Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret)

by Stephen Andrew Salamon

  “Who were you talking to?” Dennis asked.

  “Oh, that was Becky; she said they’re already on the set for us.”

  Jose and Julienne exited the limo, with her questioning, “Who’s Becky?”

  “Oh, she’s going to play the part of the girl that Jose and Darell are going to fight over in the film,” explained Dennis.

  They walked up a green hill, thick as hay, and saw about twenty trailers parked on it. It looked like a miniature town to Jose, but to Julienne, it looked like Hollywood. The scenery was breathtaking, seeing nothing but green pastures once they reached the top of it, and clouds on top of clouds over them. A sense of awe and natural illusion came to Jose’s eyes, as well as Julienne’s.

  As Jose walked through the town of trailers, he came across his own. A man was just beginning to paste his name over the door that had a miniature star pasted on it. When Jose saw it, he thought to himself, My God, I’ve made it.

  When Jose walked up to his trailer, he saw Darell on the door’s reflection. He was nervous, Jose was so full of fright that he didn’t want to turn around, but knew he had to. So, turning around to face Darell, Jose put on his acting craft, acted excited, and asked, “What’s up, Darell? How ya doing?”

  “What are you doing here? Where’s Damen?” Darell spoke puzzled, mixed with a bit of suspicion.

  Julienne approached him from behind. Before Jose could answer him, Julienne tapped Darell on the shoulder, he turned around quickly, and she asked also, “Hello, Darell, how are you doing?”

  Darell couldn’t believe what he was seeing; the confusion engulfed his thoughts so greatly, that he felt as if he was about to have a stroke. Suddenly, very abruptly, without answering their fraudulent questions, Darell asked in a loud fashion, “What are you doing here? What the hell is going on?”

  Julienne smiled and answered very calmly, “You see, Darell, Dennis and Henry Schultz thought Jose was the best man for the role. They decided at the last minute, it was a toss-up between Damen and Jose.”

  “So, why didn’t anyone tell me this before?”

  “Because they made their decision at the last minute,” she replied.

  “Oh.” Darell’s one word was spoken very low, like his confusion still was with him, his gut feeling that something wasn’t right with this picture. But, he ignored his instincts, as he always did in the past, allowed their phony excuse about Damen’s disappearance, absence to be the truth to his mind, and shook Jose’s hand. “I’m sorry for shouting so loud, it’s just I thought something happened to Damen.”

  “Oh, it’s alright, Darell, I would have done the same thing if I was in your position,” spoke Jose.

  Darell started laughing, turning back into his own self, announcing, “Well, welcome to England.”

  Tom Fryer stood about a hundred feet away from them, shouting, “Darell, Darell.”

  “What?” Darell shouted back, with Jose and Julienne covering their ears.

  “Come on, you have to get into your wardrobe now.”

  “I’ll be right there. Well, I’ll see you guys in about an hour or so,” Darell stated, shaking Jose’s hand again.

  Darell shook Julienne’s hand as well while Jose slurred, “Alright, cool.” Darell walked away from them as Jose added to Julienne, “Boy, that was easy.”

  “You see, I told you, there was nothing to worry about,” she confirmed.

  Jose walked into his trailer and looked at it as if it was a palace. “Wow, this is all mine?” It had everything, from luxurious vases, furniture, to three bedrooms with king-size beds.

  Julienne sat down on a blue leather couch and answered, “Well, for the length of the movie it is.”

  He laughed, “Man, this trailer is bigger than my house back home.”

  He lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling of his trailer, creating circles within the smoke, trying to hit a small, miniature chandelier that hung from above. “Don’t worry, Jose, they’ll get bigger.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “Don’t you think we should wait at least a week till I try out for an audition? I mean, you just became my agent yesterday,” Damen spoke, watching Chuck ever so closely, seeing that he signed his name on the audition sheet.

  Chuck didn’t answer; he still kept on filling out Damen’s information, while Damen stared around this filled room, having a youth of his own age sitting and practicing some form of lines.

  It was a hot room, like all rooms for actors auditioning, and had only a box fan to blow the heat around, and keep off of the actors flesh. Damen smiled at it crazily. Having seen the same type of fan back when he was doing extra work for the first time with Vivian, he wondered why these places just didn’t get central air.

  He then turned back to Chuck’s figure, arrayed in a suit, something Damen had never seen on him before. Chuck just finished facilitating Damen by filling out the information, turned to him, and finally replied, “Listen, Damen, this is for a commercial. You just have to say a few lines to the casting agents, and that’s it. Damen, if you get this part, it would look very good on your resume, which, I might add, has only extra work on it presently.”

  They both wandered over to two vacant, black, dirty seats that were surrounded by other seats, filled by other actors. Sitting down in them, Damen could feel the warmth from the seat underneath him, knowing that someone else, with a large figure, had to have sat there recently.

  He could smell some form of stench, odor, reek coming from the seat, but he didn’t care anymore; to him it was better than sitting in an alley. He watched as Chuck put his brown briefcase on his lap, and stared out at the room, watching every actor in it, like a guard, watchman, seeing if any actor had a better look than Damen. Chuck smiled abruptly, showing that he knew Damen was the goods.

  Damen then turned to him, feeling the box fan’s warm air, traveling around his brownish hair, blowing little strands around in a circle, tangling up and hurting at Damen’s scalp. He pushed his hand through his hair, very quickly, undid the tangles, knots, and said, “Chuck, this is a zit commercial, I don’t think I would like to have it on my resume. I mean, don’t you think I should try out for an actual role in a movie?”

  “Listen, you first have to get your feet wet. As soon as you get in this, or any other commercial, then we’ll begin trying for the big time roles. But, for right now, I want you to start small. You worked as an extra already; now the next step is commercials.”

  Damen lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke toward the fan, feeling it returning to his own image, he then agreed with sarcasm, “Alright, I trust you, I mean, you have been my agent for about twenty-four hours. So I guess I’ll hold my career in your hands.”

  Chuck laughed, chuckling, “Alright, you smartass, you’re up in about five minutes.”

  Damen started to cough up smoke from his cigarette, shouting toward him, “What? I didn’t even have any time to practice my lines.”

  Chuck laughed again, saying back with stronger sarcasm, “Oh yeah, you got big lines alright. Damen, the only thing you have to say is ‘Man, how do I get rid of these pimples,’ and that’s all.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have any motivation.”

  Chuck laughed out harder, looking at Damen with widened eyes, and speaking, “Motivation? Motivation? I’ll give you motivation—a good kick in the ass sounds like the trick.”

  Damen laughed out as well, seeing that Chuck’s firm sense of humor was captivating, in the sense that it could bring a smile to a person’s face, even if he was nervous as could be, like Damen was at this audition. But, abruptly their laughter ceased, died ever so quickly, without warning, when they saw a man walking out of the casting room and entering into the waiting room, showing all the actors his nervous, intimidating presence. Damen was full of fright, seeing and hearing this man, who was a casting director, announcing out loud, “Alright, could I please see Damen Schultz? Is Damen Schultz here?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Damen got up from his seat
, and turned to face Chuck. “Wish me luck.”

  Chuck laughed and kicked him lightly in the butt with his foot and cane at the same time. “Yeah, yeah, good luck.”

  He walked up to the casting director, hearing him say, “How are you doing? My name is Allen Frank, I’m one of the casting directors that will be supervising your audition.”

  He shook Damen’s hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Allen.”

  He then followed Allen into the casting room, fastening his eyes on four other casting directors that sat by a rectangular table, staring at him as well. Allen sat down next to them, pointed to a circular jar that sat on the table, and explained, “Alright, Damen, all you have to do is hold the product and say your lines.”

  Damen picked up the pimple-cream jar and walked to the center of the room. “Should I begin now?” he asked, staring at the four casting directors in confusion.

  “Yes, whenever you’re ready,” Allen replied. “Oops, one more thing, you have to say your lines into the camera. But first, before you do that, give your slate into the camera.

  “Slate?”

  “Yes, where you give your name, then turn to the side, and say the agency you’re with,” Allen explained. The casting directors all looked at Damen funny, like he should have known what a slate was.

  Turning to the camera, watching it gawking at him like a gun, remembering the gun hole that was placed next to his head yesterday, he said in a high-strung voice, “My name is Damen Schultz.” He then turned to the side, adding, “And, um, I’m with, um, I guess, Chuck’s Talent.” He paused, turned back to face the camera, but before he said his lines to the script, he looked down at the pimple cream. “Hey, I used this cream before, it doesn’t work either.”

  All the casting directors started laughing at his remark. “That’s why you’re going to act as if it works,” Allen laughed out.

  “Alright, I’m ready.” He turned to the camera, showed it the pimple cream, and spoke, “‘Man, how do I get rid of these pimples?’”

  They noticed he said it with a little speed, showing some nervousness, or fright, at this audition, as well as toward the camera. “Alright, now, say it a little bit slower. Also, don’t make that funny face,” one of the casting directors stated as he started to grin. “Just keep on doing it over and over again in the camera, until we say stop.”

  So, Damen obeyed the orders of the casting director. He said his line over and over again, and screwed them up a lot in the process. But the way he said his lines and tried covering his mistakes made the casting directors laugh, feel a sense of natural humor that he produced. He kept on saying his lines while the directors were talking about him.

  One of the men turned toward Allen and whispered, “This kid’s very funny.”

  “I know, I think if he makes the public laugh during the commercial, maybe that would cause the viewers to go out and buy the product. Do you think so?” questioned Allen, still gazing at Damen making more funny faces. To Damen, it was natural to make those expressions, but to the casting directors, it was a gift from God.

  “Yes, I think the viewers would buy more of the zit cream if we made them laugh during the commercial,” another man whispered toward Allen.

  “Man, how do I ge--”

  Suddenly Damen was cut off by Allen speaking, “Excuse me, Damen, but um, your audition is over with.” Damen looked down to the floor, realizing he did screw up a lot with the script. As he looked up, knowing for sure he didn’t get the part, Allen added, “You got the job.” Damen suddenly began to feel shocked at the news, and it caused him to drop the cream on the floor and break the container.

  “I do?” Damen then realized that the cream was smeared all over the floor, adding with monstrous panic, “I’m so sorry for breaking it. I’ll clean it up.”

  “Don’t worry, Damen, we got that. What we want you to do is go get your agent. Is he here?” Allen asked.

  “Yes, I’ll get him right now.” He ran out of the room with excitement in his rhythm, announcing in a loud manner toward Chuck’s face, “Chuck, I got the part, I got the part. Come on, they want you to come in there.”

  He pulled Chuck’s old figure to his feet, grabbing his cane for him, and putting it in his hand. Damen’s aura, the light that shined around his body, showed itself, through his smile, glee, through the way happiness finally presented itself to him a bit. Chuck and him walked into the audition room, seeing the casting directors smiling and acting as if Damen was their boss, offering both of them their own seats, kissing up to them as much as possible. They sat down and received coffee from one of the men, while Chuck started showing a bit of a smile, but not all the way. With Chuck, he doesn’t think it was professional to show any excitement in front of men of importance, such as these casting directors he saw before him. But this news of Damen’s achievement allowed his exhilaration, gaiety, to show a bit with the smile, but then he put on a straight face, waiting to do business with these men. Allen explained to Chuck about when and where the filming for this commercial would be held. Then, he explained how much he was going to pay Damen.

  “Now, we’re offering $5,000 for the role. It was less before Damen came in here, but then we all discussed giving him more lines to say because he’s very comical,” Allen explained as Chuck’s eyes lit up.

  “Cool, five thousand is good,” spoke Damen, watching Chuck placing his cane by his chin and bending over to lean on top of it.

  “Sixty-five hundred,” Chuck announced; Damen looked at him with distress on his face.

  Damen turned to Allen, and looked at him with even more shock on his image after hearing Allen say, “Six thousand.”

  “Sixty-four hundred.”

  “Sixty-three hundred.”

  “Sixty-three hundred and fifty dollars, take it or leave it,” Chuck said with tension.

  Allen looked at Damen and then back at Chuck, holding out his hand and saying, “You got a deal.”

  They signed the contracts and then walked out of the room. Damen and Chuck exited the building while Damen was silent, mute, some form of presence or thoughts were lurking in his mind, causing him to only speak words in his consciousness.

  “What’s wrong, Damen?”

  They both hopped into Chuck’s rusty old car, and fastened their seatbelts. Damen paused but then said, “Nothing.”

  “I know something’s wrong, you just got an acting job and you’re acting depressed about it.”

  Chuck started to drive away from the audition building with speed to the car’s body. Damen didn’t answer him yet, he rolled down the window and just stared at the outside of it. Feeling the wind blowing against his hair, the warm breeze that tangled every strand of his hair, he still was silent. But then, he looked in the passenger’s side window, and answered with seriousness, “I don’t know, it’s just, I didn’t like the way you and Allen were fighting over money. It was like I was some sort of a product or something.”

  “Damen, you have to realize that you are a form of a product. When you go and try out for these auditions, you’re trying to sell yourself to them,” Chuck explained, stopping at a red light.

  “I know, it’s just, money isn’t that important to me like it is for you. I’ll get over it.”

  Right there and then, Chuck looked at him as if he was looking at his own son. Watching Damen as he stared at his own reflection, he spoke, “You know, my son said the exact same thing you said.” Damen turned and looked at him, hearing Chuck add, “Damen, what do you want to get out of acting?”

  “Who’s your son?”

  “Well, before we discuss that, I want you to tell me what you want to get out of acting? I mean, you don’t care about the money. So, what is it you want out of it?”

  Damen looked down at the floor and stared at all of the junk that lay on it. He knew what he wanted out of being an actor, but he was too afraid to say it. He started to construct questions, conversations in his thoughts, wondering why he was afraid to say it to Chuck.r />
  I used to always say it. Just tell him what you want out of acting.

  He slowly looked up at Chuck, saying with hesitation, “Fame, that’s what I want out of it. It’s weird the way I think about it.”

  The light turned green, and Chuck started driving once more, asking, “How do you mean?”

  “Well, if some movie offered me four million dollars, you know what I would do with half of it? I would give it away to some charity that needs it. I don’t know why, but I would. Every check that’s in the millions, I would give half of it away, I just want fame. I just want to be a famous movie star. Is that weird?” Damen’s question was very deep in thought, wondering about it his whole life, and finally saying it verbally to a person that knew the business. He was afraid of what Chuck would say to him, knowing that it was very strange to give up some money for a career; but it was his vision, his dream, and Chuck totally and utterly understood Damen’s mind.

  Chuck answered in a low tone, “No, that’s the same thing my son did with his money. You see, after my son made it big, he was too embarrassed to say that his father worked and owned a coffee shop. You can say that he wanted to keep his reputation as being nothing but famous. But, that’s what my son did, and still does, with his money. So if he makes a million dollars, he’ll give five hundred thousand away. And if he makes twenty million in one picture, he’ll give five or ten million away to charity.”

  “Really? What’s your son’s name?”

  Chuck turned toward Damen’s eyes, left them there for a second or two, and then answered, “John Smitherson.”

  His eyes widening, Damen feeling those words in his mind, the excitement, and great delirium that Chuck was the father of a superstar. “What? You mean the movie star? That John Smitherson?” yelled Damen in enthusiasm.

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “But your last name is Fritter, how could you be his father?” he questioned with interest, thinking that Chuck was surely lying.

  “Easy, he changed his last name. He was originally called John Fritter, but he changed it to John Smitherson.”