The Five Acts of Diego Leon

by Alex Espinoza

  “I don’t know,” he overheard Perry say to Salazar. “I guess I’ll have to look for a replacement. Audition everyone in the city. That’ll take time. We’ll be way off schedule. The producers won’t be thrilled. We’ll be over budget.”

  “Surely you will take the blame,” Salazar said, sighing.

  “Indubitably,” he said. Dalton’s face wore a look of anguish as he passed Diego. “Hey, there,” he said, putting his hat on.

  “Hey, Dalt,” Diego said.

  “Poor guy,” Salazar told Diego when they were alone. “Poor, poor guy. What a headache.”

  6.

  June 1932

  WHEN JAVIER AND HIS ENTOURAGE ARRIVED, DIEGO READ about it in La Opinión. “Mexican radicals, led by their young and charismatic leader,” the article stated, “have descended upon Hollywood.” While in Los Angeles, the group would visit “local ethnic barrios.” They would address the unfair treatment of Mexicans by the police and by civic leaders who were allegedly targeting and harassing those they’d been unable to drive out of the city. The papers printed stories about cholera and tuberculosis outbreaks among the Mexican barrios and claimed that if these people were not removed, Los Angeles would face an epidemic as widespread and lethal as the influenza outbreak of 1918.

  He agreed to meet Javier at a diner. Diego arrived early and ordered a strong cup of coffee, which he drank quickly. The shoots had made him disoriented and groggy and, after nearly two months of filming, the long nights and sleeping during the day were disrupting his eating and resting pattern. Sitting in the café that morning, he found the bright lights glaring and intrusive and painful. His skin looked pale, his face a little more sallow, not as robust and full as it was before. He was yawning and rubbing his eyes when Javier approached.

  Diego hardly recognized his friend, and even though it was only five years since he left Morelia, it seemed as though an eternity had passed. Javier wore a tan jacket and a black beret. He removed these and placed them on a hook near the front entrance. He had grown a thin mustache, and his sideburns were long and trimmed short. He was taller, more filled out, and when he walked over, he took long strides, as though he were marching. Diego rose and Javier hugged him, clamping his shoulders with his large hands.

  “Look at you,” Javier said, patting Diego’s back. Javier touched his face and kissed him twice—once on the left cheek, then on the right. “Brother, what a pleasure it is to see you.”

  Diego felt Javier’s arms, taut, muscular, and he shut his eyes and recalled once more the closeness of his friend, a feeling he had missed, had craved all this time. He remembered now what this had been, and he felt like crying because there it was again: the thing that had been lacking in his life. His reverie was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Diego opened his eyes, and Javier let him go. He turned now and gestured to a young woman with light brown hair and bright lips, her grin wide, her eyes beaming.

  “This is Lucía,” said Javier. “My—”

  “Partner,” Lucía interjected. Lucía was tiny, thin, yet when she hugged Diego, he felt an assuredness and confidence within her that surprised him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Diego. Though we met once before. A long time ago.”

  “Oh?” he asked, curious.

  “Yes,” she said as they sat in the booth. She removed her gloves and placed them inside her purse. “You came to one of our rallies. In a huge warehouse on the outskirts on Morelia. Have you forgotten?”

  He thought about it for a moment. He remembered now. Following Javier and Esteban that day years before. “Of course,” he said. “Yes, now I recall.”

  A waitress came over and they ordered more coffee and a basket of cinnamon rolls.

  “I’ve been keeping up with all your news,” Javier said. “I heard about the film you’re working on. The one being shot entirely in Spanish.”

  Diego yawned again. “Yes, the schedule has me all out of sorts. Filming throughout the night has its advantages but drawbacks as well.” He sighed deeply. “Still, I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

  “Imagine us sitting here with a real film star,” Lucía said.

  “Yes.” Javier smiled as the waitress brought the rolls and coffee over. “Diego’s certainly made a name for himself, though it would be nice if he used his sway to shed light on some injustices, get behind a cause.”

  Lucía took a sip of coffee and smirked. “Must you always be on a crusade?” To Diego, she said, “Never mind his diatribe, I think what you’re doing is wonderful.”

  “Thank you,” Diego said, then lit a cigarette.

  “Look, all I meant was—” Javier started to say when she cut him off.

  “Enough,” Lucía exclaimed. “We’re sitting here with one of your dearest friends. Someone I heard you talk about so often. Let’s not waste time bickering. Let’s catch up.”

  “And your mother?” Diego asked Javier. “She wrote me from time to time. How’s she? Your father?”

  His father cheated on Carolina. A woman appeared on their doorstep carrying a baby she claimed was his. A young girl, Javier said. Barely sixteen. A dancer he met at a hall one night. Manuel denied it, of course, but his mother, Javier insisted, knew the truth.

  “So, she left him,” he said.

  “And my grandparents?” he asked. “What news do you have of them?”

  “Not much. You know that they sold the house and business and left Morelia, right?”

  He nodded.

  “They’re living just outside of Guadalajara, renting a small place owned by Emmanuel Pacheco.”

  “Renting?” Diego asked.

  “Your grandfather lost a lot of money. Emmanuel Pacheco must have—”

  “And Paloma?” he interjected.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Your fiancée?” Lucía asked. “I heard she married a man from Bolivia. Lives there on a farm with him.” She took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Your grandparents. Last time we saw them, they looked so, so meek. Javier pointed them out to me. He said they were heartbroken over your departure.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. He ground his cigarette into the ashtray and lit another.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Lucía said. “Forgive me, please.”

  They were quiet for a while then Diego spoke. “It’s fine. It’s just, I sometimes feel so conflicted. Like maybe I should return. But I have a real chance here.”

  “Then stay,” Lucía said. “Return only when you’re ready.”

  “That’s what I intend to do,” he said to them both.

  Javier and Lucía told Diego all about their plans to travel to San Francisco, Detroit, Chicago, New York City, visiting factories, steel plants, assembly lines, helping workers organize and strike if need be. There remained, they said, a great deal of inequality in the United States. People were still starving and out of work and desperate. He listened to them with great curiosity, almost baffled by the things they talked about, the ideals they proclaimed and espoused, things he knew very little about.

  “Javier says you two were very close.” Lucía stirred her coffee.

  The two eyed each other. “We were,” Diego said. “But then …”

  Lucía asked, “Then what? Javier speaks of you with such great fondness, such tenderness. Yet he has never told me why you two had that falling-out.”

  “It was just one of those things,” Diego said.

  “Yes,” insisted Javier. “Our lives went in different directions.”

  Diego looked at his watch. “I should go.” He rose and put his jacket on.

  “Our friend’s throwing a party this weekend,” Lucía said. “You should come. There will be many show business people.”

  “I don’t think he’ll be able to make it,” Javier said. “He’s much too busy. Aren’t you, Diego?”

  “What do you say?” Lucía asked. “We’ll be leaving the following Monday. We won’t see you again for who knows how long. Besides, I ha
ve a feeling you and Javier have a lot to talk about.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  She wrote the address on a napkin and handed it to him. He placed it in his pocket, then left the diner.

  Not wanting to go alone, he invited Alicia. Imagine it, she said, as they sat getting their makeup done before the day’s shooting. Me at a party with such radical people. And some show business folks thrown in, too? I wonder if any Hollywood bigwigs will be there. That’s what I need, she said, turning to look at Diego as a makeup assistant glued the long and bushy sideburns along both sides of his face. The adhesive he used smelled awful and irritated his skin.

  “I just bought this dress,” Alicia said when he picked her up that night. “I was saving it for something special. I think this party might be it.”

  They had dinner first and took a taxi to the address Lucía had provided. The streets curved and climbed up and up as the car made its way. It was too dark to see anything. It had been gusty all day, the hot breeze bending the palm trees until it looked as though they were made of rubber, but now the winds had calmed some, so everything was quiet and still. He adjusted his tie as he walked up a stone path toward the house with a wide green lawn and shrubs shaped like giant eggs. Upon closer inspection, he could see lights flickering inside and could hear the chatter of voices and tinkling glasses. Several automobiles were parked in the gravel driveway to the side.

  The party had been going on for several hours by the time they arrived. Inside, there was noise and women in feathered boas and short skirts and men with drunken red faces and sloppy hair. Jazz music blared from a room to one side of the foyer, and a couple stood at the foot of the stairs, kissing. There were people scattered about, chatting in pockets here and there, no one he fully recognized. A man he didn’t know said hello to Diego by name as he passed, entering a room where a group of three women in dresses decked with small tassels stood barefoot atop a large wooden dining table, dancing wildly and giggling. They roamed about, and Alicia found the bar and had several drinks.

  They watched people waltzing under a large chandelier to the music coming from the gramophone.

  Alicia slurred when she spoke. “Can you believe all the people with him? I can’t wait until I’m famous enough to have my own entourage. My parents sent me along with just one single chaperone, some old lady who never speaks to me and could care less if I stay out all night while I’m here.” She stopped now, fanned herself with her hand and said, “I’m hot. Let’s get some air, shall we?”

  They found Lucía outside sitting at a table. Diego introduced her to Alicia, who smiled and told her, in an excited voice, what a roaring party it was.

  “Where’s Javier?” Diego asked.

  “Over there.” Lucía pointed.

  Javier held court to one side of the large concrete patio, yelling and talking to a group of young men and women with agitated looks on their faces. “Tell me,” he shouted to one as Alicia and Diego approached with Lucía, “how crooked do you think the LAPD is?”

  “They must be stopped,” one from the group said. “But how? The corruption here runs deep. Very deep.”

  “Every day there are more and more accounts of beatings,” said a woman. “Of people disappearing. And the police do nothing whenever a report is filed. The chief is corrupt. The city politicians are corrupt. Everything here is based on lies and cover-ups.”

  The argument grew louder as they watched. Javier managed to tear himself away when a group of reporters with a small independent newspaper began to argue. He walked over to them and introduced himself to Alicia.

  “It’s a pleasure,” said Alicia, bowing her head.

  “Charmed,” said Javier. “Your support means a lot. Actors are such visible personalities. They can do a lot to raise awareness.”

  “For your cause?” Diego asked.

  “Yes,” Javier said. “The cause.”

  “Always the cause,” Diego said, his tone bitter and sarcastic.

  Alicia gripped his arm.

  Lucía cleared her throat. “Don’t start, you two.”

  “You sound hostile,” Javier said. “Are you not for social reform? The rights of workers? Their desire to be treated fairly?”

  “Perhaps I am,” Diego said. “Perhaps I’m not.”

  Javier shook his head. “A person with such contradictory views should be careful. That kind of gullibility can get you into some sticky situations. It’s important to know which side you’re on.”

  Diego knew which side he was on: his own. He was about to say this when Lucía announced she was going inside for a drink and Alicia followed her, leaving Javier and Diego alone on the patio. Giant potted plants overflowing with vegetation lined the stone railing along the perimeter, and people stood next to them, smoking and flicking their ashes inside the pots.

  “That was a bit rude, didn’t you think?” Javier asked.

  “I call it being honest,” Diego said.

  “So, is that what you’ve learned here? How to be honest?”

  “Yes. That and how to survive.”

  The full moon cast enough light, turning the color of the grass from green to a deep jade. Several oddly shaped shadows stalked across the yard. They were low to the ground, with heavy, round bodies supported by pairs of skinny legs. The birds came into view, and he saw that they were peacocks. They had long and elegant necks, their plumage a fan of turquoise and indigo, glossy black and bright yellow. They stopped just a few feet from the perimeter of the patio, poking their beaks into the wet grass.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Javier said.

  “They are,” Diego replied. He placed his hand on the railing and watched as Javier stepped up to it. He stood beside Diego, very close. He was drawn to him and, in the silver glow of the moonlight, he watched his own fingers stretching out, saw his hand reaching. Diego squeezed it, and Javier’s warmth soothed and calmed him.

  “What are you doing?” Javier asked, startled, yet he didn’t move his hand.

  “I’ve missed you,” Diego said. “Terribly.”

  “Brother, I don’t know what—” he began to say when Lucía called Javier’s name from the house. Quickly, he pulled his hand back and stepped away.

  “Coming,” he shouted to her. Javier adjusted his jacket and straightened his shoulders.

  “You and Esteban,” Diego said. “That time I saw you both. I always dreamed you’d—”

  “That was a mistake,” Javier said. “I was young. Confused. I was experimenting. That’s all.”

  “Don’t you ever think about us? How close we used to be? Do you ever think that we—”

  “No. I have Lucía now,” Javier said, his tone tense. “We’re friends, Diego. Nothing more.”

  “But I thought just now when we held hands that—”

  Javier interrupted him again. He walked over, placed his arm around Diego, and led him back inside. “What you think happened didn’t. Do you understand?”

  Diego didn’t know what to say. He remained quiet as they walked into that crowded house, Javier’s arm protectively around his shoulder.

  The following Monday they were gone, but Diego had no time to dwell on what had happened that night. That week there came a message that Dalton Perry wanted to meet with him. When Diego arrived at his office, Bill was there.

  “How are you?” Cage asked.

  “Good,” he said.

  “Sit, sit,” Perry implored them both. “Make yourselves comfortable.” He took a seat behind his desk, leaned back, and asked Diego how things were going on the set at night.

  “Fine,” he responded. “A very good crew. A good movie.” He looked over at Cage. “Am I being fired?”

  Both men laughed. “No,” said Cage. “We’re giving you an opportunity. A very special one. Though, I must say I’m a little apprehensive.”

  They asked if he heard about what was happening with Jerome Hunt, with the scandal, and his being fired from the film.

  “Sure I know,” Diego
said. “But what does this have to do with me?”

  “I thought and thought and thought,” Perry said, rising now and going to the window. He opened it up; a fresh breeze blew through the stifling room. “And nothing. Then it hit me. Wham!”

  “Time is money,” Cage said. “Scrapping the thing is out of the question because we’ve already invested too much. We could hire another actor to fill the role,” Cage said. “But that would take time. We’re on a tight schedule.”

  Diego knew what they had in mind. He remained quiet, though, listening as attentively as he could.

  “I need someone, an actor who already knows the part, someone who’s already rehearsed the lines,” Perry said.

  “We want you to consider performing both.” Cage said.

  “You speak both languages,” said Perry. “I think you can do this. It’s a very unique opportunity.”

  Cage said, short of canning the film, there was no other way. Recasting an entirely new actor for the role of Peter, he said, would set them back. They would have to conduct a search, the actor would have to memorize the story, the lines. “Frontier needs you,” Bill said.

  “Jacques, Fay, and Margaret will carry the film,” Dalton Perry said.

  “You’ll just be along to play support,” Bill added.

  “Most of the character’s role in the film requires that he lie in bed, semiconscious, after the countess bites him anyway,” stressed Dalton.

  “Plus, think of the exposure. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” asked Bill.

  “And Salazar?” Diego asked.

  “I’ll speak with him and, with some cooperation, we’ll swing it,” Perry said. “We can do this, but we need to know if you’re on board. It’ll be a lot of work, a lot of readjusting.”

  Bill said, “It’s all riding on you. We need to know if you’re committed today. Before we all walk out that door. The entire production is resting on this decision.”

  He couldn’t say no to Bill, not then. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He replied without hesitation.