Valentino Will Die

by Donis Casey

  There were four children in the group, ranging in age from around three to maybe ten years old. They resembled one another, dark-haired and long-limbed, very much like the woman keeping an eagle eye on them from her beach chair.

  The children were building a sandcastle, and it seemed they were having a difference of opinion about its construction. One of the boys stood up and kicked a chunk out of a turret. Shrieks and yelling ensued, quickly nipped in the bud by a stern word from mother. Peace restored, the boy sat down and building resumed as though nothing had happened.

  Bianca was overcome by a wave of nostalgia. Siblings. Sometimes she missed her own big, raucous family and her snug, loving place in it. Sometimes it was lonely not living amidst a tribe who would always take your side, whether you deserved it or not.

  But everything had turned out all right. She was still young and beautiful, wealthy and famous, and had learned to use all those God-given advantages to get practically anything she wanted. She loved being in the movies, loved acting, loved pretending to be a queen, a businesswoman, a sorceress, a saint. Anyone other than herself. Everything had turned out all right, and it might not have.

  In fact, it very nearly hadn’t. She had run away from home when she was just a girl, given up everything she knew in her pursuit of fame and adventure. Then she had gotten pregnant at fifteen, abandoned by a faithless lover who sold her to a whorehouse in Arizona. But she had avoided that awful fate by engineering her own escape. She had had to give up her son, but he was being raised in a loving home by her sister in Oklahoma, and she was still able to be in his life. A dozen years earlier, her rash decision had changed everything. There was no going back now. She could never return to her former life, to who she was before. That way of life was closed to her forever. She had closed that door herself.

  Still, she had reconciled with her family, apologized to her parents for causing them such distress by running away from home without a word, and they seemed to have forgiven her. They would never want for anything material again, not if she had anything to say about it. Yes, everything had turned out all right. That’s what she told herself.

  She still had her friends, though she had lost several over the past few years. Some had simply disappeared out of her life, like Pola Negri, and some had died, like Rudy, and now James Quirk. Jimmy had been such a presence in the entertainment industry that it was hard to accept that she would never see him again.

  She heaved a sigh and rummaged through her satchel until she found the envelope that May had given her. Jimmy had written her name on the front of the envelope—Bianca—that was all. For a few moments, she simply held it in her hand, wondering if he had written farewell notes to several of his friends after he realized he was going to die, then given them to May to distribute.

  She ran a finger under the flap and withdrew the letter. One typewritten page, single-spaced.

  “Bianca,

  “Back in 1926, after you and I met at the funeral home in New York after Valentino died, my newsman’s nose began to twitch. Early the next year, I began my own investigation into what happened to our mutual friend, and the plot that I uncovered is beyond belief. Yet I have kept my secret and told no one, not even May. I have not even mentioned it to George Ullman, who I am sure was the instigator of the scheme. I’ve violated every journalistic instinct I have to keep this secret, for this is information that would blow the lid off Hollywood and make me the most famous journalist in the United States and maybe the entire world. But I guess I have a soul, after all, because in the end, I decided that a man’s life is worth more than headlines…”

  * * *

  Fee was deadheading the faded roses from the bushes in front of Orange Garden when Bianca’s roadster came tearing up the drive and screeched to a halt at the front door, sending gravel flying. Bianca emerged from behind the wheel, white-faced and breathing heavily.

  “What on earth has happened?” Fee demanded, alarmed.

  Bianca handed over Jack Dempsey. “Fee, I just got the most unexpected news. I have to telephone George Ullman. Right now!”

  ~ “Here was a young man who was living daily the dream of millions of other young men. Here was one who was catnip to women. Here was one who had wealth and fame. And here was one who was very unhappy.” ~

  H. L. Mencken on Rudolph Valentino, 1926

  When Bianca had boarded the airplane in Los Angeles, it was summer. When she stepped out onto the tarmac in Santiago, three days, four countries, two airlines, and one frighteningly bumpy ride in a bush airplane later, it was winter, chilly and wet, and she was stiff, tired, and rattled.

  She had been to Santiago before, but not since the latest dictatorship had ended and the Chilean congress had taken power after a relatively peaceful coup. She remembered it as a beautiful, prosperous city, but the worldwide financial collapse two years earlier had wrecked Chile’s economy as badly as it had that of the United States, so she was nervous about what she would find.

  What passed for a terminal looked just the same as far she could tell, plain and square but peaceful. As for Santiago, she’d have to reserve judgment, since the airstrip where she had landed was more than twenty miles outside the city.

  She saw him standing on the tarmac with an umbrella in his hand. He looked older, more rugged than when she had last seen him healthy. He was well-dressed in a serge suit and a blue wool beret with a white silk scarf around his neck. The years had been good to him.

  He came up to her as she stepped onto the runway and kissed her on the cheek. “Hello, cara. You are more beautiful than ever.”

  “Hello, Rudy. So are you.”

  “You must call me Raffaello now. Raffaello Guillermo.”

  She smiled. “Guillermo. Spanish for Williams.”

  “I had to choose a name I would remember,” he said with a shrug.

  After she had her passport stamped by an officious person in a blue uniform, Rudy walked her to his sturdy Daimler, parked in the dirt lot next to the terminal, and deposited her one valise in the trunk. He held the passenger door for her, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in. They sat in silence for a long moment, taking in the sight of one another, before Bianca surprised herself by bursting into tears.

  “How could you, Rudy?” she sobbed. “How could you do this to me, to all of us who love you?”

  He could barely understand her through the tears. “Do not cry, my darling.” He leaned across the seat and put his arms around her. “I had to give up everything and everyone, all my friends, even my brother and sister, all but my Jenny. Surely you can see why. Only George knows, and Beatrice, and the wonderful Dr. Meeker, who has now died. Even Mr. Campbell, the mortician, was told that my body was cremated at the hospital and a wax reproduction of my body was to be displayed to my grieving public. George told me that Campbell was only too happy to do it for the publicity. I was frightened when I received your wire and learned that Jimmy had discovered my secret and nosed out my hiding place, but he was a true friend and carried the secret to his grave. Now you are the only other person on earth who knows that Valentino lives.”

  Bianca’s tears had abated. She extricated herself from Rudy’s grasp, mopped her face and wiped her runny nose with a lacy handkerchief. “Oh, I know, Rudy. I do understand. And I am your true friend as well and will never tell. Fee thought I had lost my mind when I suddenly insisted on leaving town in the middle of a contract negotiation for a vacation in Chile.”

  “How is Fee?”

  “Doing wonderfully. In love, I think! But now you must tell me about your new life. You finally own a farm?”

  He started the auto and pulled out onto the road. “I do. All of my dreams have been fulfilled. My Jenny and I—oh, I cannot wait for you to know her. You will love one another. My Jenny and I rent a bungalow in Santiago, but we have a wonderful farm south of Mendoza, three days’ drive from here, across the border i
n Argentina. You must see it while you are here. I grow grapes, cara, and Merino sheep. Both my wool and my wines are of the best quality. Also, we have two boys now. Gianni is five and Antonio is two. Many Italians live in the region, so I feel at home. As for Jenny…” he chuckled, “for her, it has been a challenge, but she tells me she would not change our life for anything in the world.”

  “But you were so ill! The last time I saw you in the hospital, you were unconscious and raving.”

  “I was ill. But when the good doctor told me I would live, I decided I could no longer go on being the great screen lover. I had George contact Jenny on the West Coast, and she came to be with me in New York. The good doctor gave me drugs and I went to sleep. Jenny nursed me for a long time in Brooklyn, in a house the Ullmans rented for us. When I recovered, George helped me do what I had to do to become Raffaello, and we came here.”

  “Do you keep up with your family? You know that Alberto and Maria are suing George for mismanaging your estate? They told the probate court that eighty thousand dollars’ worth of your property and goods have gone missing, so the judge removed George as executor and appointed someone else.”

  “Yes, George keeps me informed. Poor George,” Rudy said with a laugh. “He sent that money to me, you know. That is enough to last for the rest of my life—this life, my real life. Well, George is glad to be rid of the responsibility, I am sure. Do not worry about him. He was well compensated for helping us to escape.”

  “I assume Jenny knows that her father’s body was found in the wreckage of the Monaco a few days after it went down. The coroner found no water in his lungs, so they think he died before the ship sank.”

  “Yes. She was heartbroken, you can imagine. Even after we knew it was he who tried to kill me. Especially after that. He was her father, after all.”

  “The irony is that Donahue died believing that he had finally gotten rid of Rudolph Valentino. But you did that yourself.” Bianca removed her cheerful, rust-colored slouch hat and settled back for the long road trip into Santiago. “Well, I have to hand it to you. You pulled it off. And now that Rudolph Valentino is dead and Raffaello Guillermo has taken his place, tell me the truth. Was it worth it? Are you happy?”

  The gleaming smile that Bianca remembered so well lit up his face. “Cara, I am so happy you cannot know. I have my farm, my Jenny, my children, that is all I need. And what of you, my darling? I read of your fame, your adventures, even here at the end of the earth. But still you keep your life a mystery. Tell me, what happened to your detective friend? Are you still plagued by that evil woman, the Irish godmother? Did you ever find your childhood love, your Arturo?”

  Her eyes widened. “Why, fancy you remembering that!”

  “You evade my question. Did you?”

  Bianca laughed, and placed a hand on Valentino’s knee. “Now, Rudy, that is another story.”

  ~For the answers to Rudy’s questions and many others, join us next time as we continue The Adventures of Bianca Dangereuse~

  ~Real Or Not Real?~

  REAL

  Rudolph Valentino—Born in Castellaneta, Italy, in 1895, son of an Italian father and French mother, Valentino came to the U.S. in 1914 and by 1921 was a major motion picture star, the first great romantic screen idol. Well-educated, Valentino spoke five languages, was extremely athletic, and by all accounts, hated being typecast as a Lothario irresistible to women. Toward the end of his life, he often expressed his extreme unhappiness. His personality was much like I represented it here, boyish and naive. He studied agriculture in Italy, and his first ambition was to be a farmer. He died August 23, 1926, at the age of 31, of a perforated ulcer and peritonitis. His last words are reported to be, “Don’t worry, chief, I will be all right.”

  The Son of the Sheik—Valentino did not want to star in the sequel to his earlier blockbuster, The Sheik (1921), but his finances were in such disarray in 1926 that he felt he had no choice.

  A decorative vase actually did fall on Valentino as he left the stage at the Los Angeles premiere of The Son of the Sheik He was knocked unconscious and fell into the orchestra pit but recovered in a few minutes.

  Valentino was an expert rider and loved spirited horses. He developed such a fondness for the Arab that threw him twice while he was shooting The Son of the Sheik that he bought it.

  The night before he fell ill in New York, Valentino went to a small party at Barclay Warburton Jr.’s apartment. Warburton himself was hospitalized with a mysterious ailment shortly thereafter.

  After Valentino declared his intent to become an American citizen, Benito Mussolini, the Fascist leader of Italy, banned Valentino’s movies from Italian theaters. The wreath of flowers with the inscription “From Benito Mussolini” and the Fascist League of North America honor guard appeared at Campbell’s Funeral Home as Valentino’s body was being displayed. It was later determined that these were publicity stunts staged by Frank Campbell and George Ullman.

  No autopsy was performed on Valentino’s body, and the coroner reported that he could not definitely determine the cause of death, two things which contributed to the long-term belief by many conspiracy theorists that Rudy had been murdered. His body was removed from the hospital in a wicker coffin covered by a cloth.

  Valentino’s body was transported back to California for burial, where he was interred in the family crypt belonging to his friend, influential scriptwriter June Mathis, who passed away in July 1927 at the age of forty and is interred in the same crypt.

  George Ullman—Valentino’s longtime manager, agent, and closest friend was appointed executor of the star’s estate, which was in terrible shape due to Rudy’s profligate spending. On December 10th and 11th, 1926, Ullman opened up Valentino’s estate, Falcon Lair, and auctioned off most of Valentino’s property in order to raise funds to pay the star’s outstanding debts. Rudy’s brother, Alberto Valentino, accused Ullman of mismanagement, and together with his sister, Maria, sued to have Ullman removed as executor, which he was. After Valentino’s death, Ullman authored a book called Valentino As I Knew Him. Ullman died in 1975.

  Jean Acker—The tale of Jean Acker’s ill-fated marriage to Valentino occurred as written. She locked him out of the suite on their wedding night and subsequently refused to live with him. Three years later, while his divorce to Jean was pending, he married costume designer Natacha Rambova in Mexico. As soon as they returned to the States, Jean had Valentino arrested for bigamy. In a particularly Hollywood twist, after Natacha left Valentino in 1925, he and Jean became good friends and were often seen out together. She visited him in the hospital as he lay dying.

  Natacha Rambova—Born into a wealthy New Jersey family as Winifred Shaughnessy Hudnut, she was a talented and influential costume and set designer who met Valentino in 1921 while they were both working on the movie Camille. Married in 1923, Rudy and Natacha were both artistic and bohemian in their tastes, interested in spiritualism and poetry. Natacha was extremely forceful and managed Valentino’s career for a while, even negotiating his contracts, which made her very unpopular among the studio moguls in Hollywood. Fiercely independent, she decided she didn’t need the grief and left Rudy in 1925. Later in life she became a noted Egyptologist.

  Mary Pickford—Throughout the 1910s and 1920s, Mary Pickford, “America’s Sweetheart,” was the most popular actress in the world. She was an astute businesswoman, who oversaw every aspect of her films, including casting, scriptwriting, editing, distribution, and promotion. In 1919, she teamed with Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D. W. Griffith to found United Artists Studios, which was created to give actors more control over their own projects.

  Douglas Fairbanks—A top box office draw, he starred in blockbuster silent movies like The Three Musketeers, The Thief of Baghdad, and Robin Hood. The affable and athletic Fairbanks married Mary Pickford in 1920, and together, they became Hollywood’s first power couple. In 1927, Fairbanks was elected the first p
resident of the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences and was the first Academy Award presenter. That same year, he and Pickford were the first people to have their hands and feet set in cement at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. He and Pickford divorced in 1936. Fairbanks Sr.’s movie career faltered after sound came in, but his son, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., had a successful and long career that spanned the late 1920s all the way to 1981.

  Pola Negri—Polish actress Pola Negri’s hysterics at Valentino’s funeral caused such a furor that her American movie career was effectively ruined. It was widely believed at the time that her grief was faked. The fact that she married a Russian prince less than nine months after Valentino’s death didn’t help matters. She returned to Europe, where she continued her successful screen career. Negri really was a talented actress, and she maintained until the day she died that Valentino was the great love of her life.

  James Quirk—Columnist and editor in chief at Photoplay magazine, Quirk was indeed a good friend of Valentino’s who interviewed him, reviewed his movies, and wrote opinion pieces about him. He was present in New York when Valentino died and was a pallbearer at Valentino’s New York funeral. Quirk died in August 1932. Several years later, his nephew, Lawrence Quirk, wrote that his uncle had told him that before the funeral, George Ullman arranged to have Valentino’s body replaced by a wax image.

  Rex Ingram—The noted Irish-born producer and director directed Valentino in his first major film, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He never directed a movie called Grand Obsession, since that film is only a figment of my imagination, but it is true that Ingram and Valentino did not get along.