Sugar Valley (Hollywood's Darkest Secret) (93 page)

Curtis looked through the scope again, toward
the second victim, speaking, “I’m not that plastered. Besides, I’m
a good aim.”

Mark gazed down at his broken watch, trying
to read past his fuzzy and impaired vision, to see the digits on
his watch. “Anyway, it’s just about time, we have eight more hours
left till the category comes up.”

“Wait a second, my watch reads 8:58 p.m., we
have two minutes left. Are ya buzzed or what?” mentioned
Curtis.

Mark laughed at his own mistake, chuckling,
“Oh, my mistake. Anyway, are you all set up and ready to do
this?”

Curtis glared in the scope again, feeling
this moment of authenticity, knowing that it was reality, craving
to finish it right, so he could be rich as well. As he peered down
at their prey through the scope, he answered with pure, tranquil
sureness, “You bet I am. This job is gonna be a cinch.”

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Even though the air was brisk and cool in
the hall, auditorium, Damen’s collar was still rubbing against his
neck, causing a slight rash to develop, and his face was drenched
in sweat, knowing that his category was going to come up in a few.
This was it, the moment of truth, the sector in his life, as well
as others, when everything would be shown, completed, where dreams
would be revealed into reality, where lies and deceits might be
uncovered, and where Damen’s own fate, of dying, might occur. Mr.
Schultz just thought about his life, the way he struggled to get to
this moment, the struggles he had to go through with life and his
friends, and the friends that he used to have, but now were
enemies, at least to his mind’s eye. All Damen could hear is his
own heart beating, not even acknowledging that the Master of
Ceremonies was talking, not even expecting that the audience was
laughing by a joke that he just told; Damen was in his own world.
Everything around him, didn’t matter, the only thing that counted
in this stiffening instant, was that envelope, which was held in
the back of the stage, where either his name, Jose’s name, or the
other nominees’ names were held. He couldn’t take it, this pressure
of obedient thrill, being strict to his thoughts, and mean to his
nervous system, Damen was beginning to lose it. His hands were
shaking, his legs were twitching, his mouth was trying to find a
bit of saliva, and his own perspiration was becoming a natural
shower to his body. Suddenly, throughout these pressures, these
feelings of a panic-attacking nature, Damen got up from his seat
and spoke to Chuck, “Chuck, I’ll be right back, I’m going to the
bathroom.”

Chuck looked at him dumfounded about what he
was teasing, joking around about, but then seeing Damen starting to
walk away. So, he grabbed Damen’s sport coat, pulled him back to
his seat again, and whispered, “What are you talking about? Your
category’s coming up in two minutes.”

He didn’t know what to do, he knew if he
stayed, he would go crazy, berserk, but he knew if he left for
awhile, it would give his mind enough time to calm down itself,
rejuvenate into being halcyon and serene. “I have to go bad, and I
mean really, truly bad. Besides, we’re at a commercial break and
this show is taped, it’s not live,” Damen stated. He got up again
and walked past Chuck and John. He rubbed against John’s Oscar that
he won a little bit ago, and headed toward the aisle.

When he reached the carpet aisle, Chuck
stretched his head passed John’s body, and explained, “No, Damen,
you’re wrong, this ceremony is live, it’s a special Oscar ceremony;
it’s the first one to start off the new millennium.”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” said Damen
in a speedy fashion, trying to hold in his urine by crossing his
legs, the urine that he thought was present by his nerves, but
really was just his imagination.

“Alright then, just hurry up.”

Traveling up the aisle, Damen walked past the
movie stars that sat on either side of the aisle and abruptly he
felt a sense of proudness to his character, a sense that he prayed
for every night to achieve. It was like he was walking in slow
motion, feeling this brief duration, of seeing that he was apart of
this wonderful medium, experience, that he was just the same as the
movie stars that he saw before himself. He walked out of the main
part to the building and entered into the foyer, that’s when he
turned around to look at the crowd of heads that were seated.
Finally realizing, even more, that he belonged, created a
self-motivated-smile to appear on his sweat-filled face, caressing
this spontaneous, excitable rapture of realism, that broke his
mind’s eye of feeling fear, and suddenly felt happy; happy to be
here, and proud to know that he’d worked to be. Yet he was walking
away from them. Thoughts were drowning his mind, suffocating his
consciousness, allowing his mind’s eye to be obstructed,
concentrating on words in his head that drifted around quickly and
roughly.

Damen, why are you walking away from this,
why? This, this is what you’ve been waiting for to happen for a
long time, and it’s happening now. What are you doing? You could
always go to the bathroom later.

That’s when he lit up a cigarette, knowing
that he was scared, frightened of success, comprehending that his
fears were what caused his legs to travel to the place where he was
at now. He inhaled his smoke, and just gazed out of the doorway,
toward the hallway of beauty, when without warning, a person came
from behind him and tapped him on the right shoulder. Damen forced
his head, to switch from staring at the hallway, to gawking at what
was behind him, allowing his neck to hurt from the sudden whiplash.
To his startled sight, he saw Darell in his view. “Darell, you
scared the living crap out of me.”

Darell was pale, seeming like he was still a
drug addict, and like he hadn’t slept in over two years. His eyes
were drowsy, red, and bloodshot, and his complexion was that of a
dead fish, full of sweat, but at the same time, pale, and dried. He
handed Damen a letter, speaking in a stressed tone, “Here, take
this, but read it after the ceremony. Promise me you won’t read it
till after this ceremony ends? Promise on our friendship, Damen?
Will you promise me?” Darell seemed desperate, as if the world was
going to end soon, wanting and yearning for Damen to promise, as if
this was going to be the last moment he ever spoke to him.

Damen grasped onto the letter, envelope,
smiling toward him, remembering how good it felt to be friends with
Darell O’Conner. “So does that mean we still have a
friendship?”

Tears started to surround Darell’s red eyes,
responding with earnest, “Of course it does, our friendship never
ended. So, do you promise?”

Damen gazed down at the letter, wondering why
he was so serious and meaningful on asking him not to read it; it
was like there was a bomb, explosive, in it or something of that
nature. “Yeah, yes, I promise.” Darell walked toward the exit of
the building, causing Damen to feel stupefaction, confusion, and
disarray toward his opposite walk, choice in directions. “Wait a
second, Darell, where are you going?”

Darell lingered his body and turned around to
face him again, smiling in a vivid motion, trying to hold in his
tears of mysterious motives. “Listen, Damen, this is your night. I
don’t belong here, and I don’t want to belong here anymore.”

Damen wandered up to him. He then turned
around to look at the main part of the building and noticed the
lights beginning to dim again in the huge, glamorous hall; that
meant his category was about to come up. To Damen’s mind, this was
the worst thing possible to him, only because he wanted to be there
for Darell, hungered to know what was bothering him, and didn’t
want to see him cry, or about to cry. But, Damen knew, by the
dimming, indistinct lights, that it was his time to depart from
Darell, for now. He turned back to face him, saying, “Alright, I’ll
come by your place later on tonight and we’ll have ourselves a
little party. It’ll be like old times, but this time, it’ll be
better. But, um, if I don’t stop by tonight, then I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

“Damen, I’m going back home tomorrow.” Darell
paused, turning his head for a moment, and wiping his eyes of tears
unnoticeably. He turned back toward Damen’s brown eyes, adding with
sadness, “I’m going home to Ridge Crest.”

“Why?” Damen didn’t want him to go, leave; he
didn’t want Darell to vanish from sight without seeing, and
spending more time with him. But, Mr. Schultz quickly knew that he
had ten seconds to get to his seat, before his category came up.
So, he added again but with quickness, “Why, why are you
going?”

“I told you, I don’t want to belong here
anymore. I hate Hollywood, it was never my dream.” He stopped
again, new tears were showing, and then he began with, “I thought
it was, because it was yours and Jose’s dream. But, I realize now
that it isn’t, and that I should have never come in the first
place.”

Darell walked through the exit and entered
into the outside, but still had the door opened, showing his view
still to Damen’s. Damen took a drag of his cigarette, grabbed onto
the door, touching Darell’s hand by accident, and spoke with speedy
words, “Listen to me, I’m definitely coming to your place tonight,
and we’ll talk about this some more.”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting.” Darell walked all
the way through the exit and onto the red carpet even more, and
Damen just stared at his silhouette, smiling toward his back, being
happy to finally have Darell as a good friend again. It was like
closure for him, or a simple push of an angel, that caused their
friendship to mend, to come together and cause it to be stronger
than before.

As soon as Darell walked out of his view,
Damen put the letter into his suit pocket and took one last drag of
his cigarette. He ran down the aisle again, back to his seat once
more, and felt the excitement, happiness, joy, and terror enter his
mind again, this time being even more positive, because of the
newfound friendship he had with Darell. Looking at Chuck like a
scared little puppy, Damen muttered, “Chuck, I feel sick.” Chuck
smiled at him and rubbed his head with his hand. The feeling that
Darell had was finally in Damen’s mind. The feeling that Damen
wished he could have was finally there with him as he looked at the
Oscar trophy that stood on the podium next to the Master of
Ceremonies. The emotion of being on a roller coaster and finally
reaching the top of it; the compassion that Damen thought he felt
when he began making his first movie. The sensation of excitement,
but fear mixed into one, the sensation that Darell didn’t have
anymore.

The Master Of Ceremonies came up to the
podium, announcing, “Since we’re running a little short on time,
we’re not going to show any clips. So for now, the nominees for the
Best Actor category are as follows.” The audience all stared up at
a television, the size of a small house, and saw the nominees up
there, showing their faces as he read their names off. The M.C.
began the introduction for the Best Actors, saying, “Jack Benteler,
for his role in ‘Bliss Without a Kiss.’ Jose Rodrigo, for the role
in ‘The Man Without a Heart.’ John Stuckly, for the role in
‘Friends That Are Enemies.’ And Damen Schultz, for the role in
‘Wishes of a Destiny.’” The Master of Ceremonies slowly began
opening the envelope.

Damen looked over at Jose and saw him looking
at him, both knowing what each other was thinking. The thought of
winning the trophy, the trophy that stood for proudness that stood
for the ability to accomplish the greatest award in acting. The
award that stood for them accomplishing the final part to their
dream, was what was about to be had, to be taken by either them or
the others.

The Master of Ceremonies took the white card
out of the envelope, pausing for the fun of it, seeing that the
nominees all looked at him in temptation of knowing who the winner
was. He then looked at the card with a dramatic pause, waiting for
that perfect moment, that perfect sector in time to say the
winner’s name. Damen gawked at him, feeling sweat dripping from his
face, and Jose glared at the trophy, wanting it to be in his grasp,
yearning for it to be his and his alone. Everyone waited, Chuck,
Julienne, Tom Fryer, and even the secretive and infamous Mark and
Curtis, dangling up in the heavens, concentrating on the M.C.’s
words. The M.C. felt the silence of the room’s voice and
impetuously announced, “And the Oscar goes to...”

Chapter Eighty

Hearing nothing but mumbling coming from the
M.C., to Mark’s ears of drunkenness, Mark strived to get up from
his seating position, stumbled over to Curtis, and frantically
muttered, “Who did he say? Who won?” All they heard was clapping of
a loud pitch, whistling of a prosperous tune, and those echoes
allowed Curtis not to even hear Mark’s slurry words, words that
sounded like they were all conjoined into one long idiom. “Hello,
idiot, who the fuck won?”

Curtis gazed through the scope, understanding
Mark’s rude question. With him still gawking through the scope of
murder, he shouted over all the echoes of applause, “They said
Damen’s name.”

“Are you positive? Are you sure?”

Curtis understood that he himself was a
little bit on the tipsy side from the alcohol, and could have
easily misinterpreted the M.C.’s distant yet echoing voice. Curtis
became shaky, hysterical, speaking, “Um, um, yeah, yeah I’m
sure.”

“Shit, Shit, shit, alright, let me look.”
Mark was stressed out, moving Curtis aside and looking through the
scope of the gun, all he could see was blurry.

“I said I was sure,” yelled Curtis, wanting
Mark to believe him, even though he wasn’t that sure himself.

“I didn’t like the way you said it. I know
the way you are, Curtis, you’ll say anything that will make me
happy.” Mark tried to focus on the stage and the podium, adding,
“Damn it, everything is blurry. Here, you look through the scope
and tell me what the guy looks like.” Mark pulled him up to the
scope and stuck his face in it, forcefully.