Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (20 page)

“Wait a second, I just remembered, we’re
invited to some sort of a get-together tonight,” Damen mentioned;
he was reminded by the word “deal” that Darell spoke.

“What get-together?” Jose asked as they
walked up to their room. Seeing the chipped, pink paint that
literally hung in the hallways of the motel, made Jose and Darell
want to go to this get-together even more; it would be better than
staying at this dump.

“That girl at Mr. Fryer’s office invited us,
she said she’s going to bring some of her friends.” Damen then
opened the squeaky door to their motel room and walked in, seeing
all the roaches scatter about, running up the walls to their homes
in the cracks, and running in the carpet where they ate the food
they caught or found; it was another disgusting sight that the boys
were slowly getting used to.

“What girl? What friends?” Jose spoke, very
curious and interested in the form they came out in.

“I don’t know her name, but she’s an actor
herself. Plus, I really, really, really like her a lot. As for her
friends, I guess they’re actors too.” Damen lay down on one of the
two beds. Seeing the roaches run out from underneath it, he closed
his eyes from the exhausting day he’d had.

“These friends of hers, are they girls?”
asked Jose.

“I guess so... But it wouldn’t make any
difference to you; you have Maria already. Do you remember who
Maria is?” Damen mentioned, hoping that Jose would catch on to his
smart-alecky fashion. He saw that he did. Seeing Jose put his head
down, Damen gave a small leer to his tired lips.

“Um, Damen, you’re starting a fight. That
means you have to leave Hollywood,” Jose brought up, hoping in his
mind that Damen would drop the topic of Maria.

“Fine, I was just joking.” Damen knew it was
a losing battle when it came to discussing the fact that Jose was
cheating on Maria. That’s what he discovered on the first day in
Hollywood, but Damen didn’t realize that he would be realizing even
more things about Jose, as well as Darell, in the near future.

“Girls? Did you say girls?” Darell showed
them that he was aroused; that single word made his eyes widen.

“Yes ... I guess they are. The get-together
is up at the big Hollywood sign at 9:00 p.m. We better start
getting ready.” Damen got up from the rickety bed and went into the
bathroom, knowing that he needed to look his best tonight.

“What should I wear?” Darell asked. He looked
through his single pouch, full of ripped-up clothing, and
discovered he didn’t have anything nice, or even suitable for a
party.

Damen turned on the shower, heard Darell’s
question, and replied, “I don’t know, but wear something.”

“You know what, Darell,” spoke Jose, holding
the pager in one hand and the clothes he was going to wear that
night, in the other.

“What?” Darell pulled out his ripped pants
and a T-shirt with a hole in the arm; it was the closest thing to
having something nice to wear.

“I’m beginning to like Hollywood...”

Chapter Thirteen

Night was falling, and all the work that Tom
Fryer did was manifesting his mind into being nothing but tired,
agitated and very, highly stressed. The feeling of exhaustion
already set into his body, knowing that the fatigue had grown on
his legs and arms, Tom gave out a yawn and, in a way, petted the
fatigue through the breath that he exhaled.

“Vivian, could you please step in here for a
moment,” Mr. Fryer asked, looking over to his clock, which read
7:50 p.m.

Vivian heard his voice over the intercom.
Having her hat on, purse over her shoulder, ready to go home, she
gave a deep sigh, hoping that Tom didn’t want her to stay late.
But, her sigh was more than a breath of disappointment, it sounded
like fear was mixed into it; it dangled within the air. Without
even pressing the button on her phone, she walked over to his
office and spoke, “Yes, sir.”

She made sure to keep her distance, for some
reason, standing next to the doorway with her desk still in the
mist of her peripheral vision; Vivian was cautious. Tom stared at
her cautious eyes, seeing her hat on, and a purse over her
shoulder, Vivian was uncomfortable from the silent stares. So, she
added with a smile, “I was just ready to go home, sir.”

Breaking the silence was a game that Tom
loved to play with people, especially Vivian; he also loved to win
at it. But, since she broke it, and won at the game, it caused Mr.
Tom Fryer to form an evil grin. Tom Fryer was still looking over
the six photos, from the actors that came in, facing the window of
his office, still grinning at her through his reflection. “I need
you to stay late tonight,” Tom said.

Vivian stared at the pulsating image of his
reflection off the window, knowing that even though his back is
facing her, he could still see her eyes. “Why, sir?”

“Because, I need you to make about a zillion
calls to casting agents. I want to set up appointments with them to
look over these photos,” he replied in a frustrated voice.
“Alright?”

Vivian stared toward her desk for a moment,
seeing the waiting room door, just twenty feet away from her,
knowing that she could easily leave now, Vivian was contemplating
saying ‘no’, and walking away from him. Yet, she wouldn’t have a
job anymore, so she slowly, while still staring at the waiting
room’s see-through door and feeling safe, took off her hat and
sighed, “Yes, Mr. Fryer...”

“Good ... now let’s get started.” Vivian
noticed that his words were coming out as whispers, silent echoes
that could hardly be heard, recognized, and justified. “Shall we
begin with,” he spoke, not being able to finish his sentence due to
Vivian smothering his words with her voice.

“Sir, could I make a phone call before we get
started?” She sounded very disappointed. Clearly, having to stay
late, alone with her boss, Vivian was upset to hear the news.

Tom was very curious to know why she wanted
to make a phone call, wondering her motive for calling while she
was on the job. “Sure, who’s the phone call to?”

She replied in a ticked off manner, “I don’t
think that’s any of your business. But if you really must know,
it’s to my friend. I’m calling her to let her know I’m not going to
make it...” A silent key came to her voice, not wishing to finish
her reply, feeling that it was none of his business, and that she
already gave him enough suitable information.

“Make it to what?” he asked, trying to pry
more and more into her private affairs. This was his world, his
dark den that he called an office. He felt, for some reason, that
he could ask and do anything he wanted, as long as he was present
in his world. The way the dark, roughly designed wallpaper
reflected his character, and how the cold air-conditioner blew in
its air toward this place of work, allowed Vivian to fear it,
especially when the sunlight died down.

But, her fear was covered up by anger, so she
asked with a strong attitude, ignoring his last question, “Could I
make the phone call?”

She looked at his reflection and saw an evil
smile being purposely shown to her. The smile resembled a killer
clown; in this dark-walled setting, his smile seemed to be
exaggerated with terror. “Yes, you may.”

Vivian walked out of his office and called up
her friend by her desk. She waited impatiently for her to answer
the phone as she looked around the dark lobby of the agency. While
she waited for her friend to answer, Vivian stared at the light
switch, right next to Mr. Fryer’s office door, knowing that it was
a good distance to hike and hesitating about getting up and turning
it on. That was one thing about Vivian; she hated the dark. Still
staring at the switch that was right next to the fan switch, she
dropped the phone in a panic, raced over to the wall, and smacked
her hand against the switch. She ran back to her desk and grabbed
the phone, noticing that it was the wrong switch she hit; she’d
pressed the fan switch instead. “Shit,” she muffled out of her
mouth, knowing she shouldn’t yell it out; she censored her fear,
only to a point.

Tom saw the fan go on. Conscious that the
warning wind it made only went on when there was a client waiting
for him, he knew exactly what was going on in the waiting room. He
knew she ran to the switch in a frantic hurry, slapped her hand
against the wrong one, ran back to her seat, grabbed the phone, and
realized she hit the wrong one; her fear could be smelled by him,
and he loved every moment of it.

She backed up again, turned off the fan
switch, hit the light switch instead, and fluttered back to her
seat, still waiting for the pause of the lights to go on; they were
old, fluorescent light bulbs; they took a good twenty seconds to
fully bloom their bodies.

Tom saw the fan go off, disturbed that she
attempted again to turn on the lights in the waiting room, and turn
off the fan’s body at the same time. He just smiled toward the
window of his office, loving every moment of Vivian’s phobia of
darkness.

The lights finally turned on. Relief came to
Vivian’s mind, and that’s when she grabbed the phone tighter,
waiting for someone to answer. Her heart was beating fast, she
could hear its sound through her chest, thumping about like it was
a bass drum in a fast song.

Thump, thump, thump.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Helen, I’m calling to say I can’t make
it tonight,” Vivian stated with a voice of disappointment. Looking
around the lighted room, she felt at ease now; her fear left her
and the disappointment came back again.

“Why?” Being that Helen, who was just as
attractive as Vivian, was her roommate, she felt sorry for Vivian,
recognizing she didn’t want to stay late at work. Helen also was a
secretary for Mr. Fryer, only when Vivian called in sick, so Helen
usually only worked for Tom about twice a month. She has another
job in place of this one, but because she was good friends with
Vivian, she always helped her out with the agency, if Vivian was
ill and couldn’t make it.

“I have to work late ... the ass is making
me,” Vivian replied, putting her hand on her forehead. “I invited
some guys to go up there tonight. Their names are Damen, Darell,
and I think Jose. Anyway, when they get up there, tell Damen I
couldn’t make it.”

“Who’s Damen? Is he your new fling?” Helen
asked as Vivian’s frown became a smile. Helen always knew how to
cheer her up, and now was a very good time to lay on the humor with
her.

“No, he’s just a friend. I met him today.”
Vivian then saw Mr. Fryer by his office door, giving her a signal
with his hand to get off the phone.

“Yeah right, that’s what you always say,”
said Helen in a laughing manner.

“Listen, just do this for me. Tell him to
leave his number. Wait, better yet, give him my phone number,”
Vivian said. She then saw Mr. Fryer giving her more signals to get
off. “Listen, I got to go now, Helen. So, would you please do this
for me?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Alright, girl, thank you so much... I got to
go now, Helen, bye.”

“Bye, girl,” said Helen, hearing the dial
tone at the same time. “Vivian, hello, hello?” Helen, with her hair
as black as could be, up in a ponytail, stared at the phone,
wondering why Vivian left so urgently. But then, she hung it up,
lay down on a brown coach, and closed her eyes, yearning to take a
nap in the comfort of her cheap but livable apartment.

During that time, Vivian walked into Mr.
Fryer’s office and sat down in a chair that was facing a mirror.
She wrote down all the numbers to call as Mr. Fryer was relaying
them to her, over and over, talking faster than a rabbit could run.
Over sixty numbers were written down by Vivian, her hands feeling
stiff from the exercise, and cold from the air-conditioner; they
were cramping up on her. She looked up at Mr. Fryer and asked, “Sir
... why so many numbers?”

“Because, most of these agents are either out
of town or busy on the day in which I want them to come in and
review these photos. Remember, Vivian, this is summertime, half of
the people in this industry, are taking a break and going on
vacation. Out of those sixty agents I want you to call, we’re
probably going to get about ten to come in,” he replied in a
stressed-out way, walking around the office with a cigar in his
mouth. “Every summer it’s the same, as soon as the agents see that
the producers, directors, and casting agents have gone on vacation,
they take a little vacation of their own; that’s if these new
agencies haven’t gone out of business yet.”

“When should I tell them to come in?”
Vivian’s pen paused on the paper, awaiting a reply.

“Who?” Tom’s eyes and mind were distracted by
Vivian’s young, curvy figure, her sensual youth was making him lose
train of thought, very abruptly.

“The agents.” Vivian followed the path of his
eyes, which led to her chest. She started to feel uncomfortable.
Gazing out to her right, at the office door, she wanted to get up
and leave this room of discomfort.

“Oh, um, make an appointment four days from
now, that will be June 17. That way I’ll have all seven photos
ready,” he explained, turning his eyes away from her slim and
slender figure, fixing them toward a mirror that hung on the
wall.

“What time should they come in, sir?” Vivian
looked intently at his reflection, watching his eye movements, and
their paths, to see if they would come into contact with her
breasts again.

“Tell them 4:00 p.m.” He looked deeply into
the mirror, and saw the photos on his desk. He noticed that
Darell’s was missing from the batch. “I hope that Darell O’Conner
won’t forget about his appointment in three days with the
photographer,” he said; at the same time Vivian was seeing his eyes
coming upon her chest again.