Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (88 page)

Chapter Seventy-Two

The beginning of excitement, into fulfilling
a dream that seemed impossible, was starting for Damen Schultz,
feeling his own nerves, reverberating in his body, driving in his
limo to the Academy Awards. He felt butterflies in his stomach as
the limo came nearer to the Oscar building. Damen’s mind was
overwhelmed with a feeling of happiness, nervousness, and a feeling
of sickness. Today the sun shined a different ray down toward his
image; it was ray of warning. The sun’s heat was pulsating his
flesh through the window, even though they were tinted, and in a
way, trying to tell him to not go. But of course, Damen’s gut
feeling got misinterpreted and confused by the feeling of
apprehension.

Feeling this heat scorching his tuxedo and
flesh with cleanliness to its texture, Damen rolled down the
window, wanting to get some air into his veins, metaphorically
speaking. “Do I look alright in the tux?”

“Yes, Damen, you look perfect,” Chuck
replied, grabbing the car phone and dialing up to the
chauffeur.

“Chuck, I’m so nervous.” Damen was
panic-stricken, feeling the heat still, from the sun’s help,
pulsating his flesh and warming his clothes to a high temperature;
he just desired this uncomfortableness to go away.

In the meantime, the chauffeur picked up the
ringing phone. “Hello, sir?”

“Hey, George, I was wondering how long it
will take to get to the awards?” asked Chuck, watching Damen
rolling down the ceiling window. Mr. Schultz then stuck his head
out of his side window and began coughing up phlegm, spitting it
into the passing street, feeling the air pushing his phlegm against
the limo’s black body.

“About fifteen minutes, sir,” George
answered.

“Is there any way we could get there sooner?
It’s already 7:10 p.m., and the event begins at 7:30.” Chuck was
nervous when he asked that shaky question. He watched again, in a
nervous manner, as Damen began vomiting out the window, instead of
relieving his phlegm.

“I’m sorry, sir, but due to the event,
there’s a lot of roadblocks up, that’s what’s causing the small
traffic jam.”

Chuck noticed Damen vomiting more, so he hung
up the phone immediately, asking a very stupid question. “Damen,
what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? The
technicolor yawn.” Damen stuck his head back in the limo, and sat
back in the cushioned leather seat. He lit up a cigarette to get
rid of the disgusting taste that he had in his mouth, teeth, and
throat, and exhaled his first gasp of smoke, giving an aroma of
puke and tobacco, combined together.

“You feel better now?”

“Yeah, I just want to get this night over
with.”

“Why? This is the night that every actor
lives for. This is the night that every actor wishes he or she
could be a nominee at. This is Oscar night.” Chuck was excited, and
his exhilaration allowed Damen’s frown and nervous look to turn
into a smile.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Chuck. I just
wish that Jose wasn’t going. I don’t want to see him ever, but I
have to tonight, by force of course.” Damen flicked his half-smoked
cigarette out the window, and sat back even more in the perfectly
contoured seat of comfort.

“It’s gonna be okay, Damen.” Chuck then
paused for a few seconds and tried to figure out a way to make him
cheer up. In a time like this, a person should be happy, yet Damen
wasn’t; he was just nervous and a little bit excited. Chuck saw
that he really didn’t want to see Jose Rodrigo. Staring at his eyes
of sadness, Chuck saw that his eyes spelled out something of
depression. That’s when he added, “So, did you call your parents up
and tell them?”

“Yeah, I called last week. They’re inviting
Jose’s and Darell’s families over to watch it on their television.”
A smile began to construct on his face again, Chuck knew he hit the
right button.

“That’s good, at least you boys’ parents are
getting along.”

Chuck began fixing his own bowtie, seeing
Damen’s smile diminishing to a frown, hearing him speak, “Yeah, I
know. I had to lie to them and say that me, Jose, and Darell are
getting along great. It’s weird, Chuck, we all came here to make it
famous together. Now that we’re famous, we’re no longer friends. I
never thought it would end up like this, like a frickin’ soap opera
in its last season.”

“Hey, at least you and Darell are still
friends,” said Chuck in highness before Damen began to assemble a
tear in his right eye.

A tear, single and sweet, gentle and soft,
transparent and unique, started to breed in his left eye as well.
“No, no we’re not. I called him up this morning to apologize for
locking him in his bedroom and for fighting him. Before I could say
anything, he told me to eat dirt and a few other terms, and hung up
on me.”

“Don’t worry. After tonight, everything will
change for the better, you’ll see. I bet that after tonight, you,
Jose and Darell will be friends again.” Chuck then put his arm on
Damen’s shoulders and looked at him like a father would.

“I don’t know, Chuck, it just seems like
everything is going out of control. I mean, I never would have
thought that I would be going to the Oscars as a nominee off of my
first movie. And then, I never would have imagined that Jose was
going too as a nominee, yet alone a nominee in the same category as
me.” Abruptly, the vomit began to rise up to Damen’s throat again,
feeling the chunks and the acidlike taste swimming around in his
upper throat. “Everything was so different back home in Ridge
Crest. Everything was so perfect there, especially in Sugar Valley.
Me, Jose, and Darell would have done anything for each other,
anything at all. We used to talk about this day, the day when we
would go to the Oscars and walk down the red carpet.” His tears
started to fall from his right eye. “We even wrote our speeches for
the Oscars. We all decided to make them into poems. But we left
them back in the Valley. It’s just weird now.”

“Well, that’s coming true tonight, Damen. You
all are going to walk down the red carpet. And maybe, just maybe,
you or Jose will read your speech,” Chuck spoke with sincerity.

“I know, but it’s different now,” Damen
suddenly yelled, feeling the anger beginning to build up. “It just
pisses me off so much that our friendships had to be ruined because
of this, this stupid, stereotypical problem that was caused by
Hollywood!”

“Calm down, Damen. Listen to me, don’t think
about them anymore. Just think about what you’re going to say up on
stage after your name is called as being the winner,” seriously
spoke Chuck, trying to make Damen realize that this was his night,
and definitely not the night to be down in the dumps about his
friends.

“I already memorized my speech.” Damen then
paused for a moment, feeling his chunks going into his mouth,
saying, “Chuck, I feel sick.” His vomit released from his throat
and went all over the limo, coloring it a shade of red mixed with
orange.

Chuck quickly picked up the car phone and
dialed up to the chauffeur. When the chauffeur answered, Chuck said
in a quick way, “George, just forget about the stop you were going
to make before. Just take us to the ceremony now. I want to get
Damen over there as fast as I can, he’s beginning to lose it, and I
mean really lose it.”

Damen finished vomiting and sat back in his
seat, questioning, “What stop?”

“I was gonna surprise you, but we were going
to pick up my son first before we went to the awards.”

Damen formed a smiled over his pale image.
Rolling up the window in quickness, Damen questioned in a strong
voice, “You mean ‘John Smitherson’?”

“Yeah, he’s up for the Best Supporting Actor
award tonight, and I figured it would be nice if we all went
together.” Chuck then realized he was holding the car phone in his
hand, and he heard George speaking through the telephone in a
distant tone.

“Hello, hello, sir?”

Chuck put the phone up to his ear, while
still gawking at Damen, and responded, “Hold on for one second,
George.” Chuck still waited patiently for Damen to begin
speaking.

“Chuck, just pick him up. I mean, I never got
to meet him before. I think it would be great too if we all went
together.” Damen suddenly, by a brief miracle, or reverse in
situations, forgot about the problems he was having with Jose and
Darell, and started thinking about how it would be nice to finally
meet the actor he’d always looked up to.

Chuck went to the phone, put it up to his ear
quickly, and spoke, “Hello, George, just pick up John anyway.”

He hung up the phone, and heard Damen
announcing with happiness, “This is gonna be great! I’m actually
going to go to the Academy Awards with John Smitherson.”

“Yeah, he’s excited about meeting you too.
I’ve told him so much about you, Damen.” Chuck then saw Damen
rolling down the window again. He stuck his head out the window and
began vomiting even more than before, causing Chuck to become
filled with confusion.

“Why are you doing that again, Damen?”

“Because I’m gonna meet John Smitherson.”
Damen continued vomiting, filled with anxiety, but now filled with
nerves from excitement.

Chapter Seventy-Three

Staring out a tinted limousine window,
gazing at the cars that were going by, watching the last breaths of
the sunlight puncturing his eyes before it died, but not hurting
them because of the blackened texture on the window, Jose just sat
there, in his seat, with nervousness.

He watched in his black tuxedo, looked at
Julienne as she talked on the phone, gazing at her evening gown of
beautiful taste, hearing her yell into the phone, “How much longer
till we get there?”

“We should be at the Oscars in less than five
minutes, Miss Wells,” the chauffeur replied, holding the car phone
and driving at the same time.

“Well, step on it then, it’s already 7:25
p.m., buster,” she hollered.

Slam.

She hit the phone against the receiver,
hanging up abruptly, and showing aggravation to her make-up filled
face. Staring at Jose, she saw him tightening up his bowtie,
glaring at his hands as they shook, knowing that he had fear of
some kind. “Julienne, is my bowtie straight?”

“Yes, it looks perfect, just like you.”
Julienne smiled at him and grabbed onto his tie, straightening it
herself, wanting Jose to look perfect; not for him, but because she
was his date. Miss Wells sat back in her seat and watched Jose
constantly, seeing him finishing up his last drop of champagne. She
smiled at his last drop, asking, “Are you nervous?”

“No, not at all. I know I’m going to win. I’m
better than all of them,” he answered, showing conceit through his
voice, causing Julienne to smile more.

Miss Wells jumped over to where he was
sitting, sat next to him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, leaving
lipstick smeared into a grand lip form. She wiped it off with a
tissue and still smirked toward him, chuckling, “That’s the
spirit.” Julienne understood and realized her one plan, out of
many, had worked, the mission of making Jose a strong, evil, mean,
and conceited person, just like her, just as her character evolved
into being. Julienne knew that’s what it took to make it big in
Hollywood, and that was the button she pressed. The button to turn
Jose against Damen, the button to turn Jose into a creature that
was full of hatred and strength mixed together. But, Julienne also
knew that her second plan, the plan of using Jose to regain her
fame, was almost over with, finished, completed. That’s when she
began laughing, her laughter was a sign that she accomplished the
biggest plan of her life so far, the plan of regaining her fame,
her success in Hollywood’s eyes. Miss Wells thought about this,
long and hard, and she came to a conclusion; if Mark did the job,
that she wanted, right tonight, it would mean everything to
Julienne; her destiny, her fate, and her career of height. She
still chuckled a little bit longer, seeing in her mind that she was
going to lose eight million dollars tonight, plus the two million
she already gave him; yet she didn’t care anymore, all she cared
about was the addiction she had for the large success that she
wanted again, but instead, now being of titanic size. Her laughter
caused Jose to look at her with a confused face. She couldn’t help
it, all of her hard work, stress that she consumed, literally
decompressing and pressing herself over and over again, tactics
that she created and followed through with; her laughter was
because it was almost finished, and she would be accomplishing it,
finally.

He put down his champagne glass, lit up a
cigarette, and just gawked at her confusing laughter, wondering why
she is chuckling, and what the cause of it was. He looked at his
shirt, thinking that he might have a stain or something on it, but
nothing could be seen to his view. He then smeared his face with
his hands, imagining that there was lipstick still on it, but
nothing rubbed off on his flesh. He was out of tests, experiments,
he was all through with trying to find the reason on his own. So,
he inhaled a quick breath of smoke, and exhaled, “What’s wrong, why
are you laughing?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about something
funny.”

Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring.

She was caught in luck, hearing her cell
phone ringing its tune, having an excuse to not answer his question
any further.

She picked her phone up, from her red satin
purse, and before she answered it, Jose questioned with a
smart-alecky giggle, “Oh, what were you thinking about?”

She placed her soft index finger up to Jose’s
lips, signaling for him to be quiet, hush. She placed her mouth by
her cell phone, and spoke, “Hello?”

It was the one, the only, Tom Fryer on the
other end of the phone, shouting out with massive abomination,
mixed with anger, “What the hell happened?”