings they ask for, to fit the character for the specific film, or project. Vivian usually reads and takes care of that sheet, being that she’s his secretary; she makes sure to call up his clients who fit the part, and tell them the times and places where the auditions are held.

  It’s a very complex method, being that some auditions, if they’re for a big part, ask that the agencies first fax them their client’s photo, so they could look at it, and then tell them if they could audition or not; it was somewhat of a hair-pulling experience which Vivian had to deal with almost every day. That’s why Mr. Fryer hired her. But today was not an average day; the setup on Vivian’s desk is different. Seeing that she didn’t receive a copy of the call-sheet, Vivian knew that her job, as a secretary for Tom Fryer’s agency, was coming to a close.

  Her desk usually has old coffee stains on all the papers she has on its top, except for a copy of the call-sheet, which is always cleaned: Vivian saw that, beneath all of her berets, pencils, pens, and bent staples, the clean sheet was missing. She knew Mr. Fryer was serious about choosing only one more actor for his agency, attempting to make a success out of him or her, and then closing it down, if his plan failed in the eyes of Hollywood.

  Vivian got up from her desk after hearing Tom’s voice yawn out his words, and walked very timidly, with much hesitation, over to his office. Something was bothering her, the way she moved in a slow, inconsistent rhythm, it was like she was afraid of something. “Yes, Mr. Fryer,” replied Vivian after she opened the door to his office.

  She stared toward his desk, seeing the call-sheet, and how every word and audition that was printed on it was crossed out with black marker, and crumbled up into a ball. She knew the ball of paper was the sheet, and the shock of seeing it formed into that crumpled shape made her mind fully realize that Mr. Fryer’s one plan was going to begin this morning.

  “Bring me in that list of names that I chose. You know, those seven names,” he said. Tom then finished his last morning ritual by lighting up a Cuban cigar.

  “I’m way ahead of you, sir, here’s the names in alphabetical order,” Vivian spoke in a happy but nervous tone. She made sure to highlight her name and place it on top of the list. This woman wanted to show Mr. Fryer no disappointment toward his decision, so she put on a fake smile and made her acting ability take over.

  “Did you call up the other five people besides yourself and Darell O’Conner?” Mr. Fryer questioned, looking at the list very carefully.

  “Yes I did, sir, the first one is coming in today at 11:00 a.m. His name is George Hardy.” Vivian then handed Tom Mr. Hardy’s photo and resume.

  “George Hardy, that sounds like a catchy name. It says here that he went to Harvard; he got straight A’s. Who picked him out?” he asked in an interested manner as he stared at George’s photo.

  “You did, sir, you picked them all out.”

  “Oh, I must have picked him out at random. Now, who’s this?” Mr. Fryer placed Mr. Hardy’s photo down on his desk and looked at the next one she handed him.

  Vivian felt like a juror, handing out her verdict to the judge, but instead, handing it five times and waiting to hear a reply. “This is Justin Oleander, his appointment’s at 12:00 p.m. Here’s his resume,” she replied, still standing next to his desk like a statue. Mr. Fryer looked over Justin’s frozen image.

  “Who’s next?” He placed Justin’s photo on top of George’s photo, not even bothering to look it over, allowing Vivian’s eyes to shimmer with a bit of hope; if he wasn’t interested in them, the one that was left was Vivian’s image. It caused her to give a miniature smile.

  “Here, these two actors are next. They’re scheduled at the same time, 1:00 p.m.”

  He placed their photos on top of the other photos without even bothering to look at them either. That caused a smile to appear on Vivian’s face. She knew in her mind that she has a better chance at winning Mr. Fryer as her agent. “Okay, show me the other ones,” Mr. Fryer said with a stressed-out voice.

  “Darell O’Conner is next; his appointment’s at 3:00 p.m. He’s the one with the two friends,” she said, placing her own photo down on his desk very inconspicuously.

  Vivian saw his face looking down at her composite, rambling around in her brain a prayer that Tom would just accept her into his agency already, and give her a break. “This isn’t his photo ... it’s your photo.” Mr. Fryer’s words came out so softly, it was like Vivian knew he would smile, laugh, and say “hey, you do have a good look.” But, she was wrong. “What the hell are you doing, are you trying to confuse me?” Mr. Fryer asked with anger, putting Vivian’s photo with the rest on the pile.

  Damn, you pissed him off, Vivian.

  “No sir, it’s just I forgot to give you my photo. My nam
e is at the top of the list. I figured you would say and look at it first, but you didn’t,” she answered. Grabbing her photo from the pile, while her smile turned to a frown, Vivian just stared at her own image, and wished she could smile right now, like she was in the photo.

  He grabbed her photo, whipped it out of her grasp, and demanded, “What are you doing now? Leave that photo here...”

  “No, sir, I know what you’re going to do with it. I’ve been working for you a very long time. I know when you put the photos on the left side of your desk, that means that you’re not interested,” she replied as she snatched her photo away from him, causing all papers to fly off his desk from the wind she created.

  “No it doesn’t, at least not anymore. I’m just tired, is all. Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you. I’m one of the top agents in Hollywood, L.A., California altogether, I don’t lie,” he said, reaching out for the photo.

  Just give him it, Vivian, please.

  “Okay ... fine, here’s my photo.” Vivian handed it over to him. It was like she was surrendering to the devil himself: the devil that was camouflaged as an angel, an angel that was in control of her destiny, as she thought.

  “Now, where is Mr. O’Conner’s photo?” he asked. Tom placed Vivian’s composite on the middle of his desk, so it wasn’t on the left side, for her to get upset, nor on the right side, so she could have happiness and hope. Tom was like that—this was a game to him, he didn’t want any of his clients, or workers to know what he was thinking, or what he was going to do when it came to a judgment of importance like this one. Some call it “being professional,” but the majority call it, “being an asshole” which is what Tom Fryer was a perfectionist at being.

  Vivian caught on to Tom’s assholish character, and knew why he put her photo in the middle of his desk. Being full of so much nervousness, tension, and a bit of anger, she replied with a very strong and heavily laid-on attitude, “Remember ... he said he didn’t have a photo.”