Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret)

by Stephen Andrew Salamon

  “Are you sure this is the address?” Jose questioned, looking up at the sign on the building that read Beverly Hills Photographer.

  “Yeah, that’s what it says on the paper,” said Darell after he stepped out of the building also and realized he didn’t pay the cabdriver.

  After he paid him, they all walked into the building that looked like it was made out of glass, pure crystal that shimmered the reflection of the sun’s image. This building stood ten stories high and was covered with mirrors on the inside, looking like a maze of reflections, creating light for the inside through what the mirror saw and showed; three lights were above one great mirror, that caused a reflection of a thousand lights. The glass structure looked as if it came out of the twilight zone, being formed into a place of mystery.

  After they entered it, a man approached them from behind, staring at their backs through one of the mirrors; this man finally tapped Jose on the shoulder, causing them all to turn around in fright. He asked in a curt manner, “Do you have an appointment?” Noticing that this man had the same dialect as a young teenage girl, made the boys see and enter into another form of life they’ve only seen in movies: homosexuality.

  “Ah, yes, yes we do,” spoke Damen. This bald man stared at them with an evil look, a look that meant they’re not wanted and they don’t belong here.

  “Well, Mr. Appointment Man, what name is the appointment under?”

  “I guess ... O’Conner,” Darell replied in confusion. The man turned away from Mr. Schultz, and stared at Darell, seeing that they looked baffled. He took advantage of their confusion by being a smart-aleck.

  “Hello, you guess or you know?”

  “Yes, it’s under O’Conner,” Damen replied with loudness to his voice, seeing the bald man rubbing his head for a moment.

  Jose went over to Damen, watching this bald man search his computer base for O’Conner’s name, and whispered in his ear, “Damen, when I came in here about two minutes ago, I told that bald ass the same thing, and he told me there isn’t an O’Conner listed in his appointment book or on his computer.”

  “What do you mean? Of course it’s listed.”

  While the man looked up the name in the computer, he gave an evil glare toward them. Seeing Darell’s reservation come up on the monitor, this man was agitated that these low-class youngsters had to be accepted into his franchise by him, forcefully. He saw Mr. Fryer’s name under Darell’s, so he called up Tom to double-check that he had made the appointment. He also asked about Damen and Jose, questioning their motives for coming in. When he finished, he hung up the phone and began walking over to them. “Hello, hello, which one is Darell O’Conner?”

  “I am,” replied Darell, walking past Jose and Damen, he made sure that he was noticed when his name was called.

  “Welcome, won’t you please step this way,” the bald man said, putting his hand on Darell’s shoulder.

  “Wait a second, what about us?” Damen asked.

  “What do you mean?” The bald man was uncaring through his voice, not giving a damn about Damen, or even Jose’s, existence. This caused Damen Schultz to walk into another room that was next to the waiting room, seeing that it was covered with white blankets and had a camera on a tripod standing in the center of it. Damen stared at the tripod, the white sheets, and watched the man follow him into the room and go up to his face. Staring at him, this man gave a vile expression, telling him to leave through his eyes.

  Suddenly Jose walked in the room, pushed Damen aside with a buoyant thrust, and spoke with anger to his sentence, “We have an appointment here too. Mr. Fryer made it for us.”

  “I talked to Mr. Fryer, Handsome, he said the only appointment he made was for Darell O’Conner. Now, if you want to watch you can, I’m never against that,” the bald man said in a mild tone, showing some flirtatious gesture through his eyes.

  Mr. Schultz became puzzled, his stress beginning to show through his eyes, rolling around in a dither. He also comprehended, somehow, in his mind, that this bald man was talking to them awfully strange, as if he was flirting. But, Damen didn’t think anything of it yet, and said in a stressed-out fashion, “I don’t understand ... I thought we all had an appointment here?”

  “Yeah, and when I came in here and gave you Darell’s name, you said he wasn’t listed in the appointment book,” spoke Jose.

  “Listen, Handsome, I only told you that because you don’t look like an O’Conner. If I’m correct, which I know I am, O’Conner is an Irish name, not a Mexican name,” the bald man replied with obvious nastiness. “As for you, cutie, understand this, the only way to get an appointment here, is either by a talent agent, casting agent, or any of the above. If you walk in off the streets, you have to be a resident of Beverly Hills. Now, do you understand?” the man added in a tyrannical manner, looking at Damen up and down.

  “Yes, now I understand.” Damen was ticked off at the situation, as anyone would be, and didn’t like the fact that he’d called him “cutie.”

  “Yeah, me too, you racist son of a...” Mr. Rodrigo said before Damen covered his mouth.

  When he let go of his mouth, Damen noticed this man staring at him, in a very mysterious way, like he was thinking of something that involved his face, or even figure. “I tell you what, cutie, if you want, I could take your picture for free, and you could make it up in some other way,” the man spoke, seeing Damen’s eyes widen with shock.

  “Hell, no.”

  “Well, for your photos, my point exactly.” The man then turned around and looked at Darell standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by white cloth.

  Before the man started pursuing Darell in a slow fashion, Damen’s anger grew inside of him. The way his head started to tremble, and his fists started to tighten, he wanted this man to know he was pissed for hitting on him, treating him like a prostitute, and giving him an ultimatum that has nothing to do with his own sexuality. So, his nervous hands tapped on the man’s shoulder, saying at the same time, “Listen to me, I am an actor, not a whore, and I have money, not your money. And, if you ever call me ‘cutie’ again, I’ll take that camera over there, with the tripod included, and shove it so far up your ass, you’ll be shitting pictures for a month. Now, am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes. Now, are we feeling better after getting all that out?"

  Damen looked at him, looked at Jose, and said, “Yes. But first, Jose has to finish something. Jose?”

  “Oh yeah. Bitch, you racist son of a bitch,” yelled out Jose, bringing a simmer of laughter to Damen’s mouth.

  “Good, since we all got out our anger now, if you want to watch, follow me,” the bald man spoke, walking fully into this room. He then placed Darell down in a chair and had a makeup girl put cover-up on his face, neck, and forehead.

  “Damen, I don’t like this place anymore,” Jose stated, walking into the room where Darell was. “I want to leave.”

  “I know, but stay for Darell.”

  “Fine, but I don’t like it, Damen.”

  They watched Darell get his photos taken. Snap. Snap. Snap. One after another the film went; hearing the sound of the shots the photographer took in a heartbeat, and hearing the sound of the film rewinding, made the boys feel intrigued by the nature of photography. Damen was thinking in his mind on how he wished he was Darell, sitting where Darell was, and getting the attention he was absorbing through his image. Damen Schultz’s thoughts just lingered throughout his wanting mind.

  Man, Darell’s lucky. But, I’m happy for him.

  Snap. Snap. Snap. Jose was thinking about Julienne and how she was going to make him, mold him, and create his image into being a star. His thoughts were something that the Demon would have, laughing around in his mind.

  Man, it’s okay, Jose, you have Julienne, and Darell has Tom Fryer. Julienne’s better, besides, Damen has no one. Man, hah, hah, hah, that really sucks for him...

  Snap. Snap. Snap. The photographer finished the session and walked the guys to the counter
, Darell wiping off his make-up with a damp towel; they waited for this man to speak to them.

  “Alright, that will be six-hundred and eighty dollars,” the photographer announced, seeing out of his peripheral vision that the bald man was walking up to the counter as well.

  The bald man said to the photographer, “I got this, Bob.”

  “Okay, but don’t forget, I have a supermodel coming in a 12:00 p.m., I really need you to send for a limo to go get her,” Bob stated, shaking Darell’s hand at the same time. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise.” Darell shook his hand and thought in his head about the price of the photos, shocking of its sound, tormenting to his pockets, which didn’t have those types of figures. “Um, guys, I might need a little help with the ah, ah, with the money.”

  “Well, don’t look at me, all my money’s back at the motel, having the roaches to guard it,” said Jose. He pushed his wallet, filled with money, deep in his pocket, not desiring any of it to be spent on anyone else but him.

  Damen suddenly pulled out his wallet and questioned, “Fine, how much you need?”

  “Um, well, ah, about four hundred dollars.”

  Mr. Schultz shouted, “Four hundred dollars?”

  He pulled out the money that Darell needed and slapped it in his hands, with the bald man smiling at him, knowing Damen didn’t want to give it, but had to. That’s when Mr. O’Conner spoke, “Thank you so much, Damen, I owe you one.”

  “You bet you do. This money was supposed to be for food.”

  “Okay, sir, here’s the money. When do I pick up my photos?”

  “You don’t, we’re going to send them directly to Mr. Fryer. That’s what he requested. We’re sending them out today.” The bald man gave Darell a receipt and turned away, giving them a sign that he didn’t want to speak, or be spoken to anymore.

  “Oh, okay ... see ya, then.”

  The moment before Jose walked away from the bald man, he said in defense, “By the way, ass, I mean sir, I’m Spanish, not Mexican.”

  They walked outside and waited for a cab in silence. In silence they communicated, Jose gave facial expressions of anger toward Darell. Damen gave expressions of hurt, the hurt that he was feeling inside his mind. He was hurt because of the fact that he saw everything he wanted to happen to him, happening to Darell, and for the fact that he had to pay for most of it. They got a cab right before Damen’s guilty expressions became verbal, making him speak his mind, which consisted of putting his foot down once more and taking a plan of action.

  They got in the cab, and Damen Schultz’s thoughts ran toward his mouth, saying with its speed, “Alright, guys, it’s time for us to get jobs. I’m almost wiped out of money, and I know Jose and you don’t have the motel fee for next week. The joyride is over with. Now we have to be real, and keep it that way.”

  “Why should I get a job? Mr. Fryer told me I’m going to be getting an acting job soon, making me a superstar,” Darell brought out with a snotty voice.

  Damen replied in a fast and angry approach, “Darell, he probably says that to every actor that steps foot in his office.”

  “Well, no offense, and not to be a jerk, but he didn’t say that to you guys....”

  “Well, I guess you’re the next big star,” Jose hollered with sarcasm.

  “Listen, Darell, first off, you are being a jerk on purpose, as well as a bitch. And if you know it offends us, why did you say it? Furthermore, you don’t know for sure that Tom Dryer is going to pull something up for you,” Damen argued. “And not to be a jerk of course, but you’re a jerk.”

  “Well, um, I feel that Mr. Fryer, not Dryer, is going to get me an audition soon, and all I have to do is kiss ass to the casting directors. Then bingo, I got myself an acting job.” They looked at him as if he was on some sort of drug, seeing how his fantasizing words came out of him with such truth to its formality.

  “Listen, crack-head, that will take some time. Darell, in the meantime we have to eat and have a place to stay. So that means, that your soon-to-be-movie-star-ass has to work,” Damen explained in a serious manner, turning his eyes back and forth to Jose and Darell.

  “Okay, I’ll get a job, we’ll go looking tomorrow,” Jose said, holding onto his pager, hoping that it would start beeping due to Julienne; that way he wouldn’t need to get a job.

  “Fine, we’ll go look tomorrow,” Darell muttered in a disappointed exercise of his eyes, seeing how they drooped down like a puppy’s.

  Just then, over Darell’s voice, Damen suddenly took a father’s position. “What’s wrong with you, Darell? Back home you loved to work...”

  “Well, this isn’t home, it’s different. Here, I am going to become an actor, a star, just as planned. I mean, that’s why we took this trip, because we were so sick and tired of acting in the Valley, and not having a chance to be known, just like the rest of these schmucks.”

  “Don’t you mean, we’re going to become stars, as you poetically put it?” asked Damen. He knew he caught Darell saying something he shouldn’t of, preaching it out like he was God, and now Damen wanted him to know, wanted him to see his mistake; subliminal as it may be, it was still a mistake.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Look, we all want the same thing, you’re just mad that it isn’t happening to you first,” Darell added with snootiness.

  “Are you trying to say I’m jealous?”

  Darell turned to look out the window. “You said it, not me.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Guys, guys, just stop it already, you’re beginning to give me a headache,” Jose yelled out, noticing that they drove past a photographer’s building.

  “Stop the cab,” Damen howled to the driver.

  “What is it?” Jose questioned.

  “Come on, Jose.” Damen opened the door and pulled Jose out of the cab by his shirt. “Wait here, we’ll be back in a little bit.”

  “Where are you going?” Darell sat in the cab and hung his head out the window, waiting for one of them to answer his question. The heat from the outside, stung at Darell’s face, feeling the air-conditioner, from the taxi, blowing at his body, and feeling the heat, from the sun, blowing at his head; this change in temperature, striking him at the same time, made him feel twice as much uncomfortable.

  “We’re going to get our pictures taken. Where do think we’re going?” Damen asked in a mad and frustrated tone as a store marked ‘Photographer’ stood right next to the cab.

  They walked into the photographer’s office and said they only want one roll of film taken. They both shared the roll of film and finished the session within twenty minutes.

  “Okay, that will be a hundred dollars,” the photographer said, scratching his dirty, smelly face. This store had cheap, cracked windows at the front, and barred windows toward the back, leading into an alley. The smell of urine made it twice as bad, and seeing this man, with teeth the color of yellow, and breath that smelled like a cow’s tush, made the boys feel disgusted.

  “Jose, I only got a fifty,” Damen mumbled, pushing his other money deep into his pockets.

  “Okay, I’ll pay the other fifty.”

  They paid the man and took a piece of paper that had the date when their pictures would be ready. They got into the cab and found Darell sleeping, sweat became his blanket. The cab drove off and Damen said one sentence, and one sentence only, to Jose. This sentence, or question would be the first sign that Jose was already changing for the worse. “So, I thought you didn’t have any money, Jose?”

  “I was saving the money for an emergency.” Damen ignored his excuse and just gazed out of the window. Anger that Jose lied to him about the money situation left Damen at a loss for words, not even longing to argue with him.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Darell, waking up from his sleep and brushing off the blanket of sweat from his face with his perspiring hands.

  “D
amen’s mad at me.” Jose felt and sounded guilty; after all, he was.

  “For what?”

  “Never mind,” Jose said, facing toward the opposite window.

  “Damen, why are you mad at him?”

  They didn’t talk at all. Silence. They each faced toward the window, with Darell whining over and over again. “You guys never tell me anything...”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Mr. Fryer, Darell O’Conner’s photos came in yesterday, they were lost underneath all of the other junk mail,” Vivian said over the speakerphone. “Would you like me to bring them in for you?”

  “Yes, bring them in right away,” Mr. Fryer replied. Ten casting agents sat patiently in his office awaiting the arrival of Darell’s photos.

  Vivian brought them in his office and gave them to Mr. Fryer, standing there for a moment staring at each casting agent, hoping that one of them would be interested in her. As she handed the photos to him, each casting agent popped their heads up to have a glance at Vivian; it was like the domino effect. Vivian smiled at the agents as Mr. Fryer said, “That will be all, Vivian ... you may leave now.”

  “Sir, today I get off early, I just wanted to remind you,” Vivian announced, still seeing the casting agents staring vigorously at her beauty.

  “Oh, yes, thanks for reminding me. Now leave,” he ordered. “Okay, let’s get started, shall we?”

  Vivian exited the office in a strolling fashion, reaching the outside of it, she closed the door ever so slowly. She watched as each agent became blocked by the door, pulling it closer and closer to shut. Finally, the door sealed and she stood motionless against it, trying to listen if the meeting was about her, mentioning some form of a female, knowing that she was the only female in this so-called contest.

  “Tom, which one of these photos are you interested in?” one of the casting agents asked.