Still glaring at the tube, the nerves were rising in Mrs. Schultz’s mind, so she ran back to the front window and awaited Jose’s parents to be in sight. She wanted everything to be perfect that evening, because this is the evening where they were finally going to see one of their son’s real dream come true; the dream of winning the Oscar trophy. As she waited desperately next to the big window, Mr. Schultz, holding a yellow bowl full of bright orange popcorn, came up to her and spoke, “Come on, you’re gonna miss the show, Karen.”
“I’ll be right there, Jack, I’m just waiting for Carol and Antonio. I don’t want them to miss their son, Jose, when they show him in the audience.” Karen then went back to gazing out the big window’s body, seeing only trees and cornfields, stretching out within the night, and abruptly hearing the sound of laughter, coming from her husband.
Jack had a hyena laugh to him, choking his breath during each interval, exhaling his chuckle with a loud screech of annoyance. Karen hated that laugh, being that they’ve been married for some time now, she still despised that one characteristic about him. Noticing rain falling from the dark skies, Karen turned away from its liquefied, natural beauty, and placed her full attention on Jack’s self-humor. Wondering why he was laughing, she showed him her confusion through her eyes, the way she lowered them toward his face and crossed her arms in a slow manner; she was irritated. Normally a man would stop whatever he was doing, and obey his wife’s body language, but Jack was different, he didn’t obey anyone. He still kept it up, laughing away, like he wanted to go to the boundary-line of her patience, and see how far he could stretch his annoyances toward her; a dare-devil. He saw that she wasn’t breaking her guard, still showing confusion toward him, so he cackled out, “Honey, honey, honey, if they’re going to miss it, they’re going to miss it, you can’t do anything about that. Come on, Darell’s parents are waiting in the TV room for us.”
She smiled at him, showing her happiness at his finally breaking his childish guard. Karen was satisfied with it. She spoke, “You’re right, if they want to come, they’ll come. After all, they don’t have a television.”
Knock, Knock, Knock.
Knocks came at the screen door, and before Karen could even acknowledge the sound, it opened up, and in came Jose’s mother. Carol, being a short woman, kind as a flower and strong as a weed, showed her excitement, saying with enthusiasm, “Did we miss anything?”
“No, it just began, Carol,” Karen answered, giving her a kiss. “Where’s Antonio?” she added with them entering into the television room where Darell’s parents sat.
This room was intriguing, half of it being nearly outside, with that half of the walls being made out of netting, sort of like a screen house, and the other half, being sculpted out of old firewood that created a homey, ambience of wilderness, country-look to the room. Mr. Schultz’s natural prizes hung proudly on one side, filled with stuffed fish, deer, birds, rabbits and even coyotes, smiling with half of their bodies in tack, gawking at the people who sat in the room of entertainment. On the other side of the room, held all of Mrs. Schultz’s prizes and antiques, from blue ribbons for pie-baking contests, to old fashion plates, that showed country life, and the way it was in the 1800s. It was marvelous, perfect for conversation starters, but the best thing yet, was the netting on Mrs. Schultz’s side of the room.
Through this netting was their backyard, feeling the breeze blowing in from out there, smelling the fresh scent of pine trees, as well as nature giving out its aroma. This captivated their scents each time they would smell their own outside area, but when it came to actually sitting inside of a house, and smelling it the same, it was even more beautiful and comfortable.
Once Carol reached this breeze-filled, intriguing room, she walked straight up to Darell’s mother and gave her a tight hug. She then answered to Karen, “He’s coming a little bit later.” Carol sat down in one of the chairs that resembled a wooden rocker, and faced a gigantic deer head with its tongue hanging right out. Of course, to little Carol Rodrigo, this was a very bothersome, exasperating, vexing, and disgusting sight, so she turned to Darell’s mother, smiled even more toward her, and questioned, “So, how are you doing, Martha?”
“Oh, I’m doing marvelous, I’m so proud of our boys,” spoke Martha, noticing Damen’s father, Jack, walking into the room. Martha also noticed the many heads of animals, hanging on beautiful boards, with silver lining and chrome edges; she didn’t care too much for it either.
The commercial on the television ended, and it turned black for a second. Going to a flash of bright light on it, the Academy Awards came back on again, with Carol asking, “Jack, how are you doing?”
Jack gave Carol a tight hug. “I’m fine, how about you?”
“Great, I’m doing great. I can’t believe how proud I am of our boys.”
Out of nowhere, Karen Schultz yelled with a high pitch, for reasons that weren’t known yet, creating confusion in each of their minds for her motive to do so. Jack turned to his wife, with his heart beating one-hundred miles an hour from her scream, and muttered with delirium, “What happened, Karen?”
She couldn’t speak, all words were blocked from her mind, it was like she couldn’t think of the words, in order to say them, and therefore she was dumbfounded for this brief moment, and even impaired. All she could do was point her trembling index finger toward the television screen. As she proceeded to lift her finger, that’s when she saw the words in her mind, that she just wanted to scream out, but instead spoke with tremendous shock, “Look, that’s our babies.”
They all turned toward the screen, and stared with wonder, optimism, seeing the faces that they’d known personally, realizing that dreams do and could come true, especially for people that they know and love. It was like a ton of bricks, or better, a ton of iron, hitting them in the heads, knocking full sense into them, that they were actual bona fide movie stars. Jack grew a big smile on his face, but then it turned to a grin, showing confusion in his eyes. He spoke, “Oh, yeah, there’s Damen and Jose. But, where’s Darell?”
Carol developed a small, lingering, cold tear that hung from her left eye being afraid of releasing itself onto her face, like it didn’t want anyone to know of its existence. But it fell anyway, took that jump, that leap into reality of now, with Carol whispering, “They look so happy, especially my baby, Jose.”
A man entered the room—Jose’s father—and announced with honor, “That’s because they are happy.”
All of them turned toward the recognizable voice, and smiled, while Jack got up and shook his hand. “How ya doing, Antonio?” Jack released his hand from his and sat down in his brown, silken, fluffy chair, watching Antonio gleaming his eyes toward the screen, seeing Jose’s face for only an instantaneous flash before the camera switched to the stage.
“Okay, how about you?” Antonio went up to Carol, and gave her a fresh kiss, touching her cheek timidly, gently, and softly.
“I’m doing great,” Jack replied. “Hey, where’s little Jessica?”
“Oh, I left the baby back at Maria’s house, she’s babysitting her tonight.” Antonio then sat down next to Jack, took out some chewing tobacco from his blue overalls, and placed it in his front gums.
As soon as they heard that name “Maria,” a name that they’d tried to avoid ever since their boys left, a name that they were uncomfortable with when hearing, Jack suddenly knew he had to say something about her, to avoid the uncomfortableness of knowing that they’re trying to refrain from discussing it. Jack turned to Antonio, watching him chewing his tobacco loudly, and questioned in sincerity, “Um, so, um, how is Maria doing, I haven’t seen her in awhile?”
“Well, ever since the boys left, she doesn’t come out as often,” responded Antonio, showing disappointment through his black eyes.
“She used to be so close to our sons. It’s sad, but at least you have little Jessica,” stated Jack with a smile, feeling the gawks of the women, the mothers that didn’t want to speak in this specific
conversation. Even Darell’s father stayed out of it, like he always did with any conversation that held seriousness to its borders.
Antonio spit his tobacco-filled saliva into a garbage can, to the right of him, and spoke, “Yeah, I guess I’m lucky for that. My son left us at the perfect time, because that’s when Jessica came into our lives.”
“She looks more like you than Carol,” Darell’s father finally mentioned, getting up from his seat and sitting next to the men.
“Oh, thank you, Pete.”
“Does Jose know about Jessica yet?” Jack asked.
“No, not yet, but as soon as he comes home, Carol and I will tell him.” Carol then looked at Antonio and smiled toward his past words.
Darell’s mother, Martha, eyed heavily at the television, got up from her seat, and turned up the volume on it, speaking, “Come on, guys, let’s concentrate on watching this show.”
“Okay, Martha, we’ll be good little boys,” laughed Pete, triggering the rest of the fathers to laugh out loud, making the mothers grin toward their childish humor.
“Oh, I’m so excited about this,” said Karen, her nerves beginning to travel to her stomach.
Carol could sense Karen’s nervousness, as well as her own, and also spoke with terrific acceleration to her voice, “I know, me too.”
“Me three,” Martha proclaimed, popping a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth.
They were all once enemies, enemies that were torn apart by their sons running away from them, leaving their existence and binding them with guilt. But, as the time passed, day after day, month after month, they became close, tied by one single bond that they all possessed; their sons’ ambitions. Every movie or magazine cover that one of their sons were in, meant a new memory for them all to share together, a new page in their book of photographs that hung in their minds, crying out tears of happiness and honor, but also craving for these photographs to be real, and having their sons home.
As the parents sat there, overwhelmed with pride, Jack thought in his mind, chanting it over and over again with anxiety injected into each word,
Please let my son win. God, please give the Oscar to Damen.
Yet, when Antonio came to the point of hoping for his son, Jose, to win, he didn’t speak it in his mind, he spoke it verbally.
Everyone waited for Jose and Damen’s category to come up, seeing each actor, wining that golden man or woman, standing straight on its pedestal, and the time was begging to pass quickly, going by very slowly. Antonio looked at the clock and saw it read 8:00 p.m., but it felt like it was much longer, and they were starting to get frustrated toward this screen. The pressure was beginning to build up in Antonio’s mind, when suddenly, by accident, he said out loud, “Please, God, let Jose win.”
The parents turned to face Antonio, with looks to kill, shocked engraved in their pupil, and even Carol showed this to him. Being that she was hoping the same thing, maybe deep in her subconscious, but still it was there, she had the same look, only because she was shocked that he mentioned it out loud, knowing that it would begin an argument with Damen’s parents.
Jack took it as an accident on Antonio’s part, but still wanted him to know that they all heard it. So, Jack turned back to the screen, and laughed in a highly witty, joking manner, “Well, I hope that my son, Damen, wins.”
Of course, being that Antonio was tough, cynical, and didn’t really have manners of his own, he turned to Jack right away and laughed, “He won’t win, he stinks at acting. I saw his movie, and he did a poor job in it.”
This, to many people, would be considered as going way too far with laughter, humor, and a normal person, that this was triggered to, would become upset. Yet, Jack didn’t get upset, instead, he got angry, aggravated, and distraught toward the fatigue of his fury. He turned away from the screen, faced his eyes toward Antonio’s side of the face, and defended Damen by saying, “Well, I saw Jose’s movie last week, and he didn’t do such a good job in it either. As a matter of fact, he did a horrible job at acting in it, it was like he was a chicken, or a dead cow, all stiff like, a mime.”
Antonio placed his hand inside of his overalls, or trousers, and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill, slamming it hard on the coffee table. Everyone was wondering why he did that, feeling the breeze rushing in from the outside, and feeling their own breeze of confusion colliding with their thoughts, the whole ordeal was growing in intensity, these three families, all proud and competitive about their own children. Antonio then explained with fury, “Alright, tough guy, I bet you one-hundred dollars that my Jose will walk away with the Oscar trophy,” Antonio said as he placed a one-hundred-dollar bill on the brown, shiny coffee table.
“You’re on,” Jack shouted, vigorously pulling one hundred singles out from his coat pocket that was hanging on his chair.
Karen got up from her seat, yelling out in a calm fashion, “Boys, boys, could you please be quiet, we’re trying to watch the show.”
Antonio and Jack looked at her in an appalled manner, but before they could speak any words to her, the subject got changed by Pete asking, “So, Jack, where is your other son, Greg? Wasn’t he supposed to come home today?”
“Yeah, he was, but I guess he isn’t going to make it. Ever since he left home, we only heard from him once. At least with Damen, we could see him anytime we want. All we have to do is go to the movies,” responded Jack, giving out a small grin.
Carol, with her kind ways, and etiquette of an angel, became vicious, trying to hear the television, but instead hearing the sound of men to her ears. Karen got up again, turned up the volume full blast, while Carol roared toward the fathers, “Would all of you please be quiet, their category is coming up soon.” They silenced themselves, turning toward the screen, and waiting to see the destinies of their boys come into reality; the only difference was, their fate was somehow changing directions.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Anxiety building, nerves colliding, darkness of fear revealing its most treacherous self; everyone felt butterflies rising to a higher number, and hitting their stomachs as Damen’s and Jose’s category came closer. While this strange fear, an intangible fear, built up in their parents’ minds, the adrenaline was reaching zenith proportions in Mark’s head as the first hour past of the ceremony. He looked at Curtis’ watch and saw it read 8:55 p.m., showing shock to his eyes, as he thought that it was later; more like three hours past by. His inebriated body walked up to the center of the bridge and looked into the scope of the gun. He realized he was too drunk to shoot anything, but Curtis wasn’t. During this time, they both finished the vodka bottle, waiting for the moment to come up, and before they knew, they finished the last drop of it, but Mark finished the most. His fears and anxiety built up in the center of his mind, comprehending, in a tiresome way, that his abilities were impaired, the alcohol had gotten the best of him. He knew a lot of money was at stake for the completion of the job, yet he realized his own freedom was at stake if his drunkenness caused him to get caught by the police. That’s when he walked up to the corpse-filled box and saw Curtis sitting and looking out at the stage. He just looked at Curtis, feeling the heat, from the stage lights, still radiating toward him and creating warmth to his clothes, and still absorbing the humidity that was in these dirt-filled rafters, being so hot, that he thought he was breathing through a skinny straw. As Mark glared at him, he knew what he had to do, even though he didn’t want to do it, but had to. Mark blinked his eyes once, and slurred with his drunken voice, “Curtis, do you still want to ... finish off the main person?”
Before answering, Curtis gleamed his yellow teeth through his smile, shot up like a bomb exploding underneath him, and ran to the gun. He grabbed it, like a little child, pretending he was in combat, and looked through the scope, responding in a speedy way, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“Wait, wait, hold on, not yet. Listen, in about five minutes, the Best Actor category will be coming down, I mean coming up. When it does, I want you to listen
for the winner. If Damen Schultz’s name is called, I want you to shoot him in the head when he reaches the podium on the stage. But, if his name isn’t called, then, then.” Mark paused his alcohol-absorbed vocal cords, causing his voice to become raspy, not to mention his memory was fading, like temporary amnesia. He couldn’t remember what Julienne told him to do if Damen’s name wasn’t called.
“Then what?”
“Didn’t I tell you what she said already? Oh, oh, I remember, then after the awards are over with, we take care of him while he’s walking to the door of the building. Julienne said that he was most definitely gonna win, that’s why I didn’t really depend on this second method. But, um, for right now, I want you to shoot Damen, and that other guy. You know what, better yet, even if he doesn’t win, just try and find him through the scope, and then get rid of him, only if his name isn’t called,” Mark explained. He sat down on the bridge with dizziness beginning to hit him when he looked down at the people, realizing he was about seventy feet up in the air.
Curtis was confused, looking out at the people below, seeing hundreds of heads to choose from, he was puzzled by Mark’s words. “Mark, what’s the other guy’s name?”
“I don’t remember, that damn vodka is really getting to my brain. Um, all I know is what he looks like and where he’s seated at.” Mark slowly began to get up from his seating position, and started to walk toward the gun with the scope on it.
“Well, then tell me where his seat is so I can get the scope prepared,” said Curtis in a low and excited expression.
Mark finally came up to the gun, in the center of the bridge, saying, “No, you first have to kill Damen.” He looked through the scope of the gun in a treacherous fashion, holding onto it heavily because he was dizzy from the alcohol, and from this terrific height. “Now, the second guy is seated in row A, seat number 23.”
Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) Page 69