Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret)

by Stephen Andrew Salamon

  Darell sat back and enjoyed the ride. Knowing he wasn’t the one fighting, he breathed out relief, and watched the entertainment. That was something about Damen and Jose’s friendship: they were always good fighters, and when they got in an argument, they would go at each other’s throats till sleep ended it.

  Everything was fine and dandy for Darell until Jose agreed with Damen again. The wind blowing in through the car window, allowed Jose and Damen’s sweat, from the arguing pressure, to cool off, so this way they could go on and on, and still never be uncomfortable. The taxi driver also enjoyed the entertainment.

  Jose then opened his mouth, “I think that’s a good idea, you should go back home,” and it was nothing but anger that came out.

  Immediately after Jose spoke those words, phrase, that disturbing and hurtful sentence, Darell popped out of nowhere and said, “Okay, guys, just shut up, no one is going anywhere.”

  The cab stopped because of a traffic jam, allowing the guys to get uncomfortable because there was no wind to cool the steaming, hot car. Jose turned to Darell and asked, “Who do you think you are? This argument is because of you.”

  “Wait a second, look what we’re doing. We’re in Hollywood, or California, whatever they call this place nowadays, for only two days and we’re already at each other’s throats. Let’s stop now,” Damen asserted.

  The cab started to move slowly past the traffic jam into a parking spot next to their motel.

  “Okay, you’re right,” said Jose. He then paid the cabdriver.

  “I know, let’s make a deal. The next time we fight again, the one who starts the fight has to leave Hollywood,” explained Darell. He got out of the cab and followed Jose and Damen.

  “Wait a second, I just remembered, we’re invited to some sort of a get-together tonight,” Damen mentioned; he was reminded by the word “deal” that Darell spoke.

  “What get-together?” Jose asked as they walked up to their room. Seeing the chipped, pink paint that literally hung in the hallways of the motel, made Jose and Darell want to go to this get-together even more; it would be better than staying at this dump.

  “That girl at Mr. Fryer’s office invited us, she said she’s going to bring some of her friends.” Damen then opened the squeaky door to their motel room and walked in, seeing all the roaches scatter about, running up the walls to their homes in the cracks, and running in the carpet where they ate the food they caught or found; it was another disgusting sight that the boys were slowly getting used to.

  “What girl? What friends?” Jose spoke, very curious and interested in the form they came out in.

  “I don’t know her name, but she’s an actor herself. Plus, I really, really, really like her a lot. As for her friends, I guess they’re actors too.” Damen lay down on one of the two beds. Seeing the roaches run out from underneath it, he closed his eyes from the exhausting day he’d had.

  “These friends of hers, are they girls?” asked Jose.

  “I guess so... But it wouldn’t make any difference to you; you have Maria already. Do you remember who Maria is?” Damen mentioned, hoping that Jose would catch on to his smart-alecky fashion. He saw that he did. Seeing Jose put his head down, Damen gave a small leer to his tired lips.

  “Um, Damen, you’re starting a fight. That means you have to leave Hollywood,” Jose brought up, hoping in his mind that Damen would drop the topic of Maria.

  “Fine, I was just joking.” Damen knew it was a losing battle when it came to discussing the fact that Jose was cheating on Maria. That’s what he discovered on the first day in Hollywood, but Damen didn’t realize that he would be realizing even more things about Jose, as well as Darell, in the near future.

  “Girls? Did you say girls?” Darell showed them that he was aroused; that single word made his eyes widen.

  “Yes ... I guess they are. The get-together is up at the big Hollywood sign at 9:00 p.m. We better start getting ready.” Damen got up from the rickety bed and went into the bathroom, knowing that he needed to look his best tonight.

  “What should I wear?” Darell asked. He looked through his single pouch, full of ripped-up clothing, and discovered he didn’t have anything nice, or even suitable for a party.

  Damen turned on the shower, heard Darell’s question, and replied, “I don’t know, but wear something.”

  “You know what, Darell,” spoke Jose, holding the pager in one hand and the clothes he was going to wear that night, in the other.

  “What?” Darell pulled out his ripped pants and a T-shirt with a hole in the arm; it was the closest thing to having something nice to wear.

  “I’m beginning to like Hollywood...”

  III

  Through the Vanity of Wanting,

  the Demon Now Shows His Colors...

  Chapter Thirteen

  Night was falling, and all the work that Tom Fryer did was manifesting his mind into being nothing but tired, agitated and very, highly stressed. The feeling of exhaustion already set into his body, knowing that the fatigue had grown on his legs and arms, Tom gave out a yawn and, in a way, petted the fatigue through the breath that he exhaled.

  “Vivian, could you please step in here for a moment,” Mr. Fryer asked, looking over to his clock, which read 7:50 p.m.

  Vivian heard his voice over the intercom. Having her hat on, purse over her shoulder, ready to go home, she gave a deep sigh, hoping that Tom didn’t want her to stay late. But, her sigh was more than a breath of disappointment, it sounded like fear was mixed into it; it dangled within the air. Without even pressing the button on her phone, she walked over to his office and spoke, “Yes, sir.”

  She made sure to keep her distance, for some reason, standing next to the doorway with her desk still in the mist of her peripheral vision; Vivian was cautious. Tom stared at her cautious eyes, seeing her hat on, and a purse over her shoulder, Vivian was uncomfortable from the silent stares. So, she added with a smile, “I was just ready to go home, sir.”

  Breaking the silence was a game that Tom loved to play with people, especially Vivian; he also loved to win at it. But, since she broke it, and won at the game, it caused Mr. Tom Fryer to form an evil grin. Tom Fryer was still looking over the six photos, from the actors that came in, facing the window of his office, still grinning at her through his reflection. “I need you to stay late tonight,” Tom said.

  Vivian stared at the pulsating image of his reflection off the window, knowing that even though his back is facing her, he could still see her eyes. “Why, sir?”

  “Because, I need you to make about a zillion calls to casting agents. I want to set up appointments with them to look over these photos,” he replied in a frustrated voice. “Alright?”

  Vivian stared toward her desk for a moment, seeing the waiting room door, just twenty feet away from her, knowing that she could easily leave now, Vivian was contemplating saying ‘no’, and walking away from him. Yet, she wouldn’t have a job anymore, so she slowly, while still staring at the waiting room’s see-through door and feeling safe, took off her hat and sighed, “Yes, Mr. Fryer...”

  “Good ... now let’s get started.” Vivian noticed that his words were coming out as whispers, silent echoes that could hardly be heard, recognized, and justified. “Shall we begin with,” he spoke, not being able to finish his sentence due to Vivian smothering his words with her voice.

  “Sir, could I make a phone call before we get started?” She sounded very disappointed. Clearly, having to stay late, alone with her boss, Vivian was upset to hear the news.

  Tom was very curious to know why she wanted to make a phone call, wondering her motive for calling while she was on the job. “Sure, who’s the phone call to?”

  She replied in a ticked off manner, “I don’t think that’s any of your business. But if you really must know, it’s to my friend. I’m calling her to let her know I’m not going to make it...” A silent key came to her voice, not wishing to finish her reply, feeling that it was none of his business, and that
she already gave him enough suitable information.

  “Make it to what?” he asked, trying to pry more and more into her private affairs. This was his world, his dark den that he called an office. He felt, for some reason, that he could ask and do anything he wanted, as long as he was present in his world. The way the dark, roughly designed wallpaper reflected his character, and how the cold air-conditioner blew in its air toward this place of work, allowed Vivian to fear it, especially when the sunlight died down.

  But, her fear was covered up by anger, so she asked with a strong attitude, ignoring his last question, “Could I make the phone call?”

  She looked at his reflection and saw an evil smile being purposely shown to her. The smile resembled a killer clown; in this dark-walled setting, his smile seemed to be exaggerated with terror. “Yes, you may.”

  Vivian walked out of his office and called up her friend by her desk. She waited impatiently for her to answer the phone as she looked around the dark lobby of the agency. While she waited for her friend to answer, Vivian stared at the light switch, right next to Mr. Fryer’s office door, knowing that it was a good distance to hike and hesitating about getting up and turning it on. That was one thing about Vivian; she hated the dark. Still staring at the switch that was right next to the fan switch, she dropped the phone in a panic, raced over to the wall, and smacked her hand against the switch. She ran back to her desk and grabbed the phone, noticing that it was the wrong switch she hit; she’d pressed the fan switch instead. “Shit,” she muffled out of her mouth, knowing she shouldn’t yell it out; she censored her fear, only to a point.

  Tom saw the fan go on. Conscious that the warning wind it made only went on when there was a client waiting for him, he knew exactly what was going on in the waiting room. He knew she ran to the switch in a frantic hurry, slapped her hand against the wrong one, ran back to her seat, grabbed the phone, and realized she hit the wrong one; her fear could be smelled by him, and he loved every moment of it.

  She backed up again, turned off the fan switch, hit the light switch instead, and fluttered back to her seat, still waiting for the pause of the lights to go on; they were old, fluorescent light bulbs; they took a good twenty seconds to fully bloom their bodies.

  Tom saw the fan go off, disturbed that she attempted again to turn on the lights in the waiting room, and turn off the fan’s body at the same time. He just smiled toward the window of his office, loving every moment of Vivian’s phobia of darkness.

  The lights finally turned on. Relief came to Vivian’s mind, and that’s when she grabbed the phone tighter, waiting for someone to answer. Her heart was beating fast, she could hear its sound through her chest, thumping about like it was a bass drum in a fast song.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Helen, I’m calling to say I can’t make it tonight,” Vivian stated with a voice of disappointment. Looking around the lighted room, she felt at ease now; her fear left her and the disappointment came back again.

  “Why?” Being that Helen, who was just as attractive as Vivian, was her roommate, she felt sorry for Vivian, recognizing she didn’t want to stay late at work. Helen also was a secretary for Mr. Fryer, only when Vivian called in sick, so Helen usually only worked for Tom about twice a month. She has another job in place of this one, but because she was good friends with Vivian, she always helped her out with the agency, if Vivian was ill and couldn’t make it.

  “I have to work late ... the ass is making me,” Vivian replied, putting her hand on her forehead. “I invited some guys to go up there tonight. Their names are Damen, Darell, and I think Jose. Anyway, when they get up there, tell Damen I couldn’t make it.”

  “Who’s Damen? Is he your new fling?” Helen asked as Vivian’s frown became a smile. Helen always knew how to cheer her up, and now was a very good time to lay on the humor with her.

  “No, he’s just a friend. I met him today.” Vivian then saw Mr. Fryer by his office door, giving her a signal with his hand to get off the phone.

  “Yeah right, that’s what you always say,” said Helen in a laughing manner.

  “Listen, just do this for me. Tell him to leave his number. Wait, better yet, give him my phone number,” Vivian said. She then saw Mr. Fryer giving her more signals to get off. “Listen, I got to go now, Helen. So, would you please do this for me?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “Alright, girl, thank you so much... I got to go now, Helen, bye.”

  “Bye, girl,” said Helen, hearing the dial tone at the same time. “Vivian, hello, hello?” Helen, with her hair as black as could be, up in a ponytail, stared at the phone, wondering why Vivian left so urgently. But then, she hung it up, lay down on a brown coach, and closed her eyes, yearning to take a nap in the comfort of her cheap but livable apartment.

  During that time, Vivian walked into Mr. Fryer’s office and sat down in a chair that was facing a mirror. She wrote down all the numbers to call as Mr. Fryer was relaying them to her, over and over, talking faster than a rabbit could run. Over sixty numbers were written down by Vivian, her hands feeling stiff from the exercise, and cold from the air-conditioner; they were cramping up on her. She looked up at Mr. Fryer and asked, “Sir ... why so many numbers?”

  “Because, most of these agents are either out of town or busy on the day in which I want them to come in and review these photos. Remember, Vivian, this is summertime, half of the people in this industry, are taking a break and going on vacation. Out of those sixty agents I want you to call, we’re probably going to get about ten to come in,” he replied in a stressed-out way, walking around the office with a cigar in his mouth. “Every summer it’s the same, as soon as the agents see that the producers, directors, and casting agents have gone on vacation, they take a little vacation of their own; that’s if these new agencies haven’t gone out of business yet.”

  “When should I tell them to come in?” Vivian’s pen paused on the paper, awaiting a reply.

  “Who?” Tom’s eyes and mind were distracted by Vivian’s young, curvy figure, her sensual youth was making him lose train of thought, very abruptly.

  “The agents.” Vivian followed the path of his eyes, which led to her chest. She started to feel uncomfortable. Gazing out to her right, at the office door, she wanted to get up and leave this room of discomfort.

  “Oh, um, make an appointment four days from now, that will be June 17. That way I’ll have all seven photos ready,” he explained, turning his eyes away from her slim and slender figure, fixing them toward a mirror that hung on the wall.

  “What time should they come in, sir?” Vivian looked intently at his reflection, watching his eye movements, and their paths, to see if they would come into contact with her breasts again.

  “Tell them 4:00 p.m.” He looked deeply into the mirror, and saw the photos on his desk. He noticed that Darell’s was missing from the batch. “I hope that Darell O’Conner won’t forget about his appointment in three days with the photographer,” he said; at the same time Vivian was seeing his eyes coming upon her chest again.

  “I’m sure he won’t, sir. Do Damen and Jose have appointments too?”

  “Who?” Mr. Fryer asked as he walked behind Vivian and faced the mirror. Tom stood behind her, Vivian seeing his eyes in the mirror, staring at hers; she felt horribly nervous, observing the destination of his eyes.

  “You know ... Darell’s two friends. What about them?” Vivian tried to keep up the conversation. Putting on an act as if she wasn’t uncomfortable, she tried to keep things professional and calm.

  He extinguished his cigar, still staring at the mirror, and questioned, “What about them?”

  “I thought they came in your office too. Aren’t you interested in them?” Vivian spoke in a sad way. She stared at Mr. Fryer’s reflection, watching his eyes look at the reflection of her chest; her act of being calm was slowly melting away and revealing her fear.

  “No, I’m only interested in Darell. Now
, go make those phone calls,” Mr. Fryer said in a demanding tone.

  He walked away from her. Feeling relief coming to her mind’s eye, she walked toward the office door and left Mr. Fryer’s world behind.

  Vivian made phone calls one after another. Her fingers began to pulsate from the tapping sensation against the rugged edges of the digits on the phone. She finished the final call and slammed the phone down on the receiver. Walking back into Mr. Fryer’s office and looking at the clock, which read 9:00 p.m., she knew it was about time for her to vanish from Fryer’s Talent. She saw Tom facing the window again. Not knowing if he saw her entrance, she stood by the office door once more, and waited for the right time, when she felt comfortable, to make her presence known to him. “I’m finished, Mr. Fryer.”

  “Good, now sit down, I want you to do something else before you go,” said Mr. Fryer in a quiet manner. The way he invited those words to come of his old, fragile mouth with such austerity and quietness to it, made Vivian’s mind conscious of the fear she was feeling at this moment. Standing, in a dark, wall-papered room, as cold as can be, with a man holding her future, standing and facing a window, she didn’t know what to expect, or if need be, where she could go. He was in control right now, as he was every day.

  “I thought you said you wanted me to stay late tonight?” Vivian said those words with some happiness to its tone. Realizing that she could still make it to the get-together and see Damen, Vivian’s fear was releasing its blood through her sweat. The thought of seeing Damen again, even though she just met him, allowed her to forget about the fear of this room, this man, this coldness she felt blowing against her sweat, and handle this moment’s cold reality. Vivian knew she’d finished the calls early, there was nothing else for her to do, and that made her grow a small smile upon her face, escaping in the possibilities of what could be.

  “I did say that ... it is going to be a late night.” He stared out his office window at the Hollywood lights, still feeling Vivian’s presence behind his cold back.