Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret)

by Stephen Andrew Salamon

  Sam turned his head, hearing the hit that Mark gave to Curtis, and asked, “Who’s there?” Sam put a cap on the vodka bottle and sat it down. Getting up and standing in the middle of the bridge, Sam was trying to see if he could hear a noise again, to prove that it wasn’t just his drunkenness that was playing tricks on him.

  Mark pulled out his gun with the silencer on it, hearing Curtis whisper to him, “What should we do now? Dude, what are we gonna do now?” Curtis, as well, took out a gun from his black overcoat, and held it tightly in his grip, waiting for a reason to use it, yet not yearning to have a reason to use its powerful force.

  “Listen, a lot of money is on the line if we don’t get rid of this old bastard,” Curtis yelled out. The old guy just stood motionless in the center of the bridge, knowing that the loud voice he heard wasn’t his drunkenness at all.

  Sam started to walk toward the big box, questioning with massive hesitation, “Who’s there?”

  Curtis pointed his gun toward the box, waiting to shoot it, and have the bullet travel through it, and head straight for Sam’s body. “Shit, what do we do now, Mark?”

  “Here, follow my lead.” Mark then came out from behind the box, and glared at Sam’s old, liquored-up, glossy eyes, smiling at the same time.

  “Who are you?” asked Sam, showing shock in his voice. The sudden presence caused Sam to accidentally kick his vodka bottle over. Curtis and Mark watched it, rolling quickly toward the end of the bridge, praying in their minds that it stopped, ended its momentum, but gravity overpowered their prayers. It was like the bottle was moving in slow motion, actually hearing its roll in their minds, seeing the future, perceiving what would happen to them if the bottle fell off the bridge, and into the crowd of riches. They both watched it rolling to the end of the bridge, where it stopped, balancing off the edge of it.

  “We’re Security, what are you doing up here?” asked Mark as Curtis noticed the vodka bottle was leaning off the edge and ready to fall on top of the movie stars’ heads; it was balanced like a teeter totter.

  They both didn’t want to be too suspicious, or show any worry, so they were calm about the bottle being balanced. But then, Mark noticed the bottle cap wasn’t on tight enough, and saw the vodka liquid lingering its drops onto the crowd, dripping a little bit at a time. Mark switched his eyes to Sam, questioning with seriousness, “Excuse me, would you please get that bottle before it falls on top of the people?” They noticed that Sam wasn’t complying with their polite wishes, showing stubbornness and suspicion through his alcohol-drowned eyes. Mark saw that this old man knew they weren’t guards of tonight’s ceremony, so Mark added, “I’m sorry, sir.” Mark lifted his gun toward Sam and shot him directly in the center of his head. Before the old guy fell to the ground, Mark reached over and caught him; at the same time, Curtis grabbing the vodka bottle before it could fall.

  “Alright, let’s put him in the box with the rest,” Curtis said. Mark helped him carry the body to the box.

  After they dumped him into the large, cemetery-like box, Curtis picked up the vodka bottle and started to drink it. Mark explained, “Okay, Julienne told me that the Best Actor category isn’t until about 9:00 p.m. If Damen wins, as soon as he reaches the podium, we shoot him and then we take care of the other guy.”

  “Mark, let me kill that Damen guy. I only killed one person so far, you killed four,” Curtis announced in a child’s voice.

  Mark grabbed the bottle of vodka and began drinking some himself. “No, you get to kill the other guy, Curtis.”

  They both sat down in the middle of the bridge and watched as the movie stars took their seats. It was like going to the movies or having grand seats at an opera; these were the best seats in the house. The way the lights that came from the bulbs above them would show a straight piece of ray, that could be seen by dust dancing in its way, was breathtaking to these killers, and breathtaking to anyone else that would be up here, but wasn’t.

  Curtis became pissy, upset, aggravated, and whining out, “What the hell, man, I want to get the main guy.”

  Mark hit him on the head, hating and despising his childish voice. Yet Mark tried to be civil about this situation, and attempted to calm him, speaking with sincerity, “Listen, let’s just wait till 9:00 p.m., and then we’ll decide.”

  “Alright.” Curtis took another swig of the vodka bottle, and as he took it, he dripped a little bit out of his mouth, and the drops fell beyond the bridge.

  Mark saw, catching the drops in his view, and tried to catch them with his grasp as well but couldn’t. “Watch it, Curtis, you idiot, you’re dripping vodka everywhere. Everywhere and every job I take you to, it’s like I’m your babysitter.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  While Curtis and Mark drank the vodka, enjoying this massively set view, another drop spilled beyond the bridge, and soared downwards, creating momentum, and headed straight to Jose’s arm.

  Jose and Julienne went down the red-carpeted, middle aisle, heading toward their seat, with himself feeling a drop of some substance, hitting him at a great speed, forcing itself to be known to his touch. “What the hell is this?” he asked, touching his upper arm and seeing a stain of liquid embroidered on it.

  “What’s what?”

  Jose didn’t bother to hear Julienne’s voice, but instead tried figuring it out on his own by looking toward the ceiling of the building. He sniffed the stain, speaking, “It smells like, like vodka.”

  Unanticipated, without warning, the lights started to dim, and the stage lights quickly evoked to a brighter setting. Julienne turned to Jose’s eyes, and spoke, “Come on, let’s just find our seats.”

  A man, with a large head-set on, came to the glass podium on the stage. He held a clipboard in his right hand, and in his left, he held a walkie-talkie. Coming up to the microphone, the man announced, “Alright, everyone, please take your seats, we’re going on live in approximately three minutes.”

  “Here, we’re in the third,” Julienne stated to Jose. She pulled her lavender, glittering dress close to her while she entered into the third row, rushing a bit, because she wanted to get a seat before the cameras came on.

  Jose accidentally stepped on a woman’s foot while entering into this row, so he whispered, “Oh, excuse me, Miss.”

  When they finally sat down, Jose looked to the right of him and kissed Julienne on the cheek, craving to make this moment perfect, yearning to have this night being a night to remember. When he looked to the left of him, before he could turn back to Julienne, he noticed a familiar face. “Oh shit,” he suddenly shouted, staring Damen Schultz directly in the eyes.

  “Well, hello to you too, my dear friend.”

  Julienne turned to Jose, desiring to kiss him again, but instead looking past him, and seeing Damen in her view. “Oh shit,” she also spoke.

  Jose gave a sinister grin toward him, speaking, “Why don’t you avoid embarrassment and leave now?”

  “Embarrassment about what?” Damen then gave an honest smile; it was as if he was turning into Jose. The way he asked was as if he had all the evil, cruelty, strength, and audacity as Jose himself, being Jose’s character, craving to be the best like Julienne taught to Mr. Rodrigo.

  “Well, when I win the Oscar, it’s gonna make you look pretty stupid. I mean, it was only your first actual movie, and already you’re a nominee? It’s gonna make you look like a want-ta-be actor, and that’s just what you are,” stated Jose.

  John Smitherson leaned over and looked passed Chuck and Damen, gawking at Jose’s eyes. He smiled toward Mr. Rodrigo, speaking in a profound fashion, “Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show? If you don’t, then I’m gonna stick the Oscar, that Damen’s gonna get, up your ass so far, that next year they’re gonna have your face on the trophies.”

  Damen grinned toward John, and turned his head to face Jose, saying with proudness, “Yeah, you better listen to John, John Smitherson that is. You know, the one we all look up to as an actor? The one that you would
die to get an autograph from? Did I mention, that my agent, Chuck, is John’s father?”

  The Oscar building closed their doors, hearing the sounds traveling through the foyer and all the way toward the theater in a reverberating motion. The people also heard the doors locking, tightly, having the echoes passing by them like a mist of heavy fog.

  Julienne grabbed Jose’s face with her aggressive hand, turned it toward her, and whispered, “Jose, don’t pay any attention to them, just concentrate on your speech.”

  Damen didn’t even bother talking to Jose anymore, so he turned to Chuck, and muttered in his ear, “Where’s Darell?”

  Chuck pointed his finger toward the front row, and Damen followed it. As soon as he came to the object Chuck was pointing to, all he saw was Tom Fryer’s head. “I don’t know, I don’t see him. There’s Tom Fryer,” responded Chuck.

  “Yeah, and there’s a vacant seat right next to him.” Damen was confused, even though they weren’t friends, he still wanted to have them all present, so in a way, it would be like they were all together again, just separated by confusing anger, and other things that they all kept inside.

  Jose overheard their conversation, so he turned to Damen, and spoke, “He’s probably in the bathroom getting stoned. Or else, he’s probably getting drunk.”

  Damen slowly turned to face him, speaking in defensiveness, “Darell doesn’t drink, or do drugs.” Damen tried to cover up Darell’s drug habit with a lie, realizing at that point he couldn’t trust anyone, not even his ex-friend, Jose.

  “Oh come on, it’s all over Hollywood, everyone knows about his addiction, or addictions, for that matter.” Jose’s tone showed that he no longer cared for his childhood friend, as if he was having a conversation about a total stranger, like he was spreading the rumors, hearsay, gossip about a person he despised.

  “Okay, if you know about it so well, then why the hell aren’t you helping him with it, you fuckin’ asshole? Darell’s like our little brother, Jose, and you know it too.” Damen was angered, hurt, frustrated by Jose’s change in character, personality, but he meant what he said, and with him not even staring at Jose, but staring straight ahead at the stage; it was as if Jose didn’t exist to him anymore, or any less.

  At that moment, precisely as a breath was exhaled and inhaled, Jose’s eyes blinked, feeling a little emotional toward Damen’s words, his verbalizations, knowing that he was right. The button that Julienne pressed down was slowly beginning to release, somehow, some way, and managing to show Jose his own true character, that he lost through the vanity of lies, deceits, that he didn’t know of yet. Julienne’s force, or power, was slowly diminishing, abatement itself, but she didn’t know it, she was too busy gazing at the stage in titillation, thrill, and ravishing excitement. Within this moment of reality-filled rapture, Jose began to think of Sugar Valley again, something he hadn’t thought of for a long, long time. Normally it was up to Julienne to push the button back down, but Julienne was still too busy, paying attention to the stage. So, in return, Jose did something that he hadn’t ever done before, he pushed the button down himself.

  The button, that when pushed, made Jose a creature of evil, strength, cruelty, and fame, making his mind only focus on nothing but fame, fortune, success, and being the best, the top-dog, the only one in the spotlight.

  Jose turned to face Damen, being hesitant at first on pushing the button. He closed his eyes and opened them again, pushing the button unnoticeably, and saying toward the side of Damen’s face, “Darell has to learn to fend for himself. I backed out of babysitting him a long time ago. I think you should do the same.”

  Mr. Schultz finally looked at him, through the dim-lighted, almost darkened room, and felt shameful toward him. “Jose, I feel sorry for you.”

  Jose grinned at him, showing malevolence through it, a type of evil that only the devil could show. “By the way, how did you like New York? Oh, and thank you for giving me your star role. If it wasn’t for you, I might not be here right now.”

  Feeling the anger, anxiety, forcing through his veins, allowing his blood to boil to a dither, panting his saliva, draping his soul with hatred toward Jose, Damen was about to lose his head. He gawked at Mr. Rodrigo, not wanting to speak to him, but longing to show his words physically by punching Jose at that very second. His knuckles started to tighten and fold, his flesh began to burn, and his face formed sweat, dripping down to his red fists, cooling them off a bit from the high temperature that his boiling blood caused to his hands. He pulled his hand and fist up toward Jose’s face, but then, Chuck grabbed it in time, saying, “It’s not worth it, Damen, let it go. Just let the hate go.”

  “Oh, is this your daddy? I thought your daddy was a farmer? That’s the only thing you were ever good at, Damen, the good old trait of farming,” spoke Jose in an evil, smart-alecky way; Damen looked at him with a wicked glare.

  Julienne turned away from the stage, seeing Jose conversing with her big threat, Damen Schultz. So, once again, she pulled Jose’s face toward her, speaking with attitude, “What did I tell you, Jose? Don’t pay attention to him. The show’s about to start.” Julienne realized, with this situation, that her butt was on the line, literally, not knowing about the seating arrangements, wishing that she would have.

  How could I have been so stupid? I should have checked who we were sitting next to.

  Those thoughts traveled through her mind, making her nerves fly off the handle, and cause her hands to shake wildly, like a hummingbird’s wings. The nerves in her body were building up every time Jose talked to Damen. She knew every word that was spoken between them meant that there was a chance that her lies would get out.

  My God, if they begin arguing again, then Jose might tell Damen about the drug lie, just to be cruel to him.

  Those thoughts also attacked, over and over again, in her twisted and demented head, comprehending that everything would come down on her, everything would crumble by Jose’s actions. She knew that there was a very, very slim chance of her lies getting out between Jose and Damen, but she still didn’t want to take that chance. So, she made a decision, telling Jose, “Alright, switch seats with me.”

  “No, I’m fine right here.”

  “Well I’m not, now move,” she demanded, pulling Jose up by his arm and sitting in his seat. “Good, now you two boys won’t argue.”

  Damen grinned past Julienne, and showed his smile to Jose’s sight, questioning in a smart-alecky manner, “Hey, Jose, is this your mommy?” Mr. Schultz started laughing at his own words, adding, “She kind of reminds me of her. You know, that whorish, sluttish type?”

  Jose gawked at him with a cold glare while Julienne turned to Damen and just stared at him, at a loss for words. She looked him straight in the eyes, defensively stating, “Excuse me, but I’m not a whore, nor a slut.”

  “Oh yeah, well who was the one that lied and said to Jose that I kissed you and was messing around with you?”

  “Julienne told me,” Jose answered for Julienne. She leaned over to get closer to Damen, feeling fear in her gut, craving to make him stop talking.

  Damen grinned, and explained, “Yeah, I know, Vivian told me Julienne said that to you, and you believed it.”

  “Because it’s true!” Jose words were loud, like he was forced to believe that lie she told him, making his mind think it was the truth, causing him to defend it to its highest battle. Julienne was ready to begin her acting performance again, waiting for the right time to jump in, like a black widow waiting for its prey to get close enough to her and then mangle it.

  Damen looked at Julienne’s blue eyes, questioning, “Oh really? So, Julienne, did I do those things to you?”

  This is where the black widow would strike. Julienne managed to create her craft into an acting performance of a timid, sad woman. She turned to Jose in sincerity, and answered Damen, “Yes. And I told Jose to not discuss it with you.”

  “Well he didn’t, my ex-girlfriend did, and she became my ex because of it, plus fo
r other reasons.”

  Throughout the argument, the Master of Ceremonies, with his suit of rich quality, entered onto the stage and stood by the podium.

  “You know, Jose, it’s kind of funny, but you believed a bitch over your best friend. It’s a shame. You know that I would have never done that to Julienne, or any other of your girlfriends. But now that I realize the true you, I would have to say I would have. Except Julienne, I wouldn’t touch her with a seventy-foot pole. Except if I were to slap her in the face for lying,” Damen explained with fury, feeling his blood starting to boil once more, steam traveling through his mouth. Jose thought about what Damen just vocalized, wondering himself why he believed Julienne right away. As Jose thought about it more, he realized that Damen would have never been that cruel to mess around with one of his girlfriends. The button was slowly beginning to release again, yet Jose tried once more to push it back down, craving to do it, to avoid confusion.

  Jose looked at Damen’s eyes once again, but instead of yelling, he announced with kindness, “Well, enjoy the show, asshole.”

  Damen looked at Julienne, trying to analyze her lie in her head, and then gaped at Jose and his words. “Yeah, the same goes for you two, bastard.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Following the moon’s birth of light, we travel now to Ridge Crest, where the time was almost the same, judging it by distance, hounding it by weather. The ceremony began, and the parents of Damen and Darell were waiting to see their sons’ dream come true; the dream of being at the Oscars. Even though they didn’t support them once they discovered their true ambition, destiny of fate that they wanted and craved so badly, but after they seen that success came to them all, their views on acting changed drastically, and pure utter hope took its place. The two mothers gazed out the window of this house, staring at the moonlight, seeing if rain clouds were up above. While this normal ritual was taking place, they were also wondering why Jose’s parents didn’t show up yet, being that the Academy Awards show was already about to begin. Yet, they didn’t let their disappearance worry them too much, so they both went back to their seats, and gawked at the television set, feeling pure nervousness inside of them, yearning to see their sons’ faces on its multicolored screen.