Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (45 page)

“Not very good,” Helen replied, noticing that
Damen was looking at them in a sad way.

“Ladies, what are you trying to say here? Did
you forget about me?”

“No, no, that’s not what we’re trying to say,
Damen. We’ll all make it eventually; we’ll all have fame under our
belts. It’s just Darell made it so soon in his life, it’s virtually
impossible for Jose to make it like him. They’re best friends. The
odds of two people making it in Hollywood who know each other and
grew up with each other are very slim,” Vivian explained. She then
gave him a tight hug, knowing that she crushed his hope for a
second; the hug was to embrace his vision, and bring it back to him
once again.

“Well, the plan was for this to happen.
Before we came to Hollywood, we made an oath. We said, whoever
makes it first in Hollywood, they have to help the other two guys
make it too. Darell is already on his way to the top, it’s only a
matter of time till me and Jose are there too. It’s only a matter
of time. I just hope Jose doesn’t break his promise, I know Darell
won’t.”

“Well I just hope you don’t have to learn the
hard way,” Helen spoke with sincerity to her words.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, once a person makes it to the top,
they don’t look back at the bottom. I don’t think you should depend
on Jose or Darell. I mean look at it, Jose’s depending on Julienne
Wells, Darell’s depending on Mr. Fryer, and you’re depending on
Jose and Darell,” Helen explained before she sipped her hot
coffee.

Slurppp...

“You don’t understand, Helen, I know Jose and
Darell well. I know they’ll help me out,” defended Damen.

“Listen, I just want to ask you one thing,
and then we’ll drop this conversation altogether,” Helen said,
putting down her half-finished coffee.

“What?”

“When you guys came here from, from?”

“Ridge Crest, Mississippi.”

“When you guys came here from Ridge Crest,
did you notice anything strange about them? I mean, did you notice
any changes in them?” asked Helen.

“Well, yeah, I guess.” He then started
nodding his head, finally realizing, and catching onto what Helen
was trying to say, or the point she was attempting to make. “You
know, you’re right.”

Helen grinned, and explained, “Well, I’m not
right yet, you still have to wait for Jose to make it big, and for
Darell to get in a few more movies. After that, if they don’t help
you make it to the top also, then you could say I’m right,” Helen
explained.

“Do you think they’ll do that to me, Vivian?
Do think they’ll just forget about me?”

“Well, all I could say to you, is that it’s
every man for himself,” she answered. The shower turned off and a
big yell came from the bathroom suddenly.

Helen turned and faced the bathroom door.
Hearing Jose yelling from it, in a screeching sound, she started to
laugh. Laughing is what they were all doing, except for Jose, with
Helen giggling, “Oops, I guess we forgot to pay the water bill...
”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Darell stared out the window of the Beverly
Hills Hotel and tried to figure out, in his mind, if Mr. Fryer
would actually help his friends make it to the top also. He walked
up to a fireplace and began leaning his body toward the mantel of
it; picking up a poker that resembled a sword, he started poking at
the flames. The flames that were pulsating from the fireplace,
waking their lighted, tremendously hot selves toward Darell, caused
him to jump away from it, leaving the flames alone. He walked back
to the window while dropping the poker on the blue velvet rug and
began thinking if Mr. Fryer would keep his promise. Tapping away
against its edges, guiding his sight toward the heavens, Darell lit
up a cigarette, and blew its air toward the window. That’s when he
asked, “Tom, you said you would help me find Damen and Jose once we
got here. Well, will you help me now?”

“I will, but first I have to prepare you for
tomorrow,” Tom responded. He took out a bunch of papers from his
briefcase, and then poured himself some espresso that lay on a
glass coffee table, in a silver pot.

Darell looked at the afternoon sun, watching
it slowly drift down into the earth, showing its death to him, and
how its colors were radiant orange. “I wonder what they’re doing
right now,” he said, drifting his eyes closer to the skies,
remembering the sun back in the Valley, and how it always showed
them its true beauty.

Tom nagged, “Hello, would you please sit down
and listen to me?”

Darell turned away from the window and
glanced at Tom, saying, “Alright, alright, what is it you want me
to do?”

“Now, what are you going to say to the media
if they start asking you questions about your childhood or
success?”

Mr. O’Conner looked at him in an odd way,
answering, “I’m just going to tell them the truth. What’s so hard
about that?”

Tom rubbed his forehead, his temples in a
stressful formation, speaking, “No, you’re not going to say the
truth, you’re going to lie. If they ask you about your childhood,
tell them you loved it, if they ask you about your personal life,
tell them acting is your life. If they ask you about your quick
success, tell them you worked hard for it and you’re thankful for
it.” Mr. Fryer lit up a Cuban cigar. Seeing that Darell still had
confusion upon his face, he added, “Ah, I only smoke Cubans on
special occasions like this one.”

“Who cares about the Cuban cigar, we’re
talking about me lying here. I’m not going to lie at all,” said
Darell. Tom coughed up smoke from his cigar, hearing Darell’s words
of honesty. Mr. O’Conner then shouted, “Good for you, I hope you
choke.”

Tom coughed, “Darell, listen to me, you have
to do everything I tell you. Trust me, I know how to handle these
things.” Some smoke was still caught in his lungs, adding in a
silent voice, “Will you at least bend the truth?”

“Bend the truth? That’s just like lying. Do
you think I’m stupid or something? I’m not going to lie, case
closed.”

Tom was distressed. He knew Darell had to
look good, and saying that he was from a small town in Mississippi,
and was discovered right when he came to Hollywood wouldn’t look
impressive. “Darell, will you at least think about bending the
truth? Please say you will?”

Darell started grinning, amused to see that
Tom was literally on his hands and knees, begging for him to lie,
he replied, “Well, because you look so pitiful now, I guess I’ll
think about it.”

“Good, good, now I want you to sign these
papers,” he said, sliding the papers across an English coffee
table.

Darell was about to sign them, but stopped
his hand, paused it from the signature line on one of the papers,
and spoke, “Wait, what are these?”

Darell took another drag of his cigarette,
and that’s when Tom covered up most of the words on the sheet paper
with other papers, doing it inconspicuously. Darell didn’t know
that he was about to sign a four-year binding contract with Tom.
“Oh, these are just some things for the dinner tomorrow, it’s to
notify that you’re coming.”

“Okay, what else?” Darell signed on the
dotted line, and Tom just gave out an evil smile, knowing that he
had Darell right where he wanted him.

Tom did the same thing for the next sheet of
paper, covering it up with another one and sliding it over to
Darell. Mr. O’Conner noticed this document had small print from top
to bottom. “This is also for the dinner.”

Darell signed away, not knowing that his
signature was being placed on a sheet that dealt with Mr. Fryer’s
percentage that he got from Mr. O’Conner’s earnings. “Alright, Tom,
anything else?”

“Nope, that’s all for right now. Now I want
you to practice writing your name.” Mr. Fryer whipped the papers
from off the coffee table and put them vigorously into his
briefcase, not wanting Darell to ever see them again, to ever
actually know what they were about.

“Why should I practice that?”

Darell took out his golden pen that Damen and
Jose gave to him, and started writing over and over again on a
sheet of long paper. He watched as the chandelier, which hung
above, twinkled its lights, made out of white flame, onto the pen,
and allowed its golden body to shimmer, making Darell stop for a
moment and concentrate on the glowing color. It made him think
about the cornfields back in Ridge Crest, the way the sun would
shine its glowing light onto them and create a pulsating,
sensational light that gleamed over the fields and made them glow a
radiant gold. It created a mirage that looked like one, great big
field, making the corn stems seem like they were one body, glowing
out their gold reflections, and staying like that, even when the
moon hit. Nevertheless, Darell was knocked out of his flashback,
hearing Tom answering, “For the autograph signing, you’re going to
have to sign a lot of them tomorrow.”

The afternoon turned into night, Darell’s
hand was getting tired and cramped from all the writing he did,
making it numb, swelling up like a red tomato. He finished twelve
sheets of paper, with his signature from top to bottom, right to
left; he was tired and sought to leave this hotel room. So, he got
up from the floor, put his cigarette in an ashtray that had
twenty-one moistened butts in it, and walked up to Tom, saying
while he rubbed his right hand, “Tom, I’m going to take the limo
for a drive, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Tom looked at the time, reading its digits,
seeing that the time read 9:00, and then questioned, “Where are you
going?”

“I’m going for a drive, I’ll tell the
chauffeur to bring me back here in an hour. I just feel like
cruising the ’wood,” Darell responded, grabbing his wallet and
credit cards from off of the coffee table. “What are my credit
cards doing out of my wallet?”

“Oh, ah, I had to charge the room to your
account,” he said, finally getting what ‘wood’ meant. He laughed
out, “You mean Hollywood.”

“Yeah, ha, ha, ha, what about my credit
cards? Listen, and listen good, before you use anything of mine, I
want you to ask me first,” Darell stated with anger, gawking at Mr.
Fryer’s reaction.

“Alright, calm down. You need to get some
air, go out and have fun, but be back soon. You have to wake up
early tomorrow.” Mr. Fryer then sat down in a chair and began going
over all of the autographs that Darell signed. “These are pretty
good, you’ve got a good signature,” he added, holding up one of the
papers that held about one hundred different styles of Darell’s
name.

“I’ll see you in a little bit.” Darell
ignored Tom and walked out the door. Upset with him for taking his
credit cards and using them without permission, Darell just needed
to get way as fast as possible.

He walked over to Mr. Fryer’s limo and tried
opening the doors to it, but it was locked. Standing in the middle
of a parking lot, Darell O’Conner looked around, wandering his eyes
for the chauffeur. But, then, without Darell knowing, the chauffeur
was awakened by the sounds, him sleeping in the front seat, he
jumped up at Darell’s noises on the door, got out of the car and
said, “Here, sir, I’ll get that.”

“Thank you.” The chauffeur opened the door,
and Darell jumped in, seeing liquor of all flavors huddled
perfectly together on a bar at the other end of the limo.

The limo driver got into the car and began
driving out from the hotel parking lot. Picking up the phone, he
called back to Darell. Darell looked for the ringing noise, he
tried to figure out where it was coming from. After about ten
rings, the chauffeur rolled down the wall that was blocking him
from Darell, and said, “The phone’s on the right side of the limo,
sir.”

“Oh, I found it, thank you.” He rolled up the
wall again, and tried to call back to Darell once more.

He rolled down the wall once again, and said,
“Sir, you have to hang it up first. Then when it rings, answer
it.”

“Okay, alright,” said Darell after the
chauffeur rolled up the wall again.

Ring, ring, ring...

“Hello?”

The chauffeur stopped in the street right in
front of the hotel, answering with, “Where’s the destination
tonight, sir?”

“Um, just drive. Just keep on driving.”
Darell noticed some vodka next to the phone, besides the liquor
that was placed together in the bar area. It was very tempting.

The chauffeur continued driving past the
hotel and deeper into Beverly Hills, speaking, “Yes, sir.”

Gulp, Gulp, Gulp, Gulp...

As they drove, Darell was taking shots of
three different types of vodka. Each stop sign or red light they
came to, it meant another shot of liquor going down Darell’s
throat. He said out loud as he rolled down the window on his side,
“This is the life.” He rolled down all the windows and began
yelling out those words. Passing a big mansion, Darell vomited up
his words and his liquor. He vomited on a person that was standing
on the street with a woman.

The person who was standing next to the woman
yelled, “What the hell, man.”

“Jose, are you okay?” Julienne asked,
beginning to wipe off some of the vomit with a towel.

“Yeah. Some people, they just don’t know how
to have fun.” Jose then remembered the image of the face before the
vomit came, causing his eyes to narrow down, and adding, “You know,
that kind of looked like Darell.”

“Maybe it was him. After all, we are going to
his dinner tomorrow,” said Julienne.

Jose looked at her in a puzzled manner, his
eyes showing shock as they went from slim to wide open. “I thought
you said this was your dinner?”

“I never said that.” Julienne began to walk
to her mansion. Opening the two steel gates, she walked away from
Jose.

He ran through the darkness passed the gates,
and up to her staircase where Julienne was. “Yes, you did. When we
first met, you said this is going to be your dinner for the
premiere of your movie.”