The Five Acts of Diego Leon (33 page)

“Repatriation, they’re calling it,” Salazar said once they were past the reporters and inside the lobby of the theater. “It’s illegal. It’s immoral.”

“You’re damn right,” said a man standing near Salazar. “Everyone is suspicious. Mexicans with leftist affiliations are being rounded up and sent back. No questions asked, some of them even born here,” the man said, stomping his foot on the ground, his shoe leaving an impression in the plush carpeting.

He didn’t know why, but Diego leaned in, spoke up, and the small circle of studio executives and the ladies with them turned to look at him when he said, “The newspapers say they spread disease, that they’re infected. I read there was a typhoid outbreak in one of the sections where a bunch of them live in shacks with no running water, no toilets.”

Salazar shook his head. “Lies,” he said. “All lies carefully planted by the LAPD to justify their cause. Here, the media, the police, the politicians are skilled in the art of deceit and fabrication. Never forget that.”

He was grateful when Alicia and the rest of the cast showed up. She kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his arm. The lights dimmed and they strolled into the theater and took their seats. There, in the darkness, with the film reel beginning, and the opening
credits flashing up, he forgot about it all, felt a wild thing stir inside his chest, a pang, a flutter, the first real taste of success.

Alicia wasn’t going to return to Argentina. She wanted to try and make a go at acting in Hollywood. Who knows, Alicia said. There might be another opportunity waiting just around the corner. The one compromise Alicia had to contend with was that her chaperone, Blanca, would remain, at least until Alicia got settled in a more permanent place of her own.

The English-language premiere, which would be held at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre just a few days after the Spanish one, was another event entirely. He wasn’t ready for it, and it was Alicia who reminded Diego to make sure to look as good as possible, to draw as much attention to himself as necessary.

“What you wear is just as important as who is on your arm,” she said.

“Do you want me to ask you to be my date?”

“I’m already going,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Perry made sure to invite everyone from the Spanish crew, but only Alicia had said yes to the invitation, and he was grateful that she was going. As for Jacques, Diego had not seen him since the last day of shooting, and his guess was that he wouldn’t be there because it had been made public by then that Frontier Pictures decided to go ahead and not renew his contract.

“Though I’m already going, it would be silly of me to show up alone,” Alicia explained. “I will
accompany
you. How’s that?” They were inside his apartment, and she went into his bedroom and rummaged through his closet and began pulling things out. “But what will you wear?”

“Oh, I’ll find something.”

“You can’t wear what you did to the premiere of our production.”

“Why not? It was a brand-new suit.”

“It’ll be the end of you if a photographer who was there that one night is at this premiere and snaps a picture of you wearing the same getup. No, we need something impressive.”

“Like what?”

“A tuxedo,” she said, still rummaging through his closet.

“But I haven’t got one,” he told her.

“Yes, I can see that. So we’ll just have to get you one.”

“Now?”

“Now. Come on.” She reached out and took his hand. “There’s time to do the alterations before the premiere.”

When they pulled up and stood in the long line of cars inching toward the front entrance to the Chinese Theatre, he couldn’t help but recall Fiona, the date they’d had at the Pig ’n Whistle next door. He looked through the glass, trying to peer past the mobs of spectators and cameramen and reporters assembled there, hoping to catch a glimpse of the restaurant’s sign, but couldn’t for there were already too many people.

“Look at that!” Alicia said as they stopped. The driver got out and walked around the car, and they emerged and were standing on the red carpet leading all the way from the street curb to the entrance of the theater. Photographers took pictures, their cameras poised along the edge of the carpet, standing on wooden tripods, and the flashbulbs popped and hissed when they passed, the filaments littering the concrete like thin copper webs. There were hundred of fans and admirers behind velvet ropes. They waved at him, yelled things he couldn’t hear or make out. Several reporters shouted, and it took him a while to realize that they were calling Diego by name. Alicia nudged him forward.

“Here,” shouted a short man in a driver’s cap, holding a microphone. “Sir,” he told Diego. “Just a few questions.”

“Certainly,” Diego said, Alicia’s grip on his arm firm.

“Bruce Bodine for KKGE Radio,” the man said, holding the microphone. “We’re live,” he said, “broadcasting on all frequencies. The entire West Coast. With us now,” the reporter continued, “is one of Hollywood’s newest finds: Frontier’s Latin Romeo. Mister Diego León. Now, what would you like to tell our listeners?”

He leaned in and spoke: “Hello, everyone out there. It’s a beautiful
evening in Hollywood, under the stars, and among them. We wish you were all here enjoying the premiere of this fabulous movie with us.”

“I understand you worked on both the English- and Spanish-language production,” the man said, holding the microphone out.

“Yes,” he said. “I did. It kept me busy, but it was a joy, an utter joy.”

“It must have been quite an experience. What was your favorite part?”

“Working alongside people like my costar here,” he said, nudging Alicia forward.

“And who is joining us?” Bruce Bodine asked, beckoning toward the red cord separating them from the mob of reporters.

“Alicia Prado,” she said. “I starred with Diego in the Spanish version of the film. I was Mary.”

“Can you tell the audience a little about the mood out here this evening?”

“Electrifying,” Alicia said. “Like Diego said, we wish you could all be with us.”

“Any more pictures planned for you, Miss Prado?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, but I’m not at liberty to discuss them.”

“Real secret, huh?” Bruce said. Then he brought the microphone up to his mouth and said, “You heard it here first, folks. We can’t wait.”

Then Bruce turned and nodded at the man, who now switched the console off.

“Thanks,” said Bruce. “Enjoy the premiere.”

They walked along, and when Diego was sure they were no longer within earshot, he asked Alicia why she lied.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Back there. All that about your upcoming plans. You’re not doing any pictures, are you?”

“No,” she said. “But it’s good to say things like that. It builds mystique, I understand.”

“Mystique, huh?”

“Yes,” she said. “My new favorite English word.” She scanned
the area as they made their way toward the front of the entrance. “Speaking of, how were my pronunciations?”

“Fine,” he said. “Your accent is much more subdued.”

It was hard for him to discern who anyone was because they were all dressed so fancy, so lavish. Standing at the entrance of that massive building, its bright red and gold exterior, the Chinese dragons and circular gongs, he was beyond overwhelmed. The searchlights darted across the sky in dizzying patterns, there was chatter everywhere, and the walls were covered with posters featuring Fay Carmichael, Margaret Dillon, and Jacques Fantin in different scenes from the movie. Inside the theater lobby, Carole Lombard talked with Stu Berk and Tod Duren. Irving Thalberg of MGM was having what appeared to be a very heated conversation with Dalton Perry. He saw Claudette Colbert, Greta Garbo, and John Barrymore, who tipped his hat to Diego and raised his glass.

Alicia, he realized, was cunningly radiant, and all eyes turned to her as they circled the room. She wore a white gown with a bold floral design. The front of the neckline was cut very low, exposing a good deal of her upper chest. Even though it was warm enough that night, she carried with her a shawl. Her hair was swept up in a bun and she was all graceful neck and shoulders.

“Don’t get starry-eyed, dear,” he said as they walked about the large lobby, filled with studio people in tuxedos and fancy dresses.

“Who’s getting starry-eyed?” she asked. “I’ve done premieres before.”

“But not a
Hollywood
premiere.”

“You have a point. But I think you’re more nervous than I am.”

“Oh nonsense,” he muttered under his breath as they roamed around. “Act like you belong,” he said as the crowd broke for them.

“Oh, but I
do
belong,” she said.

The lobby was an impressive sight, with chandeliers hanging from the gilded ceilings, an ornate railing with inlays of Chinese writings and symbols, and scrolls made of imitation rice paper with drawings of temples and fountains. There were large gold dragon heads, and two lions flanked the main entrance to the theater, with its red carpeting and thick gold curtains. Everyone was there—Fay Carmichael and Margaret Dillon, Perry and Salazar—and he was
surprised to see Jacques Fantin standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the second floor balcony.

“Relax,” Diego said, “Have fun. Enjoy.”

At this, Alicia smiled. When she saw Dalton Perry chatting with Margaret Dillon, she stopped, her gaze fixed on them.

“Would you like to meet her?” he asked.

“I don’t think—”

“You have to be ready,” he said. “Come on.”

He introduced her to both of them, Alicia remaining quiet, nodding attentively, listening to Dalton talk about a new dog he’d purchased, a greyhound.

“I adore greyhounds,” Margaret said, smiling at both of them, nodding at Alicia.

Diego jabbed her side, trying to provoke Alicia to speak. He cleared his throat.

“My father used to breed and raise greyhounds,” she said.

They all looked at her and began asking about her family, her upbringing.

Confident that Alicia could handle herself, he snuck away. He headed toward Jacques.

“Why, hello,” Jacques said. “You’re looking rather smashing, I must say.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, either.”

“Well,” he said, smiling. “I do clean up mighty nice now, don’t I?”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said.

“I know there are a lot of people who probably feel the same way, my friend.”

He said he didn’t want to give those in charge the pleasure of not seeing him there for one last time. After all, Fantin explained, he worked harder on the film than he had on any other during his time at Frontier.

“Well,” Diego said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“And who is the little señorita with you tonight?” he asked.

“Alicia Prado. Did the Mary role in the Spanish.”

“Ah,” he said. “I see. Well, she’s a looker, I’d say. And she’s working the room quite well, isn’t she?”

Diego saw how Alicia moved from group to group now, talking with people, smiling and gesturing emphatically.

“Somebody’s hoping to launch their American film career tonight, it appears to me,” said Fantin. “Poor kid. She’s trying too hard. She’s not subtle.”

“I disagree,” he said. “She seems to be holding her own quite well.”

Then there came a murmur from the crowd, and they watched as William Cage himself, accompanied by a brunette woman in a gold dress, came in. He went straight to where Perry and Salazar stood, talking with a man whom Diego knew to be one of the studio’s film producers.

“Oh,” said Fantin. “Look who just arrived. It’s Billy the Kid himself. This should be real interesting. Tell me,” Jacques said, leaning in. “Did he ever try the funny business with you?”

Diego cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

“You know? Tried getting you in bed?”

“No,” Diego said, adjusting his tuxedo jacket. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m surprised. He’s slept with every young attractive actor at Frontier at least once. Oh, everyone knows about him. When he tried to have a go with me and I respectfully refused, I saw my career at the studio hit the bottom. No leading parts. No big hits. Typical, isn’t it?” Fantin said. “This industry’s full of skirt chasers, closeted queers, all of them over-sexed and crazy with power. Why can’t anyone be normal?”

Diego lit a cigarette. “Sometimes I just don’t understand this place,” he said.

He watched Bill standing in the center of the lobby, the beautiful woman clutching his arm. Was she in love with him, he wondered? What did they do when they were together? Diego tried not to imagine it. He couldn’t help it, though, and he realized what was happening: he was jealous of her. His hands trembled. He felt himself perspiring. Diego wanted nothing more than to be the one on his arm, by his side, Bill’s partner, his lover.

It was the greatest night of his life, and he was standing there on the balcony of the theater’s lobby. Below, he watched them move
about in beautiful dresses and sharp tuxedos. The biggest stars in the movie industry had come out to the premiere of a movie he was starring in, his American film debut. He should have felt proud, accomplished. Yet he was anything but that, and so much was still so far away.

April 1933–May 1935