“Hello?” his mother asked in a low tone. Darell paused and listened to her low, sweet voice as it said that word. He listened as she asked, “Who is this? Hello?”
Darell formed a shield of tears on his eyes, hearing that sweet, longed-for voice, he didn’t know whether to answer or not. But then, he lit up a cigarette, got the stimulant he needed to cover his stress, and said, “Mom.”
Tears also formed in his mother’s eyes, hearing that voice from a distance, she knew it was her boy, calling her after all this time. She paused, shocked and happy to her Darell’s tone, and then spoke, “My God, Darell, where are you? Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m alright. I’m just calling to see how you’re doing.” Tears released from his eyes and fell upon the numbers on the phone, adding, “Hey Mom, did you hear about the movie I’m in?”
“Yeah, there’s a whole bunch of those street signs with your photo on them, they’re all over the main highway over here. Now, where are you?” she questioned, seeing his father slowly walking up to her, knowing she was talking to their runaway son.
“I’m in California, but in February I’m going to England with--”
Suddenly, before Darell could finish once more, his father came on the line, interrupting him from finishing a sentence that consisted of Damen’s name. Once again, Julienne showed relief in her tired eyes.
His father yelled, “I don’t want you to ever call here again, you got that?” Darell could hear his mother crying out loud in the background, begging him to be nice to Darell, wanting him to treat Darell like their son.
“I was talking to Mom.”
A strained look came upon Damen’s face, looking at the tears as they fell out of Darell’s eyes. He looked at them with sadness in his mind; he knew Darell missed home, he knew Darell wanted to be there.
“I don’t care, you already gave this family enough trouble and worries. You practically destroyed your mother and your sister. We are just beginning to get back to normal, so don’t call her again,” his father howled out; the tears began to fall faster from Darell’s eyes. His father slammed down the phone, cutting Darell off for the last time, and a feeling of unbelievable guilt ran through Darell’s thoughts.
Darell looked at Damen. He became embarrassed by his tears and embarrassed of his wrongdoings toward his family. That’s when he started to talk into the phone as if he was talking to his father again. Darell didn’t want Damen to think his own father doesn’t want anything to do with him, so he looked up at Damen and said into the phone, “Um, alright, Dad, I forgive you. No, everything’s fine here. I told you I forgave you already, and tell Mom I forgive her too. Listened, Dad, I got to go now, I’ll call you soon.”
Damen heard a silent voice of the operator and a silent dial tone after the operator finished her talk. He realized that Darell wasn’t talking to his parents; at least, he hadn’t been talking to them for that last minute. Darell looked at Damen again, hanging up the phone, Darell spoke, “There, now everything’s alright.”
Damen didn’t want to mention that he knew Darell was lying, so he smiled and asked, “So, do you feel better now?”
Julienne slowly lifted herself from off the floor, rising up and standing behind them.
“Yeah, now it’s your turn to call,” Darell responded.
Julienne began to walk slowly toward their backs, silent as ever, she wanted her presence secretive as long as possible. She just waited, listening to their conversation, and waiting for Darell to start mentioning the movie again, so she could jump in and prevent that conversation.
“Why, I have plenty of time to call. I’ll call after I see that agent on Sunday. That way I’ll have something to talk about with them,” Damen spoke with Darell pushing the phone in his face.
Julienne got ready to interrupt Darell, listening to him say, “No, Damen, because after you see that agent, you’re going to have to practice the script.”
“That’s if I do get a script.”
“You’re most definitely gonna get a script. Damen, didn’t Mr...”
Julienne interrupted Darell, jumping in and saying with loudness. “You better get a move on, you don’t want to miss your plane.”
Darell looked at the time on his wristwatch. “My God, you’re right, I only got a half an hour till it leaves,” Darell shouted, getting up from the couch, and grabbing his bags.
Julienne was so full of anxiety that she didn’t want to take a chance at him squealing about the movie to Damen anymore; she’d had it. So Julienne started to push Darell toward the door, saying, “You better go now. If you wait for us, you will definitely miss it.”
“Alright guys, I’ll see you in seven to eight months. Damen, I’ll see you in--”
Julienne cut off Darell’s voice again, opening the door, and pushing him out of the apartment. She said, “Listen, you have to go now, you’ll miss the plane if you don’t.”
“Alright, bye guys.” Darell walked down the hallway of the building and his “goodbye” echoed toward the door of their apartment.
Damen then noticed Darell’s letter in between the couch cushions. “Oh no,” Damen said as he noticed Darell’s letter. “Oh, no,” he yelped, picking up the letter. He opened the door, even before Julienne could say something to stop him, and ran after Darell down the hallway, saying, “You forgot something.” He handed Darell the letter right before he was ready to exit the apartment complex.
Darell exited the apartment complex, and signaled for a taxi with his right hand, while questioning, “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, it came in the mail yesterday,” Damen replied, noticing that a cab was approaching them.
Julienne just waited in panic, hoping that he wasn’t going to mention the movie to him; she crossed her fingers and hoped for the best.
In the meantime, Darell entered the cab, and put the letter into his pocket. “Thanks, Damen. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
The cab drove off and Damen stood there with a confused look on his face. Seeing the taxi from a distance, and feeling the dirt and dust that it picked up, Mr. Schultz stared at it closely and said to himself, “What do you mean a little bit? I’ll see you in eight months.” He walked back into the building and entered his apartment; he still was dumbfounded at what Darell’s last words were. Sitting down on the couch and seeing Jose waking up with a yawn, Damen looked at Julienne and asked, “Now what?”
Julienne smiled at him, and then grabbed Jose, pulling him up to his feet. “Well, me and Jose have to go now.”
Jose was confused about his whereabouts, just waking up and all of sudden being pulled toward the apartment door, Jose didn’t know what went on, or what was going on, for that matter.
“Why do you have to go so soon?” questioned Damen,
“What’s happening?” Jose asked; Julienne began guiding him toward the door instead of pushing him.
She replied, “Nothing, honey, we’re just leaving now. You don’t want to be late for that appointment.”
“Appointment for what?” asked Damen.
“Yeah, appointment for what?” Jose also asked.
She opened the door and pushed Jose out while responding, “Um, he has an appointment with, um, my hair stylist, we really must be going. So, goodbye.” She closed the door in Damen’s confused face and began running down the hallway, her motion showing that she wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
“Why are we rushing?” Jose asked. They reached the exit of the building. “I didn’t even say goodbye to Darell.”
“You idiot, Darell already left. Besides, you’re gonna see him in February.”
“Did he mention anything about the movie to Damen?” he questioned as Julienne combed the streets with her eyes in search for her limo.
They didn’t see it anywhere. Julienne and Jose walked faster and faster, amazed at how close they came to blowing their secret and all her lies. “No, he didn’t get a chance, thanks to his parents and me. The timing was impecca
ble. I amaze myself sometimes. Now help me find my limo, I want to leave this slum.”
“What do you mean a little help from his parents? His parents were here?”
Julienne still tried desperately to spot her limo, saying with aggravation, “I’ll explain everything in the limo.”
“There it is,” he spoke. “You mean to tell me your chauffeur slept here all night?”
They walked toward the limo and stood motionless by it and waited. “Yeah. I do pay for my safety, I always need to be able to get away.” Julienne was angry that she had to comb the streets, looking for her paid help. “Yeah, we were real safe walking the streets.”
Jose looked at her, and wondered why they were waiting instead of entering the limo. So, he turned to her, saw a sigh come from her mouth, and questioned, “What are we waiting for?”
“He has to open the door for me, I never open my own door,” Julienne replied, walking over to the driver’s window and pounding on it. The chauffeur woke up and rushed to put his hat on.
“I’m sorry, Miss Wells,” the chauffeur said, exiting the limo and rushing to open Julienne’s door.
“It’s alright, just make sure it never happens again,” she spoke, stepping into her limo. The chauffeur slammed the door and began walking to the driver’s door. Jose opened the door again and stepped into the limo also. That’s when Julienne shouted, “No, get out and have him open the door for you.”
“What? It’s alright, next time I will,” said Jose as the chauffeur exited the limo again after he overheard what Julienne said to him.
“No, sir, could you please step out of the limo?” the chauffeur asked.
Jose looked at him in a confused manner. “Alright, fine.” Jose got out of the limo and watched as the chauffeur closed and opened the door again.
Jose stepped in the limo again, and sat back in the black, soft velvet seats. “Now, let’s go. Take us back to my home,” she ordered after the chauffeur entered the limo and turned on the engine. “Jose, could you promise me that you will never take me here again?”
“I promise you.” Jose was baffled at her, thinking about why she had such a fit about the chauffeur opening and closing the door. That’s when he comprehended she was a tyrant. That’s what turned him on the most about her at that moment. That’s when the button on his soul stayed sealed and compressed against it, and the trance became something much greater than what it was. It made him change into a whole other being. The confusion went away, and he said to Julienne in a whisper, “I love the way you control.”
The limo drove off into the distance, the morning dew rushed against the tires and splashed off of the car. Julienne turned to him, gave a subtle grin, and said, “Wait, you have only seen my good side.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Pounding was hitting his head, reverberating pain and nausea through his body, facing a mirror surrounded by circular light bulbs, feeling the lights hitting his hangover’s eyes like lasers, Darell waited in a seat, tired as could be. He sat there and watched a woman put makeup on him; at the same time, another woman fixed his hair, pulling each strand to make it look just right, making his headache worsen with each force of the woman’s hands. He gave a silent yawn, trying his hardest to act professional, and show everyone in the room, that he in fact wasn’t drunk the night before. But he was. “How long is this going to take? I want to get back to the hotel and get some shut-eye. I didn’t realize that I had to wake up this early.” Darell’s words came out in a slurry form, voicing his opinion to Tom Fryer, sitting next to him, watching Darell getting ready for a photo shoot.
“Just be patient, Darell, they’re almost done,” Mr. Fryer replied, watching Darell’s reflection carefully, seeing him popping some aspirin into his mouth.
The two women pulled away from Darell, smiling, and started to put their equipment away in a box that resembled a tackle box for fishing. “Alright, that’s it, we’re done.” The two women left this room, which resembled a wardrobe area, as a man approached it, entering into it, and walking up to Mr. O’Conner.
“Hello, my name is Peter Simpson, I’m the photographer for Star Struck magazine. I’m going to be the one taking your pictures today.” Peter held out his hand toward Darell’s tired aura, and knew he was either on drugs or had a massive hangover caused by hard alcohol.
Darell shook his hand, and in the process of the vibrations caused by the shake, his bottle of medicine fell from his pocket, and tumbled to the floor. “Pleased to meet you,” Darell spoke.
Peter saw the bottle on the ground, saying, “Oh, I’ll get it.”
Darell jumped off the chair in a baby’s heartbeat, shouting in a semi-calmed voice, “No, it’s alright, I’ll get it.” He snatched the bottle from the floor before Peter’s grip could reach it, adding in nervousness, “Um, it’s for my sinuses, I don’t like when people touch it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m the same way when it comes to my medicine,” Peter stated. Mr. Simpson lingered out of the room, wondering why Darell was so overprotective of his bottle; it was as if he was hiding something in it. Before exiting the room, he turned around, looked at Darell and Mr. Fryer, smiled and questioned in a nice way, “Aren’t you coming?”
“Coming where?”
“I’m going to take your pictures for the magazine cover now,” Peter responded.
“Oh, yes, of course I’m coming.” Darell got up and walked up to Mr. Fryer, adding while staring at Tom with seriousness to his glare, “We’ll be right there.”
“Alright, take your time.” Peter then walked down the hallway to his office, filled with white blankets, umbrellas, and lights behind every single one.
Darell started to feel his sinus medicine in his pocket, listening to Tom ask, “What do you want, Darell?”
“How much are they paying me for this magazine cover?” Darell had a smile on his face, and at the same time he stared at Mr. Fryer’s eyes with a corrupt look.
Tom started to smile the same way as well, looking deep into Darell’s eyes, responding, “Thirty-five thousand, of which 25 percent is mine.”
Darell’s eyes widened for a brief half a second. Walking away and leaving the room, he stopped, turned around and spoke, “Oh really? That’s another thing, I have to discuss something with you later on.”
Tom’s eyes showed some fear, mixed with confusion, watching Darell leave his presence. Tom suddenly followed Mr. O’Conner, questioning, “What is it? Just tell me now.”
Darell walked faster; his motion showed Tom that he had a form of rage mixed with some passionate craving that he needed, or else felt, in each footstep he took. Feeling this hallway’s breath, walking with his undefined craving in his rhythm, Tom watched Darell’s back, trying to figure out what he meant by what he said. He still didn’t respond to Tom’s last words and still kept on walking, now with a more upbeat rhythm, toward a bathroom that was right next to Peter’s studio. Before Darell entered it, he finally soared his head around, facing Tom’s eyes, and responded, “No, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
He walked into the bathroom and closed the door in Tom’s face, feeling the pressure of wind pressing against his image, due to the thrust Darell put into the door’s body. Tom stared at it, watching the little figure of a man, showing that it was the men’s room. He then pressed the door and entered into as well. “No, tell me now,” Tom said again, gawking at Darell’s back as it faced a vanity.
“Listen, at the present time I don’t work for you, you work for me. So, I’ll discuss it with you tomorrow.” Darell guided Mr. Fryer out of the bathroom like a little child and added, “You stay here, I would like to be in the bathroom alone. Tell Peter I’ll be right there.” Darell closed the bathroom door on Mr. Fryer once again and put his back to it, acting like a guard, so Tom couldn’t enter into his presence again.
“Alright, but hurry up,” Tom shouted. He walked down the hallway with a confused look on his face, glaring at the bathroom door while walking, and then looking ahead so he wouldn
’t trip and fall. Entering into the studio, Tom spoke in a very low voice, “What the hell does he have to discuss with me?”
Darell stared at his reflection in the mirror and thought about what his father told him, how he said that Darell caused a lot of pain toward his family. The depression and homesickness shielded Darell’s thoughts about Hollywood and why he was here, filling his mind with a negative rapture, entwined in guilt and tangled in sadness. That’s when he took out his bottle of sinus medicine, looked toward the door for a glance, to see if anyone was about to walk in, and placed it down on the white marbled sink. For a moment, he got down on all fours, and looked under each stall, to see if anyone was present; he saw no one. So, he got up again, picked up the bottle, peered at his reflection, and said, “Alright, I know this is wrong, and extremely foolish, but for some reason I just...” He stopped for a brief second, smiling, and added, “Man this is so stupid, but I need you to help me feel better. Okay? I need you to calm my nerves once again.” He took off the cap from the bottle and inserted it into his nose, squeezing it gently, and inhaled through his right nostril. Darell took two sniffs of the medicine and inserted it into his other nostril. That’s when he heard a knock at the door. The knock scared him and caused the bottle to drop from his hand. “Hold on. Um, who is it?”
“It’s Tom. You know, your agent?”
“I told you that I’m gonna to be there in just a few,” Darell said, running to the door, pushing his body against it, causing him to turn into a door lock.
Tom tried to push the door open, but Darell’s body was stopping this normal exercise. So he spoke, “Peter said to hurry up.”
“Alright, I’ll be right there,” Darell blared. He waited to hear Mr. Fryer’s footsteps, walking away from the door, but heard nothing yet.
Tom still looked at the door, as if he was trying to see through it, but then walked away from it, saying, “Alright.”
Darell ran back to the mirror and picked up his bottle of medicine, noticing the bottle broke and a white substance fell from it; it was like sand rushing down a hill. “Oh no, my coke.” Darell tried to sniff some of it from his hand. “Great, now where am I gonna get some?” That’s when he realized the cocaine, he inserted into his nose, was already beginning to work, feeling the effects from it, hearing singing in his ears of a prosperous nature.
Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) Page 43