Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret)

by Stephen Andrew Salamon

  “Oh, that’s right, he’s the one I met on the airplane. I’m losing my mind,” Mr. Fryer said. He picked up Vivian’s sarcasm, mixed with attitude, but ignored it altogether. That was another game he loved to play; even though Vivian laid it on pretty thick, Tom still acted as if he didn’t realize it, this way Vivian would never know if he caught on to her, or not. They both stared at each other, wondering what the other was thinking, when suddenly a knock on the open office door, broke this staring game. It was George Hardy.

  “Oh come in, um, um,” Mr. Fryer said, trying to look for his name.

  George, with his long black hair, and medium-size lips, reached out his hand toward Mr. Fryer and said, “George Hardy.” Vivian then walked past him and closed the door, knowing that she was against George in the race to get Mr. Fryer on her resume, to have him represent her as an agent; she didn’t want Mr. Hardy to see the fear in her tired, tense, and aggravated eyes.

  “That’s right, George Hardy. Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable.” Mr. Fryer showed a small grin on his face when he gestured his hand toward a chair, opposite of his desk; he was always good at making people feel comfortable. He was especially good at his job, knowing what he wanted, what he had to do to get it, and how to handle it once he received the signature on a small-worded contract.

  Tom discussed everything about George’s acting career. He found out how, why, and where George decided to become an actor, and how far he came ever since that decision. That’s one thing about agents of Tom’s nature, they want a client who has a name, meaning a client who has already been in film or in modeling photos, and who knows the business up and down. George was just that person.

  When Tom Fryer looked at a potential client, he stared at them like a product, not as a human being. That’s the way this business is, when George Hardy stepped his first foot in Mr. Fryer’s office, he was the product, and Tom, being an agent, was the person who tried to sell that product to Hollywood. The only thing was, George, just like any actor, needed that salesman to sell him, so Mr. Fryer was like God at this moment; and he knew it.

  Mr. Hardy, who was twenty-three now, but began acting in film at the age of eighteen, had already done many things to show Mr. Fryer that he was eligible for his plan and agency. George already acted in three independent films, principal roles of course, but enough recognition to know that the audience would recognize him if he ever landed a feature role and became the star.

  So far, Tom Fryer was pleased at this young, handsome actor, who was born and raised in Los Angeles. All he had to see now was how much Mr. Hardy knew the acting craft; the craft that every actor dreams of getting perfect. He made George read a part of a script and also made him do a cold reading from a script that he made up; this was Tom’s way of seeing how George could handle pressure, and how flexible he was when it came to acting out different characters, but from the same dialogue.

  Mr. Fryer revealed a grin, the same grin he showed Vivian when she gave him a strict attitude; only Tom knew what his own mind was thinking.

  Mr. Fryer shook his hand goodbye and told him to come in here next week at 10:00 a.m. sharp; he said goodbye awfully fast, and that made Mr. Hardy have a glum face as he walked toward Tom’s office door. He didn’t make him sign a contract, so George thought he wasn’t interested. But, the thing is, George Hardy had no idea of the abrupt plan that Tom came up with, so all he had to do now, was what every actor has to do on a daily basis: wait. George walked out of his office as Justin walked in. He made Justin do the same readings and he gave Justin the same speech.

  “Don’t forget, Justin, come in here next week at 10:00 a.m. sharp,” said Mr. Fryer. During those words, Vivian announced on the speaker phone that the two actors were here, the ones that were scheduled at the same time. Now the day was beginning to rush a bit, bringing Tom Fryer up to normal speed, being that he’s so used to this fast business, in his mind he felt right at home.

  As Justin walked toward Tom’s door, he felt the same confusion that George felt. Just ask him, Justin repeated in his mind, tapping at his membranes, and forcing the thoughts closer to his vocal cords.

  “Wait a second, sir, are you a casting agent?” Justin asked in confusion. He began to rub the sweat off of his chunky cheeks, and rubbed, under his pointy nose, the sweat that had been building, forming, perspiring on his face ever since he walked into Tom’s office.

  “No, why would you say that?” questioned Mr. Fryer as Vivian announced the two names again. Vivian started to lay on the attitude once more; knowing Tom was making her wait caused her finger to literally punch the button on the speaker phone.

  “Well, because you made me do a cold reading and a reading from a script. If I’m correct, that’s what you do at an audition for a casting director.” A ceiling fan, that wasn’t on before, suddenly turned on; the switch was outside Mr. Fryer’s office. The ceiling fan turning on meant that Vivian had clients, or potential clients waiting outside, and that she knew Mr. Fryer would see it, feel its breeze, and be reminded of Vivian’s warning.

  Justin’s young face stared at Tom’s few dead, gray strands of hair, surrounded by all of his fake brown hair, and how those strands were the only ones blowing about from the generic breeze that the twisting steel blades made. “I’ll explain it all to you next week,” Mr. Fryer said. He escorted Justin out of his office, placed his hand on the switch, right next to his door, on the outside, and turned off the steel fan; the vibration ended from the fan’s shaking body when Justin exited the waiting room.

  “Hello, um, John and Peter. Please, sit down,” Mr. Fryer kindly spoke, seeing Justin’s body walking down the hallway, through the glass door of the waiting room; the door read ‘Fryer’s Talent’ in white, cloudy letters.

  The two young men entered into his office, with the same type of feeling that Justin had sunken into his eyes: nervousness.

  Tom went through the readings with them too. One after another, reading each word of the script, explaining their reasons why they chose the craft of acting, and what projects they’ve done so far. During this quiz, this test of determination, Mr. Fryer mainly concentrated, fixed his eyes deeply on Peter’s image, and only listened to Peter’s voice. You could say that he thought Peter had what it takes to act in film; the looks and the talent.

  He could be cast as a Leading Man...

  Mr. Fryer kept on trying to quiz his own mind, continuing on, trying to analyze Peter’s face, look, the way he appeared to him; the questions just swam about in Tom’s tired head. Maybe he could be cast as a young high school kid? Yeah, that would be perfect. Wait a second, is that acne on his face. Damn, he has some makeup on, to cover it up. Well, that’s okay. Maybe he could be cast as a young high school kid with acne.

  Vivian came over the speaker phone, during Tom’s thoughts on Peter’s face and the way Peter’s voice sounded, telling Mr. Fryer about a phone call she received, but he ignored her voice and still stared at Peter.

  Damnit, if she calls me again, I’ll wring her neck...

  The fan went on, over and over again, but Tom ignored it, and that caused Vivian to worry, to create fear in her soul. She knew, realized that Tom was interested in one of them; his not answering her call, or her warning of the fan going on, allowed her a warning of Tom’s interest. A dial tone came over the phone that Vivian was holding, it turns out that no one called, she was just faking it, made it up, only to create a diversion to get Mr. Fryer out of the office. Vivian knew, felt in her mind that Peter was a very attractive young man, and he was going to be competition for her; she tried to cheat at the game but lost in the pursuit.

  They finished by 2:00 p.m.; Tom told them all to come back next week at the same time he told the other actors. They walked out of the room as Mr. Fryer told Vivian to stop Peter from leaving. “Vivian, send Peter back in my office, immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vivian replied in a low and sad tone; she knew Mr. Fryer was definitely interested in him, not her.

  Sh
e turned toward Peter’s back, and how it was ready to leave the waiting room for good, and actually thought about not calling him back in at all. She stared, concentrated her pupils on him, shaking her head in an upset motion, and then finally gave into morality by saying, “Excuse me, but Mr. Fryer wants to see you right now.” After her words of hope toward Peter, and lost toward her, the other actors, who were waiting in the room, either for a ride home, or to see Tom Fryer, looked saddened by the news. “He just wants you to give your social security number again,” she added; her lie made the other actors faces lighten up.

  “Yes, sir ... you wanted to see me?” Peter Welch asked. Entering the office again was something that many actors had never done before, and this was an awesome sight for young Peter Welch. He watched as Mr. Fryer lit another cigar, sat down at a chair made out of pure, brown leather, and waited for Tom to exhale the sweet smoke, and say the words that Peter has waited to hear a very long time; the words that every actor dreams about breathing in from an agent.

  Tom Fryer opened a black wooden case, and held it near Peter’s face. Offering Mr. Welch a cigar, Tom blew out a cloud of smoke and said, “Yes, I want to discuss some things with you, mainly your future with Fryer’s Talent... ”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sun pounding down on Damen’s sleeping, imperceptible eyes gave him a feeling of warmth; he felt like he was sleeping back in the Valley. The way the roaches, with their big and small bodies, would crawl on the floor in the motel room and make little sounds, Damen felt like he was lying on Sugar’s grass, with the sweet, tiny ants making tapping noises as they would come out of their dirt-filled cities in the ground. But, as soon as Damen opened his eyes a bit, reality set in, seeing the roaches crawl, and the terrible hot sun pounding through a cracked window with dust dancing in its path; this sight caused his eyes to close again, to be obscured toward reality. But then, Damen woke up, on this second day in Hollywood, to the sound of pounding against the motel room door. Roaches of all sizes scattered about, ran through the cheap, ripped carpet that lay upon their home, and disappeared, vanished, dispersed their yucky figures before Damen could see where they slept. He looked at the time, at a small clock that sat on a night stand, with spray paint from the old tenants still on its body, and saw through a glass that the clock read 2:00 p.m. He shot up out of bed like a firecracker being blown off on the Fourth of July, realizing this was an important day for all of them. In his race to get up, there was a lingering roach, left behind from the herd, and Damen’s foot, naked as could be, stepped on this disgusting creature; its poison-filled blood pressed against his foot, causing him to say, “Shit, we have roaches?”

  The pounding from the door started to get louder, so Damen hopped on one leg, with the roach hanging its flat body off of his right heel, and hobbled his way to the door. He yelled for Darell to wake up as he opened the door and saw Jose. Angry that he stepped on a roach, Damen Schultz’s tone caused Darell’s eyes to flash open and freeze as his pupils looked around the room, in search of where the noise came from.

  Jose ran into the room and shut the door behind him. “Guys, I have had the most wonderful night of my life.” Jose showed the perfect cliché of “getting laid,” or in normal terms, “having sex.” He had a perfect, frozen, permanent smile engraved on his face, like a little boy getting twenty dollars from his mother to go into a candy store; Damen knew he got some. The formation of his smirk, and the rapture that he was entangled in, caused Damen to be a little angry; after all, Jose had sex with a beautiful movie star, in a mansion, while Damen had a sticky roach hanging off his foot.

  “Well, tell us on the way to Mr. Fryer’s office—we’re gonna be late,” said Damen. He rubbed the roach’s sticky, disgusting body, off of his foot with a tissue that ripped when it came into contact with the bug’s sharp, broken shell. He then put on deodorant in a fast motion, like he was painting a house; Damen’s nervousness about being late was showing.

  The guys ran out of the motel and got into a taxi that was waiting right next to the mirage of a building; it looked like a nice motel from the outside, but a dump on the inside. The cab drove off into the morning, passing palm trees that went by faster as the car built momentum, and drove past legal speed. That’s when Jose explained his night with the star. But he left out some very important details.

  “We had a long talk ... we had champagne ... and we had sex,” Jose explained with excitement. The way his eyes rambled around his head, made him look like he struck gold and struck love at the same time. This rapture was really making Damen jealous.

  Damen stared at Jose’s wandering eyes, remembering the word ‘sex’ that wandered around his mind with a big question mark attached to its small body. Damen Schultz couldn’t believe it, Jose having sex with a movie star, on the first night they were there, Damen just couldn’t accept it into his subconscious; he segregated it from his thoughts. That’s when Damen gave a small grin, and asked with a disbelieving voice, “Wait a second, you had sex with Julienne Wells?”

  “Yeah.” Jose answered it very quickly and with a thrill to its motion, like he was a fourteen-year-old virgin, having sex after a small school dance held in a gym. “We talked about everything,” he added. His voice sounded like he was in love.

  Damen turned toward Darell, with a smile of sarcasm, and questioned, “Could you believe that, Darell?”

  Darell looked at him, with saddened eyes, like he wasn’t listening to the sex conversation in the first place, and replied in a very low, disappointed manner, “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Damen in a brotherly tone.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Jose and Damen noticed that he answered with some shakiness to his vocal cords.

  Darell knew that they would be mad at him once they reached Mr. Fryer’s office. They would be mad at him for not saying that Mr. Fryer was not interested in them, he was only interested in Darell. So many things went through Darell’s mind at that point. His face started to turn red as the taxi came closer to their destination, the destination that would probably end their friendship.

  Just tell them, Darell, tell them the truth...

  That’s what was on in his mind. The thoughts pounded, pressed, squeezed at his consciousness, and caused him to close his eyes tight, hoping that his mind would be cleared of these aggravating and complicating thoughts by obscuring the light from them.

  Okay, I can’t take it anymore, I’m gonna tell them... All of a sudden he turned his head fast toward Jose and Damen, like he was ready to say the world is going to explode and he’s the only one who’s going to survive. He said in a fast manner, hoping that his mind would hand over the truth to his mouth, “I think we should make the appointment some other day.”

  Damen questioned with a voice of confusion, “Why do you say that?”

  “Well ... maybe this is too soon. I mean, this is only our second day in Hollywood, or L.A., where ever the hell we are,” retorted Darell. He turned to look out the window, knowing that he was only making this complicated problem worse; he didn’t know what to do. Darell was about to get his foot in the door in the Entertainment Industry, but he was also ready to get an ass-kicking by his friends; he was willing to give up the door of Hollywood for the time being.

  “Maybe he’s right,” Jose said with a voice that sounded like he was hiding something. Jose hoped, prayed in his mind that Damen would agree with Darell. If he did, then Jose could rush over to the address that Julienne gave him and begin his trip to success in this industry.

  The battle of thinking began for Darell and Jose, both with a chance of stepping through Hollywood’s steel doors, but both trying to hide their reasons for it.

  “No, no, no, we’re going to the agent, this doesn’t happen every day you know. We’re going and that’s final,” said Damen, still confused as to why Darell didn’t want to go, and why Jose was actually agreeing with his semi-decision. The taxi stopped right in front of Mr. Fryer’s building, allowing the smal
l argument to end, go to the point of no return, making Darell know that he had to face this lie that he made-up so his friends wouldn’t be jealous.

  Damen walked up to his office as fast as he could, but Jose and Darell took their time. When Damen reached the designated floor of Mr. Fryer’s agency, he turned around and discovered that Jose and Darell weren’t behind him. He waited patiently in the hallway, pointing his eyes down the painted veins of the building, looking to see if his friends were coming; he started to get antsy and very impatient. When Damen finally saw them coming down the hallway, he busted into the agency’s room and approached Vivian. He had sweat on his face, some build of panic to his boyish smile, hoping that he wasn’t late for the appointment. He looked at Vivian, trying to calm his nerves, but asked in a nervous way, “Hi, we’re here to see Mr. Fryer?”

  “Okay, what’s your name?” Vivian’s question had some tenderness to its tone, allowing Damen to notice her more.

  Damen was very attracted to this woman, and his instincts returned to him by him replying in a very flirtatious voice, “My name is Damen Schultz, but the appointment may be under my friend’s name. His name is Darell O’Conner.”

  My God, Damen, she’s hot...

  “Yes, here it is, Darell O’Conner. But I don’t see your name,” she stated with a disappointed tone. Still staring at the computer, trying to find Damen’s name, her hands stopped trying, allowing Damen to know that the search was over with; he never had an appointment in the first place.

  He saw Jose and Darell finally stepping into the agency, and abruptly said, “Darell, tell this beautiful young woman that we all have an appointment here.” Jose approached Vivian as Darell dallied behind him, like a little frightened boy going to the dentist. This was it for Darell: either they would find out about his lie, or some miracle would happen. He decided that it would be best to tell them the truth.