Diego took another bite of the crab and sipped his wine.
“May I be frank?” Bill said.
“I thought that was what you were doing,” he said, laughing.
“Why should I and my company invest in someone like you?” Bill explained that each of the major studios had a Latin actor under contract. MGM had Ramón Novarro. Empire Pictures had Orlando Mendoza. Frontier, he said, had no one. “I was thinking that maybe you could be it,” Bill said. “But I’m not entirely sure.”
Diego asked, “Why aren’t you sure?”
“What makes you so different from those others? What makes you unique?”
“I’m talented. I’m hardworking. I won’t let you down.”
Bill rolled his eyes. “Spare me the pat responses. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that before?” He raised his voice above the hum of conversations, the din of dishes and glasses and silverware around them. Suddenly the darkness was quiet, everything still, only the roar of the ocean outside penetrating the silence. “Go on,” he said. “I haven’t got time for rank amateurs. Go home. Go back to wherever it was you came from.” He picked up the telephone and began to dial.
Diego felt his face flush, felt all eyes piercing through the darkness, watching him. “No,” he said, his voice low and weak. “I won’t go. I won’t go back.”
“Murray 9-4545,” Bill said into the telephone. “Yes, operator. Marjorie Curtis.”
“I said I won’t go,” Diego said again.
“Marjorie,” Bill said. “I need you to set up a meeting with the Teamsters. We need to go over the outlines of this new contract of theirs—”
“Don’t ignore me, sir,” he shouted.
“—to avoid another strike. Now you tell R. J. that I need him there to—”
Diego reached over, snapped the phone from his hand and slammed it against the table. “Listen to me,” he said. He leaned in close, very close, his face only a few inches away from Bill’s own. “I won’t go away. I simply won’t. Not until you help me.” His hands trembled. His skin grew hot. He breathed heavily and profound and the look Bill wore as he gazed into Diego’s eyes was one of excitement and fear, attraction and revulsion all at the same time.
He picked the telephone up. “Marjorie,” he said. “I’ll call you back.” He placed it down and smiled at Diego. “Very well,” he said. “Very well, my friend.” He took Diego’s hand and kissed it. “I was merely looking to see how much this means to you, how passionate you are. Now I know.”
When they finished their meal, and Diego followed him out, they drove off in his car, speeding around the sharp curves and jagged cliffs. Below, he caught glimpses of the sea, the water dark, churning and churning. Bill placed his arm around Diego, and he understood what he would have to do now, all he would have to sacrifice, those things Carolina had talked about so many years before, to become what he wanted.
He ran into Fiona at the studio diner. She sat with a group of makeup girls who were drinking coffee and chattering in loud and shrill voices.
“Hey, Fi,” said one, pointing to Diego as soon as he walked in. “Ain’t that bellboy over there your guy?” he heard her ask.
He wore a maroon jacket with gold stripes and matching trousers, white gloves, and a cap. He was working on a film in which he played a bellboy working at a hotel. He was supposed to walk in on the two leads—characters Polly Page and Gordie Green who were being played by Hilda Avery and Lester Frank—in the middle of a kiss and embrace and nervously utter the words, “Pardon me. I was looking for the woman traveling with the schnauzer,” prompting Gordie to shake his fist and shout, “I’ll give you schnauzer, you good for nothing …” as he chased the bellboy down the hall in the picture’s closing scene. At the last minute the director had decided to postpone filming of that particular moment and reshoot another that took place earlier in the picture, involving a zoo, an escaped mother gorilla, and Gordie. Diego had been instructed to kill some time and return in a few hours.
Fiona walked over to where he sat and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Where’ve you been?” she asked. “I’ve been trying your number. Leaving messages with that old gal who calls me sugar. You ain’t two-timing me, are you?”
“No,” he said, pretending to be frustrated. “Of course not. They’ve been running me from one end of this place to another the past few days.”
She drummed her lacquered nails on the clear countertop. “You haven’t been around much is all. Guess I’m just being silly.”
“Look,” he said. “I need to get back to the set. What say me and you go out later tonight, huh?”
“Promise?” she said.
“Promise.”
He was ready when she came to the Ruby Rose that evening, dressed in a new suit and shoes. He kissed and thanked her as they walked down the street. “Thanks for all your help, dear.”
“Help with what?”
“The advice. The exercising. The whole thing.” He remembered his conversation with Cage a few nights before, his opinion regarding his talents, his acting. Though he knew that he still had much to learn, and much to improve on, he was grateful to Fiona for all her help, her companionship, her care.
“It was nothing. Honest.”
Fiona said, as they boarded the trolley bus, holding on to the seat rail in front of her with her gloved hands, “Truth is I kinda like helping.”
“Really?” he asked, looking away and smiling.
“Really,” she said.
As the trolley wound its way up Santa Monica, the sun was starting to set in the west, and everything was golden, radiating. He pulled the window shade down, turned, and gently kissed Fiona’s cheek.
“I feel like I’d be lost without you, dear,” he said.
She reached out and squeezed his hand, and he tried not to think about Cage, their night together. And the lie had come easy to him. So simple. So effortlessly. Like breathing or walking or blinking, any number of things the body does in response to a shift in light, temperature, or functions necessary for survival. He didn’t know whether to be proud of himself or ashamed of what he had done.
They were out all night, going from one dance club to the next. At the Rio, they ran into another Frontier extra, a handsome young man named Alfred who had once offered Diego a chance to make more money on the side when he complained about being broke. They were both working on a film. They were Spartan soldiers. They had already been fitted with their crimson tunics and bronze cuirasses, which covered their torsos. The costume supervisor had led them to a wooden table upon which sat leg greaves, the armor that would be placed over their exposed shins, fastened with clasps the costume supervisor said needed to be hidden because they were not “historically accurate.” They stood before long, rectangular mirrors fussing with the heavy woolen cloaks, called himations, the costume supervisor stated, when Alfred said hello to Diego.
“Here,” he had said. “Let me help with that.” Alfred’s fingers stroked Diego’s shoulders and jaw as he helped him adjust his cloak.
After the shoot, in which they had endured hours upon hours of marching under the blazing sun, sweating in their wool capes and metal armor, Diego muttered something to Alfred about the bad pay.
“I entertain men,” he said as they walked back to the soundstage. “I make money by going out with them. They’re very nice fellows. Quite rich and eccentric. You should think about doing it. I can introduce you to some of my clients. You’re very handsome and have a wonderful physique. You’d be very popular.”
“Thank you,” Diego had said. “But I’ll make do.”
After Diego had changed and left the soundstage, he heard a whistle, turned, and saw Alfred running after him. He held a slip of paper, handed this to Diego, and ran off. In case you change your mind, it read. Below that, he had written a telephone number.
Diego introduced Fiona to Alfred now. He smiled, took Fiona’s hand, and kissed it. “Charmed,” Alfred said. He wore a black tuxedo and a red silk scarf draped over his shoulder
s.
“What sort of trouble are you getting into tonight, Alfred?” Diego asked.
Alfred pointed to an older overweight man dancing with a tall, blond woman who he told them was a French socialite named Veronique. The poor idiot, Alfred said as the three watched the couple dancing clumsily.
“The fat man’s a wealthy financier who’s funding her little endeavor in the hopes she’ll marry him once she’s famous,” Alfred explained.
“But?” Fiona asked.
“She’s never going to make it,” Alfred said, laughing. “You should hear her singing voice. Just horrible. And that accent.”
“Well, at least she’s tall, pretty,” Fiona said. “She may—”
“Beauty’s one thing. Talent’s another,” Diego said.
“Touché,” said Alfred.
“And you?” Fiona asked. “Where do you fit in?”
Diego and Alfred exchanged knowing glances. Alfred lit himself a cigarette then handed one to Diego. “Honey,” he said, puffing a long thread of smoke out. “I’m just along for the ride.”
The air was fragrant as they walked back to Fiona’s apartment; the night-blooming jasmines and gardenias perfumed the cool evening. They strolled under the thick branches of trees, crushing purple jacaranda petals along the way.
“All the girls on my floor have been teasing me,” Fiona admitted, once they reached the front stoop of the apartment. The ice vendor had forgotten one of the racks they used to haul chunks of ice from their trucks across the sidewalks and up into the buildings or homes. Fiona kicked the wooden slats with the tip of her shoe.
“Teasing you?” he asked. “Why?”
“It’s nothing. Just silly girl talk. That’s all.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
“Mary’s boyfriend just got back from the service,” Fiona said. “And they plan on getting married in a few months. And Georgie says she found a receipt for an engagement ring in the pockets of Nick’s trousers.”
Diego cleared his throat, shuffled uncomfortably. “What’s that all about, now?”
“They tease me something, I’ll say. ‘When’s he proposing? Where’s the ring?’ they’ll ask.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well,” he said. “See, that’s, that’s …”
“Just look how twisty you get whenever our talks get serious.”
“What do you mean?” He laughed, trying to sound lighthearted. “Why, we’re fine. We’re just fine, doll.” He reached out and embraced her when he saw that she was starting to cry.
“I’m getting old,” she said, in between sobs. “That’s what my mother keeps saying. Almost twenty-five. And who’ll want an old hag like me once I’m nearing thirty?”
“Nonsense,” he urged. “Nonsense. There’s plenty of time. Why, we got our careers, remember?”
“I haven’t got a career. Makeup. I got crummy makeup. Putting cream and goop and glue on the faces of a bunch of second- and third-rate actors. That’s all I’m surrounded by. Nothing but a bunch of untalented louts.” She took her hat off and flung it across the lawn.
He didn’t need this. Not now, he thought as he turned to retrieve her hat. “Fi,” he said, placing it back on her head crookedly. Moist blades of grass clung to the fabric, and he plucked them away, trying to calm her down. “Get ahold of yourself. Stop being hysterical. Why, you’re acting like a child.”
She looked at him, shivering in the warm night, her bare shoulders jerking up and down. “You love me, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said. And he did, he really did, but not in the same way.
“And, if this whole acting thing don’t work out, promise me that you’ll give it up. That you’ll do something else? That we’ll be together. Because, honestly,” she said, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted for the past two years, from the moment I met you. For us to be together.”
“But my contract is for seven years,” he said. “There’s no telling what will—”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s just it. There’s no telling. A contract don’t mean diddly.” She calmed down some then asked, “Do you love me or don’t you?”
Just words, he repeated to himself, again and again. They don’t mean a thing. Just words. Say them. Say them. “Yes, Fi,” he assured her. “I do.”
She didn’t want to be alone, so he took her back to his apartment, and they stayed up late listening to music, smoking cigarettes, and drinking milk with rum. They made love, but all the while he was thinking about Cage, the power of his naked body, the things they had done that night after their second dinner, Diego on his back, on his knees, Bill’s mouth on the nape of his neck, across his chest, between his legs. Bill, Bill, he told himself, remembering how he’d pushed himself inside of Diego, how the power of his heavy body felt towering over his own, how weak and needed he made Diego feel as he penetrated him, and Diego had cried from the pain of this and so much more and Bill had held him tight, had rocked him in his arms, had soothed him to sleep.
4.
January 1932
THEY CELEBRATED THE NEW YEAR WITH A SHOWER OF CHAMPAGNE and, that evening, Georgie and Nick announced their engagement. Fiona would be Georgie’s maid of honor and, though they hardly knew one another, Nick asked Diego to be his best man when the four of them were out at the ballroom in the Biltmore Hotel. As midnight approached and the crowd became increasingly lively and energetic, Nick tapped his wineglass and cleared his throat and Diego, Fiona, and Georgie turned to him.
“I know we haven’t known each other very long,” Nick said to Diego as the girls looked on. “But, well, I don’t have very many friends and, well, you’re the only real guy I know.” Nick’s face was bright red.
Diego felt sorry for him, truly sorry for Nick, and this was why he gave in and told him he would. “Sure,” he said. “Sure. Why not?”
Georgie clapped.
Fiona squealed. “It’ll be such fun!”
A date was set: Valentine’s Day of the following month. A Sunday. The wedding was to take place at the United Methodist Church on Highland and Franklin, and the reception would be at the home of Nick’s mother and father in Bel Air. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Fiona was busy helping prepare for the event. He was grateful for the distractions; it kept Fiona preoccupied and always pressed for time. They hardly saw one another and this freed him up to continue his affair with Bill without having to sneak around or lie to her like he had been doing for the past few months. But still, he couldn’t help but feel that she was beginning to suspect. He tried hard not to seem distracted, to feign attraction to her even though, during their times together, he only longed to be with him.
“It’s like you’re far away these days,” she said one night while they lay in his bed together. Lately, he had been having difficulties being intimate with her and, though he tried chalking his inability to perform to fatigue, she was starting to sense that it was something more. That evening, after several attempts, Diego had managed, by concentrating on Bill and their lovemaking, by imagining her as him, to perform, much to Fiona’s delight. Still, once they had finished, she remained troubled.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re just going through the motions?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“I’m talking about us,” she said. Fiona stood now. She placed her stockings and skirt back on. She adjusted and smoothed out the ruffles on her blouse. In front of the mirror, he watched her straighten her hair and touch up her face. “You’ve been less than passionate lately. Things aren’t going as smoothly as they used to. And it makes a girl feel undesirable, unattractive.”
“I’m just tired,” he said, collapsing on his bed, staring up at the faded ceiling, tracing the black veins running across the cracked plaster walls. “I’m tired and very overwhelmed.” But he could tell she wasn’t buying this.
Abruptly, she grabbed her handbag and reached for the door. “I have to go,” she said. “I’
m meeting Georgie for a fitting.”
“Wait,” he told her. “I’ll dress and go with you. Then, afterward, we can go to dinner. I’ll buy.”
“No.” Her tone was sharp. “I’ll just see you. Tomorrow. At the rehearsal.” She walked out of the room and closed the door.
He didn’t want to move. He sat there and smoked cigarettes all morning, then bathed and dressed and decided he would call Bill and try to see him that evening.
In the trolley to Bel Air, he ran his hand across the green mohair seat back and tried relaxing, but it didn’t help. What would he do about Fiona? He didn’t know if it was love he was beginning to feel, or if Bill saw him as nothing more than a fling. What Diego did know was that the man excited him. It was his power, his influence, the control he exerted, his charm and sophistication, the way he doted on Diego, how he looked at him. It was partly Bill himself, and partly what he could do for Diego’s career. Bill took him places because, he said, it was necessary for his success.
“Building excitement,” he said. “Until we assign a press agent to you. Until we find the right vehicle to launch you, you need to be seen.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “That people seeing us together will rouse suspicion? About your tendencies?”
He chuckled. “I’ve the best reason. You’re my protégé. Besides, everyone in Hollywood knows about me, about countless others in this business. They just don’t talk about it in public.”
There were secrets that weren’t, Diego soon realized, scandals that were orchestrated, and others that were allowed to continue without intervention. But when these things were exposed, the parties involved were usually quick to distance themselves, to claim ignorance. Nothing was ever as it seemed. Bill’s secret was anything but, and Diego was more than happy to go along with the charade. He was “the handsome young man with Mister Cage,” or “the new young foreign actor William Cage discovered.” And when they were out together, dining at a restaurant, at polo tournaments, or at the racetracks in Santa Anita, and Bill introduced Diego to people he knew—christening him Frontier’s “next bright star,” its “newest talent,” its “most exciting discovery”—they regarded him differently, they noticed him, they remembered his name when he ran into them at cocktail parties, dance clubs, and around the studio.
The Five Acts of Diego Leon Page 21