Slurppp...
“You don’t understand, Helen, I know Jose and Darell well. I know they’ll help me out,” defended Damen.
“Listen, I just want to ask you one thing, and then we’ll drop this conversation altogether,” Helen said, putting down her half-finished coffee.
“What?”
“When you guys came here from, from?”
“Ridge Crest, Mississippi.”
“When you guys came here from Ridge Crest, did you notice anything strange about them? I mean, did you notice any changes in them?” asked Helen.
“Well, yeah, I guess.” He then started nodding his head, finally realizing, and catching onto what Helen was trying to say, or the point she was attempting to make. “You know, you’re right.”
Helen grinned, and explained, “Well, I’m not right yet, you still have to wait for Jose to make it big, and for Darell to get in a few more movies. After that, if they don’t help you make it to the top also, then you could say I’m right,” Helen explained.
“Do you think they’ll do that to me, Vivian? Do think they’ll just forget about me?”
“Well, all I could say to you, is that it’s every man for himself,” she answered. The shower turned off and a big yell came from the bathroom suddenly.
Helen turned and faced the bathroom door. Hearing Jose yelling from it, in a screeching sound, she started to laugh. Laughing is what they were all doing, except for Jose, with Helen giggling, “Oops, I guess we forgot to pay the water bill... ”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Darell stared out the window of the Beverly Hills Hotel and tried to figure out, in his mind, if Mr. Fryer would actually help his friends make it to the top also. He walked up to a fireplace and began leaning his body toward the mantel of it; picking up a poker that resembled a sword, he started poking at the flames. The flames that were pulsating from the fireplace, waking their lighted, tremendously hot selves toward Darell, caused him to jump away from it, leaving the flames alone. He walked back to the window while dropping the poker on the blue velvet rug and began thinking if Mr. Fryer would keep his promise. Tapping away against its edges, guiding his sight toward the heavens, Darell lit up a cigarette, and blew its air toward the window. That’s when he asked, “Tom, you said you would help me find Damen and Jose once we got here. Well, will you help me now?”
“I will, but first I have to prepare you for tomorrow,” Tom responded. He took out a bunch of papers from his briefcase, and then poured himself some espresso that lay on a glass coffee table, in a silver pot.
Darell looked at the afternoon sun, watching it slowly drift down into the earth, showing its death to him, and how its colors were radiant orange. “I wonder what they’re doing right now,” he said, drifting his eyes closer to the skies, remembering the sun back in the Valley, and how it always showed them its true beauty.
Tom nagged, “Hello, would you please sit down and listen to me?”
Darell turned away from the window and glanced at Tom, saying, “Alright, alright, what is it you want me to do?”
“Now, what are you going to say to the media if they start asking you questions about your childhood or success?”
Mr. O’Conner looked at him in an odd way, answering, “I’m just going to tell them the truth. What’s so hard about that?”
Tom rubbed his forehead, his temples in a stressful formation, speaking, “No, you’re not going to say the truth, you’re going to lie. If they ask you about your childhood, tell them you loved it, if they ask you about your personal life, tell them acting is your life. If they ask you about your quick success, tell them you worked hard for it and you’re thankful for it.” Mr. Fryer lit up a Cuban cigar. Seeing that Darell still had confusion upon his face, he added, “Ah, I only smoke Cubans on special occasions like this one.”
“Who cares about the Cuban cigar, we’re talking about me lying here. I’m not going to lie at all,” said Darell. Tom coughed up smoke from his cigar, hearing Darell’s words of honesty. Mr. O’Conner then shouted, “Good for you, I hope you choke.”
Tom coughed, “Darell, listen to me, you have to do everything I tell you. Trust me, I know how to handle these things.” Some smoke was still caught in his lungs, adding in a silent voice, “Will you at least bend the truth?”
“Bend the truth? That’s just like lying. Do you think I’m stupid or something? I’m not going to lie, case closed.”
Tom was distressed. He knew Darell had to look good, and saying that he was from a small town in Mississippi, and was discovered right when he came to Hollywood wouldn’t look impressive. “Darell, will you at least think about bending the truth? Please say you will?”
Darell started grinning, amused to see that Tom was literally on his hands and knees, begging for him to lie, he replied, “Well, because you look so pitiful now, I guess I’ll think about it.”
“Good, good, now I want you to sign these papers,” he said, sliding the papers across an English coffee table.
Darell was about to sign them, but stopped his hand, paused it from the signature line on one of the papers, and spoke, “Wait, what are these?”
Darell took another drag of his cigarette, and that’s when Tom covered up most of the words on the sheet paper with other papers, doing it inconspicuously. Darell didn’t know that he was about to sign a four-year binding contract with Tom. “Oh, these are just some things for the dinner tomorrow, it’s to notify that you’re coming.”
“Okay, what else?” Darell signed on the dotted line, and Tom just gave out an evil smile, knowing that he had Darell right where he wanted him.
Tom did the same thing for the next sheet of paper, covering it up with another one and sliding it over to Darell. Mr. O’Conner noticed this document had small print from top to bottom. “This is also for the dinner.”
Darell signed away, not knowing that his signature was being placed on a sheet that dealt with Mr. Fryer’s percentage that he got from Mr. O’Conner’s earnings. “Alright, Tom, anything else?”
“Nope, that’s all for right now. Now I want you to practice writing your name.” Mr. Fryer whipped the papers from off the coffee table and put them vigorously into his briefcase, not wanting Darell to ever see them again, to ever actually know what they were about.
“Why should I practice that?”
Darell took out his golden pen that Damen and Jose gave to him, and started writing over and over again on a sheet of long paper. He watched as the chandelier, which hung above, twinkled its lights, made out of white flame, onto the pen, and allowed its golden body to shimmer, making Darell stop for a moment and concentrate on the glowing color. It made him think about the cornfields back in Ridge Crest, the way the sun would shine its glowing light onto them and create a pulsating, sensational light that gleamed over the fields and made them glow a radiant gold. It created a mirage that looked like one, great big field, making the corn stems seem like they were one body, glowing out their gold reflections, and staying like that, even when the moon hit. Nevertheless, Darell was knocked out of his flashback, hearing Tom answering, “For the autograph signing, you’re going to have to sign a lot of them tomorrow.”
The afternoon turned into night, Darell’s hand was getting tired and cramped from all the writing he did, making it numb, swelling up like a red tomato. He finished twelve sheets of paper, with his signature from top to bottom, right to left; he was tired and sought to leave this hotel room. So, he got up from the floor, put his cigarette in an ashtray that had twenty-one moistened butts in it, and walked up to Tom, saying while he rubbed his right hand, “Tom, I’m going to take the limo for a drive, I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Tom looked at the time, reading its digits, seeing that the time read 9:00, and then questioned, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going for a drive, I’ll tell the chauffeur to bring me back here in an hour. I just feel like cruising the ’wood,” Darell responded, grabbing his wallet and credit cards from off of
the coffee table. “What are my credit cards doing out of my wallet?”
“Oh, ah, I had to charge the room to your account,” he said, finally getting what ‘wood’ meant. He laughed out, “You mean Hollywood.”
“Yeah, ha, ha, ha, what about my credit cards? Listen, and listen good, before you use anything of mine, I want you to ask me first,” Darell stated with anger, gawking at Mr. Fryer’s reaction.
“Alright, calm down. You need to get some air, go out and have fun, but be back soon. You have to wake up early tomorrow.” Mr. Fryer then sat down in a chair and began going over all of the autographs that Darell signed. “These are pretty good, you’ve got a good signature,” he added, holding up one of the papers that held about one hundred different styles of Darell’s name.
“I’ll see you in a little bit.” Darell ignored Tom and walked out the door. Upset with him for taking his credit cards and using them without permission, Darell just needed to get way as fast as possible.
He walked over to Mr. Fryer’s limo and tried opening the doors to it, but it was locked. Standing in the middle of a parking lot, Darell O’Conner looked around, wandering his eyes for the chauffeur. But, then, without Darell knowing, the chauffeur was awakened by the sounds, him sleeping in the front seat, he jumped up at Darell’s noises on the door, got out of the car and said, “Here, sir, I’ll get that.”
“Thank you.” The chauffeur opened the door, and Darell jumped in, seeing liquor of all flavors huddled perfectly together on a bar at the other end of the limo.
The limo driver got into the car and began driving out from the hotel parking lot. Picking up the phone, he called back to Darell. Darell looked for the ringing noise, he tried to figure out where it was coming from. After about ten rings, the chauffeur rolled down the wall that was blocking him from Darell, and said, “The phone’s on the right side of the limo, sir.”
“Oh, I found it, thank you.” He rolled up the wall again, and tried to call back to Darell once more.
He rolled down the wall once again, and said, “Sir, you have to hang it up first. Then when it rings, answer it.”
“Okay, alright,” said Darell after the chauffeur rolled up the wall again.
Ring, ring, ring...
“Hello?”
The chauffeur stopped in the street right in front of the hotel, answering with, “Where’s the destination tonight, sir?”
“Um, just drive. Just keep on driving.” Darell noticed some vodka next to the phone, besides the liquor that was placed together in the bar area. It was very tempting.
The chauffeur continued driving past the hotel and deeper into Beverly Hills, speaking, “Yes, sir.”
Gulp, Gulp, Gulp, Gulp...
As they drove, Darell was taking shots of three different types of vodka. Each stop sign or red light they came to, it meant another shot of liquor going down Darell’s throat. He said out loud as he rolled down the window on his side, “This is the life.” He rolled down all the windows and began yelling out those words. Passing a big mansion, Darell vomited up his words and his liquor. He vomited on a person that was standing on the street with a woman.
The person who was standing next to the woman yelled, “What the hell, man.”
“Jose, are you okay?” Julienne asked, beginning to wipe off some of the vomit with a towel.
“Yeah. Some people, they just don’t know how to have fun.” Jose then remembered the image of the face before the vomit came, causing his eyes to narrow down, and adding, “You know, that kind of looked like Darell.”
“Maybe it was him. After all, we are going to his dinner tomorrow,” said Julienne.
Jose looked at her in a puzzled manner, his eyes showing shock as they went from slim to wide open. “I thought you said this was your dinner?”
“I never said that.” Julienne began to walk to her mansion. Opening the two steel gates, she walked away from Jose.
He ran through the darkness passed the gates, and up to her staircase where Julienne was. “Yes, you did. When we first met, you said this is going to be your dinner for the premiere of your movie.”
They both entered her home, with her responding, “Well, that was then and this is now. My premiere dinner is not going to be till February.”
“Great, just great, now he’s probably going to rub it in my face that he’s a star. This is just perfect,” said Jose in a sarcastic tone as they both began to walk up her staircase.
“Listen, you’re going to be busy tomorrow, you’re probably not going to have time to see and talk to Darell. He’s going to be busy too, he’s not gonna have any time to make you jealous, if that’s what he’s going to attempt to do.” They both entered her room and lay down on the bed, with her adding, “Now, first get a change of clothes on, I don’t want my bed smelling like coughed-up liquor.” She pushed him off the bed with her leg. Falling onto the floor, he jumped up and just stared at her.
He took off his shirt and hopped into the silk-made bed, saying, “Just promise me one thing, Julienne.”
“Did you get any vomit on your pants?”
“No, I didn’t get any on them. Now, Julienne, could you promise me something?” Jose questioned again, hearing Darell’s limo driving by Julienne’s mansion again; this time he was blasting the car stereo.
She got up from the bed, with the light for the outside moon guiding her way, and went over to the window, closing it to block out the sound that Darell was making as he passed.
“What is it, Jose?”
“Promise me that everything’s going to go perfectly tomorrow, please?”
She hopped back into bed, covered herself with silken, white-flowered covers, and responded, “I promise you, Jose. Tomorrow you are going to be on your way to stardom. Just wait and see.”
She closed her eyes, and Jose gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Alright, goodnight, Julienne.”
“Goodnight.”
“One more thing, Julienne,” he said in a low tone.
“What is it now?” Julienne asked in a voice of stress, she was getting upset at Jose for interrupting her beauty sleep, a sleep that didn’t even begin yet.
“Thank you, thank you for everything,” Jose replied before his eyes closed.
“Thank me when you become Hollywood royalty. But, for what it’s worth now, you’re welcome.”
After she noticed he was asleep and snoring, she said in a low tone, with moonlight guiding her eyes again to the sight of Jose, “You better be on your way to stardom tomorrow. Oh please, Julienne, don’t screw this one up...”
Getting out of her bed, she tiptoed out of her room and went to the staircase, guiding her eyes to the chandelier that hung its titanic form over Miss Wells’ head. Julienne took out a cigarette and stared at the fresco picture that lay on the ceiling, above her foyer. She stared at God, being confused, and exhausted, Julienne gazed at him, as if he was really alive in the picture, watching her overhead, to see if she was following morality to its greatest form. One puff, two puffs, three puffs, and then four, she took drags of her cigarette and then stared at God even more. Julienne then closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “Well, I just hope it works...”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tom Fryer stared at Darell with sinister pupils in his sockets, gawking and gazing at Darell’s hung-over head and messed up tuxedo. He knew he was drinking last night; smelling the liquor aroma throughout the limo, Tom’s mind was aggravated with him. While Darell tried desperately to open up a bottle of aspirin, biting it, and even punching at it, not remembering that you first have to press down on it, Mr. Fryer asked, “Where the hell were you last night?” Darell didn’t hear his question, he was too busy popping aspirin down his throat after he opened it finally. Tom looked at him again with the same eye formation, and questioned again, but with loudness that pierced at Darell’s hung-over mind, “Darell, where were you last night?”
“What?” Darell’s tone was drunk, slurring the question and smiling at the same time;
he was still in a world of his own.
“My God, boy, are you drunk still?” Mr. Fryer watched as Darell swallowed the aspirin with a glass of champagne. “Give me that,” he yelled, grabbing the glass from Darell. “This is the last thing you want to swallow. What do you think you’re doing? You’re drunk.”
“No I’m not, I’m just a little bit tired is all,” Darell slurred; one of the aspirin got caught in his throat when he talked, it caused him to cough it up toward Mr. Fryer.
“Yeah right, I think you’re a little bit drunk is all.”
Darell wiped off the saliva from his bowtie, hearing Tom add, “Darell, we are going to be at your premiere for your movie in about twenty minutes. What I want you to do is roll down the window and stick your finger down your throat.” Directly after his words, Darell vomited all over the champagne bottle; the smell was staining already in the air. “I guess I spoke too soon.”
The limo stopped at a red light when Darell wiped the vomit away from his mouth with his arm, saying, “Boy, I feel a lot better.”
Mr. O’Conner rolled down the window to get some fresh, smog-filled air, sticking his head out fully and keeping it there by leaning on the bottom part of the window’s frame. He was at peace, just like how a toilet could be a drunken person’s best friend, Darell lay his head there calmly, breathing in and out heavily, and waiting for the red light to turn green so he would catch some wind in his smelly throat. The light turned, and the wind caught Darell’s mouth; he opened it up wide, showing his teeth fully to the breeze, and it blew up his mouth like wind hitting a boat’s sail.
“Darell, where did you go last night? Also, did anyone see you last night?”
“I just drove around, and around, and around.” He stopped, gave a breath, and added, “And around, and around, and around last night. I had a few shots of vodka, and that’s it.” Mr. Fryer picked up the phone in the limo and dialed up to the chauffeur.
Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) Page 34