Jose stared at the stocky man, and the two guards, also smelling their own body odor, and how it was almost piercing at Jose’s eyes, like giving him a warning not to open the door fully. He just wanted to close his door, seal it, end the stench, and escape to his air-conditioned room. He also wanted to close it, because all of his cool air was leaking out into the scorching hot hallway, passing by these three men, reviving them with a little cool breeze to dry their perspiring figures, and vanish in the heat, having it kill it and turn it into its own temperature of uncomfortableness. But, he must keep it opened, seeing these three men of importance, Jose had to talk to them; against his will of course.
“We thought it was due next week, isn’t it?” Jose’s eyes were still a little bit sticky, feeling them stretch from his sleep as he tried to focus in on what was happening, and what the outcome will be. He looked around the room for a moment, seeing Darell getting up from the floor, where he was sleeping, Jose then turned back and faced these three men. He just wanted to close the door in their faces, and crawl back to bed; his fatigue was itching at his mind, telling him to lay down, and forget about this situation.
“What do you think this place is? Do think it’s an apartment?” the man asked. He pushed on the door once, adding, “Do you have the money or not?”
Jose yawned briefly, still fighting his fatigue, he questioned, “How much do we owe?”
Darell heard the man’s words, and lingered his body up to the door, standing behind it, not allowing these three men to see or notice his presence.
“You owe $352, that’s not including today’s stay.”
“Oh, really? That much, huh?” While Jose talked, and tried his hardest, fighting his hardest to keep the situation and the conversation going, to buy him time to think, Darell was busy looking through his wallet, finding only five dollars to his name.
“Do you have it or not?” One of the officers gazed deep into Jose’s eyes, waiting for him to answer; he looked like a psycho through his stares.
“Well... no, not exactly,” Jose answered, feeling his own eyes widen again, peeling away the sticky substance that helped his eyes to be shut while sleeping. He thought for a while, and smiled at the three men in silence, knowing that they’d let him go, and finally allow him to get back into bed.
Now I get to go in my bed. What’s the worst they could do, throw us out on the streets. Ah...
“Then guys, welcome to Hollywood.” The man, or manager, took a step away from the door, and the security guards rammed against it, causing the chain lock to break off, and the door to whack open. Roaches of all sizes, shapes, and sexes ran about the room, chasing each other toward hiding spots, knowing that this was the person they need to fear. It was like the roaches knew if this man saw them, they would be poisoned and killed; little did these insects realize, this man already knew of their existence in the motel.
Well, Jose, I guess they would...
The manager shouted to the officers, “Why did you do that? You could have just told them to open it. Now I’m going to have to buy a new lock.” They grabbed Jose and Darell, with their grasps being tighter than a noose. “Take all of their stuff and throw it in the streets with them,” he added, handing the officers a plastic bag for their clothes and belongings.
The boys stood like statues in their robes and shorts, watching cars drive by whistling and making faces at them, taunting them like bums and shouting at them like they were hookers. The hot sun baked down over their heads, Darell and Jose feeling their own hair being boiling hot, they already missed the air-conditioned room. The sun was unbearable, and the fact that they’re on the streets now, it became an embarrassing place, with Darell muttering, “I am so embarrassed, Jose.”
“I know, me too.”
“What are we gonna to do now?”
“I don’t know. All I want to know is one thing,” Jose said, slowly sitting down on the hot, sun-reflective curb, covering up his legs with his red robe.
“What’s that?” Darell then sat down on the curb right beside him, covering up his legs with his blue robe, and trying to camouflage his inner thighs with his hands.
“Where the hell is Damen?” Jose searched through the plastic bag for his pager and pants, feeling the first time what it’s like to be without a home, and what it was like to be the one stereotype that he’d become; a bum.
“You think he’s alright?”
Jose found his pager, kissed it, while thinking of Julienne, and said, “I don’t really care... I don’t really care.”
The time went by, and as Jose and Darell were getting their taste of Hollywood’s toughness, Damen was getting his own taste of it too; but a taste in a different way.
Damen and Vivian finally arrived at Crox Casting Agency, a small building near the city limits of Hollywood, which was cheap looking, a few broken windows to its minute structure, and spray paint that looked as if green, purple, mixed with a tint of red was the color of the agency’s body. They walked in the building and sat down in the waiting area, seeing faces of actors trying to get extra work under their belts, to put on resumes, and to have a job with pay. These faces reached the number of one hundred.
Damen filled out a resume for doing extra work as Vivian went to the bathroom, being alone amongst people that watched him write, watched him breathe, and gawked every stare that he would give to them; they were like hawks, wondering why he was here, and if he was going to be a famous actor someday. Damen finished filling it out and stepped into the office in which the casting agent stood, one of the bosses of the agency. He was relieved to walk out of that gazing, eye-filled waiting room, saying, “Okay, I’m done filling it out.”
The agent, or casting worker, had a small office, a lot of colors, statues and different textures to it, but it all looked cramped in, seeing that there was hardly room to walk; like an old person’s garage sale, seeing antiques from the great past, but only looking from a small distance, noticing that you couldn’t reach them, because of the rich junk that stood in your way. “Now, all I need is a photo of you, any photo would do just fine,” the agent said.
“But, I don’t have a photo.”
“You don’t have any photos of yourself?” asked the agent in a surprised tone.
“I won’t have any real photos till next week, that’s when my professional photos will be ready.” Damen looked down at the floor of his office and saw a strange pattern on the carpet; he didn’t want to look at this man, Damen wanted a job in the worst way, he didn’t want to look in the guy’s eyes. Staring at the carpet, while this man decided what to do, Damen noticed that the textures in the rug resembled a dragon with fire coming from its mouth. He was transfixed by this fantasizing creature of flight, noticing as he looked up, that the agent also had statues of dragons on his desk, and the same beasts all around the room, cubical, the small area that seemed like a bathroom in disguise.
“Well, I am truly sorry, but,” the agent spoke, interrupted by Vivian’s entry. “Oh, hi, Vivian.” He got up, squeezed his way through this miniature room, and gave her a kiss on the face.
“Hello, Fred, I see that you’re still into dragons.”
“Why yes, yes I am.”
“That’s good, I think they’re very passionate creatures, beasts that fly through the skies, blowing fire from their bellies,” Vivian spoke, Damen noticing that some flirtatious tones were coming from her mouth. “Well, um, what seems to be the problem?” she asked as she looked into Fred’s eyes. It was as if her beauty put him into a trance.
“Problem?”
“He said he’s sorry, but he can’t take me for the job,” Damen said with a tone of disappointment. He knew Vivian’s game, and decided, for the hell of it, to go along with it, and see if her seduction works.
“I did not, I said I’m sorry for the fact that you don’t have any photos,” Fred stated in a child’s tone.
“So, he’s got the job then?” Vivian questioned, still keeping her eyes in focus with Fred’s.
“Um, yes, of course. When could you start?” Fred mumbled as he looked at Vivian.
“Not me, Damen’s the one looking for work,” she laughed out, pointing her hand at Damen, allowing Fred to break from his trance, and follow Vivian’s hand.
“Oh, I mean you, when could you start?” Fred’s eyes were released from Vivian’s trance and settled in on Damen’s face.
“He could start today. They’re filming that new movie right down the block from here,” Vivian mentioned. Damen looked at her and grinned; he knew her game worked with flying colors.
“Oh, yes, but of course,” said Fred. He handed Damen a voucher sheet to fill out, and a pen to use that had a green dragon wrapped around its tube. “Now, you’re probably going to be staying for about fourteen hours or more, Damen.”
“How long?” Damen was surprised and shocked, he didn’t realize he would have to work so many hours in one day.
“Fourteen hours. Extras work very hard, son, but not as hard as the actors do. Here, take this and go down to the set, Vivian knows the way,” Fred explained. He shook Damen’s hand, and walked back behind his desk, squeezing his skinny body through the tightness of it, and sat down while giving out a gasp of air.
“What set?” Damen questioned.
“The set of the movie. Oh, I get it, that was a joke,” Fred spoke with laughter.
Damen looked confused, learning these new terms and phrases that the entertainment industry has, he paused for a moment then said, “Oh, yeah, ha, ha, did you get it?”
Before Fred could answer, Vivian grabbed his hand and walked out of the office, laughing at him for being so funny to her ears.
They waited for an hour by the set, watching as the casting agents chose different extras to walk back and forth in the movie; in Damen’s mind, being an extra was the best job ever, but he just started. Two hours went by and Damen was losing his patience, finishing the filling out of the voucher sheet three hours ago, he had nothing else to do but wait. This time they were choosing extras to sit in a restaurant for the background, the restaurant scene that they’d been working on for three hours now. “Vivian, what’s the use of being an extra if you never work?”
“Damen, you have to be patient. It’s all based on timing,” she replied, looking through a magazine, trying to keep her mind occupied.
“What do you mean?”
“You see, all those people that were chosen to be in the walking scene, most likely they can’t be in any more scenes of the movie,” she explained.
“Why not?”
“Because, those people were already seen on film. This restaurant scene is the one that counts for us. They are only choosing a handful of extras to be in it. Plus, the camera is going to be close to the actors, especially the extras. That’s why we have to be patient,” she replied as she turned the magazine page once more.
“Is it time yet?”
“Nope, not yet.”
Waiting in another small room, with a sign on its door reading Extra Holding Area, Damen felt like he was in prison. The room had thirty chairs against the wall, filled up with actors of all kinds, and also had a strange aroma in its air; it smelled like burnt rubber. He and Vivian had to stand. Damen feeling his legs slowly crumbling down to the naked, wooden floor, he knew he was in a prison. To top it off, it didn’t have any air-conditioning, except for a small fan on one side of the room, that twelve people were fighting over, trying to feel its warm breeze that could dry up their sweat, as well as take away the odor from their noses: body odor.
“What happens if they don’t choose us to be in that scene?” he asked in a disturbed manner.
“Don’t worry so much, we pick ourselves,” she answered, putting the magazine down on a long table filled with refreshments and bagels for the actors.
Damen picked up a bagel from the refreshment table. “How are we going to do that?” he questioned while biting into the stolen bagel; the bagel that was supposed to be for the actors in the movie, as well as the crew.
“You’ll see.” Vivian paused, noticing a casting agent coming into the Extra Holding Area, she knew his motive for doing so.
All the extras who were sitting in the chairs got up from them, and stood in a single file line. The extras that were fighting over the breeze from the fan ran toward the agent and stood in the line, like soldiers being picked for battle. Vivian and Damen also stood in the line, with Damen being bewildered about the situation; he still stood, and followed everything that Vivian did.
The casting agent walked slowly, looking at this line with his huge, green eyes being fixed on all the actors he passed, he looked at Damen and Vivian, and kept on walking. Vivian showed sadness, knowing that the agent wasn’t going to pick them, and also hearing the agent say, “Okay now, I want you, you, you, you and you,” without pointing toward her or Damen.
They both watched as the actors that were chosen, followed the agent out of the room, with smiles on their faces. This angered Damen, knowing that he still had to wait longer in this small, burnt rubber, body odor smell, and hot, sweaty room. He threw down his half-eaten bagel and said, “Oh great, now what?”
“Just wait, trust me, we will be in this scene.” Vivian’s words sounded believable, seeing that she was lighting up a cigarette, Damen knew she was calm.
“So, could you tell me what extra work is again? You know, to make the time go faster,” he spoke in a speedy fashion, feeling his nerves coming out through his shaky, sweaty eyes; he wanted this day to be over with fast. They both found vacant seats, so they sat down in them quick, before anyone else could steal them away.
“Alright, you see, when a movie is being made, the extras are the people who walk in the background of the film, or sit at a table in a film. Extras are mainly props for the movie,” she explained, sitting down at the same time.
“Oh, I see.”
Four hours went by and Damen was going crazy. He fell asleep twice and went to the bathroom three times, only to talk to himself in the mirror. His sweat was getting to him, but he knew if he went over to the fan, he would have to fight his way into the tunnel of wind, seeing that even more actors fought over this hot breeze. So he fell asleep in his chair for a little while, but was awakened by the sound of Vivian whispering, “Come on, it’s time.”
“What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and wiping the saliva off his face.
“Follow me.”
They both walked past the row of chairs with sleeping bodies in them. Not wanting to wake any extras up, Vivian put her hand up to her mouth, and signaled for Damen to be quiet. They exited the holding area and ran across the street to the restaurant in a hurry, without Damen even questioning Vivian’s reason for doing so.
Walking into the restaurant suspiciously and quietly, she asked in a whisper, “Alright, you see that group of people standing by the bathrooms?”
“Yeah,” he replied as he tried to catch his breath.
The restaurant was a Lobster House, filled with wires, and cameras for the director, and thick rounded tubes that brought gulps of air-conditioning through it, so the major actors wouldn’t be hot. The restaurant was packed with extras, and it was very quiet, subtle, with very little noises. Most of the extras were standing by a bathroom, taking a break, or else waiting to be picked and seated for filming.
“Those are the extras who are going to be in this scene of the movie. Follow my lead,” she explained, tiptoeing to the group of extras, and mingling her way into the center of them all. “Okay, while you were sleeping, I did some studying on this set. I found out that the table by all those flowers is the table we want to be at,” she added, pointing toward the director’s camera. “You see, the camera is going to be right on that table, that way we’ll be seen for sure.”
“How are we able to get to that table? Isn’t it being occupied by other extras?” Damen was curious about her plan, hearing the voices of the extras standing around them, and how they sounded like whispers, he added in a whisper, “Beside
s, how many times did they do this scene already?”
“They only shot this scene once so far. So don’t worry about that, they won’t notice us if we sneak in, and take that spot. Anyway, that table is being occupied by a woman and a man,” she replied, pointing to the extras in which the table is taken by. “All we have to do is invent a diversion or a lie, so those people won’t be in the scene. That way we’ll be able to take the scene from them.” Suddenly, her eyes widened, having her eyeballs nearly falling out from her sockets; a light bulb went off in her head, Damen nearly seen the light coming from her ears. “Here, stay put, I’m gonna go take care of the woman first, she seems like the easiest.” Vivian then lit up a cigarette and tried to focus in on her plan by standing still for a moment.
“Well, I’ll stay right here, Double O Seven,” Damen muttered. He kissed Vivian on the cheek, adding, “Good luck.”
Vivian walked over to the woman and stood behind her, seeing that the woman was standing next to a man smoking a cigar. Inconspicuously, Vivian took the woman’s blue, flowered blouse ever so gently and burned several holes into it with her cigarette. The woman was still talking and discussing her acting career while Vivian lined up all the holes to make one, great big hole, looking around her to see if anyone was seeing her commit this crime, she finished her little project and waited. Then, Vivian put out her cigarette and waited for the man with a cigar to get closer to the woman. As soon as he did, Vivian tapped the woman on her shoulder and said, “Excuse me, excuse me.”
“What do you want?” the woman asked in an arrogant manner. The fact that she was sitting at the head table, made her think she was a movie star, but really, she was only an extra with an attitude.
“I just wanted to tell you how lucky you are to be at that table. You know the camera is right on that table?” Vivian questioned with a high pitched and whiny voice. She wanted to make herself look like an air-head-kind-of-girl, being envious of this woman with a conceited nature to her character; Vivian wanted to have fun.
Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) Page 21