When in Disgrace

WHEN IN DISGRACE

by

Budd Boetticher

NEVILLE SANTA BARBARA CALIFORNIA 1989

Copyright ~ 1989 by Budd Boetticher Preface copyright © 1989 by Robert Stack Introduction copyright © 1989 by Barnaby Conrad Foreword copyright © 1989 by Bill Krohn Copyright © 1989 by Neville Publishing Inc. Filmography copyright © by Chris Wicking. Title page illustration by Barnaby Conrad. Arruza Memorial drawing by John Fulton. Photos of Arrul~ provided by Lynn Sherwood. Other photos appear courtesy private collection of Budd Boetticher. Photos of Lucien Ballard provided by Chris Ballard~ Special thanks to Nick Beck, Shaun Doole, Charles Hansen and Robert Dagg for their assistance

NEVILLE PUBLISHING, INC. PO Box 5056 Santa Barbara, California 93150 First trade edition limited to 1000 copies 300 deluxe copies signed by the author also available

PREFACE Robert Stack Budd Boetticher is an Academy Award-nominated screenwriter, gifted director, ex-boxer, bullfighter, superb horseman and raconteur. He is also a Don Quixote who has battled the windmills and windbags of Hollywood to do it his way. He spins his autobiography from the high dranla of Mexican bullrings to the sound stages of Hollywood with ironic humor and a screenwriter's skill. As my director in Bullfighter and the Lady, he took me on some of the wildest adventures of my life. He'll do the same for the reader-

INTRODUCTION Barnaby Conrad Everyone in the world-at least everyone in the cinelnatic, equine and taurine world-seenls to know Budd Boetticher and has a story about hinl. "Do I know Budd?" a faInous writer said the other day. "Hell, I knew hill1 way back when he spelled his naIl1e with one 'd!' He's a guy that attracts incidents like dandruff to blue serge. He has always had an unequaled zest for living. At the risk of sounding like a beer cOlnIl1ercial, I'll state that where there's Budd, there's life." And Iny neighbor, Robert Mitchulll, lllused not long ago: "Life around Budd was always exciting. I rClnelnber once, about twenty years back, he and I are walking down this T'ijuana street and along COllle three of the toughest tequilaed-up yokels you ever saw. Budd happened to be in a feisty lllood and out of the blue says, 'You take the one in the Iniddle and I'll take care of the other two.' I cleared out, slunk away, melted into the background and left hiIll to work it out with all three. I felt sorry for theIn. \\That a character!" Everyone seelns to end up any anecdote about Budd sll1iling "lnd with the phrase, "\\That a character!" And, of course, he is-one of the genuine ones, one of the legendary ones and, alas, one of the last of an endangered species. But the word "character" suggests a less-than-serious person, and Budd, underneath his jaunty, anecdotal, always slniling countenance, is a serious person. He is serious about the 37 feature filnls he has Inadc and the art of filnll11aking to which he has devoted his life. He is serious about bullfighting, and was long before 1110st of the AI11erican public became aware of it. He is serious about his horses and the njoneo he practices so well and so assiduously and so joyfully every day. He is serious about his beautiful wife Mary who shares his love of fine horseflesh and the training of their schooled 1~ejol1eo horses. He is serious about his friendships and fiercely loyal to thenl. He is serious about the mernory of his friend Carlos Arruza and the lllan's enonnous talent. Has anyone else devoted altnost a decade to Inaking a cinelnatic tribute to another hUlnan? Why did he do it? Why did he Ulrn his back on I-Iollywood plus a lucrative European offer to go through the nightIllarish ordeal of Inaking Arrllztl? A student in Mexico once put that question to hilll.

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"I--Ie asked Ine how I could leave everything in the world to film the story of one 1l1an. I had never thought of the answer before. At first I thought it was a 1110ral issue. Then I thought it was a financial thing. Then I thought nlaybe I was fighting I-Iollywood, and doing what I wanted to do artistically with a little-well, in Spanish, the word is categoria-I guess you'd say integrity. And then, in one second, it caine to ll1e. I said to hiln, 'Wouldn't it have been a wonderful thing if the director of The Agony lind the Ecstasy had had Michelangelo instead of Charlton I leston? '" Now he has written the story of that unique experience. It's a remarkable saga, a nlind-boggling picaresque tale. In outline it goes something like this: In 1960 Budd Boetticher, product of a well-to-do Midwest fanlily, amateur bullfighter, highly successful director of fillns starring such popular actors as Randolph Scott, Jan1es Coburn, Richard Boone, Lee Marvin, Joseph Cotten, Rock Hudson, Anthony Quinn, Glenn Ford, et alios-went to Mexico to film a documentary. It was to be about his great friend, Inatador Carlos Arruza, probably Latin AInerica and Spain's greatest hero. Seven years later he returned to Hollywood with the cOlnpleted footage. During that tilne he went through a divorce, a passionate love affair with a top Mexican star, near starvation, a jail sentence, a Kafkaesque stint in :.In insane asylum, an ahnost fatal lung ailnlent, the near-loss of his project, chicanery and treachery at every turn, the death of Inost of his technical crew, and finally, devastatingly, the sudden death of the star and subject, Arruza himself. A lesser 111an would have given up 111any times along the way. But eight 1l10nths after Arruza's death Budd was filtning shots of the star's widow reacting to the 111atador in scenes of hin1 I1lade six years before! The alnazing thing is how Budd caIne through the ordeal seelningly unscathed and with his natural ebullience intact. He has always had a protective sense of hUl11or, can always laugh at hilnself, and it has stood him in good stead. (I-Ie likes to tell the story, for eX31nple, of the hurtful critique of his first filtll: "'rhis filIn wasn't released," snarled the reviewer. "It escaped!") l~his book tells far 1l10re than a recitation of the difficulties of Inaking a film; it is the story of a rnan's will to overCOllle insurnl0untable obstacles to reach a goal with not just one 1l101l1ent of truth but a dozen. I t also gives us glinlpses of an Arruza that aficionados nlight never know about-that wild, taut, unpredictable, charnling contradiction, Mexico's greatest Inatador and Manolete's only rival. I was lucky enough to be in Spain during the two glory years of the Manolete-Arruza historic competition, 1944-1945, and I was frequently asked who I thought was the better matador. I would weasel thusly: "If they were appearing in different plazas on the same day in the saine town, I would declare IVlanolete the greatest in the world-as I hurried off to watch Arruza." I've been seeing bullfights since I was 13 and never have I seen a nlore versatile,

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consistent and cOl1lplete lllatador. I knew Carlos in Spain, drove with hin1 to his fights around the country (l08 corridas in 1945!) and, as an arnateur tm-ero, appeared on the Sal11e prognll11 with hirll in two festivals. Ten years later I worked with hiln on his autobiography, saw hiITI in San Francisco and Mexico ITIany tilnes, dined with hin1 two weeks before his death, and phoned hinl the very 1110rning of the day he was killed. Budd knew hinl before Carlos beC31TIe a superstar, worked with hilll, fought bulls with hinl, and knew hinl far better than lover those years of 11laking Bullfighter and tbe Lady, The MO .rJ;71ijiCCllt Alatfldor, and Al'Tllza. In the pages of this book Budd has captured that Inercurial Ina11-.15 well, that is, as one is able to capture quicksilver through cupped fingers-and, in addition, Budd has given us a picture of a sealny Mexico that the tourists at Sanborn's will-menos 'Inal-never see. He's also given us a portrait of a l11an in tlln110il and crisis-himself. I first nlet Budd in "'ashington, D.C. I was just returning frol11 Spain, separating froIl1 the State Departtnent's Foreign Service, on Iny way to Peru following Manolete and Arruza; and Budd, Alnerica's nurnber one aficionado, was being 1l1UStered out of the Navy, and about to reSUlne his highly successful fillll career. We've been friends and kept up with each other ever since, yet I had no real idea of what went on during those seven tllll1ultuous years in Mexico; I just heard, as 1113ny of us did, rUlllors of "Budd's having a few problelns in Mexico with the Arruza picture." That bit of understatelllcnt ranks with: "Listen, ()edipus, so okay, you 111urdered your father and slept with your 1l1other, but don't go getting a cOITIplex about it." Aficionados of bullfighting, or fiiIns, or just those who love adventure will be grateful that Budd interrupted his daily riding ritual, has cantered out of his dangerous rejolleo arena, and disll10unted long enough to record this unique and valuable saga. And thanks to Maurice Neville for seeing it to this special edition.

Ole, dos O1-ejnJ J' rnbo, dinnns, vueltlls-y brrllcillJ!

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FOREWORD

Bill Krohn For Budd Boetticher, Holly,vood filnl11laking has been just one episode in a life of adventure. "'ben he \vas 18, toughened by his exploits as <1 college athlete, he left his wealthy faluily in Illinois and went to Mexico, where he SUCCUlll bed to the enduring passion of his life: bullfighting. I-Ie stayed long enough to learn the art himself, then went to Hollywood-at the insistence of his prep-school rOOlllmate, I-Ial Roach, Jr.-as a technical advisor on a hullfight picture called Blood lind Sand. \Vhen he left Hollywood in 1960, it was to return to Mexico and the bullring. Even the periods of his lfollywood career are Inarked out by the fihns about bullfighting. After several years spent learning on the job, during which in his own words he "didn't know what he was doing," he lnade BlIlljigbteT find tbe L(/(~)', a fictionalized and very watered-down account of his advenrures in Mexico, which was re-edited before release by an older director vv'ho had spotted his talent and taken hiln under his wing: John Ford. There followed a nUlnbcr of less personal filnls that display the young director's gro\\Ting Inastery of his craft, and frequently sonlething nlore. But it \vas only after his second bullfighting picture, 'rht' Magnificent Matador, which he I11ade to prove that his friend Anthony Quinn could hold the screen in a starring role, that the full Illcasurc of Bocttichcr's talent becanle apparent. The period that followed, which brought hinl to the attention of European critics, consisted 1110Stly of westerns starring Randolph Scott and produced by Scott and Harry Joe Brown. Known to aficio1lados as the "Ranown cycle," these filnls are relnarkable for the unflagging cinen1atic and dralnatic inventiveness with which Boetticher explores the bare essentials of a genre. J-Ie had the help of the great calneralnan, Lucien Ballard, and his favorite writer, Burt Kennedy, on Illilny of thenl (including Buchanan Rides Alone, a frontier Reve11ger's T''J"llgc((y that Boetticher and Kennedy inlprovised during shooting when the credited writer's script proved unsatisfactory), but his only consistent collaborator was Scott, who displays a wonderful range of subtle variations in his characterization frolH one picture to the next. VVhile Boetticher was shooting these fihns on eighteen-day schedules, he W.1S already taking Ballard and slipping off to Mexico during weekends and vacations to fihu sequences for his next bullfighting picrure, a dOCUI1lentary about his close friend and Mexico's greatest living Inatador, Carlos Arruz3, who was then COining out of retirelnent to perform as a rejol1codor, a bullfighter on horseback. Boetticher stayed in Hollywood long enough to do one lTIOre fihn, The Rise find Fnll ~l Legs Diamond, a chilling cOlnedy of death and betrayal set in gangland Chiclgo of the

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Thirties, with black-and-white period photography by Ballard and a hilarious script by Boetticher (uncredited). Then, disgusted by the rampant "unprofessionalism" he had encountered on that production, he and his wife, Debra Paget, got into their white Rolls-Royce and left for Mexico to finish Arruza. In a sense, he has never returned. The incredible, hilarious, heroic twelve-year saga of the making of Arruza is told in Boetticher's own words in the book you are about to read, which was begun in 1960 and finished just a few months ago. In its final form, the Arruza story has assumed its proper place as the most dramatic and longest single episode in a life crammed with events, beginning with the real story of the author's adventures as a gringo bullfighter and including many anecdotes, savory and unsavory, of the Hollywood years-background that makes it easier to understand how a Hollywood director could walk away from everything at the height of his success and vanish for twelve years into the wilds of the Mexican film industry, just to make a movie about bullfighting. People who have never seen a Budd Boetticher film will find it a thrilling story, and longtime fans will understand after reading it that the films that have made Boetticher a cult figure are just parts of a life more spectacular than any film could show, and expressions of one of the most fascinating personalities you could ever hope to meet.

William Shakespeare Twenty-Ninth Sonnet

\\Then, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I, all alone, beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate ...

WELL, I \VAS SURE AS HELL IN JAIL! FOR A SECOND, RIGHT

after the iron door clanged shut behind Ine, I had closed Illy eyes in the hope that it would all go away. But, it wouldn't, and it couldn't, and it didn't. It W:1sn't a nightnlare. And neither was the pre-(:hristInas cold of Illy solitary cell going to "fade back" into the luxurious warrnth of Iny hotel suite. But worst of all, I wasn't just in jail. I was in jail in MEXICO! Here, Illost certainly, I could beIlloan Illy outcast state, and look upon Inyself and curse Iny fate. I darnned that sonnet as it flashed across Iny brain, not at all proud to have renlelnbered it. Maybe Illy adnliration of Willianl Shakespeare bad gotten I11C into all of this. As II kid, hack in Indiana, I'd certainly never fantasized about becolning a I-Iollywood 1l10rion picture director. I should have stuck with the only Shakespeare I'd ever known, the one who played quarterback for Notre Dalne. The stench of excrelnent frOl11 an open hole in the stone floor forced Ille to gasp for breath. I wished I hadn't. l"he first glance at Iny new toilet assured Inc that nUlnerous other inmates had contributed to its fullness. I wondered when was the last time it had been elllptied or if, expecting nle, they had just filled it with the crap that, to nlany, represented l-Iollywood. And what would Iny two little girls think of their daddy now? I wasn't even going to sl11ell like a saint-if I ever got out of there. I sat down on the floor to think, hut S0l11eOne had spread wct lilne all over it, so I jumped right up. I always did think better on Illy feet. Now, how in the devil did all this 111isforrune descend upon tllC? Was it ]llY personality? Was it because I was colorful? I had a \vhole suitcase full of clippings that always included, "Budd Boetticher, one of I-Iollywood's 1110st colorful directors ... " Their authors never really suggested "distinguished," or "brilliant" or "artistic." Just "colorful." But now there wasn't any color in ll1y frozen body, or in the deathly grayness of Iny icy-daInp concrete walls. I was a new rat in an old trap. That was the honest truth. Period! Actually, the only good thing about this whole I1less was that I knew daIlll1 welll'd have plenty of time to think, to figure how all of this canle about. Should 1 start remembering with the AcadeITIY Award nOlnination, or nly disappointing

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affair with the beautiful actress that didn't quite work out, or my late, lamented divorce, or the football injury that changed Iny life? My life? VV'hat a great life I'd f1lrl'II{~)' had~ And now I was absolutely sure that all of it had sonlething to do with 111y present predicatnent. The true fact was that most of my lnature life started right here in l\1exico C:ity. Maybe it would be best to relneillber all the way back to then.

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"Local Athletic Star Now Fighting Bulls In Mexico" IfF:\DLI~FS SI;\CF .\1Y freshtnan year in hi~h schoo.l, but this one- bl~zoned ;H.TOSS th~ sports , page of the EvansvIlle, IndIana, Sunday COl/rlrr-]ollrlltll-Clrned the words that were destined to dictate Iny future. I ·turned right off Pico Boulevard and drove underneath the gigantic archway that proclailned I was entering Twentieth C:enrury-Fox Studios. 'fhe snJCiio was truly beautiful then, that Friday afternoon in Septelnber 1940. T'he wide avenue leading up to the Blain office building was bordered by blootning fl()\vers, the grass behind theln California-green, the long glass-fronted office building glaring white decorated by silver-painted window frallles and shutters. 'l'hose were the days when The Industry had class. You didn't have to snail along beside ~l deteriorating Hello, Doil)'! "New York" street, where today publicity clnployees toil in cubicles behind dirty-painted "Chicago" shops and saloons. \\Thy, that Septenlbcr Universal Studios hadn't even thought of its "C;uicied Studio 'l()ur," which has now deglaITIorized all of I-Iollywood. I swung left in front of the B1ain l:ntrancc and parked Iny lTIother's new Packard convertible hetween a shiny Rolls-Royce and a dark blue Cadillac. A studio security guard slniled in I11C and tipped his hat. I hadn't learned the lesson, yet, that gaining entrance to a Inajor sttldio depends <1 great deal on what you drive. Those days I just took all of that for gr~lntcd. Scnne feBas had the Inisfortune of being born with silver spoons in their IllOllths. l\1ine happened to be gold, and at age 21 I'd certainly never considered trying to ovcrcOlne that "disadvantage." Stepping out of the car, I looked around. l~his was really Hollywood, and I should have been illlpressed. But I wasn't. Lugging 111)' heavy suitcase and my other paraphernalia up the 111any steps was ,111 irritation. And the high glass doors didn't swing open by thenlselves, because of your body-heat, or your breaking of the electric beatll. In 1940 you had to do things yourself, and

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that particular day it was a real pain in the ass. uI h~l\'e an appointtnent with a Mr. Darryl Zanuck," I said to the uniforn1ed officer seated in a glassed-in cubicle bet\veen two heavy doors. 1Ie looked Ine up ~1nd down and slniled. "Here, young fella, we refer to the gentlclnan as tbe ;\'lr. I)arryl Zanuck. And your nalne is ... ?" "Budd Boetticher," I said, with an illllnodest alnount of pride. lIe looked down at his appointlnent chart. "That the saIne as 'Oscar Bocttichcr Junior~ '" Jcsus Christ, I'd forgotten Iny lTIother had initiated the appointment. I hlushed and nodded. "\Vell, take a seat, Sonny," he suggested, picking up the evening newspaper. "I'll let you know \\'hen l\1r. Zanuck's secretary buzzes me." I settlcd oo\\:n in a deep leather divan across froIll a fairly nice-looking young lady with absolutely alllazing breasts. \''ie were the only ones waiting in the outer reception lobbr, so I acknowledged her enthusiastic "Hi!" and slid back into Iny brooding. DaIl1n, why had I been talked into flying up to California? But, I knew vcry well "why," and was about to adnl0nish Inyself for allowing it to happen, when the girl walked across the r00l11 and sat down beside me. I'd s0111ehow sensed that I had attracted her, but I was well aware that it wasn't because I was "cutc," or even actorishly presentable. I hadn't yet nlet Dr. Ginzberg, Hollywood's clninent plastic surgeon, and 111y squashed nose, eight tinles broken froll1 prep school through college, covered a good hunk of my face. Close friends, I mean rcally close friends, joked that I looked like the loser of one of Joe Louis' ll1essier fights, and] had pf()Jllised to have it fixed. Then the young lady's first real sentence negated any idea I Inight have had that she was at all interested in Ine. ~Lllow in the world did you ever get an appointlnent with Mr. Zanuck?" "'fhe appoinonent was Illade for me," I said. "I didn't have a thing to do with it." ~L(;oll}', are you the lucky one! I'd give anything, and I luean anything, to be in your shoes! I've just got a date \\'ith an associate producer." She glanced down at Iny suitcase and the itelns strapped to it. "\\'hat are those things?" L~:\ suitcase full of photographs, and a cape and ... " ~~And ~l sword?" she questioned. "And a sword." ~~\Vhat are you, a dancer?" "lfell no! I'nl a ... " T'he voice of the security officer interrupted my answer. "Mr. Abrams will sce YOLI now, young lady." She jUInped up, giggling. "Bye, and good luck. You go in there and tap Nlr. Zanuck's head off." And she disappeared beyond the righth;:lnd heavy door. T'hcre was no doubt about it. This was going to be one of the great days of Iny life. Danln Iny I110ther!

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Georgia Boetticher was thirty-five years younger than Iny dad, spoiled rotten, and absolutely beautiful. Of course, I hadn't trusted Illy 1110ther since I was 6 years old, when she told Ine that she and my nurse were taking Inc to the circus. They got Ine all gussied-up and off we went-to the hospital to have Iny tonsils and adenoids renl0ved. I renlember asking, "Where are the elephants?" But, still, I adored her. However, in my Inother's view, her rose-colored \vorld was based on the siluple fact that there Inight be the "right way," the "wrong way," and Illayhe "the anny's way"; but "Georgia Boetticher's way" was the only way she acknowledged. My father had retired as head of Boetticher and Kellogg, one of the oldest and most successful hardware concerns in the country, l110ved away frol11 Indiana and now resided in California. Mother liked California-a lot. It had taken her ;1 whole year to becolne the president of The Santa Monica Breakfast C:Iub, ~1 1l1ost alnazing social feat, and a Inost prestigious position. She was really SOIllcthing! Well, one morning she received a letter froIl1 an old Evansville friend, ,lntI enclosed in the letter was the "bullfight clipping" and the story of what I had heen up to. Her football-injured son was not on a convalescent trip around South America, which she had financed to allow hinl tilne to heal his shattered knee. I-Ie was fighting bulls! Mother wasn't at all concerned that the bulls Blight kjlllne, but she let me know, in no uncertain terms, that bullfighting was absolutely unacceptable in her society. And my mother was devotedly social. Now she had two cinch ways she dealt with nle. When I displeased her, which was often, she had a Ininor heart attack. VVhen she truly wanted sOInething, it was always "If you love Inc ... " Hell, I loved her all right, so she had a pretty fonnidable batting average-well over .400. That is up until Mexico, and bullfighting, and Ruth. If she had known about Ruth she would have cOlnnlandeered the entire United States Marine Corps to parachute into Mexico City and rescue Inc. But Iny answer to her pleadings had always been "no." I would not finish Iny education at ()hio State. I'd COIne halTIe to visit now and then. I was canlpletely happy with nly chosen profession-the bulls, but, I would do Iny dalTIndest not to dress her in rllourning. 'rhat was all. Cut! The End. But, Georgia B. was never to be defeated. She discovered that 'Twentieth Century-Fox was going to relnake Rudolph Valentino's Blood find SlIud, the Spanish bullfight epic, and she placed a hurried call to 1-1 a 1 Roach. I-Ial Roach Junior had been my best friend at Culver Military AcadeIllY and had relnained Iny best friend throughout the ensuing years. In those days in Hollywood it was Inost inlportant to know a producer, or a director, or a star-if you wanted a favor. Well, I1lother hit the jackpot. Hal Roach Senior owned a whole oa1nn snldio, and was delighted to telephone his pal, Darryl. There was one position still unfilled on the project, that of "technical director," SOlneone who fully understood the art of bullfighting, and who spoke good English. At least I spoke darn good English,

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and that was that. Here I was about to apply for a job I didn't want, and all I could do was bCI110an nly fate. Another heart attack I couldn't take. I flashed back to Ruth-beautiful, sensational Ruth. lV10ther couldn't possibly have known about her, because, if she had, she Illight have "divorced" her ever-lovin' son-forever. I stood as an elegantly attired secretary walked out to Ineet nle. Acknowledging n1y identity, I followed the tall lady through the heavy door and down the long carpeted hallway, but I had already made up Illy 111ind to be an absolute flop. The l1lighty Darryl F. Zanuck stood up from behind his desk and offered his hand when I walked into his office. I hadn't expected that. He wasn't half as big as his reputation, but the glaring eyes of the stuffed animals ITIounted on the walls, and in the heads of the three flattened skin rugs, which used to be a tiger, a lion and a polar bear, exuded respect for the big boss of Twentieth Century-Fox Studios. I figured at least he was one hell of a shot. Then he introduced me to the gentlernen I had totally ignored as I entered the rOOITI. There were Rouben ,\1alllouiian, the director; Jo Swerling, the AcadeIllY Award-winning screenwriter, and \Villianl Koenig, the srudio's head of production. Mr. Zanuck explained in his own words not just who they were, but how dalnned good each one was at what he did. And I sure as hell wasn't ready for that. A quick flash reminded me that all I had to do now in this esteerlled asselnbly was act natural, if I really intended to "blow" this job, and I'd be back on the street in a flash. But, a funny thing began happening to Inc. Suddenly I wanted that job. They were all so nice! Who else in all this world of Illotion picrure hopefuls, with absolutely no experience in anything not related to Inuscle and guts, would be fortunate enough to be the center of attention of a distinguished group like this? And, I was properly ashaIlled of Iny previous incredibly juvenile attitude. J\Ilr. Jo Swerling started things off, and they got better by the Ininute. "l'n1 writing the screenplay for Blood and Sand," he said, "and I've got a 111illion questions to ~lsk you. \rVhy is the basic cape pass in bullfighting called the veronica?" Mr. Swerling was even srnaller than the boss, but he was imillediately a giant in Illy estilnation. I knelt beside )l1Y suitcase in a funlbling hurry to untie nly cape. As Iny fingers worked frantically on the rope, I heard Mr. Koenig's laugh behind Ine. "'rhis kid wants this job so ll1uch, Rouben, he didn't even bother to unpack his h~lg. n I spun around. "()h, no, sir," I explained, Hthe plane was so late I didn't have tinle to do anything hut drop )l1Y folks off at their hOlne and get over here." I nodded to the suitcase. "1 brought a lot of pictures with Ine to show you if you doubtcd .. .I f you thought Inaybc ... \Vell, I've heard there are a lat. .. " Mr. Koenig finished Iny sentence. " ... a lot of phonies in Hollywood." Mr. Koenig was squarebuilt like a blilldog-a very tough bulldog-but, he had a great slnile and I liked hill1 ill1l11cdiately. I stood up and spread the heavy raw-silk fighting cape wide in both hands, as if I were citing a bull. "The Bible says that Saint Veronica wiped

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the face of Jesus in this 1l1anner," 1 explained, as I detnonstrated by bringing 111)' two hands together to rub the pink outside of the cloth. "Will you please perfonn a pass or two for l11e, young 11lan?" 'rhe soft voice was heavily accented. I rurned to face Mr. Rouben Matnoulian. I-Ie was slniling slightly, but there was sOlllething about that sIllile I didn't like. I fig"ured, illllncdiately, that he was out to prove that 1 was one of those "phonies" 1\1r. Koenig referred to. C;lancing down at the lion, the tiger and the white bear, I saw that Iny plaza de tm-os was a little crowded. But, Mr. Zanuck sensed nly anxiety, pressed a button on his desk, and two young 11len appeared frolll nowhere ~lnd, with a h:JlldIllotion froIll their boss, cleared out the center of the big rOOI11. "Would you like Ine to nalne the various passes as I perfonn thein, sir?" I asked the director. Mr. Manl0ulian shook his head. I-Ie stood there, tall and thin, looking down at 111e through highly Inagnified horn-rillllned glasses, and his voice reeked of sarCaS111. "1 think your. .. 'peric)nnance' ... itself will suffice." Well, here was a fella 1 really . learned to hate, and then, as I '-grew older and becalne a director Inyself, learned to appreciate and adlnire. But, right then, ~lll I could think of was, "God danl111it! Where did he COl1le frolll?" I had thought everybody was "so nice." Then, the experience of all those years of football, hoxing and track weren't wasted. Every ounce of Illy cOll1petitive spirit pl1l11ped through Iny veins. 1 was going to get that job if it killed 111e, and I was going to stick Iny knowledge and talent of bullfighting up Mr. Mallloulian's ass! Well, in the following fifteen 11linutcs I could have cut two ears and ~1 tail in Madrid. 'Veronicas,' 'chicuelinas,' 'gaoneras'-the works-every series of p~lSSCS ending in a swirl of pink and yellow. If I'd only had a bull! Finally, Mr. Zanuck, who I'nl sure never enjoyed being .1 spect~ltor ~lt any sport that he could do hilnself, ClIne out frotn hehind his desk and reached for the cape. I played the "hull" by turning a straight-back chair upside down, using the back legs as horns, and the boss of'Twentieth C:entury-Fox was pretty (brn good. 'I'hen, he took the chair and I was in a lot of trouhle, because l).lrryl F. Zanuck-unlike 1110St fighting bulls-hooked hoth ways. 'lwo of the distinguished guests applauded and cheered, and I got the job: wlcchnic.11 l)irector" on Blood and Sand. And, suddenly cvery girl in the world W~lS abollt to hecolne jL'~ll()llS of Inc, because Iny first basic job was to teach 'lyrone Power how to look and (}love like a bullfighter. But, Mr. Power was in Europe and wouldn't he hOll1e for another eleven days. My training period with hinl would begin around the nliddle of ()ctober: play at bullfighting in the nl0rnings at the Powcr h0l11C on 'rig-ertllil Road in Brentwood, then be available for Mr. Swerling in the afternoons. I was to 1l1ake $150 a week. Mother was ecstatic! Dad seelned pleased, but I think it was Inostly heC,Hlse

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his son had tinally gotten SOIlle sort of a job. Dad believed in young fellas 111aking an honest living. But, he wasll't at all sold on the idea that the Illation picture business was honest. l~hey had purchased a beautiful hOlne not far froln the Powers ~lnd 1110ther figured it would he sirnple for nle to just run over there every Inorning for work. Figured also, of course, that I would be living at "holne." Well, she'd won the Hbattle," but she sure as hell wasn't going to win this "war." I flew back to l\'1exico C:ity three days later to explain Iny "only telllporary" departure frolH Iny beloved bullfight world, and to see Ruth. I'd never flown to 1\1exico C:ity, only fr0111 there just a few days before, and this particubr hair-raising adventure lllade the danger of the bulls look COlnll10nplace. I n those days there were sleeping berths on the night trips. Passengers drank thenlsclves into il fuzzily courageous franle of tnind, crawled into bed, bUlnpcd down into both M"lzatian and C;uadalajara, and then-if they were still awake-prayed their way up into 1\1exico C:ity as the two-engine planes sort of lolled along over the ocean and the hills at sOlnewhere around five thousand feet altitude. 'rhen, if the wings of l\1exica~l Aviation were still in their proper places, the pilots said a pleading l-{ail Mary, crossed thelnselves, revved up the engines
**** * *** ** It h~Hi heen only ten Inonths ago, but it seelned like ten years since she strode into the nightcluh and glided to her table on the raised platform surrounding the dance tloor like a torero 111aking the paseo. Three waiters hurried to stand hehind the Inaitre d' as he pulled out her chair. A fourth arrived with a crelne de

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Inenthe frappe, and placed it on the silver platter before her. She was gracious, appreciative of their attention, and she was the 1l1ost sensational looking WOll1<1n I had ever seen. She was, like ahnost everyone else in the C:Iub Rossinerre, fonl1~l11v dressed, her evening gown crealn Fren~h silk with a dark green bolero. An eIl1c"r'aId pendant hung from a gold chain at her throat; a 111atching-cllt slnallcr stone dangled froIn her left ear. Her jet-black hair was pulled back over the other ear into a braided Spanish bun at the nape of her slender neck. And she had l11()Ved across the restaurant carpet with an aniInal-like grace, her slender fig-ure a willow in a country filled with oak trees. I guessed her absolutely ageless .1nJ would h.lve taken a shot at "30." But, perhaps a 1l10re sophisticated eye, accustoll1cd to the cosI11etic genius of gorgeous ladies, would have placed her age closer to "40." I puckered Iny lips to whistle softly in deep appreciation of her elegance, but ]ny Culver-buddy traveling cOlnpanion, lOin Joy, beat Ine to it. 'lbn1, of the Packard Motors-Grossepoint, Michigan, Joys, was going to spend a good portion of Iny vacation with Ine. First Mexico City, then on to Vera C:ruz and one of the C;race Line's ships to journey around the tip of South Alnerica. 'T'he doctor in St. Louis, who performed the operation on Iny knee, had said it would take that long for In)' complete recovery. Now, TOI11'S faInily was a lot richer than the Boettichers. As il matter of fact, Iny father had done business with theln way before we 111ct. I Ie and Inother always drove Packards. SOlnehow that I1lade Tholl1::1s Inorc "worldly" than 1. He wasn't an athlete and, consequently, didn't have to stay "in shape," which he never was. But he had learned to drink properly, been to all the right places, gillnbled in all the fancy casinos in Europe, and-not unlike a very rich sailor-had a gal in every port. And I was shocked when I turned to face hilll. I-1e, of the cultured, beautifully educated "Emily Post" Inanners, had whistled out loud. We had arrived in Mexico City only late that very afternoon. I had snaked Iny shiny yellow La Salle convertible through the traffic on Avcnida Juarez, and pulled up in front of the Hotel Regis. There weren't 111any convertihles in the capital then, certainly not another yellow La Salle, and we caused quite a COlnnl()tion as our guide, Victor Avila, WhOI11 we had picked up in Monterrey, jUll1ped out of the rUlnble seat to unload our bags. Victor, hinlself, had suggested the Regis. It seelns that was where Lee Tracy, the fanlous Hollywood leading Inan, had urinated from his balcony onto the heads of the Mexican troops during their Independence Day parade-following which the entire Mctro-C;oldwyn-Maycr company of Vivo Villa had been uncerenl0niously run out of town. And, sizing up the vast colonial-architectured lobby, and now knowing that this was where the "action" was, we agreed this was the only place to stay. 'The desk clerk had infornled us that the Club Rossinerre was the nightspot in all of Mexico, only a short walking distance froln the hotel; and there we both were, gaping across the empty dance floor as if our favorite 1l1ovie actress had suddenly stepped out of our

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individual dreanls. But, we weren't alone in our adrniration of the lady. Other beautiful wonlcn in the posh restaurant whispered to each other, while their cscorts brazenly cast covetous glances in her direction. 'rhc orchestra sebTUcd into Crl71lillo:; de Ayer (" Roads of Yesterday"). I've cert;linl~' tr;n'e\ed down a spider-web Inapful of those "roads" since then, but at that p~lrticllbr IllOIncnt the beautiful .\1exican ballad Ineant little to nle, except that it was invitingly rornantic. ;\ flash of reflection fro 111 the silver peso TOll1 had just flipped into the ~lir interrupted Illy thoughts. l'hen, pahning the coin flat onto the tablecloth, he announced "heads." "For what?" I inquired. "'For to see which olle of us asks the lady to dance." I-Ie \\'as grinning that SlllUg "don't bet against Ine" expression, and-for once-I hoped that darnn peso coin of his was "heads" on both sides. This kind of "action" was '1(Jll1 's style, certainly not Inine. But, I said "tails" and "You've got to he out of your head!" \Vell, "tails" it was. lC)lll said, ~'Dallln!" and I stood up with forced bravado and strode across the rOOIl1. "Strode" Inay be a bit exaggerated. I think I sort of sneaked, hoping the lady would cOlnpletely ignore Ine. And she did . .Vly invitation was perfectly proper: "Excllse Inc, hut would you care to join Ine in a dance?" But, she never looked up frorn her Inenu. It had worked at Choate School for Boys, C:ulver, and ()hio State. Maybe she didn't speak English, or better, was totally de:.lf. rrhe lnaitre d' touched Iny elbow. "Young 111an," he said most politely, "please allow 1l1C to escort you back to your table." Now, this was a social catastrophe. I glanced down, pleadingly, for S0I11e sign of the lady's acceptance, but she never batted .In eyelash. It was as if I had not even arrived at her table, even ever existed. 'rhere was that horrible InOIllent when I knew that all eyes were upon I11e; then I allowed Inysclf to he guided, sruI11bling back to our table, where TOlll was coughing out a spasln of uncontrolled laughter. I sat down hard; then-quite 1Illconsciollsly-I glanced hack across the rnonl where the lady was being served a lohster cocktail. For a fleeting second our eyes Inet, and then, when she looked hack at her dish, 1 felt younger, Illore stupid and totally rejected than at any other tiJllC I could rClllcrnhcr. 'rhe following hour was interI11inable. It snailed on and on in slow Illotion, while ')C)Jll ilnposed his \vorldly chann on every tourist falnily whose attractive daughter cared "to join hiIll in a oance." His stylish clothes and his youthful exuherance cOlnbincd to rnakc hinl a big hit, while I sat brooding about Iny social clblnity, afraid even to glancc again across the room in the fear that Inine and the elegant lady's eyes I1light rneet again. ~'PerdonaInc, senor, but the senora will dance with you now." I glanced up froIll the study of Iny hands to discover the Inaitre d' standing at

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the table. The gentlenlan repeated hilnself and nodded across the rooln where the lady was sipping her delTIitasse. "You mean tbat senora?" I asked. The Inaitre d' nodded, sI1liling graciously. "'Please, senor, cOlne with Inc." I sort of struggled to Illy feet and fol1owed the l11an around the crowded dance floor to stop before her table and look down into the daInndest pair of eyes I'd ever seen. There was no way to describe thenl by color. They were just-well-worldly. And I inlInediately caIne to the conclusion that what they saw and wanted, they dalnn well got. The Inaitre d' hurried to pull out her chair; then, gently touching Iny shaking ann, she floated beside 111e to the dance floor. Now, years before at a high school junior prOlll in I-Ienderson, Kenrucky, I first experienced a southern danlsel's desire to dance right through Ine. It was a nerve-tingling renleIllbraI1ce I had enjoyed, since then, getting used to. But, none of those partners had been anything like this. As I placed Iny ann around the slender lady's waist, she becaIne a part of 1l1e-frol11 the tip of Illy toes to the very top of nly head. And, her body was wanll, and vibrant, and "'wolnanly" I guessed. Not at all like that little kid's in Henderson. Being "young" has a strange way of bursting one's enlotions back and forth like a ping-pong ball. A short 1110nlent before I had been in the depths of insecurity, filled with a feeling of inferiority as I watched Iny traveling cOlnpanion cavort about the restaurant with one beautiful girl after another. Now, with Illy "senora" breathing against Iny neck, I was bursting with '11111c/;is'111O-filled with newly born confidence and Inasculinity. I purposely bUlnped into TOIll and his latest partner and, winking broadly, I "read" the worst line of "dialogue" of Illy life. "I think I've got sonlething here," I proclaimed with classless gusto. 'fhe lady pushed her body away froln nle just enough to look up into Iny eyes. "Before you clnbarrass yourself any further," she said, "I should infonn you I an1 fluent in English, French, GenTIan, as well as Spanish." My face lit up like a I-Ialloween pUlnpkin. 10'1 beg your pardon, 'senorita,'" I stanlI11ered, HI. .. " "Senora," the lady corrected. "Senora Ruth D'Laurage. l\1y husband has been dead for over seven years, if that iteIll of infonnation interests you. j\nd you may call me Ruth." Thinking back on Iny corny line, I did "have sOl1lething" there, but it wasll't at all what I expected. And, it wasn't based on sex. It was the beginning of ~l wonderful friendship fronl which I have profited greatly. lc)ll1 drifted off with a young socialite from New Orleans to listen to the Inariachis at the 'fupinaInpa nightclub, and Ruth and I were left alone. We didn't dance again. We just talked and talked. It was as if we had known each other for years. She was extrelnely well educated, certainly worldly wise, and very, very funny. She was surprised to discover that I was knowledgeable of Parisian art and well-versed in the works of the

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Itnpressionists. It was a hobby of Inine, one which I had never spent a great deal of tilne discussing with Iny athletic peers. '\Te cOInpared opinions of Van Gogh, T()ulousc-Lautrec, C;auguin, .\lonet, and she seemed deeply appreciative of ll1Y personal viewpoints. It \vas four o'clock in the 1110rning when I s\VUng the La Salle out of the I--Iotel Regis' underground garage and onto the Paseo Reforn1a. The street was deserted except for a few taxis and Ruth's long beige linl0usine, whose chauffeur and broken-nosed, dark-suited friend kept a discrete distance behind us. "\ \ no's the guy with the punched-in face, your bodyguard?" I asked facetiously. Ruth nodded, L'His name is Ramon." And, I sure let it go at that. \'\'e had put the top do\vn on the convertible, and what was left of the night was beautiful. Perhaps the best thing about that night was that Ruth was having as 11111ch fun as I \vas. Sitting atop the front seat and steering with Iny feet was something I'd wanted to try ever since I'd seen that rnovie at Culver. But, now I was "(:ary (;rant," and Ruth, sitting up there beside Inc, was "Constance Bennett." But, it was our picrure show now, not 'lappeI'. \Vhen we arrived at two giant lion statues at the entrance to Chapultepec Park, Ruth said, "Turn left," and we both slid back down onto the leather seats. 'T'he Inansion \\'as alnlost as in1posing as its rnistress, spread out over onethird of the long block: Mexican C:olonial, with a seven-foot stone wall, split in two hy a Inassivc \\'rought-iron gate that swung open electrically. The "Goodnight ()scar"-she preferred to call Ine that, and I didn't mind-came as a bit of a surprise. But, the night had been a series of surprises and I merely shrugged. Ruth burst out laughing. HI said 'goodnight,' not 'good-bye.' At this Inoment it is not convenient. I will send the car for .vou and .vour friend at nine." wrhis rDorning, in four 1110re ... ?" "()scar, in

Illy

life there is no Inorning. You and Tom be ready prolnptiy at

nine. \\'e will have dinner here. In the rneantirne, I will arrange a pass for you both at 'rhe Palace of Fine ;\rts. 'I'he curator's nanle is Senor Vallina. He will, personally, show you around. It will he a wonderful experience for you." She turned to step through the gate, but I silnply had to know the answer to one hurning question. "Ruth, why did you decide to dance with I11e?" She slniled ~1IH.1 reached up to touch Iny battered nose. "1 like that," she said. "It shows courage and detennination, and I adnlire your audacity. You should have been a torero, You have all the requisites-good and bad." 'fhen she laughed and walked through the gate, which clanged shut behind her. Sliding back into the front seat of Illy car, I heard Illysclf say aloud: "A torero." I was pretty sure it was a complilnent, but I'd look it up. I beat 'foln back to the Hotel Regis by at least two hours. As a Inatter of fact, it was getting light when he woke me up. He n1ust have had one hell of an experience, hut I Inanaged to go to sleep while he was still bragging. Tc>m had the

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American-nlacho habit of "kiss and telling," but that was about his only tlaw, so I always figured I could live with that. Ruth was right. 'rhe visit to The Palace of Fine Arts was a \\'onderful experience. We spent four of the late afternoon's hours there, enjoying every lninute of our personally guided tour. I was cOll1pletely enchanted by the Inagniflcent paintings and sculpture, rfOll1 equally enchanted by the bevy of great-looking young lady tourists. He lnade four dates for the following week during the tlrst hourand-a-half. Senor \!;l11ina, our str~lngely obsequious host, inf()rtncd liS th~lt El Palacio de Bellas Artes \vas slo\vly sinking into the volcanic ash ::lnd lava over which it \\',lS constructed. And, facing it, we had noticed that the Inagnificent structure was listing a bit to port, but TOln explained to our curator friend that so was the Leaning Ibwer of Pisa, and people 'were still flocking to see it. I kicked at his shin, but he had already turned to wave 'good-bye' to next-YVednesday's date. ()n the Wel}' out, I bought two books, "Art of the Mayans" (lnd "Pre-C:olulllbian Art." 'li)]n \vas genuinely ilnpressed with the latter, enthusing th,lt: ""All those ch.lractcrs ever thought of was screwing." Senor \Tallina was inclined to agree, but he In~lnaged to change the subject. "You two young gentielnen are very fornlnare to have .1 friend like Senora 1)'Laurage. She has been ,1 great contrihutor to Bellas Artes-fin~ln­ cially and artistically. Perhaps, aside frol11 the wife of our esteenlcd 'Presidcntc,' she is the lllost fanl0us lady in all of Mexico." Youthfully, I figured IllY ne\\.' friend Ruth really "got around." At 9 p.l1l. sharp RaIllon strode into the lobby of the Ilotd Regis ilnd spotted us waiting by the fountain. "Listos?" he inquired, .1110 'l()ln, who had l11
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"You w.lnt to see?" he asked, holding up a snub-nosed .38 in his rl1assive right hand. 'I'he .. ~() rfI IA0JKS~" burst froln both of us in direct synchronization, and Ranlon, looking disappointed, turned his attention back to Avenida Juarez. rl()ln and I had seen all kinds of weaponry at C:ulver, but those were our t,Tuns. And, we were both nlotion picture fans of Bogart, and Cagney and George R.lft, hut their guns shot hlanks. Now, here we were, sitting behind a real thirtyeight with real hullets, and neither of us was particularly cOInfortable. I bet, to Inyself, that the hard-looking chauffcur also totcd a 'gat.' TOln adlnitted later that hc thought so, too. And, who were those punks guarding-us? I was glad when we turned Icft at the t\vo lion statues in front of the entrance to Chapultepec Park. A willowy effeillinate-iooking servant opened the front door and suggested, in broken English, that \ve "Plceth wok thees way." It relninded Ine of the Marx Brothers' Illovie, where C;roucho Inilnicked the ancient butler following the old l11an's silnilar request, but there was no way either Torn or I could emulate the ]llincin~ gait of the slender young servant as he led us down the long hallway. 'lC)lll raised his right-hand little finger to straighten his eyebrow. "He's a fairy," he s~lid. I grilllaced as I saw the youth's shoulders flinch, and shook Iny head at Iny cOlllpanion. I thought we had both learned a lesson in the car. We were in tVlexico, and cVl'l),bo{~)' spoke enough English to get us both killed, or worse. \Ve stopped, unconsciously, at the head of the stairs leading down into the sunken living rooln. Both of Ollr falnilies had raised us in luxurious surroundings, but what confronted us now \\'<1S a cOIl1pletely different display of wealth. I had never experienced the beauty of a Mexican C:olonial Inansion. The building was new hut looked spotlessly ancient. 'fhe ceiling was twenty-five feet above the polished Inarhle floor. Every doorway and stained-glass window was arched with protruding 13v.\ stone. rrhere was no carpeting, just colorfully beautiful handlnade Indj~\n rugs throughout the entire salon. I had a feeling I was back at the Bellas Artes, but the paintings were all Spanish and Mexican: Goya, Velazquez, Orozco, SiqlIciros, Xilllcnel'., l)iego Rivera. Ruth Inoved to greet us froIn the far end of the rOOlll. She was dressed in a low-cut C;recian gown even Inore elegant than the one she had worn the night before. Behind her was a gigantic oil painting depicting the entire audience of a hullring standing, en Inasse, waving hankerchiefs-an ocean of hOlnage-to their 11Jlltlldor hero, who stood alone on the circle of yellow sand, ~old-sujted, back arched, both hands reaching up to catch a bouquet of red carn.nions tossed down to hin1 by an adoring "senorita." 'rhe IlH;lllOry of Ruth walking towards us, as if she had just stepped out of that painting, is a "scene" I will cherish as long as I live. No director-not even St~vens, lIuston or I)cMille-could have staged it more dra,natically. But, of coursc.:, that gorgeous lady was a very draInatic person. Just then, another young servant swished into the rOo[11, bearing three creIne de menthe frappes. Ruth

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noticed Iny hurried glance at Tonl, reached out to touch our two glasses with a "sa Iud," then said: "Don't be disturbed by Iny choice of dOlnestics. \Vhen I first Inoved here frain France, I had girl servants and they stole Ine blind, engaged in continuous jealous battles and becanle individual nuisances." She SIl1ilcd at IllC. "Now, living in this big house all alone, I certainly didn't think it would be a good idea to surround Inyself with a bunch of 'Inacho' Inales, so ... " She nodded toward the departing waiter. "That was the only intelligent answer. I have five hOlnosexuals working for me here. I pay theIn a very substantial salary. rrhey have lovely quarters in which to live, and twice a year-Easter and ChristInas-I allow theIll to dress up in Iny clothes and give thelllselves a party. And, I'll guarantee you that this is the Inost efficiently run hOIne in all of Mexico." "Makes dallln good sense to 1l1e," Tonl offered. I contributed a hesitant nod of agreelnent, because I sure knew it wouldn't be very acceptable in Evansville, Indiana. And, one thing still puzzled Ine. "Ruth, what about Ranlon and your chauffeur? I nlean, there's nothing 'wrong' with thelll, is there?" Ruth reached up and patted Iny cheek. "Darling, there's nothing 'wrong-' with any of Iny help. But, if you I1lean, are they 'nuuicones,' yes. rrhey've heen lovers for years." And, I proInised I1lyself, right there and then, I wouldn't ask any lnore questions. I walked over to get a closer look at the bullfight painting, not just to hurriedly change the subject, but because sOInething about that p
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chose to talk about, and Ruth was genuinely interested. But she, personally, offered very little inforInation as to her social background and her obvious wealth. All we learned was that she had been born in Paris; her father was French, her 1l1othcr Spanish. As coffee was being served, a seven-piece, fully costlnned ll1ariachi orchestra paraded into the living r00l11 to serenade us. The Inusic was rOlnantic, beautiful, pure .\1exican. \IVe were told that aiinost all of it \vas C0I11posed by Augustin Lara, and I \\'as so in1pressed \vith this added splurge of entertainlllent that I forgot Iny proll1ise to Inyself. "Ruth," I asked, '\vhere did you find these wonderful lllusicians? They're absolutely sensational!" Ruth took her tilne \\'ith a final sip of coffee, allowed our eyes to I11eet and hold for a long 1l101nent before she answered. "These are the tnariachis froIll Iny 11lain house. 'They play for Illy custoIners every night." TOIll and I exchanged hurried glances as Illy guts flipped over. I nlay have been fronl Indiana, but I was beginning to see the light. Ruth continued, and her voice took on a quiet, explanatory tone, as if she were speaking to ;] child. "()scar, I thought you knew, that, by this tilne, S0I11eOne had to have told you. I anl not just a 'Inadan1.' I al11 tbe 'tTIadaln' in Mexico City. I own seven houses of prostitution-I believe yoU call theln whorehouses in the United States. And Iny [nain establishn1cnt, 'Ruth's,' is fan10us throughout the world. 'Ic)Jl1 said, "\Vow!" and I sat still, absolutely speechless. I suddenly felt as if I were having dinner with Al C:aponc. And I didn't want to feel that way at 1111.' Ruth understood Iny sudden concern. She continued slowly. "'-''hen I can1e to J\1cxico, I planned to carefully invest a great deal of lTIOney, but it took Ine over a year to ascertain exactly what I wanted to do. There are lTIany ways to 111ake 11loncy in IVlcxico; the Ina1n attraction, of course, is through politics; the second, high society; the third, cntcrtainnleJlt, show business, bullfighting. So I invested in a business where I would be consistently involved with these gentlelllen, and know, day by day, exactly what was going on in this country. And frOll1 that knnwledge, I continued to augtnent Iny fortune." I still sat there, srunned. AJI the questions, all the "gabbiness" had just been sho<.:kcd out of Inc. Dan1n, I wanted to be a lot 11l0re like TOln. He looked as if he'd just struck oil. But, I already had a real crush on this beautiful lady, and I had no idea how to handle it. "()scar, lain 110t one of Iny girls. I know theln all, and really love some of thelll, but I only visit Illy establishlnents if there is an elnergency. Ralnon and (;uillenno are responsible for the house-to-house collection of profits and, aside fr0l11 'Ruth's,' I never hecolne personally involved." I was still lost, but'10111 Inanaged to break the deadly silence. "You ... you go to your Inain house?" Ruth siniled and nodded. "Everybody goes to Illy l11ain house. It's a sanctuary

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for disappointed husbands, a hiding place for politicians, a resting o.lsis for foreros. It's a club, l()Jll, not just a brothel. i'\o one ever has to go upst.lirs." 'rhen, glancing back at Iny Illournflll expression, she hurst out laughing. "C;ood Lord, Illy darling hoy, 1'ln not the l)ragon Lady. Business is business." I never felt sIllaller or 11l0re insensitive in Iny life. Jesus! I hadn't been educated or raised to accept CirClll1lstances like this, hut I sure as hell knew I'd hetter grow up in a big hurry or blow one of the greatest experierH:es ever to he offered Ine. l'he Ruth D'Laurages of the world just don't grow on trees to pick when you want, or to drop on your head. I still had no ide;l wh.H on e~1J"th h;l<.l attr.lctcd her, but there she was-talking' to Inc-not to '[()Ill or any other C\-C:u]\,er cadet. "Ruth," I stuttered, groping for words, "1'n1 sorry, ,lnd stupid. I'\'en if you were the Dragon Lad~·. 1 Inean, 1\1 still he proud to be here 'lnd ... " She stopped laughing to lean across to kiss Inc on the cheek. I"} lush!" she ordered. OI'J'h:n is the worst speech I've ever heard, and I'll h~l\'c no 1110re of it." 'rhen she cLIpped her hands together, and one of her serv,uns appe;ued frolll the h;111, Ilodded to her short order in Sp'lnish, ;lnd hurried to fulfill her wish. "1l1rning to 'l()!ll, Ruth announced her intentions. "'1'111 sure, de,lr 'I'hOlll:1S, you HUlst h;n'C better thing-s to do than spend the rest of the night with lIS "old folks.'" '()Ill shook his he;ld. "No, not really," he disagreed; "I'Ill havi ng ~l hell of a tilllC." \ Ve ;lll ttl rned our heads as R.lnl0n appe.lred at the entrance to the hall. Ruth sinilcd, and continued. "Well, good then, that changes 111)' plans." But, now, perfectly stagcd ;In
17

CHAPTER

O:,\E

d e d up Just ' "freezlng ' " to t he sheets. And " d next nlove, B SOl1le sop 111Stlcate ut, Ien then she seeIlled to float across the thick carpeting to sit on the bed beside me, and I sensed that the lady was going to allo\\' me to take charge, and everything was going to be "all right." I held out nly afIllS to embrace her, and she slipped into bed beside Ine. Then the first plaintive notes of A l1ocbe, Mexico's current favorite love song, paralyzed Ine "dead all over" as if I'd just been electrocuted. That whole dalnn lnariachi band was serenading us from the patio outside the bedrooIn window. "(;ood God, Ruth~" was all I could get out. "Relax, darling," she InufInured gently, pushing Ine back onto the silk pillows, ~'thcy can't see in. Look how the arc lights are situated." "\~Vell, I can't do ... " "I said 'relax,' darling. lou don't have to do anything." And the soft strains of the lV1.exican guitars played on and on, it seemed-forever. II,

"

**********

Vv'hen I walked into the lobby of the Hotel Regis, the clock above the desk showed that it was 10: 17 a.lll. I had left nly wristwatch in Ruth's bedroo111 as I had sneaked out of bed, ever so quietly, so as not to awaken her. But, of course, I'd left a lot of things in that hedrooln: all of Iny boyishness, what was left of any insecurity, and, not really Iny virginity, although it Inight as well have been. At least I had certainly discovered I wasn't an authority on that no matter what the girls had told 1l1C at ()hio State. But I really felt good. C;ood, hell, I felt great! It hadn't been the kind of night I expected. Sure we'd Inade love-a lot of it. But along with the excitclnent and sheer passion involved, it was sweet, and soft, and ... well. .. "friendly." I'd never experienced all those cOlnbinations before. Dalnn, I was nuts about Ruth I)'Laurage. I Illonlcntarily tried to compare her to anybody-to eve1ybody else. '("'here was no way. 'rhc hell captain signaled Ine and handed Ine a note. Tom was downstairs in the bfl/IOJ. "'The steam baths, the Banos Regis," the captain explained, "is a very special place. All the fanlous people cOlne here every day." He pointed to the marhie stairway leading down froln the Illain lobby. I descended the stairs, read the sign above the entrance, paid the attendant the three pesos and checked into the tiny cuhicle assigned to nle. Then, hanging my clothes on the available hooks, I wrapped IllYSelf in one of the giant towels and set out to search for Thomas. 'rhe Regis steaIn baths caine with the hotel in the late 19th century, a we1corne sanctuary for notables of all nations to sweat out the tequila and beer, and rid thCll1sc1ves of the added kilos-an unwanted addition that is unfortunately provided with any lv1.exican vacation. The local gentry considers the banos to be a

18

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l110ral obligation to survive, to convalesce, or silllply to "sweat out" enough "poison" to be able to start life all over again. I finally found TOlll stretched out on a sheet-covered deck chair in the dryoff rOOll1. He looked half-dead, hut he had a slnile on his face. l."IIi, tiger," he offered weakly; then: "God dalnn, you won't belicz'f that place!" I shook Illy head. Wroday I'll believe anything." TOlll struggled to sit up, his energy rehlrning ,vith his enthusiasln. "'And I couldn't spend a peso. rrhe girls wouldn't even let 11lt buy theIn a drink." I laughed and sat down on the wooden chair beside hin1. ""rhe girls.' You nlust have had sonle night." lIe shook his head. "1 h~Hl thenl all over Ine. Anything I wanted. Any nUlnber of things. And they were all just as great looking as lVlercedes. But, all of a sudden I got honorable. I was Ruth's guest, invited to spend her Inoney and I just couldn't do it." I stifled a laugh. hS O ?" l-le hung his head in 1110ck shallle. "So I shacked up all night with A1ercedes. And I think 1'nl in love. " T'here was a knock on the porthole of the heavy wooden door. 'rhrough the circle of glass we could see the grinning face of Victor, our guide WhOll1 we had ahnost deserted, hut still kept on salal),. I-Ie held up two colorful bullfight tickets and waved theln for us to sec. rI0l11 waved back and he disappeared froln view. "Our Victor is a character," 'Iblll offered. "'rhat ticket I boug'ht hin1 just 111.1(le his whole year. He knows 1110re about this Lorenzo C~~Hza felb we're gOlln~l see thml the lnatador does hilnself. ' rhey're hoth frolH Monterrey, you kno\\\ and ( ;~117.a is Victor's idol. Let 111e fill you in." And he certainly did. In 1940, there was a favorite saying of the {~t;ciOlll1d()s of L\1exico l11aking the rounds of taurine society. It went: "Fennin Espinosa, 'Annillita,' is the hest turt'ro in the world, but I'd rather see Lorenzo C;arza." ()f course, I hadn't seen either one of thenl, nor had I actuallv" cared to , hut Victor had eXI)iained the difference between the two great Inatadors to '1()1l1. "Annillita" was the Inaestro-thc trUl' Inaster of the bullring-but his genius 111.1de everything he did seeln easy. (;~lrza, however, had a cOlnpletely opposite style. lIe Inade everything look ilnpossible. He either had a triulllph or a cOlnplete disaster. Every (orridtl of his hCC~lIne a national controversy. And the country was divided into two vobtile factions-thc "Annillistas" and the "C;arzistas." Now "Annillita's" loyal followers contcnded, and rightly so, that their 1113n had C:lass. Lorenzo (;arza 's legions steadfastly believed that their lllan-they called hill1 ~'Lorenzo c1 Magnifico"-Ilot only possessed an equal al110unt of 'class,' hut good or bad, sensational or disgraceful, Lorenzo C;arza had balls. Now, balls, c~j()11lJJ-b/ll'VOS (cggs)-arcn't jllst the Spanish words for what Mr. Webster refers to as testicles. In rvlcxico, having huevos is an absolute necessity for the lowest peon up to EI Prcsidcnte hitnself. Without theln you are a nobody. rrhey won't even let you into church. But having "eggs " d oesn ,. t Just 111ean you are 1)rave. You have stature. You have integrity. And

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.rOll are honorable. It is true that every. Inacho Inale in Mexico lies about that , I)ut-if he lies honorably-he has balls. It's a way of life. But in this new season of bullfight Inani;1, the "C;arzistas" had a probleln. Their Inan of steel, their hero, had suddenly developed feet of clay. And that l11an, who exelnplified all that was gloriously brave, was in disgrace. I-Ie had been involved in three straight j"acflsos where he had left the plaza in a shower of cushions and insults, as he had, purposely, 111aneuvered hill1self a good kilollleter away frolll the horns. I-lis detractors set aholIt writing obscene notes on his car, and on the walls of his hOlne, like: HC()\V:\RI)~" "FRAUD!" "Your l1lother is a whore!" and "Your wife sucked you eggless~" IIowever, \lictor understood the problem. Don Lorenzo had just been [narried before the bullfight season opened. "And his wife is beautiful. You should see her~" \Tictor had enthused. "And he loves her very l1luch." So, Victor figured dut the 111.ltador had been saving hirnself for his bride, hut also fouling up his hOlllC life. It is an established fact for those "in the know" that toreTO.'l don't spend a lot of tinle Inaking love the night hefore they face the bulls. And, to nlake Inatters worse-especially for a newly 111arried couple-if the matador has a disastrous tilne in the ring, sex doesn't have a habit of dOluinating his thoughts during the following days of rCI1l0rSe and self-recrimination. So, rnaybe, our brilliant guide concludcd, Senora C;arza had a few words to say about that situation. After all, her hushand probably hadn't been "tnagnificent" anywhere. At any rate, Don Lorenzo (;arl.
20

WHEN

IN

DISGRACE

Ruth had two season tickets in the very first row and I wasn't at all cOlllfortable when we walked down the stairs past TOln and Victor, who were seated quite a way up from us. I had offered to flip with TOlll to see who would sit down front with Ruth, but he'd have none of it. I thought, at first, that Iny pal was being generous. But that "last mile" down those concrete steps past all those grinning 111~lS­ culine faces nodding and bowing to Ruth, and sOlnetilnes winking at Inc, was a torturous experience. Everyone knew Iny "gal!" There were very few ladies attending bullfights in those days, but those who were there turned their eyes away. Jesus, being famous was one thing-notorious quite another. But R,Hllon had been allowed to park the linl0usine on the sidewalk just outside the plaza and the police who rushed to guard it seenled overCOlne with respect for Iny bely. So, I guessed it was like everywhere else. It was just according to whose side you were on. Then drulns rolled and a trumpet blew, and far across the yellow circle of ring two gates swung open and Don Lorenzo C;arza strode out onto the sand. Now I'd never seen a traje de luees, the gold suit of lights, or any of the fellows who fit their slender bodies into theIne But, I want to tell you, that Lorenzo Garza fella was a sight! He stood there as his [/llldrilla, his teanl of helpers, fonl1ed a single line behind hiITI. They were his banderi/leros, and his picadores on horseback. He knew that his detractors, and his ex-ardent fans, and the press-2 g,OOO in all-were waiting for hiITI. And he also suspected that a good Inany of thenl h<1(l brought along rotten fruit and vegetables and dead GUS to throw at hilll if he failed again. But there he stood, dressed in black and gold, purposely keeping his head bowed as if he were asking for forgiveness. Then, with the fIrst blaring notes of Cielo Andnluz, the opening parade Inusic, he looked up, sIniled as he took off his 11101ltera and strode his first steps across the ring. I didn't understand it then, and the noise of the whistling and catcalls drowned out Ruth's explanation, so I just watched hiITI with deep adnliration. I'd spent too Il1uch titl1e in other athletics not to know he was sticking it up their asses. And I was right. A 1l1atador only 1l1akes the opening paseo with his 111011terfl (his hat) in his hand when it is his first tilne in that ring of the new season. Garza had been in EI Tareo three tilnes before, but-1nontern extended in his right hand-he was saying; "I1ere I al11 again, YOll bastards, and I'ITI going to lnake you eat every rotten, filthy word you've said or written." Well, during the next two hours, as I watched hin1 torellr six San Mateo bulls-beautiful animals frOITI the leading bull-breeding ranch in the country-football, boxing, basketball and even the thrill of the 1DO-yard dash faded into lnemory. That man gave great dignity to his chosen profession and I was caught up in the ocean of 28,000 wildly screanling 4I(;arzistas"-his. nowagain devout aficionados-his now-again "until death do we part" fans who adored him. There he was, all alone down on that circle of .yellow sand, winding th~lt ~

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frightening black beast around his slirn body like a ballet dancer spinning into his silk sash. He cut ears and tails from three of his first five bulls and ears frOln the other n\'o , awards granted a Inatador for an absolutely phenornenal perfornlance. And I \vas witnessing that bullfight! Hell, it was like the day in the 1932 \\Torld Series when Babe Ruth pointed to the flagpole in Wrigley Field, then proceeded to knock the ball over it. Or Red Grange's four touchdowns against Michigan in the first quarter. I \vas just a little kid when I heard about that, but I was seeing this! Yet, the Inatador had never accepted the trophies, never taken a bow or a tour of the ring. And the bun1s on the "sunny side," who had hrought the dead cats, and the rotten fruit and vegetables, pushed theln "across the seats toward their neighbors, then glared at tbe7l1 for even anticipating such a dastardly affront to their idol. Finally, as he cotnpleted his artistry with "Principe Azul," the last hull of the afternoon, he "fixed" the anilnal with a slight flick of the ululetn (the swatch of red serge fastened to the two-and-one-half-foot wand-like stick in his hand) and unexpectedly turned his back to kneel down on the sand a scant few feet in front of the needle-pointed horns. He held up his hand for silence and you could actually hear the bull breathing. The rnatador had sOlnething to say to the crowd, those 2H,OOO adoring "Garzistas" who worshipped hinl. And I knew that Mister Lorenzo Ciarza's bllevos were well worth paying attention to. "(Jueridos an1igos (Dear friends)," he began. It was all in Spanish, of course, but I sat there transfixed, as if I could understand every word. When he finished there was a gasp froll1 the audience. I distinctly heard Ruth laugh, then all hell broke loose. C;arza stood, turned to cite the bull with the sword, then plunged the steel into the anilnal's shoulders. '[he beast dropped as if hit by a rifle shot and (;arza vaulted over the red "barrera" fence into the alleyway behind it. rrhe police arrived froln all directions to surround hiln in the clll/ejon. Cushions rained dO"wn into the alleyway froll1 the first row "shady-side" and the officers pyratnided their riilcs over the tnatador's head to protect hiIl1, as other unifonned guards propelled hitl1 through an exit beneath the stands. I couldn't understand exactly what was happening, but I grabbed Ruth and held her tight, so that we both wouldn't be pushed into the ring below. Four seats down fronl us a lnink-coated, bejeweled lady slapped her husband across his red face. He was a full general wearing a tlluch decorated unifonn of the Mexican anny. This, I couldn't understand at all! But it was a riot, all right! A first-class, Brooklyn Dodger riot, and we were in the tniddle of it. I'd seen riots in newsreels at soccer gaInes in Rio, but nothing like this. In Rio, everyone seetned angry. l-lere, a lot of these idiots were having a ball. Ilappy spectators were punching angry ones. Well-dressed W0I11en were berating their elllbarrassed husbclnds. But practically all of the "sunny-side" aficionados se<.!llled to be having the tilne of their lives. Finally the riot just 1110ved away frOl11 us, disappeared down the exits out of the bullring, and we Inanaged to push

22

WHEN

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DISGRACE

through the exuberant crowd and work our way toward the street. ()utside the plaza, people were laughing and joking and slapping each other on the back. I pushed Ruth just ahead of me, trying to protect her with my anns, when the Inass of idiotic humanity between us and the limousine suddenly parted like the Red Sea. And I quickly saw why~ Both Ramon and Guillermo had spotted us and, waving their .3 8s, they cut a swath through the revelers as if they were sickles through a wheat field. They were shouting a lot of words in Spanish at the top of their lungs, and the scurrying crowd was paying a lot of attention. They lifted Ruth into the back seat, sort of threw Ine in, and then slamlned the door. I couldn't believe it when Ruth burst out laughing. "It was wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" she got out between her fits of humor and gasping for breath. She finally settled down enough to see my dazed expression and waited for Guillenno to straighten the car off down the street and head for hOlne. "You didn't understand a word he said, did you?" "Who said?" "Garza! He told that bunch he'd read their filth on his house and on his car. And that he knew they'd been calling him a coward. But for them to go home and get down on their knees and thank The Virgin of Guadalupe that they had seen him torear today." She burst into another fit of laughter before she Inanaged to continue. "And then, concerning his lack of valor, he said it was high tilne for all of them to finally know the truth, that if he took off his jockstrap, there'd be eggs all over the bullring!" **********

Tom, with Mercedes, joined Ruth and nle later for a Chinese "banquet" at Ruth's home. Her chef was an ancient maricon, sort of a pixie who was the "Mother Superior" of Ruth's flock of servants. Tom had Inentioned sOl1lething about "loving Oriental cuisine," and one of the other servants nlust have overheard. So the dinner was a surprise, even to Ruth. She laughed and told us that we both were having a great effect on her staff, which made us proud but a little nervous. Ruth brought the old man out from the kitchen, introduced hiITI as a genius at his trade, and warned us to notify her secretly if we had any further preferences in international cooking, or we'd be subjected to another "banquet" representing the country mentioned. "Flor Vieja" (his name was Ancient Flower) just stood there and giggled. Although Ruth spoke to us in English, he understood there was honest affection in her words about him and you just couldn't help liking the little fella. Most of the evening was spent on discussing the afternoon's bullfight. 1'he radio blared that it had been a major scandal, a social catastrophy, and that "Lorenzo el Magnifico" had been fined 5,000 pesos by the bullring authorities

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and thrown in jail. Ruth's experiedced sunlInation of what really happened was Iny first lesson in Nlexican philosophy, and-over the years-it was going to C0111e in Inighty handy. Garza had been fantastic! There was no doubt about that. But his ilnprornptu speech had individually insulted a good nUlllber of the "shady-side" spectators. 'fhcy paid a great deal for their seats, and a few of theln had been joined by their 11link-coated wives. People didn't discuss their "eggs" in front of ladies in those days. Hell, even in the United States, Clark Gable had just been allowed to say "dalnn." At any rate, forget all the ears and tails the Inatador had cut this glorious afternoon. All those wives in attendance had been verbally abused, and their husbands had to see to it that Lorenzo the ~lagnificent would be properly punished. Ruth concluded that Garza was probably out of jail and hOlne in bed before it got dark. And the 5,OOO-peso fine was a ll1ere pittance COlllpared to what he had been paid for his six-bull perforIllance. But now the "offended" \\Iives of the gentiell1en on the "shady side" could feel honorably placated, and all was well in lV1exico (~ity. \\Tell, I guess I could understand all that. "But," I questioned, "how could that one lady slap her husband-a full general-in front of all those people?" I loved to hear Ruth laugh. It was like bell ll1usic. "That fine lady," she explained, "is the first cousin of The President. She can slap anyone she chooses except, tnaybe, El Presidente hinlself. Anyway, she's probably been \\raiting a long tinlC for an excuse. He spends a lot of tinle at 'Ruth's.'" rIC)ll1 took the keys to the La Salle, and he and lV1ercedes went off on their own. I stayed all night again at the house, but without the benefit of the Inariachis. Still, even in that sensational lady's arnlS, I couldn't force Illy thoughts away fn)]l1 what I had witnessed that afternoon. Never had any single event Illade such an illlpression. Perhaps it was because the art of the bullring was so dangerous. ()r perhaps it was because it was so dalllned l11edieval. As a callow youth I'd always 1 I saw In . "L IM . 'l1lgh ts. "M 1 ay)e orenzo t lC agnl. f~]cent "h t e resurrectIon p Iayc( l at "k' of King Arthur, or Lancelot, or El Cid. '-

1

**********

I sat in the darkened Regis theater and watched the lnagic of Don Lorenzo Ciarza unfold on the screen frolll eight different calnera angles. Ruth had telephoned the hox office to see exactly what tinle the newsreel of the corrida would be shown and I arrived there fifteen Ininutes early. So had five hundred other afidOllados and I was lucky to get a seat. The oles fro In the theater crowd drowned out the narrator's voice, and what I saw again was now easier to understand. The Hlllagnificent" one was truly I1lagnificent. Fro In the low calnera angles I could see the hull's horns pclSS 111uch closer to the lnatador's legs and chest than I had

24

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reIneInbered, scant inches away . froIn diselnbo\veling' hiln. And he never lost his grace or COlnposure, which sho\\red 1l1e that he was confidently in control of every 1110ve-every pass. \\lhen the ten Ininutes of filtn ended, ahnost the entire audience got up and walked out of the theater. An Italian 1110vie was to follow the (0"rida and nobody gave a dalnn about that. Most especially ll1e, as I now hurried to the Banos Regis to find Iny traveling cOlnpanion. I had definitely lnade up Illy Inind as to what I intended to do and T"holn3s should certainly be the first to kn()\v. ""''hat do you Inean, you want to be a bullfighter?" He was a little shaken, but what upset Ine the Inost was that he was hig'hly ~Hnused. I said my piece-in no uncertain terIns. I was going to cash in Illy ticket around South Alnerica, stay in Mexico City, and knock Inyself out trying to le~un the art of t{(uronu/cbill. '}0111 was certainly aware of Iny .lthletic prowess .lnd IllV passionate desire to excel in everything I undertook. "s 0, " h ' d ,Vel)' serIOUs . Iy," w hat 1'f you get a I10rn up your ass!". . " e sal "C)vercolning danger is ,vhat it's all about. I'll live through it." "Christ, you could get yourself killed. How're you going to live throllg'h tbtlt?" "I'll take Iny chances, TOln. It'll be a long titHe before I ever face ,1 re,ll live bull and I intend to know what I'Ill doing by then. Ruth knows every torero in Mexico. She'll arrange for 111e to Ineet theln all. \\'110 else is ever going to get a shot at SOl1lcthing like this?" "-

•

•

L-

Tbl11 stood up frol11 the wooden bench and wrapped the big towel around his waist. The fact that Illy garrulous pal didn't say one lnorc word as he headed for the showers frankly upset Inc. I followed hinl for a nUlnbcr of steps, then figured I'd better hit hin1 quick with S01l1e infonnation I was certain he'd enjoy. "Ruth wants us both to 1110Ve into the house." 'T(un spun around. "For what? l-lell, I'lll sure not going to fight hulls! \Vhat do I do after I cash in tny ticket, sit up in the stands and yell ole! for you?" "Ruth intends to 1110Ve Mercedes in with you-as long as you want to stay." At seven sharp that evening Ralnon and C;uilIerIno arrived to help us lllove out of the l-lotel Regis. VVhen we stopped at the desk to pay our hill, there was no debt. Everything had been taken care of and I was genuinely clnbarrassed. "(~onsider it Mexican hospitality," TOln offered. Hyou know the expression-Mi casa es .I'll {{I.ra. Hell, at the rate you're going, you 11light end lip with a whole string of 'houses. '" I hit hill1 hard-on the ann.

********** The following two weeks raced by as if each day was in a huny to end so th~lt another one could start right away. Ruth kept her prolnise to have Ine Ineet the

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toreros, and she did it in a typically Ruth D'Laurage classy way. She, personally, introduced rr<>111 and lIlt: to "C:acho" Peralta who owned the Hotel Regis. Senor Peralta was also the E1J/preJo of EI Tareo and controlled Mexican bullfighting. He was a jolly character, hit the bottle pretty hard, and took a fancy to Ine. He'd seen ~l couple of Arnerican football garnes, thought they were unusually rough and dangerous, and considered Ine a courageous young 111an for having participated. But Ruth, (;od love her, didn't want Illy introductions to be involved with our (I guess vou'd c,lll it) afL1ir. So "Cacho" Peralta was the one who introduced me to C;eneral l\1axilnino C:alnacho, the brother of Avila Calnacho-the President of l\1exico. Now, General Maxinlino controlled eve1ything in his brother's country, sOlne thought even his brother. The general was an aficionado colorado-a redblooded, all-out bullfight fan, and he was intrigued with the idea of an Anlerican athlete actually wanting to beC01l1e a torero. At the time I never considered that he also Inight have been intrigued with the thought of an Atnerican athlete getting hill1sclf killed. But he was the only 111an in Mexico who had the power to "suggest" to Don Lorenzo Ciarza that he Blight take a few Ininutes away fronl his bride and the bulls to I1lake Iny hUlnble acquaintance, and perhaps even help me. ""!ell, you Inay have seen silllilar "suggestions" in Francis Ford Coppola's (;()({iilfbcrs 1 and 11, and Don Lorenzo, "The Magnificent," went out of his way to arrange Iny introduction. I will never forget the shock of that first Ineeting. I use the word "shock" instead of dis:lppointlllent because no one Ineeting Don Lorenzo Garza could ever be disappointed. But the great lnatador wasn't seven feet tall as I had suspected. (Ie stood closer to five-feet-eight. And, in his street clothes, he was anything hut Ill
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0

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"Carnicerito," Luis Castro-"EI Soldado"; and finally, even the true ]naestroFennin Espinosa-"Annillita." l'he ITIorning I was introduced to hinl he was accotnpanied by a young 71ovillero. A llovillero is a bullfighter not yet ordained as a full-fledged '1llotador de toros. The best way to describe the tertn in English is to cOlnpare hinl to a very professional intern who can actually handle operations but still has not received his license as a doctor. Novilleros usually fight slnaller, younger bulls, but lTIany of thenl have been killed before they ever had a chance to becoIne fortnal '111atadorcs. Well, the young fellow with the Inaestro was IV1exico's hot new prospect. He was altnost assured of heing able to take the a/terlllltivII to become a fonnallnatador the following season in EI 'Iorco. 'rhe ajici()}lIu/os prophesied a brilliant future for hiln. I--Ie and I got along inl111cdiately as he was going to the University of Mexico and learning English. I-Ie was a cute-looking, skinny kid with a big gold tooth right s111ackdab up front. I-lis nalne was C~arlos Arruza. Now the reason I have mentioned "two weeks" was that those fourtecn days encolnpassed the tiIne liInit of l()In 's relnaining visit in Mexico. \\'e had discussed ITIy decision at great length to pennanently alter the plans of our trip, and' 1()111 understood and had no hard feelings. I-Ie was already a licensed airplane pilot, ~1IH.1 he would now return for lllore serious training at Kelly Field in San Antonio, Texas. TOln had been stnart, after his graduation froln C:ulver, and had received his second lieutenant's c0111n1ission in the United States Ann)' Reserve. Ife advised ll1e, dead seriously, that our country was going to be involved in another World War before very ]11uch longer. A fortune teller in Los Angeles, a l\1rs. IIill, had told hiIll that he would be in unifonn within (1 year. And nine 1110nths of that year had already passed. At any rate, nly learning to to'!"e,,'!" brought us closer together than we had ever been before. I had kept our guide, Victor, on salary to translate for Ine. None of the Inajor tm'cro.\' spoke onc word of English ~lnd Illy knowledge of Spanish still included only ten words, starting with adios. \\'ell, believe Ine, Victor was in heaven being paid for Incrcly saying in English: HS enor Budd, Don Lorenzo says to hold your cape 111uch lower and to swing your body froIn the hips." Tonl kidded that tnaybe Victor would precede llle into the bullring as he was learning everything first. Victor, however, assured us tbllt would never happen. But, quite surprisingly, 'lC)lll was learning too. \Vc never S;lV,' Ruth or Mercedes during the day and Ton1 was there next to lne during all the daylight hours. He purchased a 16nll11 canlera and photographed Illy every I110ve. SOlnewhere, possibly even today in C;rosse Point or Detroit, is a full photographic account of an aillbitious gringo learning the basics of tareD. Ruth, of course, was wonderful. During dinner, and later, we discussed Illy problen1s in learning such a difficult and foreign art. She l1lade sug'gestions and was always willing to listen. In the very beginning I had no idea just how busy she was. I had Inet business tycoons through Iny fat11ily and their friends, hut I'd never

27

CHAPTER

ONE

1l1tt one who was a lady. Ruth had businesses everywhere. But she never let her prohlcrlls interfere with Inine. However, one late afternoon TOll1 and I Illade a big rnistake. l(Hll thought it a good idea to, personally, show llle 111)' lady's prilne establishrllent and I agreed. "Tell, "Ruth's" turned out to be even 1l10re than I expected. I twas sinl3tcd in the center of ~\1exico City's lnost exclusive residential district. 'The Illassi\'e graystone Inansion was surrounded by a ten-foot-high Inatching stone wall, behind which a cobblestone walk led through a Ineticlliously rnanicLlred tlower garden to the pillared front porch. Once inside, I was even Illore illlpressed. 'rhe downstairs ceilings \vere nventy feet above the Inarble fl{)()rs~ Italian sculprurc fonned the elaborate corner stones and the furnishings were fit for roy.llty. But what piqued tny attention the 1110st \\'as the guests' coatrOOlll, \\,here an arrav of expensive revolvers had been carefully placed and identically Ilulnhcred ~llongside their owners' hats. '1'0111 knew all the girls and took great delight in introducing Ine. 11()\\'c\'cr, it Illade Ille quite uncolnfortahle, as all the ladies of the night (and ~lftcrn()on) sure as hell knew just who I \,\ras. I suddenly felt like sOlneone's private property, cornpletely "off litnits" to the rest of the world. I resented that and was naive enough to 111ention it to Ruth that night at the dinner table. \,Vell, I'd never secn her angry. ()f course, I should have known better as you certainly don't get that powerful by just being sweet. Anyway, she put down her fork and looked a hole in tne fro111 across the table. Her eyes were suddenly coal black, even the white parts. L

""'"

\....

'--

ILIf I'd wanted you to visit there, darling, I'd have taken you there Illyself." And sorllcthing happened to Inc. ·'If I had known you felt this way," I said, very slowly, "I'd have nlost certainly suggested it. Ruth, I don't need another Illother!" '['here was an intcrrninahle 1110Illcnt of silence. Then Ruth said ole! and went hack to her dinner. \\"ell, I'd slIre as hellrnade a point, hut I was dcterrnined never to upset her ;lgain. Not because I was afraid of her wrath, hut because she was so a ll-o\'cr wonderful. '1(>111 turned out to bc SOllleonc

I'd never actually known before. I had

thought of hiln as a pbyboy, a spoiled, good-looking brat who always got what and whorll he wanted. Still, during those two weeks I CaIne.to know hinl as sensitive, ;lnd caring-, and-we1l, a g-ood and close friend, not just an ex-claSslllate or traveling corllpaniol1. lIe was scared to death about Iny new choice of professions, as he was certain I'd be killed by the first bull I faced. I assured hiln everybody dies and to relax. Four (bys after we said goodbye at the airport, an internation~l telephone call C~lInc through for 111e at Ruth's. It was TOln's brother, Richard, calling frol1l [)ctrnit. -nun had ;In accident while taking off in his own plane on a routine flight. .. and he was dead.

2H

WIIE~

1;-...;

DISCRACL

I thanked Richard for calling as if nothing had happened, then hung up the phone and walked upst~1irs to sit on the bed th~lt '1()111 JIld .\lercedes h~HI shared. And then I started to cry. SOInehow I sensed that Ruth W~lS standing in the doorway, but still I couldn't stop sobbing. I tried to rCI11cIllher the very bst til1H~ I h~HI shed ~1 tear, but I couldn't. It was too long 'lgO. I did relnelnbcr th;n I had heen ashalned of crying-whenever it W~lS. But I W~1sn't .1shalned of it now. Looking up, I discovered th~lt Ruth was still standing therc watching l11e, not .It ;111 clnbarrassed for Ine, just waiting for ~1n expbn~ltion. '''1()I11 got hilllself killed in his airplane," I said. She nodded, turned and w;llked off down the st;lirs. '1'hen, \'Cry II nexpected Iy, I SLl rted to Sh;l ke. I t was as if I were slldd~n h· freezing, and I knew it was fe;)r. ;\le, ,~rr(/id.' I couldn't believe it. I tried t() rationalize that I was afraid for 'I()1l1, or his Ill()ther, or .... 'I'he hell I \\';1S. I \\,;lS suddenly terrified for tnyself. I didn't want to die~ (;()d, th:11 was sc1fish. But it W;lS truc. l(nn, \\'ho had c\'crythi ng in th is world to Ii\'c for, h~lll just hcen ki lied. ,\ 'hy? II e sure as hell \vasn't looking for tbllf.' But I was ..\ly own ego was going to put tlle in the bullring with ,1ninl,1Is who could destro\,. IllC. (;()od (;od, here I was frightened about 'I}~)' life-when I'd just lost one of nly hest friends. \ \rh~lt .1 S()n()f;lhitch~ I by down on Iny back and literally forced those thoughts out of In~' Illind, But they flashed hack. I couldn't stop thelll. '1 llrning over OIl Illy s\olllach, I ground Illy fingernails into the bedspread. I was d~l1nned if I W;1S going to 11l()\'C :lnothcr inch until I got hold of IllYsclf. And I lay still like th:1t .. .for:1 long, long titlle. Mercedes just went to pot. Ruth spent three hours with her ~lt the h()spiLll before they could straighten her out enough to hring her hOlne. I guess .\ lercctil's taught nle a Jot about real wOlllen's enH)tions. liCIT W;lS ;1 pr()stitlltl'-~l "hooker"-who really loved Iny pal. I had no idea. I wondered whether '(CHll\ real sweetheart in St. Louis had been that greatly Ino\'Cd. Ruth knew I w;lnled to he alone, so she arranged a weeklong business trip to P;1ris. And she: took ,\lercedL's with her. 1()Jll'S nl0ther cal1ed Ine ri gh t a fter the fu ner~11. It was the: s~ltne cult II red voice I had learned to respect when she had visited 'l()(n at schoo\. She h~ld heen a widow for years and I knew her as the "hoss." F~lcts were facts for J\1rs. Joy ~1Ild. although I knew she was dying inside, her tone was well Illodui:ltcd .1ntl strictly to the point. "()scar," she began, "1'111 sure rrhoInas understood that you just couldn't he here. But you really should have seen hiln. I Ie looked so handsollle. You know, we buried hiln in his C:ulver uniforn1." I grahbed the chair next to the telephone so th~lt Iny knees wouldn't buckle. "C;ood C;od!" I said out loud. . The fortune teller fron1 Los Angeles had heen right~ ~

29

Cll.-\PTER

O:\E

**********

Ruth stayed in Paris for ten days. The lady never I1lade a wrong 1110ve. She understood that I needed to be alone, that she could be absolutely no help to Ille at that tilne, "lnd she was so right. C;etting Iny life back into perspective was SOlnething I had to do, now, all by 111yself. \"nat shocked I11e 1110St was the realization that I had been cOlllpletely satisfied by the \,vay Life had treated ll1e. lIell, talk .lbour 'j()l1l being spoiled. I was just as conlplacently oblivious to everything that was transpiring around Ine-if it didn't concern Iny own happiness and welfare. \ \'ell, the first few days of that horrible week \vere spent in serious self-recrinlination. I rClninded rnyself a thousand titnes that if I hadn't decided to follow a whinl and try to becolne, of all things, a bullfighter, TOlll would still be alive. And we'd be on a luxury liner on the way around South AInerica. I guess everyone involved in a personal tragedy thinks of all the "ifs" and takes lnasochistic delight in blaIlling hilnsclf for everything. vVcll, that had to stop. I had nothing to do with l()In'S death. It was Fate. And, (ialnn it, froln now on I would believe that: ~~vVhat is to be will be." I was detcnnined to guide Iny future onto an intelligently planned, str~lightforwanl tnlck. And if C;od thought I was doing a good job at it, then I figured lie Blight let Ille hang around a while to enjoy it. I didn't practice at EI 10reo for an entire week. I was very concerned as to what the toreros' attitude would be when I returned. Here were Illen dealing with death on il constant hasis, and I had shacked up with Illy own sorrow for seven long days of Illourning. \Vell, they were wonderful. Every one of 111Y new torero friends was filled with cornpassion and unuerstanding and appreciative of Iny deep reillorse. IIere were 1l1en in the Inost dangerous profession in the world: hard and cynical, llnd fatalistically inclined to accept dreadful fortune. But Luis (:astro, "El Soldado," the toughest of the lot, set Inc straight. "We have all learned to cry," he said sirnply. ul\;o l11al1 should be asharned of that." Learning to fon:Il1' was by far the rllost frustrating endeavor of Iny athletic career. Bullfighting is not based on l11llscles. Agility, of course, and foot-speed when it hecoilles necessary, but the art of tflur071l1lchia has three Inaxil11S of technique: to p(/rtn~ stand still and cabnly watch the bull corne; to l1Ul1ultn~ Inake the hull ohcy the cloth-dolninatc hinl with it, and tC7JlP/fl1; 1l10Ve the cape or 11l1detll slo\\'ly, calrnly and suavely, giving a rhythnl to the action of the nlan and bull. I want to tell you, an AIl1Crican athlete is really a fish out of water during his early training in the bullring. Everything I'd ever done in sports was powerful, or lightning-fast or evasive. And Inos! of that W~lS usually accolnplished in a hurry. I loved the first rt.!t)uisite: "Stand still and calrnly let the bull cOllle." (:oll1e where-straight into Illy belly? "'hen you're holding a cape for the first tiIne, looking off at a sIl1all boy who is carrying a set of hull's horns to rush at you, it gives you pause. I had a kid

30

\'\' I l E ;\

I

~

DIs (; R :\ (: F

playing the "bull" for Ine who was the Inost serious 12-yc,lr-old I'd ever known. I Ie sharpened the points of the horns so that when he "gored" 1l1e in the leg;s I would learn and relnenlber that bulls can be injurious to your health. I \\'ould dreanl about that little bastard night after night. Also, even 1l10re ilnportant than Iny daily training, Illy lifestyle had changed dranlatically. I decided to keep Iny car in Ruth's garage and walk to and frolH the bullring each day. I didn't need to he a rich gringo perhaps taking a shot at hullfighting as a lark. And I was living a lie to Illy parents for the very first tinlC. When I spoke with Iny nlother the night I learned of '1()111 's 'lccicient, she was confused as to why she and dad hadn't been able to reach Inc ~lt thc Regis. I told her that I was staying with a friend, at least for clwhilc, and th,lt there W~lS no telephone. Then I was illllncdiately concerned enough to rent a singh! rOOlll b,l(:k at the hotel, and requested the desk to take all Illy calls. I would check hack with the switchboard each night. The head desk clerk said he'd he delighted and would even go out of his way to l11ake Iny very elnpty r00l11 sceln occupied, for a slllall gratuity. So I learned about "gratuities" in Mexico. 'rhe slang expression in Spanish is 1110rdidn (the "bite"), and if you stay there long enough, your hody and your wallet will look as if you've been attacked by a giant SW~lrlll of killer •

L

Inosqultos. Anyway I worked harder th,ln I ever thought possihle. And I read evcrything' about bulls and bullfighting I could find in English. Ruth bought 111e a n:ritahle library of Spanish books on the art, and she and good old Victor supplied 1l1e with daily translations of these tllurine bibles. 'fhen, very unexpectedly, I g
3I

CIIAPTER

ONE

look like ballet dancers just for cosllletic purposes, or so that they're I1l0re appealing in their tight-tItting pants. "The heavier the Inan, the bigger the hole," Iny new pals loved to tell nle. \\-'hen bulls gore, they spin you on their horns. \Vhat looks like a reasonable puncrure in your thigh or your rump is usually two or three tillles larger when the doctor cuts you open to clean the wound. Well, I got a hig one the third tillle I faced a l1ovil/o-a three-year-old bull. When I woke up in the hospital directly across the street from El Toreo, the first people I saw were a doctor and two nurses. I couldn't feel anything, well-anything but embarrassIllent as they were peering between Iny parted legs at the deep goring in my rump. 'rhe doctor said J.\-tll}' gl'flve! and the two nurses nodded. I was beginning to progress with Iny Spanish and I understood the doctor. "Very dangerous," to say the least, was very disconcerting! I couldn't sit up. And I couldn't turn away. And I certainly wasn't comfortable looking at them looking up into Iny bowels. So I closed nly eyes and tried to rClllernher just what had happened. What I managed to "bring back" wasn't hazy or out of focus. It was just plain durnb. I had actually tried to impersonate Lorenzo in one of his spectacular kneeling passes with the muleta. I hadn't been gored by the first tossing when the hull's right horn had caught me under Iny knee and cartwheeled nle onto the sand. But the shock of hitting the ground headfirst had dazed met and I renlained in that awkward position-head down, rear end waiting-as the elated animal turned to take dead aim. Christ, I hadn't been in exactly that position sincc Iny first nurse gave me an enenla. Of course, the result was just the saine, but the injection was the left horn of a bull, and I went riding across the hullring. It didn't hurt! Thaes what I remelnbered most. It did feel hot down there. But it didn't hurt. Then I remetnbered a lot of pink capes swirling to Iny rescue, and things went black. I also remelnbered that, right then and there in the hospital, I wished I was back in the bullring and things were just black, because, now, everything-including my teeth-ached. I felt as if I had been run over hy a herd of starnpeding elephants-twice. I also remember that "come to" nlOl11cnt vividly. I wondered if I'd live. And then, because I'd never experienced such all-over pain, I really didn't give a dalnn. But, in a weird way of thinking, that accident was ilnportant to me. Now, I had finally joined the group. It was sort of like an aviator getting his "wings." When a new young star comes along in Mexico or Spain, the experienced matadors slnile and say: uWell, let's wait until he gets gored." Many times, after serious gorings, young toreros enter law school, or buy a small shop and go into business. ()f course, I was a bit disappointed that the new "hole" wasn't visible in my leg like rllost everybody else's. \\Then I wanted to brag about Iny survival, I had to ask Iny adtnircrs to "step into the Inen's room." Then, just when I knew I was truly getting somewhere, I got the first urgent

32

WHEN

IN

DISGRACE

call from mother. She had learned what I was doing and wasn't about to Inake it any easier for me. Naturally she had understood why I had canceled the trip. Tom's death had been a terrible shock to me. But, bullfighting! Really! "'hat would her friends think? And by this time you should know tha t Georgia Boetticher was a very clever and determined lady. She could hold back the coup de grace until it was absolutely necessary. "If you don't stop this disgraceful behavior and come home inl1nediately, your father and I will discontinue any further financing of your vacation. We mean this, Oscar!" Now, when either of my folks called me Oscar, instead of their pet name of Budd, I knew I was in serious trouble. But, this tiIne, I handled it like a torero. "Fine, mother, do as you wish. I'll get along." And I hung up. God damn, that felt good! I sold the La Salle only six days later, because nothing-absolutely nothing-was going to stop me now! My decision to sell the La Salle was not just intelligent planning for the future. It was a brilliant business transaction. Ruth knew a fat little politician who was losing a host of constituents. She convinced hilTI that if his doubting followers saw him driving around in my new, bright yellow convertible, he'd be a shoo-in at the coming election. So he "begged" me out of the car for ahnost double its original price. And immediately the physical agony of my training becalne fun again, as I could now afford to take my lady "out on the town." We went everywhere together, thankfully at my expense, and I didn~t feel like an unpaid gigolo anymore. We spent the evenings at the theater, or sOlnetilnes at rOlnantic Xochimilco's floating gardens. Occasionally we went to the Hipodrolllo to watch the races, and Sundays were always reserved for El Toreo. But never did we visit "Ruth's" or a nightclub. I was really in love. And it wasn't just sex, or the chance that I was being blinded by the sheer abundance of everything Ruth was Illaking possible because of her honest affection for me. d grown up enough since I had arrived in Mexico to understand this delicate situation in a Inature way. Facts were facts. I adored her; it was temporarily real, but I also knew it couldn't last. Twenty years-or whatever the difference in our ages was-well, it was just too Inuch to expect any good to come of it. And, when the proper tilne arrived, I'd be Inan enough to explain it to her. In the meantime ... When I checked my telephone calls at the Regis, there had been one froln California. The lady who called had said that I knew the nUlnber. I sure as hell did! Mother and I discussed the Blood and Sand thing at great length. I told her I was happy in Mexico and had no intentions of rerurning to the states. She assured me that both she and Dad were proud of my new independent attitude, but missed me with all their hearts and "most importantly" the position at Fox would

r

33

CIIAPTER

O~E

only he a tCll1porary thing. Just as I was about to say "no" for the final time, I heard Illy father's voice. "Georgia, I'd like to say hello to Budd, and I'd appreciate it if you'd allow us to speak in private." 'There was a lengthy pause as I knew she was leaving the rOOlTI. I was sure ,\'1other understood her Inarriage vows, and she did "obey" Dad now and then when the rcq uest caugh t her fancy. "Son," Dad began, "I don't very often step in between you and your mother. But, this tilne, I'd appreciate the favor she asked for 1}!e," "~I'· or )'0/1, D 3C1"''' :' H()scar, your Inother has been having S0I11e problems. The last tilne the two of you spoke, well, I thought we were going to lose her. If she wants you to 111ake that appoinnnent at the srudio, for Ute, cOlne up here and take your best shot at it. ()kay?" "Yes, sir," I said. And I Ineant it. I ncver really knew Illy dad until he \vas well into his eighties. He was fifty \\'hen I was born: sclf-Inade, successfully tough and hard as nails. He had never understood Inc and I kept my distance. But I respected hinl. Boy, did I respect hitn! It would he Illany years before I got smart enough to love hinl. But two days latcr I was on the plane to Los Angeles. **********

'rhe plane trip frotll Los Angeles to Mexico City had been a nerve-racking expericnce but, as I settled into the back seat of the taxi for the long trip to Ruth's, I dis('ovcred I ",'as even Inore upset by the problelns which now confronted 111e. I had just accepted ~l job that was going to take Ine to Hollywood and Spain for a long, IOllg tilHe. 'rhe trip had been a huge success, as far as Mother was concerned. But, ho",' was I going to explain this to the wonderful friends who had trusted Ille and believed in Iny sincere desire to becollle a tore1"o? \\That in the hell \\-'as 1 going to tell "Arrnillita," and Lorenzo, and the others at EI Toreo? How was I going to explain to those professionals that I got the position as "Technical ()ircctor" Illercly because I could speak English, and Inake a few fancy passes with the cape and lilli/eta, and had only one-hundredth of their knowledge of the bulls? Naturally, 'l\\'cntieth C:cnrury-Fox couldn't afford the maestro or Garza even during their off-season, hut one of the 1'1oviIJeros like Carlos Arruza was certainly 1l1uch (nore suited for the job. I sure as the devil wasn't going to tell thenl the truth of the very first thing I had learned about the ITIotion picture business: It isn't what you know-it's \VI10 you know. I figured Hal Roach's call to Darryl F. Zanuck tnight have helped a little. Now, Ruth would understand. She understood everything. But I was disap-

3-l

V\'IIEr'\

l~

01S(;RA(:F

pointed and hurt that Ralnon and C;uillenno didn't tneet Ine at the plane. ()f course, the Hight had been extreillely late, but I thought they would have waited. I renlell1bered that I lllade it very clear I was taking the night Hight when I spoke to Ruth froln the house. Ciood Ciod! I sat up straight in Iny scat. No one h'1(1 been hOllle when I telephoned. I had Inade very sure about that. But, Jesus, that was stupid! 1'\0 ..\1other would never stoop to that. I twas 2: 15 in the Inorning when the taxi dropped 111e off at the hOllse. I let Illyself in with Iny own key, but the hedroolll was clnpty. And there ".'as no note-nothing. I sat on the bed for a long, long tilne trying to pull Illy thoughts together; then I telephoned for another cab. 'rhe street in front of Ruth's 1l1ain establishlllent was lined with Elncy ;1utotnobiles and long black lilllousines when Illy taxi let 111e out at the Inain gate. 'I'he liveried chauffeurs who \vere standing around in tight little groups stopped ch~lt­ ting and watched 111e as I stepped to the night-bell and pushed the button. 'l'hey'd oln'iously heen there a long tilnc and nlost of thenl h;1<.1 been drinking heavily. 'rhere was no need to worry about their bosses. 'l'he J11usic and bughtcr CI11;ln;1Iing frolll inside the house ;lssured theln all that none of the guests would return to their cars cold soher. Fortunately, the servant who caIne to the gate recognized Inc froJll Iny earlier visit with 'I()lll. I followed hilll up the cobblestone w,llk with the increasing desire to turn around and get the hell out of there, hut it was too late. Ruth spottcd Ine in the doorway the 11linute I stepped into the house. She WilS sitting ;H ;1 table with the Illatador, Alberto Balderas, and four political-looking charactcrs I illll11edi.llely didn't like. Spotting Iny irritated expression frolH clcar .lcross the rOOIH, she excused herself fronl her guests and hurried to nlcet 111e. "\/Velc0I11e honle, darling," she said. ·'Coille in and join the party." "I didn't know there was going to hc .1 parry, Ruth." She slniled. "It's for Illy birthday." "Ruth, your birthday is a week frotn Saturdav." "It's a s~lI'prise party: honey. 1\1any of these g~ntlelllen ~lre po/ificw', ;tnd a week frol11 Saturday they will be calnpaigning all over 1\:1exico." I wanted to say: "Shit!" hut 1 thought hetter of it. But 111)' expression IllUSl have said it for Inc. ~'Relax, darling. 'rherc was no way for you to know. I didn '{ find out about their plans until this Inorning. (:onle on in. You'll like SCHne of these people." I looked around, and wondered if I would. (=~rtainlv J\;lexico's Hl.lle-elite W~lS in attendance: politicians, busincsslllcn, socialites, hank'crs-cveryonc of illlportanee who wasn't "out of town." T'hrce toreros nodded to 1l1C frolll the har, hut I couldn't renlelllber their nanles. Finally: "Ruth-I'nl dead tired." I tried to slnilc. "I just couldn't stand one 1110J11ent

35

CIJ.-\PTFR

O~E

of fun. I've-I've got to get saIne sleep." She looked up at Ine with those black, black eyes for a long moment. "Sweetheart," she finally said, Hdon't be upset. This is what I do." UI'nl not," I lied. HLook, I'll stay at the Regis. After tonight, you'll need your seep I too. " U\\11atever you say. Ramon and Guillermo are asleep in the car. Have then1 drive YOli to the hotel." And she tiptoed up to kiss me on the lips, then turned to walk back to her table. r \\'3tched her for a Inoment more as she rningled with the guests. They \vere all attractive, well-dressed gentlenlen, but the sight of her surrounded by all those bastards 111ade nle sick at my stomach. Turning away, I headed for the inside parking space in search of the "boys," but I hadn't taken ten steps before a horrible thought struck 1l1e. Ruth hadn't even asked Ine if I'd got the job. I Inade a point of 110t telling her over the phone. I wanted it to be a surprise. Now the sickening feeling in Iny guts hit rock bonoln. Sure as hcll her nunlber had been traced and she'd already had the pleasure of rneeting C;eorgia. I slept fitfully in Illy Regis single rOOI11 until two in the afternoon. DaInn it, Illy beautiful rnother was not a "bad" person. She was just spoiled enough to .1lways dClnand "her way" and Dad didn't have the tilne or the inclination to be hothered about that. Everything IHy mother did was absolutely correct in her Illind. She loved Ine-to death-and protected me with her life, whether I liked it (or even knew about it) or not. She was a lioness protecting her young but, hell, I hacln?t been a "cuh" for years. All of this would have been easy for nle to handle if I didn't give a darnn. But I really loved her even as meddlesome and overbearing as she was because, when she wanted to be cute, and fun, and clever, she was absolutely adorable. 'rhe prohlem was she rationed ITIOst of that good stuff as far as I was concerned and had driven Inc crazy for years with her Ineddling. Well, when I got horne I'd handle this new debacle with grace. Maybe she did have a "heart prohlcln." She called it "angina pectoris." I'd looked it up and it sounded serious, so I couldn't take a chance. An)'\\'ay, she Inay have done me a favor, because the siru;uion with Ruth was sotnething I didn't know how to handle. And I certainly wasn't looking forward to that evening. There was a Inessage at the desk. The "boys" would he hy at seven. I found hoth "Armillita" and Lorenzo at their homes. They were sensational, both cOlllplctely understanding and delighted with my good forrune. Ferrnin was funny. I Ie reminded me that he, Fermin Espinosa-"Armillita"-was the true Nllll1CrO Uno-the Number One-but that recently both "Chucho" Solorzano and C;arza had starred in movies, and now he had been-at least in the eyes of the 111otion picture audience-relegated to the NUlnero Tres position. He hinted that

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if the folks involved 'with Blood (Jut! Sand decided to filrn in l\1exico instead of Spain, he'd appreciate a shot at doubling "1\1r. Power." I pn>Inised hiln I'd stay right on top of that. Boy, I arrived in Mexico as a gringo athlete 'lIlti now I was the "agent" for the best bullfighter in the world. **********

vVhen I stepped down into the sunken living rOOI11, Ruth wasn't seated under the Ruano Llopis bullfight painting. She sat to one side of tht gi.lnt fireplace beneath a sensitive Inasterpiece by Siqueiros: a subdued oil of a little girl-crying. At her feet \vas a broken doll. Jesus, this W~lS going to be even tougher than I ilnagined. But I had to suppress a slnile. Under these saine CirCUll1SUnCes, Illy 1110ther would have been seated in the identical spot. l)allln, both Illy ladies were good! Neither one ever Inissed a trick. So 1 figured I'd hetter get right to the pOInt. "Ruth," I began, "this has been the 1110st ... " "\A'onderful tinle of Iny life," she finished for nle. "I Inean it. You've given Ille a youth I never had, happiness I'd never really known, and I do love you with all Iny heart." She stood and walked to llle to entwine her fingers at the back of Illy neck. "()scar, you can be anything in this world you want. I just pray that this Illarvelous thing we've shared will help prepare you for whatever future you choose." I started to speak, but she pushed her forehead against Iny lips, then hit Inc with the punch line. "Find yourself a wonderful girl your age who loves you as l11uch as I do :lnd 1 prolnise you happiness as long as you live." ) cleared Illy throat, and hesitated to he certain she had finished. 'I'hen: "I was going to tell you, I accepted that job in I Iollywood. It \\'~lS ilnportanl. ... " "It's l'e?) illlportant," she said softly. wrhat was being ~l Sl11~lrt boy." "We'll 1l1eet ag~1in, Ruth. You know I'll be b'l(:k." "1'111 sure you plan to, Angel," she said. "But we never get what we want the l11ost, so we all just have to do the hest we can." "\Afc did, Ruth. T'here was nothing wrong with what we've had." She siniled. "Nothing at all, Illy love, except C;od's rotten tilHing. Ile arranged for Ine to be only about two years younger than your Il1other." *•********

The flight back to Los Angeles was routine except for lny thoughts ;In
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Illother, I had done the right thing. And I pronlised Inyself that, once Blood ond Stll1d cOlllpleted its fihning, I'd hurry back to Mexico to continue my training, I was certainly aware that no other American had the opportunities afforded me. Just getting to know "Annillita" and Garza were two gigantic strokes of good fornIne. ~J() have theln both as personal Inentors was an opportunity no one should disIniss. I'd return to ,,~cxico just as soon as I could and, one day, take the alte1~­ /ltUi'i}1I to hecolne a fortnal 111t1tndor de tm'os-only the third Anlerican behind I-Iarper Lee and Sidney Franklin. Mother Inet 1l1C at the airport. Dad, as usual, had SOITIe business to attend to. \\'hen we walked out to the new Packard convertible, mother smiled, bowed low and held the driver's-side door open for me. But I stepped around the rear of the C~lr and plopped down in the passenger's seat. Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever fazed that lady. She should have been an actress. Hell, she was! "l~ow silly of Ine," she laughed. "You must be dead tired." I acknowledged, with a grunt, that I was. She turned the key in the ignition and the 1l1otor purred. She didn't speak again until we hit the highway. "Darling, your father and I were very proud of the way you handled yourself down there." She pronounced "down there" as if they were two dirty words. "Oh," I said, "alhout what?" "Well, selling the La Salle for one thing. That was very brave." "'"[hank you." "So, your father and I would like you to have this one as long as you're here. I should never have purchased this con .... " I sat up straight to look across at her. '\\10111, you're dynalnite! But stop manipulating Inc. You're the best-looking Illother in this whole daInn world, but ... " " She ghlnced in the Illirror to snlile at Ine. "Honey, now you're manipulating Ine." "\-Vell, then congratulate nle, Mother," I said, as I leaned across to kiss her on the check, "hecause I learned my lessons froln a 'pro.'"

38

CHAPTER

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Two

'0 BEEN HOME ONLY THREE DAYS WHEN THE STUDIO NOTIFIED j\1E

that my training of Tyrone Power would begin on the following Monday. I was to be at the Power home on Tigertail at ten each Inorning, then report to)o Swerling's office at two in the afternoon. That way, if Mr. Swerling needed some information about the ways of bullfighters and their bulls, I could supply it for him. He was, more or less, following the plot-line of the original version of the Blasco-Ibanez novel, but he had some ideas of his own. I was reading the Los Angeles Times in the living room that Monday Inoming when I overheard Illy parents' voices from the dinette. "Isn't Budd supposed to be at work by ten o'clock?" "He'll be there, Oscar. The studio is sending a lilTIousine to pick hinl up." "They're going to pick hinl up here to take hilTI back to Fox on Pico Boulevard?" "He's going to Mr. Power's home over on Tigertail." "Well, shouldn't he be waiting outside?" "You don't 'wait outside' for a linlousine." There was a long pause before I heard Iny father's voice again. "Let me get this straight. They're sending a chauffeured limousine over here to take him up the hill to Tigertail?" "Every day that he trains with Mr. Power." ''Jesus Christ, Georgia, that stupid studio is going to have to pay that chauffeur four times more a week than they pay Budd." "That's their problem." "It sure as hell is!" My father, as the boss, would have saved the studios Inillions.

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I have ahvays been well aware of the honest fact that if I had seen anyone of thL hundreds of bullfights I\'e witnessed before the alnl0st-perfect one of Don Lorenzo (~arza, I \... ould be writing tirades against the art along the lines of (]e\'dand Alnory. I-Iowever, I would certainly spend a Illuch Illore substantial anHHH1t of tirne srudying Illy subject before I started spitting venonl. There is a great deaJ wrong with the ancient art of HtauroInachia," but there is also beauty and pageantry in\'olvcd if what you see is perfonned by professionals who Inake it a point of honor to always give their best against full-sized, well-bred fighting hulls whose rnain desire is to kill thenl. \Vell, the rnotion picture business is cut froIn the saIne I1101d. Much of it is rotten, and InJny of its nlembers are untalented and dishonorable, involved in what should be a lnajor art only to Jllake a selfish "buck." But those wonderful people who labored passionately on the production of Blood and Sand sho\ved Ine the hest of everything. f\nd halfway through the filming I knew I was hooked. 'rhis period of Illation picture history was Hollywood at its best. There was no Inale star nl0re glarllorous than ~vrone Power. And Ty \vas Inarried to one of the finest ladies who ever graced the screen-the beautiful French actress, Annabella. It was apparent to Jne, during the very first vleek of "bullfight lessons," th.lt Nlrs. Power was the real "power" behind the throne. She, very surreptitiously, guided her handsoIlle husband through that period of his life. And having the opportunity to begin Illy career with a star who was just as all-over nice as his publicists clailned, was 111Y fIrst real break in an industry that doesn't throw a lot of "breaks" in your direction. j\1r. Roubcn l\1al11oulian was a very talented director to sit behind and study. And I discovered very quickly that that was exactly what I was doing, studying hiln with all Illy IlliglH. I-Ie knew precisely what he wanted-to "paint" the Inost artistically beautiful color fihn of that "AcadenlY Award" year. That was all he set out to do. But I, very silently, disagreed with that approach because he didn't seenl to give a dallln ahout his suhject Inatter or whether it was authentic in its story telling or not. lIe was sensitive in his direction of Rita Hayworth and Ty hut disregarded any suggestion that what ~vrone was doing on the screen as a torero was dcvoid of authenticity. I can write this because I was the fella who was paid to Jnakc thesc suggestions. Not-for C;od's sake-to interfere with his conception, hut just to answer his questjons as to what was "right" and what was "wrong." If we had been 1l1aking a baseball picture, I would probably have suggested that, following a well-hit haHt the runner should race to first base instead of third. I-Ialfway through the picture I stopped lllaking suggestions, and finally Mr. Mallloulian began to tolerate Iny presence a trifle. But, dalnn, he was a great talcnt whcn he was directing a scene he understood and cared about. Still, I Inade up rny Blind that if I ever hecarne a director, I'd never have a "technical advisor" on

40

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Iny set. Figuring, quite correctly, that if I hadn't spent the time and energy to personally becon1e an authority on my filtn's subject, I had no right to be the director of that particular picture. Also, thinking back to that glan10rous period, I was thrilled to be involved with such an array of talented stars and featured players. No one was Illore beautiful or sincerely sweet than Rita Hayworth-unless, of course, it was Linda Darnell. On Blood and Sand you could take your pick. And then there was Madallle Nazilnova, wholn Mr. Malnoulian never addressed other than that. And there was Laird Cregar, and John Carradine, and J. Carroll Naish. I've saved Anthony Quinn for last because our forty-plus-year friendship started then. I've always loved rrony for his talent, his sensitivity, and his steadfast desire to be the vcry best he can be in anything he undertakes. It was on Blood ilnd Sand that I got Iny first opportunity to inject sOlnething of Inine into a Jllovie. My real benefactor on the show, \Villianl Koenig, saw Inc dance the tm-ero :\' paso doble in the EI Patio nightclub in Mexico C:ity. It's a doubletin1e step, where the gentlenlan dances the part of the Inatador, while his partner, her arIl1S outspread to fashion horns, plays the part of the bull. It's a lot of fun. All the young folks dance it in the countries featuring bullfighting. Bill Koenig enjoyed what he saw, passed the inforInation on to Mr. Mal1l0ulian, and 1 was requested to show Geneva Sawyer, the studio's lovely assistant dance director, the various 1l10Velllents and she would, in turn, choreograph it f()r a 11lOSt illlportant sequence in the picrure. It rurned out spectacularly: Rita in her flalning-crill1son gown and Tony looking every inch the to 1"f ro, and I was proud to explain to Iny dad that I had a little to do with that. But I'n1 sure he didn't believe 11lC. What shouldn't have surprised 111C, but did, was that in a fihn of this 111agnitude all hell can break loose: people fall in and out of lovc, S01l1C turn lip pregnant, others never speak again. There are lawsuits and cven deaths. It's ~l lot like living on a battleship, except during Illovie-Inaking there arc both Illcn lind WOJllcn involved. And 'fI-IA1"' is the hitch. (~()nsequently, I discovered that a 111otion picture director Illust he prepared to be a doctor, lawyer, intirllatc friend and priest if he's going to keep the Call1eraS rolling on a lengthy scheduled production. You cannot just be involved with your own personal whill1S clnd prohleJlls. You arc the boss and a big picrure is a "War," and-as the general-you are responsihle for your troops against the enelny. And "today's" enclny Inay very well be your financier and your producer. l~he best news to Ine caIne when I learned that we were to fihn all the .lction sequences in Mexico, not Spain. I did get "Annillita" the job of douhling 'Iyrone and, as to be expected, he was sensational. I guess I should also have expected to see Ruth. Everyone of ilnportance in Mexico was there that day. I was standing in the cal/ejon, the alleyway behind the red fence surrounding thc ring, and she was

41

CIIAPTER

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sitting in the first row above Ine \vith a lnost distinguished gentlelnan about her age, and she looked happy. I nodded up to her and she slniled back. That was the bst tinlc I was ever to see her, but what an ilnpression that great lady had nlade on Inv life. (\0\\", you Illust relnelnber that all these Hwords of wisdoIll" were fonnulated Inany years ago. I al1l putting down ilnpressions of what I thought then. S0l11ctiInes that's clnbarrassing to do. In thinking back, I guess the one thing that irritated Inc the 1110st was that ?\1r. ~lalnoulian had two bells attached to his director's chair. The one on the right ann was for Robert ""ebb, his assistant director; the one on his left was for Ine. ()ne ring for Robert, two rings for me. But I had to end lip standing directly in front of him after he rang, while Bob was allowed to be off to one side. C;od, I disliked that I11an! Hell, during that period I didn't even like Bob ""'ebb, who eventually turned out to be a fine ITIotion picture director on his own and a dalTIned fine friend. At any rate, what I decided about directors was that there had to he rooln for sOlneone who was "nice." And I never changed that personal prolnisc to I11yself. The only people I ever fought with in Hollywood were executives \vho could fire Ine. I ilnagine the Illost alnusing IncInory of Blood and Sand was that I survived Iny first firing. ()ur entire c0l11pany had just returned to the Hotel Refornla after an incredibly dreadful con"ida. rrhe bulls had been cowardly, the matadors had heen terrified, and it was a cOll1plete disaster. In his suite, Mr. Darryl F. Zanuck was holding court. Unfortunately, the finale of his tirade against bullfighting was dircctcd at J11C. "Now, you tell I11e this is an art. Bullshit! \\That's exciting to Ine is to go as far up the rnountain as you can in a truck, switch to a 111ule to get up to the tiInberline, then c1inlb and struggle and clilnh until you sight your quarry. rrhere he is, a hundred yards away, a Inountain lion or a grizzly bear. You slide down on your helly on a rock, take a head on hilTI through your rifle-sight, and begin to squeeze the triggcr. 'rhat's the wonderfully exciting InOlnent when you really don't know if you're going to hit hinl." "Yes, sir," I blurted out, "hut you sure as hell know he isn't going to hit you." "'cll, that night I got .11l the way to the airport before Bob Webb found I11e to tell 1l1C all WalS, tClnporarily, forgiven. C:onsequently, as a director, I've always allowed sirnilar young jcrks to tnake several sirnilarly stupid 111istakes before they were sent on their way. Because of uAnnillita's" predated bullfight contracts, the shooting schedule of BloD(~ (Iud :"tllld. Wits revised to start at Fox Studios on its stages, fly the cOnlpany to MeXICO C.lty for the ranch and actual bullfight sequences, then return to the sru
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loving and hating. Finally, one draI113tic confrontation topped it al1 off and I shall never forget it. Over the weeks I had grown particularly fond of the gigantic character actor, Laird Cregar. He had a vel)' special sense of hUIBar, was consistently in a happy fralne of Inind aInidst all the nagging and priInping of SOlne of his cohorts, and all in all was an extrenle pleasure to be around. I-Ie played the Madrid bullfight critic, the obsequious flatterer of all toreros on the way up, the deadly executioner of those already falling in disgrace, and !)lrOne's nelllesis throughout the story. I-lis 1l1ost Inelllorahle line in the filtn was his description of Rita lIayv.'orth's "I)ona Sol." I can still hear his hoolning voice as he points across at her froIll his first-row seat in the plaza. "If this is death in the afternoon, she is death in the evening!" \\Tell, Laird weighed at least three hundred pounds and it was all Illuscle. I-Ie was one of the strongest l11en I've ever Illet, so when his booilling voice "suggested": "Boys and girls, please gather round!" we "gathered round" ilnd you could hear a feather drop. "It has been brought to Illy attention that SOl1le of you ... " I--Ie sort of "panned" past all of our faces with those sIniling hut deadly eyes hefore he continued, " ... perhaps fill of you, have been circubting the nllllor th~H I ~Hn ... (jllCtT." I was standing next to T}T and I heard hiln SlIck in his breath. Believc Inc, nobody 1110ved. "Well," hc finally continued, "I want to assure VOll, here ilnd now ... that I :1,\1.''' 'J'hen he hurst (·)ut laughing, turned and stro~lc into his dressing roon1. I like to think that I was the first to :applaud, hut 1'111 not really surc. Mayhe it was spontaneous, hut it W,1S real. I know everyone of us fclt like the lowest fornl of aninlal life. Renlelnher, this was 1941. \Vc all told "fag" jokes then. ()ut of the hlue, I g'ot an educational break I'd cert~linly never expected. Barhara McLain walked on the set to request froln her husband, Boh \Vcbh, that lvIr. Mailloulian allow her to "borrow" 1l1e for .1 few days. Boh knew that his (lirector wouldn't rnind if Ms. McLain "borrowed" 111C for the duration of the picture, so I was "kidnapped" to the cutting rOOIl1. ~~Bohhic" ~1cLain was the best fihn editor in the husiness-I),lrryl F Z~1nuck's personal cutter on all his Hpersonal" pictures. And, it See111S, Bohhie had a prohlcill. '{'he bulls were leaving- the screcn right to left, and she wasn't exactly certain just how the~' :lctually CllllC hack. Let nlC explain. If ']yrone Power steps through a hallway door frolll right to left, the cutter has to be certain that, in the inllllcdiatc cut to ~he f~)lI()wing sct (like the ]iving rooln)t the actor enters froIH the saine direction , right to left. (hhenvise, he will run into hilllseif. Believe Ille, it just doesn't work if vou're wrong. 'I'hc l110st naive child in the theater audience will anticipate the coliision. \Vell, the second I looked into the Moviola, I could understand her dilenlln~l. 'rhe hulls were hooking into "Annillita's" cape, running right to left, and then the Cllllcra stayed on "-

C HAP T E R

T \v ()

the Inatador as the aniInal exited frorn the scene going in the same direction, right to left. uS o," she said, taking her foot off the Moviola pedal and looking over her shoulder at Ine, "'that is Illy problenl. By all rules of editing, Iny next view of that hull should have hinl continuing right to left. But it doesn't look to me like that's the way it acruaHy happens and I want to be technically correct." I was shocked. Bobbie noticed my surprised expression. "There's sOlnething wrong with what I said?" uJ esus, no!" I said. "It just shocked nle to hear SOIneone say, for the first tilne on this show, that they'd like to be 'technically correct.'" She laughed out loud. ~'All you 'technical advisors' sure fit the same pattern. You get your feelings hurt when the boss doesn't take your advice." I had to slnile. I already liked Bobbie McLain-a lot. "Probably," I said, "but with the cape the bull is usually played to swing around and return. For instance, if he leaves the Inatador's left side, he's got to come back from that way in the opposite direction. I think if. .. " I stopped cold when I saw her expression. How oare I have the audacity to "think" in her editing room. Hyou think," she began slowly, "that if we shot a close-up of Ty calling the bull back fnun over his left shoulder, it Inight cut? Is that what you were going to suggest? " I threw up Iny hands and waved them across Iny face as if I had just yelled UC:ut!" "Look, preny lady, I don't know anything about things like that." Looking around I grabbed her coat off the hook. "This is all I know. Let nle show you." Slowly, I Illade six straight 7)crollicflJ, bringing the invisible "bull" back and fOfth ~lCr()SS rny body. 'Then: "Now thaes what actually happens," I said. "That's a II I know." ~\1s. Bobbie McLain stood up, took her coat froIn Ine and hung it back on the hook. U\Vould you like to sit behind Ille for a couple of weeks? I think I can fake it that long, and Inaybc you'll learn sOlnething." \Ve 11 , it wasn't long before Darryl F. Zanuck's favorite cutter becanle one of Iny favorite people. She taught nle Illore about fihn editing in those two weeks than I could ever have learned in a four-year college course. Hut, before I end Illy treatise on all the good fortune I was afforded during the production of Blood fJnd Sand, please let Ine express to you that, in Illy opinion, Bobhie McLain was unique. If you are, in any way, involved in the Inaking of J1l0li0l1 picnlres, for your own protection, allow Ine to leave you with the following short, short story. It is the s<.:ene of the Inost successful prelniere in Hollywood history. The arc lights are still cuttjng their paths through the black sky as the enthusiastic audi-

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ence surges out of the theater onto the concrete slabs bearing the natllCS and footprints of scores of famous stars. Flashbulbs are exploding; loud 111usic is blaring from the famous orchestra hired to entertain. Already the reporters are discussing the "Oscars" that will be garnered fro In this brilliant production. All four stars are a cinch. The director and writer are shoo-ins. 'l"hen two distraught-looking gentlemen in dark suits move slowly out of the bright lights to stand in the deep shadows of the venerable Grauman's Chinese Theater. --rhey arc the producer and the cutter. And they say to each other: "I think we can fix it." \Vhen we completed the final day of fihning on Blood find Sand, I experienced a sadness I hadn't expected. The last day on a picture you really care about is exactly like being graduated froll1 a school you sincerely love. You say good-bye to people you may never see again. You realize that all the sets will disappear; all the locations will begin being readied for other productions. You get a strange etnpty feeling in your stolnach and it hurts. rrhis was Illy first such experience, and I must adlnit I have never becolne calloused about the farewells. llell, I've even been guilty of giving good-bye hugs to actors I loathed. But I never really want to change. I turned left on Pico as I drove out of the studio. I needed to spend the evening with a true friend, nly best friend, so I headed for 61 () Beverly I) rive in Beverly Hills. I'd only seen Hal Roach Jr. five tillles since the picture started, and we used to be inseparable. Hal and Margaret, his younger sister, were in thc swin11ning pool when I arrived. They rushed to greet Ine and, as I rcached out to shake my buddy'S hand, Margaret knelt behind 1l1e and 1-1al pushed 1l1e over her back into the pool. Gee! Just like old tilnes. Being a (m"ero didn't Inean very Inuch to the Roaches. 1 wasn't exactly dry when Mr. and Mrs. Roach entered the poolside playroolll to say hello. Now these two were Illy favorite parents of all til11C. Marguerite, i\1rs. Roach, was a tiny thing and looked two years younger than her daughter-who was almost twenty. "Dad," Hal Jr. began, "()scar's actually seriously considering going hack ro Mexico and getting hilnself killed. Can't we talk hill1 out of it?" Margaret went into it a little deeper. H\Vhat we really want, dad, is for you to put him to work at the studio." . Now, 1 think Mr. Roach liked me-a lot--even then. \Ve'd always had a b'l'c~lt time when both our fanulies got together at C:ulver. But I had a feeling h'c'd never really considered hiring nle for anything. He was a bull of a Inan, as tough as old leather, but the twinkle in his eyes made the long beat of silence nearly bearable. T'hen: "Now, that's an interesting idea, Hal." I-Ie turned to' 1l1C. "So WhtH can YOll do, Oscar?"

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"'Vell, sir," 1 said, and C;od I hoped he'd know I wanted it to sound funny, "I can kick <1 t()otball, and throw a great left hoo~ and run like the wind, and fight a bull." ?\1rs. Roach laughed out loud and elbowed her husband in the ribs. "\\Tell," she said, Hthere isn't a srudio owner in the business who doesn't have a need for all

of that~" \ Vell, of course, I'd thought a lot about not going back to Mexico, about the fact that I'd been fortunate to discover another way to nlake an exciting living-and not get Inyself killed. But the Inatter of quitting kept irritating Iny tllind. I'd never quit anything. And "quit" was a very dirty word in Iny vocabulaty. Still, it \vasn't bullfight season. Taking a temporary job at the studio wasn't a downright sin! I hated the word "rationalization" too, but I'd think about that later-when 1 got alllny thoughts straightened out. So, following Blood and Saud (conveniently sandwiched in between Mexican bulltight seasons), I went to work at Hal Roach Srudios. And it was fun spending the weekends at the Bel Air Bay Club. Alnlost everyone took tinle to say "hello" to Inc: C:brk C;able and Carole LOlllbard, Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy, Gary C:oopcr-everybody. But, I figured it had more to do with Illy friendship with Hal Jr. than Iny newly acquired, very special position in the industry. I had just hecolne the studio's nUlnber-one l11essenger boy. But, suddenly, even that lnenial task hCCaIl1C a Inajor problenl-not for Il1e, but for the srudio. The daily nlessages of Utl110St in1portance never seelned to get any place on tilne. Hell, it wasn't Illy fault. It was just that Eddie Sutherland, and Milton Bren, and Frank Capra and Nortl1an lvlcLeod wanted to visit with I11e about football and boxing and bullfighting-nlostly bullfighting. I figured it was always going to be like that, so 1 went 41long with then1. \-\fell, 1 got prolTIoted in a hurry. 1 was going to lose twenty bucks a week in overtiI1le, hut it was a proI1lotion. They n1ade ll1e a "reader." 1 read everything! But, unlike lnost "readers," who are frustrated writers and directors and hate everything, I really liked stories now and then. I liked Agatha (:hristie's wonderful Ji:ll Little indians, which 1 read in The Saturday Evening Post, and I highly reCOll1111en<.ied it, but the studio rurned it down and prolTIoted Ine to a "herder." Now, you'll notice I didn't capitalize "herder," because the job doesn't really have a lot of dignity. \-\That 1 did was "herd" extras onto the set. I was dalnned good ::It thilt, and I Inade a lot of new friends. Then, just as I was beC0I11ing the best all-around sheep dog in Hollywood, 1 got prollloted again. And this titlle it was a step in the right direction. They l11ade tne a second assistant director. N ow, don't get the idea that beco111ing any kind of assistant director has anything to do with direction. Most of theln should be called assistant producers, hecause they spend 1110st of their tilne telling the picture's producer what the director is doing wrong. But, at I-Ial Roach Studios there were four real honestlO-( ;od assist~lnt 1)1 REC:'r()RS. 'rhey really cared about the director and what he

\VIIF~

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DISCRACE

was endeavoring to accoillplish. 'rhcse splendid gentlelnen were: Barney C:.lrr, Harve Foster, Holly Morse and Eddie j\1ontagne. These were the Illen who shaped Illy career, but 1'111 sure I drove all of theln crazy. SUlluner happened a bit too soon for Ine. Just as I was getting a little drier behind the ears, and stopped putting Illy t\\'O cents in when it wasn't asked for, ~lnd got the right actors in the correct costulnes on the set in tiIlle for the first shot, I-Ial Roach Studios closed down for July and August. l~here were no hulls to fight, no stories to tell, no actresses to round up, and the "readers' offices" were dosed. It was a serious dileInlna. But sure enough, when things looked the very blackest, I got the biggest break of Iny young life. C;eorge Stevens requested Iny presence at C:olul1lbia Pictures. He was about to start his production of TZ1l' .llore tbe l\!fer-riel' with Jean Arthur, Joel McCrea and Charles Coburn, and he wanted IllC as his second assistant. Lord, I didn't think the great l11an had ever bothered to really get to knO\V Ine, and, by golly, he had even learned to spell 111Y nalne~ And that stint on Mr. Stevens' picture got Inc wherever I anl today. Funny thing how audacity, real stupidity and crassness can sOll1etirnes turn a scorched weed into a bloomin' red rose. I guess it was because I was still full of IHyself frotH the h~liry experiences in the Mexican plazas or it certainly wouldn't have happened that way when Harry (~ohn, one of the bst bona fide tycoons of our industry, strode onto the set. "I-Iey, you, kid," he began, "tell that hlCkin' director of yours I want to see hiln!" I really bristled! '[hat "fuckin' director" he was referring to was the best fuckin' director in all of Hollywood. I guess if I ever revered a In3n, it was C;corgc Stevens, and it was Iny tnoral duty to protect hinl with Iny life. Now, C;eorgc Stevens silnply loathed I-Iarry C:ohn, and he had a backboard set up so that when Mr. Cohn caine on the set, he would autolllatically begin to bang a tennis ball up against that white wall at about one hundred dollars a bang-until Mister (:ohn decided that the unnecessary visit was running into hig l11oney. lIarry used to tour the studio each night and tun) out all the lights, so those ad-lib handball exhibitions rcally killed hinl. So-"I'ln sorry, sir," I said, "Mr. Stevens is busy." "Listen, you sonofabitch," (~ohn exploded. "Now, wait a Ininute! Please don't callIne that." "And if I do?" "I'll knock you on your ass!" It had all happened so fast that Illy words just hurst out. Everything stopped on the set, even C;eorge's handballing. I could hear Iny heart pounding. "Do you know who lain?" I-larry (:ohn continued, his voice now threateningly dulcet. "Yes sir, I do, Mr. C:ohn, but c0l11pared to those black bulls COining Ollt of those black holes, you look like the 'Virgin Mary. '" C;eorge Stevens' laugh ricocheted off the backboard, but [ wished he hadn't

47

even silliled. "'Young Jnan," l\1r. Colulnbia Pictures roared for the whole C0111pany to hear, ubc in rny office at six o'clock sharp!" And I inl1nediately thought of buying up apples and pencils to sell, because I sure was finished in the picture business. Harry Cohn had 1110deled his private office after Mussolini's. Honestly! There was a lone piano just inside the door, and then a fully carpeted empty "basketball court" all the way to his desk. Those who were stupid enough to plan on asking Harry Cohn for a raise usually found themselves fumbling in their own pockets for money to give him by the time they reached the mammoth desk. T'here were always the exact nUlnber of chairs needed for those involved in the Ineetings. If there were to be three people, there would be three chairs. For only one-you sat there "solo." Believe me, Mr. Cohn always had your conlplete attention. On each side of the desk was a high screen: the one on the right covered the entrance to the steaJn room, the one on the left led to the dressing rooms of his stars. At Christmas tilne both screens were pushed tight against the corners of the desk, so as to make it Inore difficult for the sometimes-antagonistic studio revelers to throw a punch at the boss, which would have been foolhardy because I'd always bet that Harry Cohn could take good care of himself. Well, there wasn't even one chair available the first time Mr. Cohn's secretary buzzed Ine into the office. The boss just sat there behind his big desk and waited for nle to stop in front of hilll. I flashed back to Mr. Mamoulian. That was tough enough. But Harry Cohn made my ex-director pal look like Shirley *I(:!mplc. He took a full minute looking me up and down, then: "So you're the bullfighter?" "I used to be, sir," I offered. "And now you're an assistant director?" "I guess I used to be that, too, sir." It just popped out that way, I sure hadn't Incant to sa}' that. But, at that second, I hoped it might work. Well-it didn't. "Look, kid, don't be a SITIart ass. You'll know when you're fired, believe Ine." lIe ncver changed his expression and he continued to study me for another Iniserahlc InOITIent. Finally: "Okay, I think you've got sOlllething to say to me," rrhis tilne I had Illy thoughts collected and I knew damned well what to say. "Yes, sir. I'ITI really vcry sorry, sir." I-Iarry C:ohn sat back in his chair and waved his hand at me in the manner you would brush off a fly. I didn't know then that it meant, "adios," "that's it," and "get the hell out of here." So I just stood there, He was the one who spoke. 44you have somcthing Inore to say to me, kid?" UNo, sir, I was just waiting for you. I apologized." "Bull SHI'T'! Now get out of here while you're still ahead."

48

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l'here was a split second when I thought I'd have to duck the paperweight, then 1 headed for the door. 1 tried not to run, hut I W~lS in a hurry. 1\1r. C:ohll's voice stopped 111e. '"Kid," he said, "I guess 1'111 the sonofabitch who's going to have to Inake sOlnething out of you. I'll be in touch." **********

Harry C~ohn and I hecalne good friends. \Vc liked each other. Both of us. It wasn't a one-way street. Now, not Inany people can 111ake that claill1. Sure, I read King Cobu and Inaybe he was a bastard, to others, but he W~lS 'llways one hundred percent with Inc. I-le'd cOlne on the set when there was nothing there to do and usu.l11y so 11luch thilt I couldn't quite pinpoint the errors. I-1e called Ine his "resident torero." Nohody ever clainled I was a good assistant, ~cause I sure as hell wasn't. But, the big boss liked Inc, so I continued to get away with Illy Inist.lkes. 1 was surprised though, when I got an invitation to 111eet with hilll1 privately, in his office. ()h, yes, he he'd ask Ine what I was "fucking up now," but there

wanted Ine to

W.1S

cal1 hinl "l-Iarry," but 1 never did it unless we were alone. \/Vell, we

sure as hell were this tiIl1e and I-Iarry l11otioned for Inc to sit down in the single easy chair he held stationed before hilll. "Kid," he began, "1'111 about to begin the Inost expensive picture C:olull1bia Pictures has ever Inade. \r\1e're going to call it Cover (Jirl. I've got Rita and SOI11e fella nallled Kelly frolll i\1.C;.M. and I want you to be the first assistant." I was shocked! "Jesus C~hrist, Harry, I've never been a first. I-Iell, 1'111 a lousy second." "We all know that," he said, "but I've got a re~lson. You don't have to worry about the paperwork or any l11ajor probleIlls. I've set Non11an I)ellling to take care of all that, and there's nobody hetter in the business. You just gaff the set. Keep all those prilna donnas happy." "\Vell," I began, "if you think I can ... " wrhere's one catch," he cut in. I should have known there was. "Did you ever Ineet C:harles Vidor?" "No, sir, but I worked on his set one day." (:ohn continued: "Well, even one day should have taught you he's a Iniserable sonofabitch. But, C;od danllnit, he's the best wOlnan~'i director dlere is-a hell of a lot better than Cukor. Anyway, he's Inurder on everybody: stars, producers, assistant~-the whole dalnned caboodle-and I want hinl SiIlllllcred down for this show." "Yes, sir," I said again. l-here wasn't Inuch else I could think of. "Just one question, Kiddo," and those hlack eyes burned right through Inc,

49

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Two

~~and

1'd better get a straight answer." 'rhis tiine I nodded, carefully. ~'If that sonofabitch ever calls you a sonofabitch, what'll you do?" ~~\Vell, sir, if he 111eanS it, guess I'd have to ... " I took a deep breath, rememhcring-Uknock hiIl1 on his ass!" Ilarry Cohn relaxed back into his leather chair and rurned toward the screen on his left. "()kay, Charlie," he said, "come on out and meet your first assistant." \raguely I rerl1enlber jumping up-beet red-as Charles Vidor emerged from hehind the barrier. U( ;ood afternoon," the great director said with dignity. "It's a pleasure to 111CCt you, young tnan. " I lovcd his Hungarian accent. But, what a dreadful way to meet someone you athnired so Inuch. I-Iarry Cohn was a sadistic bastard, but I figured he had a reason. I hadn't stuttered since early grade school, but I sure stumbled over, "It's a-pleasure to n1eet you, Mr. Vidor." Nir. Vidor broke into a laugh. "Hell, 'Boodye' [he pronounced Budd that way] after that introduction, you might as well call me 'Charlie.'" And I did. And we never had one problem. And he was better than Cukor. lIe put his ann around my shoulder and guided me across the mile of carpet toward the door. He spoke loudly enough for Harry to clearly hear every word. "Don't worry about my association with our boss. Harry loves to direct charades like tha t, and those of us who are smart enough to want to work for him put IIp with it." I shot a hurried glance back toward the desk. The boss was grinning from ear to ear-and he winked. Damn, those truly were the good old days when

llollywood was FUN! Cover Gi,,1 went a Inillion-and-a-half over budget. Harry fired Charlie. The production office fired me, saying I hadn't paid enough attention to staying on schedule and under budget. They were right. I just wanted Charlie to make a gn:at picture. So, I hightailed it back to Mexico. Vidor liked a treatment I had written ahout Illy experiences as an American torero. Torero was what Bullfighter and the 1.'Il~Y was called then and, since we were both now unemployed, I hoped that he tnight consider directing it. Luckily, I telephoned Harry Cohn from Mexico (:ity-just to say hello. U\A/here the hell are you?" the boss shouted. "In Mexico City," I replied. "I've been getting all my matadors lined up for

'Iort.,.o. n U\,Vcll, get your ass back here, right away," he ordered. "I've got something hettcr for you to do."

50

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In exactly twenty-four hours I was back in his office, sitting in that lonely electric chair. It \vas never really cotnfortable-even when expecting good news, because I always knew the boss could pull the switch. "1 guess you've heard that Cover Girl is a 51nash," 1\lr. (:ohn began. I nodded as if I knew. "I was sure it would be." "Yep," he continued, "Charlie's a great director. I've already set hilll for another show-Gilda with Glenn Ford. Rita doesn't ever want anyone else to direct her." 1 slniled. I figured, il1lInediately, Illy new job was going to be with \lidor again-on Gilda. Then the boss got down to brass tacks. "~rhe Briskins are trying to take over the studio-over Iny dead body. They've got three young fellas they're groollling to be directors. If I work out the saIne shot for you, can you cut it?" "You Inean-direct a picture?" "Kiddo, you've been in Mexico too long. ''''eren't you listening?" "Of course, I can direct," I lied. The boss grinned. "I kne\\' you'd be cocky enough to lie to tnc, but I'rn going to set it up so you can learn sotnething. \.Villianl Berke's going to start a 'twelve-day wonder' called Tbe Girl in tbe Cnse next week. Bill's about as good ~l director as you're gonna find on these 'filler' shows. You're gonna sit your ass on the set and watch every I110Ve he Inakes. 'rhen, Inayhe when the titHe cOIlles, you'll know a little about what you're doing." 'fhen he picked lip a script froln his desk and started to react. "T'hat's it," he said. "lake care of yourself." And I got out of there in a hurry. I didn't want to explode with Illy surprising good fortune in front of anybody-especially I--Iarry (:ohn. Well, Bill Berke was a dreaIn-ahsolutely sensational with I11e. lIe didn't mind Illy nosing around on his set. And, he went out of his way to help nH~ Icarn the art of Inaking a full-length fihn in two short weeks. Believe Inc, it's not e~lsy! But, a dreadful thing happened to nle on that set. 1 developed a real crush Oil the leading lady. Janis Carter was I11y first true love in the piculre business. I'd never seen anyone that beautiful up close, not even Rita or Linda fr0l11 Blood lind SlIllti. But, heck, almost everyone in Hollywood can fake looking great. It W~lS Inore th,lll that. She was just so darn nice and so 111uch fun. And the f.lct that her legs 1l1i.Hle Betty Grable's legs look ... Well, Miss Grable's just weren't i.1S pretty. But, Iny prohlenl was that this infatuation was about as unrequited as you can get. 1'111 not sure she ever suspected how I felt, because Janis was Inarricd, and I W~lS frotH Evansville, Indiana, and back there Inarriage was still sacred. So, I did IHy "hacking" SOlnewhere else. But, Max Arnow, Colulnbia's casting director and a real power at the studio, wasn't so sure about that. It was pretty obviolls to all concerned what lvtlX

51

CHAPTER

Two

had in mind, but if you knew Janis, you had to figure he was striking out. Well, 01' Max figured I worn't. And he hated my guts! So, stick around. All this makes sense in telling it later in the story. About this time, I was called in for my Army physical. The war was in full swing, but the Army and Navy didn't want any of us yet because, supposedly, we were busy entertaining the troops with our picrures. I had a commission already offered me in the Navy, but that didn't cut the mustard. The Draft Board wanted to inspect my body NOW! So, off I went to downtown Los Angeles. Christ, it was cold in that big empty room. The only thing that kept me smiling was that my pal, the great comedian Phil Silvers, was just a couple of places ahead of me in that naked line. Now, I never could understand what my friend Phil was worried about. He hadn't had a hair on his head for years and looked ten years older than he was. And he couldn't see two guys in front of him without his glasses, and he was grossly overweight. If ever there was a legitimate 4-F, it was Phil. And he was scared to death about the war. Hell, we all were. But, Phil had been on a beer binge the night before to steady his nerves, and he really had to GO! But, here we all were, stark naked with just a white card, our ice-cold shoes, and an empty bottle. Well, just as Phil got one guy from being able to relieve himself in the specimen bottle, he spotted a nervous little fellow standing off to one side looking miserable. He also noticed, immediately, that this poor "milquetoast's" own specimen bottle was still empty. "\\'hat the hell's the matter with you?" Phil blurted out to the fellow. "Gosh, I've never gone to the toilet in front of anybody." Phil grabbed that bottle like he'd just found a pearl in his oyster, filled it immediately-without spilling a drop-then proceeded to fill his own. Handing both bottles to the sergeant at the "Specimen Desk," he said, nodding toward his new friend: "He's with me." Comedians! They never miss a shot. Now, my personal remembrance of that day brought back a painful flashback of an earlier incident. "Do you have any identifying scars?" the bespectacled corporal asked me, studying my card as he spoke. "Well, I've got some scars on my face that are easy to see," I answered, "and a rectal goring." He looked up. "You've got a what?" "A rectal goring," I repeated. "From what?" "From a bull." "What kind of bull?" "A fighting bull," I said sheepishly, wishing to hell I'd never brought it up.

52

WHEN

IN

DISGRACE

What I had figured was that if I got killed, that was one way they could identify my body. The corporal sidled around the desk, never taking his eyes off me. "Mind if I take a look?" he said. "Be my guest." I put one foot on his desk and sort of leaned over. JESUS! Then I heard his voice from between my legs. "Hey, Eddie, George, Dr. Evans, get over here. This guy's got a hole in his ass!" "Christ, I hope so," I heard the doctor say, "or he'll never pass the physical!" Well, despite my rectal problem I passed the physical with flying colors. A~ a matter of fact, I didn't have to "pass" anything else. The doctors were so impressed with my behind that they collectively whisked Ine by all the other desks as if I had just won an Academy Award and I ended up out on the street, still freezing, but with the signed statement that the United States Arnly could have my punctured body any damned time it wanted. But-nobody wanted me, except the picture business. Movies were being Inade for the citizens at horne as weI] as the soldiers, sailors and marines. I was an assistant director and Washington figured I assistant-directed things, so I Inust be important. They'd call Ine. I shouldn't bother to call them. So it was back to Gower Street and Colulnbia Pictures whether I liked it or not. Jesus! There was one hell of an event going on in full swing and I wasn't even sitting on the bench! .. * .. ******* Irving Briskin was a tall, nice-looking executive with a pleasant smile. I hadn't expected to meet him, as I thought he was the "enelny. " Fact is, nobody can ever explain just what goes on behind studio closed doors, so I just sat still and listened. "Harry's got his mind set on making sOlllething out of you," he began, "and I see no real harm in trying. Bill Berke seems to think you'll do very well, so 1'111 going to take the chance until I find out you can't." Now, that was encouraging. Then: "Max has three boys he's very high on, and-" "Max?" I interrupted. Mr. Briskin nodded. "Max Arnow. He's planning on putting his three proteges on three different shows so that they can observe for the first ten days, then direct the final two. Lew Landers is starting a picture next week. You sit on his set, then take over the last two days." He smiled. "You'll like the star. He was an Olympic shotput champion nalned Herlnan Brix. His stage name now is Bruce Bennett. Oh, by the way, it's a submarine pictUre. Most everything takes place on board ship. Pick up a script on the way out." A submarine picture! \\That in the hell do you do with your calnera on a sub-

53

CHAPTER

T\yO

Inarine? I sensed, in a hurry, I was really being set up. Max Arnow's boys were \,Villianl Castle, Henry Levin and Mel Ferrer. I'd never met Castle or Levin, and I didn't like Mel Ferrer at all. So, since they were on Arnow's team, I knew I had three strikes against me and, along with dear Max, there was a good chance I was already a BIG "out." I worked my tail off on that script. I had the final two days of that show Illapped out on paper, shot for shot, like I've never done since. I was letter perfect, and ready to fly. Another nice thing was that my favorite first assistant, Milton Feldlnan, was assigned to the show. At least I'd have one pal on the set. I was taking a steam bath at the Hollywood Athletic Club when I was called to the phone. I t was Max Arnow. "Boetticher, you're going to direct the first two days starting tomorrow. The shooting call is at nine o'clock." I couldn't believe it! I was supposed to have ten shooting days and one Sunday before I was to go to work. "Mr. Arnow," I stammered, "I'm not prepared. I was supposed to-" He cut me off. "Take it or leave it," he said, and hung up. And out of all the windows went my furore. Harry Cohn was in New York. I couldn't get him on the phone until four o'clock in the morning, New York time. Away from Hollywood the boss liked to have a real good time. "Listen, kid," he bubbled, sounding happier than Christmas, "you ad-libbed yourself this far. Go in there tomorrow and knock 'em dead. I'll see you next week. And, oh yeah, don't take any shit from anyone." And the phone went dead. \\That did he mean, "Go in there tomorrow-"? It was already today, and I hadn't had any sleep. I thought, at first, I ought to stay up with what was left of my time and, at least, read the first two days' shooting schedule. Then, I just said the hell with it. At least Milton F eldlnan would be there on the set in a few hours, and he'd smile at Ine. Milton was there, all right, when I staggered onto Stage 4 at eight-thirty. But it wasn't Milton Feldlllan. It was Milton Carter. Now, I had been Mr. Carter's second assistant on Destroyer, and he hated my guts. I'd actually forgotten to call Edward (i. Robinson for an early morning scene, and Milton ended up getting the blame. God, Max Arnow had thought of everything. But, a very strange thing happened. I'd always thought Mr. Milton Carter was at least seven feet tall, but here he was walking toward me, and he got smaller with every step. Finally, looking up at 111e, he said: "Good morning, sir. Excuse me, but could you give me some idea of what you have planned for your first shot?" Darnn this was FUN! I looked down at little Milton. "I'll let you know about Iny first shot as soon as I have a cup of coffee," I said, and Milton hurried off to get it.

54

WHEN

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Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was talent, or maybe it was just gall. But, sonofabitch, I was an honest-to-gosh Hollywood DIRECTOR! But, then who do you think came prancing out of the woodwork? Mel Ferrer. Max had assigned HIM as my dialogue director! Every shot I lined up, and I lined them up with reckless abandon, I could turn and see Mel and Lew shaking their heads in utter disgust. It was encouraging. Finally, I set up the last shot of the day: a dolly shot with the camera being swung up and down to give an effect of the ocean. Lew and Mel shook their heads even harder and my director-teacher strode up to me. "I can't allow you to make that shot," he said. "Whose angle do you think you're on fr0l11 the middle of the ocean?" "Probably the same fella who was in the hole when John Ford's stagecoach and six horses rolled over him," I fumed. "Now, God damn it, Lew, get off IUy back!" Well, that was the beginning. Harry Cohn returned eight days after my twoday directorial stint. Lew Landers complained, bitterly, about my arrogance and inefficiency. So the boss gave him an opportunity to stop worrying about it. He fired him and I got to direct the final two days. And folks have been staying "off . my back " ever SInce. **********

The following few years of my life were a "montage" of actors, producers, actresses, cameramen, movies and mistakes. Everything involved with Iny first five films at Columbia was a learning experience. These little black-and-white pictures were made in twelve days for one hundred thousand dollars. They were called "fillers." They filled the bill consisting of a major motion picture and a second feature designed so that, for a minimal ticket price, the patrons who were worried about our probable participation in World War II could spend the entire afternoon in the theater. I suspect folks bought a lot of popcorn when Illy pictures came on. No matter what, Harry Cohn made sure that I had top old-tillle call1eramen. They were supposed to be there to help me, but I soon discovered they were there to show me what they knew and how very mistaken I was about everything I set out to accomplish. Don't misunderstand me, they were all fine gentlelnen. But I was young, and green as grass, and cocky, and consequently, my aged cinelnatographers and I never really advanced to the "palzy" stage. I invented a systeln that worked. When one of them questioned Ine about a shot I had requested, I Inerely shook my head, patted him on the arm, and said: "You really don't understand what I'm trying to do, do you?" Then I walked away. Of course, most of the tilne they were right and I was wrong, and I sensed it. But, being wrong as a film director can cost you a hunk of prestige in a hurry. So I faked it. Years later a television host asked me exactly when I realized that I was a full-fledged director. I told hilll

55

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right after Iny tenth picture. But, oalnn it, I really faked those first five with a bundlt: ()f phony contldence. 1 still have fond l11elllories of three leading l1len: Chester Morris, George .\lacready, and Ross I-hinter. They were fun to \vork with. And rnl proud that two of Illy young leading ladies eventually Blade it SIC;: Dorothy Malone and Nina Foel1. ()f course, I always believed that Janis Carter could have been a star-if she had wanted to be. But I'ln happy she was too Sll1art to play that gmne. It was directly after Iny fifth show at Colull1bia that I got word Iny Navy cOlnll1ission had been approved. The government wanted Iny body right now-and they wanted it in \Vashington, D.C. Lt. Barney Carr had requested 111y presence at the Photographic Science Laboratory in Anacostia, a suburb of the capital. Barney had been Iny 111entor at l-1al Roach Studios and had supervised nly early C~lrecr as if he were Iny godfather. Well, it seelns he cared enough to wish to continue in the saIne capacity. He also I1lust have figured I had iI1lproved. Or, Inaybe he knew th~lt no one at the Science Lab gave a damn about bulls or bullfighting, so I would be left on Iny own to do a good job. 'rhe Photo Science Lab had a very ilnportant place in the Navy. The personncl consisted of professional people froll1 the motion picture industry and still photography production. 'fhey were recruited froln Hollywood, New York, and Rochester, New York, the Blain base of Kodak. 1 was delighted with the opportunity to he under Lt. C:arr's cOlnI1land. I couldn't be in better hands, and I ilnmediately had drealns of photographing the United States Anny's entrance into Tokyo or Berlin-whichever city gave up first. But there were a lot of brave and talented people frOll1 our industry at the Photo Science Lab, including Gene Kelly, Richard (:arlson and C:harlcs Marquis \"rarren, and I knew I'd have to vie with thern for the ilnportant naval conquests. Still, I felt ready for the task. I was young, tough ~uld in grc~lt Sh.lpC. Now "'orld War II was Iny very own personal war. But it didn't turn out ex.lctly that way. 1.1. John Benton drank. lie was a close friend and business associate of (:ollllnanticr 'rhorne I)onnelley, who financed the building of the Photo Science Lab and was Lt. (:arr's inunediate superior. In private life Conllnander Donnelley owned 'l'he (:hicago Press, which printed Life, 'Til1le and The Chicago Telephone Directory. \Vell, the cOll1lnander didn't want his pal, John, to get kicked out of the Navy ;lS a drunk. 'rhe fact that Lt. Benton had done a very cotntnendable job during the years in the Navy hefore his boredoll1 set in didn't cut the ITIustard. Now he W;lS in deep trouble and sOlnething had to be done about it. Fortunately, everyone loved Jack Benton. lIe was white-haired handsolne, great fun to be with even when he was loaded, and he never gave anyone an ounce of trouble. He just drank. Also, UFort Roach," I-Ial Roach Studios now converted into the Arnly's version' of the Photo Science Lab, had a hundle of farnous actors, writers and directors

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under war-tilne "contract." (As a Inatter of fact, one of the gentlenlen heC:1nle ollr President.) And they hadn't lost anyone because of a drinking prohleI11. So there was a lot of Navy pride involved. Lt. Carr brought me up to date the tninute I reported to his offIce. l\ly first inlportant Inission in the Navy was to try to discover \vhere Lt. Benton hid his liquor. Most every officer at the lab lived on the hill above the air station in ~l group of brick buildings affectionately called" Peretski Plaza." 'rhey were typical Washington apartnlents for naval officers: big and roolny, icy in the winter and unbearable in the sunllner. But they were safe. rrhe Photo Science Lab never lost a ITIan in battle in the vicinity of Peretski Plaza. Now, don't rnisunderstand 111C. The officers and enlisted Inen assigned to the lab \vent everywhere during the war. They were on the battleships when they were blown up fronl blInikaze hits and on the beaches with the Anny and Marines. Lt. \\'arren photographed the landings on Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Kwajalein and Eniwetok. All in all, our hoys photographed one hell of a war and were highly decorated for their bravery. But, for the lab personnel it was a strange kind of war. -[heir jobs were to go wherever they were sent, and to filrn, under fire, what the Navy requested, then rehlrn to Washington to await their next Inission. My first heachhead was Lt. Benton's apartnlent. Barney 1110ved I11e in as the gentlelnan's r001111113te, and Illy life "aboard" the Good Ship PS.L. began. While in his cups, Iny gregarious new partner saw BBs COining through the keyholes, underneath the doors and through ,lny slightly open window. 'rhe situation didn't bother Jack at all because he knew it w~lsn't aChlally happening. But he acted concerned about Illy being frightened or irritated by these pesky little pellets, and he always requested that I put Iny feet up on chairs or tables until all was clear. It actually got so bad that I'd find 111yself seeing the BBs first. Jack Benton was very convincing. Well, I retllly heellne intrigued with Illy rOOllllnatc. 'rhcrc was never a dull nl011lent. I-Ie was a fascinating raconteur, bright as the Slln and extrenlely funny. And he had been very sllccessful in business before the w~lr. Fi.lCt is, COlllIllander Donnelley decided to join the service and, before Jack knew it, he had tagged along. And he was SI113rt, really SInart. l-le was so darnncd Sllli.lrt that-no nlatter how hard I searched-I couldn't find one drop of liquor in thi.H' apartlnent. It was dreadful because he never sohered up. I was blowing Iny first big responsibility! I would have walked through fire for Barney (::.1rr, ~uld here I was, letting hiln down. All everybody wanted to do was sober up Jack enough to get hin1 an honorable discharge, and I wasn't discovering one thing to help those good officers give hinl the dignified exit frolll the service he deserved. 'I'hen, quite expectedly one Iniserable Inorning, the toilets froze. Nothing tlushed, nothing dripped, and I went to work in the 11lain bathrool11-chipping away at the ice in the toilet tank. Suddenly I slnelled vodka. Now I had sillellcd a lot of vodka in

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llollywood, and I recognized it illlinediately as a stol11ach-wanning "friend." But, Inon.: il11portant, I had just discovered Lt. Benton's hiding place. Every toilet, and there were four of theIn, had a specially 111anufactured plastic container underneath the plunger at the bottonl of the tank. It was ingenious! Hell, I'd seen Lost If ('{'A't'IUI four tilnes, but this was better. Anyway, Jack was a great sport about Iny disco\·ery. I-Ie allowed his Inany friends to cart hiln off to Bethesda Navy Hospital where, in due tinle, he recovered enough to accept his honorable discharge. I Inissed hirn. C;od love hiln. I 11lean it. And I began to understand that COInnlanding officers like Iny pal, Barney Carr, had iInportant things to attend to other than just helping win the war. Lt. Barney Carr was the best, Inost decent, all-aroundgood Illan I've ever known. He ran his "shop" in a spectacular Inanner, whether in I iollywood or \i\Tashington, because he really cared about people. 'rhe years in the r\avy were nlenlorable, to say the least. The officers and cnlisted Inen at P.S.L. turned out SOlne valuable pieces of work, and I was fortunate to be a part of (\\'0 of thenl-the wonderful docunlentary Tbe Fleet that e(/1I1(J '/0 St"J and ,/~c" DOlle, President Harry TrUl1lan'S etnotional farewell to the Blen and WOtllen of the anned services. I was assigned to filtn the episodes at sea, (;enc Kellv, the ai r, and Richard C:arlson, the land. I wasn't particularly fond of Lt. C:arlson when we first rnet at P.S.L. Dick 'vas a brilliant scholar and a talented young leading Illan in 111otion pictures before the war. He was under contract to .v1.C ;.1\-1. and I had a<.lJnired hinl in nUlllerous filtns. However, as far as I was concerned, he had one serious fault. I-Ie consistently hit you over the head with his Phi Beta Kappa key. Because I was an athlete, he took nU111erOUS potshots at Ine and seetlled genuinely surprised when I was at all knowledgeable of any sophisticated subject. \A'e weren't exactly pals. \ \'hen I cOlllpleted Illy sea filtning off C;uantanalno, Cuba, on the U.S.S. Fall Rivcr, I He\\' to !':ew York City where I was ordered to check in at the Hotel Pierre and direct half of the twelve pick-up shots needed of the city's street people. I f part of Presiden t T'rulnan's WeJl Done was to depict the diversified nationalities of the United States, New York was certainly the city in which to film, and I looked forward to the ch~ll1enge. What I didn't anticipate was that the one officer at PS.L. I wasn't anxious to share a suite with was about to be Iny rOOInInate-Lt. Richard (~arlson, Iny senior officer. ()f course, Lt. Carlson wasn't exactly happy to see nle either. I unpacked Illy bag, praying that he wouldn't introduce lne as "Ensign Benson" to his New York pals. I'd heard that's what he called I11e when I was out of earshot. And I pnunised Inyself, no 111atter what, I'd hold Iny teInper. "I'his late in the war would be one hell of a tinle to be court-nlartialed. So, like a couple of stupid rats caught in a trap, IJick and I sat at widely separated windows for over an hour looking down at a parade on Fifth Avenue. Finally he broke the silence.

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"Well, Ensign," he sighed, ~~do we sit up here and hate each other's guts all night or go out on the town?" \\Te went "out on the town" and it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship. Martha Raye was appe~lring at the (:Iub C:arnivaL I had Inet her in Hollywood, but Dick knew l\1artha and her talented husband, Nick C:ondos, very well. For Ine, ?vliss Raye was one of the great cOlnediennes and an absolutely sensational singer, when she cared to play it straight. Her rendition of .1/17: PagaJli71i is still a Ill0tion picture 1l1usical classic, so I was delighted to accept Dick's invitation to see her sho\\/. I will never forget it! lVlartha did a routine with six basketballplayer-tail "1l1usketeers" that had the patrons doubling over onto their tables and onto the tloor. It certainly wasn't "clean," but it was so hilariously funny that, at the tillle, it didn't seenl dirty. lVlartha was il sellli-toothless "'ll1usketeer" whose sinall rubber sword just wouldn't stand up long and straight like the shining sabers of the three gi.lnts on each side of her as they sang, U\Ye are the l\lusketeers!" \,Vhat she did to try to get that poor little piece of ruhber to stand up straight ~lnd tall like his "fellow s\vords" was pure cOlnedy Inagic-all done to the rhythlll of the Illusic. People were screalning "Stop it! Stop it!" they were laughing so hard. ()f course, today, Inaybe even Disney nlight put th~lt sequence in a picture, but back then it was a red-faced riot. After ten encores, while the audience was still trying to see through its tears, we joined l\1artha and Nick at their table. 'rheir guests were nlostiv show folks, all devout fans of l\/lartha, and it turned out to be ~l Illost Inelllorahle night. I)ick Carlson hecaIlle the life of the party. It shouldn't have surprised Ine. Broadway and 1- Iolly\v()od were his hOllle grounds and he becaIlle extrelnely attractive in his own eleIlleIH. And so did the young lady sitting directly across the long table frolll Ille. She had joined us as \\'C were being seated, and i\1artha introduced her to liS in general as "Cookie, Iny that . Elvorite child-Illodel." \,Vell 'with L .g"Orgeous fig-ure she cen;1illly didn't fit "C:ookie." I thought 1l10re of angel-food cake. She wasn't a '\~hild" ;lnd there was s0l11ething about her that set her off frolll the show-biz crowd. I watched her as surreptitiously <1S I could, hut she caught Iny eye and slniled. 'I'hl!n, when I asked her to dance, she stood up a lot ralll!r than I had thought. 'rhe orchestra was playing 1'1/ Be S'ccing }Oll and when J took her in Illy anns it was as if I were dancing alone \\,ith Iny shadow. For a few wonderful Inonlcnts I iln~lgined I was Fred Astairc. Above us, hanging frotH the high ceilin~, W~lS a gigantic revolving ornanlent with golthall-size di'nples throughout its round slIr6ee. Four ;Huher arc lights played their beallls against the glass, .lnd yellow dots danced across the faces below. Suddenly sOIHething caught Iny attention. 'rhe yellow reflections had burned out Illy partner's Inakeup, and across the right side of her pretty nose was a shiny scar. I 1l1ust have stopped dancing to starl! down at it because her "well?" shocked Ille back to Iny clnbarrassing hlck of courtesy. <-

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sorry, I said. "God, that was iInpolite. But I'ITI fascinated by scars. I've got a whole body full of thetn and-well-I didn't expect to see a scar on a face as heautihll as \,ours." She laughed and reached up to touch the scar. '"I hope your 'fascination' I11eanS that you like these things. It used to be a hirthlllark . .\'ty fatllily had it reITIoved when I was six." I really felt like an ass, and I unconsciously began to talk Iny way out of it. ""l\ly younger brother used to play with a little girl \vho had a birthmark on her nose. She was a cute little kid and I heard she got rid of it. I'll bet she's beautiful now." "(~()okie" didn't say anything. She just looked up at me for a long, long beat, then settled back into Iny anTIs. "Jesus Christ!" I thought, "how can I be so fucking sophisticated when I don't need to be, and such a high school jerk when I'm trying to ilnpress?" \.Ye finished the dance and walked back to the table. I moved Iny chair over to sit next to her, but we didn't talk a lot. We just listened to the snappy patter fro111 the show-biz folks until the nightclub closed. Dick and .\lartha wanted us to join theln for breakfast at Sardi's, but "C:ookie" said she'd worked late at the studio and would prefer to call it a night. I suggested hailing a taxi and t.!scorting her hatTIe, but she was staying at a hotel only three blocks from the club and preferred that we walk the distance together. Funny thing about that three-block walk. l\.:ot one word was spoken the whole way. At the entrance to the hotel, I started to apologize for ll1y rudeness, but this tiIne she stopped Ine cold. ~~You'rc ()scar Boetticher Jr., aren't you?" she said. I was dUlllbfounded and just nodded. hI asked your friend. I had an idea who you were on the dance floor, but I wanted to be sure. \Vhv else. do YOU think I let you walk Ine hOlTIe?" . Suddenly I saw the light. I twas irnpossible in a city of Inil1ions, but it was true. ~()W, I believe in signs. Living with the toreros and the C;ypsies, I had learned to be superstitious and to helieve in fate. Still, unspeaking, I waited for her to tlnish-which she did with a s111ile. LLI'ln the 'cute little kid' frolll Evansville, Indiana, who used to play with your hrother," she said. UI'nl Enlily (~ook." For the next three nights Ernily Erskine Cook and I did the town, not nightcluhs and bars, hut carri.lge rides through Central Park, and a round trip on the Slat<':Jl Island Ferry-things p<.:opie do when they are falling in love. What struck Inc funny was that I had finally found a girl WhOlll (~e()rgia Boetticher would adore. I [er faillily was C:ook's Beer and Chalnpagne. No one called her "Cookie" hut '\1artha. who had a nicknatnc for everyone. And she wasn't a student in the college of hard knocks. She had cOlllpleted her education at Stevens at the head of her class. She \,,'anted to \\'ork. She didn't "have to." That always seen1ed to be one "1'111

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of Iny 1l10ther's prillle requisites. But those days were far over. I hadn't felt '"ohligated" by tnaternallove since Mexico. But, if this \vere to work out, it would nl~lke a lot of people happy. And that would be unique. After I reported back to P.S.L. I received a letter fron1 Elnily alInost e\'ery day. And I Inade a point of telephoning. But that was tough. Elnily explained th:.lt because of the difficult housing of serviceillen and -WOlllen, those not directly involved with the war effort were forced to v.1cate their hotel every three days. Now, this bec3tne 3 big problelll of COIllJllUnication. But its surprising "reined)," nearly "done us in." 1 obtained a hurried pennission to fly to New York on a Friday Inorning to see Iny gal. The whole Photo Science Lab secll1ed to know I'd gotten hooked, and everyone wanted to help. Barney arranged the weekend p'1SS, and I hight.1iled it off to the big city. There had been no way to reach EInily in such a hurry, so I left messages in all the hotels she'd been forced to vacate. I also told tny new rOOll1Blate, Lt. Richard Koch, to open Illy Inail and get in touch with Elnily if she had .1 new address. 1 knew I could find her Friday afternoon through her agency, but I was on the plane before their office opened. I checked in at the Pierre and was lucky to find one single roon1 with a queen-size hed still avaibblc. T'his W.1S e~\rly afternoon. By four o'clock I was frantic. No one had even spoken with her for two days. She hadn't even left a tnessage with her agency. I telephoned l)ick Koch ,1IHi he assured Ine that I had no Inail. lIe did, however, tell n1e that Lt. Carlson had called froIn Chicago and was Hying into New York that evening. I Ie was planning on staying at the Sherry-Netherland. \,Vell, .It least I knew where be \\';lS. ()r I thought I did. At ten o'clock, when I hadn't heard fr0l11 anyone, I telephoned the Sherry-Netherland just to say hello to Dick. \Vell, he had a reservation, but he hadn't arrived. At eleven fifteen there was a furtive knock on l11y door. I w;lited .1 nl0lnent to be sure I had heard correctly. T'hen, there it V.·~lS again. 'Vhen I opened the door, Eillily's lunging elnhrace knocked Inc hack onto the bed. 'rhe r00l11 was so SI11::111 I was able to push the door closed with Iny foot, and we by there laughing before the shock of her entrance wore off. I sat up strclig-ht and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you crazy! How did you get up here?" "T'he saine way you did. I took the elevator." "And no one saw you?" "Just Billy, the elevator boy, and I tipped hiln ten hucks. I Ie thinks 1'111 a hooker." I stopped laughing. "Enlily, there are no 'hookers' in the stuffiest hotel in New York. \\1e're in a lot of trouble. And where have you heen?" She really had the giggles and it took another Ininute before I got an .lnswer.

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"'.\lothl!r Hew in frolll Evansville. I've spent two days with her at the Waldorf '()\vers. Now shl! knows all about you. I telephoned you an hour ago, and Dick Koch told Inc Volt WL're hl!rl!. So here I an1." HErn, you can't stay here. \Ve'll have to Illove sOlne ... " :'\:ow she really burst out laughing. "No we won't. l"here isn't a decent hotel rOOI11 left in ;\CW York. I had to vacate tny last three-day hotel r00l11 the day .vlother arrived." Before I could think of anything, there was another knock on the door. It was happy, jolly, fun-loving Lt. C:arlson. And he didn't have any place to stay either. It seeilled he'd Inet a few friends on the plane frolll Chicago, had a few drinks \\rith thern, and a couple of others in the Sherry-Netherland's bar before he decided to check in. And, what do you know? They'd sold his reservation. This really struck all of us so funny that we collapsed onto the bed laughing uproariously. '('hen to nlake 1l1atters worse, Dick relnen1bered a song frolll his youth and started to sing it at the top of his lungs. And, after a few choruses, Elnily and I joined in. Fourteen Inen in a boarding house bed, Roll over, roll over. Everyone rolled when anyone spoke. Roll over, roll over. ()ne little fellow thought it a joke :\'ot to roll over when anyone spoke, And in the shuffle he got his neck broke. Roll over, rollover! \\'e were halfway through the fifth chorus when the house detective, not heing able to I1lake hiI11self heard, used his passkey to gain entrance to our little [(lOin. \Vell, there we were-in bcd, fully clothed, but in bed. I think he recognized IJick, llnd EI11ily was beautiful and seel11ingly unconcerned with what had transpired, so I did Illy hest to he gaily nonchalant. I hurriedly explained that the young bd~' \\'.}S Illy wife, Iny brand-new wife at that. The house detective thought about that for .1 Illuch-too-Iong 11101nent, then decided to "buy" Iny excuse. He did. however, suggest that both Dick and I sign new registration cards. And wouldll't you know-he had ;1 handful of theln with hiln. Dick vaulted out of bed with ~l nourish and signed his card. '{'hen I stepped over the foot of the bed, rather chllnsily, and held the rl!gistration card up against the white wall to sign our nalnes: "Ensign .1nd i\1rs. ()scar Boettichcr Jr." It would have worked, except that 1 wrote the Unichcr Jr." off the card on to the wall-in big black scroll. The house detective ;lssurcd tlle not to worry because the luaid would clean the ink off in the Ill( )rning. I landing Ine a second c.ud to properly sign, he told the three of us to sleep tight, hut not to plan on being at the Hotel Pierre tOlllorrow. We didn't

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question him, but with all the problenls of finding rOOI11S for the needy service personnel, we figured sOlneone else I11USt have reserved our little spot for the following day. But, all's well that ends well. Dick, C;ene Kelly and I c0l11pleted [.{Iell Done on schedule, and it was exceptionally well received by all the top Navy brass. Eventually we all were awarded presidential cOI11Inendations for what we had been able to achieve. With all the wartn and wonderful 111elnories of the service years, one very "Hollywood" event still stands out above the rest. C:0l11111odore (~ene l\!larkey requested Lt. Carr to assign an officer and crew to filtn Mrs. Bess 'lruillan's christening of the war's first "Mercy Airship"-a beautiful airplane, white with ~1 gigantic red cross painted on each side. It was to be flown through eneIny territory to transport lnedicine to the base hospitals, and to quickly carry the seriously wounded to elnergency hospitals without having to cirCUlllvcnt enCIny territory. The red crosses on the plane would identify it to the enelny ground and air forces, and the aircraft would be properly respected. Our fihll would be edited, then turned over to the \\!hite House. Captain Markey explained that it would bc a personal favor to hilTI to have the job exceptionally well done. \Vell, I got the job. During several telephone calls to the White I--Iouse, I was able to learn that Margaret Trunlan was to accolnpany her 1l10ther at the christening of the ~lirship. I immediately made arrangeInents for three dozen red roses to be sent to 1\1iss Trunlan, with a personal note of explanation requesting that she carry the bouquet at the ceremony. It was Iny intention to begin our filrn with a giant close-up of the roses, then pull back to reveal the entire assclnbly of officers and dignitaries standing directly beneath the plane's giant red cross. The day of the christening arrived bright and shiny. l'1y Clllneralnan, Arthur Napoleon, and I stationed ourselves directly in front of the 111crcy plane's bright red cross, leaving adequate rOOI11 for Mrs. 'IrullIan, Marg~1ret and the variolls dignitaries to position thelnselves on each side of the ladies. '\leJl, it developed into the longest line of top brass I'd ever seen. Every adilliral-down through full commander-who wasn't on active duty in the Pacific showed up to fOrIn that line. But they formed it for the black-and-white newsreel C1I11cras. \Ve were shooting color, and Arthur and I found ourselves looking dOL1.'1I the line of gold braid, not at it. And we could barely see Mrs. and Miss 'Irulnan sOInewhere in its middle. I could just about tell where they were froIn the few red roses sticking out from all that Navy blue and gold. It was tinlc for action. 'rhe cercIllollY W~lS ~lh()ut to start. "Miss Truman," I called. But she couldn't hear Ine over the crowd noise. I tried again-a little louder. No one Ill0ved. "Honey!" I finally yelled at the top of Illy lungs. \\fords like that just pop out if you've directed Inovies. Well, this tilne Margaret heard Inc. And now evcryonc

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could hear t''i.'t'rytbil1g. bec~nlse it got very quiet, .\liss TruInan sUlck her head out of the line to look down ~lt Inc. \Vhat the hell, I was a dead duck anyway, so 1 gut-

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H.\liss 'I'rulnan," I continued, "would you please swing around to face Ine? rill the one who sent the roses." \ \'elL what a gal! .\liss 'fruInan siniled and s\\rung around all right. And with her, on each side of her and her 1l10ther, all the top brass in V\'ashington "s\\ung ~lr()lInd" too. I glanced o\'er at Arthur l\'apoleon who was looking through the lens. ;\rthur had a great sense of hUInor. I-Ie was 1l1urnbling, loud enough for Ine to hear, "()ur Father, \ \ art in heaven ... " :'\'ow I'd heard that :\drniral King was the toughest cOll1Inander the Navy haJ ever produced. Let Ine verify that. I--Ie u'as! He was on ~\1rs. lru111an's right, and I could feci those beady eres burning a hole through both Ine and our calnera . .. ... hallowed be rrhy naIne," I finished, and then said" Roll 'elll" very quietly to ~~lpolcon. ~\lrs. ~InlIllan sIlliled; .V1argaret slniled, and \ve c0I11pleted one hell of an opening sequence. 'rhcn sOll1ething rcally unexpected happened. Mrs. Tnnnan couldn't break the challlpagnc bottle over the nose of the plane. Nine tilnes she crashed that bottle ag.linst the Incrcy ship, but it had no 1l1ercy. Finally, exhausted, she dropped her ann-still holding the unbroken chalnpagne hottle-and a ~1arine C:aptain standing below her platfortll broke the stubborn glass with a hatchet. Now, I don't know what in the devil the captain was doing down there with a hatchet, but both '\Irs. 'lI-lllllan and I were vastly relieved. She was a wonderful sport and hurst out bll~hing along with her sensational daughter. And I have been a Bess and .\larg.lfct 'II-Ulllan fan ever since.

no

Back at the Photo Science Lab, I thought a long time about what I wanted to do. It \\"~lS ~lftcr Inidnight before I rnade up Iny I1lind. Sitting down at the Moviola, 1 slowly edited all of L\1rs. ~1I-Ulnan's futile attenlpts to the "Anvil Chorus." Bang, han~. hang, bang, the ll1usic went. And it really cut together. It was a work of art. 'l'he following tllorning I showed the finished product to Barney and he died bu!-!hing. lIe, in turn, ran it for COJ1lnlOdore Markey. Now I've never been sure whether (;cne 1\1arkey also liked 111e or decided it was high-tinle to send Ine back to J {olJywood. But two days later I got a telephone call from the cOlnmodore. He adviscd rne that President lrulnan had enjoyed Iny fihn, and had said, "1'111 not at all ccrtain that I'IJ ever show this dmnn thing to Bess." ~ ow, to th is day, I'vc never had the pleasure of Ineeting Marga ret, hlit-hcc~1l1SC of that eventful afternoon-I was fortunate enough to luck-out a couple of l1leetings with her dad. l\ly final joh of \,Vorld \ATar II was fihning the Easter Egg Hunt in the rose garden. It w.lsn't Illy 1l1ost exciting piece of fihn action, but, danln it, I was proud

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all over. Now don't misjudge nle by thinking these accounts of Iny non-participation in the great war are Ineant to be facetious or disrespectful. I would love to have filmed John Huston's The Battle of Sa71 Pietro. Now THAT was war reporting! But I just did the best I could with what they gave Ine-which wasn't l11uch. HUITIility is not my style, but you can be as hUlnble as dirt about what you accoInplished during that period if your pal, and partner, up to when he was killed, was L.\.udic Murphy-Anlerica's I1lost decorated soldier. **********

I had a strange gut-enlptiness as I closed the front door of Iny apartlnent in Peretski Plaza for the last tinle. Dick Koch had been discharged froIll the Navy two weeks before. He had (gladly) accepted a position at the Museunl of 1\'iodern Art in New York City and, as Slll::ut as that young fella was, I was sure one day he'd be the curator. My wonderfully crazy pal Richard Carlson had departed for Los Angeles over a Inonth ago. M.G.M. was already talking about their big production of King Sol07uon:" A1incs with Deborah Kerr and Stewart Granger, and Dick was up for the third leading role. And, Jack Benton, dear old Jack! C;od, I hoped he ,vas well and would live forever. I couldn't help reineillbering Iny reaction to the Japanese bOIl1bing of Pearl Harbor. I was certain that no one Iny age would still be alive by this till1e, and I was resigned to that fact. Now, here it was April 27, 1946, and I was not only alive, but I'd finally found the girl I wanted to nlarry, and I seriously believed I had a career ahead of Ine in the world's 1l10st fascinating business. I didn't understand Iny good fortune. Many of nly Culver Military schoohnates had lost their lives during the war, and it was tough not to brood about that. Still, when you've been this fortunate, you'd daInned well better take advantage of it just as long as you can. However, I had one I110re extreIl1ely important question to ask SOll1eone in New York. I took the afternoon train to Grand Central Station. I was still in unifonn, but I had been a civilian for twenty-six hours and fifteen Ininutes. Renlell1bering, vividly, my last visit to the I-lotel Pierre, I thought it wiser to check in at the Sherry-Netherland. Anyway, it was closer to the New York Athletic (:Iub, and I had an ilnportant date there for dinner. I was really looking forward toward seeing Illy Uncle Mike. Mansfrcd Fuhrer was Iny Inother's distant cousin and one of the best-looking rascals I'd ever known. I had adored hinl frolll the tillle I could walk. His nicknanle was Mike-why I don't know. There was nothing "Mike-like" ~bout hilll. ~Ic w.as ~lll class, extremely successful, and all those years I was a kid I couldn t walt for

65

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Aug-ust first to cOlne around because Uncle Mike would visit us every SUInnler for the fuillnonth of August, wherever we were-Hyannisport, Lauderdale, wherever 1l1Y falnily had decided to spend the SUl11nler. Dad was very busy making Inoney. lIe was always very busy. He didn't seem to mind at all that when he left froll1 wherever we were at the end of July, Uncle Mike would arrive a few days later. ()h, no, dad knew he was coming. I'd heard mother and dad discussing it. My t~lthcr thought it was a daInn good thing to always have "a man around the house." \\'ell, Uncle .vlike looked like a nlillion bucks when we hugged each other in tht; Athletic (Jub foyer. Of course, he could have afforded to look like a hell of a lot Il10re than that, and what alwavs alnazed Ine was that Uncle Mike never changed. I-Ie just always looked, well, young and great. He ushered me to his usual table in the dining roonl and we brought each other up to date on New York, \ Vashington, the stock Inarket, Hollywood-everything we could think of during four double 111artinis-apiece. \Vhat Uncle Mike didn't know was that the potted pal111 next to Illy chair was the happiest potted palm in the history of the ~ew York Athletic (:lub. That's where Iny Inartinis had been secretly deposited. 1 wanted to be cold sober for this important scene. "l\like," I said clearly, looking directly into Iny favorite uncle's still-clear blue eyes, "arc you [ny father?" I had expected a big shock-reaction, but he never changed his expression. "I wish J were," he said, "but 1'111 not." ".\1ike, please level with Ine." Reaching into Iny pocket I extracted a copy of In}' birth certitlcate frOI11 the discharge papers, and handed it across the table to hinl. "I never gave a dailln ahout all the rumors," 1 continued. "But, now, Mike, I \a.'ant to know. You'll notice that there aren't any witnesses' names on that birth certi ficate." .\like nodded and handed the paper back to Ine. "Did you mean-anl I your father with your 1l10thcr:" "llell no, I just \vant to know who I arne Do I have any brothers or sisters? Are Ill}' real parents still alive and do they need help? Please, Mike, telltne!" i'\ow his expression did change. l-lis eyes were filled with deep understanding ~lnd cornpassioll. lIe chose his words very carefully. ~~['\'e heen expecting this conversation for years. I never really figured out just exactly what I would say. I J1lade a prolnise to C;eorgia and I intend to keep it. :\11 I Cll1 tell you is ... you lin' adopted, and both your parents died the day you were horn." "'l'hat's crazy!" I blurted out. "It's the truth. I swear it!" And I believed hiln. I starred looking down at the veins in my hands, then switched to snldying Iny fingernails. What the hell else was there to ask--or even say?

\'" II F;'\

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Uncle Mike broke the deadly silence. "You've heard your parents speak of Dr. Joseph B. DeLee?" I nodded. ~~Well, go find hinl. The last I heard he had retired and 1110ved to La Jolla,

California. He delivered you, Budd. He's an old, old nlan, but Inaybe he will he able to reInelnber everything you want to know." We ordered another round of vodka Inartinis, and this tit1le the potted plant was out of luck. Ernily was waiting in the hotel lobhy \\Then I walked through the front door. Seeing her again made what I'd just been through seenl very Inuch worth the pain and effort. I probably would have let the "adoption" question stay hidden in the background for a few 1110re years if it hadn't been for the surprising revelation to Inyself that I was finally ready for Inarriage. You just don't ask a girl to heCOIl1C your wife when her children Inay never really know who they are or where they caine froln. And you can't possibly plan on carrying such a lie through generation after generation. I had walked slowly along the sidewalk frol11 the Athletic (]lIh trying to piece together the 111enlories of Iny earlier reactions to the gossip involving Iny adoption. I was only eight when little "Biddy" Stevens, our neighbor frotn across the street, asked nle if I knew what "adopted" Incant. I had told her that I didn't and she said: "vVell, you'd hetter find out, 'cause that's wh.lt you arc." I renlelllber vividly that it frightened tne, but nlother g.lVC tnc ~l long, clrcful explanation, then read Inc the definition frol11 the dictionary: "'Ic) take into sotl1C new relationship, as that of son, heir, etc." I thought I understood it, but the only thing that Inattered to Ine, then, was that tnother said: "}'Oll are 'In)' son!" I-leek, that was good enough for 111e until I was fifteen. But after Iny first headline as a young athlete, I needed a Illore thorough explanation. 'Three "close friends" told 1l1C that their parents had said I wasn't really a Boetticher. ()ne actually suggested that I shouldn't be so elated with Illy sudden success, that: "(;osh, YOll don 't even know who you are." I dropped hilll backwards into his clothes locker and hightailed it for h01ne. When I confronted Iny parents with a delnand for the truth, Iny father walked out of the r00111, while 1l1other knelt down in front of tnv chair ~lnd explained that I Illust ignore slIch ugly gossip. My cousin, rIC)lnnlY, who \\'ilS live years older, had been adopted. Everyone in town knew that and, now, people were Inerely getting the two of us Inixed lip. She explained that gossips were like that-cruel and vicious-and for Inc to sinlply ignore theln. l'he 1110re Sllccess I achieved in athletics, the Illore people would talk. llell, when you're tlftecn and riding high, you want to believe everything that's good ,'tnd just conccntr.lte on your future. Well, I sat Illy future bride, Elnily C:ook, down and hrought her lip to date on everything. She wasn't at all surprised or concerned with Iny revelation, and

67

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said she had heard that adoption gossip for years. "'Sweetheart," she said, "everyone else in the world is trying to discover who ther tire. You '\'e just found out, for sure, who you aren't. So, now you're on your own, with nobody to get in your way but yourself." It was a typical Ernily Cook reaction, and I figured it was the right time to ask her to 1l1arrv Inc. She said, "Of course," and I took the early morning plane to San l)iego. I intended to find Dr. Joseph DeLee in La Jolla before mother and dad ever knew I was back in California. I taxied froIn the San Diego airport to La ) o11a, and it took Ine less than a Ininute to find the telephone number and address of Dr. Joseph B. DeLee. The telephone directory listed Dr. DeLee's Iniddle name as "Bolivar," but when he answered Illy call, and I explained who I was, he sounded anything but militant. It \vas the Iniddle of the afternoon and he had already had lunch, but he invited 1l1e over illlillcdiately for potluck with whatever his cook could find for me to cat. \\'hat a wonderful experience it was just to meet this great man. I)r. DeLee had raised the founding money for the world's very first maternity hospital in C:hicago. It had been a gigantic undertaking, against numerous devastating odds, hut he had succeeded. He was an old, old man when I shook his hand that afternoon, but he still sparkled with a youthful vitality. He remembered ()scar and C;corgia very well. He twinkled when he asked me if my mother was as good lookin' as ever. I said that she was. And then I told him why I had come to visit hilll. lIe didn't seenl at all surprised, except to hear that I had never learned the truth of Iny adoption. He believed every child should be made aware of that. I assured hinl that I adored my parents but, now, I thought it important to my future to learn the whole truth. More important, I assured him that I would never reveal this Ineeting to either nly mother or father, and if I had only known the truth I prohahly would have been a much more appreciative "son" during all these years. I Ie could tell that I was sincere, but-if it had been anyone else in this world-l would never have believed his story. i\1y parents were hoth fronl the New York area. They fell in love when my father was I H and Illy 1l1other was one year younger. He wasn't at all certain, hut he thought theln to he of directly opposite ethnic and religious backgrounds, as they had run away to C:hicago when both sets of parents opposed the marriage . .\1y 1l1other died during delivery when I was born. My father, 19 then, left the h()spit~ll in deep despair, and only a few minutes later walked directly onto the t ra<:ks of an approaching trolley car. Dr. DeLee did not think it was suicide. He'd known and 'ldInired Illy young dad for nlany months, and suicide was sinlply out of the question. Now, Uncle Mike had not lied. Both my parents had been dead within an hour. Anyv.ray, Dr. DeLee got in touch with Georgia Boetticher, who had heen under his care for years in an endeavor to have children. He picked the

6H

WHEN

IN

DISGRACE

Boettichers because he thought highly of theIn, and he knew that they were in a financial position to properly care for the child. In those days there were 110 formal problems of adoption. Georgia and Oscar came to Chicago to gct 1l1C, and that was that. He ended his story by telling me he thought I was a very fortunate young fella. I put my arms around him and held hinl tight. "You're damn right I aln!" I said. It was a long bus ride from La Jolla to Los Angeles. '[here \\'·ere a lot of service men on the bus from the San Diego bases, sailors and nlarines on their way home. Most of them were lucky to be alive. But, s0111ehow I felt that I was the luckiest of them all. The adoption nunor had irritated 1l1C for years, but I had seriously believed that the rumors were mistaken. Now, I finally knew the truth about everything-from people who cared about the Boettichers and felt kindly toward me. I had never really gotten to know Illy father hut, now, for the first time since I had grown up, I understood my nlOln. She'd always been an unhappy enigma to me. Of course I loved her, but each time I thought I had her figured out, she did some dreadful thing. Every tilne, since grade school, I thought I had found a girlfriend, Inother got rid of her in nlystically Inysterious ways. But now I knew it wasn't because she thought they weren't "good enough" for her son. Jesus, she was playing the rejected partner. It wasn't a weird or unhealthy situation that would delight Inost psychiatrists. It was just that Iny 1l10ther didn't relish losing anything. But, in the beginning she had wanted 111e, not just a baby. Vvhen she thought she couldn't have a child of her own she picked Ute out. \\Thy she didn't tell Ine the truth was childish and stupid. And, if her decision was based on ego, that she had to be perfect in everything, well ... that was sad. Now I had a whole new life before Ine, and I was going to do Iny danlndest to tnake C;eorgia Boetticher happy. Half of that happiness was already a cinch. She'd adore Enlily. And I'd really try to learn something about Dad. Those wonderful folks weren't going to live forever, and it was Iny obligation to Inake their lives a bit richer. However, I promised Inyself one Inost important thing. Neither one of thenl would ever know that I had finally learned the truth. I'd just let this new knowledge payoff for them. I'd do Iny best to Inake rheIn proud.

6<)

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T \\'AS :\BSOLCTELY \\'O~DERFCL TO BE BACK IN THE BUSINESS TI-L\T I

now so dearly loved. All of the Il10tion picture n1en and wOlnen who were in the sen'ice were guaranteed their jobs back at the sanle salary during their first full year as civilians, but I had a n1uch better offer to move to Hal Roach Studios with a salary that was far IHore substantial than that of Iny contract at C:olUlnhia Pictures. It wasn't too difficult to obtain Illy release as none of 111y five ColUlnbia "filler" filnls had exactly set the world on fire. So I 1110ved to Iny pal, llal Jr. 's, C:ulvcr C:ity establishlnent and reported for work. It was Hal's idea to In~lkc vcry sophisticated fifty-Ininute comedy filIns with top stars, and four of us were ilwardcd scvcn-year contracts-Barney Carr, Edward Montagne, Harve Foster and IllC. ~rhe studio set us up in beautiful bungalow offices, and we sat, and sat, and Silt waiting for our individual filIns to be scheduled. In the lneantinle I Illovcd to the Shangri La Aparttnent Hotel in Santa Monica and began making arrangclllcnts for Elnily's arrival and our approaching tnarriage. I was right in l11y helief that i\1other would love the idea of a daughter-in-law such as En1ily Erskine (:ook. She'd known the falnily ahnost all of her life and rernen1bered very well Eillily's childhood friendship with Iny little brother. Oh, yes, Henry Boetticher was for real. 1\1other had hiln eight years after Iny adoption vvith no problenls at all. l)r. l)cLee had assured t11e that 111y father was not the reason for Mother's inahility to conceive. l-Ie felt that Mother, at that tilne, just wasn't ready to accept the ul1colllfortahle situation of pregnancy and labor. So she simply had rejected Dad's very ,nanly spcrrn. That was n1y Mother for you. She'd let us know when she wantcd to have a hahy of her own. Anyway, I kept Iny secret and both my parents looked forward to the uniting of the Boettichers and the Cooks. Mother did think I had ch~lnged, though. I explained that war changes everyone. Mother would h~lVC loved Peretski Plaza.

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DISGRACE

'fhe unfortunate thing about 1l1arriage plans that year was that I-lal Jr. beat Ine to it. I was his best ]11an, but only in the eyes of the groOIn. 1 Ie had Llllen in love with beautiful Dolly Hunt, the ex-wife of \Villis }-Iunt of yachts and society. Now, Dolly didn't like I11e-a lot. She felt thilt } was a bad influence for Illy hest friend, which proved she re.ally didn't know I-Ial very well. Anyway, she set about changing his i]nage to fit her visions of how a husband should appear. She hought hi]n big cigars and a 111,11l1nloth gold belt buckle inscrihed with uIl.R. Jr.," \\'hich advertised that he was the second head of the snHiio right behind his dad. I)olly didn't believe in C;entle]nen's Lib or ~1acho Rights, so I really tried not to Illind too nluch \vhen her young husband started calling 111e "']l1Y hoy." \Vhat the hell, he was Iny best friend. ()r \vas he? That question had begun to bother ]11e a great deal Illore than the fact absolutely nothing was happening at the studio. \Ye four directors sat around in Ineeting after Inceting with 11<11 and listened to hill1 pontificate. There he was, voun{!er than I runnin(T b the snldio with talented, l'xI)erienced l11en like Barney and Harve and Eddie 1\1011tagne sitting there day after d~l~' listening to his ideas, while none of these ideas was anywhere ncar being rr~lnsf()nl1ed . into a l11ovie. I had always loved, Hal froll1 altllost the da\,. we Inet at Culver, but . now I had to face facts. \Ve had been aJxlrt for ne~lrly ten years since then, ~llHI I Lli just wasn't the saIne person. I was to learn that there is ~l devastating disease in l-follywood called "produceritis." It begins with a big desk and Inostly :If"fects the young. Maybe Illy pal had contracted tbllt.' An)'\vay, I still loved hill1, but when Enlily arrived for our June wedding, Rich~lnl Carlson W.1S ]llY best l11an. PS.L. was well represented that eventful day. C:harlcs l\tlrquis \V.llTen and his Anne \vere there and, of course, Illy belove(i B.lrney C:.1rr and Ilelen, who "nursed" and fed Ine throughout l11any loneso]ne evenings at Pererski Pbza. And slnashing Mona C:arlson was El11ily's 111aid of honor. She :Ind Elnily h:HI hecoIne friends ahnost il1lIllediately upon Elnily's arrival three days before the wedding. Mona Carlson was very easy to learn to like in
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orated in such an unnecessary fashion, but Hal seeilled contented with his lot, and that at least pleased [ne. I did, however, think it was high time that he got sOlne iJea as to Illy teelin~TS about his wife. And, as Iny good luck would have it, a wonderful opportunity presented itself. I)olly had planned a dinner party for her friends during the holidays and she thought it l11ight be a great idea to run S0l11e of my 16n1111 bullfight filrn for her !-,TucstS. I-Ial knew that I considered IllOSt of Dolly's society friends stuffed shirts and hon;s, but we both got so filled with holiday spirits at the srudio Christlnas party that he genuinely enjoyed the idea of my diabolical plan. \\Te COITIInandeered a stag reel froIn one of the Roach ernployees and brilliantly spliced several cuts of outstanding pornography into the action of Fernlin Espinosa, "Arnlillita," and the bulls. \Vell, it was directly after a stupendous dinner, when Inost of Dolly's elegant guests were sleepy frolll food and wine, that the Inonlent arrived to run our show. I fal and I sat in the rear of the darkened room and watched the head action of the guests as Iny Illovie progressed. The heads moved left to right, and right to left, as the black bulls raced back and forth across the screen. But, near the end of the show, the heads suddenly bobbed up and down-three different times-for just a IllOIllcnt. But no one cOIllInented; no one spoke. None of the ladies dared. Most of the Inen actually thought they had fallen asleep and had a pleasant dreanl. And that was thc only artistically worthwhile thing I accomplished during that whole dalnn inactive year at Hal Roach Studios. At the end of the first year, Barney and Harve had each Blade a film, and both wcre exceptionally well done. But the market wasn't really excited about tiftY-111inutc cOlneoies, and the plan certainly looked as if it were going to fail. Eddic .\1ontagne ITIoved on to eventually becolne a top television producer. And it was tinlc I also 1l1oved on-to anywhere else. I hated to leave Hal Roach Sr. ffe had always been like a second father to Ine. So I just sort of rationalized I was only leaving Iial Roach Studios for the tiIne being. '(\\,o weeks after Iny departure, I got a real "l-Iollywoocl" call frOIll Iny real '~llollywo()d" agent, I-Ieri> 'Ic)bias. Wloby" was Nat C;oldstone's right-hand l11all at the (;oldstollc AgencY" lie was truly a hot shot and I liked hitll a lot. But ... '41Yju evcr hear of Brynie Foy?" he shouted over the telephone. I told hinl I'd hC~lrd of tht "Seven Little Foys," hut I'd never tllanaged to find out which one was Brynie. "\Vell, Brynie just took over Eagle Lion Srudios," Toby continued, "and I got you a two-picture dell. I told Brynie that you were the gentile Sanlll1Y Fuller." HJesus C:hrist, 'I()b/' I screaIlled, "I'd rather be the Jewish John Ford!" But, with that kind of dialogue, I knew I was finally back in I-Iollywood. I took the job, hut best of all, when I got to know Sa[n Fuller later, I told hiIll the story ;lnd he loved it. "I-Iell," he said, "I'd settle for being the Kcntile John Ford any day in the wcek."

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The two Eagle Lion filtns were fun, nothing Inore. 'T'hey were both produced by a delightful young fella, Eugene Ling. I-Ie and his pretty wife, Betty, became close friends of ours, and he was one of the few producers with WhOlll I ever cared to spend tinle. I have, however, two fond Inelllories of that period. Gene RaYlllond was the leading 111an in OlY first picture, .Assigned to l)flJ1ger, and I renleInber absolutely ,narveling at the beauty of ~1rs. C;ene RaYlnond as I sat across froln her at dinner at their hODle. Jeanette MacDonald was even I1H)re attractive off the screen than on. I have never seen such coloring. I-Ier hair and cOlnplexion were storybook painting. The second unsurprising Inell10ry was that Richard Carlson was just as fine an actor as I thought he would be. We nlade Behind Locked IJoon" together with the lovely M.Ci.M. actress Lucille Breoler, and every day all the set was a pleasure. But these, again, were black-and-white fillers and Iny career wasn't going anyv"hcrc. Then along CaIne Lindsley Parsons, a hard-working, talented producer of B fihns. He and I got along fatnously, which W;.lS not par for the course. Lind wanted to make good pictures, and he had young Roddy McDowall under contract, so that was a dall1ned good start. Roddy becanle one of Iny real favorites. We l11ade three pictures together and they we;e quite good. Now, you JllUSt relllclllber, on these little two-week shows, you weren't Inaking Gone With tb(' Wind. Nothing that transpired on those filnls is worth relating to SOllle ardent filIn srudent to help further his career. But, once in awhile, SOlne situations beclIne so ludicrous tha t they bear tel Ii n g. It was on a shark picture being fihned in Ensenada, Mexico. J\1y young pal, Roddy, was the star and had just becolne 21-no Illore chaperons ilnd no nlore parents on location. Roddy McDowall was finally on his own, ilnd the photograph of a young actress he brought into Iny office wa~ sitnply gorgeous. fIer face was a painting. I was sure it had been retouched. But I was dead wrong. \\Then he brought her in to Ineet Ine, she was Inore beautiful in the tlesh than in black and white. She looked Latin, which the part c;llled for, and she wore .1 billowing Mexican skirt and lacy blouse th.lt cinched the deal. I knew I was right in casting her and that Roddy had silnply wasted his tinle with all his pleading and begging. All he had to do was show her. No director or producer in town W.1S going to rurn down that face. It was Sunday, before the first day of filrning, and I was busy shaving when E'nily walked into the hotel suite hathrool11. "Have you seen your leading lady in a SWilllSuit?" she inquired. "Nope," I I11ulnbled, still shaving, "but I'll bet she's dynalnite." Elnily grahbed a towel off the rack and headed for the door. "If your first scene on the beach tOlllorrow is with her in a hathing suit, you'd better go take a look," she said, siniling, and headed t()r the hal1.

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:\11 ( could think of was that

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gorgeous young star had picked out a suit that would bt: frowned on even in burlesque. Well, she'd just have to pick out sOIHething else Illuch less censorable. 'rhat's not a big deal. However, I finished shaving in a hurry and followed Illy wife to the beach. \ \rel], to say ( was shocked would be putting it favorably. My star, with the facc of ~ln angel, possessed the body of a hippo. No wonder she'd worn the .\lexicln skirt ~lnd blouse. I looked all over the beach for Roddy, but he was nowhere to he found. '(,hc following 1110rning I beat the crew to the beach. The l1l0Inent I saw nly le~l<Jing bdy, all bundled up in a robe, I took her aside to Blake a suggestion. Pbcing Iny hand on hers, I told her that, in Iny opinion, she was about to becolne the l110st hC~luti ful star of the silver screen. People would relnember that face "until the cows corne h(»ne." I think I said something sir11ple like that, so she would understand. 'rhen I went on: "\\~hen you are listening to Roddy, in that r110st irnportant speech of his, rt:I11CJ11her that .111 the young t11en in the theater audience won't be looking at Roddy. 'rhey'll he looking at you." She nodded-knov,!ingly. "But," ( continued, "they won't be looking just at your beautiful face. They'll he studying your body. So renlcIllber, sweetheart-renlenlber to hold your s«)]nach in." I thought that would at least take care of a couple of inches. Well, when Roddy's Illost irnportant scene in the picture began to unfold, she did hold her sto)nach in. Roddy kept on telling her that their rOlnance wouldn't work, that he ... Just then a sea gull floated across the skl' and, C;od bless her, she looked up to study its tlight. ( said, uC:ut," ~lS quietly as I could, and we prepared to try it ;lg;lin. \\'e II , four 1l10rc tilnes we attel11pted to filrn that scene. First it was another gull, then a fishing boat a half-l11ile out at sea, a bus pulling up to the pier, and tin;llly the plane frot11 ,\tlcxico C:iry on the way to l'ijuana. The crew was getting the giggles, Roddy was turning redder by the Illinute, and I figured I'd hetter get on with SOlllC high-powered directing. I excused Inyself to young Mr. McDowall and walked hcr a few yards down the sand. "(loney," [ hegan, "( \\'ant to explain to you the 1l1ost ilnportant thing in filnl al'lin~, Le~lrn to Ji.\"ft'll. Forget that you've read the script and know the next line y()ur fellow ~lctl)r is about to deliver. Look into his eyes when he speaks. That will In: the r't'/)' jir.\"t (illlt' you've ever heard what he is saying. Listen to Roddy, sweetIlea rt, li.,·(t'll to h illl!" She tilted her head to one side .1nd looked forlornly into Illy weary eyes. "But rOll told 111t: to hold Illy stoInach in," she said.

i4

Illy

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********** Nothing, absolutely nothing was happening with Ill}' directorial career. J\llost of my friends and business associates never would have believed that this bothered me, but it most assuredly did. Of course I didn't play the I-Iollywood ganle of hiring an expensive press agent and spending Iny nights at parties. ~rhe old adage of "Never worry what the newspapers say as long as they spell your nanle righe' is ;1 lot of crap. Certainly Iny Inovies were reviewed as "nice little pictures," but] wanted one hell of a lot nlore than that. I watched "directors" who coulun't carry Iny camera-finder progress rapidly to bigger budgets and better 1l1ovies, and I finally realized that the only way anything irllportant WilS going to h'lppen to Inc was for me to write and direct sOInething really different. So, 1 was working fr;Jntically on a Inuch longer version of Illy original treatll1ent of '/O1"l'1'O (BlI1lJigbter and the Lady) when I got a telephone call frolll I-Ial Jr. I--Ie spoke as if \VC were sti II at Culver-full of vitality and warrnth. I-Ie wanted a favor. And what a favor! Hal had just signed a contract with Fonl-Magnavox and was going to produce the very first one-hour Illotion picture specifically designed for television. He explained to nle, right up front, that he had little l110ney to spend on the director. I figured that this was the first part of the favor, so I settled on his suggested five hundred dollars-for the entire show. C0111e Oil, he used to be Illy hest friend! Then he got down to brass tacks. The show was to he '/'bc 'J'hrec Musketeers-not a chapter, but the whole daIlln book. 'rhe shooting script \\';1S only sixty-nine pages and the schedule was to he three days. In those days, actors got fifty-five dollars for a full Hten-hour day." 'VeIl, we went out and got quite a bunch: Robert (]ark, John Hubh.lrd, ivlcl Archer, Paul Cavanaugh and Marjorie Lord (Anne Archer's Illother) to play, rcspcctivdy, D'Artagnan, Athas, Porthos, Richclieu and Ana dc Austria. Unfortunatdy, \VC went a half-day over schedule, which greatly upset Illy producer. But the fil1l1 showed Thanksgiving afternoon on Ford-Magnavox 'rhc.lter and \\'.1S ~1 great artistic success. I took Iny five-hundred-dollar check, c.lshed it in a hurr~.' :1nd headed back to Iny typewriter. That had been degrading. Regressing to a threeand-a-half-day 1110vie was a long way frolll the luxury of the twelve days I'd becolne used to. It was high tinle I really got to work on ']orero. Maybe that Inight save nly life. Then, over the distant hill rode the I)uke to rescue Jne frolll all of thc Indians. I'd seen it happen l11any tiIllCS before, but I ne\'cr drcal11cd it would h'1ppen to I11e. I was finally able to I1lake BullJigbfl·r "lJd tbe L{/{~)'-thanks, '111110SI" cOlnpletely, to John Wayne. One of Iny fondest 111elnories of that period was thc Illceting we h~HI in the office of Herbert J. Yates, head of Republic Pictures. 'rhc whole g'ang \\'as there:

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rrhc Duke, Grant "Tithers, who had introduced Ine to Wayne; Robert Newman, head of production; Andy McLaglen, my loyal assistant director-who really cared; and James Edward Grant, the Duke's favorite pal and prolific screenwriter, who eventually became presiding head of the Los Angeles chapter of Alcoholics AnonYlnous. Now, a fella has to hit the bottle pretty good to work his way up to that eminent position. Anyway, the belligerent little boss of Republic began the meeting by, personally, reading the reader's report to us-which is now framed next to the Academy Award nomination for "Best Original Story." "Dear Mr. Yates," it began-with proper dignity, "this piece of tripe is certainly 110f rea»1l1l1ellded as the author is merely trying to capitalize on the great success of Tom Lea's nlagnificent book, The Brave Bulls, and knows nothing of the subject of which he writes." "Jesus Christ, Herb!"-I can still hear the Duke's roar-"Doesn't that asshole know Budd was a bullfighter!" Yates sat back in his chair and hit the copper cuspidor with a most accurate stream of tobacco. "Be that as it may, John," he said, compassionately, "we're not going to make the picture." The Duke sat up straighter. It was frightening to see him, up close, in action. "And why the hell not?" "Look, John," Herb continued, "if we had somebody like you or Forrest 'rucker-somebody big enough to fight them bulls." I took one hurried shot. "Mr. Yates, we don't 'fight' the bulls. The word tort:ro means we play them." "Be that as it Inay," Mr. Yates repeated, "the answer is still no." i'he Duke lit a cigarette. "All right, Herb, just pay me what you owe me and I'll make the picture." 'rhere was a deathly silence as Yates shot a quick glance at Bob Newman, who looked straight ahead. Then: "What do you mean-'owe you,' John?" "Well, if you read my contract, you'll see I've got ten percent of the gross profits of Wake of the Red Witch, which has already made three million dollars, so you owe Ine three hundred thousand there. And, I've also got ten percent of the bFfOSS profits of fWD Ji71l0, which has already brought in seven million dollars. So, hell, llcrh, just write Ine a check for a million and I'll finance Budd's show." Roben Ncwrnan silnply nodded affirmation this time, when Yates shot him a look of ahsolute panic. ""lell you what I'll do, John," the boss finally choked, "I'll give you two hundred thousand to Inake the picture. That ought to do it." "Sorry, I-Ierh, we're gonna need five." "I'll up it to three."

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"Nope. Just can't make it for less'n four." "John, three hundred and fifty is absolutely as high as 1'111 going to go." I nudged the Duke's foot. "You've got a deal," John Wayne said, and we all walked out of the office. The actual filnling of Bullfigbter encolnpassed nUlnerous problenls, due mostly to the unbelievable ego of one of Iny two leading Inen. I had cast C;i1bert Roland because he certainly looked the part of a successful 111l1tl1dm' de toros, and I had been badgered by Herb Tobias (also Gilbert's agent) ever since it was known we were actually going to Inake the filtn. ()f course, in the long run 1'111 happy that I did because Roland gave a splendid perfornlance. But his personality on the screen didn't keep hiln fro In being a Inajor pain in everyone's ass, 1l1ost especially mine, He was Spanish. His father had been a I11atador of SOIne note and, frolll the acrual signing of his contract to perfOrIll, he set about sort of "condescending" to play one of Illy leads. He becalne so obnoxious that Andy McLaglen kept hinl on call most of the time so he could strut around in his bullfight suit and sign autographs, which placed hinl at a fair distance fro III Ine and Illy calnera. We had one very il11portant scene where he and Robert Stack 1l1cet in the Hotel Regis' stealTI baths. Robert Oohnny Regan in the filtn) has a problelll with his budding rOlnance with lovely Joy Page, so his l11entor, Gilbert, consoles hiln and helps patch up their quarrel. Well, I'd seen Bob stripped and knew he was a blond Adonis, so when Gilbert arrived on the set looking like a gorilla, I suggested-as politely as I could-that he shave some of the hair off his chest, shoulders and back. Mr. Macho hit the ceiling. He stornled off to his dressing rOOlll, and we sat for more than two hours before he condescended to shave and return to filnl the scene. That steam bath sequence turned out to be one of the high points in the film. However, I was certainly telTIpted to let that hairy ape have his way and be snickered off the screen, but I'd worked too long to get Iny picture started, and I didn't have time for jokes. Finally, at the end of our studio schedule, Gilbert was about to die in the picture. I'd waited a long time for that. Well, the Inatador brought 1l1e three personally written pages of what he wanted to say throughout dying. If I had actually filmed it as he suggested, it would have Inade Greta Garbo's delllise in Ginnill,' look like a walk-on. So, Jack Draper, my calneralnan, and I fihncd Ciilbert's dialogue seven different times before we all agreed it was perfect. l~he only problelll for Gilbert was that we never rolled the calnera. 'rhen, being c0l11pletcly satisfied with the scene, we sent hinl honle and filmed the close-up of Robert Stack that I wanted in the first place. It worked beautifully. Bob never had a chance to apologize to his mentor before he died, and the horror and frustration of what he had done in the preceding bullfight sequence to cause Roland's goring now 1l1ade the finale much more powerful. Well, I ilnagine there are many other "(;ilbcr(

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Robnds" in the acting business, but ever since then I've been able to CirCUI11Vent thelll with a vengeance. It SeeJllS that word got around HollY\\Tood that we were Illaking olle hell of a filIn, and nothing succeeds like success, as we all know. vVell, when that word gets out don't take a bow-duck-because that's \vhen the legal beagles go to work. :\'ear the end of our fiirning, t\\'o irritating legal Inatters surfaced frolll the very howels of the earth. 'I'he bullfighter froll1 Brooklyn, Sidney Franklin, sued Republic Studios and 1l1e for plagiarizing his life story. I'd l11et Sidney once in Tijuana and lnade the dreadful rnistake of offering "Mi casa es su casa." \Vell, I had Ineant it as a I11atter of salutation. 'rhere wasn't one itenl in my house I would even lend Sidney. But, unfortunately, he took Ine up on it and stayed ruro weeks until I literally threw hiJll out. \ Vhat Illost people don't know is that Sidney wrote the glossary for Ilclllin~n.';ay's Death ill tbe Afternoon and that's the only reason Papa dedicated "A Shon 1·~~rill1ate of the :\lncncan, Sidney Franklin, as a Matador" at the end of his book. I assured the Duke that I could handle the siruation and simply sent good ai' Sid a "ery personal telegraln. "I)ear Sidney," it read, ~'will be delighted to appear against you in any court. It will give 1l1C the opportunity to explain to the \\Torld what you are really like. rIll arranging for all of your discarded little 'nephews' to accolnpany Ine. Budd Boetticher. " 1'111 not at all sure he got the wire, but-funny thing-we never heard another word fr0l11 hirn. l\:OW1 I wasn't as successful with a little hunl named Ray Nazarro. Ray's two daillls to Eline were that he directed the C:harles Starrett westerns and that he cowrote /JuJlJigbtt.-,· and tbt' Lal~)'. I had Illet Ray back in the C:olumbia days, and I told hiln part of Iny life's story in J\1cxico over drinks at Brittinghaln's. Ray indicated that he had an ilnportant pal at ~\1.C;.jV1. in the story departrnent who rnight enjoy reading a short synopsis. I dictated a few pages for hilTI to type. I il1lagined that he sulHnined it, but I never heard another word until his attorney sued me for half ()f Iny writer's s~\bry on the show and screen credit. Ray had registered that synopsis in 0111' (\\'0 nailles. It wasn't, at that tiIl1C, really worth fighting. So I settled out of court. ()f course, I didn't know, then, that 71'e were going to be nOl11inatcd for UBcst ()riginal Story." I sat three seats fronl Ray at the Acadclny Awards. Lucky for hirll, we lost. So help Ine C;od, if we had won, little Ray ;\;al.arro was going to end up in thc orchestra pit-on the fly-through the rniddle of the hig hase druln. Ilowever, despite the few lnajor problel11S, we cOlllplctcd Bullfighter in a hlazc of ~I()ry. 'rhe Inatador hrothers, L.uis and Felix Briones, who doubled Rohert Stack and Roland in the hullring sequences, really outdid thctllselves. 1

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Luis, who had been forced to dye his coal-black hair straw-yellow to Inatch Stack's, was absolutely sensational in the final con-id" in Pbza :vlcxico. I Ie Cllt rwo e~lrs and a tail, and the perfectionist Mexican fljiciolliulos yelled: "I ley, Briones, keep your Lana 'T'urner hairdo. You're better as a blond!" John vVayne threw a giant party following the final day of shooting in (2ueretaro. Now, the Duke did everything BI(~! I-Ie wanted to be certain that we would have a substantial anl0unt of the proper l\1exicln Inusic at the "'fiest~l," so he assigned three different underlings to go out-clnd not anile blick-unless they succeeded in corraling a costulned Inariachi baneL IntiInately knowledgeable of .V1exican wavs, he wanted to be sure that at least 011(' hand would show up. But, he wasn't reall". aware of the efficiency . of our Mexican crew. All three Inessengers callle back with a Inariachi band: one group costulned in red, the other two in blue and yellow. 'T'hey were colorful, all right, but not ~lS colorful as they \n:re loud. Professional jealousy ensued as each group figured that they, alone, had first dibs on the 111usic-so, they all played together, three different pieces, thirty-six different 111usicians playing altogether different runes. Sinc<.: we had be<.:n housed in a spectacular n10tel with all of our r00l11S overlooking a football field-size tile patio, it was bedlalll-with the 11lusic ricocheting off all four walls and the red tile. The Duke and C:hata \\layne sat on their verand~l ~lnd sort of supervised the party, now in full swing in the Iniddle of the patio. \Vayne was the first one who noticed that our leading lady, lovely and cultured Joy Page, was not in ~lttend~lncc. "\Vhere in the hell is Joy?" he roared. Now, Joy needed this rowdy hunch of drunks like she needed a goring, and she had the good sense (and good t~lStC) to have rClllalned in her roon1_ 'l'here was a light on in her suite, so Ruhen Padilb, Iny longtilne pal who played the p~lft of the Inanager of Plaza A1exico, silnply drew his gun and shot out the window of Joy's hathroo]n. Funny, I don't cver renlclnber her 111aking an cntrance to our party. She was just suddenly there! rrhcn I, personally, was the subject of the I)uke's second roar. ~'lley, Bood, get on over here. I want to congratulate you." 'rhat was really fright~ning. Every tiIHe the I)uke hugged Inc, the stubble fro111 his eight-hour heard took off one side of Iny face. And, now, I had acrually finished the picture and he W.1S rCilI6' happy, .1111.1 I was in a lot of trouble_ But, luckily, he didn't hug Inc. Instead, he handcd IlH.: a half-cll1pty quart bottle of tequila, and] could tell by his eyes who h~ld consllllled all of the other original half. "IIere," he said, "let's you and l11e drink ~l t()~lst to the success of your friggin' show." Now, I thought, for sure, th:lt I W~lS only ~()ing to take a slug or two frolll the bottle, then hand it back. But, hell no! lIe produced another full quart froIll beside his chair ~lnd held it out so we could toast cach other in the old Mexican custonl of "down the hatch" and keep sW~lll()wing until the other one quit. It's sort of like "chicken" but 1l10rC dang<.:rolls. So, I locked arIllS with hin1, and we began swallowing-looking for ~lny sign of weakness in the

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other's eyes. \,Vell, it went on, and on and OIl, until Iny bottle was eInpty. Duke took three rllore s,a,,',11Iows-ro he sure he had won-then walked over to the veranda railing and fe)) into rhe rose bushes. Drawing Inyself up with as Inuch dig-nity as Illy hurning stolnach could Inuster, I strolled back to the party, lay down on the red tile, crossed Illy arIllS over Illy chest and went happily to sleep. LLl~c's really dead," I heard the doctor say. "There's no heartbeat at all." But, nobody cried. 'rhat's what upset nle. I could feel rheIn all around Ine, looking down ;H rn~' hody, hut nobody cried. Now, that's one hell of a way to die. Then, I felt SOll1COne unbuttoning Iny shirt, and I guess I felt the stethoscope, because sOlnething was vcry cold. l-'his tiIlle the doctor's voice was even nlore definite. u'rhis Inan is dcad, ladies and gentien1en, so just what do you propose to do with the hody?" Now, I couldn't get anything else in gear, but Iny hrain was still working beautifully. It realized \\'e were in deep trouble, and it also flashed that John \Vayne sure wasn't going to CDIlle to the rescue this time. He was still in the rose bushes. \Vetl, as Illy ungrieving friends picked up nly body to place it out of the way of the revelers, I sUlnrnoned up one final burst of energy. I groaned. But, it wasn'r until we all got back to I-Iollywood that I found out Iny pal Ruben had filled the doctor's stethoscope with adobe. However, the party turned out better th,ln our renlrll to Republic Studios. At least Bob Stack and I were alive at the end of the party, but they killed us upon our return to Hollywood. I Silllply couldn't get anyone to see our picture. Mr. Yates was in Europe and Jjnllny (;rant h'ld sno\\'ed the Duke into becollling conlpletely disenchanted with Inc. And that was a daillned shame. You see, when Bob and I first read Grant's screenplay in J\1cxico C:ity, we were shocked. It was supposed to be adapted fronl lny original story, but what he had written certainly wasn't what either of us had planned to fihn. It was Jinlnly~" drunken version of what he thought bulls and hulltighters were like. Ilowevcr, I prolniscd Bob we'd fihn the story, not the script, .lncl we did. \Vell, when C;rant saw the rough cut of the picture he threw a fit. lie convinced \""~lyne that I had been cOlnpletely disrespectful of his ability as .1 renowned screenwriter, and the Duke hought that crap. Jimmy then nicknamed Inc uNars," for uNarcisslls," and the feud began. What the hell, the show was supposed to ht: based on rny personal experiences in Mexico, and I thought I had sOlnt: rights. But the I)uke didn't think so. He and his entourage of "nodders" began to refer to our show as "l"he Mexican Hassle," and that was that. Actually, nohody dared to screen it. In desperation, I telephoned John Ford. And, never ha\'in~ had the honor of Ineeting the great Inan, I wasn't at all sure he'd conle to the phone. U M r. Ford," I hegan, ~'lny nalne is Budd Boert ... " U\Vhcn in the hell are you going to invite Ine to see your show?" I didn't know ... " U

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"Well, you know daInn well how much I love Mexico, don't you?" "Yes, sir." "\,Vell, call your.cutter, and tell hinl to set up a screening. I'll get hack to you." That was ten o'clock A10nday 1l10rning, and it was going to be a long, long week. Friday afternoon-late-Mr. Ford was on the phone. "I ran your picnlrc," he said. "Is it any good?" I blurted out. "Nope," his gruff voice answered, "it's grellt! Drive on in here and see Ine." "I don't have a drive-on pass. U "Well, do you know where Herb Yates parks his Rolls?" He didn't wait for my answer. "Park your car there; take your keys; be prepared to give Ine exclusive written pennission to cut your picture, and I'll win you an Acadenl), Award." I couldn't believe it. JOHN FORD was going to help Ine! When I walked into his office, he stood up frolll behind his desk and extended his hand. "The only problenl with your show, Budd," he began, "is that it's got about forty minutes of chi-chi shit that's just gotta go." It all went-all of the "chi-chi" stuff. The great tore1'OS I had photographed to give Gilbert Roland even more dignity all ended up on the cutting-roonl floor. \\Then you can surround one of your leadirlg Inen with the best in any profession, and they pull out his chair, and light his cigarette, and agree with everything he says, you sort of get lured into believing altnost anything he does. But, even worse, a lot of Robert Stack joined those brave ll1atadors in the wastebasket. Bob had done everything I asked him to do and, actually, one hell of a lot lllore. I-Ie learned to be a torero, at risk of life and linlb, and he had a lot of bruises and scars to show for it. He actually fought sOlne good-sized anilnals for Ine when the picture was completed. I had scheduled that ajte1- the final d~lY'S shooting so he wouldn't get himself killed before we finished the picture. Well, all that sensation,l} fihn was gone. And the sentilnental scenes with the little Mexican children who are so beautiful-they were gone, too. Still, Bullfigbte1- nud tbe LIl~Y was an unexpected success. It gave Robert Stack the opportunity to becoille a lnajor star, which title he has continued to wear with great charnl and dignity throughout the years. Katy Jurado went right into Higb Noon, and good 01' {;ilberto went fn)Jl1 ten thousand a picrure to one hundred thousand with a starring role opposite Jane Russell at R.K.O. Funny thing about that fella. As Inuch as we disliked each other, I guess he was responsible for my being invited to sign a sevcn-yc~lr contr~lc.:t at Universal. \Vhile Iny agents and the srudio were negotiating the deal, Leonard C;oldstein called Ine to tell nle the story. Seenls Mr. C;oldstein, \Villialll C;octz, the head of Universal, and Edward Muhi, vice president, were having lunch, when the "matador" stopped by the table. "l-Iey, 'Alnigo,'" \ViUianl C;oetz asked, ~~what kind of a director is Boetticher?"

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"\Yell," the "rnatador" answered, "he's great with anirnals, but I directed all the people." 'rhat Inust have clinched the deal. Directing all those fighting bulls to run around in tight circles-inches past n1y gold-suited friends-then stop and stand still while I photographed close-ups-had to be the greatest exhibition of anilnal training in the history of the business. So I was offered the usual forty-week a yC~lr, seven-year optional contract at Universal Studios, but at a very substantial salary. I)irecting 1l10vies for Universal Studios Inust be chalked up as a learning experience. \ \'hen you work for an operation that evenrually tnanufactures a srudio tour that deglaIllorizes the entire industry, you have to learn sOlJlething. For instance: "biting the hand that feeds you!" The producers at Universal, with one shining exception-Aaron Rosenberg-beat their brains out trying to teach Ine that (notion pictures were not an art fonn, but a business venture. Still, I never believed theln. For one hundred and four weeks of the first two years, with only Sundays off, I directed nine Inajor Universal fill11s. Katy Jurado cOITIplained that I was urllaking pictures like 'tortillas,'" and she was correct. I worked with a lot of young actors who, eventually, becalne stars, but the only good thing I seen1 to rClllclnhcr was the opportunity to becolne friends with Robert Ryan, Julie Adalns, Sidney Poitier, Glenn Ford and Van Heflin. They were "pros," who believed as I did that every picture delnanded one hundred percent effort. Now, that select group doesn't include one of Illy all-tilne favorites, Anthony Quinn, because we were already close friends froln Blood and Sand. I made three of those nine filIns with 'I()ny--cvcry one a real pleasure. I had plans for Tony but, being under contract to U .I., those ",1istic plans had to wait. ~ow don't rnisunderstand me about Universal. I had a lot of fun there. But it wasn't constructive fun, or the kind of fun that was going to enhance Iny future. Still, there were SOllle rcally good tinles. Probably the one I will always ren1clnber with il hig srnilc happened during the fihning of Bro11co Busters starring John Lund, Joyce (Iolden and Scott Brady. I'd always heen infuriated by the audacity of Hollywood writers who sat in the safery and cOin fort of their offices and wrote ilnpossible siruations and shots for the directors to filrn. llorace McC:oy of 7bey Shoot Horses, DOIl't Tbey? falne W~lS a real pal of Inine, and we had discussed this irritation over nUITIerOUS drinks. \Vell, when Ilorace was assigned to write the screenplay for Bronco, he decided to playa joke on Inc. lie wrote-in the confines of his own elegant hOITIe: S(:ENE _~77 C~L()SE SI-l()rr BRAI-lMA BULL goring clown, then tossing hilll out of s("cnc. . \Vdl, thilt did it! I decidcd to utilize Illy "taurolnachian" background and prove th~lt directors could do anything! 'rhc Sl'cnc W.1S to C0l11C at the finale of the picture. It concerned the fatal

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goring of a rodeo clown, being played by Chill Wills. So we had a dUI1l111Y Illade, and costulned, to tenlporarily sit in for good 01' Chill. Now, I'd made a very serious study of the rodeo business before the picture began, and I was especially intrigued with the Inagnificence of the BrahI11a bulls. The Inore I watched theIn, the Illore I was convinced that SOlneone who really knew his business could Il1ake a few cape passes with the beasts if he could convince theIn that he, and he alone, was their enemy. I had noticed that they were so brave that they just couldn't decide exactly whorn to kill after they rid thelllselves of their riders. 'fhere was always too 111uch confusion with all the horses and clo\\rns and cowboy spectators. Cliff Stine was Illy cinelnatographer, a wonderful fellow who was rnuch braver than any canleranlan should ever be. I-Ie'd try anything-as long as it would help the picrure. \\!ell, Cliff thought I \\'as crazy as Illy plan was to havc thc carneraoperator and his assistant photograph froIn a waist-deep hole with no protection, sot hat the y co u Id can tin u e to" pan" wit h the b u 11- n 0 In a tt e r \\' h c r e h e went-with nothing to constrict the canlera's view. Now, that sounded so outlandishly idiotic and dangerous that C=tiff insisted upon being his own canleraoperator-in that hole. Funny thing, all three of his loyal assistants fought to he the one in the hole \\rith hinl. Now Iny plan was to irritate that Br~lhl11a hull enough to Blake hilll believe that I was his prinle enenlY, just I11e alone. So, all during the day's fihning, I would take the tilne-between shots-to visit hinl corraled in his privatc chutc. I didn't have to say very Inuch, nothing insulting or profane. I 111ercly told hilll a few things I'd always wanted to say to a couple of lJniversal producers-rlcd Richll10nd and Albert C:ohn. By the tilne we had scheduled our "C:LOSE UP BR,\1 L\1A Bl1LL" shot, the whole studio of "aficionados" and detractors arrived for the slaughter. Evcn Casey Tibbs, now alI110st a lifetinle pal, begged 111e to forget the whole darn thing. However, Inore ill1portant, several of the top studio executives begged Inc to (()IJtin lie. And 1'111 sure that's what spurred 111e on. Anyway, I yelled for '(()llllllY Shaw to "roll 'enl," and slapped the pink hullfighting cape against the outside white boards of the anirnal's chute. Funny how you rCIlleI11ber "flashes" of things. As the cape hit the pen, I had one lightning-quick view of th.lt cnclosurc. It W;lS in ahsolute splinters. All the paint was gored away, with only a slll.lttering rClllaining on the big Brahlna's horns. l'hen I started running hack""ards with Illy cap<: wid<:spread, and C:asey swung open the chute. It was just wonderful! I felt like Lee Marvin after he'd just shot his hrother in Cat Bal/oll. Everything I'd helieved in worked! rrhat furious anirnal didn't even consider that there was anyone else in his world. lie slashed at Illy Illoving cape in a dancer's rhythnl as I lured hilll toward the cililleril-hoic. 'I"hen I dropped one end of the cape directly in front of the propped-up dUIlHny, and C:hill '''ills' coun-

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his dreadful end. The bull lowered his right horn and caught that dUllllny right sll1ack in his belly, tossing it up and out of the scene. It was so perfect that I continued to "play" hiITI for awhile after the filnling was cOInpleted. Still, the best was yet to cOlne. \",ben he gre,\' tired of his battle with Ine, the bull Silllply jUlllped the arena's fence in search of something or SOlneone less frustrating, and headed down the Il10untain toward a section of Universal's faInous back lot. In a flash, he was followed by three world champion rodeo perfonncrs-C:asey, Dan Poore and Pete Crump-all mounted and gaily swinging their lariats. ~ow, hidden away on one of the studio's foreign streets a rather cffcJnillatc director was busy creating a Inovie of a type which was always referred to .1S Ul~its and Sand"-beautiful girls , ..'earing as little as possible. And, wouldn't you know, Iny bravc bull picked that harem street. "VeIl-he u'as a bull! So everyone went t1ring for any available cover, and the girls had a hard time outrunning the eunuchs. By the tillle I arrived in Illy car, the bull and Iny cowboy pals were long gone. 'fherc wasn't even 11luch dust remaining on that Arabian street. But the director \\'3S there. And he was furious~ LLC;oodness gracious!" he screalned. Hlf you insist on playing these silly gaines, you could at least let Ine know. I could have been squashed!" It was a IlH:1110rahle day! But, finally, Iny career at Universal Srudios caine to an end-quite explosively~ llcnnan '[ownsley was a character and, like my entire crew at that studio, tlercely loyal. I-Ie was Iny special effects genius. And, I had found out about Ilerrnan on Red 8111/ Express-Jeff Chandler's and Sidney Poi tier's version of (;cneral Patton's alrnost-disastrous breakthrough of the Gennan lines. The giant forest trees, which were to be shelled into falling, took off like rockets to the n100n. I explained to IIerrnan that for the next scene it would be preferable to have the trees shatter and fall over, not be launched, and to put less dynalnite under Inct

their hases. \Vell, in 1f'I11gs oItbe 1Io1J.'k with Van I-Ieflin and Julie Adarlls, we had a scene where \'an Wits to hlow up a bridge. I was very upset with the srudio because they hadn It allowed C;corgie Shennan the opportunity to di rect Clark (~able at .\1.(; ..\1., which was sUlpid. I Iell, George could have brought Gable to Universal for ~l filln. 1'111 sure he'd never even been on the lot. Anyway, I wanted to have a leave of absence to journey to Brazil with C~lenn Ford for a show, and it was quite obvious that (hey weren't going to allow that, so ... I Icy, hoss," Ilcrtllan said, "arc you going to Brazil?" IIIlell, no! I've got five l110re years on this friggin' contract, and I doubt if they will even lei 111C go hOlne for dinner." IL(;ood," Ilcnnan said, "with you gone, the studio would sure break up Our crew, an' that'd be a shalllc." Then, "So, how Inuch 'soup' do you want Ine to put Ii

under the hridge?"

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"As far as 1']11 concerned, Hennan, you can blow up the whole daInncd snldio," No\\', I al"ways wanted to be the one who pushed the explosive's plunger. If I Inade a Inistake, no one would get fired. I looked off to Iny left. 'There were the forty ]nounted "insurgentes" in place. And off to Illy right the ]llounted 4lfed_ erales" v,'ere chonlpin' ~1t the bit. Davey Sharp, doubling \lan 11etlin, \vas re~lrin' to go, as was Polly Burson, Julie's stunt-double. And so were all four call1era operators. "C)kay, T0I11Iny," I yelled to Illy truly great assistant director, "roll 'enl." "rhen, I heard fro]11 all four CaIneras, and I yelled "action." Now, when I yelled "action" to Illy anny of sruntInen, tbC), weren't kidding. ,,"Ve could have won \".'odd War II all bv ourselves they'd have let us. And here the\,F caIne! l'he· fOftv "1>3n. . if . dits" had to get across the swinging bridge before the seventy-five L'federal troops" arrived, and the two stunt-doubles were to race across sandwiched inbetween the n\'o nlounted groups. That was the 1110lnent for the explosion, and everything worked to perfection-until I pushed the plunger. It was then that we blew up the "whole dalnned studio!" It was an absolute Illiracle that no one was hurt. My director's chair was at least one hundred yards ;:l\vay frOll1 the explosion, but I watched the ensuing scene flat on Illy back, still scated in the ch.lir, which had hi own over like a capsized sailboat. ~rhe leading twenty riders of the Hfederal troops" hlew sideways off their Illounts as if thcy were feathers; then, being- Illy very professional hand of stunt]llen, they played "dead" where they b~'. But, I wasn't certain they were acting. ~rhe stunt had been scheduled for the last shot before lunch and, luckily for the actors and crews frolll the other shows who were already in the restaurant, it was late in May and the \Jenetian blinds were drawn tight so the shattered glass just ricocheted hack onto the concrete walk outside the big bay window. Ilowever, the I1lost Inelllorably exciting thing happened to the owners of the lovelv . estates :Ind hOl1leS surrounding ... Universal Studios. All their swilllining pools split wide open-drained as dryas the Sahara l)csen. 'rhose frightened civilians spent the first tcn Ininutes following the catastrophe in telephoning thc Stratcg-ic Air C:oll1ll1and to report a downed jet. \\fell, we finished Wil1gS oj'tbe f/tlwk right on schedule, and Aaron and I threw one hell of a cast and cn:w party. It was hHe in the Inorning after our fiesta that I decided what I h.](1 to do. I telephoned Jalllcs Pr~1tt, hcad of production. "Jinl," I said, "I'd like a 1l1ceting with you, Bill (~oetz and Eddie J\1uhl." "I-low ahout two o'clock this afternoon?" Jilll suggested. "I'll sure be there," I said, and hung up. Now, Jilll Pratt was Illy pal. We'd spcnt a lot of tilne over the last two years discussing the studio's prohlcnls and, well, J illl Pratt was sort of a fan of tnine. And Mr. Willialn (;oetz really liked 1l1C. I always got along with thc "heads" of studios. It was their friggin' producers who usually drove 1l1C cr.lZY. But, this titHe I w;lIHcd

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to be ahsolutely certain that the other head of Universal showed up at the meeting-becduse Eddie Muhl hated my guts. He didn't like the way I dressed-with Illy sleeves rolled up-but I always dressed to work. He didn't like the fact that I always seelned happy, because directors at Universal should always look frightened. And, 1110st of all, he said I drank on Saturday nights. Well, he was sure right about that. I drank 011~Y on Sarurday nights, so that I could telnporarily blot out the past six days at the studio and start getting in shape on Sunday to face Universal afresh the following week. I always felt it was a darn shame Edward wasn't conscious when I carried him out of Storey's Restaurant over my shoulder two straight working weeknights. I was cold sober then, and Eddie Muhl was heavy. I was surprised that he smiled at me when I walked into the meeting. All three were there and, surprisingly, they seelned in an absolutely delightful mood. Good. I had something to settle once and for all! Five more years in that producer's factory was a fate worse than death, and I was going to do something about it. I sat down at the long production office table and began my pitch. ~(;entlenlen, I don't want to work here any more." They all nodded, smilingly. "\Vhatever you say," Eddie Muhl agreed. Pratt and Bill Goetz nodded agreement. Now, this was too easy. I'd made nine really fine films at this damn srudio. I'd take another shot at it. I was sure they just didn't understand. "Bill, Jim, Edward-what I'm trying to get across to you is that I've had it here. I don't want to direct any more pictures for Universal. I don't want to drive or walk through your gate again. I want you to tear up my contract." What really surprised me was that there wasn't one moment's hesitation. rrhey all stood up and extended their hands. "We just want you to be happy, Budd," Bill Goetz said. "It's whatever you want," Jim Pratt put in. Eddie Muhl just grinned. I couldn't believe it. It was too good to be true. I was out of that office like a shot and across the street to Keye's Bar and Grill to call my agency, M.(~.A., and give them the great news. "J-Iow'd you find out so quickly," my agent inquired. "We didn't get the tclcgraln that Universal hadn't picked up your option until half an hour ago." Now, for those of you not well versed in the wording of motion picture contral~: "Hadn't picked up your option" was just a polite manner of stating the horrible, clllharrassing truth of the matter: I'd just been FIRED! \Vell, we were all off to Brazil: Glenn Ford, Arthur Kennedy, Cesar Romero and the hc,lutiful Spanish star, Sarita Montiel-all of that talent anxious to begin J'he II111ericllno, a wonderful script written by Guy Trosper. Our sensitive and caring producer was Robert Stilhnan, an absolute delight to work for, but-we never got to work. \\That the Brazilian producers did to Bob Stillman shouldn't have happened to the worst sonofabitch in Hollywood. Nothing that they had

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promised this trusting soul was ready for him. There weren't even roofs on the stages in which we were to shoot. Weeks went by. I was there sixteen of thenl, while we just sat and looked at each other. It got so bad that the top Brazilian producer, Bennie Dianissio, forced our cast and crew to stand in line, alphabetically, to receive our money for meals. That wasn't too tough for Ine with my name beginning with a "B," but Glenn-always a real fighter-held out for three days. Finally, some money arrived from Stillman's father, of the Chase National Bank. I knew some things that our producer wasn't aware of-like the sinlple fact that Arthur Kennedy had another picture commitment, which wouldn't allow hilTI to tarry another week in Sao Paulo. So, against Bob Stillman's wishes, I fihned action sequences instead of scenes: snakes, crocodiles, zebus, piranha-everything dangerous that you could only find in the jungles of Brazil. Glenn was wonderful. He worked closely with all these killers as long as the money held out. Then, we all got on our plane and returned to Hollywood. The Americano became the only tilnl I never finished. And that hurt. I always loved working with Glenn. He and Bill Holden were the two actors of that era who Inade every picrure they appeared in believable. And, I was extremely fond of Bob Stillman. He didn't understand Ine at that time, but I hope, now, he realizes that the "background footage" we filtned against his will just might have been the one thing that allowed him to finally finish The Ame17cano at R.K.O. Now, it was finally time to do what I'd been planning since the pictures with Tony Quinn at Universal. I sat down, locked myself in and wrote a screenplay especially for my pal. I wasn't giving Tony a break. I was doing s0l11ething exciting for the film audiences of the world. I intended to help Tony nlake himself a star. Sure, he'd already won two Acadelny Awards, but both of those were for Best Supporting Actor: as Brando's brother in Viva Zapata, and as (~auguin in Lu.st for Life starring Kirk Douglas as Van Gogh. It was to be Illy second bullfight picture for two reasons: first, I was certainly an authority on the subject: second, Tony would fit the part to perfection and look sensational in the gold traje de [uces. I entitled the picture The Numbe1" One, but I was to discover I was a little ahead of the times. My producer, Edward Alperson, thought it sounded like someone had to go the toilet, and he was busy discussing a l110re suitable, less offensive title when I walked into Iny office at Selznick Srudios to discover him and Clarence Eurist, my production Inanager, sitting behind Illy desk. AI.) a matter of fact, Clarence had both his polished shoes on top of it. But, seated in my oversize leather chair next to this double personal affront was one of the best-looking characters I'd ever seen. I was certain that he was an actor, and Illy mind immediately set about trying to figure what great part was still open in our picture casting. "Budd," Eddie began-without getting up-"this is Mr. Lucien Ballard." l-Ic

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tlll:n nodded to L.ucien. "1\1r. Ballard-l\1r. Boetticher." I \\/;;1S honestly startled. Lucien stood and extended his hand. ".\lr. Ballard," I said, "what a pleasure! I think I've seen every picture you've photographed, but I thought you'd have to be ninety years old with all those hrilliant credits. ,Lucien said, "'fhank you," and sat back down. "\\'cll," Iny producer bearned, ~'I'nl glad you t\\'O get along, Budd, because Lucien is your calner'1I113n. \Ve just signed the contract." And he held it up for Ine to scc~ 1'111 not sure how long I counted to rnyself, out of respect for ",,'lr. Ballard, hut when I exploded, the shit hit <111 the fans. '"Eddie, you schtl1uck! Don't you know enough about the picture business to understand that if the director and calneran1an aren't close friends with total respect for each other, it's going to cost you Il1oney? And ... " ,,\\re thought you'd understand," Clarence cut in-weakly. ~'Undcrstand! Listen, Buster-you understand! If this gentlelllan and I don't happen to get along, it's--as I just said-going to cost Edward, here, a fortune, and you arc going to end up Th'U), behind schedule!" That was just for openers. I)uring the next five full Illinutes, I read the riot act. I was the director; it W£lS 711)' script and I was the associate producer. IVo one, no one else was to be hired unless I W~lS consuit(.!d. Acrually, all this would have been a good lesson for young directors. If the "boys" rcally want to "test" you-let thenl do it /Jljore the picture starts. ~rhcn explode all over the place. Let thenl kno\v that all the "terrible things they've heard about you are true. You are the boss. Then Inaybe they'll go away until the picture is cOIllpleted. At any rate, the tirade continued until I was certain I had Illade all Iny brutal points. Then, I rurned to Mr. Ballard. "1'111 sorry you had to hear all of this, but they had it COIning. Now, I an1 ~lhsolutclr delighted that I will have an opporrunity to finally work with a gentlel11an of your stature, hut I 111USt tell you that, when we filtn in the bullrings, I have vcry dctinire ide.1S as to where I would like to put Iny c3Ineras." l'-'lr. Ballard drew hinlself up to his full, absolutely gorgeous height. "Mr. Boctticher," he said, softly, "as far as I'nl concerned, you can take your C3Ineras and stick thcln up your ass." I ne~lrly fell on the floor, and burst out laughing. Good God, there actually was SOlllCOlle else in that gutless town who had SOIlle balls! U ,;\1 r. Ballard," I said, "would ~'ou care to step across the street and join tne in ;1 beer?" lie looked rnc up and down for a long, long beat, then: "Yes, I think I would," he said. And he smiled for the very first tilne and got hetter looking than ever. I don't rel11clnber either one of us saying good-bye to our two friends, hut Lucien Ballard and I have been together on Iny fillns U

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ever sInce. I didn't know it at the tilne, but Lucien was Maureen ()'Hara's personal request. Now, after you've had the pleasure of working with Maureen, you're inclined to give her anything she wants. lvliss (Yl-lara is the 1110st professional actress I have ever known. She's ready on the set \vay before her 1110rning call, knows everybody's dialogue and can set your call1cra for you if you need help. Every InOlnent with her as our leading lady was a distinct pleasure. A;lotion picture location-filIning can be one of three things: a tedious daily drag, an absolute disaster, or a very nle1110rable lot of fun. 'rhe four-week shooting schedule for The NII'Jnber Olle was the l110st fun I've ever had. ()f course that was a c0111pletely selfish viewpoint, because I had arranged the exterior filining to be done at C:arlos Arruza's bullbreeding ranch, a three-thousand-acre paradise an hour-and-a-half northeast of Mexico C:ity. You see, little C:arlos Arruza, Iny Ilovilll'ro pal fro1n Iny early days in 1\1exico, had becolne the world's greatest bullfighter. l-le had gotten rid of the gold front tooth on the \vay, and he was now athletically handsolnc and had the bullfight world by the tail. I had followed his brilliant career for the p~lst fifteen years, had seen hinl forear nUI11erOUS tilnes in l\1exico City and ahnost every tilHe he fought in 'rijuana. \rVe had becolne even closer friends, probably as close as friends can get while living countries apart. C:arlos had retired frO]ll bullfIghting in 1953. Ilis great cOlnpctitor, iVlanuei Rodriguez ("j\lanoletc It), had been killed by :1 bull in 1947 and there were no longer tLl}O of thenl at the top. ()f course, there had been a difference of opinion about that. "1\1ano1ete," when questioned as to who was the greatest Illatador in the world, had said: "First, I}le, 'lVlanolete,' then l1obo{~)', tbell C:arlos Arruza." But the aficiollfldos had been equally divided hecaust: they were both so great. C:arlos had bought "Pasteje" right after his retireSllent. I Ie knew that he could never stay c0I11pletely away frolll the bulls, so now he raised theIn, he said, to frighten the other tm-erOJ. And, he deeply loved his gllllfldt'rill. '['he white-willled-in red-tile-roofed hacienda had housed both Elniliano Zapata's ilnd Pancho \lilla's troops during different stages of the Mexican Revolution. Pasteje had been est~lh­ lished as one of Mexico's tlncst and lllost honorahle bull-breeding ranches long before C:arlos had even begun to think about the bulls. Still, Arruza was spending a fortune trying to ilnprove it.

My favorite thing about filIning at the ranch wasn't just the wonderful atIllosphcre. At Pasteje I could actually work at keeping in shape. "Chucho n Solorzano sent 111e a beautiful polo Inare nallled l~\1J/('l1didli. I had spent 1l1ost of Iny early life, before fonnal prep school and college athletics, on Iny father's spectacular horses. People told Inc I could ride before I could walk. I doubted that, but it was a cOInplitnent. Now, 1110untcd on 1~:\pll'lIdid'l I could ride out to

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the distant Pasteje locations (\\'0 hours before the crew arrived. Then, follo\ving the day's tlltning, rny new "lady friend" and I would canter hOlne. The ranch was located 9,600 feet abo\'e sea level, and those morning and evening jaunts were unhelie\'ably beautiful. Howe\,er, after the fourth day's shooting, I inherited a cOlnpanion. C:arlos wanted to kno,v where I was going when the sound of 1l1Y boots on the tile patio woke hinl up at six o'clock every Illorning. I told hilll that I was on the wav to ride out to the location site. "In what?" he asked. "I never hear a car." I told hirn: "()n a horse," and he was shocked. He felt horses were for pcones, not gentlelnen who could still be asleep. But, being a good host, he decided to join I11C. (~huch() sent another lovely ITIare and off the two of us went. It was awful! All of the great Inatador's grace disappeared on horsehack. He bounced up and down, this way and that, but I didn't have the heart to tell hilll he'd never be a horseIllan. :\5 C:arlos, hilllself, adlnitted: "I have a lot of 'proud'!" Seeing the bulls again-up c1ose-nlade Ille realize that there was tnuch nlore to bullfighting than just ~'balls" that had gotten nle hooked. They are such noble beasts-so passively Inajestic when they are together in the fields, and so frighteningly destructive when they are singled out or loosened into the plazas of the world. Non-aficionados have asked Ine repeatedly: "\\'hat do you do to tnake a fighting hull rnad?" And I have ahvays answered: "You open the gate!" C:ertainly, when you stand before thein, they scare the hell out of you. But, when you have learned to conquer that fear, your future problenls and everyday traumas becolne infinitesilnal. I bTUCSS, l110rc than anything else, surviving the bulls gives you confidence. :\'ot just the confidence that you can "play" the bulls but, unforrunately, an ovcr-abunlbnce of confidence in thinking that evc1ytbil1g you do is ahsolutely sensational. For instance, if you have had the 111isfortune of being subjected to various IloIIY\\'ood actors, or producers, or even (heaven forbid) directors, whose egos far surpass their talent, you ought to get a load of huH fighters. Their egos surpass even the strength of the bulls. 'falk about pril1l3 donnas! You can always tell how really good;l forn'o is by the attractiveness of his groupies. 'rhe girls get prettier and uglier up and down the ladder of success. And, of course, C:arlos' covey of followers was ahsolutely gorgeous-hecause he was HE] Nutnero Uno." Now, he was the best in the world at what he did, and he sure as hell knew it. I'll never forget one of C:arlos' Illonurllental triulnphs in Plaza Mexico during our filrning. ()ur whole cOlnpany had attended the (on"id" and Arruza was truly sensational! 'rhe following tllorning, 'I()ny Quinn and I were sitting at the foot of :\rrul.&l'S hed having coffee, when \!argas, Carlos' sword handler, arrived with the IHorning papers. 'rhe headlines hlared the truth: "Arruza fantastic!" "Arruza C:uts Ears and 'Elils,'1 HC:,ulos Arruza C;ives a Lesson In the Art of Bullfighting!" And, as Vargas read the finer print, l\1atador Arruza agreed.

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"Carlos Arruza is, without a doubt, The NUlnber ()ne." V<:lrgas droned on and on: "With the cape he was a genius," "With the 11ut/etfl he 11Iade us ~llrnost forget Juan Behnonte and 'Joselito.'" "With the first pair of bll11derillfls, he showed that he was equal to Rodolfo Gaona's Par de Plnup/ol1tl-the tnost stupendous placeInent of the sticks in the history of bullfighting." "El NUlnero Uno" certainly agreed with that one. "Then," Vargas continued, "the second pair of btll1dl'rilllls was very good." "Very good.''' Carlos bolted up in bed. "l'hat 111an said the second pair was just 'very good't' Vargas nodded, sheepishly. "Get that I11iserable sonofabitch on the phone," Iny tnatador roared. And Tony and I choked over our coffee. Upon our return to Selznick Studios for the picture's editing, Eddie Alperson strolled into Iny office. "I sure wish we could steal your pal Barna by Conrad's title for our 111ovie," he said, dropping a book onto Iny desk. It was A1atad01; Barney's bestseller. I illllnediately thought of the Inost Ciod-awful title I could caIne up with in a hurry, so as to change the subject. I offered: "\/\/11), don't we call it The lWagnificent Matador?" "Christ, that's great.''' Edward beatlled, and pranced happily off to notify "publicity. " And I was never playfully facetious again. However, Tony Quinn was 1nng1lijiccut.' l'he tlhn didn't get quite the enthusiastic reviews that Bu/lfigbtC1- did, but every producer in every i]nportant studio surely knew, now, that Anthony Quinn could carry a nl~lj()r production. And that's all, really, I had set out to do. l'he day after the filtn's Hollywood preIniere, I received a "speci~ll delivery" gift of an 1804 Guadalupe Inedallion on a gold chain. l'he Vi1gin ~r (;//"d"/"!J c is the protector of all Mexican torero.", and around the ]l1edallion's edge is engraved: ~'Budd, 1l1ay she watch over you always-'J()ny." And she (llways has. A very interesting thing h~lppened upon Iny return fro]n Mexico. I received a telephone call frotH the head of Universal publicity. I-1e suggested that EIlIily and I drive down I-Iollywood Boulevard the COIning week and take II look at the 1l1ajor attractions playing there. It was supposed to he .1 surprise, hut het()re EIl1 and I Inade the drive we received I1ll1nerOUS other calls frotH friends stating what had occurred. For the first tilne in l---Iollywood history, a director had three first-run feature Inotion pictures playing on the boulevard: Alllu/i-U'lII fbt' .,1/11'1110 with (;lcnn Ford and Julie Adallls; Wil1gS of tbe J-/lrwk with Van I-Ieflin, Julie AtblllS, C;eorge Dolenz and Abbe Lane, and Ellst of SU'lJlllf1"1I with Jeff (:handlcr, 'lc)ny ()uinn, Marilyn Maxwell and Susan Ball. \Vdl, Inayhe I had heen ulnaking pictures like tortillas" as Katy Jurado had protested, but these 44 tort ilbs" wcren't had. And I had

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enjoyed working with the actors ~lnd actresses who were involved. Still EnlIl1ie and I didn't stop to buy a ticket at any of the three theaters. I'd seen the shows and I'd blld it with U ni\'ersal! But across the street fro]n C;raunlan's, where Wing., of rbt' I/,"rk was playing, was a Inarquee that interested 111e. 'The theater advertised .\larion Brando in 'I'll£' }'Oung Lions. \Vell, I've always been a Branda fan. I'd been considered to direct the picture, but Eddie l)nlytryk beat Ine out. Unfortunately, we were a hit late to see the opening of the filtn, so we had to sit through the hlack-and-white second feature. SOlnehow, fro]n the very 1110111ent the titles appeared on the screen, it looked alnazingly falniliar. It was titled The Swo~'d of !)',-111I1gllfll1. 'rhen, to prove Illy shock, there was 111y naIne in big bold letters as the fllnl's director! Jesus C:hrist! I had finally progressed to working with stars and In'ljor studio budgets, and now Iny 1110st recent release was a three-and-a-half-day wonder I'd done as a favor for tny pal. I didn't end up seeing a hell of a lot of ~\tlarlon Brando because I was so daInn angry, but EInily told Ine it was a wonderful shov.'. I'[n sure I nodded "sornething" and let it go at that. I just wanted to get to the telephone first thing in the 111orning. ~'(;ood 111orning, I-Ial," I began, ··will you have the srudio Inake Ine out a check for thirty-four-thousand tlve-hundred dollars and charge it off to your last release." Poor llal, he was genuinely shocked, \Vhen I used the word "poor" I was only referring to his lack of talent. lie got right to the point. ·~'Thirty-four-thousand five-hundred dollars for what?" "'For directing your fucking picture. I think you retitled it The Sword of !)'.-Irttlgllllll. ~\ly present salary for a picture is thirty-five thousand. I've been advanced five hundred, and now I'd like the rest of Iny ]TIoney," U,\ly boy," he said, "a deal's a deal." u' (,hat's your .lnswer?" "Yep. You kno\\-' that." I hung up llnd reported the entire situation to the Screen Directors Guild. I, of COli rse, neve r got the rest of Iny Inoney, bu t the Guild nlade a lot of new-protective-rules. '!wo weeks later Iial called Inc. lIe said he'd felt I was very upset, and he and l)olly wanted to invite Enullie and 111e for a weekend cruise on their newly purchased Yiu..'hL \,Vc declined. \Vc had tnade plans to scr~lInble sOlne eggs. *•********

Llu.:ien B.lllard and I rejoined forces on the rIwentieth Century-Fox picture, .-1 Ki"t~r I)' Loost:. \,Vc had heard fronl the Hollywood grapevine that we were going to have a tough tinlc working together again. Seenls the powers that be decided we had gotten too close anu-as a tealn-would be inlpossible to handle. \\That we

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both couldn't figure out was why they thought we had to be a teanl to be uilnpossible." That hurt our feelings. We felt that, individually, we were illlpossihle enough. Tbe Killer Is Loose was a good fihn with Joseph Cotten, Rhonda Flclning and Wendell Corey, who were wonderful to work with. But I don't think they appreciated what Lucien and I did. \Ve nlade that picture in fifteen days on a twenty-day schedule to stick up the "grapevine's" roots. U/e'd tell thC1}J \\'hen we were going to be difficult. On the final day of Killer I got a call froln the Duke. lIe wanted to see 11lC on John Ford's set just two stages down froln Inc. Six years had gone by since John Ford alnlost destroyed Bullfighter ol1d tbe Ltldy, and I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about visiting the great director's set to see anybody. I hadn't seen the l)ukc either for a long, long tilne, but lowed a lot of anything I hau bcconlc to that man, so off to Stage 5 I went. "Here," the Duke said, "read this and tell 111e \vhat you think." I took the script and glanced at the title. It was Seven J\tll'l1 F'ro",! Nmr by sOlnc fella nanled Burt Kennedy, so I carried it off to SkjlTI through it over lunch. rrh~lt is, I carried it as far as the stage door, when I heard John Ford's boollling voice. "Hey, Budd," he yelled, "hold up!" I held up in a hurry. I was dalnn sure hc'd heard how much I hated losing those scenes froIll Bullfighter and now he was descending upon Ine in exceptionally long strides. I tried to force Inysclf to consider that he didn't look any tougher than I-Iarry C:ohn, but I also figured that I was younger and more naive then, so the "I-Iarry (~ohn" I11el11ory didn't help l11uch. "Were you just gonna walk off the set without even passing the titne of day with Ine?" John Ford asked. "Well, sir, I was sure you were busy." Mr. Ford srudied 1l1e for a long beat. "You don't like 1l1C, do you?" I was shocked. "Well, God dalnn it, I don't blanle you, but the truth is-l like .1'011 and want to set you straight about sOlnething. I didn't set out to chop up that tine picture of yours. I wanted to be danln sure that they put it out. 'l'hose assho]cs weren't going to release it at all, you know." "Yes, sir." Ford grilnaccd. "Yes, sir, shit! I'nl not asking you to ~lg-rcc with Inc. Just understand why I did it. I knew dalnn well if we got it down to ninety InillLJtcS, they'd have to release it! They needed picrures, if only for fillers. ()kay?" "()kay," I said. And that \vas the beginning of il wonderful friendship. Jack Ford was simply great with 111e. And I learned to love and understand the In~ln who was a true artist, who knew what he wanted, and who the hell he w,lIlted to be with. He didn't have time for crap. An hour later I was back on his set with Seven ""1('11 Fr01J/ ]Vou' in Illy hand.

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. l'he Duke was sitting in a circle of friends. "' I)uke, this is a sensational script," I began. "\\'c1ll1, rou couldn'da read it in an hour!" "1 read thirty-fi\'e pages. That's all I had to read to know that it's great. I'd like to Ineer this Kennedv fello\v." 'rhe Duke nodded to a curly-haired young IHan sitting next to hiIll. "So, shake hands with hiI11," he said. Kennedy stood up. I grinned and we shook hands as I said, "1'111 happy to Ineet you. You're one hell of a talent!" H\VC 1l1et a long til11e ago," Burt Kennedy said. "I was the 'rabble-rouser' in ,lIlli/ ji'OlJ1 '1l,.,'tI.\" with Robert Ryan and Rock 11.udson." Then he grinned. "You told Ine [ was pn:tty good." "'You were," I faked renlelllhering, "but you're an even better writer." And so began a long, happy and fruitful partnership. It was the nicest thing John "'ayne ever did for 1l1C. In the 19605, Burt would begin directing his own filnlS-al110ng theln Return oftbt' ,~'t'7}f11, 'The War l¥Ilf.{Ol1 and Support Yozn- Locnl Sheriff. I signed the directorial contract with Batjac, John \\fayne's Ill0tion picrure cOlnpany, but Sez't'l1 JJen Proll1 l"o71.' wasn't scheduled to begin filming until iVlan:h. Burt and I discussed various aspects of the script and what we would like to achieve with the picture. l~hen, knowing that I was finally dealing with a very t~llentcd writer, I left Illy new partner alone to do the rest of his creating on his own. 'rhis gave Inc tiIlle to think seriously about a project I'd been drealning of for scver~ll years. I really thought Bllllfighter would further Illy career in Iiollywood by leaps and hounds. But it didn't. Jack Ford and the Duke took care of that. And 'J1)t .lltlgllijit'l'l1t .VIlltllt/or was a good filrn about a subject of which I was well verscd, but Inost critics wrote that it didn't COl1lpare to Bullfigbte1~ even in the condition Iny hoped-for "I11asterpiece" was when it was finally released. Now don't decide that Illy frustrated arnbition to Inake better films was based on puhlicit}" wealth and heing recognized as a talent. It's Inost inlportant in Hollywood to Illake hetter tilnls so that, gradually, you are blessed with better actors, better budgets and longer shooting schedules. I just wanted a shot at 1l10re expensive shows. "I'hen, if I failed, it would he Illy fault alone, Well, no Illatter how hard I tried, I just W~lsn 't getting that shot. So, again, I was forced to realize that I had to create sOlnethin!{ entirely different, very personal. No one, not even the Spanish, PortubTlJcsc or the Mexicans, had ever produced the definitive filrn on the hulls. But I, cven as an AInerican, felt that I could. \ "hen before, and when in the future, would a 1l1otion picture director of category, with an established career as a to 1"('1'0, set abollt directing a close friend who is the 1l111stcr of the art of bullfighting? l'hat was tny idea. There would be no "douJ

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bling" of the star. I intended to use the best torero in the world to play hin1self. There would be no 1110re long shots of the 1l1~ltador doing the acnlal bullfighting, then a phony close-up of the actor-star. I wanted to Inake ~l re.11 bullfight filI11 with a real tonTO fighting rhe bull. And I knew froll1 experience th;lt whoever th.lt torero turned out to be, he'd have to be .1 close pcrson~ll friend of Inine. Bullfighting pictures are extrelnely tough clnd exceedingly dangerous to Inake. And, believe Inc, this tore7"O friend of Inine would have to he p.1ssion.ncly excited about doing the filIn. \Vell, I had two such close friends .It the very top-C:ar!os .t\rruza in l\1exico and Luis "V1igucl "Dolninguin" in Spain. I first Iner Luis .;\1igucl "Dolninguin" in 1()54 when he had run away froll1 one of our industry's 1l10st desirable stars. It was headlines in all the g-ossip colun1l1s. The t\\'o of thenl had been vacationing in Big Bear and Luis 1vtig-ud had just up and left. I questioned hinl as to how he could run IIV.'/~V froll1 her, when ever~' redblooded l1ule who'd ever been to the 1110vies would run as fast as his h:gs could carry hin1 t07.L'{{rd her! "'\Vell," the great Inatador Illused, "it's a wonderful gift to be .lble to cut e.lrs and tails in the bullrings ... hut," he lit .1 cigarette, "to be expected to cut ears and tails 111orning, noon ~lnd night in the bedroOll1 is too 111uch-even for Inc." And he wasn't being funny. It was n1erely a srateillent of fact. C:arlos Arruza hated Luis Miguel's guts. lIe hbilled hinl for the death of "Manolete," claillling veheInently that "DoI11inguin" had forced "tvtlilolete" back into the bullring. This, of course, was absurd. Arruz::l, of ~lll torero.'", should have ' ,,, Wc1S aI)out to t.1 k'c over u~1 un derstoo d "M i <1110 1ere 's " ego. " D olll1nguln i\ ;1110 Iete 's " place at the very top of Spanish ton'o and the IlHlstcr \\'llsn't ahout to stcp aside and I1lake it easier for hin1- A bull, Iolol s lero ," killcd "Manoletc"-nohody else. Now Luis Miguel's attitude toward Arruza was cOlllpletcly different. Ill' was purposefully aloof. \-\Thile the very l11cntion of Luis iVliguei would send :\rrllZ~l into a frenzy, anything pertaining to Arruza as a IllcHador, or a IHan, would provoke .1 slight frown froln the Spaniard as he tried to "relnclnher." 'I'hen he would say quietly: "Oh, yes, you n1ust be referring to the J\r1exicHl, till·/o.,' Arnll'.a." It \\'.lS an absolute delight for nlC to bait theln both. ()ne night Elnily and I were driving over Benedict C:ilnyon returning fron1 ;l fashionable party given in honor of our distinguished guest, who was sitting in tht: back seat. Suddenly he le~lncd for-wilrd hetween us to converse ;111d I jlllllped :It the chance. "Luis Miguel," I hegan, "in your opinion. who ~lre the tell greatest Ill;nadors in the history of hullfighting?" 'rhere wasn't a split-second hesitation. H\Vell, second, 'Josclito,1U he s;lid. l~hcrc was no need to lllention who he considered W;lS hEI Nlllllcro Uno."

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U'rhen," he continued, "third, Juan Belrnonte, then DOlningo Ortega ... ," and he In~ltter-of-factly nalned the remaining six. I looked across at Elnily and winked: "You just named ten Spaniards. \Veren't there any great l\1exicans?" H()f course," he said, "there were tw'o damn good ones." I cut in. "Rodolfo (;aona and Arruza?" ~~C;oodness, no," he exclainled, "Gaona and 'Annillita~' Arruza is a 'futbol' pl~lrcr!n

Funny thing though. For once, exactly two months later, Charlie A. rruza topped hinl. Saine script, saine setting, saine dialogue: "In your opinion, Charlie," I began, "who are the ten best toreros ,vho ever lived?" h\\'ell, first Ine and 'lvlanolete'; third, 'Joselito'; fourth, Juan Belmonte, then (;aona, ':\nnillita,' 'Silverio,' Garza, Ortega and Lalanda. He at least kept things e"en: five Spaniards and five Mexicans. Carlos was very nationalistic, because both his parents v:ere Spanish and he was born in Mexico. I-Ie loved to cornplain: "In Spain I am a C;od-daInned Nlexican and in Mexico I aln a God-damned Spaniard!" "Didn't you forget someone?" I couldn't wait to ask that. "\Vho?" "Luis Miguel?" uLuis Miguel~" he exploded. "PUla mad1-e.' I thought you asked Ine to name fLOll-not ten thousand!" \Vell, it was a dilenl1na. On one hand was my crazy, delightful pal C:arlos. And then, on the other, Luis Miguel "Dominguin"-who sure as hell was going to he "'rhc Nunlher ()ne" whenever Arruza stepped down or even "slowed down" a linle. And they couldn't have been Inore different. Carlos' "class" was in the bullring-nowhere else. I-Ie was a killer of WOInen, as well as a killer of hulls. ()f course the ladies he absolutely "Inurdered" wanted to be his victilTIS. They threw thcll1sclvcs headlong into his bed because he was ARRUZA. But, Luis Miguel was in a class hy hilnself. During evenings out, he wore a scarlet-lined Spanish cape over his fOrInal trfljt' C0110, and his entrance into the fancy clubs of Europe would have rnade C:. B. l)cL\1ille proud. \Vhen he played the tables at Monaco, he flanked hill'lsclf with a gorgeous redhead on one side and an equally startlinglooking blonde on the other. Everything he did was showmanship, but it all catne narur~ll to hilll. So, why not "Dolninguin?" I Inllst have said that, out loud, to Inyself a thousand times. And then I got an unexpected call from Carlos. It was the first of November, 1956. "l-Iey, Bood, you got tickets for the 'C;uadalupfll1a?'" Then hefore I could answer: "l)on' get theln. I get rnro for you. Eets a geeft!" :\ gift fr0l11 C:arlos. I nearly dropped the phone. I flashed back to the only other "geeft" he had suffered through seven years before. I had been in the Inen's

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room at the Focolare when, due to my absence, he had been obliged to pick up the dinner check. So, I hadn't taken his graciousness too seriously. "You're paying for the tickets?" "Sure! \\Thy not! 1'111 becolning a damned spendthrift!" "Spendthrift, and that'll be the day!" "Well, are you COIning?" he shouted like the wonderful little boy he could be when he wanted. So, of course, I said: "Yes, we'll be delighted." The Guodalupnl1n was an eight-day festival that had been organized on the order of the S011 Ysidro in Madrid, the Pel·io de Sevilla and the S011 ["--cr,,"il1 of Palnplona-eight straight days of bullfights and parties. It was to be Mexico City'S first. But quite suddenly 1l10re grandlnothers and grandfathers died, 1l10re children had accidents; more Inothers becaIne stricken with cvery fonn of fo1tal diseasc known to man. And then all the grandll10thers and grandfathers, and children, and mothers, and their husbands went to the bullfights for eight straight days and nobody worked. It cOlnpletely upset the country's econolny and it was the last of the GUlldaluplluas. But, that was Mexico and it was fun while it lasted. The Ininute we stepped off the plane I knew C:arlos had a bi.(!'o reason for inviting J11e. He was grinning frotn car to ear and jUlllping around like a t\\'o-yearold colt. And that's what he was excited about. He was going to he il n'.iol1t'{ltlor-~l bullfighter on horseback. He had figured out a W~ly to outsl11~lrt Mari ~lnd he wanted me to be the first to know. \\Then he had retired in 1953, he had prolnised her that he would never ever again fight in the gold suit, the tn~jt' til' IlIc('s of the fOrInal Illatador. And he was certainly going to keep thilt prolnise. Bullfighters on horseback don't dress in gold suits. 'rhey wear the traditional t1'l~i{' corto of the Spanish horselnan or the sixteenth-century casocfI of the PorNhTUcse. "It'll work!" he giggled. "Mari's alre~Hly agreed!" "C:harlie," I said, trying hard not to grin, "the hulls are going to he just ;lS big. \\That's that got to do with your costulne?" "It's Iny prolnise," he shouted. "T'his way I can still keep Iny pnHnise. I)on' you

see!"

I "saw" all right. And I was happy for hinl and-quite selfishly-for Illyself. Right there in the Mexico C:ity Airport I said goodbye to the prospect of Illy tihn with Luis Miguel "Doillinguin." 'T'hat would have hecn a heautiful picture, hut now with the horses I could create sOlnething truly different, SOlllething entirely new with the pageantry of Illcdieval tilncs, with the colors of Picasso, ilnd with the horses-Porruguese Lusitanos-the 1l1ost excitingly beautiful horses in the world. Bullfighting on horsehack, called njol1eo, with all its traditions and techniques, is essentially a Portub'1.lese art that dates hack to the days when wild hulls were hunted with due cerenl0ny on such special occ:asions as a royal 1l1;ln·ja!-{c or

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rdigiolls festival. 'rhe terIn originated frolll the Spanish word rejon (spear), and spcartnen 1110unted on hot-blooded horses have been practicing this highly dangerous sport since Julius Caesar fought froln the back of an Iberian Peninsular stallion in the ColosseuIl1. l~hen, when the role of the trained horse in war diIninished, the Spanish and Portuguese knights found it only natural to turn to the wild Iberian hull to properly exercise their 11l0unts to keep theln in shape for battle conditions if the need presented itself. The ancestors of the Inultin1illionaire Inaradors of today were serfs frol11 the kitchens and stables, who went out into the tlelds to lure the bulls away frOll1 their fallen Inasters when they were knocked froln their horses. Finally, in 1763 when the art of l'ejoneo became popular, the .\1arquis dc l\larialva, a brilliant horselnan, introduced new n1ethods of attack and defense and laid do\vn the rules and principles that hold good to this day. 'rhe eight-day Gutldalupana was a wonderful vacation. I had really nlissed the IIJl/bit'nle of the bullring. Our two front-row seats were sandwiched in between Fred I iochberg and Illy long-tilne pal Barnaby Conrad. Fred was the perennial power behind Los ...:lficiol1l1dos de Los Angeles, the oldest and nlost powerful bullfight duh in the United States and, of course, every English-speaking bullfight fan has read all of Barnaby or he's not well educated. So, Elnily and I were in very good COlnpany. HJosclito" I-Iuerta was by far the best of the Mexican tore1"OS during the jt'rill, and I was very enthusiastic about the perfonnances of the two Spaniards, Antonio ()rdonez and Miguel Baez, "Litri." There was a Mexican-Spanish boycott in effect when I was learning to loreal; and I had never had an opportunity to see the Spanish Jnatadors. Well, believe Ine, I was impressed. But the 1l1ost exciting thing about those eight days was the early Inorning practice sessions with Illy Hspendthrift" host, Charlie Arruza. I-Ie really was learning to ride. And he W~lS SInart enough to realize he still had a lot to learn. Carlos had illlporrcd a top trainer, Joao Laureano, froln Portugal-a great rejoneado1' in his own right but exceedingly lacking in personality in the plazas. Every morning at dayhreak the three of us would drive to Pasteje, an hour-and-a-half trip from the l·apital. (~~lrl()S had purchased five beautiful Portuguese Lusitano bullfight horses, and he Silllpiy rode hirnself into becolning a cripple. Mari told me that he h'HI not been able to cat, sitting down, for the first six months of his training. But w.nching (:arlos learn l'ejolleo wasn't what thrilled me most. \\Then he finished with the horses, he and I took turns playing at least three fighting cows every Illorning. I'd fought a few tilnes during the l11aking of The Magnificent Matador, hut nothing like this. You would have thought Arruza was my manager with a heavy invCSUllcnt in Illy future. He drove nle to exhaustion. UNo! No! N()~ Bood," he would screaln. "Circle the horns. Step Jorzvard! [\'love jonJ.lllrd! You're going to get us both killed!" I never understood exactly what he meant by "us both," because he was

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yelling at me from behind the protective bZI1·Iadero, but boy, did I listen! C:arlos taught me more in those eight mornings than I had ever learned fronl Fennin and L~renzo. They were little things-little tricks. I was fighting better than 1 had ever fought before, and Carlos and his aficionado pals said they were ilnpressed. However, the sad thing about that trip was I finally realized that Illy darling Emmy and I were drifting apart. She gutted her way through all eight bullfights, but begged off taking those long trips with Ine to the ranch. It wasn't her fault that she simply loathed everything about bullfighting. But I had to face facts, too. We were drifting apart because I had discovered that being in love with sOlneone doesn't make up for the honest fact that you have nothing else in comnlon. And I wasn't at all certain that Em hadn't figured she'd lnade a Inistake. Insecurity in a marriage can sure set up a fella into rationalizing a newly acquired "roving eye." What the hell, if she didn't really love me, I had the right to look around. And Hollywood certainly was the place to be unfaithful. A young director can end up with about anyone he wants. I didn't know just who it was going to be, but I sure felt that shitty feeling coming on. **********

Burt and I reported to Batjac together to begin our meetings with the Duke on Seven Men. That alone was always an interesting experience. First off, when we began to discuss the picture's casting, Wayne came up with a dandy. "Let's use Randy Scott for the lead," he said. "He's sure not doing anything." Well, the Duke's desire to throw poor Mr. Scott a crulnb was the basis for six of the finest filIns I've ever made. Randolph Scott just happened to be one of Hollywood's richest actors. He didn't need anything, Inuch less a fihn. Thank God he said yes. Now, Burt's idea to cast Lee Marvin as our villain was sheer genius. I'd known Lee at Universal where we worked together on Seminole, and I appreciated his ability as an actor. But, in Seven Men F1"om Now, Lee Marvin turned out to be brilliant. Burt and I agreed that Western "heavies" over the years had been portrayed as much too heavy. They rode black horses and wore black hats. You never saw anything good about any of thenl. And they always died at the end of the show. Well, we set out to make our villains extremely attractive. Sure they were going to get killed-eventually-by our hero, but we wanted our audience to really love 'eln while they were still kickin.' We looked forward to the approaching sneak preview of Seve1l Men f,"o'!l1 Now with optimistic enthusiasm. Andy McLaglen had been prolnoted to full producer status, along with the Duke's wonderful brother, Bob Morrison, and Burt and I wanted our film to be a big success for the two of theIn, as well as for us.

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But, as in Jllost athletic gaInes, it "ain't over 'til it's over." \Vhen our sneak previe'w group of the Duke, Boh, Andy, Burt and I turned the corner onto Hollyv.'ood Boulevard, our hearts sank. l'he bright lights on the Inarquee of the Pantages "I'heatcr advertised that the feature filnl of the \veek was Serenade with ""lario Lanza. \"'ayne let out a string of profanities that was loud enough to shock all the people standing in line for tickets. \,Varner Brothers' publicity had set up our wcstern to he sneak previewed with an opera picture. There wouldn't be anyone in the audience under forty years of age. But all \\'e could do was enter the theater and take Ollr preview-reserved seats in the nliddle of the center section. \\'hen the "i\1ajor Srudio Preview" announcement flashed on the screen, the audience applauded. Then, when our Inain title and star credits faded in, Qnethird of the opera fans stood up and headed for the exits. In those days, what had been called "Randolph Scott \Vesterns" weren't exactly what this Inature audience of Inllsic lovers cared to see. "I'hen a spectacular thing happened. As we had planned, before the very first rninlltc of the filtn had played, a shocking gunfight ensued. It was sudden, and unexpected, and those patrons who were headed for the street turned back to reSlllllC their seats. \VeIl, our "-"lasters," played by Lee Marvin, was so daInned atlr~lctive that the preview audience wouldn't have cared if he had shot and killed Rand~·. And Scott was warnl and sOllletimes funny-a completely new western hero whol11 everyone related to. And, when it caIne tilne for him to out-draw Lee, ~lnd .\lan·in did "bite the dust," it was so beautifully done that the applause stopped the show. I 1l1Can, rea'~)' stopped it. As Lee crumpled to the ground, his eyes and Cillpty hands still searching for his undrawn guns, Randy stood still for a long heat, then walked slowly to a boulder jutting up froIn the sand and sat down. I Ie looked off at his fallen cnclny-fricnd, then his chin sank against his chest in deep dispair. lie had cared ahollt ""i\1asters"-a lot-and had hated to gun hiIn down. '1 'hen, for the first and only tinlC of Iny career, the theater audience delnanded to Usee it again." . rhe projectionist rewound the filtn to allow the audience a second view of the finale. And young Burt Kennedy and 1 knew that we, as a teanl, were tinall~! on our war Shortly after the vcry successful sneak of Seven }vlell, Randy arranged a Ineeting for Burt and 1l1C with I-larry Joe Brown, his partner in Scott-Brown Enterprises in C:olulnhia Studios. Harry Joe had been a producer for nlany years and was quire a character. Both Burt and I liked hinl ilnlnediatcly, and Burt was hired to write the screcnplay frolll Elnlore Leonard's exciting novel, The Captives. -I"hcn, when we were all satisfied with the script, I would direct. Suddenly things were ~()in~ so well that I was afraid Illy life Inight deteriorate into becoIning fairly nonnal, hut Arruza's telephone Glll took care of that. (~arl()s and Ruhen Padilla had arranged ~1 benefit hull fight in Tijuana. It was

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for the poor children and the Tijuana hospitals, and they wanted Ine to fight. 'rhe call had caIne through at 2 a.lll. during a full-blown party at Iny hOlne, and-frankly-I wasn't at all certain as to what I had agreed to do ..Vly first inclination was to hang up. I hadn't dispatched a bull in fifteen years, and I weighed 185 pounds. Then I renlembered one of the big reasons I had stopped attending Hollywood parties. No Inatter ,vhere I went, sooner or later I was hound to overhear SOB1e unknown authority on Ille exclailn: "They tell Ine he was a bullfighter. Probably ~l bullshitter would he closer to the truth." I always wanted to drop ]l1Y trousers, right then and there, and ask rhein if these holes in Iny legs got there froIll bullshit. Fortunatelr, I resisted, but I still had that phobia about parties, especially Iny own. I should say "our" own, hecause I didn't care for at least half of the guests who were invited. 1 only drank on Saturday nights, but-if the party was at Ollr house-l Blade i.l point of drinking a lot. Ell1 was sitting on the foot of the bed when I fin.llly opened Illy eyes early Sunday afternoon. I wasn't certain, but it looked as if she was sInilin~. "Do you have any idea just what you are doing six weeks frolll tOlby?" she began. ""ell, I had an idea, but it was very va~TUc. Hyou are going to fight a bull," she continued, "for charity. It would he nice if you'd arrange a little of that charity for your widow." \\'hat .1 hell of a way to wake up! l~hen, piece by piece, I learned the whole truth. Ruhen ~lIld C~lrl()s h~ld W~lIH­ ed the ~~festival" to be in four weeks. I held out for eight. \Ve had settled for six. All I wanted for Iny perfonnance was H,vlanolctc's" suite at the Ilotel C:aes;1r, \\'hich had been luxuriously revalnped for his only (orridl/ in 'I'iju.lna, ~llHI ~lll the food and liquor Illy guests could eat and drink. l~he bad news was that Silverio Perez, olle of the world's best tonTO.\", ~lnd Paco C;orraez, one of l'v1exico's bravest, were going to join C:ar\os and lne: two bulls for C:arlos and Silverio, one each for Paco and Ille. Silverio had spent .1 gre;H deal of tilHe in Iny hOllle, but he really was the guest of C:ar\os ;1nd Ruhen. lIe W~lS no friend of Inine. And, Pan), I had Iller. 'rhat was all. ~rhe day of the benefit C01/·id" arrived Illuch too soon. Elnlll~' ~lnd I ch~cked into the I-Iotel C:aesar Saturday evening, and it wasn't long until the llol\yw()od gang began to arrive: I)ick C:arlson, Bill I-Iolden, SallllllY Fuller ~lnd 11lany of Illy intinlate friends. My cncll1ics didn't begin to arrive until early Sunday Inornin~. Several producers headed that list. And I had t~llkcd Boll Stack into leading the pl/JeO, the opening parade, on horseback. I figured w.llking in hehind Rohert and his horse Illight be a little cOlnforting. I awoke carly froIll the noise of the hr:lss band rnarching down Avenida Rcvolucion. Euuny, ~lgain, was sitting Oil the edge

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of the bed watching I1le. I forced three deep breaths and said: 1I\/Vhat in the hell are we doing here?" III don't know," she ans\\'ered, seriously, "but if one of we isn't careful, one of we is going to get killed." At 2:30 in the afternoon our suite was filled with revelers. I'd made a film at Universal with lovely Abbe Lane, and, now, Abbe's husband, Xavier Cugat, and sorne of his band had arrived and \\fere really tooting it up. Meanwhile, Davey Sharpe, our industry's top stunt man, and Elroy "Crazylegs" Hirsh, the Los Angeles Ranls' all-pro end, were busy taping my ankles. They were very comforting, spending all of their taping time begging me to charter a plane and hurry back to Los Angeles. "Look," Elroy rationalized, "we've all been in some kind of disgrace. It won't be a week before everyone forgets you ran away, and you'll still be alive!" Boy that made sense. But I, honest to God, was ITIOre afraid of what people would think than I was of the bulls. Then, there was an unexpectedly loud knock on the door. It was Arruza. He was in a bathrobe and carried his bullfight costume over his arm. Seerns he'd gotten lonesome down the hall in his little rOOIn. He said he'd appreciate dressing in the suite with me, Little did I know he would danlned near shatter Iny nerves when I asked him for a simple little favor, Each of us stood in front of a bathroonl Inirror adjusting our ruffled shirts and collars, At "festivals" toreros dress in the traditional traje corto, not the gold suit. And, with that outfit, no tie is worn. \\Tell, I was having a great deal of difficulty securing nly collar ornarnents into place. Surprisingly, my hands were shaking. I tried and tried, hut I couldn't hold my fingers still enough to fasten the gold clasps. \Vithout looking at Carlos, I requested saine much-needed help, And suddenly Arruza's two hands appeared directly in front of Iny face. "\Vith U.·hiltt" the world's "Nunlero Uno" said. And the tone of his voice startled Ine· Inore than the fact his hands were shaking as hadly as rnine. It was an interesting trip to the plaza. Carlos and Silverio rode in my car. People honked at Ine, both friends and enenlies, and yelled good luck. The trip h~\d ~lhs()lutcly no dignity. It wasn't at all as if we were on the way to a corrida. It was lllorc like heading for a circus. I guess that's what the fo'lks froITI Hollywood were looking forward to anyway. 'fhe first person we saw as we stepped out of the lirllousine was the Duke. I-Ie held a giant bottle of tequila in one hand, and a bigger hottle of (:oke in the other. Meanwhile, his private airplane pilot was holding hilll up. I WalS surprised to see hirn. I don't nlean surprised at his condition. He was supposed to be in Acapulco. Anyway, I was thrilled that he had come. "IIey, I)ukc," I yelled, Uwhat are you doing here?" U\\'cllll, Jesus (:hrist," he drawled, happily, "if you're gonna get killed, I sure

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as hell want to see it~" Those who were certain I'd never Inake the opening p.lrade 111USt ha\'e heen disappointed. \Vhen I recognized Barney Conrad in the front row, 1 W;lS tickled that he had caIne. 'rhen, when I saw (;ilbert Roland, even~ ounce of CO]lcern about fear vanished. I was going to stick Illy bull right lip th~1t Il1~ltad()r's ass. Neither Silverio nor Carlos cut an award with the first two IlO "i: iI/os. I did gel an opporrnniry to cape C:arlos' anin1al after his second encollnter with the pi({"I()/~ and I chose fregoli71lls, a behind-the-back pass that is very pretty if executed correctly. Well, Iny first four were beautiful, then-on the fifth dash past Illy S(()Jllach-the bull caught Iny cape on his horns and sent it tlying. '1'hen he skidded to a stop and spun around to face Inc. T'here we \""ere, ]ne feeling st;lrk naked without fUY cape, and the young bull only a few feet away, trying to figure out eX~lctly where he'd like to puncture l11y body. 'rhis standoff lasted only six or seven seconds, then Ricardo Aguilar, Carlos' sensational bflutieri/lero sidestepped in ~lIHl lured the bull into his cape. I waited until Ricardo and the bull were a suitable distance away, as l could force Illvse1f to the protection .. and then I walked as casuallv . ' of the red-painted hllrl"dero. But the fact that I hadn't 111o"ed, hadn't panicked, won the crowd. The applause was a deafening delight, and I took Iny first how in front of SaIne of Iny industry's foreIllost doubters. I didn't accon1plish vel)' Il111Ch with the cape of the red-serge 1IIIIIefll with Ill~' bull. I protected nlyself, not 111uch Illorc. But, when it ClIne tiIlle to Illake the kill, I couldn't help thinking of Roland. Now, I'd really do sOlnething speci;ll-sOI1lething that didn't take a lot of talent, just a bundle of guts. I cited down the sword to kiIl1-ecibiendo, which silnply llle.ll1S receiving. You do not lunge tow;lnl the bull. You stand absolutely still and, with the 1l10Venlent of the red cloth, lure the al1iln~ll to pass hy your body_ It was a great way to get Inyself killed, hut-at that tiIlle-it actually secfned worth it. \Vhcn I first called to the hull, he l11erely shook his horns and refused to charge. Arruza stepped out fr0l11 hehind the b"rltlt/fro. "VVait a Ininute, Bood!" he yelled as he l110ved across the s.lnd to take lip ;1 position ten yards directly hehind 111C. I Ie wasn't there to intervcnc. lie W.1S there to keep Inc frol11 heing gored a second til11e. 'rhen I heard his voice say: ··N()w, Bood. Suerte!" I was as surprised as everyone else to sec the hull tllke only three sl~lg~ering steps past 111C, then crash to the sand. It was all over. 'rhe hull was dead. I W~lS alive and I had cut the first trophy of the .1ftcrnoon. Iinadc C:~lI'l()s take the tour of the ring with IllC. It didn't Inatter to Inc th.lt now hoth Silverio .lnd C:.lrloS would show the audience what bullfighting was rC~llly .lhout with the next two bulls. (:arlos had truly been Illy bTuardiml angel! Now, I knew for certain that Iny definitive filIn about bullfighting would he titled /lrrll:::.II. And Illy pa], C:~lI'l()s would play hilllseif.

I ().~

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'r II REF

'rhe following Inorning the Los .I.·lngc/cs 'filllcs' story on the charity bullfight headlined: Hllollywood Director Steals Show." Silverio was furious. Hile didn't do ~l d~lInned thing \vorthwhile," the great Inatador announced. I was inclined to agree with hilll, but boy I'd had fun. I even considered
Burt's tinal screenplay fr0I11 'Tbe Captives was sensational. I felt it would give l11e ~ln oppornlnity to even top SC1:ell .\Ilcn and that would be sonlething. He had den:lopcd another character like Lee 1\1an'in's "l\1asters," who had the sanle carefr<:<: chafin and exuberant narure. He was to be called "Frank Usher," and I had onlr one actor in Illind. I had hecolne intrigued with the weekly perfOrI11anCe of a ~'()ung leading nl~Hl ~lppearing in the half-hour television show ivledic. I liked his pOCk-1l1~lrked face and the fact that he used no Inakeup to hide it. And I loved his voice. Ilis nalne was Rich,lnl Boone and I announced to the srudio I'd like to cast hil11 as ··Frank Usher," It surprised Inc when Harry Joe and others didn't exactly agree with Inc. 'rhey knew that I always inserted a great deal of fun in Iny filrns, and th<:\' seriouslv . . doubted that .voung l\1r. Boone had a sense of hunl0r. Harn'. Joe and S~lIn Briskin suggcsted that I 1l1eet with Boone and feel hiln out. Then, if I decid<:d he could carry the part, I could have Iny way. .\ly secretary got Richard Boone on the telephone. I introduced Inyself and explained the part. lie was vcry interested and I invited hiIn to have lunch with Inc on the following day. lie declined, as .\1rs. Boone was to have S0I11e tests Inade at Scripps (]inic in La Jolla and they'd both be out of town for a week. I got right d()wn to husiness and cxphlineJ that I had a probleIn with several of C:olulnbia's top executives who were of the opinion he had no sense of hUIl1or. There \vas just ;1 1110111cnc's silcnce on the phone, then Richard Boone's wonderful voice said: U\ Veil, Budd, you've got to ~l<.lrnit those heart operations arc pretty fuckin' funny." lie g-ot the joh. And Illy higgest kick was that not one executive relneInbered not wanting Boone in the: picture, because he was absolutely tnarvelous. As far as I was concerned, Dick's perf()rln~lnCC \\'.lS as good as, if not better, than l\1arvin's. l'hey retitled the picture '1hl' 'lid' 'r. It took Burt .lnd Inc five 1110nths to discover why and what the stood for. 'fhcrc WllS another picture registered as The Captives, and rather than go to court over the title, sOlne young executive in New York thought of'rb" 'Iidl 'r. \Ve finally disco\'ered the "'/''' caIne froIn the first letter in .. ' Elilvorde," the owner of the ranch \\'here Randy goes to buy the Brahn13 bull. .\ty point is-beware of New York studio executives. They'd screw up The Ho~y Hible .1S a title if they thought the title rights Illight cost a buck or two. '--

"'rot

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Burt's The Tall T was the second of seven straight filnls I I1lade with Randolph Scott. Burt wrote four of the seven; my long-tilTIe pal, Charles Lang Jr. (who also did the script for The Magnificent Matador), wrote the other t\vo I really liked. Now, a not-so-funny thing about writers is that they don't spend a lot of friendly hours with their directors. No Inatter what, they always secrn to feel that we're sabotaging their words of wisdolTI, hUl1lor and pure gold. \\-Tell, when a good writer completes his screenplay he should feel that he h~lS put the best of what he can offer on paper. That's it. There's the script. So, shoot it. Hell, if a good, knowledgeable, talented director can't irnprove at least one thing in all those golden words and situations, he's not worth his salt. So why do these brilliant penmen spend all of the director's filtning days in a blue funk? At any rate, having two of Iny best friends write five of those filrns was, in Iny opinion, what Inade those Scott pictures exceptional. \-\le talked to each other-all the time. And, dalnn it, if sonlething in the dialogue didn't scern to work-we fixed it-togethe1: And best of all-after six pictures togetber we're still toglJtbe1~-and the greatest of friends. Perhaps sorneone should do a book on writers versus directors. It Illight just give us prilna donnas a hint that we rcally fill speak English-and can actually C0l1l111unicate. Everyone always wants to know what kind of gentlelnan W::1S Randolph Scott. Let's start with "GentleInan." There never was one finer. 'T'he lllore you got to know hiITI, the I1lore you realized that the South should have won the C:ivil \'V~lr. We had just cOlllpleted a tough day's fihlling on Ride LOneS0I11f, .1nd were having dinner when Randy looked up frolll his steak. "Hey, you two," he began, "what's the nal1le of that skinny young fella in the red underwear I played that scene with today?" "Coburn's his nmne," Burt answered. "Janles C:oburn." "Good. He's all right," Randy said. "So, why don't YOli two drealll up SOll1e new lyrics for that boy? I like his style." He was like that with everyone who deserved it. C:heck out the list. In those Scott pictures, Burt, Charlie and I-with a lot of help frolll the fclbs thClllselves-were able to create six new stars: Lee j\1arvin, Richard Boone, C:raig Stevens, Jall1eS Coburn, Pernell Roberts and (:Iaude Akins. As far as Illy fihns with Randolph Scott .lrc concerned, I h.1VC never included Westboul1d, which in tny opinion could have continued right on into the P~H.·ific Ocean. We.rtbolll1d was a Inission of rescuc, nothing rllorc. It \"'~lsn't ul1til after the third picture with Randy that I was told he had one nlore contractual obligation ;It Warner Brothers, and I considered that a disaster. Burt and I had worked too h~lrd to create a different character for our star than to have hilll regress to Illaking another "Randolph Scott Western." I contacted I lcnry Blanke at \ Varners,' who was set to produce the show, and offered Illy scrvices as the director. lie quickly

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explained to rne that their budget couldn't match Iny salary. And I b1l1Tied to explain to ,\r1r. Blanke that I'd settle for $1.50 in order to keep sonleone else froin directing our star. \Vell, we Inade the deal. l\'ot for $2.50, but I did have the opportunity to help Blake the filrn a little bit better. I've
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told Ricardo to move Iny bull to the center of the ring. I-Ie tells Ine he is afraid. I say, you and I have been fighting bulls for twenty-five years, Ricardo, and no\'.' you are afraid of the bull? And Ricardo says, 'No, Carlitos, I aln not afraid of the bull. It's you and that God dalllned horse!'" **********

So, now I had all of the action filtn I needed except the big finale in Plaza Mexico. \Ve would fihn the story itself at Pasteje as soon as ] discovered the proper leading lady to portray Mari Arruza. rrhis was going to be tough because .\lari was about the n10st special Spanish lady you could ever hope to Ineet. But that could wait until after "Legs" Dil1ulOl1d was tlnished. 'rhen I intended to just pack my bags and stay in Mexico until Illy picrure was cOlllpleted. It would be good for Ine to get out of the country for a long drawn-out picture .•\1y thirteen-year Ilurriage to Elnily had ended in divorce. ()f course it was Illy fault. And, at the tinlC, I was stupid enough to think it was a good Jl1ove. Naturally her Illove was, but I was inclined to think that it was a good Inove for Ine too. But I sure was going to Iniss my two beautiful little girls. Georgia was ten and Iny baby l-lelen was eight. Ilden was the tOlnboy, and could lick any little boy in the neighborhood. (~e()rgia took after her Illother. She was a true young lady in every sense of the word. l\fly fondest Inernory of those kids was of Illy daily return frolll the studio e~lch e\'ening. Most of the tilne it would already be dark but, no Inatter what, llclen would be perched atop the tallest tree in our front y~lrd, on the lookout for her dad. And Georgia, day after day, evening after evening, would be huddled at the base of the tree sobbing her heart out in the overwheltning fear that lIden, at any 11101l1CIH, would come crashing down to her death. I would brake the car beside the t~lll pine, comfort Georgia into a slnile, then reprirnand Illy youngcst for her daring. It was a lot of fun, and I would 111iss it. Still, in those days, flashing hack at Illy new "Guinevere," I could only ren1enlber her devastating beauty, and the plans for our future together. It's funny how those of us who are natural rOlnantics keep looking for U] J:ld~' C;uinevere," when we've got her right at honle. Elnily Boctticher was ~l saint-still is. She was beautiful and she loved I11e-for a long while. But, darnn, if I didn't keep looking. Well, I finally thought I'd discovered all the "(;uineveres" in the world rolled into one. She was elegantly beautiful, extrelnely talented, and she just worshiped the ground I walked on. Now isn't tbat .1 pile of crap! I ~rucss it t;\kc:s ;\ young director a good while before he begins to understand that the g-irl he sees every evening up there on the screen is bis version of what bt' wants frOlll a WOJnan. She's not for real.' There you are, holding hands in the dark projection rooln with your leading lady, and silllply adoring chat gal in the tllrll. ()f course

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arc. JOII put her there~ l'hat's the way you like her to talk and that's the way yo" like her to walk. I-Iell, everything she is doing up there is what YOIl like. fOIl're the director. \Yell, brothers, grow up. ()nce, at the University of Southern C:alifornia, a young fihn srudent asked nle what was the Inost ilnportant thing for an aspiring director to learn. The head of the fihn school, Arthur Knight, didn't appreciate Iny answer, hut I couldn't wait to say: "'Never go to bed with your leading lady until the last night of the picture!" \ \'ell, Iny U(;uinevere" rurned out to be "Nlorgan Ie Fay," and I ended up getting exactly what was c0l11ing to Ille-a bellyful of misery, absolutely ill about Illy falnily, and thoroughly disgusted and angry at nly own stupidity. A Illotion picture director should only becolne involved \\lith an actress in spite of her profession, not because of it. So, in three dreadful years I lost all Iny friends. That's just for starters. C)f course, they were all on "standby." "Colne and see us," they said, "but cOlne alone." l~[owc\'cr, there was a hUlnorous ending to the affair. The young lady'S Inothcr and father were invited to visit. It caIne as no surprise to Ine that they were invited to \'isit their future son-in-law. \Vell, as far as those two delightful people were concerned, I couldn't have becorne better related. I-Ie was as channing and handsollle as a father-in-Ia\\' could be, and she was Inore beautiful, in her fifties, than hef daughter. rrhe four of us were driving past the Beverly Hills Hotel the first evening they were in town. I was at the wheel, the young lady beside Ine, and her p;lrents in the rear. It had been a fairly pleasant afternoon. \\!e'd all faked it rather well, ~lIH.I suddenly the sClni-contented silence of the drive was broken by her Illother's soft voice: HBudd, tbrling-," she began, "it's so wonderful that our daughter has finally 1l1et S0J11eOne strong like you. I've never seen such a change in anyone. You know, deaf, when she was a little girl she used to have absolutely unforgivable tantrulns." 'rhcre \\'~lS a piercing scrC3111. 'II-affie skidded to a stop. T'he right front door flew open and l11ot hcr's little girl" \vent dashing across the park, still screalning bloody Jllurder .1S she tlnally disappeared into the trees and bushes. I felt a pair of eyes hunling into Illy neck and I glanced up at the rear-view Illirror. I shall never forget that dose-up of her 1l1other as she said, quite silnply: HBudd, darling-doll't.''' \Vell, I didn't. And it was tilllC to rnake "Legs" Dirl1nol1d and get the hell out of Iiollyw()()d for awhile. YOll

H

* • ********

'rhe Ina ki ng of Tbl' RiJe lIud Ftll! of ULegs" Di(l1nond was an experience I'll never forget. I'd like to, hut I never will. It's not very often you have an opportu-

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nity to work \vith a producer as educated, ch'lrnling ~lnd genuinely funny ~lS Milton Sperling. It's just a shalne that he hecolnes stich a pain in the ass when the picture goes into production. I thought, at first, it was just that our two personalities clashed. Then I heard Otto Prerninger give ~l fiftcen-Jninute dissert.nion on the evils of working with l\1iiton for the very ,unused Jvlike "\'albce, and I realized there \vere other directors who ended LIp \v
~

lOt)

C II .-\ PTE R

'r II R E E

'rhe great writer just stared at Ine, because now I knew he hadn't written one dUlnned word of it. I was certain s0I11ebody else (I figured three somebody elses) had wrinen this piece of shit, because none of the styles of the thirds matched. I stood there a long titne. I wanted to throw the script at his face, but I adlnired Phil Yordan and I just couldn't do it. vVhat hurt me nl0st was his complete disregard for Ine-about nly picrure. I wouldn't do to an enemy what he had done to Inc. Finally I just placed the screenplay on his desk and walked down the stainvay to Iny car. 'r'he first day of fihning was only two weeks away and I realized I'd have to do a lot of ad-libbing to CaIne up with a decent picture. Boy, if this was a sample of big-time Hollywood, send me back to Burt, Randy and Harry Joe. Lucien Ballard was n1y calneraman. Of course, the only way Lucien was not alw(lYs going to be n1y can1eraman was if some other director beat Ine to him. Anyway, when Lucien and I realized what our producer was doing, we began running all the fihn Illade in the "Legs Dialnond" era (the early 1920s) to study the caJnera technique. \\!e noticed that the calnera didn't move in those days. And there were no "dolly" shots, very few pans, and the cinematographers didn't use foreground pieces. So, to try to do S0711ething different, we decided to fihn l)ill'lllOl1d in the 1920s fashion-shot for shot, nothing fancy. I was amused at Milton's reaction after he'd viewed the first day's work. He dashed on the set to confront Ine \vith: "I thought you said Lucien Ballard was a good cameralnan." "Please quote me correctly, Milton," I said. "Lucien Ballard is a g7~eat camcralnan!" "\\'ell, that's your opinion," Milton huffed. "Yesterday'S stuff looks like it wa~ shot in 1920." Evenrually, the tension got so bad on the set that Milton decided to replace Inc. 'l'here was a Ineeting in rny office-trailer with Milton, Lucien, Steve "Irilling-vice president of vVarners' (a real first-class schmuck)-and Ine. They hurriedly announced that sOlncone e]se was being set to finish the picture. Lucien and I stood up and headed for the door. H\Vhere are you going, Mr. Ballard?" Trilling asked. "We have more to talk ahout. " "I !-,1l1CSS we're hoth going hOlne," Lucien answered with all of his worldly ch'lrrn. "And Y'ou'd better have your new can1eralnan get in touch with me as soon as YOll C~ln. I think Budd's intentionally left out about every other shot since we suspected this Blight happen, and the two of us are the only ones who know what those shots arc." :'\:c.:ar the end of the picture I got a particularly funny call fraln Bill Schaeffer, .J ~lck \ Varner's very private Iuale secretary. Mr. Warner was at the point in life when he WilS beginning to forget things, and Bill was requested hy the boss to

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record all of his conversations. Now, 1l1ost people at \,Varners' weren't really aware tha t, as far as Jack \:Varner was concerned, I could do no wrong. I had IHade Bullfighter \vith Joy Page as Illy leading lady, and since Joy was Mr. \\r~Hner's stepdaughter, he had Inenl0rized that filIn shot for shot, word for word. 'rhcn there was Se7.'en J1ell, which 1\1r. \Varner considered one of his finest westerns. And. now I was directing a gangster filtn-\\rarner Brothers SnH.lio's early hrc;HI ~lJHI butter. Anyway, Bill Schaeffer and I liked each other. And Bill had telephoned Inc to have Inc listen to a conversation between '\1r. \V,lrncr and .\1iltoll that had just happened a few Ininutes before. ~'C()lonc]," ;\1ilton's voice began, "do you know what th~lt sOllobhitch has done now?" "\Vhat sonofabitch, .\1ilton?" "Budd Boetticher." "YVell, what did Budd do to you now?" "I--Ie told I1le to go to PalIn Springs until the picnlre is finished." "Really, 1\1ilton?" the boss said. "\\11cre are you going to sta~'?" It was Saturday evening halfway through the editing of /)i,"lIo/1i1 when Lucien called for the tenth tillle. I'd spent the entire i:lfternoon working Illy stallion and was luxuriating in the Jacuzzi, fully intending to stay neck-deep in the s\\'irling hot water for hours. "\Vell, did you call her?" Illr dr~lnli.ltic cinenl.ltogr~lphcr dCIll;llHkd. \ \'c \1 been all over this ten tilnes hefore. "Call another actress!" 1111oaned. "Jesus, Lucien, get off In~' h;lCk~" "Debra's not allotbe7' actre.\)'.' She's the nicest young lady I\'C e\'er \\'C)J'ked .h " WIt ,an(I... I had his routine nlenl0rized. "And the prettiest, and the sweetest. :lnd, .. " I-Ie cut Inc off. "Good, you're finally getting it straight. 1'\()W, call her. :\11 your friends \\.'ould like to have you hack in circulation with SOllleone we can stonlach~ You h3ven't had a date in l110nths and you're screwing lip our dinner parties. 'rhis bachelor extra-IHan crap has got to go!" And he hung up. \ \'ell, what the hell. It was "Saturday night out" in I-Iollywood, ~lnd thc indusrrr's "\liss Perfect" had to have a date. She'd have turned down (:ary (;rant for tonight-Inuch less Ine. I dialed the nUlnber Lucien had given 111C weeks her()r~. "Miss Paget, please," I said to the hutler who answered the phone. ".\ly n31l1e is Budd Boetticher. l\1iss Paget and I haven't Iller, but. .. " 4"rhat's all right, sir," the very-Southenl black voice answered, "I'll go fetch her." Now, did you ever hear church bells ring on a spring evcning? \Vcll, th~ll 's how Miss I)ebra Paget's voice sounded to ll1C cOlnpared to the screcching I'd dalnned near gotten used to the past threc years. lVc talked for .1 while-small talk. I told her that Lucien should receive &l C0l111l1issioll as her social agcnt, and

11 I

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1~HREE

she laughed and relnarked that he had been most complimentary about me, too. All of a sudden, I wasn't hoping at all that she had a dinner-date for the evening. I suddenly wanted very much to take Miss Paget anywhere she wanted to go. I wished I had called last Monday. But, I still took a shot at it. UI \\'as wondering if we Inight have dinner some time. Like-well, like maybe even tonight? t, uHold on a second," she said. "There's the other phone." I heard the deadness of her hand over the receiver for one long moment, then: "Wrong number," she laughed. "Happens all the time. Now, you were suggesting tonight. I'd love to. Eight o'clock?" I nodded, eagerly, then realized she was waiting for an answer, and I finally Inanagc(I "'h eig toe 'I oc k" '. Shc gave Ine the address and the directions how to get there, and said goodbye. Oalnn, if Lucien wasn't right! Of course, he was right about WOInen. He'd sure 1l1arried a couple of smashes. At eight o'clock, sharp, I found Inyself whistling as I drove up the steep hill to the beautiful hOlne overlooking Universal Studios. Maybe this wasn't going to he as explosive as Iny last day down there, I thought, but I sure figured it was going to be the beginning of an interesting experience.

112

Culver Military Academy 1935.

Lorenzo

arza" 1 Magnifico."

The "Maestro," Fernlin

pin

3,

"Armillita."

Ith ilverio Perez and "Armillita" 1939.

The early days on the bullbr eding ranch .

uldn r I r Ily ~ I m r

, mt rtabl

artyln the

t otbaIl?

~-

-~-

-~-

--- - - -

~--~-- --- -----­

-

-~

-~--~-

-~-

-~-

-~-

- - ---

Clowning with one of my favorit ladies of all tim ,Rita

-~-

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ayw rth.

-.~-

----

rn an

ynn

rrick a I

nt mp lat a ery

OW lg

dire cto r' unc erta inti es.

mily.

pre id nt run lan film, w H d n Shipboard) US "Fall River" during

UL

IGHTE THE LADY

At a tienta under the protective eye f' The Duke," J hn Wayn

"Matador" R land, J y Paige and my dear fri nd ' Ro'

J

rad .

Busy getting Horace McCoy's giant close-up, as scri pted.

Brahrna bull killing down.

With Jeff Chand) r on ' Red Ball Express."

A clo e call with

alifa."

The Tijuana "Beneficio" April 195 5.

The Tijuana "Beneficio H April 1955.

Arruza

per~

rmi ng the" a nera."

'Uing Tecibiendo ~ r an ar. I

CHAPTER

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pated. As a matter of fact, following the three-year fiasco 'with "lV1organ Ie Fay," I had seriously considered castration. And having decided to one day perform the operation Inyself, I had consulted several of Illy young doctor friends as to exactly what brand of butcher knife to purchase. T'he last thing in the world I wanted was any form of involveInent. But despite all these personally avowed intentions, I was soon to discover that I had fallen in love with Debra Paget. Lucien really was right. Debra was the nicest and prettiest young lady in the picture business. The "picture business" part of it did bother tne, but not for long, as Debra Paget was also adorable. Now "adorable" really isn't a very grown-up word, but my Miss Paget fit the bill. I'd never 111et anyone like her, and I was tickled to death with Iny discovery. But then to Iny surprise, after our very first week together, I found it ilnpossible to turn back even if I had wanted to. It didn't bother me that the evening of our first date she had borrowed a quarter frolll Ine to call her mother. Hell, I admired that. After all, we were having dinner on the pier in Malibu, and that was a good forty-five Illiles frolll their hOIne. So, it started out great. It wasn't a whirlwind courtship. \Ve both just fell in love. During the first two weeks we spent lllost of the daylight hours on horseback. Debra was a sensational rider. The real night-roInance began with her two words, "turn left." It was the after-dinner part of our fourteenth consecutive date, and I had signaled to turn right off Sepulveda to her house. Left was the way to my apartment. The timing was lousy. She knew better and I knew better. But, W~ both were strong and financially successful and we were going to Illake it work. We were nlarried eight days later. Now a lot of n1y renewed pals thought I was on the rebound. T'hat W~lsn't true. And it certainly wasn't that I was in1pressed with her talent. I'd seen Debra

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in only one fibn-(~. B. DeMille's 71.](: Ten C07l11nt117dnTellts-and all I relnelnbered W~lS th~lt I thought Deb was 1l1uch too young and too beautiful for Edward G. Robinson. 'rhe real truth of falling in love with Debra was that it was ahnost ilnpossible not to. I \\las sure that scores of young 111en in the past had found thcnlscl\'cs elnhroiled in the saIne predicaInent. 'I'hen there were Inany who said our l11arriage wouldn't last because of I)ebra's 1110ther, Maggie C;riffin. But against all jokes and tradition, I greatly ~lthnired Iny 111other-in-law, and I knew they were Inistaken. ivlaggie had heen a burlesque stripper in her youth, and she l11ade no bones about it. She was abollt the l110st down-to-earth person I had ever known. She and I had only one real probleln. \iVe both were in love with the saIne girl. Maggie had taught Debra everything she knew. All of Hollywood had stonned abuse on l\tlaggie's broad shoulders, and she had taken it all with no con1plaints. When any catastrophe threatened Debra's career, Deb kept quiet and Maggie, as always, aSSlllned con1plete responsibility. She had protected her daughter like a Inother grizzly, and none could break through her ilTIpregnable barrier until I sOlnehow h~ld Inanaged. Secretly I had often wished that Illy wife had inherited SOine of her 11lother's better qualities. t\Jow Illy beautiful bride was tiny all over and seelningly made of porcelain. But it wasn't long before I discovered that the porcelain could explode like shrapnel ~lnd destroy everything in its path. Consequently, I felt it was Iny Inoral obligation to avoid those explosions, and I did everything I could to change Iny personality to suit her. I-Iell, I really cared! Well, it wasn't easy. j\1ostly I think she cringed at nly outspokenness, particularly n1y confidence in Iny ability to Inake good filIns. I tried to explain that confidence wasn't necess~lrily conceit. I knew Iny job on the set and I said so. But she continued to cringe. And I was sure that she had the iInpression that I didn't cn1~e. I don't mean "didn't Clre" ahout Iny tIlIns. Everyone understood that I cared passionately about them. Debra was certain that I didn't give a dalnn about what people tbought. That couldn't have been further frorn the truth. I cared what everybodJI thought. But I considered that a personal weakness and tried to keep it can10uflaged. \!Vcll, all ncwl}'\\'cds have problenls, and I kept fighting for what I believed in-LIS. But the already thin ice of our lnarriage got one hell of a lot thinner following the fillnily C:hristl113s party at her horne. I stood it as long as I could and r;ltion~llized every reason in the world that what I was witnessing was none of my husiness. 'rhen finally, as the afternoon wore on, I nlanaged to rid Inyself of all honorahle intentions ~lnd proceeded to get staggeringly drunk. I renlclnber feeling a deep kinship, then a consuming passion, for the giant cut-glass punch howl in the 111iddle of the gaily decorated dining rOOln table. By tlve o'clock it was the only thing in the entire house with which I had something

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in COlnll10n. Because by four-thirty, all of Debra's l110re than ten thousand dollars worth of Chrisnnas toys for her little nephews, nieces and cousins had been totally destroyed by theln. And one 1110ther-relative had stonned out l11uch earlier, having discovered that the total cost of her child's gifts hadn't seelned up to the estimated cost of SOIne of the others. The day after Christlllas Debra and Maggie wanted Ine to join Alcoholics Anonyn10us. I declined-nl0stly because I didn't feel quite up to it at the tin1e. Then two days later, when the effects of Ill)' rOInance with the punch bowl had disappeared, I considered organizing a group of my own-"Suckers AnonYlnous"-and penciled in Iny darling wife and her ITIother as charter 1l1elTIbers. The gossip colulnnists-Hedda Hopper, Louella Parsons and I-larrison Carroll-reported that we were getting a divorce. I spoke with I-Iarrisoll, a longtime friend and fan of Inine, and he wanted to know why I didn't quit "right now" while I was ahead. I told hiIl1 silnply that a divorce was not Iny idea and that I couldn't imagine where the rulnor caine froln. A'iide fro1l1 that, quitting wasn't Iny style. It didn't take Ine long to discover that the divorce idea didn't start with Debra either. Fortunately, the week following the holidays Debra and her lllother left for Europe. She had back-to-back picture cOlll1nitIllents with Fritz Lang, and it was her duty to fulfill them. Suddenly being alone again was like sitting in the locker rooln at half tilllC with your tealn behind 20-0. I began to put this disaster in its proper perspective and face up to the fact that I'd fallen in love with a lovely young lady and In.uricd her, but that I didn't know one daIl1ned thing about her talent as an .lctress. I set out to discover all about cvcl'ytbil1J!: and protnised tnyself it would be one hell of ~1 second half. I fully intended to give it ]ny best shot. I set up screenings at ColuJnbia of Iny wife's pictures. Even Universal was cooperative. I saw IJeh as Jirnlny Stewart's lovely Indian bride, through the gorgeous rlahitian lass swirllIning in the blue ocean, then all the way through the crap she had been Ina king in Europe. Hell, what had happened to Debra's faltering career could be SUllll11Cd up in one word-Maggie. I authenticated Illy sllspicion of her ditninishing success hy seeking out her directors and producers, and the directors and producers for Wh0111 she didn't work. It didn't surprise Ine that they all had the saine answer. Sure she was talented. C:ertainly she was one of the 1110st heautiful girls in 1l1otion pictures. But l11any of the filrns she was considered for were to he I1lade on location, and the directors and producers just didn't need their filnls chaperoned. That had absolutely nothing to do with Maggie personally. Everyone who got to know Maggie liked her. She was a real trouper. But those in power who didn't know her silnply didn't appreciate the thought of her looking over her grown-up daughter's shoulder. I guess they also thought it would Cnl111p their style. llcll, Deb could have "cramped their style" in a hurry-all by herself. Anyway, the sad

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part was that 111any of her considered roles went to other young stars with talent, like lovely Joan Collins. And I had beard Deb and Maggie discuss their rnisfortunes. Neither one could figure out what happened. Well, I wasn't about to tell theln. I was just going to fix it. I decided to cast my wife as Mari Arruza. r d get her beauty and talent on the screen with dignity and chann. I telephoned Carlos, and he and Mari were delighted. I made another quick call, hopped in my car and headed for Beverly Hills. It now was the time to fully discuss my plans with Iny hot-shot business tnanager. Jeff Martin was a handsome Olan, wel1 over six feet, with a strong face adorned by an outlandishly pretentious waxed moustache. On his right hand he wore a gigantic dialnond ring that encased a tiny gold toothpick-attached to the ring by a slender gold chain. The cumbersomeness of the ring sometimes forced Jeff to experience a little difficulty in shaking hands, but he was able to use the gold toothpick in all the better restaurants. Jeff's new office was the showcase of Beverly Hills. Everything in it was either expensively soft or expensively shiny. The vast expanse of windows and glass partitions always reminded nle of the sheer simplicity of seeing through the thin shell of Jeff's recently acquired aura of sophistication and culture. His sudden success in Holl}"Vood had delighted Ine and, observing what it was doing to Jeff, I had found it quite amusing. In Jeff's office there were only two employees he felt he could trust: Joe Glaxon and Eddie Fare. Joe Glaxon was slender and romantically handsome. There was a great deal of visible Latin in him, and he had recently escaped from Cuba with Castro's revolutionists nipping at his heels. The short-cropped beard he had grown as a disguise he now considered good luck. He had always been very outspoken in his personal a ffection for nle. Eddie Fare was short, bespectacled and pleasingly plump to his friends. He had no outspoken opinions about anything-unless the opinions were Jeff's. It wasn't a fun meeting, but I was so genuinely fond of Jeff that I did ITIy best to keep it on a friendly tack. Joe sat and listened and seemed to understand Illy reasoning. Eddie nodded or shook his head according to Jeff's last sentence, while Jeff did his best to have ITIe sell my cut film for stock footage and get on with my career. I-Ie did like the idea of Debra playing Mari Arruza, hut he still considered Iny obsession for A1TllZa a terrible business blunder. His 5 percent of me was worthless. And what Inoney I had left was all going out. He figured he'd ended up with a tiger by the tail, and only a very uncomfortable feeling in his stomach to show for it. He sat there behind his oversized ivory desk, puffing on one of his notoriously outsized cigars, staring at the novelty gimmick before him-a blackboxed contraption that advertised in gold letters: PANIC BUTfON. The hutton

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itself was I1lade of silver, and it workcd-loudly-when touched either by accident or cirCUI1lstance. Finally Eddie broke the silence. "I still think 1\1r. iVlartin's idea of using a st:1r to play your bullfIghter Illight salvage this Bless." I can't relnelnber ever speaking with 1l10re utter caltn. It \\'.lS necess~lry because I wanted to explode. "Eddie," I began, "we've been ,111 through that. 1'111 not discussing the s~lh-;1tion of a filtn. \,Ve're talking about the best approach for cOlllplcting it." But he wouldn't quit! ~'I'\'e always iIl1agined T()ny Curtis in those cute goldspangled cosnnnes," he continued, "and I think ... " I stood up, but before I could strangle hilll, Joe leaned forward and wa\'cd the side of his hand across Eddie's throat. "(=ut~" he said. l\nd the rOOIl) grew silent again. Finally Jeff nloved his finger away frol11 the "panic button" and extended his hand to Ine. "You know how I feel about you," he said. "Do whate\'er ~'Oll like. 1'111 behind you one hundred percent." He tried to slllilc. "I do suggest, however, rh~lt we all pray a lot." **********

Debra and Maggie caIne hOlne in April, and Deb \vas swceter th.ln e\'er. Maybe absence does Inake the heart grow fonder. I don't know. But I suddenly had renewed confidence in what we were about to do. Jeff Inade all the arrang-eInents for Inc to purchase a new Rolls-Royce. I had it repaintcd white and silver as we had a lot of night filrning. 1 also expected that it would give C:,lrloS sOlne ,HIded class-outside the bullring. And on l\1ay 7, 1961, I)ehra and I crossed the Mexican border at Nogales, sure of ourselves and certain of the future sllccess of our project. I renleillber that 1 relnarked at the tilne: ~~Fronl now on it's .111 downhill." The shiny new white and silver Rolls-Royce caused quite ,1 stir ~lt the border, but not half the COllllllotion Debra caused to erupt when she was recognized hy the young officers of the custOlllS patrol. Each had seen everyone of her pictures, and we were held at bay for a good half hour as she cheerfully autographed c~lI"ds, paper napkins and gray-white shirts. It was Iniserably hot and sticky, but I thoug-ht it best not to l1lention the discolnfort when we were finally released to hit the highway. Instead, I press-buttoned up the windows and switched on the air conditioning. My silence was a point well Blade. Debra cast Inc ;1 pouty frown, then leaned back and opened her pink silk blouse to expose her bare full breasts to the sudden coolness. "\Vhat could I do, darling? 1'111 sorry!" I grinned down at her. She was such a little girl. "(:olne 011, I)ell! 1 loved it.

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You know how proud I am of you." She blew me a short kiss and snuggled over tight against my shoulder. "Honey?" "Mmmlnnlmm?" "VVhy didn't you speak Spanish to that guard back there at the border?" I pulled nly foot off the accelerator, and the speedometer needle bounced back to eighty-seven. Those few seconds gave me time to think up a quick answer. "Deb, a long time ago I started practicing a damned good habit when I'm in Mexico. I don't speak Spanish to anyone I don't know really well unless I have to." Debra frowned. "I make a point to always try to speak Italian when I'm in Italy." "Good," 1 said. "You're the personality kid and everyone loves you. But I'm not running for office. I make movies." The furrows in her pretty brow grew deeper. "I don't know what making movies has to do with speaking Spanish. God, I wish I could understand you." "Well, just keep trying," I laughed. "Eventually it might work." She giggled and leaned across the steering wheel to kiss my chin, and I quickly compensated for the near miss. It was difficult to kiss at nearly ninety miles an hour, but we managed it rather gracefully until I felt the shoulder gravel grind under the right-side tires. I swung the Rolls back onto ~e highway, pressed the button that pushed back the front seat and lowered my wife's head onto my lap. "Take a nap, sweetheart. We've got a long way to go." Pulling the halves of her open blouse together over her exposed breasts, I turned the air conditioning down to low. Debra had the kind of figure that never really should have been covered. But it was cold in the car. She was also a driving hazard as, although I had thoroughly memorized every square inch of her body, she was still new to Ine and overwhelmingly exciting. And I did have to keep my eyes on the road. Damn it! Why in the hell didn't I take the time to really explain about not speaking Spanish? I answered that to myself immediately. I just didn't want to take the chance. I guess I'd rather treat her like a child than have her completely confused as to how I thought. Debra loved Mexico more than any other country in the world. She sincerely believed there was nothing really wrong with it. I, too, loved Mexico. But I was old enough and experienced enough to know that there was a great deal wrong with our next-to-favorite country. And the "wrongness" was best exemplified by all the public officials, businessmen and, especially, Inotion picture executives. This "hands across the border" propaganda is wishful thinking. The Mexicans have learned to hate our guts, because the average loudInouthed, spendthrift tourist who descends upon their beautiful country is totally unprepared to represent the United States. We should be more careful who gets out of our country than who gets in. So it's become a matter of national pride for

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the Mexicans to stick it to us every chance they get. For two of Iny three fihns down here, having learned my lesson on the first one, I sat in supposed ignorance while some very shady deals were being negotiated in Spanish all around Inc. Then, when it became time to rnake decisions, I nlade theln based on what I had overheard and I was able to save one hell of a lot of nl0ney. A straw-sombreroed peon frantically pushed his burro off the highway as I swung wide to Iniss hiln. Debra opened her eyes. "Sorry, darling," 1 said. "Traffic." "I wasn't asleep. I've just discovered sotnething. You know, I really love you." I slowed the car and tried to count to ten, but Debra interrupted ]ny counting. "So?" I braced myself. "Does 'so' lnean I need to say I love you?" She nodded. "Well/' I concluded, "as long as you're sitting next to Ine you know <1'lInn well I love you." She stared across at me for a long beat, then lay back with her head on Iny lap and closed her eyes. I set my jaws tight and focused Iny attention on the long straight road ahead until her measured breathing assured I11e that she finally was fast asleep. I didn't want to explode, even in IUy own lllind, until I was cert~lil1 that the coast was clear. This nlarriage was a tightrope high, high up in the ~lir. I'd known that the first time I'd nlet the whole dmnned falnily-the day after the sudden wedding. "1 just discovered sOInething. You knov/ I really love you~" ''''hat a stupid, childish thing to say! \\!here in the hell had she been for the last one yenr, three months and twenty-seven days, plus all that tinlc I was courting her whcn CVCI-Ybody, except her father who hated Iny guts, thought Inarrying Inc was a sens,ltional idea? Well, with Deb I had learned to rationalize abnost anything, and stc.11 froll1 Margaret Mitchell. Like Scarlett O'Hara, I'd think about it "t0I110ITOW." **********

"Be careful with that box," I cautioned the bellboy in J\1azatlan, who wns struggling under the weight of nine reels of filn1. "Si, senor, but this is very heavy!" ~'It's a lot heavier than you think," I said, taking the cardboard box away frolll the boy and carrying it into the Hotel Playa. In that hox was \vh,lt WllS left of over a quarter of a Inillion dollars: nine reels of color filtn cut down froll1 eightyseven-all the finest action froln three years' 'work. In it .llso \\'.lS Iny lovc, Ill~' ambition, Illy career and possibly even Illy Inarriage. I knew that, and now I was certain that Debra knew it, too. 1 placed the box on the floor in front of the desk

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so that I could still feel it against Iny leg, and signed the register. l~hen I heard Deb's voice. '~I'nl Debra Paget," she was saying to the desk clerk. "I'd like to place a long distance call to Illy Illother, l\1rs. Maggie Griffin, in North Hollywood, California." She swung around to face l11e. ~'No\\r, honey, don't give l11e one of your looks. You know that I'ln going to talk to I110ther every evening no 111atter where we arc. " I took the car keys frolll the bellboy, who was now loaded down with Debra's furs, picked up the filtn box and headed for the open elevator. 1 heard my wife's voice repeat slowly, "No, operator, it's POP L A R one-two-six-six-eight." A waiter knocked, then entered the roonl to place two double martinis on the table. "Colnplilllents of the Inanager," he explained as he waited for Iny tip. \\'hen the door closed behind hiln, I reilloved the white onions froln the frosted glasses, then walked into the bathrooln and poured the martinis down the toilet. Crossing back to Debra, I handed her one of the onions on its toothpick. "I don't think these will hurt us." She stiffened. "There's no need to be sarcastic." "That wasn't 1l1eant as sarcaslll," I said quietly. "I really don't like the stuff. \;\!hat I want to find out one day is why you are so violently opposed to any form of drinking. Did your ... ?" The telephone rang. Debra rushed to pick it up. "Yes, this is Miss Paget ... Hello, Inother. 1'111 fine." I Inotioned to her that I'd l11eet her downstairs, stepped into the hallway and headed for the elevator. I was l11et by a bellboy rushing upstairs to announce that Iny own long dismnce call was ready. I crossed the lobby and entered the phone booth. "Jeff, how are you?" "I-low the devil ,lre you? Thank C;od, you're safe. Maggie Griffin's been driving Inc fruit. She's called here three tilnes in the last two hours." "()h, for C:hrist's sake! Debra talks to her every night. As a matter of fact, she's t~llking to her right now. 1'111 downstairs in the lobby." "\;Vell, Mrs. C;riffin's worried to death about the way you drive. After all, your wife's her prize daugh ... " "Jeffrey, everybody's been worried about the way I've done everything since I was born. I should have been dead twenty years ago, but 1'111 still kicking. And Inaybe you can get it ,lcross to Maggie that her daughter'S 111y prize wife." '~()f course, I've been a little worried about you myself. Mer all, I've got fifty (~~4i invested in you." I laughed into the receiver. "That's a lot of crap and you know it. \\Tho are you trying to ilnpress?" JefT's voice sounded genuinely hurt. "I'm quite alone."

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"You've never been alone in your life. l-lell, you were born with an audience. Jeff, what about the bank?" I heard Jeff take one of his long "thinking" drags on his cigar. "It's not going to be as easy as I thought. The boys have S0l11C reservations." "Reservations! " There was a long silence, then Jeff cleared his throat. "You want Inc to level . h """ WIt you:, "You'd better always level. I'll find out anyway." "Well," Jeff carefully picked each 'word, "the bank figures you and your bride Inight not be a good risk. SOIl1etin1es Inarriage and pictures don't Inix, and you've had a pretty storn1Y tnarriage. They're afraid you two l11ight have i1 hassle down there." "Are you crazy? So, we have a fight. \iVhat do you think Debra's going to do, go hon1e? She's a pro. Grow up~" "They're worried about you, too-personally." Jeff continued quietly, "You hit the jug pretty good last year." "Okay, okay. 1 drank because I was Iniserable, hut l1l0Stly because there wasn't anything else to do but wait until Illy wife call1e hOI11e. You know I couldn't afford to get corraled into a picrure." "You could have done SOI11e television." "We've been all through that." "Anyway," Jeff quickly changed the suhject, "you ought to he here now. Warner's called this l110rning regarding your availability. It's a big western with the Duke." "Jeff, get this through your head once and for all. I'lll not COIning h0111C until Arruztl is ready for release. This picture has hecolne .1 Inoral issue with Inc." "l~here are no l110ral issues in good business. Stop heing ;l drealner." I was tired and irritated, and the tone of Iny voice certainly tipped it off. "\Vell, Buster, you'd hetter drean1 up two hundred thousand dollars quick. It won't be long until we run out of good weather. I'll call you frolll Mexico C:ity." I was certain that Jeff had the telephone speaker up full blast, and I closed with: "Joe, give Illy love to Doris. And, Eddie, give Freddie a kiss." I heard Joe laugh and say, "Well, he didn't Blake his reputation on relatives. I think he's got this office pegged." Jeffs voice said, "Very funny, Joe," as he h.unbled for the switch. T'hcn thc phone clicked off. I was siniling in spite of 1l1yself when I stepped out of the booth to Illcet Debra crossing froln the elevator. She had changed her clothes and was fresh and sparkling in capri pants and a ruffled torero shirt ticd around her tiny wLlist. But her eyes were flashing and her little jaw seetned unusually hard set.

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'\\tlother sends her love." "I hope you gave her ll1ine." "\\Thy didn't you \\:'ait and give it to her yourself?" "1 had Jeff and the boys waiting in the office for l11y call. It's after seven o'clock in Beverly Hills." She mello\ved illlmediately. "Oh ... thought that you were upset about Illy telephone call." 1 put Iny arm around her shoulders and headed for the dining rOOln. "Now, isn't that sort of silly? You know how 1 feel about your mother. Hungry?" She stopped wallcing and looked up at me. Her eyes always said so ll1uch Blare than she ever bothered to put into words. "You mean like food?" I nodded. She shook her head and glanced toward the open doorway leading out onto the beach, kicked off her slippers and stepped off the stone patio onto the sand. It wasn't a moonlit night, and above the beach there were flashes of early SUnl111er lightning. The drifting voices of the hotel's lnariachis occasionally outvolu111ed the steady roar of high tide. There was no one else in sight. Debra stepped sideways and curled her arm around Iny waist. The lights of the hotel grew dinlnler as we moved along close to the water. Then: "Honey?" "MnlInnlmm?"

"Do you think we'll make it?" "You mean 'us' or the picture?" "'The picture. 1'ln not worried about 'us' anytnore." I dropped to Illy knees and pulled her down onto the sand beside Ine. "Of course, we're going to Inake it," I said with great authority. "Now, stop worrying." "IsJeff going to be able to raise the rest of the money?" I leaned across and lcissed her on the tip of her nose to hide my expression. Hllc's going to get the 111oney," I said. "Honey, are you sure?" "Nothing's really sure in our business. You know that." She lay back onto the dark sand and disappeared in the ITIoving shadows froll1 the threatening sky. When she spoke again her voice was soft and wann-the voice that had helped Inake Ine fall in love with her. "I was so scared in ROIllC. SOIl1etimes you sounded dreadful on the phone, but now that we're together I'tn not frightened anymore." "You shouldn't have been in ROHle." '~I have () hi"19atiOns. " ~~(;()d knows, you've got obligations, hut one day, after 111e ... prince channing will cOlne along and buy up all your obligations. Then you'll be happy ... for awhile."

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She bolted up. "Don't ever say 'after Ine.' There is no 'after you.'" I relnelnbered the Inonths alone, 11lonths that should have been honeynl0on months. SaIne of the bitterness still relnained. "Sweetheart, we spent six of the first eight Inonths we were 111arried with an ocean bet\veen us. For the first titne in Iny life I felt lost. I was furiolls .It Inyself for the stupidity of being lnarried to a 11lelllory. Your letters didn't go to bed with me and the phone calls didn't help. I felt like Nero searching for his fiddle. I wanted to p~rsonally destroy ROllle-stone by stOIlC." She was suddenly tight against Ine. "1'111 here now. Let ROlne burn." Her pointed breasts knifed through the ruffled shirt to touch Iny heart. IIcr hips began to l11atch the rhythlll of the pounding surf. I found her lips. 'fhe kiss was a long one. "Capri pants. Jesus!" "They have a zipper." The sound of the waves grew louder. The l11usic frol11 the hotel beclIne clearer. And the half 11100n peeked through the heavy clouds above the beach. **********

An hour out of Queretaro I turned off the old 'Ibluc;l road and skidded the car to a dusty stop before a gigantic stone gateway, the entrance to Pasteje. Above the heavy iron gate, blazoned in stone, 'was the brand of the fanlous hull-breeding ranch. It reselnbled the world-renowned elnblelll of ~1ercedes-Benz, (llthough the three narrow shafts were set at a cOlnpletely reversed angle. A shirtless peon, followed by two Ill0Stly naked children, hurried out of his adobe hovel to swing open the gates. I drove through the .lrchwilY and lowered the car window. "Esta eI1notad01'-?" "Si, senor/' he grinned toothlessly, sOInbrero in hand. "Y la senora?" "TaJnbien, senor. loda la falnilia." "Bueno, Wilulfo. Gracias." I dropped a s111a11 bill into his eager hands, and we began to drive slowly down the gravel road between the harhed-wire, fenced-in green pastures c()nt~lin­ ing the encie1"TOS of fighting bulls. I glanced across at l)ehra to ilnpart Illy recently acquired inforn1ation. "Carlos and Mari are here, and so are the kids." "Ole!" she laughed facetiously. "I would never have known. You should h.lve introduced Ine to your close friend, Wilulfo." I couldn't help smiling. "There are tiInes, 111Y favorite critic, when I enjoy

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being a linguist. \Vilulfo and I went to Ohio State together." She hit Ine on the anll-hard. There was excitelnent in just being around the bulls. The fluffy white clouds hung Inotionless on the horizon, and the 111ulticolored sunset backdropped the black specks as they grew larger trotting toward the fence. I stopped the car. Seven 111assive fOrIns ITIoved silently toward the road and halted, their nluzzles close against the barbed wire, then they shook their needle-pointed horns at our intrusion. "_Aren't they beautiful?" I said. "l~hey are beautiful, but they give Ine chills just to look at them." "They give us all chills, and they are capable of giving us another thing-ane we never allow ourselves to expect. Only others die." I was thinking of those I had known: Balderas, "Carnicerito," "Manolete." Then I shifted back into drive, and we moved off toward the hacienda. **********

"You shouldn't have come so late. Worry is bad for IUY liver." This was a private joke, so private that I had never understood the continuous reference to his liver. If sonlething were wrong with Carlos Arruza's liver, it was surely his only 111alfunction. Except for his gargantuan bundle of energy that exploded in all directions, he was the epitome of good health. Bounding across the patio, he planted a hurried i6ss on Debra's forehead and lifted 111e off the ground in a Mexican bear hug. Then, glancing over Iny shoulder, he spotted the Rolls-Royce. "llijo, Inana!" he screalned. "\Vhat did you bring Ine-a tonk?" 11e was always so certain of his English, I invariably "played back" his 111istakes. "It's faster than a 'tonk,' Charlie. Think you can handle it?" Carlos was already in the front seat behind the wheel. "I can fly anything. Especially this! Hijo, lnano!" He honked the horn. A soft voice behind us said: "Hello." Mari C:annen Vasquez de Arruza stood in the open doorway of the dining rOOll1. She had long been one of 111y Inost favorite people. Mari possessed the kind of natural beauty that glowed even brighter over the years. She and Debra had never Illet, only spoken to each other over the telephone. But Mari was a devout I)e;:bra Paget fan, and Deb had been given a cOInplete rundown on the 111any virtues of the elegant Spanish senora. Their Ineeting was as if they had been close friends for years. I siniled with satisfaction as I watched the two ell1brace. It had been alrnost ilnpossible to discover just the right person to portray Mari in ... lrrll':,/I-to Inatch her Sevillian elegance and couple it with the dral11atic ability ta project her strength and colorful personality onto the screen. But now, seeing

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them together, I knew that my choice of Debra had been a wise one. Mari 1l1oved to me and I kissed her on the cheek. She stepped back to brace herself for the surprise. "Welcome to our ... our ... " It was a shalne, because it had obviously been so well rehearsed. She turned to her husband for help. "Arnor, COlno se dice-casa?" "House, house, house!" Carlos yelled and honked the horn again.

********** The dining room at Pasteje was gigantic. There were thirty-eight heilVY wooden chairs placed at the long Mexican Colonial table, not including the two high leather-backed armchairs at the head of the table that were always reserved for the Inatador and Mari. Behind the tnaster chairs was an open fireplace with the mantle adorned by the colorful brands of falnous bull-breeding ranches of Mexico and Spain. Above the fireplace was a large Flores oil painting of Carlos in his inaugural appearance as a 1'"ejol1ead01: Carlos leaned back in his chair, patted his full stolnach, which still looked quite empty, then winked at nle. "You two gringos get a good night's sleep. Everything is set for tOll1otTOW." He turned to Debra. "We fixed a real surprise for you." Deb pretended a frightened flinch. Carlos held up his hand in protest. "Never fear. Trust in Ine. Pray a lot and, with luck, you'll live to he a hundred." We followed Carlos and Mari as they walked ann in ann along the hlue-tiled patio toward the combination play room and bar. Suddenly Debra stopped .1nd clamped her hand to her nlouth. "Oh, honey, I've been having such a good tin1e I forgot to call mother." She looked pleadingly at the Arruzas. "May I please use your telephone?" Carlos frowned. "You know this is your house, Debra, anything in it, but we have no telephone at Pasteje." "No phone?" The matador nodded. "\\Then I anl here, everything I cherish is here with me. There has never been a need for telephones. We have always enjoyed the privacy." She rurned to me. Her face was pale. "What will I do? Mother will be frantic!" "I'm sorry, darling. It's Iny fault. I truthfully forgot, but you can call frolll Toluca." "I-Iow far is Toluca?" "Forty- filve ml'1" es. Before she could answer, the three pajanla-c1ad Arruza children burst into the patio, ready to kiss their parents goodnight. Carlitos was seven, Manolo six

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and Mari-Cannen five. rrhey were beautiful children, even then already beginning to show the handsoIneness of their inheritance. Although the boys were wann and friendly, I had always secretly considered little Mari-Cannen Iny favorite. I picked her up and squeezed her tight. "Buenas naches, lni cielo," I said. "Sleep well and dreanl happy dreanls." "Buenas naches, Boodi," Mari-Cannen giggled, and then raced her brothers to the bedro0111. It was a long beat before I heard Debra's voice. "1 guess it will be all right. She'll understand." "\Vhat, honey?" "Mother. 1'111 just sure she'll understand when I tell her tomorrow that ... that · waSIl ,t any pone. h " t here Just "Of course, she'll understand," I hoped aloud. Then, hugging my own little girl with Iny right arm, we followed the Arruzas into the bar. It was a large rectangular rOOln with another n1ammoth stone fireplace at one end and a new billiard table at the other. In the Iniddle of the room, snug against the far wall, stood the bar in the wooden fonn of a bullring barrera. It advertised the last 'I110nO a lnnno corrida of the two giants of bullfighting during the spectacular season of 1945. VALENCIA Octo ber Seventh Manuel Rodriguez, "MANOLETE" and CARLOSARRUZA (hand to hand) With SIX MAGNIFICENT BULLS of BARTOLOME Bordering the bar, hung high along the walls, eight mounted hull's heads glared down threateningly frol11 their wooden plaques. Their black pointed horns glistened deadly in the artificial light, and they still looked furious and very much (}live. C:arlos watched Debra, alnused, as she stared--deep in thought-at the animals. "I--Iow l11uch has he taught you about the bulls?" She was startled. "The bulls? Me?" (:arlos nodded. "WelL .. " She was actually blushing. "Well, we haven't spent too much time talking (}bout the bulls. We've been sort of catching up ... on things." I laughed. "And that's going to take years!" Debra's look was filled with bal1derilllls, but she was still blushing.

*******•**

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She walked out of the bathroo1l1 in a robe, crossed to Ine in bed and, dropping the robe, slipped in naked beside Ine. "You knew that there wasn't a telephone here, didn't you?" "I knew that there didn't used to be, but 1 honestly forgot." "Honey, please stop fighting 1110ther and Ine." I sat up in bed. "1'111 not fighting your 1l10ther, Deb, 1'111 fighting you. ()ne day you're going to have to lnake up your I1lind whether you're Inarricd to your Inother or to Ine. It's your fault. If she doesn't talk to you each day, it scares her to death. 1 don't blaIne her. You're her whole life. I-Iell, the first night \\'e went out you had to call her frol11 Malibu to tell her that you were sLlfe, less than an hOllr after we'd left your house." "Hon-ney, that's the way 1 aln. You'll just have to accept it." "The way you are, young lady, can destroy our l11arriage, and I don't have to accept tbat.''' I snapped off the light. l~he nl00nlight filtered in through the cracks in the wooden shutters. 1~here was an eternity of silence as I counted to one hundred, then: "1'111 sorry, Deb," I said.

"So £1111 I." '4C;ood. Now go to sleep. They've planned a big day for us tOlllOlTOW." I'd probably been staring at the ceiling for over an hour before I looked across at tlly sleeping little girl, and I had to slllile jn spite of ]llY thoughts. ()ne great thing Debra and her nlother had done for 111e was teach 111C how to think when it was ilnpossible to sleep. I didn't always brush it off on poor '~Sc<1rlett" and "think about it tOlllorrow." ] had learned to be constructive. I W~lS sure right ~lbout using C:arlos instead of Iny other pal, Luis Miguel. 'fhe Portuguese horses were going to Inake a 1110re spectacular picture than just another Blood IIlId S'IIllti, and buying the Rolls was a dalnned good nlove. C:harlie Arruza could now wc;u his brown shoes with the dark blue suit inside the Rolls-Roycc-and it wouldn't show. And then I had to cOlllnlend 111yself, becausc I had just deciJed that I didn't give a good (;od d3]lln if there ever were telephones anyplace anYlllore-Illost especially at Pastcje. I loved it there. 'fhis was ]llY kind of life and I was a sOllofabitch if I was going to let telephones and 1110thers ~lnd little girls destroy what I held so dear. 'fhis Inistaken Inarriage certainly didn't have IllllCh of il chance-.lt all-hut, bccause I really did love Iny little girl, I'd take a lesson frolll the dis,lstrous GUllda/upfl71{{. I'd Inakc it fun for her while it lasted. **** ** ** ** ~rhc Pasteje tientll ring was ancient as well as architecturally hcautiful. 'rhe

Mexican and Spanish ton:ros had tested the faillous ranch's fighting-stock in its cir-

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cular confines long before Carlos Arruza was born, and it was exciting for Ine to watch this new g071odero signal across his little plaza for the first young heifer to be released onto the gray-yellow sand. This fornlal testing of the young fighting cows is usually done in October. If they are brave, they are pastured to graze in separate fields with their seed-bull "husband" and thirty-four other future 1110thers of fighting bulls. If they are cowardly, they are fattened for beef and disappear ignominiously into the butcher shops of Mexico. But Carlos, anticipating the tinle of our visit, had saved three of his finest specinlens for our entertainlnent. But they were now half-a-year older, a great deal heavier, and their needle-pointed horns looked surprisingly more wide-spread than I had looked forward toward playing with the cape and 'IJuLieta. I had been at the corrals earlier in the lTIorning when they were herded in fro111 their pasture by mounted vaqUe1~os. But Debra had not seen thein, and her fingernails dug deep into my arm as we stood together behind a protective concrete burladero and watched the first furious beast dash across the ring to crash her horns into the heavy padding of the picador's horse. Well, this "dragon" was certainly not what I now intended to have Iny gorgeous bride face in combat. I had expected the heifers to be half-a-year younger! But, of course, Carlos had no idea that I had been giving bullfight lessons to Deb and just couldn't wait to show her off to the matador and his entourage. Carlos watched as the becerra took a few backward steps, then dashed forward again to sink her horns into the pads. "Bueno!" Arruza shouted to the picador, then glided into the ring to lure the anilnal into a graceful series of walking cbicuelinas. God, he was beautiful with the cape! Looking down at the horns as they slashed by his legs, first from the right side, then the left, then back again from the right, he finally swirled the pink cloth around his waist and walked casually away from the bewildered animal. "Okeedokie, Cesar," he shouted to Cesar Giron, who had arrived at Pasteje sOInetilne during the night, "show these two gringo movie persons that all South A.' , ,,, runencans aren t craaap. Carlos loved dreadful expressions like "okeedokie," and he made words like "craptt last a good three seconds. He called these expletives "cusses." Cesar Giron was Venezuela's greatest 'I11atad01~ de toros who was in the process of cOlnpeting with all of the masters of the bullring on very equal terms. He was the '4 chairman of the board" of the entire dynasty of Giron-family to re1 OS. I had never seen hinl fight, but I was well aware of his prowess and, having had breakfast with hinl and Charlie Arruza, I already knew they were both complete fruitcakes. I must admit, however, that their joint hunlor, which had them both convulsed with laughter over a silnple thing like the dropping of a fork or a bite frolll a tortilla, left Ine a bit bewildered, but I tnanaged to laugh anyway. So, what the hell! "Eje, vflcocitn," Cesar called off softly to the cow. Now he was all business, A

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and so was the becen"a as she burst into a charge. The four gao17e1-as were thrilling to watch. Cesar, the cape spread wide behind his back, wrapped the aniInal around his waist as if he were stretching on his favorite sash. And then he sinlply dropped the corner of the cape to the sand, and the frustrated beast spun around to stare down at it as if she couldn't believe how she had rnissed. I yelled "Ole!" The noise in the ring suddenly abated, and I realized a11 eyes were now on me. Hell, Carlos knew I could toref11~ and I wasn't there to iJnprcss Cesar Giron. Right now I wanted to ilnpress the living daylights out of Dehra. I spread my cape in both hands and trotted out to where the becelTll was once again in personal conflict with the picl1do1"~f horse. Funny thing, that daJnned aninlal seemed to sense I was a foreigner, and she SV{llng around to charge at Jlle without my even saying a first "hello." Well, I'd done fi-ego!il1fl.\' in Tijuana and was ~1 smash, so I thought a little repetition nlight be a good thing. Five tinlCS ] ch~lngcd hands with the cape behind Iny back, and five tiI11es Illy new heifer-friend obliged. Maybe she figured I needed help_ Maybe she liked me. I guess I'll never know, hut I counted my blessings and strode back to the burindero aIllidst shouts of enthusiastic "oles.'" Debra reached for the cape. I looked into those lavender eyes, which were now bordered in red, and I recognized the COIllpetitive fire behind that beautiful face. "You've got to be kidding!" I said. But she sure as hell wasn't, and we spent a long ITIOnlent fighting for possession of the pink and yellow cloth. "Damn it, Debra, you'll get yourself killed!" I yelled, still tugging .lway. "I can do it!" she shouted back. "You said I was good!" "You are good, honey, in our living rOOl1l," I reasoned, "but those horns arc rCi/I.'" Carlos yelled from across the ring: "Bood, try the 'e/ a/huon. '" Now that made sense! "Look, Deb," I explained hurriedly, "we'll both hold opposite ends of the cape, call off to the cow, and lure her to charge bet\veen liS. Then, if we're successful, and you don't end up with a horn in your guts, well-you're on your own, if that's what you want." There was absolutely no hesitation except that she nodded: "Let's go!" Christ, I've seen a lot less detennination across the line frolll Inc, or even across the boxing ring. This damn little character, l11y sweet wife, had Illore honest-togosh balls than most men I knew. So, off we went. I opened Iny Ill0uth to draw the cow's full attention, but Debra beat me to it. "Eje, vacn.''' she yelled, and Iny ex-friend exploded into a charge. Well, we ran that detcnnined heifer back and forth between us seven straight times, and Deb never flinched an eyelash. Finally the animal stopped for breath, and good 01' Charlie Arruza ran out to hand I)eb his red serge mu/eta. "Hijo mano, " he giggled, "this torera of yours is another Conchita Cintron!" Now Conchita just happened to be the best lady bullfighter who ever lived, and 1 was actually counting all the others who weren't even born yet. And I necd-

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ed that like a hole in my head! But Deb grabbed the 111uleta and glared off determinately at the cow. "So, 'maestro,'" she said to me over her shoulder, "do you have any final instructions? " "Stand still, Illove the cloth, and take some quick steps in the opposite direction when the horns go by." Then I moved prayerfully out of her way. Surprisingly she made pass after pass, and stood so still that both Carlos and Cesar kept theITIselves busy trying to keep her in one piece as they hopped and jumped around like jackrabbits behind her using all their own genius to protect her every pass. I stayed well in the background, figuring she had some fairly professional help, and amidst screams from Mari Arruza and the kids, and shouts of "ole!" from the spectators, Debra was a sensation. I remembered that we were both from "the land of the brave," but that morning my gal transplanted one hell of a lot of valor right smack dab into the heart of Mexico. We walked back to the hacienda with our arms around each other. Maybe it will be all right, I rationalized. Maybe we'll be left alone. Maybe we'll be allowed to love enough to finish and get on with our lives. I was so very proud of her, and now I was certain of one other thing. I'd put up with almost anything to make this marriage work. **********

It was late afternoon when I slammed the trunk of the Rolls shut and stepped into the driver's seat. We were still almost two hours out of Mexico City, and we had reservations at nly favorite hotel for the night. Mari leaned in through the open window to kiss me on the cheek. Cesar slapped the car top with the palm of his hand, winked at Ine, and spoke to Debra. "Suerte, 111atadoro," he grinned. "Take good care of your banderoillero." Well, that was his sense of humor, so I grinned and bore it. Carlos stepped in alongside my window. "When are we going to start to finish our picture?" he asked. "I don't know," I answered. "1 hope soon." "Is it that they don't want Ine as an actor?" "Charlie, believe me, they don't know what they want. Some of rheIn are against you, Debra, Ine, bullfighting in general. They have what they call in I-Iollywood 'reservations.'" ~rhe 111atador's jaw tightened. "If they don't want me," he said slowly, "let thenl get saine body else." I bristled. "We both keep saying 'they.' They have nothing to do with it. It's

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you, Debra and me! Period! That's it! That's the only way the picture's going to be made." I felt it coming from the very Inoment I turned the key in the ignition, but, sOInehow, the drive to the I1lain gate renlained silent until we turned onto the highway to the city. "I think you hurt his feelings." "Christ, Debra, I hurt everybody's feelings." "Well, you didn't have to tell hiIl1 the whole horrible truth." "I tell everybody the whole horrible truth. That's why I have encrnies. I Illay turn out to be mistaken but, darnn it, at the tinle I say s0l11ething illlportant I sincerely believe it to be the truth." "But you're so dreadfully outspoken." "Jesus Keerist, Debra, I learned a long time ago that a liar has to relnclnbcr all his lies to stay out of trouble. I haven't got tilne for that. Our business is tough enough." And not one other word was spoken all the way down the l1l0untain into town. Now how in the hell could I keep my latest prolnise to Inyself? Sure I loved her. I adored her. Maybe we could love alike. And laugh alike. But there \vasn't a gambler's chance in Las Vegas that we could ever tbink alike. And that was just a dirty rotten shame!

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filnl carton on the top shelf of the master closet and stepped to the telephone. I gave the hotel operator Maggie's and Jeff Martin's numbers, and told her to put through both calls. Then I wrestled Debra onto the bed. "Stop it, you idiot!" she giggled. "The calls will come through." "And when they do, I'll stop everything 1'nl doing." She laughed. "That's a lie and you know it." I spun her over and spanked her, then gently turned her back and found her lips. '-rhe telephone rang. She untangled herself and grabbed for the phone. "I-IelIo, nlother!-Oh. Just a second." With obvious disappointment she handed the phone to me. "It's Jeff." His voice sounded extrelllely grim. "Look, the boys from the bank are in my office now. We're trying to get sOInething started. In the lneantime, I'd like to take out a ten thousand dollar loan against the Rolls. I just need your 'say so.' It'll help with your anxious creditors. They think you're gone forever." I laughed. "Tell theIn I'll try not to be. Okay, do anything you want. You know I trust you ilnplicitly." Jeff's voice sounded relieved. "Thanks. \\Then are you running the film?" "Tolll0rrow, I hope. I'll call you after the screening." We said good-bye and hung up. Debra sat up straighter in the bed. "Try not to do what? VVhy are you trusting Jeff 'implicitly? '" I explained about 'being gone forever,' and the loan against the car. "Well," she said, "now all we have to do is come up with the last two hundred thousand dollars and we're in business." The telephone rang again, and Debra rolled over and beat me to it.

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"Hello. Yes, operator, this is Miss Paget. Thank you. I'll wait." She rurned to me. "It's the house. They've gone to get Illother." I stood up, picked Iny jacket off the chair and headed for the door. "Honey, where are you going?" "Downstairs. " "Aren't you going to change?" "Nope. I'll shower after dinner. I'llineet you in the restaurant." "Be sure it's the restaurant.~' I bristled, but before I could speak ... "Hello, Inuth-er.... Now, Inuth-er!" I closed the hall door and rang for the elevator. **********

I was nibbling on a celery stalk when Debra entered the dining rOOIl1. She had been crying. The dark glasses she wore shielded only her eyes, hut not the red puffiness beneath them. I tried not to notice as I pulled out her chair. "I ordered us both lobster and SOBle soup. You should be hungry." There was an eternity of silence. Then: "Honey, Inother didn't understand about there not being a phone J.t the ranch. She ... she didn't understand at all!" **********

The brassy Inusic of a paso doble filled the projection rOOlll, and on the screen in color Carlos Arruza Illade his entrance into the Nogales bullring. 11e was dressed in a black Spanish t1~aje corto and wore on his head a jaunty, flat-topped Seviliana. Carlos' favorite parade horse, C:anlpino, danced in place as the Inatador turned to wish the gold-suited tore1·OS behind hin1 "luck." l'hen the prISCO, the opening parade, began. I had cut the filtn to be used in the first PtlJt:o so that it wasn't one, but many paseos: Tijuana, Monterrey, Nogales, Juarez, lc)rreon, Guadalajara-all rolled into one continuous parade. C:arlos rode a hrown horse, a white horse, a gray horse, a black one and a buckskin as the ptlSCO continued across the plazas of Mexico, until a trulnpet blew to signal the entry of the first bull. EJnilio Fernandez, Latin Anlerica's top director, sat next to l)ebra and 111C. He was a handsome brute of a J1lan who had shot a ncwspaper reporter over an argulnent about a Inovie, or a girl, or a bottle of tequila. But the poor fellow lived and Emilio spent only a few nights in jail because, after all, it was prohably sclfdefense. He was a cross between Pancho Villa and Zapata, and prohahly would have scared both of them half to death. But each of us considered the other an

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intimate friend. \\Then he spoke loud enough to hear, everyone Inade a point of listening. "Now, I know what you've been doing," he bellowed, "and I wished to hell I'd been with you." Debra squeezed my arm. The projection room was filled to capacity. The latecomers stood against the walls. Carlos and Mari were seated near us. Suddenly the brilliant color turned to black until a gate opened in the background and sunlight flooded the wooden alleyway. A door swung wide and a massive fighting bull filled the screen. He kicked at the door as it slalnmed shut behind hiln, and Carlos astride Campi no came into focus across the Nogales bullring. The bull snorted and the tunnel filled with dust, until another camera picked up the aninlal as he exploded onto the yellow sand. Then three years of our work flashed onto the screen. An hour later, when the lights came on, Emilio had tears in his eyes. "It's beautiful," he said. It was the shortest comment I had ever heard him make. Debra, Carlos and I stood up to accept congratulations and then, one by one, the guests filed out, leaving only the memory of Carlos, the music, the horses and the bulls. We stepped out into the twilight to wave goodbye to the Arruzas. I thought we were alone until Emilio's voice, close behind us, startled me. "How much more money do you need to finish your show?" I turned to grin somewhat sheepishly at my friend. "About two hundred grand," I admitted. Emilio clucked to himself. "That's two and one-half million pesos-a pile of loot down here. I know these non-investing Mexicans." I had to laugh. No one was more Mexican than Emilio Fernandez. "Well, tOlllorrow I'll start begging," I said. Elnilio shook his head sadly. "Tell lTIe something. Don't they know in I-Iollywood what you've got?" "No, Elnilio," I said, "they sure as hell don't." ** ********

"Mexican Illotion pictures must be made in Mexico, by Mexicans, for J\1cxico," said the fat little man seated behind the mahogany desk that was much too big for his physique or his talent. I finished pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee in the plush office of Et

COllti01l1il1io de Pl'odllctores. Wfhat's a lot of nationalistic crap and you know it," I said without turning around. Then I took a sip of the coal-black brew and returned to my chair. "Listen to lue, Claudio. Where in the devil do you people think you're liv-

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ing, on a desert island isolated from the rest of the world? Mexico could have a big hunk of the world film industry if you had any 31nbition and drive. ()ne day the audiences are going to become tired of colosseulns, lrojan annor and dancing nymphs, and all the talent will move out of Rome. SaIne of those c()Jnpanies would caIne down here if you'd make Mexico nlore inviting. You keep 1113king films about drunks, bandits, whores and the Revolution and you'll continue to destroy one of the 1110St beautiful countries in the world. They ask Ine in the United States if your streets are paved. Hell, they don't knOv.' that ~1exico City is more beautiful than Beverly Hills. And that's why I intend to show the world with Arruza modern Mexico in a modern motion picmre, and you people sit here and cry 'hungry.'" Claudio Vlas visibly shaken. "Well, what do you expect us to do?" "Put up the rest of the nloney to cOlnplete Iny fihn. I've already put up nlore than half of it out of my own pocket. And when An-uzll Inakes Inaney, I'll certainly reinvest part of Iny share of the profits in another picture here in 1\1exico." I was on a roll, so I stood up to make Iny point. "Do you think when Hollywood had its Golden Era, picnlres \\'ere l11ade by Americans in America for Alnericans? Hollywood was created by North Americans, Russians, Hungarians, Italians, Germans, French-everybody-and no one cared what nationality the artists were because they were talented people. n Claudio smiled for the first tilne. "And tell me, what happened to your Golden Hollywood?" I had expected that. "Television happened to Hollywood. Television and a cOInplete lack of balls. Suddenly the former nonentity producers of our industry found out how to Inake a quick buck. Well, they're l11aking it, but they are also about to destroy what was becoilling a treIllendous art." Then I flopped back onto Illy chair. "Claudio, have you understood anything I've said?" He stood and slowly walked to the open window to stare down at the filtbol fields in the playground below. "I've understood everything you've said. flow could I help it? But we producers don't have the nloney to invest, personally, I mean, so we have to depend on the bank. I've talked to Ralnircz, and he's just not interested in A1iilZfl." I bounced back up. "He's not interested in a one-half-already-finished Inovic about one of his country's greatest jig1Ir/ls?" "He's not interested enough to put up three nlillion pesos. He, also, feels that Mexico isn't really ready yet to cOlnpete in the world fillll rnarkct." "Of course he can't take the chance that Mexico's ready," I ahnost shouted. "He's an old man and he may never live to see the '111t111fl11{/' of this country's filnl

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progress. But, with some guts, you and I will." The little producer walked back to his desk to, shakily, light a cigar. "All right, I'll talk to him again," he sighed. "But, believe me, as a Mexican producer nly hands are tied." "I believe you, Claudio," I said. "Thanks for your time." I walked out of the new building and stepped into the front seat alongside nly newly acquired chauffeur, Pepe Arroche. At least I could feel lucky about being fortunate enough to have hired him. He had been highly recommended by Carlos Reyes, the Duke's pal, chauffeur and partner in almost everything Wayne invested in below the border. And Carlos, as always, was right. I was already genuinely fond of Pepe, whose prime ambition in life was to be "The world's leading driver of falllous people." Of course, this had added to my responsibilities. I couldn't "blow" Arrnza or I might stop being famous. And Pepe was the sort of fella you'd never want to let down. He was young-maybe 29 or 30. And he had the slicked-down good looks of a Valentino or a Power. But his handsomeness had absolutely no effect on his personality. He certainly wasn't humble. He was just cute and fun to be with. \Vhen Debra was along he was all business, but when we were alone and I rode in front with hilll, he was damned entertaining. He ~ew everybody and everything concerning his Mexico. And he spoke fluent English. He told me that, once, his proudest accomplishment was to have been graduated from the University of Mexico. That was until he went to work for me. Now the thing he was proudest of was "his" new white and silver Rolls-Royce. Then I knew why he had accepted the job, but I didn't care 'cause Pepe was worth playing second fiddle to my car. He swung the Rolls into the curb at the Hotel Barner, then glanced across at nle and frowned. "Excuse lne, sir," he said, "but in the whole week I've been with you, I've never seen you not smiling." So I smiled, and said: "Call us at nine o'clock. We might want to go out." And I stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel. Jerry, the bell captain, moved in beside me and kept step on the way to the elevator. "You wife just went for a walk," he said. "And, sir, I think she's been crying.n "Dh?" He picked at some unseen lint on his coat sleeve. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I took the liberty of sending two of my boys to look out for her. She won't be in any trouble." "God bless you, Jerry." I crossed to the desk phone. "Gloria, did we receive any long distance calls while I was out? North Hollywood, huh? That figures. Thanks. I'm on the way upstairs now. Put through a person to person to Mr. Martin in Beverly Hills.

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That's right. You've got the nunlber." I reached into Iny wallet and handed Jerry a hundred-peso note. He held up his hands in protest. "Oh, no thank you, sir!" "Take it while you can get it, Jerry. V\'e're running out of this stuff fast." As I stepped into the elevator, I heard Jerry laugh. He was sure that I was kidding about the luoney. **********

\Vhen the call finally caIne through, I actually felt that this tilne Jeff was alone in his office. "You sound beat," he said. "CaIne on down here and I'll let you shoulder SOllle of the burden. \,\That goes with the bank?" "They're adalnant. I can't budge thenl." "Great! So, what do we do now?" "\Vhat about Mexican capital?" "I'ITI not optilnistic." "We could Inake a color television 'spectacular' with the fihn you've already shot." There was a thundering silence. "Well, it was just an idc~l," Jeff said, feebly. "Jeffrey, please try to C0111e up with a better one." "I'll come up with s0111ething. Don't get p3nicky." I laughed. It was a strange, ahnost forgotten sound. "Panicky? You're the hoy with the button." Jeff cleared his throat. "Incidently, the first car paYlnent's due in about ten days. It caInes to four hundred and ... " "Pay it, Jeff. I left enough up there to take care of that t'()f awhile. And keep those payments up to date. I need that car for the picture. That's the only reason I bought it. I was happy with the Continental." "All right. Don't worry about it. And I'll have SOIlle good news for you by the end of the week." He actually sounded confident. "I hope so," I said, "I'll wait for your calL" Debra opened the door as I hung up. I tried to be fairly unconcerned as she crossed the rOOIn and sat on the bed. "Honey .. .I don't think it's a good idea to go out walking alone." "Nobody recognized Ine. I had on these dark glasses." "Sweetheart, you could wear a sack over your head and, with your figure, the public wouldn't be fooled." I leaned over and lifted the glasses to kiss her eyes. 1'hey were still red and puffy.

**********

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It was a beautifully appointed office usually reserved for the board n1eetings of the SecciOl1 de Technicos y ;Wanuales, the Mexican motion picture labor union, but now only four of us sat at the long polished table. Debra and I sat at the right of Gregorio Algara, the "sindicato's presidente." To his left was Emilio Fernandez, acting as my interpreter. Gregorio had been my still photographer during the production of Bllllfighte1~ and the Lady, but those days were long forgotten-especially by Gregorio. I was about at the end of Iny patience. "Look, Emilio, please try to get it across to Senor Algara that I go along with the Actors Guild, that performers who are bilingual should receive higher salaries for two-version productions, but I do not believe that a prop man, a grip or an electrician should get more money for doing his regular job because there happen to be English-speaking actors in the scene." As Emilio translated my words to Algara, Debra turned to me. "This is absurd," she said, not lowering her voice. "How long can you keep from telling him to go to hell?" "I tell him that and I kiss a quarter of a million of our dollars good-bye." Suddenly I saw Emilio's eyes flash. "Senor Don Gregorio Algara says to tell you that if you don't like the working conditions in Mexico, he suggests you complete Arruza in Spain." Debra and I stood up and headed for the door. Emilio's voice stopped me. "He has, however, made one concession. He will allow you to photograph one day of preproduction in the bullring with all the matadors. One day close-ups-no audience. He understands that right now, being off season, is your only chance of getting them all together, and he's willing to go along with you." I opened the door. "Tell him thanks a lot. I'll meet you downstairs." Ten Ininutes later, having purchased three buttery ears of steaming corn froIn a sidewalk vendor, we sat together on the back seat of the Rolls as Pepe drove Emilio home. "You know," Emilio laughed, "that damn meeting reminds me of a story I heard when I was a kid. On the seventh day when God rested, having created the l-Icaven and the Earth, He suddenly realized that He had left out one important itern-a paradise on earth. So, He created Mexico. The only thing was, He played a terrible joke on the rest of the Earth, because He filled His paradise with Mexicans." I held up Iny hand. "You said it. We didn't!" **********

I sipped n1y coffee in the "Bamerette" on the top floor of the hotel. It was a new and beautiful room. Outside, after four steady days of rain, it was a new and heauti fut day.

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"Do you wish to order now, sir?" I looked up at the waiter. "I'll wait a while longer. My wife should be up here any minute." I reached for the telephone on the table beside Ine. ~'Trinidad? Good nlorning. Would you please ring our suite and let's see if my bride's drowned in the tub? Oh-Iong distance?" I checked Iny watch again. It was only seven a.m. in Los Angeles. "Okay, put her on for Ine when she's finished." I hung up and turned back to the waiter. "I'll have another cup of coffee and SOIne buttered toast." It seemed that I had been waiting a hundred years for this day-the first real day of actual production for Arruza. It was to be devoted to the concession Aigara had allowed us, the photographing of reaction close-ups of all of Mexico's top matadors: Capetillo, Leal, Huerta, Silveti, "Calesero," Procuna, del ()I ivar, Rodriguez, Velazquez, and Luis and Felix Briones. The call had been set for eleven o'clock at El Tareo, the reconstructed plaza just outside of the Federal District, and because of Iny friendship with these priIlla donnas, 1 knew that they all would be there. It should be quite a show. 1 reached over again and picked up the phone. "Hi. Still talking? Good. Put her on. Morning sleepyhead. Up an' at 'eIll. We've got a busy day. Debra, you've got to eat sOlnething. I'll order you SOIne breakfast in the room. Be right down." She was sitting on the bed, her hand on the French phone, when 1 walked in. l . . he lnoment I saw her face I knew that this tiIne it was serious. I knelt down beside her. ",",Vhat is it, honey?" "Nothing." "Deb, what is it?" She looked straight at Ine and tried to slnile. "It's silly. You won't like it." "I don't like a lot of things." She bit her lower lip, and steeled herself. "Well, 1110ther has been worried to death about Ine-the way you drive-the horses, the bulls. 1 guess I shouldn't have told her about our wonderfully crazy day at the r~l11(:h." I anticipated anything! "And?" "And, so, she's consulted our astrologer." I bounded to Illy feet. "Your what.''' "Kiki, • vIOU know h er." "I know her. So, what did she have to say?" "Well-n10ther says that if I don't get out of Mexico in a hurry, I'll Jlleet with a horrible accident that will scar Iny face for life." I couldn't believe it-but then suddenly I could. "\\Thy, that schenling bitch!" "Don't talk about nl0ther like that! She's only thinking ahout IltC." "She's never thought only about you! C;row up!"

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She was suddenly frightened by my violence, and dashed for the door. I grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. "Debra!" She struggled to kick free. "Let me go! Mother's always right and you know it!" "Your rnother hasn't been right since the day you were born! You don't believe that junk about the accident?" "Of course, I don't believe it, but mother does and she's a nervous wreck." She pushed away. "Now, don't hold me. I'm going downstairs." I pushed her back onto the bed. "God dalnn it. You listen to IIle! I'm fed up with these phone calls every day and I'ln fed up with your mother. Maggie wants you hOIne, or wherever she's got you booked to work, and she's going to get you there at any price. You're like a racehorse. They push you out onto the track and you win the race. Then they collect the purse and shove you back into the stable with sOlne oats. Well, you can't race forever. Not as my wife! Your mother's going to have to find another filly. Why don't you get some balls like your sister? She doesn't take any crap from anybody, certainly not from your mother. Can't you un d erstan d ... "'" ~ She sprang up, her temper really flaring. "Don't try to brainwash me!" "Brainwash you! Are you kidding! You've been brainwashed for twenty-six years!" She raced across the bedroom and flung open her suitcases. Down off the clothes rack caine the fur coats, the dresses and nightgowns. I crossed to her and put my hands on her shoulders. "Debra ... " "Don't touch Ine!" She pulled away. I backed into the center of the room. "Now, you listen to Ine! I've got a million dollars worth of toreros ready to work for Ille in EI Toreo. I'd like to stay here and try to talk some sense into your head, but I can't. I just haven't got time. If you leave while I'm gone, there's nothing I can do-nothing except tell you that I understand, and .. .I love you." There really was nothing else to say. I turned and walked out of the room. **********

Walking down the concrete alleyway leading to the parade entrance-Puerto de Cuadrillas of El Toreo-I seelned to hear distant rumblings frolll the past: oles.' for Gaona, "Armillita," Balderas, Solorzano, Garza, "El Soldado," Silverio and Arruza. \\That years they had been! But, then I realized that the sounds I heard were only imagined, only nonexistent echoes of the past. It was quiet as I swung open the caudrilla gate. I turned to Pepe. "Nobody's here." At the sound of my voice, heads began to appear on the sand-side of the redpainted fence.

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"Where have you been?" Velazquez asked. "Now who's the Mexican?" Luis Briones added. "You're late." "Let's get making movies," Rodriguez pleaded. "I've got to catch a plane for Colombia at three o'clock." They were all there, all except Manuel Capetillo, my long tilne pal. l~hey had arrived with their sword handlers, their friends and their beautiful goldembroidered trajes de iuces-their suits of light. They had merely been sitting on the sand in their separate cliques, avoiding each other, playing dominoes or cards and lying about the ears and tails they'd cut. "\Vho else is coming?" asked the handsome Alfredo Leal. "Capetillo," I said, "but we'll start shooting. He'll he here." "One hundred pesos says he won't," Leal laughed. "He had a newspaper fight with Arruza over Curro Ortega's benefit." "Well, he's no enemy of mine. He'll be here. And you've got a bet." The matadors sat on the estribo, the white step that runs around the inside of the red, circular barrera, as I outlined the day's work. "Now, I'm going to make this as easy and painless as possible. This is not a gringada-an American motion picture about bullfighting. Your sequence is when Arruza returns to the bullrings. He is now a 1~ejonead01; but when he gets off his horses, he torears with the rlluleta-just the same as he always did. These bullfights are along the border and, with a predolninantly gringo audience, he's stealing your thunder. You're jealous of him, and you hate his guts for returning to the bulls." "Hijo!" Velazquez laughed. "This is going to be easy. I thought we caIne here to act." "Good morning. I'm sorry we're late." I spun around. There was Manuel Capetillo, his 1110Z0 de estoqllcs, three close friends, and his absolutely gorgeous wife, Sarita. "Sara wanted to come," the Illatador explained. "She thought I11aybe I'd be nervous without her." He winked-the true Mexican "macho"-so that his wife could see him. Since Sarita de Flores Capetillo was as beautiful as nlost of the 1110tion picture stars I had known, I was delighted. I would photograph thenl together in a palco to cut into Carlos' last appearance in El T01~eo. I thanked both Capetillos, then turned to Alfredo Leal. "Take my hundred pesos and buy your boys some beers." Manuel cast a knowing, not too friendly, look at Leal. And we went to work. I was setting up a two-shot of Leal and "Calesero" when all conversation stopped in the plaza. I turned to see Debra walking toward 111e across the yellow sand. I couldn't remember when she had ever looked more beautiful. She wore a

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silk print dress and a flat straw hat that shaded her eyes from the noonday sun. "How's it going?" Her voice was soft, calm, as if nothing had happened. My startled first reactions were: "\\That fight? What mother?" But I did appreciate that Debra was an actress, and I answered as casually as I could while I felt things out. "I'm nearly finished," I said. "Glad you could make it." "Thank you, darling," she whispered softly. "Thanks for what?" "For making me know that this is where I belong." I suddenly knew that she meant it. I didn't know how, or when it happened. But she Ineant it. "Debra, I know that one day you may have to go home or back to Europe. And you know I can't go with you, but ... " I was suddenly at a loss for a longer, lousy speech, but I concluded with: "Try to stick around for awhile." "I'll always be here. I wasn't sure of that until this morning when I thought I wanted to go home. All of a sudden I got sick at my stomach. Now I know I'm nO.t going anyplace." "We're ready," my assistant director called from across the ring. **********

Pepe stopped the Rolls in front of the Arruza townhouse and jumped out of the car to ring the doorbell. The matador was summoned by the houseboy, and he bounded across the sidewalk to lean in through the back-seat window. "Come on in!" "We can't, Charlie. We're worn out. We've had a busy day." Carlos was apprehensive. "Did anybody show up?" "Everyhody. " "Everybody! " "And Capetillo brought Sarita. I photographed them both." "Impossible! " "It wasn't impossible. I expected them all to show." "WelJ, it's impossible to me that all my enemies who've been fighting me for years would show up to work in my picture." "They all believe we're doing sOlnething worthwhile and, Charlie, if you get right down to it, they went to work for me today in 'our' picture." Carlos grinned sheepishly. "Well, since you put it that way-it's possible." "Anyway," Debra cut in, "it's about time we had something to celebrate, so we came to invite you and Mari to dinner at the Focolare. Nine o'clock."

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Carlos slapped his hand hard against the car door. "And I will pick up the check!" \Ve both burst out laughing. Arruza was not a loose one with a peso. "You've been out in the sun too long," I said. "(;0 in and get SOllle rest." ".4 Ins 711/eve!" the lnatador called after us, as Pepe pulled (1\V,l)' frolH the curb toward Avenida Insurgentes. I \vaved out of the rear window, then turned to Debra. ""I've seen thelll cOlne and go, but give Ine two hours of Carlos' personality on the screen and we've got a big new star on our hands." **********

I stepped out of the taxi and walked into the Focobre. 1 had pn)Jniscd to drop sonle script changes by Elllilio's, and I had left the car with I)ebra to give her more tilne to dress. It was alrnost nine-thirty, so 1 Inerely nodded .1 greeting to the rnaitre d' and strode past hilll into the restaurant. Debra was sitting alone with her back to the door, but the Arruzas hadn't arrived. I kissed her bare shoulder and sat down across from her. A breathtalcingly beautiful young lady reached up to touch where the kiss had landed and stared at Ine with her elnerald-green eyes betraying no emotion except curiosity. I bounded to Iny feet. "Senorita, forgive Ine. 1. .. 1 thought you were Iny wife." ~rhree handsotne young 111cn suddenly appeared behind her: two Latins and a tall blonde Norwegian. "I thought she was Illy wife," I repeated, glancing around the restaurant. Debra was seated with the Arruzas at a table near the orchestr.1. ~rhe three of thenl were watching Ine, anlused. I bowed to the green-eyed girl, shruggcd to her escorts and hurried to join Iny party. "Well, I just Blade a dalnn fool of Inyself." Deb laughed. "That's Iny husband. Do everything big!" "I thought it was you." "I know you did. So, who was it?" I looked back toward the girl's table. The last of her suitors was kissing her hand and seating hilTIself. Mari offered the inforrnation. "She's Elsa C:ardcnas, our-estrello 1Jl0S joven." "She's our youngest Inotion picture star," C:arlos translated, "Elsa C:ardcnas." Debra glanced at her again and nodded. "She was in GiNllt. A darned good actress. She's certainly slinlnled down." Carlos slniled. "It Inight be better to say that she's certainly grown up." Out of the corner of 111y eye, I noticed Debra shoot a quick look at Inc, and I shot a quick look at her gown. "I like your dress, Deb," I said. "Is it new?"

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"I bought it this evening. I'm glad you like it." I gestured that I did, and turned away to signal the waiter.

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HE FOLLO\VING FOUR \i\'EEKS \VERE A Nl(;lI'LVlARF FOR .\IE, :\:\'D

pr~babl~ even 1110re trying for Debra. Jeff .hadn't he~.n able to.do ~l~~Y­ thing wIth the bank, but I blalned l11yself-not .lett. In i\1cxlco (~It)' appointn1ents had been ignored or broken, and Iny proposed ilnportant Inectings had invariably fallen on sOIneone's Saint's Day or a national holiday when Iny prospects, along with their Il1istresses, had disappeared into the gaiety of AClpulco or Cuernavaca. I had, however, Inanaged to see an assortlnent of politicians, bankers and husinesslnen, hut the answer had always been the s.1J11e: "'\"tho \ in the picture? Arruza! But, he's a torero, not an actor. \\'hy not Paul Nl:Wlllan?" Everyone secnled to be waving the Mexican flag, until they were asked to invest in Mexico. The film of the l11atadors had turned out beautifully, but this was ahout all the "good" that happened. Alfonso {;aona, who singlehandedly controlled Mexican bullfighting, had personally sworn allegiance to Iny calise and then, two days later, had renlarked to Capetillo: wrhis 1l1an is ~l beggar. I Ie has no sh~lIne." I began to realize that "being without funds" in Mexican society was a little bit like having the clap. I stopped requesting preference for hullfight tickets. ll;lving known Dr. (;aona since Blood IIl1d Sauti, I was certain that he would never ~Ht.llit to the slur, but I was dead sure that he had said it, and I ~lgain entered the overly populated anny of anti-{;aonas. My first serious encounter with the good doctor was during the fillning of Bullfighter and the LaJ..y. I had arranged f(}r the final (01j';"11 to be held at noon on a Thursday, so that we would have no problcln with the late afternoon shadows of a usual bullfight beginning at four-thirty. 'rhe puhlic was invited, free of ch.lrg·c, and at noon on our scheduled T'hursday, Plaza Mexico, the largest bullring in the world, was filled to capacity: fifty-two thousand rabid fans, who were .1lso filled to

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capacity with heer and tequila. After the opening paseo, which included six of the finest toreros in Mexico City and Robert Stack, the trulllpet blew for the release of our first bull. But, the toril gate didn't open, and the bull didn't COllle out. John \Vayne and I were standing in the alleY"'ay behind the circular bll1'"'renl, when Nate Edwards, our unit 11lanager-white-faced and out of breath-skidded to a stop before us. "l--Ie \von't let us release the bulls!" Nate panted. "vVbo ,von't let you release the bulls?" the Duke roared, "Doctor (~aona! I-Ie clainls we only rented the bullring, but didn't contract with hinl to have any bulls fought." l~he Duke turned to 111e. "\iVell, Bood, looks like the ball's in your lap." :\Tow, I had heard all of the stories about Gaona for years. It had just never happened to 711e. But, I sure as hell knew the answer. "I-Iow Inuch does that sonofabitch want?" I shot at Nate. "I-Ie wants ten thousand pesos cosh per bull in his hands before he'll let them release one bull." I had an idea and I sitnply loved it! Those fifty-two thousand fans, 111Y guests, were expecting a full bullfight: six bulls-not one anilnalless. "C)kay, Nate," I said, "you give that bastard ten thousand pesos every tinle I W,lve tlly handkerchief to you. Stand right there with hiIll and pay hilll off, bull after bull. But, when I wave Duke's red bandanna," I nodded toward Iny wonderful producer's nineteen-inch neck, "you pack up the calneras and we'll head back to the hotel." "I don't get it," Nate said. "Natc," I continued, loving every second, "I think I can get all I need with two or three bu1ls. Tell Gaona we're sitnply tnoving the calneras to better positions, ~lnd after we're safe in our hotel, with any luck the crowd will kill him." \\'ell, it worked, except they didn't kill hiln. They just scared him to death. \ \'l: sa",' the riot later on television. ,~'Jeslls," the Duke laughed, "John Ford would have loved it. I never saw so Inany l11ad 'Indi~lns' trying to 1nassacre one fat little fella. And the 'troops' dalnn ncar didn't get there in tinle, did they?" It was ;1 great triulnph then for us "gringos," but now that Dr. Alfonso C;aona officially disliked Ine as IllllCh as 1 loathed him, it certainly wasn't a healthy situation. rrhe calls froIn l\1aggie had COBle through every day, but Debra had usually 1l1anagcd to accept thenl when I was out. She had been an angel-patient, kind and understanding of Illy problenls-but I becalne more and more irritable in my own frustration. And the cables for Debra froln Europe didn't help. Neither did the plc.lliing telephone calls frolll Jeffrey Martin. **********

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I crossed the lobby of the Hotel Regis, picked up one of the house phones and asked the operator to connect me with the Bal1ler. Then I glanced around the ornate lobby. It brought back memories. "''hen I had first visited Mexico City, the Regis was considered the only hotel. A newsboy placed a batch of evening papers on the 111agazine rack. 'rhe headlines blared:

MOTION PICTURE STRIKE FREEZES INDUSTRY! That was all I needed! I tried to compose 111yself as the BaIner's operator answered. "Hello, Gloria. Is Illy wife awake? Left a call for seven, huh? No-don't disturb her. She needs the rest. VVhen you awaken her, tell her that 1'111 ste3l11ing at the Regis. I'll be home by seven-thirty. Thanks." I hung up, picked up the newspaper and stepped down the stairs. "Jesus Christ! A strike!" As I passed the barber shop, three barbers waved busy scissors. Lupe, Iny favorite manicurist, blew Ine a kiss. I stniled as best I could, paid the t\velve pesos for the steam bath ticket and entered the bonos outer office. Five In<1sseurs descended upon I1le as I checked Iny wallet, wristwatch and wedding ring. "Que pasa, tnatador?" "Que tal la pelicula?" "Senor matador, how ees jore wife?" These old Inen had been Iny friends for years. The use of the terIn 'IlItltllti01was not sarCaSI11. They knew I understood the bulls, and they liked that. '],vcnty years before, mine was the only blond head in the steanl rOO]ll, but tilllCS had changed. Now the bano was frequented by North Alnerieans, and Illy old friends were underworked and overtipped. I answered their questions, then followed ]l1Y favorite, Atnando, to llly tiny dressing rooln. "I'll want to shave," I said. "Si, tnatador. Can tnucho gusto." Amando closed the white door, and I peeled off Illy shirt. rrhcn I noticed Iny reflection in the mirror. I was tired all right, and it showed. I reached up and turned over the heavy gold Inedallion of the Virgin of (~u"ldalupc that hung around my neck_ Then I rubbed Illy fingers over the words illlprinted around the Illedal's edge: "May she watch over you always-'J()ny." "Well, young lady, you've got one hell of a job 011 your hands this ti]l1C," I said aloud. Then I thought of Debra. What could I do? 'The strike 111ight last a day, or it could be prolonged into a year. She had stalled off the ltali.ll1s for weeks, refusing

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to give Maggie any indication of her future availability. Here I had been feeling sorry for myself, while it was Debra who was on the spot. If my career was headed down the drain because of my stubbornness and refusal to quit, it looked as if my wife had decided to sink along with Ine. I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked out into the hallway. Unconsciously stepping on and off the scales, without noticing what I weighed, I opened the glass door and walked into the steam room. It was empty and unusually hot. I moved around the tile room, bending first one way, then the other. Then, undoing the bath towel from around my waist and holding it as if it were a torero's cape, I began to perform slow, although mechanical, ve1/"onicas. **********

As I stepped out of the elevator to ring the bell of our suite, Debra's voice pulled me up short. "Muth-er, I can't just pack my clothes and walk out on him! "What would people say? Muth-er, I have no reason! You'll just have to stall them in Rome, or tell them to forget it. Well, sell one of the cars! No, mother, he hasn't had a drop, but I don't know how he's kept from it with all these problems. No, muth-er. Not even if he'd start drinking. I'm his wife! Yes. Yes ... Well, maybe that would be an excuse, but it isn't fair. But, I am considering you ... all of you. Yes, mother, I will. Yes, nluth-er. Yes ... Yes ... Yes!" I backed away from the door,. walked down the five flights of service steps and crossed the lobby to the bar. A waiter placed a bowl of peanuts and a Coke before me inlmediately. "Anything else, sir?" I looked at the Coke and the bowl of peanuts for a long, long beat, then I nodded to hiln. "Bring Ine three double-vodka martinis." **********

Debra opened the hall door, and if she was surprised at my condition it didn't show. "Hello, li'l girl." "Hi, darling." As tight as I was, I was suddenly puzzled. "I'm pissed," I said. "I think, Inore than anything else, you're overly tired." "No, I'ln fractured, Debbie-gal. Really. Really. Really." "Well, you know that better than I," she said, helping me take off ITIy coat

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and steering Ine toward the bedroom. I flipped backwards onto the bed and shielded Iny eyes frol11 the glare. She sat down beside me and ran her fingers lightly through Iny hair. "Let's you and me Inake a ITIovie, Debra Paget," I slurred. U\Ve'll call it Tbe 'Leven C01J1111flnd111cnts, and we'll take 'leven years to finish that li'l 01' I110vic. I-Icll, it 111ight take longer'n Arrllza. Just you an' 111e together Inakin' a 1110vie for 'leven years. How 'bout that!" I thought I heard her voice say that she would like it very 11luch, but the \vords sounded hollo\\'. * * ** ** * ** *

It was ten o'clock in the 1110rning when I felt Debra reach across

nlC to pick

up the ringing telephone. I forced open 1l1Y burning eyes to discover her in a nightgown. I had never seen her wear one before. "One minute, please," she was saying. Then she held her h~lnd over the ITIouthpiece. "It's Jeff. Are you all right?" I looked at the three receivers in Illy wife's h.lnd, then squinted rheIn tog-ether into one. "Hijo!" My voice sounded ten years older. I propped Illyself up in bed and unsteadily took the phone. "Hello, good 01' Jeffrey. How about the hoys at the bank?" In Illy condition, I wasn't sure how to classify the tone of Jeff's \'oicc-ang-ry or frightened. But, it was a certainty that it was shaking. "If they heard you today, I wouldn't even be able to get theln on the phone. I understand there's a strike down there." "You're right as rain, Jeffrey. It started yesterday." "Now look, with a strike on, and you drinking, I fcc I. .. " I handed Debra the phone. "Talk to the reverend, will you, honey? I Ie's starti n' to preach the sermon on the Illoun t. " "Hello, Jeff, what is it? Yes Jeff, I'ln sure he'll be all right. l-le's just overly tired, that's all. He'll be fine. Jeff, you can't expect 111e to be as concerned with your problen1s as I anl with his. Oh, I'nl sure he'll be glad to see theIn hoth. I'll tell hiln. Good-bye." She hung up and rolled over on her stolnach. "l-Ie's sending Joe and Eddie down here." I laughed, and it hurt. "I hope he remernbers to tie a keg of brandy around Eddie's neck." "Honey, what started 'yesterday?'" "I got drunk." She stood up, walked to the window and looked down at the Sunday ilrt

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exhibit in Alalneda Park. "Let's have some breakfast, then go over and look at the paintings. Would you like that?" "Great," I said with no enthusiasm. She forced an uncertain smile. "What would you like for breakfast?" "Two raw eggs and a couple of beers." She slid across the bed to reach for the phone once Inore. "\Vhat kind?" "Chicken eggs an' a couple of Coronas." I had a dozen beers and spent the day in bed, getting up only once to look down at Iny wife walking amongst the paintings in the park. It was five-thirty when she came back to the suite and snapped on the lights. "Surprise!" she shouted. I sat up. She held out an oil painting she had bought. I put the white frame in my lap and looked down at the figure of a clown. He was a pathetic little fellow with red hair and a hangover. His giant angel wings were badly ruffled and soiled, and the brass halo above his head was badly tranished and tilted far over his right shoulder. He gazed apologetically up at me and seen1ed to be saying: "I'ln sorry." I placed the painting on my pillow and stepped unsteadily out of bed. "Thanks, honey," I said. "I got your message." She took a step forward and put her fingers to my face. "It wasn't meant as anything. I. . .I just thought he was funny, and ... and that you'd like hilll." I wanted to take her in my arnlS and hold her tight and tell her that everything was going to work out. But I knew that it wasn't going to work out. I also knew that I felt like crying, but I'd forgotten how. "I'll take a shower and try to sober up," I said. But that was a lie, and I knew it. I followed the saIne pattern for the next three days: eating nothing and sticking with the beers. Debra nursed Ine, supposedly trying to understand my behavior, and showed no outward signs of losing her patience. Joe and Eddie had arrived on the Inidnight flight and a Ineeting was set up for Thursday Inorning in their suite at the Hotel Monte-Cassino. Pepe stopped the Rolls in front of the hotel. The Monte-Cassino's doornlan stepped out to greet Ine. "Good ITIorning, sir. It's good to see you." "Buenos dias, Eduardo." I held onto the car door for a second for support, then turned to Pepe. "Just stick around, 01' pal. If I can help it, this won't take long." I crossed the sidewalk and entered the bar entrance instead of the lobby. I heard Eduardo's voice ask Pepe, "\\'hat happened to him?" "Drop a couple of eggs in it, Amil." I pointed to the full glass of Corona. urrhen pour Ine a fresh one before I go upstairs to get the message from Garcia."

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The bartender didn't understand, but he dropped the raw eggs into Illy beer and popped open another bottle. I took the tall glass and downed it. I knew it \L1S going to gag Ine, and I looked around the deserted bar, stalling for tinlC. :\11 the chairs were turned upside down on the elnpty tables. l~hree big rugs \vere thnnUl over the piano. Near the restr00I11S, a scrubwornan was Inopping the tloor. It didn't even anluse Ine to consider the hangovers conceived there last night. I looked back distastefully at the beer and eggs and Inent,-llly held Illy nose. HSalud," I said to myself, and the eggs disappeared. Joe, Eddie, and Paul C;olden, a talented Brooks Brothers-t~'Pe production supervisor I had known in I-Iollywood, stood up to grcet Ine ~lS I entered the suite. "Hello, genius. You look like hell," Joe said, sticking out his hand. 1 greeted hinl wannly. "Hello, you friggin' anti-rc\'olutionist." 'I'hen I nodded to Paul. "Morning, Paul. C;lad you could Inake it." I rurned to Eddie Fare. "I-Iello , dear bov. \\,rhere's .vour hrand\". ke~?" Eddie, as usual, was flustered. "l\1y what?" "Your keg of brandy. Aren't you the littlc puppy who's been Hown down here to save nle?" ...

~

In Iny condition Eddie aIl1used Ine. I crossed the rooln and flopped into a chair. "Joc, order Inc about six IllOIT Coronas. I'ln sure that Jeff's Illcssage is going to bore 111e." Joe nodded to Eddie, who picked up the phone to call rOOlll service. Joe S~lt down in front of Ine. "What are you trying to prove?" 'rh~lt was why I liked Joe-always to the point. "I know what l'ln doing, Joseph. At IC~lst I think I do." "\.-Vell, you've got to get ahold of yourself." "J eff's pretty nlad," Eddie offered. I spun around. "Who the fuck asked you?" Eddie blushed and spoke into the phone. "Six C:orollas, please, for 1001." "M a ke 1t . elg . h t, "I sal(. . I " l~~~Ig . ht ('. . oron.1S. " Eddie nodded. "Make that eight (=oron~lS." 1 looked back atJoe as he lit a cigarette. "All righr,Joe, let's have it." Joe pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket. In it was ;l check. ~~llere's your two-hundred thousand," he said quietly. "(:o1n YOll cOInplete .-11'1"11:." for th~lt?" I walked to the hall door, opened it and looked d()\vll the hall. u'i'illling, Jesus! What tiIning~" I thought. 'rhe elevator door scr~lped open. Ullere we ;lIT, boy," I called to the waiter, then turned back to Joe. hi could havl:, Joc, !:lSl week." I grabbed a beer off the tray as the waiter cntered, then stepped into the l>;l1hroo In to open it. "What do you Inean-' last week? '" I quickly gulped half the bottle as I crossed the rO()lll to Illy c+uir. H( )ne d~l~',

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Joseph, 1'111 going to write a book entitled 'The Anatolny of a Business Manager.'" I caught Paul Golden's smile. "You've lost Ine," Joe said. Eddie looked, unusually blank. I took another unhealthy swallow. "Looks to nle like I've lost everybody except Paul. I think he knows what PIn tallcing about." "Well," Joe said, "I'm willing to learn." I finished off the Corona and opened a second bottle. "Joe, that two-hundred thousand you've got is Jeff's lnoney, isn't it?" "He says it is." "Well, as usual his timing is bad." "1'111 still listening." "J oe, listen real good. Jeff let us beat our brains out for weeks and now he sends the money-six days too late." "Too late!" I nodded. "There's a strike on down here, or didn't the boss tell you? If we had started A177lZIl officially before the strike, we would have been pennitted to finish it. Now, Jeff figures we'll use the 'all-American dollar' to break the strike and be heroes, but he's wrong. Not through me, Buster." "But it will be a Hollywood company ... !" "Joe, 'Hollywood cOlnpanies' have becolne two dirty words in Mexico. I'm here to help clear up that situation-not to make it worse." "But ... " "There are no 'buts,' Joe. rIll going to sweat it out like the Mexicans, not try to buy Iny way through a tough period like the usual 'gringo.' Hell, I've been soapboxing about things like integrity and self-respect. 1'In the one guy who can't

yell' king's x, '" "M r. M artln . sal'd to ... " "What did Mr. Martin say, Eddie?" Eddie flushed. "Well, I'm only reporting what Jeff said. He said to take the check and use it-or conle honle." I reached across to Joe and held out Iny hand. He gave me the check. I studied it again to be certain it was for real, then moved to the bar and opened a third beer. "Eddie," I said slowly between gulps, "tell Jeff thanks, but tell him to use it for sOlnething else Of, better still, hang onto it until the strike is over." I handed the check to Eddie, then, beer in hand, walked out of the rOOlll. As I waited for the elevator, I heard Joe's voice. "\Vhat did I tell you?" "Well," Paul laughed, "he's restored Iny faith in srubborn bastards." "He's worse when he's sober." "I think we're in real trouble," said Eddie Fare.

**********

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I was listing Inore than slightly as I entered dle Banlcr, and Jerry was illuncdiatcly by my side. "Are you all right, sir?" "I'd be a damned liar if I said I was, Jerry, but I'll Illakc it." I stepped into the elevator. As I reached for the doorknob to our suite, Debra's luggage suddenly CllllC into view. The five bags were placed together just outside the door. I picked one up. The weight assured Ine that it was packed. The hall door was pilrtially open, so I pushed Iny way into the roonl. Debra was sitting in the hig chair by the window. She wore a red print silk dress, a hat and white gloves. "Did the boys have sonlething worthwhile to offer?" "A couple of beers." I sat on the bed. "Going sonleplace, honey?" "1 thought if you saw Ine really packed, you lllight get S0l11e sense into your head and cut it out." "Debra, I've got to level with you. There's a ITIotion picture strike on down here." Her voice was caltn. "1 know that," she said Inatter-of-factly. "Well, you've got to go hOIne." She stood. "There's only one thing that could Inake Inc leave." I studied Iny wife for a long beat. Maybe it would have been different if I'd been sober. Perhaps I would have thought differently. I'll never know. I reached for the phone. "Rooln service. Hello, this is 507. Please send up lVt'O douhlevodka martinis." Tiny as she was, she spun l11e around. There were tears bursting frO]l1 her eyes. "How can you say that you love Ine and act like this? How can you sadistically tear me to pieces? Doesn't our lnarriage l11ean anything? I've changed t()r yOll. Can't you give a little for Ine?" I weaved into the bathroolTI and stuck Iny head under the cold water. She was right behind Ine. "Why do that after you've already ordered Inartinis?" "Why do anything?" "But you're not a quitter! 1 fell in love with you and Inarried you because you were such a man. Now look at yourself!" She swung Ine around to face the Inirror. "You've turned into a drunken, sodden bUill!" There was a knock on the door. I staggered out to open it, signed the check and carried the two double lllartinis back into the bathroolll. I handed a glass to Debra. "Salud," I said, and drained Illy glass in one giant gulp. l~he iciness of her drink hit Illy face. I wiped the sting out of ll1y eyes and heard the hall door slanl. I turned around and vomited into the wash basin. I retched for what seeITIed an eternity, then realized that the phone had heen ringing for some tinle. I swayed across the bedrooln, rnissed the telephone by two

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feet and picked it up on the second try. "Bueno ... Oh, hello, Jerry. Yes, I knuw she is. No, she's ... she's going home. Santa Anita's gonna open, an' InaI1Una's gonna put her Ii'l filly back on the racetrack. Of course, I love her, Jerry. \Vhy in the hell do you think ... ?" I dropped the phone back onto the hook. "Jesus," I mumbled, "nobody in the world is ever going to understand what I just did, and here I am trying to explain it to a bellboy."

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I didn't open Iny eyes, but slowly struggled awake. l\ly thoughts w~re Inuddled and sluggish and I sensed that I had been very drunk-tor how long I didn't knuw. Raising up on Illy pillow I turned toward the light cOllling frolll the lanlp on the bed table. I guessed that it was night. 'rhe rOO]l1 W;lS spinning when I was able, painfully, to open Iny eyes. Before Inc by the lalnp was an elnpty vodka bottle and two, 1l10Stly elnpty, quarts of orange juice. UI~lijo~" I suffered aloud and reached over to assure 111yself that the vodka bottle was eJnpty. It W~lS. "Excuse Ine, sir." I focused Iny attention in the general direction of the voice. Pepe stepped into the circle of light. In the background I could distinguish shadowy figures. "Oh hello, Pepe." l-Ie s111iled uncolnfortably. "Sir, there are S0l11C gentlclllcn here to see you." ~'Well, let thenl see Ine. Turn on the light. Easy." Instead, SOllleone in the back of the hedroolll pulled open thc drawn drapes, and sunlight tlooded the rOOlll. Standing at the foot of the bed were J\lanolo Montes, the BaIner's assistant Inanager, four broken-nosed thugs in white Hintern" jackets, and another stranger in a gray business suit. I lookcd thCl11 ovcr as hest I could, then turned to Iny chauffeur. "Pepe, what tiIllC did lHy wife le~l\'e?" "At eleven-thirty, sir." "Today?" "V J.esterd ay." "What tinle is it now?" "N"Ine-seventeen, " P epe answere d , ".III t h C rllornlng. ." Now, at least 1 had Illy days in order. "Well, Pepe, what do these gentlelnen wish to see Inc about?"

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Manalo Montes moved closer to the bed. "These ... gentlelllen would like to take you to a sanitariulll ... for a rest." "To a sanitarium! Is this the hotel's idea, Manolo?" "Of course not!" Manalo sounded shocked at my question. "I am here to protect you. If you refuse, these ... these people intend to take you by force." I sat straight up in bed. Fortunately I was naked and looked in a lot better shape than I was. The room was whirling, I was truly on the spot, and I had to bluff. "Well, I'll be God dalnned, Manalo! If it isn't your idea, whose the hell is it?" Eddie Fare appeared from behind the latticework separating the bedroom from the suite's office section. "Jeff thought it might be a good idea ... with your wife gone ... and the strike ... and all your problems. After all, you've had two whole bottles of vodka." "\Vhere's Joe? \\!hat does he think about all this?" "He-he left yesterday afternoon. Jeff needed him in Hollywood." "I'll bet he did." I forced a smile. Joe didn't want any part of a mess like this. "So what are your plans, dear boy?" "Well," Eddie stammered, "Jeff just suggested that ... " "Oh, he just suggested, eh? And you're following through on your own? Eddie, where did you find these punks, 'Stillman's Gym?'" "No," Eddie hedged, "they're just the doctor's helpers." "Doctor! Edward, this time you've really got yourself into trouble. Jeff didn't caIne down here because he knew I'd belt him. Now you're 'it,' and I'll have to hit you with my purse." I turned to the "doctor." "I'm not going to ask you to show your credentials because I wouldn't believe them any more than I believe your 'interns.' You can save yourself a lot of lumps if you speak English." The "doctor" was suddenly extremely uncomfortable, and I watched his rnedical degree evaporate in the vodka-tinted atmosphere of the bedroom. "I speak English, sir," he said, uncertainly. I cast a hard "Bogart" glare around the room and turned back to the "doctor." "Now you listen to me very carefully, Buster. Then pass the word on to your boys. You see, doctor, I stage these kind of scenes. I'm going to clobber your first 'helper' with that," I said, nodding toward the telephone. "Then I'ln going to work over nUJnber two with this lalnp. Your third 'intern' is going to get kicked right in the balls, and that'll leave only that grinning baboon with the puffed ear." As I1luch as I was suffering I almost became lost in my own theatrics. "Well, doctor, 1'111 going to throw that sonofabitch into Alameda Park." I turned to the assistant Illanager. "You're not going to like the looks of this suite, Manolo." ~~l'hese people aren't going to bother you, sir," he said. "If you don't want to le~lve, the entire hotel staff will protect you."

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I knew that I was suddenly way out front, and the halH in Inc continued to boil. "No," I said threateningly, "as a Inatter of fact, Nlanoio, 1'111 wide awake now, and I think I'd enjoy it." I turned to the l11an in gray. "Tell 'eln, 'Doctor!'" "Que paso?" asked puff-ear. "Nada," said the doctor. "Valnonos!" The "nledical staff' disappeared in the selllidarkness of the halhvay, and Pepe, Eddie Fare, Manolo and I were left alone. I rurned to Eddie. "E;Jdie, let's don't have any nlore of that kind of horseshit." Eddie turned white. "All I was doing was following orders." "So was Eichlnann! Just once Inore, Eddie. rrhat's a \.... arning." "Well, will you go with us to Cuernavaca and get SOll1C rest?" "Of course. I can use it." "We'll stay at Las Mananitas." "We're staying at the Marik Plaza. That's Illy hOlne down there." Eddie was greatly relieved. "We can leave in an hour," he said. "We'll leave when 1'111 dalnn good and ready. Don't count on it 'til around five o'clock." "Wh atever you say. " "Eddie, nlel110rize that line. Fronl now on it's 'whatever you say. '" I closed my eyes, feeling that Iny final cOIllllland should take care of things, then: "Sir?" It was Pepe. Everyone else had hurriedly disappeared except Iny little Pepe. "Everything's going to be all right, sir," he said. "Don't you worry." "And don't you worry, Pepe. You're dall1n right everything's going to he all right!" He sIniled, and quietly closed the door behind hill1. My little Pepe! Little, hell! I guess he was one of the "biggest" friends I ever had. It's funny how we never actually see our lnai<.is, and our cooks, and our chauffeurs. Well, I'd certainly taken a good look at 1l1ine that 111orning, and Iny hiring of Pepe was the best job of "casting" I'd ever done.

** ** **** ** The trip to Cuernavaca was a quiet one. I sat in the front scat with Pepe, while Eddie 11lade hiIllself uncolnfortable in the back scat behind us. At the top of the mountain at "Tres Marias" I signaled Pepe to Ulrn off the road. U'lres Marias" wasn't even a village, just a few tiny taco joints strung in a line ~llong the highw~ly. "Why are we stopping here?" "1 want a couple of beers, Eddie," I answered without rnrning around. I stepped over the sleeping dog in the doorway of the CC1"VcZ{lritl. Eddie walked around hinl and the dog snapped at his ankle. I~Ie pulled hack his foot to

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kick at the little ITIongrei when a Inuch bigger dog of a different mixmre snarled at hinl froln behind the dirty bar. "Golly, why do we have to stop in a place like this when you can get a beer in Cuernavaca? " "Because, Edward, I like it here. And I Inight want two beers." I sat down at a green-painted table and pushed a chair back for Pepe. The waiter, who had been chopping hunks of raw meat on a wooden block, crossed to us, wiping his bloody hands on his bloodier trousers. "Senores?" I nodded to Pepe who requested "Cuatro cervezas ... 'Coronas.'" The waiter placed the four beers in the center of the table. I took two and pushed one each toward Illy chauffeur and Eddie, but Eddie moved his open bottle back to the center of the table. "1'nl not really thirsty," he said. "Drink it. It'll relax you," I delnanded. "You're a nervous wreck." "All right, if you think I should. But I wish you wouldn't drink 11lore than one. It'll only hurt you." Eddie always Inanaged to CaIne up with words like "hurt" that were right to the point. I bristled, and downed half 111Y beer in two gulps. "Buster, 1'ln going to try to explain sOlnething to you that you probably don't understand. vVhen a ]nan's hurt he bleeds until either he dies or the blood coagulates. If the bleeding stops, one day the wound becomes a scar and then, if he's Iud.", . one day that scar will become only a memory. Now, Eddie, you'd just better let Ine bleed a little or I'ln going to throw you right through that fuckin' window." ********** I hit the pool hard and the icy water knifed into my body. I counted the laps: "eighteen-nineteen-twenty," then jUI11ped out onto the grass, grabbed Iny towel and headed for Iny rOOlll. It was time to stop dissipating, time to get back into shape. 'rhere was a job to do-someday. It was eight-thirty by the tilne I had finished a prolonged shower. It was time to get SOlllC nornlal rest. There was a knock on the hall door. "\Vho is it?" "Pepe, sir." "Well, COllle on in. It's open." Pepe entered the rooln followed by Eddie and a stranger. The Inan carried a sll1all black leather rnedical case and when I noticed it, I stepped out of bed and strode toward Eddie. "Now wait a Illinute. This is Dr. Chenelka," Eddie hurried to explain. "He's real. l-Ie just caIne along to give you a quick check-over."

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I relaxed and offered my hand to the doctor. "Dr. Chenelka. It's nice of you to spare the time." The doctor shook my hand. "Not at all," he said. "I'lll glad to be of any hclp. VVhat seems to be your problem?" I glanced at Eddie. "Gh brother!" I renlarked. I held out Iny ann to enable the doctor to check my blood pressure. "Well, I'll tell you, Doctor. .. " Dr. Chenelka pulled the stethoscope away frolll his ears. "I beg your pardon?" "You just asked Ine what's Iny problem." "Yes," he said seriously, "it's very ilnportant that we know." "Well, I'll tell you, doctor. I've got a quarter of a Inillion invested in an unfinished movie; there's a motion picture strike on in Mexico City, and yesterday my wife went home to her mother. Now would you rather I had cancer?" "Oh, not at all," said Dr. Chenelka cheerfully. He listened to Iny heart for i1 moment, then checked the blood pressure indicator. "~rhy this gentlcIllan's in great shape. I don't understand." "He drank !:\Va bottles of vodka yesterday, Doctor, and he's had seven beers, that I know of, today," Eddie said, bringing hilTI up to date. I'd had it. I spun on Eddie. "Now listen, Junior. I just swaIn t\\'enty laps of the pool. Sure I've still got a hangover, but nothing more. I don't know if I ((111 go to sleep, but I'd like to try. So get the hell out of here!" Eddie backed away. "Tell hiln about the glucose, doctor." "About the 'what,' Edward?" "You just need SOIne sugar in your systeln. It'll help after ... after all that vodka." I turned to Dr. Chenelka. "Is that right, doctor?" The doctor was already extracting a hypodennic needle and a bottle filled with clear liquid from his bag. "It will Inake you feel a lot better in the 11lorning," he said.

********** I looked from the bottle, now half elllpty hanging froln the drapery rod, down the slender tube to the needle stuck into the artery in the hoilow of Illy right arm, then spoke to Pepe who sat in a chair at the foot of Iny bed. "You know, Pepe, I've directed this shot lots of tin1es, but never exactly froI11 this angle." My chauffeur tried to sInile, but it was forced. "\¥hat's the matter with you, kid?" I said. "You tired?" "A little bit, sir." I glanced again at the draining bonle, then rurned to Eddie who had just finished his half-snl0ked, twenty-third cigarette. "You know, Eddie Boy, your doctor friend l11ay be filling Jlle full of sugar, but

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not feeling any sweeter as far as you and Jeffrey are concerned." I squeezed my hand into a fist a couple of times and the needle hurt. "Do you expect me to lie here for another hour, doctor, and really drain that bottle?" "We'd like you to." "Mmmmm. That's better. I don't mind at all when people would 'like' Ine to do something." It didn't sound like Ine, Iny voice or my attirude. It was much too mellow. I wondered if maybe the sugar was working. I looked up again at the hottle. There were three of them. Three or four, I wasn't sure, fuzzy, fuzzy hottles hanging on a drapery rod, or a spear or a torero's sword. I really couldn't tell. \\Then I rolled my head toward Eddie, Pepe and the doctor for an explanation, there was a whole crowd of people-fuzzy people-standing around the bedrooln. I jerked the needle out of my arm and the blood squirted over the white sheets. "You dirty, filthy bastards!" I stamnlered, my lTIouth full of "cotton." "That's not glucose! You're ... tryin' to ... knock me out!" I lunged toward Eddie who jUlnped out of reach, and suddenly felt n1y nose sInack hard against the wooden floor. "Jesus Christ!" I thought, "I've got no legs." I saw the doctor's feet approach, and nlade a futile grab at theln. "Please, sir, let me help you!" Pepe's voice echoed fronl far, far away. "You ... you stay out of this, kid. I'm all right." It was strange. I could think clearly, but nothing else worked. I crawled, like a drowning Juan clutching for driftwood, back into bed. Slowly, painfully I propped n1yself high on two pillows. I knew where Eddie and the doctor were, but I could only distinguish their shadowy figures. "All right, fellas," I gasped, still winded from the struggle with the bed, "we'll just wait it out. Let's see which one of you yellow sons-of-bitches has guts enough to caine real close."

1'111

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I slapped, slow motion, at lny right arm as the doctor administered the injection, and then quickly stepped away. "Fuckin' bees!" I said. Then I opened my eyes and recognized the doctor. "()h-it's you again. Well-you better stay .. .fast on your .. .feet." During the next four hours I relnember having three or four more shots, but I didn't even bother to slap at the last one. It was daylight when the four white-coated medicos picked Ine up in a blanket. I thought there was a crowd at the Marik's side entrance, but I wasn't sure. I could still think, but only spaslnodically. I did know, however, that I couldn't fight, couldn't even lTIOVe Iny fingers. I felt as I imagined a bull would, mortally wound-

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ed, staggering over to lean against the wooden fence to hold his feet. I waited for the pl/lltil/o, the coup de grace, but it never caIne. Only darkness. **********

It was pitch black, but I knew that I was finally awake. 1 reached across the king-size bed to hold Debra; instead encountered the coldness of a plaster wall. And it wasn't a king-size bed. It ,vas an ann)' cot. L'~rhe Balller h~lS certainly changed," I thought and stepped out of the cot to investigate, but In)' Ina nytiInes-broken nose crunched against the opposite wall and the forcc of the ilnpact sent l1le spinning back'Wards onto the cot. It was cold in the r00l11 and I began to regain SOIne of Illy cobwebhed senses. I was naked. l'here was just a single bbnket, no pillow, and at the head of the cot was just another section of plastcr. Unless the foot of the cot had an opening, I was in a plaster walled-in hole. I felt the warnlth of the blood that was trickling frolll ]llY nose across ]ny lips. I)allHl nose~ \Vhy did it always have to be Tlly nose? I never seen1cd to break anything else ... except, Inaybe, ]l1Y heart. I tasted the blood, then rubbed the hhlnket across ]llY face. Struggling to an elbow, I pressed Illy right hand against Iny nostrils and for the first tiIlle felt the hair on Iny face. I had at least a week's growth of heard. I remembered how long it had taken to grow one during the war. It had been ~l full week before the stubby bristles on Illy cheeks and chin hold turned to hair. Now ]l1Y face was covered with the saIne softness. I started to feel Illy way to\vard the foot of the cot, and p'lin shot froIH both hips. Sitting back on Iny haunches I ran Iny hands over the skin of Iny huttocks. There were sIllall bunlps like 1110squito bites on each hip, at least a dozen on each side, and they all hurt. It was raining outside, raining hard, and a flash of lightning gave Inc a Illoillentary inkling of where I was. My cot was in a tiny alcove, and at its foot began saine sort of a rOOlll. There was a wooden bench across fr01n llle but, aside frolll that, the roonl was barren. I fell off the cot. It was for an interI11inable length of tiI1le that I lay on the icy Hoor until the pain of coldness forced ITIe to struggle to Illy knees. The floor was concrete, hut it hadn't been sI1loothed. I rubbed Iny knees and elbows and discovered that they were now as warm and sticky as Illy nose. I couldn't fi!:,TUrc out those bUillpS on Illy hips. They were all in an even line. Mosquitos weren't that regilllented. And then suddenly I knew. Needles! No wonder nothing hurt too Illuch. Another Hash of lightning showed nle that sOlnewhere in the distance of the e]npty rOOlll there was a door. I crawled toward it an inch at a tilne. The latch on the inside of the door was the heaviest I had ever touched. It

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was a tiny little thing, but it weighed a ton. I pushed, and pushed it up, and the door swung in. I knelt in the open doorway and looked out at the rain. It was pouring. I could see only the tops of tall pine trees, so I guessed that I was on the second or third floor above an open patio. Across the patio was a tower with a lighted clock, but I couldn't focus the position of the clock's hands. As I stared at the circle of light, a bell tolled three times. And then I saw the two guards. They were sleeping on pallets directly across the doorway, and I was certain that only the noise of the stann had kept them frolll awakening. I closed the door and heard the latch thud dully shut. "Dear God, You know I seldom pray for myself. You've gotten me out of some awful janls, but I used to be able to help a little. Now I'm not going to be much good at helping. I don't know where I am or how long I've been here. I just know that I'm in a lot of trouble. I don't think I can walk. I don't know if I can talk. But please don't let me stop thinking. This is a selfish prayer and I'lll sorry. But this tillle, more than any other time in my life, I need Your help. Please help nle to think clearly. I'm all fuzzy. Amen." Another flash of lightning showed me a tiny bathroom near the door. But when I crawled to it, I discovered that it wasn't a bathroom. It was a hole, and in the center of the hole was a smaller hole where I guessed you went to the toilet if you could make it that far fro III your bed. In the outside wall there was a square open window, but the opening was stee.1-barred and substantially confining. I leaned my back against the wall and struggled to my feet. My legs were rubbery and I srumbled and grasped for some means of support until my hand hit a swinging chain. I hung on tight, and icy water from an overhead shower crashed down onto Illy naked body. I had to hang onto the chain to keep from falling. Then suddenly I knew that the longer I struggled under the cascade of icy water the clearer I could think. "Thank You," I said aloud. It was a cOlllfort to discover that I could speak. lvly body was nUlnb and Iny nose had stopped bleeding when I finally released the shower chain and dropped to all fours to belly my way back to the dryness of the blanket. But when I got to the cot I found it too high, and I knew I'd never Illake it back into bed. I scooted against the wall again to try to back Illyself up into a selTIi-standing position, and felt something against my arnl. It was Iny slacks hanging fronl a nail. I pulled them down and wrapped them around Iny freezing shoulders. A heavy piece of metal fell onto my stomach. It was the gold, ruby-encrusted money clip Emily had given me the last Christmas we were together. My wallet was gone. My gold watch was gone, and my wedding ring was gone, but sOlllehow, wherever I was, they had overlooked the money clip. Perhaps it had fallen into the cuff of Iny trousers. "Or, perhaps," I thought, "it just got here."

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1\1)' freedoln! That's what Eillily's 1110ney clip could huy Inc! ] had ~ll\\'ays

carried it for luck. I sat staring through the darkness at the gold clip. -rhe pointed roughness of the cold concrete bit into ]l1Y tlesh. I slowly cr~l\vled back to the door. vVhen I pulled it open, the guard nearest Ine stirred ilnd opened his eyes. I signaled for hinl to C0111e into the r00I11. I-Ie gbnced at his sleeping partner, ~lnd then stepped into the selni-darkness of 111)' cell. lIe had ~l tl.lshlight and he Glrned it on and ran the light up and down Iny battered flesh. "Ilijo de hl gr;1I1 pllta~" he said. He was just a kid, 18, 111aybe. "C olno se II 3]na, Joven:, . ..." ~'Colonario. " ~'Habla usted Ingles, Colonario?" "Yo hablo poco, pero yo entiendo 111as." "G:rOO, d"I sal. 'd "0 0 you 1._ Know w h 0 I" anl' '~ ' "N 0, senor, b ut 'nnportant you are. " "'Yeah, ]naybe I was, kid, and I'd like to be again." I opened Illy hand and guided Colonario's flashlight to shine upon the 1110ney clip.

"H"IJO.I" "It's yours." "C01110?" "Make one telephone call." "A quien?" "To Carlos Arruza." " EllJ1{lttldor?" wrell hiln where I an1." "You know hilll, senor?" "Like the back of ]llY hand. C=all hinl~" "(lue nUIl1ero?"

"24-97 -7 2." The boy looked down at the 1110ney clip for ~l long titlle. ~'Bucn()," hc finally said. "C;ive to 111e." I forced a sillile and closed Illy hand into ,1 fist o"cr the gold piece. HArc you kidding? You Illake the call-you get this. Not before." C:olonario shrugged the defeated Mexican shrug. "Senor, I no ~et thees gold, I no Inake call." "Don't you trust Ille?" He grinned. "You no trust C:olonario." I-Ie hccanlc seriolls. "Senor, 1 get tlfty pesos week guard you. You one week here. Maybe rn'o lllore. \Veeth no gold I gain one hundred fifty pesos. I ~lIn poor. I have l11othcr, two sisters, four lectle brothers, sweetheart ... " "All right! All right!" I handed C:olonario the 1110ney dip. "It's worth a lot of

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IHoney," I offered weakly. "Now call Arruza." "Si, senor." "24-97-72," I repeated hopelessly. "Si, senor." He reached for the latch on the door. "Colonario. " He turned. ""VVhere aIn I?" "In Tlalpan. El Sanatoria de ... of the Flowers." "The Sanitariunl of the Flowers? This is a lunatic asylum!" Colonario nodded his head. "Si, senor, there are crazy persons here. Thees is why I ask first for thees gold. Now I make call." He carefully closed the door and I struggled, somehow, up onto the cot. Now the rooln seeIned even darker. Now it was probably good-bye to everything. "\Vhat a lousy way to go," I thought. And then I thought of the shower chain and the Inoney clip. "Two to one says I Inake it," I said aloud. ** ********

I kept Inyself awake by occasionally tweaking my crushed nose. I was huddled against the wall, wrapped in the thin blanket, when I heard a loud crash and a growing cOlnlnotion in the patio below. The rain had stopped and the voices sounded clear in the early Inorning stillness. Then the room was a blaze of light and filled with people. Carlos stood at the foot of my cot. He held a cringing Eddie Fare by the collar of his coat. Behind the matador were Pepe and Hugo, the President's airplane pilot; Arruza's clladrilla, Ricardo, Cerrillo and Tarzan; two obvious "pistoleros," and an assortment of doctors and nurses, all white-faced to tnatch their unifonlls. "Did he do this to you?" "No, Charlie, he was just following orders." "\¥hose orders?" "It's not ilnportant now. Let's just get out of here." "I think we should kill hinl," Carlos said, glaring at Eddie. I couldn't help it. I'd been waiting a long time for my next line. "He's not kidding, Edward," I said. "And down here when they kill you you're dead, d-e-a-d!" Eddie turned his face up pleadingly to the matador. "That's the truth," Charlie Arruza said. And never has any actor of mine read a line with such feeling. I tried to stand. Ricardo and Tarzan moved in to help me. "Nobody's going to get hurt, Eddie," I said feebly. "Relax. But next time

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you're on your own. I don't give second chances twice." Carlos was not to be denied. "I think we should kill hinl. \\1ho would know?" "You'd know, and I'd know, Charlie. Now, let hinl alone." Dr. Chenelka stepped forward. "I'll go down to the safe and get this gentlelnan's personal belongings: his watch and his ... " "Well, get.'" Carlos barked. The doctor' got. ' Ricardo and Cerrillo half carried Ine down the stairs and across the patio toward the lobby. The floodlights were on and Illost of the downstairs lunatics screaIned at the matador and his rescue party. "Cojame!" "Cabrones!" "Chingados!" "I-lijos de puta!" "Hijo, mano!" the nlatador said. "I've never been gored in a plaza th~lt was this frightening!" Even in my drugged state I was surprised to see the destruction in the I1lain lobby of "The Sanitarium of the Flowers." There were no rose petals in evidence: just hunks of wood, splinters and broken glass fronl the deIl101ished front doors. And the long white station wagon sat, triulnphantiy, atop the expensive Indian rug, exactly where Arruza and his gang had braked it to a stop directly in front of the polished reception desk. Acrually, I shouldn't have been surprised. ] h'ld practically grown up with Charlie Arruza's tenlper. Hell, when he was recognized, and couldn't gain entrance, what else was there to do? I wanted to sinilc, but I knew it would hurt. So, I accidentally laughed out loud. And it dalnned near killed Inc.

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\VAS VOi\HTI:\'G \VHEN I REGAI?\,ED CONSCIOUSNESS. SOMEONE \\TAS

holding Iny head as I retched into what seelned to be a bath towel. Minutes passed,· and then there was nothing left to spit up. V\,Thoever it was holding Iny head lowered Ine gently back onto a clean, soft pillow. I was spent, and found it difficult to breathe. Feeling the right side of the bed sink a bit as SOlneone sat beside Ine, I opened Iny eyes to see Dr. Oscar Davila, the Hotel BaIner's house physician. "How do you feel?" he asked. I I1lanaged a weak slnile. "Oscar, I'ln neither fish nor fowl, but seeing you I1lakes I1le know I'ln hOlne." "You've been here for two days. Passed out in the car. They shot enough dope into you at that sanitariul1l to kill two of Arruza's horses." "Who's been taking care of Ine?" "Who else?" Dr. Davila I1l0tioned to Pepe sitting in the arnlchair by the desk. lIe looked haggard and worn with a three-day growth of beard. "He's never left your side since we carried you upstairs." "Ayee, Pepe!" I groaned, "how did I get so lucky as to find one like you?" Pepe stood up. "Please, sir ... " HYeah, I know. I know. But you don't Inind though if I just say thanks?" I started to get out of bed, but nothing worked. I fell back onto the pillow, exh
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Pepe stepped to the bed. "l'ln sorry, sir, if I've bothered you. I ... " "Are you kidding, Pepe? That was just a feeble joke frol11 a deeply thankful friend. Now go horne and get saIne rest. I'll be just tIne. See YOli in the Illorning." "Thank you, sir." And he \vas gone. Dr. Davila placed another pillow under Illy head. "You know," he said, "\(Hl should be six feet under." "It's just not Illy tiIl1e. Any telephone calls?" "Naturally." He picked up a batch of Illcssag:e slips ~1nd thUlllbed through theln. "]v1r. Ehrlich ... l\1anuel and Sara C:.lpetillo c.llled three tiIlles ... Paul Golden ... Elnilio Fernandez-rn·ice ... and .you've had the :\rrUi'.~l Ellnilr. worried to death. Carlos \vas here this I1lorning." "N J. 0 Iong d'Istance:'...,,,

"No. " There was a long, long rllorllent of very dead silence. As sick as I was I felt Inore etnbarrassed by the stupid question than he did with the ~lns\\'er. I pushed Inyself up a little higher on the pillows. "That's just a habit-question, ()scar. I used to get long distance calls frOlll just about evel)'\\lhere." He started to say sornething, but I held up the p~lltn of Iny h;lnd to stop hinl. "1 don't want to talk about it," 1 said. As if on cue, the phone now rang. I)r. I);lViLl picked it up, listened a l1lOlnent, then rurned to I11e. "It's Los l\ngcles," he said. I grabbed for the receiver-but it \vasJoe Cibxoll. "Oh, hello Joseph. You lnissed the p~lrty." Joe's voice had no hUlnor in it. "()n purpose," he s~lid. "Eddie's heen fin.~d." "\Nhy tlre Eddie? He was just following' orders. Let ll1e spc;lk to the hoss." "J-I' . E urope. " e s ... In "I don't blaIne hinl." I turned to Oscar. "Jeff l\1artin's in Europe." "I don't blaIne hiln either," Dr. Davihl laughed. Now Joe's voice sounded even hollower. "Jeff wanted Inc to expbin SOlllething to you. I-Ie thinks he can get you the job to direct the I)uke in COII/IIIII·heros. That's why he did that. I-Ie wants you to know everything \vas for your own good." I suddenly got stronger. Darnn near Inade it ;111 the way slT;light lip in hed. "Joe, the Duke wouldn't Ict Inc direct hinl across the street. Ilell, he thinks be's a director. So don't hand nlC that bul1shit!" "T'hat's not true," Joe nlurnlured weakly. "Jeff said the joh's ~l cinch. "COl1le on, Joe, knock it off! If Wayne was ever talked into hiring 111~, wouldn't last a day. I--Ie'd fire Ine, or I'd quit. And that would he a higg"t~r scandal H

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than the one I've got down here now." The phone went so dead I thought we'd been cut off. Then: "Budd, there's something else." "V . h. " 1ea h,we11' get It over WIt "Your wife wants a divorce. Her mother called me froln Las Vegas." Suddenly I was furious, and hurt, and sick at my stolnach. Then-and it had to be another act of God-the pain and the anger and the sickness disappeared, and the entire weight of the whole world was lifted off my chest. "Joseph, our marriage certificate is in the office. Give it to Maggie-personally. I'll be out of bed in a couple of days, and I'll go to the American Embassy and get her papers for Las Vegas, Reno, California and Timbuktu. Now let Ine get some sleep." I placed the receiver gently back onto the hook and looked up at Dr. Davila. ""'hat do you know," I said. "Maggie and her daughter want a divorce." **********

There was a long week of painful convalescence before the Rolls-Royce, with Pepe at the wheel, glided along the mountainous Cuernavaca highway toward Vista Hermosa. When we passed the cantinas of "Tres Marias" I noticed Iny chauffeur smile. "You've got a secret joke, Pepe?" "No, senor. I just noticed that all the windows of that cantina are still unbroken. " "Well, Mr. Fare let me bleed a little. As a matter of fact, he helped." "He tried to make a deal with me." "VYhat 1cind of deal?" "He wanted me to drive the car to the border." "For how Illuch?" "A thousand dollars." "You should have taken it. It wasn't his money." "Sir! " "rIll kidding, Pepe. Don't worry, we'll run into Eddie again. There's an expression in English that says 'a bad penny always turns up. m "1 understand," Pepe said, but his puzzled frown led me to believe that he didn't. Vista Hermosa had always been one of my favorite spots. It was an overfour-hundred-year-old mill and grainery that had been converted into a luxurious resort hotel. I had filmed sequences of two pictures there, Bullfighter and Magnificent Matad07", and it held many Inemories . •

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The long cobblestone road that led froll1 the high stone Inain gate to the hotel's entrance was bordered bv trees, cacti, and blosso1l1ing- shrubs. 'rhe \'ism Hermosa's bellboys rushed out to take our luggage. I stepped to the desk ,1IHI shook hands with the assistant 111anager, then registered for the two rOOI11S. "Excuse Ine, sir," the desk clerk sIniled, "we're starting a ne\\-' guest book. vVould you Il1ind signing it?" "I'd be happy to," I said, and wrote Iny nalllC in bold black scroll. I slniied when I noticed the finn steadiness of IllV. hand. I'd never let Illvself get too Elr out . of shape, and I knew after ll1y sojourn at the Sanit~lriunl of the Flo\vers how important Iny physical condition had been. And then I saw her signarure, "Elsa Cardenas." It was neat and dainty like the actress it represented, and it certainly rang a big bell. That was an elnbarr,lssing m0I11ent in the Focolare when I 111istook her for Iny wife. Unexpectedly, I caught lnyself actually wondering if I'd run into the senorita. r

"-

"-

********** The sunken dining roon1 at the hotel was nearly elnpty. 'rhe Saturday night and Sunday crowd had returned to Mexico City, clnd the only entcrtainlllCllt was being supplied by a flalnenco guitarist who sat alone in a straight-backed chair in the center of the deserted dance floor. I was fiddling with Iny half-catcn "carne asada," trying not to be too irritated by the drunken laughter and profanity COllling froIl1 the table of three Anlericalls sitting directly behind Ine. Pepe interrupted lny thoughts. "Ar' . """ en t you I1ungry, SIr:' I shook Illy head. "Nope," I offered. "SanitariulllS always shrink Illy stolnach." Then even louder exclalnations frO]ll Illy three countrYll1cll spun Illy head around in the direction of the archway leading down fronl the pool area into the dining rooln. Senorita Elsa C:ardenas, closely followed by her pigtailed 1l1aid, walked down the stairs to be ushered, inl111Cdiately, to ~l ringside tahle hy the maitre d'. She was dressed in a silllple, hut obviously expensive, green silk gown that hung loosely froln her proud shoulders. At the Focolarc I had been st~lrtled mostly by the clnerald brightness of her eyes. Now I becarne shockingly awarc of her fantastically lithe figure, which was so out of place in the land of bulging waists and enonllOUS hips. lIer Inaid stood to one side as she was heing scated, hut the actress 1110tioned for the girl to join her at the tahle. T'hc Inaitrc d' pulled out a second chair as Miss Cardenas put on a pair of horn-rinllned glasses and glanced at the Inenu. "Gawd dalnn!" the biggest of the three Anlericans exd,lilllCd loud enough for even the sleeping tourists in the hotel to hear. "Now that's what I call a great

169

lookin' filly!" For just a split second I saw the actress glance across at hinl. '[hen she hurried her attention back to the lnenu. I shot another glance at the big blond boy behind IHe just as he announced to the world in general: "Well, 1'111 jes' gonna sashay over there an' invite that pretty little thing to join us." I put down Iny fork. The senorita looked up at the boy and rellloved her glasses, as he arrived at her chair to speak to her. It was illlpossible to hear the conversation with the flaI11enCO guitarist's strUI11111ing growing louder with the excitement of the 1110lnent, but the invitation was soberly declined. There were sOlne tTIore words, but the actress finllly shook her head and turned away to hand the menu to her tnaid. The big hlond shrugged off to his two cOlnpanions. "Hell," he shouted, "if this here lady don't want to join us, I guess I'll jes' have to pick her up an' bring her over." I jutnped up. "Elsa, darling," I said, "how great! I didn't see you C0l11e in." The tlal11enCO guitarist stopped playing. And Senorita Cardenas, her ITIaid, and all three Atl1ericans gave tTIe their cOlllplete attention. I strode over to the table as fast as I could, although it was difficult nloving at any great speed while itnpersonating the Duke. Miss Cardenas held out her hand. "H e II 0, agaIn, ' " she sal'd . ~rhe big blond stood up as straight as he could, and flexed his chest. "Listen, Dad," he began, "you'd better head on back to your table if you know whaes good for you." Now, I hadn't felt less physical since tny early days in kindergarten, but I'd directed this spot I'd lnade for tnyself and I speeded up any and all drastic ideas as to how the hell to get out of it. But I shouldn't have bothered as, suddenly, the boy's angry eyes bugged wide as he stared down at sOITIething waist high just behind 111e. Now, I'd used this ruse Inyself-on nunlerous occasions, although I usually preferred to drop sOlnething before I threw a left hook. So I wasn't about to look down. Instead I backed up two steps, and butTIped into Pepe. He was holding a wicked-looking revolver waist-high tight against his hip, At1d, fronl the angle of the barrel, it was quite apparent that if the big blond lTIoved one inch, he would 1l1ost assuredly end up a tenor. The renlainder of the short dratna was played without dialogue. The big hlond "sashayed" on back to his table, and-after a whispered conversation with his pals-all three of Iny fellow Americans jes' sashayed off to bed. Senorita C:ardenas 1l10tioned for both Pepe and nle to sit down, and I finally broke the

170

silence. "Pepe, you never told Inc you carried a gun!" Pepe blushed. "Sir, it's Iny job!" "\\That's your job?" "To keep you out of trouble, sir." I thought: "l--hat'll be the day," but I didn't say it. I will never forget the rest of the evening. Elsa had rClnclllbcred the incident at the Focolare. She'd also read all the papers concerning Illy visit to the nuthouse, and Iny recent separation. \\le didn't talk too l11uch while she and her 1l1aid were eating. But we did get to know each other a little better during a long' \\'alk after dinner. Pepe and the Inaid, whose nan1e turned out to be Natalia, strolled along in uncolllfortable silence a respectful distance behind us, and I set abollt trying to learn 1110re about this young lady I was beginning to like. I discovered that she had been lnarried before, but it had been a Inistake. I knew a bit about those things. I also learned that this "mistake" was what had happened to her career after Giant. It took awhile, she told Ine, to get things back Oil the right track. ller use of English was absolutely charming. She wondered if our latest l11eeting classified her as a "peekup." I explained "not necessarily," and then I had to expbin what a real pickup was. It wasn't long before I had to adlnit, only very quietly to nlyself, that this young lady fascinated Ine, and pretty l11uch "threw" I11C rather consistently. Like when I suggested she and her Inaid tnake the trip back to Mexico City in the Rolls with Pepe and Ine. "Of course, "sh d. e 'sal It was as simple as that. I relnenlber casting her a very puzzled look, but I also remelnber whistling as I walked back to Illy rOOI11.

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NINE

HE NEXT T\VO DAYS

A:~' V1STA HERMOSA WERE DELIG~HF~L B~h:

confusing. Elsa, as prollllsed, did send her car back to MexIco City. \' 'd . d I dOd ,,\0 ". the hate 5 an d h er 111al would return With Pepe an nle. I we In 1 wann pool-hours each day, and she swain with me. But we spoke ve~ lItt:. There were no more questions, and I was extremely careful to say and do Just t ; ~'right" things. It was a painfully slow process of getting to know each othe~ would have stayed an extra day except for a frantic telephone call frot11 Arruza. ~ wouldn't tell l1le what it was about, but I prolnised to return to the Bainer an tneet with hiln the following ev~ning. As Pepe slowed to a stop at the toll gate leading into Mexico City, NatalIa was wedged tight against the right front dooro However, in the backseat, Elsa sat close to tne and I held her hand. At Elsa's new apartluent building, Pepe swung the car into the curb. W~ both stepped out to open the car's doors. Natalia disappeared into the building Without looking back. I walked to the entrance with Elsa as Pepe followed with her bags. --[he lllaid hurried back, took the luggage and reentered the elevator. She had not offered Iny loyal chauffeur a second glance and, obviously shaken, he walked dejectedly back to the Rolls. I looked down at Elsa and cleared Iny throat. "Well, aren't you going to ask nle up for coffee ... or anything?" d "It's . . H er slnlle was so sincere that I knew she expected Ine to understan . eelnpossible. This is Illy aunt's resting titue." "Your aunt! She lives with you?" "Of course." She extended her hand, the one 1 had been holding. "1 am ready to cat with you at eight." And I was left alone. I walked back to the car and stepped into the back seat. Pepe was about to 0

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close the rear door when I noticed where I was. "Jesus Christ, Pepe, I guess 1'111 a little confused." "Yes, sir."

I crawled into the front seat where I always rode when we were alone, and slammed the front door. d The big car, with its two ronlantic strike-outs, 11loved off silently toward OWntown i\1exico Chy. **********

r was shaving when I heard the knock on the hall door. "\Vho is it?" "Arruza." "Well, caIne in." The n1atador literaJIy burst into the rooln. I had never seen hilll so angry. "D o you know what that chi71gado is trying to do now?" His telnpcr was so explosive I had to slniJe. "V"hat chingfldo(" I said. 1 /lO\\, knew so Ina11Y. "Don't grin! The World's Chalnpion Cbillgndo.' Your Jeffrey A1artin!" "Good Lord! What now?" Carlos paced the bedrool11 like a caged tiger ,15 he spoke. "Ruben called IllC yesterday froln Tijuana. Your Mr. Martin wants Inc to Jllake .111 appointn1ent call tonight at seven. Collect! He expects Ine to Inake a deal with hill1 to help push you out. Ruben says he figures, since a11 the bullfight sruff is finished except the last one, to put another director on our picture. I-Ie figures that way YOll 'IJ go ho nle . \\'hat a stupid thing for hinl to calJ Ruben, huh?" . In spite of Iny inllnediate fury I found Jeff's newest fiasco sadisticalJy aIllllSlng. Ruben Padilla had been an intiInate friend of both Arruza's and Inine for Inany years, not exactly the perfect person for 111)' business Inan;)ger to pick to help him Inake a deal behind IUY back. I gritted Illy teeth. ") think it's pretty funny," I said. "Funny!" Carlos screan1ed, "Are you crazy? I toJd you I should have kiJJed his Eddie person!" "I-fis Eddie person got fired." "Well," the 111atador raved on, "who's going to fire your .Mr. i\1artin?" "CharJie-did Ruben say right at seven tonight?" "On the nose, right at seven. And collect!" I heard the story of the telephone calJ later frolll Joe C;laxon. 1'111 sorry now that I was there in voice only. Jeffrey Martin sat in his plush office and lit a doHar cigar. Joe was in the

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r00l11 and so were three representatives of the hank. Also there was a cOlnparatively obscure, frightened Illation picture director I knew vaguely by name. Lonnie, Jeff's private secretary, had been primed for the call. She had alerted the office staff. Now her excited voice came over the turned-up speaker. "We're ready with Senor Arruza, Mr. Martin!" Jeff picked up the receiver and n1ade certain that his speaker was on. Then he winked at the bankers and turned up the volulne. "Hello, Senor Arruza?" Carlos, in turn, winked at me. "Si, senor." Jeffrey was "on" and he loved it. "How nice of you to call. Acrually I believe that you will be quite interested in what I have to propose." "I'lll always interested in good propositions," Carlos replied, "and so are my friends. One of them is here now. He'd like to speak with you." Jeffrey was delighted. He jerked his hand over the Illouthpiece. "We've got a prospective peso-man." Then: "I'd be honored, Senor Arruza." "Hello, you dirty, lying, back-stabbing bastard! I thought you were in Europe." It seemed that my voice filled the entire suite of offices. Jeff's cigar fell to the floor. Joe Glaxon suppressed a smile. The three bankers stood up. The little director hurried to put out the fire beginning to sputter on the rug. "I just got back," Jeff stammered. "How-how are you?" "I'm just fine, Jeffrey. Just real fine. Had a complete checkup, and everything's ticking." "That's-good news." "Did you want to speak to Carlos, Jeffrey? He's waiting." "No, I. .. We just wanted to know how things are going." It was hard for me to contain myself, but I tried. "Well, they're not going good, Jeff. Partially thanks to you. There's still a strike on, but it'll be over one day, and I'll finish Arruza my way. Now don't try to Inake any more deals behind Iny back, especially with two of my closest friends. Carlos and lawn this motion picture. No one else! And, for your infonnation, we'll both protect it with our lives!" "Well, I. .. " "Look, Jeffrey," I cut in, "you be a good boy and show a little intelligence in your future regard for nle, and we can start all over. Or we can stop right now! It's up to you. " "\Vhatever you say." 1 looked at the receiver and then hung up. "That's where I came in," I said. "How about that!" Carlos was still livid. "Yeah, Charlie, thanks. Do you want a drink?" "I could stand one," the Inatador sighed. "It's been a terrible day." **********

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'[he neon sign blinking outside the restaurant advertised "Ilalnburger Heaven," and beneath the English title: "I1alllburguesas." It wasn't exactly Beverly Hills, but the hanlburgers were just as good. Elsa and 1 sat in a little red plastic-leather booth and finished our coffee. \Vhen the waiter presented the check it was for fifteen pesos, $ I .lD All1eric;1I1. Elsa pointed to it. "See~" she said. "I see, an d ' you contInue to alnaze Inc. " "Do you still feel elnpty?" I laughed and shook nl)' head. "My belly is full, but 111\' wallet is nigh unto starving." I ordered two nlore cups of coffee and paid the hill. Elsa cupped her chin in her hands and looked across the plastic-covered table at me. "How did you get yourself in such a tness?" I frowned. "Arruzn is not a Iness. I wanted to create sOlnething different, and I have trelnendous faith in Carlos and confidence in lnyself. 'rhe picture will turn out beautifully." "If you ever finish it." I put down Iny coffee. "Elsa, I can't stand peSSill1islll. And that goes t'()r you too." For the first time I saw her eyes flash. "))id you just spank Inc?" "1 guess I did-verbally." She rubbed hoth her ears, but didn't slnile. ~'I t hurt," she said. I reached across and took both her hands in Illine. "lloncy, 1'111 not I111lCh for apologies but, this tinle I've got to adlnit, 1'111 truthfully sorry. Believe in Iny picture and believe in rnc, or let's never discuss the subject again." She Inellowed. "Oh, those things 1 believe." A newsboy caIne in the restaurant with the late 'extra.' 'rhe hCildlincs read: "Debra Paget Divorces Producer-Director of Arruza Filtn." I hought two papers, handed one to Elsa. T'here W.1S a Las Vegas nightclub photograph of Debra and a datelined story froll1 Juarez, C:hihuahua, Mexico. "Mrs. Maggie Griffin, the actress' Inother, told the press: ~A1y daughter didn't Inake up her Blind until early yesterday rnorning. l)ehra is . 1 very kind ilnd considerate and sweet girl, and she is very upset and broken he~lrtcd :lhollt this. After all, Iny daughter doesn't do these things lightly. '" Both Elsa and I left our papers in the booth and walked out onto the sidewalk. Pepe was waiting in the car. "Let's walk," Elsa suggested. "All the way to the apartInent?" "It's healthy. And, I always walk when I wish to think." I waved to Pepe. "I'll nlcet you at Senorita C:ardenas' apartlncnt in a couple of hours."

175

"In front," she added. "Make it forty-five minutes, Pepe." He drove away, and we headed in the opposite direction toward the bright lights of the Paseo de la Refonna. **********

The restaurant at Churubusco Studios was crowded when I entered. I nodded to a few acquaintances who sat close to the door, and found myself an elnpty table. There were l11any turned heads and much whispering. I was not alnused. "Hello, Rebel." Ernilio Fernandez sat down beside me. "Hi, Genius," I greeted him as I ordered coffee, "what'll you have?" "It's COIning," he grinned as another waiter arrived with two shots of tequila. Elnilio offered one to me, but I refused. "You know," he laughed as he downed the first one in a salty gulp, "I'm going to spend a lot more time with you. It'll give n1e a legitimate reason to double up on Iny drinks." He sipped at the second tequila while I studied n1y coffee, each of us waiting for the other to speak. Finally I looked up and grinned. "If you ask me 'what's new?' so help Ine, I'll belt you!" Elnilio's laugh shook the cafe. "Ayee! You don't know the word 'licked,' do you?" He leaned forward. "So, what are you going to do?" "Same thing you'd do-find another actress." "There are Inany beautiful girls in Mexico." I nodded. "And I know you've got all their telephone numbers, but this girl has to have a lot Inore than physical beauty. She's got to have class, and sensitivity and fire." "And be able to act!" "Elnilio, that doesn't worry ITIe any more than it ever worried you. Hell, if we find her and she can act, that's just frosting on the cake. But, what I'm worried about most now is just trying to raise the last two-hundred thousand." * * ** * *** * *

"Fellows, it's this simple. TOITIorrow is D-Day. Tomorrow we get up early and we canvas this town. We go out and we find the money here! It's not coming fro In the United States. We can forget about that." I spoke as I refilled the drinks of Iny guests. In my suite with Carlos and Paul Golden were Henry Ehrlich and Hank Lopez, both accomplished attorneys who had agreed to help ITIe raise the necessary money to cOlnplete Arrllza. I had

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known Henry Ehrlich for six years, since 1 directed Magnificent Maffldor with Quinn and O'Hara in Mexico. He was warnl and gentle, and though a rank motion picture conservative according to my usual way of doing business, I liked him and adlnired him, and knew that he was a great asset to Iny future plans. Hank Lopez was a Denver-born American of Mexican extraction. I-Ie was a brilliant man, a fantastic storyteller, a charming c0I11panion, and he was destined to become a dear friend. He had just lost the California election to becoIlle the Secretary of State by a minute nunlber of votes. I felt that he was bitter about his loss. I would never know. I also felt that he was doing Inuch Inore inlportant work in !vlexico than just practicing law. I probably would never know about that either. "They'll want to know who's in Anilza, " Hank Lopez offered. "Arruza's in Arruzo," I answered, "and nearly five years of work counting script and preparation, and all of my money." "But Hank means they'll want to know who's the leading lady," Henry Ehrlich said. "They sure as the devil, all of a sudden, know who isn't!" "Look, boys, I've been through this bit before. They always want to know who somebody is until that person is somebody, then they bow. The trouble with one of my 'nobodys' was he was a Mexican; another was too rich; another was a fag; another they thought was too Jewish. Get that-the Jewish producers thought that, and then there was the girl who had only played whores. 1c)(iay they are all stars. Who in the hell were they once?" Paul walked to the bar to get S0l11e 1110re ice. "I think your idea is to discover a new star, isn't it?" Carlos cut in before I could answer. "Hijo l11al1o! He's going to have enough trouble with me!" 1 turned to Carlos, grinning. "Charlie, you're the one trouhle I won't have." "But I'nl a to re1 O, not an actor." "Relax, 'Marlon,' you'll be a sn1ash." "Well, if I'nl lousy, it's your fault." Hank Lopez finished his drink and stood up. "So?" I offered my hand. "So, Hank, tonlorrow we start frolll scratch. 'There iSH't anybody I won't be happy to see." I turned to Henry Ehrlich. "And, Henry, no Inatter what I say or do in any of these lneetings, please don't apologize for nle later." "I never apologize. I just explain your personality. I'n1 your friend." "And nobody values your friendship rnore than I do. But don't try to explain me. It's impossible. I hate to watch you sweat out SOlne of 1l1V reJn~lfks." Henry was honest~ "We are losing sure deals all over the city." "Henry," I said with patience, "sure deals are never lost. And I'd rather kill any deal dead before it gets started than watch it destroyed by inartistic Inotion A

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picture leprosy on the set." Henry shrugged. "It's your picture," he said. "Yes, it is." Paul, Henry and Hank left. Arruza relnained behind. "Mari wants me to ask you if you'd like to stay with us." "Don't be silly. "/ny?" "Well ... do you have any money left?" "Charlie, that's a worry you never have to face." Carlos shrugged. It seemed everybody shrugged lately. "I don't give a damn 1l1yself," he lied, "but Mari worries me worrying about you." "\\Then I begin to really starve, I'll call you." The Inatador changed the subject to something closer to his heart. "Would you like Ine to start looking for leading ladies?" I placed my hand on his shoulder. "It's actually your responsibility, Inatador," I offered dramatically, "so be Iny guest." "Good, I'll start looking tomorrow." I held the door open as Carlos walked out into the hall. "Just send Ine the 'fish' you throw back," I called after hilTI. Carlos laughed and rang for the elevator. I closed the door. Suddenly the big suite seeIlled very elnpty. I walked over and flopped backwards onto the bed, stared at the ceiling for a long tin1e, then rurned my head toward the "empty" phone.

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E~RY,

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HA~K A~D

I HAD TRAVELED TO CL':\TI.:\ FOR

:\~

optimis.tic 111eeting with the Texan, Dawson Bray, a tall, athletic young l11an with an abundance of Southern chann, although cOlllplercly devoid of the usual chauvinis111 attached to 1110St rlexans. llis hacienda in C:uatb was a showcase of Mexicana except for the SWill1Illing pool he had added when he decided to make Mexico his hOlne. The pool \\'as definitely Texan. Dawson h~ld two partners, Don Luis Bueno and Licenciado [lawyer] Jorge Castillo. l)on Luis was old and experienced. The attorney was young, ]notion picture h~lndsolne, ~lnd delighted with what his successful life had offered hilll. No t\\'o Incn could h~lVC been more cOlllplete opposites. Both Dawson and Jorge had read 0-11-"/1':,11 and liked it. The Illeeting had been arranged so that Don Luis could offer his \'ic\\'s and suggestions. The old Inan's views were to the point. "I don't like the script ~H all," he said. It was so shoclcing I laughed. "Well, that's a great opening!" I-Ienry put down his beer. "\\That don't you like about it?" "I don't like anything about the project except the fihn already shot." I stood up and reached for Illy jacket. "Now wait a Ininute," Dawson put in quickly. uDon Luis doesn't Inean that he's against you as the director. He just doesn't like the story." "I wasn't being illlpolite," I said. "I just didn't want to waste ~lny 11l0fC of your tinle. You see, I like Iny story very 111uch." "Why don't we all sit down and listen to what I)on Luis would like to change?" I-Iank suggested. "1'111 sure he has SOlne good ideas." I had always wondered how it was possible for l-Iank to lose any election, so 1 sat down. "Don Luis is as interested in 1l1aking a deal as I an1," l)awson offered. "lie

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just has some reservations." I flinched, then sat back to sip my coffee. Don Luis had retained, over a period of many years, a splendid reputation as a Mexican producer. He bordered on being "kindly" and I seriously set myself not to offend the old gentleman as he began his criticism of Arruza. "Fire away!" I said masochistically. "Well, first," he began kindly, "the story has no ... how do you Americans say it? No guts. Nobody's wounded. Nobody suffers ... nobody dies." "I gladly killed Gilbert Roland. Does Carlos have to die?" "Not necessarily," he continued smiling, "but it would be interesting. I made a picture in 1931 where everybody died." "I'll bet they did," 1 agreed. I heard Hank Lopez clear his throa t. "And aside from nobody dying," he went on, "nobody prays." "Don Luis," I interrupted, "I may not show it, but I believe in God. And I pray to Him. Mari Arruza prays too. But I feel very strongly that prayers are private things and Mari's prayers belong only to her." "But we enjoy praying in Mexico. It's a big part of our life." "Don Luis," I said somewhat unkindly, "you pray all you wish, but in Anilza I don't intend to watch you." The old man took another dainty swallow of brandy and smiled sweetly at Dawson. "This isn't getting us anyplace," he said. "This gentleman is in love with his script. I am not." Dawson pulled a check out of his pocket. It was obvious, immediately, that he was already well aware of his partner's objections. The check was made out to me, and it was for one-hundred-thousand dollars. I glanced at it without taking it. "\Vhat conditions go with the loot, Dawson?" "Actually, the conditions are very simple. The hundred thousand is yours for the complete rights to Arruza. You will direct the film at seventy-five thousand ... twenty-five deferred. The screenplay will be rewritten by Luis Spota. Incidentally, Luis didn't like the script either." "I'm sorry to hear that, Dawson. I liked his Wounds of Hunger very much. What didn't he like about A1'ruza?'" "I-Ie had no real peeves. He just thinks a Mexican bullfight picture should be written by a Mexican." "He may have a point," I agreed. "\Vhy don't we get the Mexican bullfighter who wrote Luis' book to rewrite my script?" Henry Ehrlich spit out the olive he was munching. Dawson glanced at Jorge who seemed to be enjoying the afternoon. Don Luis was still mulling over my lack of violence. "Well, anyv;ay, that's it," Dawson continued, "except that you retain twenty

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percent of the picture's profits." "Sounds like a good deal," Henry suggested. "It is," I said, "for somebody else." I offered my hand to Dawson. "Thanks. You and I are going to Inake a picrure one day, but not Arruza." He was flabbergasted. "But what don't you like about the deal?" I nodded good-bye to Licenciado Castillo, then: "I don't like your proposition, under the present circUlnstances, any lnorc than Don Luis likes Iny story. 1'ln sure you understand. See you in the city." It was a long ride home with only a sIl1attering of conversation. ()nce l-len.-y asked: "Don't you care whether or not any of us 'understands?'" "Nope," I said. **********

It was lunch time-at least it was lunch tillle in Mexico (:ity. I looked at Iny wrist watch with growing irritation. It was three twenty-five. I sat ~llone in the fashionable Bamerette at a table reserved for eight. My guests were late in the fashionable, inconsiderate way of Mexcian businessillen and, as I waited, I thought back over the past three weeks. It had been a shall1bles, except for the til1le I had allowed myself the luxury of seeing Elsa. ELSA! She had begun to worry me. There was no doubt ahout it. Senorita Cardenas had begun to worry me a lot. She was almost too perfect. She was p,ltient, tolerant of Ill)' had llloods, extreInely funny without ever being "on stage," ~lnd seellled to hecolne Inore beautiful every time I saw her. This, Inore than anything else, confused Inc, because I knew that she had to look exactly the way she looked the night we Iner. Unless she had grown happier. She seelned to have. I changed the subject in my Blind, and thought of the 111&lny frustrating- letters from Fox, and Warner's and C:olulnhia that I had on file in the suite. 'rhey all said, more or less, the saIne thing: "\\Tho's in the cast?" or "Bullfig-hting pictures have never made money." But, all of them did say, word for word, one thing: ~~\VC are not in the position at the present til11e to give you a 'pick up' Of bruar3ntec, but we will be very interested in viewing An7/Z11 when you have it ready for release." But how in the devil was I ever going to get it ready for release? l'h'lt was why I hadn't invited Paul, Hank or I-Ienry. I didn't want Iny friends to he forced to share another disappointnlent. I-Icll, I had now spent enough tillle in Mexico to suspect that my invited guests Inight not even show up. Quintin Hidalgo walked in froIll behind IllC and sat down. "J lello, g-ringo,"

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he grinned. I stood up to greet his two companions, whom he introduced as the Senores Perez-Tello and Duval. Perez-Tello was an unusually handsome South American. Duval was smoothly sophisticated French. All three lnen spoke English with only a trace of accent. I liked Quintin imnlensely. Although he had the reputation of being Mexico's most notoriously unscrupulous attorney, he relninded me of a rougher version of my last Hollywood lawyer, the late, famous Jerry Geisler. He was the sanle conlplete "macho," and just as boisterously amusing. "\iVhere's the rest of your gang?" I inquired. "Nobody else is coming. We don't need them. You've got yourself a deal." Quintin ordered drinks: double scotch and sodas for himself and his two partners, and then settled quickly into business. "My dear gringo friend," he began, "we like you. You and your 'cojones' are good for Mexico. You need two-hundred thousand. We're prepared to get you two-and-a-half. " "I'm listening," I said warily. "We'll get you a time deposit from our bank in Miami to your bank in California. You just have to slip seven-thousand-five-hundred 'under the table' to our banker in Mialni." "And?" "The three of us get five percent of the profits of your picture and five thousand dollars apiece-cash-out of the tw"o-hundred and fifty sent down here." "Quintin, if this goes through there will be only $232,500 sent down here. There won't be any 'under the table' money. A check for seven-thousand-fivehundred will be mailed from my bank in Hollywood to your friend in Miami." "\Vhy tell your banker? You can easily camouflage a small amount like that in your budget." "1'111 a director, not a proluoter. We don't have to hide anything." He glanced at Perez-Tello and Duval. "Well," he said cheerfully, "if that's the way you want it." The double scotches arrived and Quintin immediately ordered three more. "Today's a day to celebrate," he explained. I didn't like the look of things. It was all too pat. "Quintin, with your fifteen thousand and the seven-thousand five-hundred for Mialni deducted, I'll still have 1l10re than I need to finish An7lza. What's the catch?" He laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. "There's no catch. We want you to have Inore than you need. Protection!" "We adlnire you, " Perez-Tello added. "We'd like you to be a part of our future plans." "In Europe we look upon you as one of the very best," Monsieur Duval chin1ed in.

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Compliments! Now I was really worried. 'VeIl, I figurcd I Illight as \vcll burst the bubble right away. "\\Tho has artistic approval on everything?" I shot at theIll. "You do," they answered in unison. "Suppose I go over budget?" "You know that we can raise any extra anl0unt of 1110ncy needed frolll the percentage of profits you still retain." "On more or less the same basis? No 'blood l11oney' bit?" "Of course." "\Vhat about the cast?" "You've got Arruza. He's plenty good enough for us." Now for the big question. I braced Illyself. "All right, fellows, which one of you gentlelnen has the girl who's going to play tvlari Arruz
** ** ** ** ** Elsa held Illy hand as we strolled together along a pebhled p;nh in Chapultepec Park, "I-Ioney," I said, "I-Iank's drawing up the contracts for the picture. I reallr think, finally, we are on our way." She stood on her toes and fluttered a kiss across Iny check. I starred to In:lke a glib, funny renlark about this sudden personal contact, but I stopped Inyself when I looked at her face. She was like a little girl with :l new rihhon in h<.:r hair. Anything good that happened to Inc r[,lI/~l' bIlPPl'l1l'fi for h<.:l'. I said instead, "Let's keep our fingers crossed," "You cross your fingers. I will pr.ty." I guided her to a concrete bench, took her hands in 1l1ine, ;lnd s.H her down. "Elsa, I'd like you to play Mari Arruza."

lH3

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She tilted her head so that she looked straight into my eyes. "I wouldn't like that," she said. "Well, for God's sake, why not?" She shook her head and touched her fingers to n1y lips. "You see, darling, you already shout at me. I would rather be your friend than your leading lady. The other way we might lose our friendship." "But you'd be an international star overnight, not just a star in Latin America." She sIlliled and touched my lips again. "I can act," she said, "but I'm still just a skinny little girl." "With a 36 bust, a 21 waist and 34 hips you are not a 'skinny little girl!'" "It's good that you think not. So, then if I'm lucky I will get to the top one day anyway. But by myself I will not lose you on the way." It was a totally unexpected twist. It would now take just the right approach to even sway her. I also realized that the final decision was not about to be reached that afternoon. My motion picture ego had led me to believe that she would jump at the chance. I tried another, more personal approach and felt like a bastard. "Listen to me, honey," I said softly, "if I need you ... really need you, you'd do the picture, wouldn't you?" She stood up. "If you ever needed me, you know that answer." She started away, then added, "But I don't think I'd like it." Together we walked to where Pepe was waiting with the Rolls. I started to say sOlnething to Elsa as I opened the rear door, but I changed my lnind. Instead I Inerely followed her into the back seat. Neither one of us spoke one word as Pepe circled the car around the Statue of Diana and headed for her apartment. The following morning at ten sharp 1 telephoned Jon Swenson, the luanager of the Hotel Regal-Chapultepec. 1 had met Jon through my friendship with Dawson Bray. I liked hinl very Inuch. Perhaps it was because he sincerely believed that I would, one day, most surely finish Arruza. Boy, during those days that counted a lot! It didn't turn out to be tnuch of a conversation. I told Jon that I wanted to Inove froln the Hotel BaIner, but that 1 was almost broke. He knew that I had extended credit in their chain of hotels all over the world. I requested ninety days unlimited credit, and he imInediately agreed. "Anyway," he continued, "I've heard rumors that you're about to culminate a deal on Arruza." "I can only hope," 1 said. "It looks like such a cinch it worries me." "Who's going to be your leading lady?" "I've asked Elsa Cardenas." "Asked?" "She hasn't said 'yes' yet." "Well, I'll be dalnned," Jon Swenson said. "I have been too, Jon," I agreed, "ever since I Inet her."

184

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ELEVEN

HE REGAL-CHAPULTEPEC 'VAS :\ HI(;, R:\TIIER

PRFTE~TI()L~S

IIOTEL.

It had b,een advertised before !ts opening as "Mexico's n~ost 1\1cx~can hotel WIth European service.' Actually there was nothing i\1cXICln about the hotel except the last half of its nalne, and the service was far froln European. But there wasn't one thing in the hotel that renlindeu Inc of Iny luariral fiasco, although the hotel lobby's outlandishly garish, gigantic crystal chandelier did bring back fond 111CI110ries of Iny eX-ITIother-in-law. Jon Swenson went out of his way to Inakc Inc h~lPPY ~lnd cOlnfort~lhle. lie moved Ine into an outside suite with its balcony facing 1l1ost of .. . . the sun throughout ... the day. I bought a typewriter and realns of paper, and illllnediately sct about rewriting An7lzn for the distinctive beauty and specialized pixic chann of Senorita Elsa Cardenas.

********** Finally, in Iny new hotel suite, I arranged a Ineeting I felt would ~l1n()unt to sOlnething positive. Hank Lopez again looked over his notes. "'Ten percent to C:arlos, six percent to you gentielnen, and-if the deal goes through-I-Ienry, Paul ;HHI 1 split up five percent. "Make it six," I said. "If these boys get six percent for swinging a tilHe loan, plus fifteen thousand dollars, plus seven-thousand-t1vc-hundred for their pal in Mialni, you three certainly deserve two percent apiece for working your asses off." Arruza walked into the r00I11. "\Vhen do we start shooting?" "As soon as the holidays are over, Charlie. I hope ~lround the eighth ofJ~lnu;lry." "Fantastic!" Carlos said and sat down near the window in the sun. H

IH5

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Hank turned to Senor Perez-Tello and Monsieur Duval. "Of course you've gone over all these details with Licenciado Hidalgo?" "Of course," Duval answered. "Quintin doesn't have to be at our meetings," Perez-Tello added. "He's so terribly busy. Anyway, he's in complete agreement with all our plans." "Good," Hank offered with little enthusiasm. "When will the contracts be ready, Hank?" I inquired. "In a couple of days." "And then you can head for Hollywood to settle with the bank?" "Right. " "\\Then will you be finished with the new script?" Paul asked. Carlos spun around. "New script! \\That new script?" "You can start your breakdown by the end of the week, Paul," I said, then turned to the matador. "I'm doing a rewrite, Charlie, but it doesn't affect your part very much." "Good, because I ljke the script the way it is." "Matador," I grinned, "those are very pleasant words." Carlos lit a cigarette. "Is it any business of mine what you're changing?" I nodded. "Completely your business. I'm rewriting the part of your wife." "Anybody coming back?" "Nope." "Anybody I know?" "Maybe." "Vegetable or ... ?" "All woman, if I'm lucky," I said. "I'm going to give a party to introduce you to your 'other wife' as soon as she says 'yes.'" The Inatador walked to the bar and poured himself a short brandy. "This is the Inost l11ysterious n1arriage proposal I've never been allowed to make." He raised his glass, looking out over the vastness of Mexico City. "Well, here's a toast to 'M an. Ar ruza ' ... wherever you are. " **********

l'he Rolls-Royce was parked just off a dirt road at the top of a green hill. In the valley below sheep were grazing. Pepe glanced up as an oxcart rattled by, then returned to his drealns with his head resting on the back of the red leather seat. Elsa lay beside me as I sat on Iny spread-out bullfighting cape under the shade of an ahuehuete tree and finished reading aloud my screenplay of ArrZlza, closed the leather-bound script and looked down at her. "Well?"

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"You know Illy answer. Only if you need Inc." 1 reached across to touch the softness of her hair, then nlrned her oyer so that her head rested on Iny knees. "I need you, Elsa," 1 said. "I really need you." And then I kissed her. 'rhis tinle she didn't resist, but she Inade no 1l10Ve closer toward 111(,;. She was just in 111~' arms. That was all. But the w3nnth of her lips surprised Ine. It was a wOlllan's kiss from a little girl's Inouth.

******** **

A fulll11ariachi band burst into La Dialltl as Elsa and I I1lade our entrance into the Regal-Chapultepec's banquet rOOI11. I had left all the party's pbnning to Jon Swenson and his staff, and it was a job 1l1ost beautifully done. rrhe hea\'y drapes were fully drawn and all of .i\1exico glistened below. Aside frolll the Inari~lchi hand, a string quintet strul11I11ed and sang its love songs, between the orchestr~l nUlnhcrs, at the far end of the rOOln. There were three Inain bars in the gigantic IOllng'e, one for Chat11pagne and t\vo for everything else. Everyone I knew and liked was there, plus (]uinrin 1-1idalgo and his rwo partners, a galaxy of beautiful girls, every tonTO in 1\1exico, forty Inelnhers of the prcss, and Carlos and Mari Arruza. Elsa wore a white cocktail gown Ina de froI11 century-old Sp;lnish lace. It W;lS the first tilne I had ever seen her in party array. \,Vith her sun-tanned skin bencath the whiteness of her dress, and with . 111 enlcr . lld chokcr to Illat<:h-hllt not quite-the sparkling color of her eyes, she was hoth ,\1aid ;\1arian and (;uine\'ere. We crossed the rOOll1 to where C:arlos and tv1c.lri stood in ~ln ;lI11hllSh of reporters. The very second Mari recognized Elsa, she sInilcd and oflcred hcr hand ..\ LlI'i Carlllen Vasquez de Arruza was rcally sOInething special. Iiollcsrly, she nc\'cr rnade a rnove that wasn't elegant and Spanish-courtly. I touched Elsa's elhow. "Elsita, Inay I present your future "husband,' .lllltlldor dc 'J()/'(}J Carlos Arruza."-"Carlos, Senorita Elsa Cardenas." 1'he flashbulbs flashed. 'rhe orchcstra struck up the Paso [)()b/c, C"r/os AnAliza, and Elsa extended her hand and said "Iii." "l-li!" C:arlos shouted. ""Vhat have you done to Illy future ·wife?' ... turned her into a 'gringa?'" Elsa sIniled. "I have learned IllllCh new English," she s~lid. "Very little of which she can usc in puhlic," I hurriedly added. C:arlos burst out laughing, and it was the beginning' of one hdl of:l parry. It IHust have been two in the Illorning when Joe (;Iaxon Illadc his surprise appearance. I-Ie said that he'd just arrived on the late tlight ~lnd that he had S()111C business with Paul. More irnportant, he needed to talk to Ine. Now, that sounded

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serious, butJoe assured Ille that I could handle it. "It's nothing you can't lick," he said. Then he requested that we discuss everything "tomorrow," and begged my pennission to get really drunk. Hell, it was already "tomorrow," and he was already quite drunk, so I granted hiIn both requests. It was another hour before 1 was able to find Iny two attorneys and their wives alone. "It's a wonderful party," Rose Ehrlich offered. Millie Lopez nodded cOlnplete agreement and raised her champagne glass in a toast. "To many ITIOre just like this one," she suggested enthusiastically. "Well," Hank laughed, "we'll certainly do the best we can to arrange them." Henry raised his glass. "This is the first time I've really felt we're on the way," he said. "So, here's to Arruza!" Perez-Tello and Duval moved in. "We'll drink to that," the Parisian gushed. I heard the glasses clink behind us as I guided Elsa away toward the open window. "Take a good look, honey." I motioned to the long sweep of lights along the Paseo de la Reforma. "A big hunk of that is going to be yours if we make the kind of picture 1 think we can." She squeezed my fingers. "I don't want anything except to be able to help you when you need nle." I put my ann around her. Maybe she didn't want anything. But I did. I, personally, wanted all those lights. I wanted more than the success I had known before Arruza. I wanted the awards. I wanted to show ... The string quintet interrupted my thoughts, and I slowly realized they were playing Las Golondrinas. It was time to retire. The party was almost over. **********

Joe was sick. Not ill. Not just with a hangover. Just all around downright sick. Paul and I stood at the foot of his bed. "Have you taken any Alka-Seltzer?" "Yes, Paul." "Maybe a raw egg in some beer," I suggested. "An egg! In some beer! You're sadistic!" "Well, why in the devil did you get so loaded?" "Because I didn't like myself for coming here," he mumbled, then gasped for breath. "And .. .1 wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't." "Bear up, 01' dad," Paul consoled, "you're going to make it." "I haven't got a chance," Joe groaned. "I'll never get on that plane tonight." "Tonight?"

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"I was supposed to have been in PalIn Springs for the weekend." I mrned to Paul. "Do you want a drink before Joseph tells us the terrible reason he's here?" "I should say not! I've been to funnier wakes than this." He looked back at the body on the bed. "Matter of fact," Paul added, "I don't think I'll ever drink again." "You two are real bastards," Joe panted. I leaned forward. "All right, what's happening, Joe?" Joe braced himself for the suprelne effort. "Jeff's going to try to take the Rolls away froln you." "Wby.'" "I don't know. I. . .I don't know a lot of things. He figures you've deserted hill1." "Deserted him! I should have murdered hiln!" For a while, the room was filled with only the sound of Joe's labored breathing. Finally: "Joe, what's gotten into Jeff?" I asked. "If he cuts out all this crap, he's got five percent of my earnings from this show. \Vhat's he trying to prove?" "He claims you're ruining yourself, your whole career, and that he's got to stop you. He blew it with Arruza, but he figures if he gets the car you won't h.n'e anything left ... and you'll have to go hOIne." "Look, Joseph, I hired that SChllluck to advise Inc, not control 1l1e. \,Vhy doesn't he give up?" "It's your guess, but believe n1e, he's going to try everything to get you back in Hollywood." I walked to the door. "Joe, it's useless for Inc to say thanks, but I appreciate this more than you know." "You'd have done the sanle." I nodded. "Yes, I would have .. .1 think." Finally I exploded. "Joe, I don't give a damn about that car except for the picture. Jeff had better get S111.1rt. I need that car, so get that sonofabitch off my back!" The door nearly split in half as I unconsciously sianlI11Cd it. I started to go back in to apologize to Joe for my teIllper flare, but Paul's voice stopped 1l1e. "J eff Martin must be crazy, Joe." "He's crazy, and I'ln sicker than ever," Joe InOi.lned, and I he.ud hiln crash back onto his pillows. "Paul," Joe's voice added feehly, "do you think that thing with the eggs and beer might \vork?" **********

I was in swimming trunks, exercising, when Paul knocked and entered the suite. "Morning," he said. "It was quite a scene at the airport last night. You should have been there."

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I laughed. "I figured good 01' Joe would live. If he'd taken my advice and had the eggs and beer he'd have been well by noon." "He had the eggs, six of them, and half a dozen beers, and then lunch and tequila." "He got well," I said. "Anyway," Paul went on, "they darn near didn't let him on the plane. He started off Inaking a speech against Castro, switched to a eulogy of his favorite Illotion picture director, and ended up trying to organize a group of volunteers to march against Jeff Martin." "Did he get any volunteers?" "He had everyone within earshot on his side. Nobody knew what he was talking about, but you know how persuasive Joe is." "I'll never forget him for what he did." Paul nodded. "That's Joe, but tell me, how could Jeff take your car?" "He could have refused to make the payments that were due. But I know the boys at the bank. They would have contacted me by now. Nothing's going to happen to the Rolls, so stop worrying about it." "\iVell," said Paul, "you know Jeff Martin better than I do." "No, I don't, Paul. I just thought I did." The buzzer sounded and I called, "Colne in." It was Jon Swenson. "That was a great party last night." "Yes, it was, Jon, thanks to you." "It was a pleasure," he answered with all his European charm. "You know rln leaving for Honolulu in a couple of days for a lTIonth's vacation. You've got ninety days unlilnited credit here, and I'll be back long before that tilTIe'S up." "That's nice of you, Jon. But you didn't have to renlind Ine. You said I had it. That was good enough." Jon slniled and handed lne a slip of paper. "Here it is in writing. I don't want you to worry about financial problenls while I'm gone." "Thanks, Jon. I hope I won't need that long. Things look pretty well settled now." I shook his hand. "Good luck, and aloha." VVhen he was gone, Paul said, "That was thoughtful." "Oh, there are a lot of good people in Mexico." "Nanle five." "Paul C;olden, you are a crepe hanger." Paul reIllained cynicaL "I've just lived here longer than you have." The buzzer sounded again. "Who is it?" "Buenos elias." I t was Elsa. I grabbed IUy robe and opened the door. She was radiant in a

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green Mexican print, blew Ine a kiss upon entering, and said, "C;ood 111orning, Paul." Then she stopped to survey the suite. uS o this is a IHan's hotd rooln; It's not so different frol11111Y apartlnent." "I've got all the cornforts of hOlne," I grinned, Hexcept your aUl'lt." "You will meet Illy aunt one day and you will like her." She turned to Paul. "Did your friend Joseph fly off last night?" Paul laughed. "He flew off and the way he was flying, he prohahly heat the plane to Los Angeles." He headed for the door. "I'll give you a ring in the Illorning." "\\Tait a nlinute!" I said. "Don't be in such a hurry. Let's han.~ sOlne c()ffee together and find out what's on this young lady's 1l1ind. I couldn't get her ne:1r the hotel, and now she v.'alks brazenly into nly rooln." "You're right," Paul said, "a fellow can't he too careful." "Goodness, you nvo do In~lke IllC feel sh~lIneless," Els;l s:lid. "I C;llllC here to help you help nle. You know with Iny English I ha\'e no conildence." I took both her hands. "Your being here will help. \ \Te'll go o\'er the script word by word." I turned to Paul. "()rder SOI11e coffee and sweet rolls, will you, while I shower and get decent?" I grabhed a sport shirt :lnd sbcks, ;lnd headed for the bathrool11 as Paul called rOOI11 ser\'ice. Paul left shortly after the cakes ~lnd coffee wcre COIlSlIll1eti, ;lnd Fls;l ;lnd I S;H on the balcony and slowly reread the script. Some of Iny dialogue W;\S difficult f()r her and, word by word, I changed the lines to 1l1ake theln e;lsier. At the conclusion of t\Vo hour's work, she laughed and threw lip her hands in 1l1ock disg-lisl. "You see, I anl eenlpossible!" "Honey, you're sens~ltional. 1)on't worry about the "eelS' :lIld the "eens.' They'll disappear with practice ~lnd, anyway, as soon as ~·()ll gl:l rid of thCI11 I'll probably want your accent back for our next pichlre." "\;Ve are going to 1l1ilke another pichlre?" "vVe are going to nlake a lot of filIns." 1 put 1ny ;11'111 :lround her w;lisl and headed her for the door. "C:olne on. Let's walk over and get a couple of h;lI11hurgers." We took the elevator to the lobby where we IHlInped into l):lwson Bray. "C~ aug h t you!" I) aw son }' ell ed. " Now Y() II ' \' e hot h go t t () W () r k fo r III e for nothing!" "We would anyv.ray," I grinned, "so your sleuthing has acounplished nothing. COlne on with LIS. \\'e're headed for I Lunhurger I leaven." "I just ate," Da\vson said as he nodded to a hulking gi~lnt of:l 111;11) who spoke to hinl in passing. "\\Tho is that 6ruy?" I asked. "I sec hill1 around here :111 the tiIHe." "I-lis nanlc's Capt.lin Ferrer." "The house detective?" "The credit nlanager."

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I had to laugh. "No wonder he never speaks to me. He's an unpleasant bastard. \¥hat a face!" I slapped Dawson on the shoulder and motioned toward Elsa. "Don't let it out about 'us' until it breaks." "It's my secret," Dawson said, "and I intend to use it." Then we stepped out onto the Paseo de la Reforma, and headed down Insurgentes toward our favorite restaurant.

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the hotel every afternoon. \Ve worked hard on [he prol1unciation of the screenplay's dialogue until not one word relnained difficult for her to speak. Hank Lopez took the Saturday flight to Los Angeles to lllect with the Continental Bank group Monday Inorning. Saturday night Elsa and I went dancing at the top of the Regal-C:hapultepec. As we stepped onto the crowded dance tloor I unconsciously pulled her close, but the 1110Inent I felt her body tight against Inine I quickly pushed her away. I actually went overboard in avoiding any physical contact. In the suite I had always Inanaged to keep an absurd distance between us. I had becoille seriollsly afraid of ever hearing the word "please!" or '~don't," or even Illy 11.1111C spoken sharply. I inlagined that there was a world between us, and I wanted nothing to upset that world. Elsa offered Inc sOlncthing so very specilll I was afraid that I Inight, sOll1ehow, destroy it. When we arrived at the table it was occupied by the Arruzas. C:arlos stood to greet us. "This is an unpleasant surprise," I griInaced. "So you want to be alone. We can't let you." "I'll be delighted to learn why you can't 'let' us," I said. l'he waiters pulled up two extra chairs and we sat down. "Because we are going to Acapulco for
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floor, and we both spoke to hiln. But he returned our greetings with an icy stare. "Captain," I said, "the lady spoke to you." Captain Ferrer glared at me, glanced at Elsa, and reluctantly offered, "Buenos dias." Then I took Elsa's ann and crossed the lobby. "Now that boy has a lot of chann!" **********

Sunday afternoon we went boating in Chapultepec Park. It was a wonderfully sunny day and I needed the exercise. That night, for the first time in months, I went to bed physically tired. It was a healthy feeling. I had been asleep for several hours when the ringing of the telephone awakened me. I looked at my wrist watch. It was 3 a.m. Monday. I picked up the receiver. It was Elsa. She was in tears. "Honey, they did it to me!" "Did what?" She was really sobbing. "EXITO! They printed pictures of us all over the front page. They say that we are having an affair." I sat bolt upright in bed. "What in the hell is EXITO?" "It's a newspaper. A ... how do you say ... scandal sheet." "It certainly must be!" "It's ... it's terrible!" "Now look, honey, calm down. I'll send for the damn thing, and call you right back." I hung up, called downstairs and ordered a copy of EXITO. "Good Lord!" I couldn't believe the headlines. "ELSA AND HER DIRECTOR!" There were two big pictures of Elsa and a smaller cheesecake of Debra. On the second page was the story which stated simply that Senorita Cardenas was spending her honeynloon in my suite at the Regal-Chapultepec-a trifle before the marriage. I felt sick at nly stolnach. Crawling out of bed, I washed my face in icy water and then called her back. She was still sobbing. "Sweetheart," I pleaded, "take it easy." "How can I take it easy? My mother wilL .. " I was horri fied! "Your 1110the1-! You never told me you had a mother!" "She's in San Francisco," she explained. "She will die!" "Here we go again!" I thought. How stupid of me not to consider that Elsa had a I1l0ther. I crossed it off as wishful thinking.

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"And Illy sister. She was the one \vho called." "Your sister!" "Sh' e sa 1awyer. " "That figures," I let slip accidentally. rrhc bottoln fell out of Illy IlCW world. Mothers, aunts, sisters who were lawyers. C;ood L()rd~ I quickly pulled together Iny shattered ncrvcs and cOlnposcd Illy voicc ... Fls~l, you and I know we haven't done anything wrong." "But nobody else knows!" "Well, honey, what would you like Inc to do?" "I don't know what anybody can do. This just can't happen to nlc~" "Well, it did," I replied soberly, "'and it's Iny fault. Now let's both cllIn down and figure a way to rellledy things. Does your attorney-sister speak English?" "And French and Italian." "I should have guessed." "\Vhat?" "Look, Elsa, I'll call your sister." "What can you say?" "I don't know. If she's as intelligent as she sounds, nlaybc the truth will work. '-''hat's her nunlber?" I reached across the night table, and wrote it down. "\Vh~lt's her n.lIne? Licenciada Ojeda? Can't I just call her Senora? C;ood, I'll call you right back." I hung up and stepped out of bed. "Brother!" I thought, "this is the prize of all tiIne." I walked to the window and took a big hre~lth of icy earlY-lllorning air. Then I glanced back at the phone. It looked black ,Ind OIllinOllS. I \\'alked over, picked it up, and asked for the nUInber. "Senora Ojeda?" "Quien habla?" "Pernlit me to introduce Illyself," I began fo rIll a lIy. I heard her laugh. "Good Illorning," she began. "At this hour] don't hclieve that will be necessary. After what Elsa has told 111C about you, I rather expected you to call." I looked uncertainly at the receiver. "Senora ()jeda, I can't tell you how sorry I anl about the filth in that newspaper." "My husband and] are sorry too. YVc know how 1l1uch it h,lS upset' hoth you and Elsa." "Of course there's not a word of truth in it." "The truth never appears in that kind of trash, and I never considered that there was any truth in the story. My sister ~lnd I arc very close." I bit Iny tongue. But, hell, what do you say in a situation like this? I cleared Iny throat. "Your sister and I have been working vcry hard ... "

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"That's what Elsa has told me. Please don't be concerned about my reaction to this ... this thing. Elsa's life is her own to do with as she pleases. If you have chosen each other to be friends, both my husband and I are anxious to meet you. Perhaps you will be kind enough to join us for dinner later in the week." "I will be delighted. Thank you." "It was very considerate of you to call. Do you intend to speak to Elsa again this l11orning?" "Inlmediately." "Then please give her our love and tell her to get some sleep. And thank you for calling. Good night." "Good night, Senora Ojeda." I lay on Iny stomach on the bed feeling, somehow, that I'd been outwitted. That family was too much. Every time I thought I had Elsa, temporarily, figured ... The phone rang. It was Elsa. "Hi," she said. "Hello, honey." "I'In sorry I acted so silly. It's nobody's business what we do. Don't call my sister." "I already did." "Oh?" "She speaks absolutely beautiful English." "Well, she's a lawyer." "She sure as hell is." "What?" "Elsa, it's four o'clock. Get some sleep. I'll call you at six tonight. We'll have dinner wherever you like. Incidentally, your sister was wonderful." "She's very pretty." "I'll bet she is." "So is my mother." "There are no pretty mothers," I mumbled. "What?" "Good night, Elsa." I hung up, then rang downstairs for some coffee. I struggled to my senses as the telephone rang. The sun was streaking in through the balcony when I opened my eyes. It was 9 a.m. The empty coffeepot was on the night table. The cup was on the floor. I picked up the phone. It was a call frOIn Perez-Tello and Duval. They were downstairs. "Okay," I mumbled, "CaIne on up." I staggered out of bed, opened the hall door, crossed into the bathrooln and turned on the shower. When I reentered the living room, they were there. "Good morning," I said. "You boys are up early." "We wanted to see you," Duval offered, "before Mr. Lopez has the meeting in I-Iollywood with your bank."

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I had been expecting this since the very beginning. "You can get right to the point, A10nsieur Duval," I suggested. "Well," Perez-Tello took over, "we've been thinking over the weekend that it Blight be a good idea to revert back to the original five percent." "Have you been thinlcing with Quintin?" "I-Ie's out of town, but as you know ... " "\\lhatever you boys decide is all right with hiln," I concluded. "More or less," confinned Perez-Tello. "All right, boys," I said, "what is it?" "Well, we figure the picture B1ight not Inake as rnuch as we ()riginall~' thought, so we'll go back to the five percent." I stood up. "And?" "And we want fifty thousand dollars under the table." "Your tilning is beautiful, gentlelnen. Head for the halL" Perez-Tello stood up and backed toward the door. "Now wait a Ininute. \ Ve can negotiate!" Monsieur Duval Inoved in beside hil11. "\Vc could Blake it fortyfive thousand. That's just fifteen apiece." I stepped in front of thein, bristling. "You've got exactly tlfteen to get out of n1y sight!" Duval opened the hall door behind hinl .1S I counted, "()ne ... two ... " By "three" they were gone. I walked into the bathroolll and spit up SOllle coffee. 'rhe phone rang again. The voice at the other end of the line said, "l'his is (:aptain Ferrer." ""les, C.. aptaln. ." "You are aware that you owe this hotel forty-two thousand pesos." "I certainly an1," 1 replied. "And when Inight we expect paYlnent?" "Before the credit extended to Ine by Mr. Swenson is duc." "As far as 1'111 concerned, it is due now." "Captain," I continued slowly, punctuating each word carcfull}', hI'vc just had a very unpleasant business experience, and I don't Illcan this to sound offensive, hut this is no day for jokes." "The forty-two thousand is no joke, sir." "I have sixty-three Inore days left in which to pay." "You have no tinle left." "Mr. Swenson assured Ine that there would he no problclll while he was gone. I have a note guaranteeing nle ... " "That note is worth exactly the cost of the paper. I aln in charge now. You have exactly one-half hour." "To raise forty-two thousand pesos?" "Yes."

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"At seven o'clock in the morning-Los Angeles time?" "Right." "Or?" "Or you're going to jail." "On what charge?" "Fraud." "Fraud? Are you crazy, Captain? Fraud IS when you try to bilk someone-when you're dishonest." "I think you're dishonest, sir." 1 knew the second I opened my mouth 1 was wrong, but I couldn't help it. 1 blew. "Listen you slob! You put me in jail if you want to, but just do me one favor. You, personally, be the one to come up here and get me. And you'd better bring a fuclcin' army!" 1 slamnled down the receiver and had just started brushing my teeth when there was a pounding on the door. It couldn't have been two minutes later, but there was the "fuckin' army" I'd requested: six armed policemen with white nightsticks and revolvers. But instead of the Captain, a stranger pushed his way into the room. "Vamonos!" he ordered. He was a big bastard with a broken nose and a pair of bent ears. He'd have been pretty hard to handle alone. With the army it would have been suicide. "Valnonos, chingado!" he repeated. "I beg your pardon?" 1 replied. "Hijo de tu puta madre!" 1 tried to look blank. He tried again with added zest. "Vamonos, cabron!" I fought to look blanker. He switched to English. "You no good sonofabitch, let's go!" \Vhat killed me was that it was good English, without a trace of an accent. So I asked him, "Where?" "You know 'where! '" "1' d like to shave." W-rhey'll shave you where you're going, you Hollywood prick!" I resented his reference to the town I love and felt the hair stand on the back of Iny neck, but I didn't budge. He tried another approach. "Weren't you married to an actress? All actresses are whores!" l~hat did it. "Look, Buster, you're wasting your time. You want me to punch you now! Forget it! I B1ade that picture. But send your gang out in the hall, and we'll see if you're so brave." "I'll break you in two, you Hollywood shit!" I-Ie gave Ine a sudden push against the wall. I felt the back of my skull crunch against the plaster and for a second the room went black. I shook my head to clear

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my vision. "Don't touch Ine again," I said. Captain Ferrer appeared in the doorway. "Please get dressed. Everything will remain in your room just as you leave it." I slipped on a pair of slacks, a sport shirt, socks and shoes. 'rhen, without thinking, I walked into the hall-coatless in DeceInber. A policelnan grahbed Illy belt at the back and pulled up hard. I was pushed into the sen'ice elevator to avoid a scene in the lobby, but there was a good crowd on the sidewalk v.'hen three policemen shoved me into the back seat of an annorcd jeep. Bent E~lrs 1l1()vcd in beside me. "Look at my hands," he snarled, pushing thenl forward for 1l1C to sec. They were scarred and Inany-tinles broken; and puffed up at the knuckles. ""I'd like to use these on you, you gringo son-of-a-bitch!" he said with feeling. "V\That have you got against gringos?" "You're all dirty sons-of-bitches!" "You're in a rut." "V\That?" I shook my head. "You're also one lovely ad for a beautiful country," 1 added. He may have understood n1e as there was no 11l0re conversation while the jeep made its way through the ITIorning traffic. The jail was in a slnall, beat-up section of the city. It had been painted green many years before, but now the gray dirt of the plaster showed through the tbrk walls. I didn't remember that it was close to ChristIllas, and that it was cold, until 1 was pushed through a dank alleyway to the <.:rowded booking rOOIll. "\\That in the devil are you doing here?" ()uintin I-lidalgo asked. 'rhe ;lttorney leaned against the plaster wall and lit a cigarette. "Just doing a little research," I answered. "I thought you were out of town." "I got back an hour ago," he grinned. "Seriously, what is it?" "Your guess is as good as 111ine. l'he hotel clainls it's frauJ." Quintin was shocked. "That's absurd!" "()f course it's absurd, but you tell 'CIll." Captain Ferrer entered the office and I nodded toward hiI11. "There's your boy, Quintin. A~k hilll." Quintin took the C:aptain aside and they whispered for a Ill0I11enl; then the lawyer strode back to 111e. "I-Ie clainls that you have refused to pay your hotel hill." "That's not true," I cOlnplained. "I h~lven't refused. I just don't h~lve the Inoney at this 1110lnent and I have ninety days unlilllited credit, in writing, with sixty-three lTIOre to go." Quintin waved his hand. "'Forget that," he said. Then: wrhis could he serious. Let me dictate a confession and I'll try to get you out of here." "What do you Inean, a 'confession?'" "Well, the truth of the whole Iness."

CHAPTER

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"Christ, Quintin, then say 'truth,' not 'confession!'" Quintin walked over to a court stenographer and dictated a full fifteenIninute "confession." As unbelieveable as it seenled, I realized, altnost too suddenly, just what was going on. VVhen the lawyer finished dictating I stepped next to hiln and said, "You're pretty well up on this case, aren't you, Quintin?" "Routine ... nothing more," he replied, and handed Ine the papers. "Sign here ... and here ... and here, your full legal name, and your mother's Inaiden name after yours." I hurriedly scanned the papers. They did state, merely, that I owed the Regal-Chapultepec the Inoney and intended to pay the hotel as soon as possible. Now, again, I was confused. The papers looked all right. I hadn't expected that. It took Ine a minute to figure out whether my mother's tnaiden nanle was Naas or Nass. I settled for Naas, and handed the pen back to Quintin. "Seen your friends lately?" I asked. He glanced at his pocket to carefully insert the fountain pen. "\Vhich friends?" he asked. "Perez-Tello and Duval." "Not lately," he answered, smiling. "How are they?" "They were on the move the last time I saw them." Quintin couldn't help the fact that his smile exploded into a wide grin. Now I was certain of the truth. The lawyer leaned closer. "How Inuch money do you really have?" he asked. "Let's start with nothing." Quintin frowned. "Well, money's not really that important. Maybe you can think of sOlnething to put up for a loan. I can always raise ... money." He 'threw' the next lines beautifully 'away' as he stepped into the exit doorway. "Think about it. You can always put up a percentage of your picture." I watched hiIll disappear around the corner of the building and then felt a sharp jab in nly kidneys. "Vamos!" a voice ordered. I turned just as the policeman jabbed again, so this tinle it was in the stomach. It wasn't difficult to get his message and I stepped back out into the gray-green alleyway. Two other officers Inoved in to join the first one. All three looked as if they expected me to give them trouble. A little man walked up to us and produced a ring of gigantic keys. We followed him to a heavy nletal door which he unlocked and swung open. I stepped in just before the inevitable push, and the heavy door clanged shut behind Ine. The cell was small and oblong, but at least twenty feet high. In a corner of the cell was a hole surrounded by filth. The stench was overpowering. There was nothing to sit on except the stone floor, but it was covered with white lime, and newly wet. Ten feet above the door was a small open hole for ventilation. Suddenly I had the one thought that probably saved my sanity. I wondered what

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Randolph Scott would do in a siruation like this. In all the pictures we'd 11lade together we'd always tried to be "brave." vVe kidded about that. \\fell, this sure as the devil was the test. I burst out laughing, but quickly discovered that it was too cold to laugh. I glanced at Illy watch. It was 10: 17 in the nlorning. I ccrt.linly wasn't looking forward to the night. I began to swing Illy anllS and walk in a circle around the cell. The night! I did a mental double-take. "Tonight," I thought, "I've got a haolburger date with Elsa."

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that I glanced at my wrist watch for the thousandth tinle. It was 7 :45, and it looked as if Illy hamburger date with Elsa was off. I was already Mexico-late. During nly years in Hollywood I had directed three prison pictures, and had spent nlany hours talking to the prisoners. One of the first things I learned was that Inost prisoners declined to wear watches because, after the first few days, they didn't want to know what tiIne it was. The awareness of the passing hours was as brutal to them as the Chinese water torture. Each Ininute spent behind bars hit as heavily on the convict's thoughts as each brain-piercing drop of water. But I wanted to know what tinle it was. I wanted to study each lost lllOlnent as it passed by. I wasn't going to be in jail for long; I did have sonle place to go, and I had done nothing to deserve this punishluent. And then I wondered if that was what they all thought at first. I ITIoved around the cell a little faster as the increasing cold cut deep into my nerves like a pUl1tilla, then reversed Iny field and began to circle the enclosure in the opposite direction. Long hours before, the wet liIHe on the stone floor had eaten its iciness through the soles of Illy shoes and socks. My feet were numb and I was forced to push thenl and drag them, not lift theIn, over the slippery floor. I decided that it was best not to think about Iny feet at all. I looked up at the one big light on the ceiling and wondered when they turned it off. Or, worse still, what would I do if they left it on hour after hour, day after day? Day after day! I wished I hadn't thought of that. Unexpectedly Iny nalne was called. The pronunciation was in perfect English. I tl10ved quickly to the door. "Yes? " "Senor, I aln a guard here. My name is Jose Morales." The voice sounded

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hollow through the heavy steel. "\¥hat can I do for you?" "Hello, Jose," I said, "let's take it from the top. You can get Ine out of here." "That's impossible." "Then you tell Ine, Jose." "Are you cold?" "Freezing!" "Are you hungry?" "Starved~ " "Have you made the call allowed to your attorney?" "No!" I shouted. "I'll be right back." "] ose?" "Yes, senor?" "No B1atter what, it's good to hear a friendly voice. But why are you trying to help me?" There was a long pause, then: "Senor, I used to work in 'rijuan~L One day I saw you kill a bull in a benefit con'ida with Arruza and Silverio. Part of the 1110ney froln the beneficio paid for an operation on Iny little boy's leg. Now he walks like I do. Thank you, Senor." Then I heard the sound of Jose's booted footsteps grow diIllIllcr and fin;ll1y disappear altogether. I began once Inure to circle the cdl and tlail Illy anllS. During the short conversation with Jose, the cold had really caught up with Inc. I tried to dog-trot, but nly feet weren't that nU111b. l~he sensation of needles pricking up through Iny ankles as Illy heels hit down hard onto the stones caused IllC to slow back to a walk. The sound of a key clanking into the lock turned Jlle back to the big door ~lS an old 1nan swung it open and ordered "Pase!" I shuffled out into the corridor. "This way, gringo!" I glanced in the direction of the hostile voice. It caIne fronl ;l h,lIHlsoJ11e guard in heavy boots who turned his head away frolll the old Jllan and nodded slightly. I stared back, deadpan, and then followed Jose down the corridor toward the lights of the office. I was surprised that Jose had allowed Ine to walk hehind until I noticed the shadowy figures of the other guards standing along the <.brk walls. I was strangely anlused to see the open gate to the street not twenty yards away_ I wondered how 111aI1Y drunks and idiots had tricd to Inakc th.a tCll1ptingly open gate. "What's the nUlnber, 111ister?" Josc asked as he stepped into the booking rOOll1. I stopped by the wall telephone and gave Jose Elsa's phone nUJnber. "Ask for Licenciado Cardenas," I suggested, then thought I caught a flicker of a sillile on Jose's face. But I wasn't sure. Jose dialed, then handed the receiver to lllC while he lit a cigarette.

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"Speak English," he said quietly. "Nobody here does but me." "Licenciado? " "Licenciado! Darling, where are you? 1 called the hotel and they said that you had checked out." "Well, that's a friendly way of putting it. I'm in jail." "J al'I'. Wh at Jal . '1'" , "1 have a friend here who will tell you. I am starving. I am freezing and laIn attorney-less. Get me a good one quick." "I'll be there with my brother-in-law right away." "Keep your falnily out of this, Elsa. And you stay away, too! They'll recognize you." "I'll get another lawyer, but I'm going over there right now!" "Honey, I've got enough problems!" "Your problems are mine." "Well, wear dark glasses ... " "I can't see well enough with clear glasses." "Your time is up, mister," Jose scowled as a lieutenant of police entered the office. He took the telephone from me and repeated the jail's number, district and address, slowly, three times, then hung the receiver back onto the hook. Then he led me along the corridor between the lines of police. The old man opened the cell door and Jose shoved me in, hard, for the benefit of the lurking shadows. 1 heard the muted sound of liquored laughter as the door clanked shut behind me. **********

It was 9: 15. By this time 1 was finally ready to throw my watch away, but then I heard footsteps and Elsa's voice. "Abra la puerta, par favor." "Senorita Cardenas, el reglamento no 10 permite." Then I heard Jose's voice. "Abra la puerta, viejo!" The old man rurned the key in the lock, and Elsa, Fernando Elizondo and a stranger in a neat business suit walked into the cell. Jose closed the cell door, and the old man locked it. Elsa handed the two cartons of steaming coffee to Fernando, and rushed into my arms. "D ar I'Ing ... w hy ... w hy.'" I held her tight against me for a moment. "1 told you that it might get tougher," I said, "and it did." I rurned to Fernando. "Well, this is a hell of a place to meet old friends," Fernando Elizondo was an old and true friend. 1 had known him since he was a 11Ovillero-the handsomest young torero in Mexico. And just as good. But he

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had a way with the ladies, an anilnal fascination that sinlply slayed theill. It also slayed his bullfighting career, silnply. But he had worked with Ine on Iny last two Mexican productions using his un hidden chann to lure the actresses onto the set-on tilne. Right now he was laden down with food, coffee, blankets and t\\'o heavy sweaters. SOInehow he Inanaged to free a hand. "It was in the evening papers," he said bitterly. ""fhat (iod dalnned hotel must need the publicity. I called Elsa right after you did." He turned to the man in the business suit. "l'his is Licenciado Ciucrrero. He's one of the best lawyers in Mexico." The attorney and I shook hands. Fernando pulled out SOBle newspapers fr0l11 beneath his coat and placed them on the dalnp floor with the blankets on top. \/Ve all four sat down facing each other. "You've thought of everything, Fernando," I said gratefully. The tore1~O sIniled. "I've been in here now and then." I bit into a hot ham and turkey fortn and took a welcOIllC swallow of the steaming coffee. "Senor," Licenciado Guerrero began, "the newspapers declare that you arc in here for fraud." "You know that's absurd." "Of course I do. That's why rill here." "Well, Licenciado, how do we lick it?" "It's not too difficult for us to lick it, but it will take a little tilllC." I glanced apprehensively at the stack of sandwiches, fruit and the big bottle of water. "How nluch tilne?" 1 asked. "I don't know how aware you are of Mexican law." "I don't know anything about Mexican law," I ::HlIllitted. "I've never brokl:n any of your laws-before." "Well, here in Mexico once a person is fonnally ilccused ilnd booked into j;lil, he is guilty until proven innocent." "That bastard!" 1 said, thinking inlIllediately of the "confession" ()uintin h~l(l gotten nle to sign. Guerrero stood up. "There is a lady present," he announced stiffly. I bounded to Iny feet feeling like a chastised child. I didn't need this! "Oh, for C:hrist's sake! The lady present is the lady I respect IBore than anyone else in the world. That's the way I talk and, if you're going to handle this case, you'd better get used to it or ... " I turned to Fernando, "get 111e another hoy." Elsa's voice was unusually cOInlnanding. "Por favor, Liccnciado!" Guerrero sat back down. "Excuse Inc, Senor, it's just that here in Mexico we have a different way of speaking."

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I felt like the Illost uncouth, vulgar son-of-a-... gun in the ... jail. So I Inellowed and forced a smile. "And your way is more polite, Licenciado." I leaned across and kissed Elsa on the cheek. God, how I admired that girl! She seelned even more of a woman as she sat close to me on the cold stone floor. Turning back to 111y new attorney I said, "It's your case now, and, as I was asking, how l1luch time?" Guerrero cleared his throat. "You must spend a Ininimum of seventy-two hours in prison after your case is tried before a judge." "Three days after.' You Inean even if the judge rules that I am innocent?" "Yes, sir." I glanced at Elsa. "Well, I'll be a ... " Guerrero cut in. "We can Inove you to the Procuraduria, the downtown detention center, perhaps tonight. Then tomorrow, or in a couple of days, you will be transferred to the Federal Prison. I'm pretty close to all the judges there, and I think I can hurry up your trial." I was flabbergasted, figuring already that with perfect luck I had to spend at least five days and five nights behind bars. "Look, Licenciado, let's cut out all this wishful thinking. What's the worst that can happen to me?" "If the judge rules you innocent, you can possibly be out on the street in six, or let's say seven or eight days, at the most, with good luck." "That's just wonderful," I said gritting my teeth. "And your way is the only way?" "The only way." Guerrero rubbed his chin and looked around the cell. "Why did they put you in this particular cell? Did you sign anything?" "Yes," I answered guiltily, "a statement of the truth of my debt to the hotel." "\\Tho Inade it out for you?" "Quintin Hidalgo." "Hidalgo! \\lhy Hidalgo?" "We used to be business associates. We had a deal on Arruza that didn't quite work out." It was obvious that Guerrero didn't like the looks of things. "How did I-lidalgo know that you were here?" It was a painful grin. "He has a nose for news," I said. Then: "Senor Guerrero, has Senorita Cardenas told you that I have nothing left in Mexico except nly motion picture and my Rolls-Royce?" "Senorita Cardenas has told me nothing." "Well, do you believe what I've just told you?" "Yes. " "You don't want a percentage of my picture as payment for getting me out of here, do you?"

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Licenciado Guerrero looked hurt. "I will accept a nOrIllal fcc for Illy services when you are able to pay Ine, nothing 1110re." "And your normal fee is ... ?" "From three to seven thousand pesos, according to the tiIlle spent." I offered my hand to the attorney. "Good, now 1'111 sure \\'c understand each other." He stood up. "I'll go in the office and look over what you signed, and then 111ake a few calls." He turned and banged on the cell door. Elsa reached for my hand. "I'll stay with you," she said. "Let us not push our luck, Senorita," Guerrero cautioned. "\\'c want as little notoriety as possible." I helped her to her feet. "Go ahead, honey. I'll still he here when ~'()U get h'lck. n She smiled for the first time. "You are eenlpossible!" she said, and kissed 111(,: on the nose. I slipped into both sweaters Fernando held out for nle and bit into ~1 second torto. The cell door opened. "This won't take long," Guerrero said. "Mexican time or Alnerican?" The attorney actually snliled. "An hour or 1v/0 at the nlost," he pn)]nised. I glanced at my watch as I was left alone. 1twas 9:23. * ** ** ** ** *

It wasn't exactly one or two hours later. It was exactly 2: 17 a.nl. when the old man again rurned the key in the lock of the cell door. Now Illy feet didn't bother me at all because my whole body, in spite of the sweaters and blankets, \vas nUlllb with cold. Jose led Inc down the dark corridor and back again into the office where I was nlet by Licenciado Guerrero. "M eXlcan '. . " I can filrITIe d . tnne, Guerrero shrugged and handed Inc SOIlle nl0rc papers to sign. "l1crc, ~lnd here, and here, and there," he pointed to the spots .1nd rClninded 1l1C to follow Illy name with Iny mother's nlaiden nanle. There \vas a r110111cnt of indecision again between Naas and Nass. Then 1 signed the dOCull1cnts ,lnd followed Jose and Iny' attorney out to the street. The Rolls-Royce was parked at the curb in front of the jail. Elsa sat in the back seat, Fernando in the front. Pepe jUlllped over to open the door for 111e. "Good evening, sir," he grinned. "Hello, Pepe. This is the longest evening I've ever spcnt." I stepped into the back seat and laughed at the ,lhsolute absurdity of tra\'dingto prison in a Rolls-Royce.

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Elsa snuggled close. "How are you, darling?" "Cold, hungry again, and frankly concerned." Jose lTIoved into the back seat next to me. Guerrero jumped into the front and explained: "This guard is the jail's assurance that you will be properly delivered to the P1I"ocuraduria." "I feel like a 'parcel post,'" I remarked hollowly, then rurned to srnile at Jose as Pepe pulled away from the curb. "You know, of course, that if it hadn't been for ... " I caught the warning in Jose's eyes and changed the grateful tone of my voice, " ... this guard I might not have been able to get in touch with anybody.'~ Guerrero nodded. "There are many good people in Mexico." "There are many good people all over the world," I agreed. "Isn't it a lousy shame that we have to run across so many bad ones?" My list was growing. Pepe glided the Rolls to a stop in front of Mexico City's new Procllradzl1 ia. It was a beautiful building situated on the Calle de los Ninos Heroes, named after the little Mexican heroes who, supposedly, wrapped in Mexican flags in defiance of the Army of the United States, threw themselves off the castle's parapets to glorify, in death, the Battle of Chapultepec. I was soon to learn that, if the boys had spent any tinle in the new P1-ocllraduriu, they would have jumped from there first. I shook hands with Pepe, who looked as if he wanted to cry, and then walked into the concrete latticework outer patio with Elsa, Fernando and Guerrero. "I'm sure I can have you out of here the day after tOlTIOrrOW, but it was too late to make any arrangements at the Federal Prison," Guerrero explained. "Well, in the meantilne, Licenciado," I said, "I hope you and 1 are going to see a lot of each other." I nodded toward Jose. "Someone please take care of this gentleman for me. It's nearly Christmas." "I will, darling," Elsa promised. I offered my hand to F emando. "Thanks, matador." We shook hands, and he glanced at my wrist. "Let me keep your wedding ring and your watch," he suggested. "They'll gang up on you in the Federal and steal your loose teeth. Do you have anything else?" "Only my 'Guadalupe,' Fernando," I replied, "but it's welded on. I'nl afraid they're going to have to kill me to get that. And come to think of it, I still want to know what time it is. Here, just hang onto my ring." Fernando shook his head wisely. "They'll take the medal and the watch away frall1 you. Believe me!" "Maybe," I said, and turned to tilt Elsa's chin up so that I could kiss her. "Goodnight, sweetheart." Then I turned and followed Jose through a heavily barred glass door. The sound of the door closing behind me echoed throughout the spotlessly clean Procuraduria. As we walked along the tile hallway I whispered, "Thank you, Jose. I won't ever forget this." A

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"lowe you lnuch 1l10re," Illy friend replied. ~~And don't worry about your watch and the 'Guadalupe.' You will Ineet Inen where you are going who will adlnire and respect you." He stepped aside and ushered l1le into the ProclI 1"lldu ria :" shiny hooking r00I11. I signed Illy nanle three Inore tilnes, nodded to Jose, and carried Iny blankets through a door opened by a husky, young, kh,lki-uniforlllcd guard who tnotioned for Ine to precede hilll down the glaringly bright corridor. I glanced into the lighted cells as I walked along. There were only a fe\\' prisoners, ,111 of thern dressed in street clothes. Only two were sleeping under blankets. 'rhe cells were slnall and spotless, \vith four bunks: two lowers and two uppers. 'rhe Inen without blankets slept under and on top of newspapers. ()ne group of three shared a lo\ver bunk in each other's anns. The bunk above thetn was ctnpty. (lnly one of the prisoners bothered to look out at Ine as I passed. "A{lUi," the guard said. I stopped. He produced a key froln his helt and opened the cell gate. I was glad to see that the cell was eillpty. And 1 was prepared to he pushed, but I wasn't. The guard said, "Buenas noches," and was quiet as he closed the stecl-harn:d door. I glanced at the four el11pty canvas bunks and quickly 1l1ade Ill)' choice. I threw my blankets on an upper, and vaulted up to land with a bone-shattering, jarring crash. The "canvas" was solid concrete. It was a long 1l101l1ent before I was able to collect 111y senses. "No wonder they're so nice in here," I thought. "\\'ith any luck YOll can kill yourself." I lay on Illy back under the blankets and itl1lncdiately realized that this was a Inistake. l--hen, kneeling to fold one of the covers in half to fit benc~lth tnc, I carcfully lay back down. On the white ceiling above Iny f'lce, hundreds of n~lIllCS h:HI been tnatch-burned onto the concrete. Unconsciously 1 hegan to rC~HI then1. When I caIne to the nicknalne, "EI Soldado," I sllliled and wondered if it belonged to Luis Castro, "El Soldado," the great Mexican torero. Knowing Luis well, 1 was alrnost certain that it did. My tailbone had .llrcady pushed irs way through the doubled-over blanket, so I tnaneuvcred another one heneath Jl1C. I tried to find a spot on the ceiling to burn Illy ~~autograph" if SOlllconc showed up with saIne Inatches, but it was pretty well filled. \VeIl, I'd think ahout th~lt tOlllO)"row. Tonlorrow! That was a very unpleasant thought. And anyway, it W.1S already today. Down the cellblock I heard a boy crying. l~hen a rough voice advised hilll to Callate-to shut up. At 4: 15 I sat up as the guard ushered a bloody-faced youth into the cell. lie was comparatively well dressed, but his dark suit was a nless, and he had a freshly swollen eye in the process of turning black. I-lolding a once-v,lhite h~lndkcn:hicf to his very bloody nose, he glanced at Ille with the natural distaste of the young, then struggled onto the other top bunk to sit with his hack against the wall.

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I studied the boy for a beat then, noticing that the kid was shaking with cold, I tossed him a blanket. He said nothing, wrapped himself in the cover, and continued to stare at his bloody hands and the red-damp handkerchief. Finally: "You have a cigarette, mister?" "I'ln sorry, I don't." The kid looked across at Ine for a moment, then reached into his pocket and produced a fresh pack and some matches. I declined his offer of a cigarette which seenled to shock hiln. Lighting one for himself he smoked for awhile in silence, then said silnply: "I beat up my girl." IOU mean you won.' " "V The boy nodded. "That's what the cops said. Her name's Dulce Maria. I'm just crazy about that chick." "Naturally. \Vhy else would you beat her up?" The kid seemed to agree. "Well, don't you want to know if she's hurt?" "If you want to tell me." "She isn't." "That figures." The boy's nose stopped bleeding, and he neatly folded his handkerchief and placed it back into his coat pocket, four bloody corners pointing upward. "Did you ever fight with a dame?" he asked. "I've fought with them and over them. 'Over thein's' easier, kid. That way . " you can win. The boy felt his nose. "How come dames can do anything to you, an' you can't lay a finger on 'em?" "Because they're the weaker sex." The boy said "oh" as if I had actually figured it out. Then he looked up from his hands. "My girl's name is Dulce Maria." "That's a pretty name," I answered to soothe his wounds, then rolled over onto my back and closed my eyes. At 10 a.ln. a new guard walked into the cellblock and shouted "Naas!" I opened nly eyes. "Naas, vamos!" he shouted again. I finally got the Inessage and slid off the bunk. The guard swung the cell door open and Inotioned me to tl10ve on down the hall. We passed through three barred gates before we entered an ilTIll1aculate office section. The guard unlocked another heavy steel door and shoved Ine inside. "Cinco minutos," he said. It was a pitch-black cell until the lights flashed on. I glanced around. It was also spotless. Henry Ehrlich's voice passed through a steel Inesh across froln nle. I rnoved toward it where, my nose up against the steel, I could see Henry, Hank Lopez, Paul, Fernando, Pepe and Licenciado Guerrero. It seemed as if I should say "Good Inorning, fellows," so I did. Henry's face looked as if he were the one

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behind bars. "Good 1110rning," he said. "1'111 not going to ask you how you feel." "Oh, hell, Henry. 1'111 all right. It's just a little cold and uncolnt(>rtablc, th~lt's all." Hank Lopez stepped forward. "Look," he began, "we just caine frolll thc Regal-Chapultepec, and if we can raise one thous;1IHI dollars the hotel will withdraw the charges. So, we're going to raise the Illone), this ~lftern()()n." Licenciado Guerrero Inoved in. "\Ve']) get you 1l1oyed to the Federal Prison tonight or t0l1l0rrOW and then, since the Illoney frenl1 your friends will pro\'e th~lt there was never any attenlpt to defraud, you should, with any luck in getting to the judge, be out on the street in seventy-tvvo hours." I gritted nly teeth. "Liccnciado," I said slowly, uwhen is the trial?" "Oh," C;uerrero answered cheerfully, "we'll know that today or tOl1l0rrow. Don't worry. You'll be out of prison before you know it." "I'll know it," I said. Fernando held up a newspaper. "You're the biggest thing since ',\1anoletc. '" "Or A1 Capone," I suggested. The front page was a beauty with a gigantic photogr.lph of Elsa .111<.1 Ine dining together. The headlines stated the truth: that I was in jail :111 right hut, hetween the lines, I read that the editor sort of hoped I was guilty. H'!el-Y preu-y," I said. "We just got a call fr0111 Don Luis Bueno," I lank cut in. ""It secnlS he's reread Arrllza and Blight want to negotiate a deal with you and help get you out of ;111 this trouble." Jesus~ Hollywood below the border! I had to slllile. "Of course you fellows are going to put all the dcals I'll be offered while rIll in here in alphabetical order?" "We've already started with Bueno," Paul interjected. I Ie thcn slipped :1 rolled-up wad of ten-peso notes through the grating. "Fernando says to hide these . your sh " In oes. I thanked Paul and rurned to Fernando. "I-low's Elsa?" "She's fine, hut worried sick." "She wanted to COIne with us," llank explained, "hut I didn't think it a good idea." "You're right," I agreed. "Keep her away froln here and any place else they Inight ship Inc." A fist banged against the cell door. "'fhar's your ren-second w~lrlling," Fernando advised. "Well, I hope it's a good fight," I sellli-kidded. "Sce YOll, and thanks." The door opened and I followed the guard hack to Illy cell where, hesides the bloody-nosed kid, there were three new prisoners. 'rhey \vcrc littlc, hur obviously

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tough. "They each had one of my blankets. I held out Iny hand. One of the 11len stood up. "Look Illy nose," he said gruffly. "I good fighter." "I good fighter too," I said quietly. "But my nose has been fixed, buster, and I outweigh you thirty pounds." --rhe little fell?w looked me over for a I1l0ment, then burst out laughing. "Un 1JlflCbo!" he exclailTIed, and he gathered up all three blankets, and handed theln back to Ine. 1 couldn't help grinning as I folded the blankets onto the two lower bunks, then lTIotioned for the three of them to sit down. The bloody-nosed kid renlained "upstairs" alone. "You got smoke?" the boxer said. I shook Iny head. The little pug pointed to the kid in the upper bunk. "He got?" I shrugged. So did the pug and then, after nodding to his cOlTIpanions, all three of thenl each offered me a cigarette frOlTI their fresh, nearly full, individual packages. I was learning a valuable lesson in jail survival. I had never smoked, but I decided to try to fake it. The boxer helped Ine light up, then smiled as I nearly choked. "You famous movie Inan?" he asked. "I used to Inake pictures," I admitted. "We three famous." "Really?" I said. "Good." "I go four rounds with Sugar Ray Robinson." I grinned back sincerely. "I've met a lot of boys who went less." The boxer pointed to one of his friends. "He live!" "Hell," I said, "we all live. " "Not like hilll." lIe Inade a hand signal to his friend who immediately pulled up his sweater. liis stomach was a cOlnplete ITIaSS of scar tissue. "He take two forty-fives in guts," the boxer explained. "Jesus!" I said, then unconsciously glanced at the third boy to try to guess his clainl to faille. The boxer caught Iny look and snapped his fingers. The fellow unbuttoned his fly. I couldn't believe it. "Holy ... ! He's not a man, he's a horse!" rrhe boxer nodded in agreenlent. "Ees hees na'me, Caballo Santos." T'hen all three of them relaxed to contemplate their individuality. So I joined thenl. There sure as hell wasn't anything else to do. **********

I lay on Iny stolnach on a top bunk. Beneath me were half a dozen newspapers that only helped a little to keep Iny bones from digging into the concrete. I

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wore both sweaters, but I had lent two of Illy blankets to Illy cell-111~ltes. Boxer ;lnd Caballo Santos slept soundly together under one of theln; the 1l1an with the StOII1ach scars lay beneath the other. "Bloody Nose" had heen released at fin: in thl' afternoon to go hOlne to Dulce Maria. You could tell that it was dark outside bv the hlackness of the g11ss-hlockl'd walls across the corridor. Although I had I11ade a deal with the afterllooll guard to purchase SOlne fruit for Iny friends, I had only nibbled on ~1 h~lnana. 1 still \Llsn't hungry. The guards had "allowed" the prisoners four opportunities to l'1c:~11l the spotless hallway and cells during the day and, as far as I could asccrt;lin, thc Procuraduria relnained the cleanest building in Mexico C:ity. It W~lS cle:1n :lIHI it was sterile, a beautiful edifice to show the wives of the politicians. It was hreak-out proof. And there was only food to be purchased. And it was freezing cold during the night with no blankets issued. I wondered how long the politicians' wi\'es, or-for that matter-the politicians themselves could stand up, or sit down, or lie down on the clean white concrete. "Meester. " The voice was soft, and a pale, slender-fingered hand appeared fronl the adjoining cell inches from my face. "Meester. " The long fingers slowly opened and then shut into i.l dainty fist, then opened again like a flower. "Meester, besenle mi mano." I stared at the hand, transfixed. "Meester, beseme mi nlano. Meester." "Kiss his hand!" I thought. "Jesus!" "Meester, por favor ... por favor." The slender fingers twitched. uj\1eeslcr. besenle m i mana." Boxer's head appeared beside me. The little pug looked at the hand, then lit the butt of a cigarette. He offered Ine a drag and I felt forced to take it. We sllloked together in silence while the pleading voice continued, then the hoxer produced a pin fronl his shirt collar and stuck it through what relnained of the butt. "Meester, beseme lui 111ano ... " I already felt sick, but I watched as Iny new friend held the pin tightly between his thulub and index finger and pushed the burning butt ilgainst the h;lCk of the slender, pleading, white hand. There was a l11uffled screlllll, and the h;lnd disappeared. Boxer rellloved what was left of the cigarette frolll the pin ~lnd Clrcfully reinserted the pin into the collar of his shirt. "That'll give that 11101";C071 s0l11ething to suck on," he said. 'IllC:n he silently slid back into bed with Caballo Santos. ~

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ORNING, THE SECOND DAY, BEGAN AT 5:45. I WOKDERED \VHY I

hadn't been awakened that early the preceding Illorning until I learned from Sugar Ray's old opponent that there was no set routine in the Procuraduria. Everything went according to which guard was on duty. \Vhen the new guard banged a night-stick against the bars close to Iny head my first reaction was: "Well, here comes the rough stuff." "You. Here!" the guard demanded. I walked through the opened cell door to face a really tough-looking bastard. "Vamos," he said. "Vamos" was becoming the name of my song. The guard prodded me to the dead end of the hallway. \\'hen I was stopped, my face close against the yellow bricks, he spun me around and shoved a rolled-up newspaper into my hands. Then he tllotioned for Ine to unroll it. On the front page was a gigantic photograph of Elsa, to one side a smaller picture of nle. And the story was unbelievably pro-nle. It stated that the Regal-Chapultepec had con1mitted an unforgivable error and that the Mexican motion picture industry should get behind me as I was the only North AInerican who was seriously interested in helping Mexico to beconle a world Illation picture power. \¥hen I looked up froln the paper the guard was smiling. He handed Ine a fountain pen and pointed to a spot below my photograph. "Me lIan10 Lorenzo," he infonned me. I wrote, "A Lorenzo, con nluchas gracias. Tu allligo," and signed it. I wasn't exactly certain what I had thanked Lorenzo for, but it seemed like a good idea. Lorenzo looked at the autograph and bealned. "Que tal su navia?" I Inade the Mexican finger-signal that Elsa was just great. Lorenzo slapped Ine fanliliarly on the back, carefully refolded the newspaper and tucked it beneath his belt. He patted his gun. "No tenga miedo aqui, senor," he grinned. "Esta seccion es lnia." I slniled and was thankful that I needn't be afraid in his section, then he shoved Ine

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back down the corridor to ITIy cell. My three celllnates looked worried when I was pushed, roughly, inside. "Que pasa?" Boxer asked. "Nada," I said. "That guard mean preek." I shook Iny head. "No, it just looks like television hasn't touched hilll yet. 11e still likes motion pictures." Boxer grunted. "He like your love-gal." Now that was a new one, and sort of a joke. I'd certainly have to tell her. "Everybody does," I said. "But you wait. I'll run into sOInebody who'll want to beat Iny brains out just because of Senorita Cardenas." Boxer looked at his two pals, then grinned back at Ine. "l-le better be guard." He winked at his pal with the enlpty stonlach, and the guy with the two forty-five holes pulled up his sweater again and gingerly produced a foot-long hatpin that he had secreted beneath the scar tissue. He handed the pin to Ine. It was truly a deadly weapon. I handed it back and flinched as the kid ran his fingers through his oily hair to grease the full length of the pin and then carefully slip it hack into the pocket beneath his flesh. Boxer caught the look on 111Y face. "Eets easy," he explained. "He keep there more'n two years-like earring. I-Ie just stand straight, sleep straight, don't fight." He tapped his chest, HI fight!" "Three pretty deadly guys," 1 thought. I certainly knew what (~aballo Santos could use as a club. The rest of the tnorning was spent in scrubbing the cellblock-twice. Lorenzo chose nle to supervise the cleaning. But once, when I tried to help a tiny inInate with the top bars, the guard jerked the cloth away fro 111 Inc, slapped thL little fellow with it hard across his eyes, and sent hill1 scurrying back to work. In one fell swoop I learned that lesson, too. My being in jail could Jnakc it toug-h on the other prisoners. And I intended to rernernber that. At three o'clock in the afternoon Illost of the cellblock innl~lteS were led out to be photographed and fingerprinted. A."i I stepped off the elevator on the t'(Hlrth floor I was ITIet by an anny of photographers, and when the flashhulbs exploded I instinctively covered Iny face. Then I realized that it wasn't what I intended to do at all. I obtained pernlission to reenter the elevator and give the press a good shot at Ine. It was certainly no secret that I was in there, and if they were going to continue to print Illy photographs next to Elsa, I felt obligated to try to do her justice. The press was surprised, but delighted, and I thought that pcrh~lps I had lllade a few I110re friends. I could use all I could get. **********

"Sardines actually have it Inade," I thought as 1 held onto the har ahove In~' head with Illy right hand in an endeavor to reIll~lin upright. 'rhe p~lckcd prisoJl

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bus bounced over the bad streets of an ugly section of Mexico City. My nearly six feet had never seemed so tall, or so ilnportant, as I was just able to keep my nose above the heads of my conlpanions. The stench in the bus was unreal: a nlixrure of sweat, dirt, urine, stale tequila, beer and dried blood. In the far corner of the bus a fat Indian girl, still in her teens, had delightedly opened her dirty blouse and now watched gold-toothedly as the men around her took turns at playing with her gigantic breasts. She seemed to be pulling at sonlething behind her with the hand she wasn't using to balance, and then I noticed that the boy standing tight against her buttocks had his eyes closed. I paid little attention to the light touch of a hand against Inine until the hand squeezed slowly over my fingers. I glanced up quickly to discover that the hand over mine was bandaged with a dirty silk handkerchief. It was the hand of a boy, but the toothless, simpering face at the other end of the arm was at least sixty years old. There was a thin gray scum covering the eyes, but I knew that the eyes were not blind because, through the scum, they were piercing pleadingly into mine. I flicked the hand away, but the eyes never blinked. The man had great difficulty finding his pocket in the surrounding crush of sticky flesh but, when he finally did, he produced the page of the newspaper that had held the pictures of Elsa and me. Only one thing was missing. The half containing Elsa had been torn off. "Hello," he breathed softly, "why you no kees my hand?" I was fitted into the bus so painfully tight it was impossible to turn around. Tum around! That was a courageous thought! In desperation I offered feebly: "How's your hand?" The man hurried to show me how deeply the cigarette had burned and then, as I watched incredulously, he stuck his snake-like tongue into the festering wound. As our eyes met again I thought I heard the soft voice say: "Gracias." The bus slowed to a stop and heavy gates ground open. Boxer, twn bodies over, said "El Federal." We jerked forward once again for a short distance, then the rusty brakes iron-dusted to a final stop. I heard my name called as I stepped out of the bus, and I certainly recognized the voice. I looked up toward the balcony surrounding the prison's walled-in patio and spotted Pepe standing at the rail. Alongside him was Licenciado Guerrero. I suddenly felt that I might get to like the little attorney after all, but it wasn't going to be easy. I waved and yelled to Guerrero, "So far you're right on schedule." "Silencio! " I jerked around at the command to see a burly guard descending upon me, and to discover that now there wasn't a fellow prisoner within ten yeards. I felt very naked and alone in the center of the concrete. A strong command stopped the guard a few feet from where I stood, and a squat, fat little prison officer stepped lightly through the hole in the line of new inmates that had quickly opened for him. He carried a riding crop, shades of Bogart, and was smiling

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sweetly. "This is really it," I adlllined to Inysel f. "'VVe prefer the Inen to renlain as quiet as possible when they enter here," the officer said. I waited stiffly for the riding crop to slash across Illy bce. '1'he officer sensed Iny concern and stepped closer. "Don't believe everything you see in the Inovies, although I an1 quite a n10vie bug," he said. "CiooJ luck." And then he roared a cOlnmand, and the frightened line of prisoners I110veJ forward into the booking office. At 6:47 I cleaned the black ink froIll IHy fingers, and follo\\·'cd the long line of fellow convicts through the twenty-foot-high gate of cellblock "11." "Caballeros ... " "Gentlenlen!" I couldn't believe it. I was certain tholt it W~lS sarC~lsnl unti] the trustee delivering the welcolning address stepped forward into the light. I Ie was exceptionally tall, Inilitarily triln, inllnaculately clean to the point of nlaking the Federal Prison blue unifornls look West Point, and his Spanish was crisp and reeking with education and culture. He stood as straight as a ralnrod as he spoke. "Gentlelnen, I aln the jeff: of this cellblock. My nanlC is Miguel (~astro Flores. YOLI will notice by Iny unifonn that I anl a prisoner like yourselves with one Ininor exception. I have fourteen years relnaining to serve Iny sentence. l\;los( of you, I hope, will be released at the end of the regulation seventy-two hours. 1~lowevcr, while you are detained here it is essential that you conduct yourselves in the following I1lanner. There will be no fighting. 1~here will be no galnhling for nl0ne~'. You will be allowed to purchase newspapers, and the confcctionary shop will he open at thirteen hundred for your convenience. I have allowed you to retain your personal jewelry: wrist watches, rings, et cetera, but if there is ~1ny trouble I C~Ul quickly change lny n1ind. I expect you to keep yourselves and cellblock II clean. You arc requested to shower between eleven and twelve hundred. Are there any questions?" There were no questions until I raised Illy hand. "Excuse Inc," I s~lid, Uilut would you Inind repeating that in English if you can?" Flores fortunately sIniled. "Good evening," he began in perfect English, "I've been expecting you." I~e turned to a younger Inal1, also in ~l spotless starched blue uniform, and munlbled sOlnething. The boy issued a crisp cOllllnand and the prisoners moved forward to stop before three giant stacks of blankets. Flores nodded to Ine. "Come into Iny office." I started to follow hinl through the officr.: door, but the jeje stepped aside and l1lotioned for 1l1C to enter hefore hin1- I waited f()r the door to close behind Ine, then turned to see Flores offer his hand. wfhis is really a great pleasure," he sIniled. "It gets very lonely for 111e in here." I shook his hand waflnly. "I can assure you, Senor Flores, that this is one time in nly life I can honestly say, 'The pleasure is allillinc. m The jeft pushed back a chair and Inotioned for Ine to be seated. "Plc~lse call flle Miguel," he requested. "We won't have nluch tilllC to get to know each other,

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and it would be a shalne to waste any of it on foro1ality." What a welcoille surprise. "1'01 glad you put it that way," I said, "because seeing SOlneone like you in this prison COlnes as quite a shock. Miguel, what in the hell did you do to land in here?" Miguel offered Ine a cigarette, then lit one himself. "It isn't what you do that can land you in here. It's what they claim you did. You, of all people, should know that." How tasteless of Ine to ask a pointed question like that. And how stupid. It was suddenly apparent that a case of nenres was very much in order during the first days in any jail, and that sOlnetimes even the calmest of us just didn't think straight. Miguel broke into my thoughts before 1 could answer. "Forgive lny bitterness," he said. "I forced you into that question, and I'll answer it for you in detail tomorrow. But right now, first things CaIne first. Where would you like to sleep?" "I beg your pardon?" Miguel sIniled. "It's not going to be much of a choice. Would you prefer to be locked in upstairs with nine of the boys? They usually like to crowd in together to keep warm. Or would you rather take your chances with the cold and have one of our steel bunks all to yourself?" I was certain from the twinkle in Miguel's eyes that the jeft already knew my answer, but 1 gave it to him anyway. "I think I'd rather freeze to death than get raped." I felt that it was a simple statenlent of obvious fact. Miguel stood. "Didn't you have any blankets in the Procllrnduria?" "I had three, but the guards 111aneuvered me out of them when I was being ll1ugged and fingerprinted." "They always do," Miguel shrugged. "I'll issue you a couple of extra ones for your visit here." "Thanks. I hope it's just a visit." "It will be," the jefe nodded as he opened the door. I had one thought as I stepped out into the long patio. 1 certainly hoped that the wonderful jefe of cellblock H hadn't been sentenced to serve fourteen more years for fraud. It was little comfort to know that 1 would learn the truth tomorrow. The cellblock lights had been turned on and the sixty-seven other prisoners stood in a long line of "twos" as the issuing of blankets was almost completed. I Inoved into line next to Caballo Santos, and one of Flores' helpers handed lne a blanket. Miguel turned to the youth and called out a crisp order. Immediately four blue-uniformed trustees began to distribute additional blankets to all of the prisoners. There was a surprised ITIUrmUr from the ITIen and a quiet request froln Miguel: "Caballeros, por favor." He turned to me. "It's unusually cold tonight," he explained. I realized why the explanation had been directed to me, in English, as I felt all the heads turn toward Ine, and 1 heard a voice behind me whisper, "You

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steek weeth us, Senor, we all leeve through thees weenter." The jefe broke the blanket fonnation and the unifonned trustees began to assign the innlates to their cells. Above the patio was a second-floor tier with a heavy guardrail along the walk. The [nen clilnbed the iron stairs and waited along the walkway as the first of the cell doors was swung open. l'he trustee counted ten Inen and crowded rhein into the tiny, barren cell. I--Ie clanged the steel door closed and slid a heavy bar across the door. I heard a lock click shut. T'hcy were locked in all right, locked in tight-like rats. I heard 111y nan1e called and turned to see Miguel 111otioning to Inc. \Ve walked together along the downstairs row of eInpty cells until the jejl' stopped before a half-open door. I was surprised when he knocked. A voice called out "Pase!" and Miguel pushed the door all the way open and stepped in. 'I\\'() Inen were playing cards by candlelight on top of an oil Cln. Unexpectedly. they stood up. The introduction was sinlple, first nanles only. Both Iny new r00I11111.HCS were nalned Juan. The three of us shook hands. J\1iguel turned to Ine. "\Ve won't lock this door," he said, "but you'll be 1110re cOlllfortable if you keep it closed." I thought he was referring to the cold. "l~hanks," I said gratefully, "for the extra blankets. You handled that beautifully for the Iuen. What an anny officer you would have nlade." "I was a colonel." The adnlission of Miguel's rank did not surprise Inc. Hyou were educated in the United States?" The jefe nodded. "Black Fox Military Acadelny, 'rhe University of SOllthern California and The Anny of the Republic of Mexico." "That's rather conlplete. Thanks again and, in all probability, I'll see you tOITIOrrow. " Miguel nearly laughed. "More than likely," he said ~lnd h~llf-doscd the door. I turned around. Both Juans \\fere already busy at their cards. lv1y eyes were becolning accustol11ed to the candlelight and I began to study the cell. 'rhe fIrst thing that caught Iny attention was the altitude of the three steel hllnks. 'rhe lower one was at least four feet above the concrete tloor; the Iniddle one sevcn feet, and the upper was chained to the wall five feet above Illy head-an elc\'cnfoot drop to the concrete. Bu]]s I could f,lce, and hullets, and all kinds of Incn, ;lnd the wiles of wicked wOlnen; but an eleven-foot drop in Illy sleep-Ne\'er! "JUAN!" Both Juans stopped playing and looked up. "Fellows," I pointed to the two top bunks, Uno Inc gusta-;lt I,ll.''' Juan One and Juan Two exchanged glances. "Esta bien," they s~lid. I slapped nly hand down hard on the lower hunk. "Esra cs para Ini." Again they both nodded. "Bueno, mnigo," Juan 'l\\'o said.

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Then he won the hand and picked up the stack of toothpicks. I still wasn't certain that they understood my Inessage about the lower bunk until I scaled the narrow ladder and discovered newspapers and blankets on the two top bunks. The lower bunk was n1ine all right. "Maybe they both are aerialists," I thought. So I climbed down, said "Gracias," and began to spread one of my blankets across the lower bunk. Juan Two offered "Por nada," without looking up, and then I ,vas startled to hear Juan One say, "Suerte." "Good luck for what?" I wondered, as I crawled into bed and pulled the extra blankets over me up to my nose. **********

A woman screamed close to my head, and I struggled to awaken from the nightmare. The second series of ear-piercing cries bolted me upright just as the light from a match above my bunk partially illuminated the cell. There was a snake-like hissing, another scream, and I spun around. On the concrete floor beneath me two giant rats were engaged in a clawing, biting, snarling struggle. They looked like kangaroos standing up straight on their hind legs lashing out at each other. A tin coffee cup whizzed by my head and struck one of the monsters on the shoulder, but they continued to fight. I had left my shoes on because of the cold, and I vaulted out of bed and kicked hard at the nearest rat, caught the beast behind the ear and sent him spinning into a black corner of the cell. The other rat stretched even taller and struck out at my leg with his claws. I had never fought a rat, and my research on rat-fighting was slightly remiss. My immediate concern was that there was no way to anticipate the animal's next nl0ve. We both stood glaring at each other for a moment and then, having long before learned that sometimes a good offense is the best defense, I faked another kick at the rat's weaving head. I was immediately glad that I had faked it as I watched the animal slide away from my toe, fake a left jab, shift his weight, and then cross beautifully with a long straight right. I jumped back and took a hurried appraisal of the difficult situation. This battle was going to have to be won by a quick knockout or a tremendous piece of gamesmanship on my part. I certainly wasn't going to lick this rat on points. I circled to formulate a plan of attack, but I was disturbed by the confident gleam in my opponent's eyes as he seemed ready for any eventuality. I danced to my left to sucker the cocky beast into a right-hand lead, but he glided beautifully across with me. I suddenly wondered if my friend Boxer could go four rounds with this sonofabitch. I grabbed Juan Two's tin cup hanging from a nail and dropped it, "accidentally," at the rat's feet. It didn't really surprise me that the animal didn't even glance at the lure as he merely kicked it to

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one side, never taking his eyes off Iny face. "\,Vell," I adnlitted to Inyself, "'this kid has really been around!" I noticed that the rat's continuous hissing was an effective psychological weapon. I had been hissed at before, but ne\'er by an opponent. Perhaps the Japanese had a good thing going for theln. It was distracting. Although there was a trenlendous difference in our weights I was rclllct~Hn to move in close and try to bully an advantage as the rat's fangs were not inviting. And then the anilnal's first opponent, whoI11 I had alnlost forgotten, carne tlying out of the shadows. He crashed into Iny enenl), frolll behind and chlInpcd his j.IWS around his neck. The two of thenl rolled around the concrete floor in a scrcaIlling, hissing, bleeding ball. I kicked hard, three tinles, at the furry bundle, Inissed, but it rolled into the oil-can table spilling the cards and toothpicks onto the noo)'. I heard two short blasts of Latin profanity behind Iny back and, as I unconsciously turned around, I noticed that the cell door was still slightly ajar. I iUlnped over the rats to swing it wide, then stepped gingerly around the battle to 1l10VC into position. It wasn't going to be Inuch of a field goal. There was no wind. It was straight on and from only seven feet out. But sOlnehow the target had ncver scclned so small, or the attenlpt so ilnportant. Finally the two rats, still clalnped in each other's jaws, stopped rolling. Before 1l1e on the floor lay onc gray, bloody ball of hair. I kicked hard, and as always didn't look up until I had counted aloud H()nctwo-three." It was three points all right! I knew that the second I followed through. The two beasts, still fang-locked together, sailed through the open door and disappeared into the semi-darkness. I jUlnped into the opening to see thenl land, but they had already hit to sink into the swirling ocean of a thousand other rats. It was impossible to see the concrete of the patio. There really were a thousand rats, but the din of the noise they Inade was not sleep-disturbing. It was like the low whine of an electric generator. This tillle I closed the door-tight. As I turned around both Juans stared down at Ine, deadpan, fron1 their respective bunks. It had all happened so quickly that Juan Two was just lighting his third Inatch. "Valiente, hOlnbre! Valiente!" he cried. "Dos orejas!" Juan One called down frolll the atIl1osphere. "Gracias," I said and crawled back beneath Iny blankets. Juan '1\\'0 tlicked the match onto the concrete, where it sputtered out. I lay on Illy back and listened to the pitiful sound of a young 111an whil11pering in the locked-in cell above. After a lTIOlllent there was the sharp report of a solid slap, and then all was serene except for the low steady whine of the living generator in the patio outside.

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slide open. The sound of VOIces grew, and I sat up. The Juan directly above Ine slid onto the floor and opened the cell door. The glare frotH the patio arc-lights flooded the cell, and I swung ll1y nUlnb feet out fro III under the blankets onto the floor. Juan One dropped down beside Ine. Both Juans were naked, except for their jockey shorts. It was still freezing cold. "Buenos dias, hOlubre," Juan One greeted 11Ie. "Que noche, eh?" I nodded. It certainly had been quite a night. As the two Juans dressed, I stepped outside and picked up a IHOP to join the other prisoners in cleaning up the Iness where the rats had been. "Eso no es necessario, Senor." I looked up frolu Iny Illopping. It was one of Miguel's trustees who held out his hand for Illy 1110p. He was siniling. HIt's Inuy necessaria," I replied, "pero, gracias." I continued to IHOP until one of the trustees opened a water outlet to flood the patio with six inches of icy water. I stopped for a 111inute to rel110ve lny shoes and socks. Then, as the water receded, I continued to IHOp. Caballo Santos said, "Buenos dias." Boxer 1110ved close to Ine, grinning with good hUI11or. ~'One cabron fall een love last night weeth C:aballo 'till he get first look at Caballo. Then he scared! But we Inake heenl let Caballo love heenl anyhow. You should be there. Funny!" "Sounds like a riot," I said. "\¥here's your other pal?" Boxer nodded toward Miguel's office. Hatpin was standing straight and still, sorting out tin cups froln a box full of tin cups and plates. "You know secret," Boxer continued. "We probably here long tinlC. Hinl good friend to have. I-Ie no work." I-Ie proudly tapped his chest. "I work," he concluded.

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"I think 'you good friend to have' too." "I you friend, movie man," he adInitted with honest sincerity. I said "thanks," and really Ineant it. Miguel called to me from the door of his quarters, then disappeared into the cell. I stepped to the doorway and knocked. Miguel's voice bade Inc "C:olnc in." The cell was the sallIe size as all the others-rurelve feet by ten feet. But it was his alone, and he had been pernlitted to decorate it to his taste. '],hcre \\';lS ;l single arnlY cot, book rack, wash basin, table and a toilet. On the table was an electric hot plate where Miguel was boiling SOllle water. The cell was painted pink froln the stone floor to the high gray ceiling, and on thc pink wall above the cot was a fraIned painting of (:hrist, and another of the \trgin of Guadalupe. Between the painting, glued to the pinkness, were threc color photographs of a beautiful blonde young WOlnan and two gorgeous little girls, Inayhe ten and eight. There was a white silk curtain on a wire nailed to the wall that could be pulled across the wire to cover the photographs. I guessed it was to covcr the photographs, perhaps during the night, but I couldn't figure why. "It was the only fresh color I could get." Miguel's voice turned 1l1e away froln the pictures of the beautifullittlc girls. "The pink I mean," the Jeft continued. "At least it keeps the place looking dean. n "I lived in a pink bedrooln for awhile," I said, "and C0l11C to think of it, I didn't mind at all. Of course, one hell of a gal went with it, and it was m'D 11l0Jllhs before I discovered that the rooln was pink." Miguel crossed to the pot of boiling water. "Your confession relicves 1l1C greatly. Now ITIay I pour you S0I11e carefully brewed Nescafe?" I grinned. "Right now I would have settled for sOlne carelessly brewed hot w~lter." Miguel filled two cups, handed one to 111e, and pulled up the lone sO~light-hackcd chair. He motioned for Ine to sit on the cot. "I-Ias this thing been tough on you?" I shook Iny head. "Physically, no. The only really tough thing is to realize the enlbarrasslnent and worry this has caused the people I C~lrC t()r." I ch.lngcd that subject. "You know the only 111urderous physical problenl of being in here doesn't show. But it's there! I'll never be able to explain to the uninitiated that, after just a short while on concrete or steel, you can't sit down or lie down without feeling that your bones are ready to burst right through your skin. Mibll.1CJ. do you ever get use d to 1.... t:' " "The hUlnan body can adjust to ahnost anything. 'The (;ood Lord cre;ltcd us pretty tough. ","Te can be anilnals if we have to be. But, since SOlllctin1Cs we 1l111st be animals, it's unfortunate that He gave us a brain. It's our thoughts th;lt Cln destroy us-not the physical weakness of our hodies." lIe nodded to the three photographs behind Ine. "That was Iny wife, and those ~lre Illy daughters." IIc caught my look of pity and added, "No, Joan divorced 1l1e last year. 1'111 the one who's dead."

CHAPTER

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He reached across and slapped me on the knee. "Forgive I11e. I'm ruining our visit." Glancing at Iny three-day growth of beard he asked, "Would you like to shave while we talk?" 1 nodded and stood. "I'd like a shave and a steam bath. Which way do I go?" Miguel pointed to the basin and crossed to fill it with boiling water. "You know, there is a steam bath here in The Federal, but you can only use it if you are a convicted inmate. It's one of the pleasures you seventy-twa-hour boys can't enjoy." I inserted a new blade in the razor. "I'll settle for the seventy-two hours and a shave," I said, then lathered my face. "Miguel, you can bring girls in here, can't you?" "Thursdays and Sundays." "I heard that, but I never believed it." "It's pretty intelligent. There are more attempted prison breaks because of sexual frustration than for any other reason. You can bring a prostitute in here if you want to. Of course, she is registered as your sweetheart or your wife. Your wife nlakes it simpler. Some of the men have a different wife every week. All you · money. " nee d here IS "Sometimes that's all you need any place." He shook his head. "Not necessarily. I'm supposed to have over twenty-fIve million pesos-two million dollars. But all I've really got is a toilet, a wash basin, a cot and a pink cell." I suddenly becalne very careful as I shaved my upper Ii p just under my nose. "Twenty-five million pesos!" Miguel's voice rose. "Do you think I'd be in here if 1 could put my fingers on twenty-five million pesos?" I cut nlyself and dabbed at the blood with a wad of toilet paper. "I was President AleInan's aide," he continued. "His personal interpreter in all of his meetings with your President. I didn't have much except my rank and my position, but I was proud of what 1 did, and I loved and admired the President of ITIy country. He was, and is, a great man. Well, he put me in charge of all governInent fuel. My trucks delivered gasoline and oil to all of our bases throughout Mexico. After a few years we were supplied with new tank trucks." He pulled out the plug of the hotplate. "Those new trucks had false bottoms. Every load those trucks delivered left the bottom third for somebody else. Millions of gallons!" I finished shaving and wiped Illy face clean with a paper towel. "And there was no way to prove that you weren't responsible?" "I was responsible," he said. "I ,vas the boss." "Your drivers had to know." "Of course. A couple of them even testified that I knew nothing about the false bottoms, but it was my job to know everything, and my naivete and carelessness landed Ille in here." "And the President?"

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"He was already out of office when the case was tried. I've never spoken with hinl. And that's that." "Well, for fourteen more years, it sure as hell is!" I sat back on the cot. "Miguel, there's nothing anyone can do?" He shook his head. "I don't think so. I'll be out in seven Jllore years, possihly, for good behavior." He looked down at his hands, and I noticed for the fl rst tinlc that the nails were manicured. "But out for what? Se\'en years frolll now I'll be fifty-one years old. My daughters won't know Ine, and probably their 1110ther wouldn't want them to. SOlnetiInes I feel that I shouldn't even bother to get out." "Miguel, why did your wife divorce you?" "Obviously, because I \vas in here." "Doesn't she believe that you are innocent?" "I'ln in here. That's enough. WOlnen are peculiar creatures." "Real women shouldn't be that peculiar. Maybe, l\1;guel, your wife w,lsn't worth it." "You nlean you believe that 1 Inight have stolen the gasoline because of Iny wife?" There was no bitterness or aninlosity in his voice. It was just put forth as a simple question. "Miguel, I have no opinion and 1 don't intend to fOrlnulate one. I know that I like you very Inuch, so you have a friend. That's all I have to offer." The jeft sIniled and put out his hand. "If you are 111Y friend it 1l1ilkes Inc happy." We shook hands and I glanced around again at the photographs of Miguel's daughters. "It's important for thenl that you get out," I said. "Even if you never see theln again a Juan like you can certainly help guide their future. I've got n\'o little girls about their age. Here it is nearly Chrisnnas, and they don't even knov.' where their daddy is." I flinched. "I hadn't thought about that! C:hrist, I hope they don't know where I aln right now." I changed the subject for both of us. "'Tell Inc about this prison, Miguel. It has quite a history, hasn't it?" "Well, Zapata burned it to the ground in 1910, but it was rehuilt as a IllOI1Ument to the governnlent, to the Mexican peon and to the Federal penal systeill. 'I'hc ideas for running this place are very modern, like the visitation rights. You don't have any prison in the United States where there is sexual intercourse do you?" "Not with the opposite sex." Miguel smiled. "There's plenty of the other wherever 1l1Cn are forced to be without WOlnen. That's what they try to avoid here. You can't shut a 111311 up for years just with other men, then release hiln and expect that 1l1an to return to society and lead a normal life." "That certainly makes sense," I said, "but our penal code is based on depriving the prisoners of most all physical pleasures. That's the price they 1l1ust pay for their crimes."

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"We believe here," the jefe continued to explain, "that a 111an Inust be punished for his crilnes, but that he also ll1USt be prepared to return to his fanlily and his work. I think the decision to allo\v wOlnen guests into this prison was a stroke of genius." "And 1'nl inclined to agree with you." Miguel poured Ine another cup of coffee and then sat back down to face rne. "But do you know sOlnething?" He slniled, remelnbering. "On 111e it doesn't work. I sat in here for over a year without a WOlnan, but when I learned that Iny wife had divorced me and taken our daughters back to the United State5 to live, I bought Inyself a girl. She was a pretty little thing: eighteen, pigtails, really just a kid. Well, I tried to I11ake love to her, but ... " He shrugged, "it just didn't work. I paid her off and sent her honle. The following Thursday that little prostitute brought Ine this." He reached across the cot and pulled the little white silk curtain shut across the photographs of his family. "From then on she caIne here every Thursday and every Sunday; wouldn't ever take one peso fro111 l11e. And every visit she brought me presents. She told Ine that she worked very hard between visits so that she could always bring me things. I used to cringe when I'd see her cOIning through the gate laden down with fruit and candy, all of which she bought with the nl0ney she earned while flat on her back. Do you know, that child thought of everything. She'd bring Ine a tnedical certificate signed by her doctor on the ITIorning of every visit. She explained that she didn't want n1e to worry about anything. That always struck nle funny. And then there caIne a tilne when her visits becalne an added worry-because I really got to like her. She wasn't a very bright little girl. She couldn't even read or write, but she was soft and sweet and above all else she was loyal. That kid would have waited for me the rest of her life and we didn't have anything in COlnl11on but this cot." "Miguel, you've been around long enough to know that Inost Inen and WOlnen don't have anything in COln1110n but their cots." I waited for hinl to answer that, but he renlained silent. "And so you got rid of her?" I asked. lIe nodded. "I had to. We'd make love and then we'd try to talk. She never called me by name, only Senor Caballero. I guess I was the only gentlelnan she'd ever known. I suggested that she buy books instead of candy and I'd read to her and tell her what the words meant. She learned to write her nalne and a few other things. And suddenly I realized that I was educating her right into a lifetilne of unhappiness, of continuous waiting for a drealTI that would vanish. I, personally, was destroying any chance that sweet kid had for a future. One Sunday I had the guards tell her that I had been Inoved north to the Military Prison. Believe me, that was one of the toughest days of my life. Anyway, she nlust have gone there because the next Thursday she was hack here looking for me. They continued to tell her the saine thing, but she kept trying to find Ine every visitor's day for four ITIOnths."

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"And then one day she disappeared?" "No. During her search for Inc here she Illet another prisoncr, a young lifer frolll cellblock J. The guards tell 1l1C that she C0l11CS here cvery Sund~ly and Thursday and brings hinl cakes and candy." He took another sip of coffee. HIt's strange, but I wasn't really upset or hurt except for her. And then I dccided that I shouldn't even feel sorry for her. She's happy. T'hat's all that counts. rrhe terrible thing is I now knO\V that one day, inevitably, the kind of girl I sleep with won't Inake any difference to Ine. I'll just be like any other anil11al." He paused for a beat to let this sink in. rrhen: "You haven't seen the 1l1e;lt here." It was a statenlent, not a question. "N 1 ot yet. " "Well, you won't touch it, for awhile. I didn't eat it for twenty-three days. I eat it now." The jefe stood up and crossed to the book shelf. "May I show you sOll1ething?" "Of course." "It's a Inagazine cover of a girl. I had it pasted on the wall until last night. It represents everything I renlelnber about Illy past life, the beauty of Mexico, the ll1usic, the breeding and education I've always delllandcd in a WOlllan. It ~llso helped 1l1e to rel11clnber that there is a life outside worth fighting for." "\"'hy in the world did you take it down?" ~LI didn't know you when I renloved it frol11 the wall. And I wanted us to becoIne friends. I thought you 111ight resent it. Now I think that perhaps rou \,,"ill help Ine paste it back up." He took out the Illagazine cover frol11 benveen the books and handed it to Ine. It was a color cover of Elsa. She was wearing the white bee gown of the Regal-Chapultepec party, and the ocean-green background of the photog-raph accentuated the color of her eyes. "Senor jeft," I sllliled, "'you have illlpecca hly good taste." "You are not upset?" "On the contrary, I anl cOlnplinlented to discover th,lt we have the SaIne idea of beauty." "Her eyes are really that green?" I nodded. "It's unbelievable, but true. But it's what's behind those eyes th~ll counts. I've never known anyone like her." I glanced toward the pink wall. "\\There does she go?" Miguel rellloved SOIllC scotch tape frOlll a box underneath the cot ~lIHl together we pasted Elsa's cover picture above his falllily and the picnlres of C:hris( and Guadalupe. I stood back and looked at those eyes and there was a str.lngc, hungry feeling in the pit of Iny stolllach. Most certainly I wanted Elsa. I had never touched her,

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but I had wanted her from the first night we actually luet at Vista Hermosa. It wasn't just a physical desire. It was a liking, an admiration, an appreciation of another person I had never known. There was a sharp, three-knock signal on the door. Miguel took his last swallow of coffee. "It's time for countdown," he said. "If there aren't sixty-eight of you, somebody either escaped or is dead. I always hate to get to the sixties and see somebody's missing, because nobody ever escapes." "Do you have ITIany suicides in here?" "Very few suicides, but very often murders-ingenious ones. The men in here are really deadly beasts. Look at your cellmate, Juan Trigo. He's a perfect prisoner, but a rattlesnake." "J uan Trigo?" Miguel nodded. "The smaller one. This is the third time he's been in here, always because sOlnebody died, but it's invariably proven to be an accident or some unformnate mistake. This time he'll probably get from four to six years for killing his mother-in-law with an ice pick, but he's claiming it was self-defense. You see, the old lady hit hilll with a spamla. She was killed as she was in the process of scrambling eggs. Actually, he wouldn't have it so tough if he hadn't been in here two times before." I studied Miguel for a beat to see if he was kidding, then suddenly I knew that he wasn't. "Well, thanks a lot for putting me in with hiIu," I joked. "He could have cut my throat while I slept." "Not with Juan Carrel around," Miguel said as he slipped on his blue jacket. "He watches Trigo like a hawk. They're in love with each other. Anyway, I knew they'd both like you." "Very comforting," I said, moving for the door. "Remind me never to scramble any eggs while rill in here." The jefe stopped llle. "} knew you'd be safe in there. With eight or nine other prisoners upstairs, God only knows what would have happened. I spent Illy first night in one of those cells. One of the Illen started off the evening by announcing that he'd 'never fucked a millionaire.'" There was a second knock on the door. "Bueno," Miguel shouted. I thanked him again and stepped out into the damp, cold compound. It was just getting light. I Inoved into line. "Ass kisser!" I heard the words in perfect English, but I didn't turn my head. Miguel and two trustees l110ved down the line of twos, thirty-four sets of them, and in a nloment it was established that there were sixty-eight men. The jeft gave the order to "Flanco derecho. Marche!" Boxer, down the line from me, explained "Chow

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tiIne." The voice, now directly behind Inc, said Illorc de1iberately, H:\.SS kisser~" I still didn't turn around. If SOIlleone thought Illy visit with the jtJ£) was "~lSS kissing," that was his probleln. And I did figure that this se\'enty-two-hour period was not the tinle to get involved in a fIght. 'rhe Federal h:1<.1 :1 lot of Ch:11"111, hut I didn't intend to l1lake it tny pennanent hOIne. "All .you chicken-shit Hollywood bovs arc alike. You're hig' Ine)) in \'our own ." .... backyard, but you're not so tlluch in here, are you, .\ilister I)in:ctor?" The voice was corning fronl right even 'with ]ny head, which would InakL this channer at least Iny size. And he sure as hell was an :\tnerican. The line stopped at a stack of plates and a pile of cups. Ever~'()ne took a tin plate, and when they picked up their cups each prisoner dipped his into a barrel of water, then held it up to see if it leaked. If there were holes in the cups the 111en tossed thenl into a wooden box. If usable they poured the rain ,,".Her hack into the barrel. I found a battered tin cup in fair condition but, as I turned awar, I got ~l neck full of icy water. I ducked and spun around just as Boxer dropped thc big American to his knees with a kidney punch that would have done SUg:H Ra~' proud. Caballo Santos picked up the boy's cup and returned it to hinl as Boxer helped hiln to his feet. He was taller than I, a lot younger and, jllst then, a little green around the gills. As a trustee rushed fonvard I noticed I-LHpin rel110\'C his hand froIn beneath his sweater. "Que pasa?" the trustee asked. "Nada," Boxer shrugged. "Nuestro alnigo se reshalo." "Esta bien." The trustee nlotioned for us to fnove along. "Yeah," I thought, "he slipped .111 right." I-Ie slipped ~lb()llt as h.ll'd .1S I'd C\'l:1' seen anybody slip. And Hatpin wasn't scratching his st(H11ach. 'I'h:lt was for sure. He was ready ta use that pin. Well, that stupid bastard had it c()Jning. I wondered what was eating hill1. And I was certain that I'd find out. The boy in frant of Ine gagged. T'hcre was a little hit of red 11le~lt on e;lch dripping hunk of slitne being dished out to us. 'fhe runny fat surrounding the meat hung in Illucous-like strands, and with each portion son1C of it slid hack into the pot. I held out Illy tin plate and took Iny share . .L\1igucl h.ltl told Inc Hrwenrythree days." If I were unluckY' enough to be detained there I would inlIlH:diare1y put Illy nlind to setting a no-eat-Illeat record. \\'c 11loved forward to a COl1tTetctabled section, and sat down together on concrete benches. ']\\'() trustecs c~lrril'd ~l giant tub behind us as we atc, and each prisoner hand-dipped his Clip into the tuh to fill it. I was surprised and happy to see the stcatning, cn:anly-thick coffee until I tasted it to discover it was stcatning bean juice. I put Iny CllP down on the tahle and bit into a rock-hard roll. "I'In gonna get you, Big Shot, if it's the last thing I ever do!"

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I looked up. The American was sitting directly across from me. "1 see you got your gang of suck-asses in here just like you got in Hollywood but, one day Big Shot, I'm gonna find you alone." I began to study the boy, knew that I'd never seen hilll before, and doubted if he'd ever seen me. He'd probably had a bad tilne of it in Hollywood. He used "Hollywood" as if it were a four-letter word. And it looked as if 1 had been chosen to pay for his past Inisfortunes, whatever they were. But the Inore 1 studied the fellow the more I realized that he could get himself into trouble anywhere. "Well, you're sure a gutless wonder," he continued. "VVhat do I have to call you to get you to open your chicken-shit mouth?" Boxer traded places with the old man sitting next to him. "You shut you own chick-shit mouth!" he hissed between gulps of bean juice. The fellow looked around the table at the unfriendly faces, glared at Ine, then settled down to dunk his roll. I shook Illy head to Boxer to layoff, and began to dunk my own roll into the bean juice. At least the stuff was hot. I pushed my l11eat across to Boxer when I caught him eyeing it, and he immediately split it with Hatpin and Caballo Santos. The American watched the dividing-up of Illy portion with sl11irking interest, but he didn't say anything. I wondered if keeping Illy own Inouth shut for the first time in my life was such a good idea. It sure as hell was difficult.

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\\'ATCHI~C; TIlE T\\'O .1L',\~S PL.\Y CARDS when I ,heard Illy grandnlot1?er's nanle called, It was 10: 15., I \\:alke~l OLlt into the pano and up to the 11131n gate of cellblock I-I. ()ne ot .\11g"Uei s trustees \VAS SITTING 0:\ .\lY BC0:K

handed Ine 3 pass card, and a uniforrned prison guard opened the gate ;lnd Illotioned for Ine to follow hinl. The gate clanged shut behind Inc and after ~l few yards I was shocked to discover Inyself keeping step with the guard. I in111H:di;ltely switched Iny lead but continued to keep the pace. \Vhen we 'lrri\'ed ~ll a hlut: outhouse-sized wooden station the guard ushered n1C inside where I W~lS hurriedly but efficiently searched; ordered to drop Iny trousers .uHf Illy jockey shorts, lean over and spread Iny buttocks. \Vben it was painfully ascertaincd that I was concealing nothing but Iny lower intestine I \\'as allowed to re-drcss wh:lt littlt: relnained of Iny dignity. I follo\\'ed Illy escort up the narrow stairway to the second floor of the lnain building where I joined a line of il1ln,ltes waiting outsidt: the big double doors of what turned out to be the courtr00l11. It was an hOllr before I heard Iny nallle called again. \Vaiting was a new experience for Int:, I \\'~lS 1earning to pass the tilne by counting clouds, pigeons and bricks, 'rherc wen~ seven-hundred and sixty-eight bricks in the section of wall directly across fro III where I stood. I lost a bet with 1l1yself rather badly; I had guessed the hricks would nun1ber at least one thousand. I walked through the cOUrtI'OOlll door into a narrow concrete corridor. Everything seenlcd to he narrow and concrete. There was a heavy steel Illesh separating thc corridor frolll the courtroOll1, and the figures behind the I11esh were a blur, but I recognized L-iccnciado (;ucrn:ro's voice calling to Ine. I pressed up against the heavy wire and \N.1S 41hle to see into the courtroOIll. There again was Iny loyal group: I-lank, I Ienry, P~Htl, Fernando, Pepe and the little attorney. "Congratulations," Guerrero bealned. "V\'c just had rour trial and I ~lCtll;llly

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think the judge believes that you're innocent." I was flabbergasted. "You had Illy what.''' ~'Your trial," Guerrero continued. "How's that for quick service?" "You lnean Iny case was tried while I sat in a cell downstairs?" "Of course. I told you that I thought I lllight know the judge." "I was sure that you'd know the judge," I said biting Illy lips, "but the judge doesn't know Ine." "\Vhy should he?" "(;uerrero, 1'111 the boy behind the bars. I would like to have at least had the opportunity to nod to His Honor. It Illight have helped. I don't think I look like a crook!" "Well, you're an Atnerican, and we thought ... " I wanted to reach through the Inesh and grab Illy attorney by the throat, but I had learned enough not to raise Illy voice. "Hank," I said quietly, "I'd like to talk to you." Hank Lopez took Guerrero's place behind the nlesh. "Hank, is it true that you allowed them to try nly case without Ine present?" Hank nodded. "Guerrero seemed to know what he was doing." I counted slowly to ten. I had never felt so futile. "Hank, then why don't these bastards quit trying to tell us that the antiAlnerican days are over down here. I thought that finally the problclns of a gringo in Mexico were his own personal problenls. I believed that I could have rnade the right ilnpression on the judge." I-Iank shrugged. It seelned to be catching. "It just didn't seenl necessary. The licenciado 111erely stated facts, that you owed the Inoney, and that you intended to pay it. We already have C:aptain Ferrer's receipt for our thousand dollars." I noticed the puffy (~aptain for the first tilne. He Inoved up to stand close to I-Iank. "I hope you're not still upset with Ine," he sIlliled. "You'll probably be out on the street in a few days. This unfortunate situation is all being taken care of to rny satisfaction, so let's say that we just forget it." I looked at that sonofabitch for a long InOlnent. I never really appreciated the true beauty of "sonofabitch!" before. And I never had realized how frustrating iron hars and steelilleshes could be. "Captain," I finally said, "you are the one bastard in the world I'll never forget." I turned back to Hank. "So Illy trial is over?"

"Yes. " "And now, no matter what, I wait seventy-two hours before I learn the judge's decision?" "1"'hat's what the licenciado says." "And, Hank, suppose His Honor, whoever he is, decides that 1'111 guilty?"

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Guerrero stepped back in. "We'll get a retrial," he said with confidence. I really bit 111y lip. "Licenciado, one day ... one day 1'111 going to get out of here, and the first thing 1'n1 going to do is stolnp on you." Guerrero was shocked. "What's the Inatter with hilll, Mister Lopez? 'l'hat's not the right attirude. I'Ill here to help. I don't understand." Henry Ehrlich stepped up. "I Ie's just nervous, LicenciclClo. Everything's . gOIng to ... " "Henry-Henry, I anl not nervous. 1 arn in prison. Let Ine talk to Paul." Paul took Henry's place. "Yes?" "How's Elsa?" Paul grinned. "As of this n10rning's papers she's attacked the whole Federal Governlnent. What a gal! You're going to end up very big down here." There was a long 1110lnent of silence as I tried to think of sOInething to say. Finally: "Paul, tell Elsa ... Tell Elsa to keep her chin up, but to stop fighting the windlnills. I don't want this to hurt her career. I. .. " "Elsa doesn't give a damn about anything except you," Paul said slowly. "It's about tin1e you realized that. The only way we could keep her away froIl1 here today was to tell her that the publicity would hurt you." I looked down at Iny dirty fingernails, then glanced up when I heard Pepe's voice. "Our Rolls-Royce is fine, sir. 1 wash and polish it every Inorning." I couldn't help sIniling. "That's nice, Pepe. Let's try to keep everything clean." I turned back to Licenciado Guerrero who had tried to fade into the background. "Licenciado, I'n1 truly sorry. I know that you're doing your best. 1 just hope you're right." "1 know 1'111 right," he grinned, his confidence rerurning. "Trust Ine." "Funny thing," I adlnitted, "1'111 beginning to." "You'll probably be out of here in no tiIne, and anyway, if you're not, we'll all be here to see you every day." My slnile faded. "Well, I hope you don't have to Illake a hell of a lot of trips." "Believe nle, you'll be out in seventy-two hours, unless S0I11e unforeseen thing ... " Paul nudged the little attorney aside. "See you t01l10rrow," he said. "Keep scratching. " "J esus, Paul, don't use words like that!" He laughed. Hank and Fernando 1110ved in. "If we do have any real trouble," Hank asked, "do you want us to find Carlos?" "He's in Acapulco," Fernando offered. "It'll be easy to find hin1." I shook tny head. "I know where Carlos is, but don't bother the Arruzas under any circulnstances. Christ, let the guy vacation. Just try to get lllC out of here as quickly and as quietly as you can."

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"It Inay be quick," Hank grinned, "but it certainly won't be quiet. You're not just a fmnous director anYITIOre, you're a faInous case." "Well, we all have our InOInents," I said without hun10r. "l~hanks for dropping in." I turned away froln the gray steel ll1esh and stepped between two armed guards back onto the sunlit walkway. It was after eleven and l1lost of the prisoners were in the showers when I surrendered n1y pass card and re-entered cellblock H. I walked along the line of oilcan-planted shrubs and entered lny cell to discover that both Juans were already bathed and back at their card game. I undressed, except for nly shorts, and started out the door when both Juans called to tne and tossed Ine towels. The towels were wet, but I knew it was a friendly gesmre. I kept the drier of the two, dropped Illy shorts and headed for the shower rOOIll. The urinals and the showers were underneath the concrete stairs leading up to the second tier of cells. There were twelve showerheads on each side, and the place was jalTIlned as I stepped into line. Even through the suds I could recognize Boxer. T'he little pug flailed his arms underneath the third showerhead, and his was the only body that looked like I relnelnbered men's bodies should look. The rest were skeletons or mounds of jellied fat. And then I saw the Alnerican. He canle toward me out from under the last shower. He must have been under the icy water for a long tin1e as his body was blue from the cold. But what a body! And the cold didn't show in his eyes. They were burning. The truth of his nakedness was that he outweighed nle by at least ten pounds and was over six feet. "Hello, Big Shot. I've been waiting for you." "That figures," I said. "Well, it's good to know you can talk. Let's you and nle take a little walk back to the end of the showers. We're going to have a little party." Now I knew that he'd worked on westerns. Jesus, what dialogue! I looked around. 'fhe only sound was COining fro In the showerheads. SOlnething suddenly struck nle funny. For the first tilne in nly life I was about to becolne involved in a fist tight I wasn't at all sure I could win. And this was certainly one hell of a spot for it. I laughed out loud, and got caught with a sharp left jab flush on the 111outh. I had instinctively rolled with the punch and it didn't hurt, but in one split second I knew what I was up against. '[his boy wasn't only big and beautiful, he could fight! And then in the next five seconds all hell broke loose! Boxer hit the hoy hard on the nape of his neck. I rushed between theln as Boxer ducked a left hook and then accidentally struck 1l1e on the shoulder in his eagerness to counter. 'T'he big boy hit Inc a sledge-halnnler right above the ear that spun lne down onto the soapy concrete and, as I bounced back to 1l1y feet, I saw it all happen as if it were in slow 1110tion.

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Boxer threw a right hand at the boy's head, lnissed, and slipped to his knees. The kid snapped the pug's head back with a knee to his chin, and then I-Lupin rushed him through the naked audience. He was clutching frantically for his hidden weapon, but the soap on his body was making it iInpossible. The Atnerican caught hiIn with a straight left between the eyes and, as Harpin flung both hands to his face, the boy shifted his weight and drove a right to his exposed stolnach. As Harpin doubled over 1 heard Boxer SCrealTI "No!" but the boy's uppercut was already on the way and it was too late. The fist caught Hatpin flush on the chin and bent him backwards like a willow in the wind. Miguel burst into rhe shower r00l11 followed by three arrned guards. Everyone rushed back beneath the water except Il1YSelf, Boxer, the Atllcrican and Hatpin. It was all still in slow Illotion. Incredibly, Haq)in was not "out." I-Ie looked at Boxer, then slowly dropped to his knees clutching his belly. Nobody touched him. Nobody spoke. Everyone seelHed to sense that sOlnething was vel'y wrong. Boxer slid across the concrete to sit beside his friend. He carefully pulled H~ltpin's fingers away froIn his stolnach and watched, fascinated, as the blood pUlllped out the tiny hole in spurts, turned pink, and then Inade bubbles in the soap. The Atnerican looked at Ine as if searching for an answer. Miguel and the guards finally stepped in and lifted Hatpin to his feet. I-Ie vOlnited blood the Inoment he was upright, and I caught that frightening out-of-focus stare of the badly hurt in his eyes. "Cuidado,jeje!" Boxer pleaded. Miguel looked at all of us and said, "Ustedes tienen cinco Illinutos!" I-Ie followed the guards as they carried I-Iatpin toward the prison hospital. Boxer called out s0111ething and I didn't understand hilll until the soapy inlnates rushed past Ine out of the shower rOOln, leaving the Alllerican and Ine quite alone. 'rhe fellow started for the exit, but a solid wall of soapy flesh blocked his way. Boxer glared at hinl. "You want fight!" he screallled. "You got five Illinutes!" The boy turned to nle. He was badly shaken and his cockiness W~lS gone. "\\That's going on here! What's wrong with that guy's belly?" "You probably killed hinl." "Killed hiln! Are you nuts?" "PIn not nuts, kid. He had a hatpin in there." It was all a nightlnare to the boy. He didn't even try to understand. "You got five Ininutes!" Boxer shouted above the roar of the jetting showers. "Be worse for you tonight!" "\Vhat do they want?" The boy's eyes were wide and suddenly frightened. I looked at hinl and he didn't seelll so big. "'I'hey want us to fight," I said. "I don't want to fight. 1'111 sick." "I don't want to fight either. And 1'n1 sick too." I hit the boy with a str.light

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left on the nose. He took it well and stood stock still as the blood began to cascade down across his lips, then unconsciously srock out his tongue to taste the blood. I hit hiln again just as hard as I could. He screamed as he bit his tongue, then rushed nle, both arIllS swinging. I slipped underneath the flailing fists, and skidded to Illy knees across the floor. The soapsuds had thrown Ine completely off balance and out of position. I jUInped up under the first showerhead and spun around against the wall. The icy water stabbed at my neck and cleared my rnuddled thoughts. I skidded to Iny left as the boy caIne crashing in at 111e through the water and caught hinl above the eye with a looping left. He slid into the concrete wall, left the grayness splattered with the bloody iInprint of his broken nose, then burst out of the water and charged at n1e again. I was glad that he hadn't decided to stand up and box. But, just as I was appreciating Iny unexpected good fortune, he threw hilllself flat onto his back and skidded underneath Ine, kicking up at Iny groin. In football I had been hurt there, and I'd been dropped a couple of tillles by low punches in boxing, but only in nly dreanls had I ever felt the real agony of a naked kick. The initial impact was horrendous, but I knew that in a second it would hurt even more. I needed tiIne to fight off the pain or I was a dead duck, and I rushed, doubled over, beneath the nearest streaITI of icy water. I was right about the pain, and I couldn't catch my breath. As the shower room turned black, I felt the boy explode onto my back. Together we slid the length of the slippery concrete and, as I sOl1lehow sensed the wall roaring at us, I spun the boy over and pushed his head so that it would take the full crash of our cOlnbined weight. Wham! The kid shook his head and sat up, stunned. I grabbed a handful of thick suds and slammed Illy palm over his shock-widened eyes. He screamed again and then, surprisingly, his hand found Illy ankle and pulled n1e over backwards to crash lny head against the wet floor. All went beautifully black and nothing hurt any Inore. For that, I thought sleepily, I was glad.

********** Fingers pulled Illy right eyelid up and a light flashed into nly eye. I blinked free frolll the fingers to see a prison doctor and Miguel bending over me. I sat up to discover that I was on a cot in the prison hospital. My head weighed a ton, and when I shook it to clear Iny vision it hurt like hell. I stopped shaking it. Miguel's voice inquired harshly, "How do you feel?" I focused on the jefe. "I'd be a liar if I said I didn't hurt." The doctor put the pencil-flashlight back into his coat pocket and walked away. "V ky"M'19ueI sal'd . "1.11 ." IOU , re Iuc, vve th ough t you h ad a conCUSSIon. Ever so slowly it all caIne back. I painfully glanced around to assure nlyself that we were alone. "Christ, Miguel," I whispered, "who won?"

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Miguel grinned. "\\Tell, since you're not going to die, we can call it a draw. Do you want to stay in here all night?" "Hell, no!" I-Ie put a restraining hand on my shoulder. "Easy boy. \J\'e're not in the army. I don't have that authority. Lie still. I'll just go tell the doctor that you want to be released. " He turned to catch up with the doctor who was now four cots away. "Senor jeft," I called. Miguel turned. "How's Iny friend?" "Which one? n "The guy with the hatpin." "You knew?" "Yeah, I knew." "Well, it's a funny thing about that fellow. He could have killed sOll1ebody with that thing, and then that damn pin nearly ended up killing hinl." "He's all right?" Miguel shook his head. "No, he isn't all right. I-Ie's stuck up pretty good in eight different directions, but he's going to live." I relaxed back onto Iny elbows. "I'lTI glad," I said. "\\That do you suppose got into that American idiot?" "Why don't you ask him?" He nodded to the cot behind nle, then turned on his heel to catch up with the doctor. I pivoted around. "Hi," the American idiot said. "Hi! That's a laugh, Buster!" The boy rolled over and showed 111e the handcuffs chaining hinl to his cot. "It isn't funny anymore," he said. I looked him over. His face was a 111ess: two purple eyes and his nose really was broken. It had been reset with splints that stuck down over his swollen upper lip. Except for his English, and his sandy hair, he would have been inlpossible to recognize. I studied him for a mOlnent longer, then just had to have the answer [0 a simple question: "Buster, tell Ine sOlnething. Why?" The boy cleared his throat. "I'm sorry." "Hell, we're all sorry. Especially Iny friend with the holes in his stolnach. But you haven't answered my question." The fellow looked at me as if he was trying very hard to pick just the right words. "Well. .. before you were a director, did you ever work for De Mille?U "What?" "C.B. De Mille."

CHAPTER

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"No. I never did, but I wish I had." """'ell, I did, for seven weeks, and he murdered Ine every day." "You 1l1e3n you think he picked on you." "I don't think. I know!" "How old were you then?" l'he hoy thought for a mOlnent. "It was four years ago, so I was nineteen." "And you've hated his guts ever since?" He nodded. "Twenty-four hours a day." I finally sOliled. It all figured. "Mr. De Mille would have laughed if he'd ever found out that you hated hitn so much you nearly killed a guy-as a matter of fact, t\Vo guys-in his Inenl0ry." "That isn't funny either, Mister." "Listen, Buster, the way I feel I wouldn't kid with you if I weren't sure you were tied down. And stop calling me Mister. It seems a little out of place in here." The boy looked down at the floor. "My name isn't 'Buster' too." My srnile broadened. "Okay then, what is it?" "GJay1ord" . "Gaylord? " "Yeah. Isn't that awful?" "I'll tell you a secret, Gaylord. My real nanle isn't Budd. It's Oscar." "No shit!" "So anyway, C;aylord," I continued, "let Ine tell you what I know about Mr. De Mille. He kidded you because he liked you, and I'll bet everyone on the cOlnrany knew he liked you except you. VVhen C.B. 'got on' soolebody, and stayed 'on' hill1, it was his way of relieving the tension. Hell, George Stevens was the saIne way when I was his assistant, and there's not a greater guy, or a better director, in the world. He 'rode' his favorite prop-man 'Hoppy' for years. The only difference between you and Hoppy was that he knew he was being kidded." C;aylord was quiet for a long Inornent, then: "Do you mean old man De Mille 1l1ight have really liked n1e?" "In all probability." He shook his head, and hurt his nose: "Well, I'll be damned! Now wait a Ininute. Next, I suppose you'll start telling Ine that there aren't any mean bastards in Hollywood." "I didn't even suggest that. We've all got our problelTIS and our enelnies, but relnCITIber this, Gaylord, Inost directors-at least the ones I know-are pretty fine fellows. Why, one of the greatest gentlemen in our industry, Henry Hathaway, can be an absolute bastard on the set. You can't judge a l11an unless you really know him." C;aylord rolled back onto his one pillow and stared at the high ceiling. "I

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guess that's what 1'111 talkin' about," he said slowly. "You sec that's abollt the only place we ever see you guys-on the set." **********

I looked at 111Y face in Miguel's Inirror and what I saw surprised Ine. I had one blue-black eye and a deep gash over the other one. My nose was puffed up across the bridge and Illy left ear was swollen. Miguel sat on the cot and watched nly facial inspection with growing anlusenlent. "Now perhaps you'll believe IllC," he said. "You didn't get those cuts and bruises in the hospital." "Looks like I Illissed one hell of a scrap." "You l11ay not rel11enlber it," the jefe laughed, "but frol11 what the boys tell ll1e, I wish I had seen it. You got up and knocked your pal down after you hit your head. Then he got up and knocked you down. T'his 'up and down' business went on until the I11en pulled you apart when they saw Ine returning. You passed out after the fight was over. That's why I thought you had a concussion." I crossed to the hot plate and poured Inyself a cup of N escafe. "You don't relneInber any of that?" Miguel continued. "It's all black?" "Like ink," I answered, sitting down on the chair beside the cot. "You know, I really hated to con1e back to the cellblock. I knew it was because of Inc that the fight got started. And then the guy with the hatpin ... and, of course, I was sure that I lost. Then, when I get back here, I suddenly discover I'nl (1 hero." "It wasn't just the fight," Miguel explained. "You see, since you owe fortytwo thousand pesos you're about the richest fellow IllOSt of our boys have ever Inet. You've got it Inade on two counts." "Well, that's saine consolation." I took a long swallow of Nescaf'e. "Miguel, that Gaylord is in trouble for one reason: I--Iate. He fights because he hates. I-Ie learned to hate a truly great l11an because he \vas still a stupid punk kid in a tough industry, and he didn't know any better. After that he ran away fronl California searching for SOI11eone else to hate. I just happened to be the last one he found. But you want to know a funny thing? 1'111 going to teach that kid a lesson. ''''hen C;aylord gets out of here, 1'111 going to put hinl to work-IF I ever get out of here." "You're going to get out of here," Miguel said, crossing to the pot of boiling water, "and 1'111 going to tell you s0l11ething. \Vhen you do, I']n really going to miss you." That, right then, was worth a dozen Acadelny Awards.

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against the cold. When I stepped out of Iny cell to line up for the morning countdown, I was glad to be alive. I had eaten nothing substantial for three days and four nights, and the self-inflicted fast had left n1y brain crystal clear. Suddenly I could tell frolll the low I1lurnlur anlong the prisoners that s0I11ething was wrong. Miguel had stopped at the end of the line in front of nUI11ber sixtyseven, but there was no one behind the prisoner. The jefe issued a sharp COITIl1land, and three trustees dashed up the stairs to inspect the second-tier cellblock. 'rhe blue-unifoflned boy directly above Ine stopped as he caIne to the last cell. "Aqui,jeje," he said as siInply as if he had just cOlne across his lost towel. I didn't know who it was yet, but I was well aware of what it was. When four prisoners carried the shriveled little body past Ine in a blanket I couldn't recognize the face because of the blood. The throat was slashed froIn ear to ear, but the hand across the dead l11an's chest was handaged by a dirty, bloody silk handkerchief, and I knew that beneath that handkerchief, on the back of the hand, was a festered cigarette burn. **********

I stepped into the corridor outside the courtroolll and heard a gasp and Paul's voice say "C~ood C;od, they beat hinl up!" I walked up to the steel nlesh. "Nobody beat 111C up," I said, grinning as best I could. "It's just that an antiAI11erican and I got to fooling around." Fernando's voice cut in, "I told you this is a tough place!" I laughed. "It sllre is if you happen to COl1le across another gringo who's anti-

everybody. "

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Paul stepped forward. "Another gringo?" I told them what had happened. Paul merely said, "Oh." He'd been in the business long enough to understand. Guerrero pushed eagerly forward. "I think we've got a surprise for you," he beamed. "I think we've got you out of here!" I stepped back and pressed my fingers against the heavy steel lnesh that was cutting off my freedom. "Really? It doesn't show." "You'll be out of here in a jiffy," Guerrero continued. "Senorita C:ardenas' statements to the press have really touched off saIne fireworks. And Enlilio, ~lnd Gabby Figueroa, and Dawson Bray and your friends at the Actors C;uild are kicking up an awful fuss. 1 just spoke to the judge and I think he'd like to get you out of here in a big hurry. He's trying to waive the seventy-two hours." My hean picked up a few beats. "Then His Honor has decided 1'ln innocent?" "We all know you're innocent." "You didn't answer my question." "His Honor can't tell me yet, but I'm certain of his verdict." "Licenciado." 1 pressed my face tight against the steel. "\\'hen?" "When are you going to get out?" I bit Iny tongue. "I think that's the general idea." "Well, if it isn't this morning, it will certainly be the first thing this afternoon-if I can see the judge-personally. Although tOl110rrOW is his Saint's Day, and he may not caIne in ... " 1 couldn't stand it! "You will keep in touch with Ine, won't you, Liccnciado? You will keep me informed as to what's going on?" The little attorney grinned. "Of course. Incidentally, I had a wonderful idea for a movie that we've got to talk about. The story opens when this fellow's just a kid. His dad and his mother die ... " His voice trailed off as he slowly becalne aware of Iny glare. 1 just couldn't believe it. At a cocktail party I'd buy. At a C:hristInas dinner I'd tolerate. But trying to selllne a story in prison! It was actually happening. People have no souls! "Hank!" Hank Lopez took Guerrero's place. "Hank, where's Henry?" I had noticed that Henry Ehrlich was not in the group. It worried Inc. Ifell, everything worried Ine. "Frankly," Hank explained, "seeing you in here has just been too l11uch for him. \\!hen we left yesterday, I thought he was going to cry." I relaxed, a millilneter. "Well, you tell hinl 1'111 fine. I've 1l1et SOllle real characters and one great man. If 1 have to be in here, I'lll doing Illy best to enjoy it. Tell Henry to stop worrying."

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I lank, hinlself, was obviously relieved. "I'll tell hinl," he said. Fernando 1110ved up. "We went to the hotel last night and 1110ved all of your things out to Iny little house in Tlalpan. It isn't ll1uch of a place, but it's yours as long as you want it." "\"lho went to the hotel, Fernando?" "Elsa and I, and two of my pals you don't know." "Elsa went to the Regal-Chapultepec!" "Sure. Why not? You're her guy." A guard tapped Ine on the shoulder and said "Tielnpo." I waved to Iny gang. "Don't go out of town," I called, then I followed the guard past the seven-hundred and sixty-eight bricks I had memorized the day before. rrhere had been sOlne kind of a ruckus in cellblock B, and we skirted that section on the way back "holne." The walk was interesting as it gave me the first opportunity to study the actual prison. There were no Inore civilians. All the prisoners were unifonned in Federal blue. I was surprised to see that nlost of the cellblocks were attractively painted, and that the patio shrubs and flowers were well trinllned and beautiful. The Decenlber sun was blazing its midday heat, and the inillate's clothes were hung out to dry in the few corners where the sun could find theln. At first I was amused at what I considered the "Mexican attitude" when Illy guard alllbled lazily along ahead of nle. But as I carefully studied Iny surroundings, I canle to know quickly, that even if I "copped a Sunday" at the back of his fat neck I wasn't going anyplace. Behind each cellblock was another cellblock, and another, and another, as far as I could see. And then when I blinked up through the sunlight at the tower at the wall-end of the street I saw, through open portholes, that two Inachine guns were following my progress. I thought back to World vVar II days and the California coast antiaircraft boys who, day after day, night after night, trained their gunsights to follow all passing planes. I rellleinbered one kid in particular who I11uttered: "Jes' once! Believe Ine, jes' once, 1'111 gonna pull this C;awd-dalnned trigger!" I hoped with all Iny might that neither of those gunners was that bored. Boxer and C:aballo Santos were Inopping close to the gate when it was op<':llcd for 11le. "You gonna get out, Meester Movie Man?" Boxer asked. I nodded and took the IllOP from Caballo. "One of these days," I said. "I-Iow's your pal's stolnach trouble?" wrhe jefe teHlne he get well, but I theenk the doctors take away hees peen." I tried not to snlile because Boxer was genuinely crushed at Hatpin's bad luck in losing their weapon. Instead I said, "l""'hey'll probably fraille it." This seeIned to cheer hiln up. He moved closer to mop along beside Ine. "You know who keel that ,lnancon . , tees h ')" 111ornlng.

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"It was l11urder!" "No!" he shook his head. "He keel heeln!" He wasn't certain he had gotten it across. "Heemself keel heeIn!" he continued. "He cut hees throat weeth razor blade, then poosh blade down hole to hide eet before he die. Eees brave, no?" "It's impossible, but I believe it." "Ees true! One hospeetal boy tell 111e through gate." "Naas!" Miguel was Inotioning to Ine. I gave Caballo back his 1110P and crossed the oblong patio to where the jeft was standing. "So what does your attorney tell you?" "I-Ie prol11ises nle that 1'ln going to get out of here today, or tornorruw, except that tomorrow is His Honor's Saint's Day and he 111ight not show up." I sensed that my new friend was not in a 11100d for light banter, and I switched to: "Hell, 1'111 not at all sure that you're not going to beat Ine out of here." That pearl really made l11e want to bite Iny tongue-off. Prison is no place for thoughtless cOlnics. But Miguel just smiled. "I doubt that," he said. He nodded for l11e to follow hin1 into his pink cell where he crossed to the cooking table, plugged in the hot plate and put the water on to boil. I stopped in front of Elsa's picture and said, "Good Inorning, honey." Miguel turned to grin at Ine, and kicked at the cot for 1l1e to sit down. "During the pictures you've Inade in Mexico-have you ever Iner Illy boss?" "Yes," I answered, "about five or six tjInes, but it was always in the receiving line of S0111e big social function. I doubt if he'd relneInber Inc." "He remelllbers you. I'm sure he knows your \vork. l~he pictures you've made dovvn here haven't exactly hurt the tourist trade." I sensed what was cOIning. "Well, Inaybe he does then." Miguel leaned over the pot and looked for an over-long tinle to see if the water was boiling. I knew that what he was about to say was a trelnendous effort for him, but there was no way that I could help hiln SclY it. So I just Selt on the cot and waited as the jeft lit a Inatch and full1bled with a cigarette. Finally: "If you ever ... ever see hiln again, will you say 'hello'?" "Hello. That's all?" "Yes, just hello. He's got to have thought about Inc during all this tilHe. I'd just like hiln to know that 1'111 all right." "If I get a chance, I'll tell hiIn." "No, just say hello for Ine. That will be enough. He'll understand. ] 'vc always been worried that he Inight think I'ln bitter." He burned his fingers on the Inatch he was still holding, then stolllpcd it out on the floor. There was a knock on the door.

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A young trustee stepped into the cell, and handed Miguel a slip of paper. The jeft read it and disnlissed the guard. "You're on the way out," Miguel said and offered his hand. The words were just words to me. I had expected to be set free, but it really wouldn't have been such a shock if I had been forced to relnain a much longer time in prison. The past days and nights had been an invaluable experience. I wasn't rationalizing when I felt that, for the first tilne in Iny life, I had understood patience. And, strangely, with the knowledge that nly release was assl1red, I wasn't elated. This period behind bars had shown me some dreadfullnoments, but now I couldn't force Inyself to relnember, blackly, one minute of theln. "I'm going to get out, just like that?" "Just like that." Miguel snapped his fingers, and walked me to the door. "All you have to do now is wait at the gate. We'll have our Nescafe some other time." We stepped out into the patio. "They'll fingerprint you again and put you through SaIne additional red tape nonsense, and-that's it. Good luck." He turned on his heel and took a step back into the cell. "Miguel! Good luck. That's all?" The jefe swung around and looked hard at me for a InOlnent, then he tnellowed. "Forgive me for hoping that they'd keep you in here a little longer. You see, I've said goodbye to so many things on the outside it's ... it's just ilupossible that now, in here of all places, I've got to say goodbye to sonleone like you." There was nothing for Ine to say and I knew it. Miguel tried to press his right heel into the concrete, but the patio was like the rest of the prison-ilnpregnahle. Still, there was one luore thing he had left to say. "I hope that I don't do this badly, but if I do please try to understand. If.. .if ever you meet S0111eone like yourself who could find the tinlC to visit here once in a while to talk, I'd be forever grateful. Or. .. Inaybe you could even find me a-girl." He turned abruptly and hurried back into his world of pink walls, pictures of Christ and Guadalupe, his fatnily and Elsa, the hot plate, the cot and the toilet. 'The cell door swung shut behind hiln. I stood without Inoving until I was startled by Boxer's voice close to Iny ear. "You now go out, Movie Man?" I tried to slnile. "It looks that way." "We hear. We all happy. I tell my hurt friend. He happy too." "You saw hiIll?" "No, we send words to each other all tilne, lne and hceln. He say tell you 'Suerte! '" A guard banged his stick against the steel bars and called out Illy name. I turned and yelled "Aqui!" The bolt scratched open; the heavy gate swung out, and the guard 1l10tioned for me to follow him.

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Just like that. Suddenly a portion of Illy life was stopped by the swing of that iron gate. I felt guilty for having iIllposed Inyself into the lives of these other IHen who weren't going anyplace, especially guilty that now, just like that, I was walking out on lives 1 would probably never cross again. I took one last look at the rusty door that covered the view of a color picture of a green-eyed girl, a pink cell and ~l friend. And then, just like that, I stepped through the open gateway, out of the enlpty future of cellblock H.

**********

It was nearly dark when the little door inside the ]nalnl110th green-painted wooden gate of EI Federal opened. It had taken a lot longer than a snap of the fingers, just like that, to cut through all the red tape concerning Iny release. I stepped through the door and walked alone up the cobblestone driveway toward the street. "Hey! Over here!" It was Paul's voice. I shielded Inyeyes frOI11 the glare of the overhead arc-lights, and the Rolls-Royce. Paul, Pepe and Fernando caine into view across the street in the shadows of a tiny park. I wanted to run to thenl, but I forced Inyself to continue slowly up the driveway until a voice behind nle called 111y na]ne. I spun around and spotted Licenciado Guerrero hurrying toward Ine frO]11 a side entrance. As he drew closer I could see that Iny little attorney was flushed with rriulnph, grinning like an aspirant torero who'd cut his first ear in the bullring. "We did it! We did it!" I pumped his eager hand. "We didn't do a danln thing. I sat on Illy calloused ass. You did it all!" "No!" he screalned. "We did it! Your guts and tny brains!" I was weak, so I offered hinl a weak sll1ile. "My guts have never been elnptier," I said, "but I'll sure as hell give screen credit to your brains." Guerrero reached up and put his ann around Illy shoulder, and we walked together toward the car. Paul, Fernando and Pepe l11et us in the Iniddle of the street. Fernando lifted Iny left ar111 and glanced at nly gold wrist watch, then reached into his pocket and handed Paul fifty pesos. This tillle I laughed out loud. "Lose a bet, Fernando?" "Yeah. 1'111 glad I was broke or I'd have lost a lot lnore." Paul slipped the fifty-peso bill into his wallet. "You know," he said, "ordinarily I wouldn't take it, but this I'n1 going to franle." "How do you like the looks of our car, sir?" 1 stopped beside the glistening white Rolls, then slniled at Iny chauffeur. "I

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wasn't one bit worried about our car, Pepe, and I never will be as long as it belongs to us." Tires skidded and a red Mercedes-Benz slid around the far corner and braked to a stop beside us. Arruza bounced out of the front seat shaking his head. "Ayee! \Vhat a mistake they've made," he said sadly. "They'll pay for it, matador! " Fernando agreed. "Pay for it, hombre! The mistake was in letting hilll out! I tried to get here in tiIlle to stop them, but I see I'm too late." "That really figures," I laughed and faked a punch at the matador's stomach. Carlos threw up his hands in mock protest. "Looks to me like you shouldn't try that kind of stuff anymore." He touched my swollen ear. "\Vhat did you get gored by-a Miura?" "Worse, another gringo." "Pobrecito!" Carlos cried gleefully and slapped nle hard on my bruised back. "So now where are you headed?" Fernando cut in. "We're transfering the prisoner to Elsa's for a 'welcomeout' dinner, then, whether he likes it or not ... " He grinned at me, "And he ain't gonna like it, he's coming to Tlalpan to stay with me until at least sonzething about your picture gets settled." "My future seems planned," I sighed. I was already apprehensive about Fernando's Tlalpan, but delighted with my dinner invitation. I had wanted to ask where Elsa was, but I'd let the happenings of the past few months Inake nle a little gun-shy. Carlos reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a long manila envelope, and handed it to me. "This was sent to me at Pasteje. They forwarded it to Acapulco. I opened it because, as you can see, it's addressed to Ine." I looked down at the envelope and turned it face-up in Iny hands. It was addressed to "Senor Carlos Arruza, Pasteje, Toluca, Mexico." In the upper lefthand corner in a little girl's scrawl was the name, "Miss Debra Paget." Inside were the divorce papers frOln Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico. "I guess she figures we never believe the newspaper," Fernando said. "Or she's decided that I'ln the Walter Winchell of Mexico and expects me to spread the word around that she's not married anYInore to an ex-con," Carlos suggested. "It's all right. Don't worry, Sir," Pepe said. Paul looked up at the trees in the park as he lit a cigarette. "Poor kid," he said. "How she must have suffered." I shot hirn a glance and, from the look of consummate disgust on his face, I was hit by the full in1pact of his sarcaSln. I took Paul's Inatch and carefully lit a corner of the red ribbon beneath the seal at the bottOI1l of the dOCUlnent. Paul touched Iny sleeve. "You lllight need

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those papers one of these days," he suggested quietly. "You know that I can always get a copy if I need one," I n:plicd, ""and I sure as hell don't need these." The flalning pages fluttered onto the cobblestones as we stood in a silent circle and watched the yellow, orange and crin1S0n nun to black, then blow away. Paul said, "I'll ride back into town with Carlos." I opened the front door of the Rolls, and hesitated. Jesus, "thanks" was always the toughest word in the world to say to real friends. \VeIl, tonight thc~"d just have to understand that thanks was enough. I said, "l~hanks, fel1as," but, daInn it, it waSl1 't enough. So I turned and added "goodnight" then stepped into the front seat with Pepe. Carlos didn't ITIOVe, but his voice carried through the early evening t()g. 40)'111 heading back to Acapulco. You've got two bullfight tickets at Iny house for tOI110rrow. " Paul climbed into the Mercedes \vith the 111atador. Fernando jUlnped into the back seat behind Ine. Pepe rurned the key in the ignition and, after several starting bursts of engine noise, the two powerful automobiles I110ved silently away frol11 the Inassive, cold concrete and steel I110nUlnent to the Federal Pen~11 Systelll and the Mexican Peon.

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P

EPE PULLED ON THE ROLLS' HANDBRAKE IN FRONT OF ELSA'S

apartlnent and junlped out of the car to run around and open Iny door. "Pepe, relax," I said tiredly. "I can open IUY own door. As a Inatter of fact, after the last four days, I can open Iny own anything." But Iny loyal Pepe had already opened the door, run up the steps of the nlarble entrance-way, and was pressing Elsa's apartlnent buzzer. In a Illoment the thick glass door clicked ajar and Pepe stepped inside to hold it open. Fernando crawled out of the back seat to sit up front. "Aren't we all having dinner?" I asked, surprised. "Nope. You're on your own, nlatador." I felt the heavy stubble on Illy face and glanced down at my sweater and C:haplinesque slacks. "Well, what about her aunt? You know I've never been up there before and this is sure one hell of a tinle to Inake an entrance." "It's like I said," Fernando grinned, "you're on your own." I-Ie reached into his pocket, and then held out his fist to l11e. "Here's sonlething I altnost forgot," he said. Then he dropped a heavy piece of jewelry into tny hand. It was Iny wedding ring. I looked down at the gold ring with its garish three square-cut diaI110nds for a long beat, then handed it back to Fernando. "Hang onto this, kid," I said. "We I1light really be broke sOlnetilne and we'll need this." "l-lijo, Inano! We're broke now!" HWell, hang onto it 'til we're broker. And, Fernando, when are you picking Ine up?" "Pepe will be here waiting for you whenever you're crazy enough to be ready to leave. Right now, if you don't tnind, he's going to take Ine hotne to Tlalpan.

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'Hijo, mana,' did they cut off your balls in The Federal? I wish I had sOlneone like Elsa up there waiting for Ine." I started up the front steps and Fernando called after Ine, "Don't forget to kiss the old lady," but I didn't turn around. I just waved. \\'hat a great night to meet the "old lady!" I suddenly thought that Inaybe clothes-and a sho\ver and a shave, did make the Inan. As I stepped through the doorway Pepe said softly, "Suerte!" I stopped and looked sternly down at hil11. "Pepe, if you are referring to Senorita Cardenas, that doesn't sound like you." Pepe flushed and hung his head. "I was referring only to you, sir. I always wish you luck wherever you go." I grunted and stepped into the elevator when I suddenly realized I didn't even know the nUlnber of the floor. But Pepe pushed a button, the elevator door closed, and I was on the way up. It seemed as if everybody knew where I was going but me. In the confines of the elevator I finally got a whiff of what relnained of the prison odors. After all, I'd only been out of Iny clothes once in over onehundred and six hours. I knew. I had counted each one of theIn. '[he elevator stopped. I stepped out and looked up at the indicator. It was the ninth floor. The long narrow hallway was enlpty but, at the far end of the hall a door was open, and the lights from the aparttnent cast a beige glow across the gold carpet. I walked toward the open door where the soft 111llSic of an Italian love song drifted from the hi-fi and, when I looked into the entrance-way, Elsa stood up across the white rug to greet me. "Hi," she said. "You left Ine alone for nearly a week." "Well, honey, it wasn't my idea." "Nor mine." I held out my arms. "CaIne here, you vixen." "Now don't start with those words I can't understand." I wiggled my fingers. "Come here, you." Then she was in my arms, and I crushed her close. I had never kissed her this way before. All the frustration, all the hurt, and all the wanting exploded into each other froln between our lips. Suddenly conscious that I Inight be hurting her] pulled away and held her at arm's length. "Jesus, I kiss you like that and I haven't even brushed my teeth for four days." It was indelicate, but to the point. "It was you," she breathed.' "That's all that Inattered." I kicked the door shut behind me, and looked around the rOOI11. It was a white roorn: big, with touches of green here and there. There was a white-brick fireplace, and on the mantle were three silver statues, two frol11 Cannes, and one from Venice. A black gold-cracked mirror hung behind the starnes and reflected the lights frolll Chapultepec Palace across the park. Two green divans faced each other before the fireplace, separated by a low, heavy, white table filled with the

CHAPTER

EIGIlTEEN

current issues of Vogue, Hrnpers and Paris lVlatcb. In an alcove by the high windows was the dining set, black with green cushions on eight chairs. The table was covered with Spanish lace and in the center of the table was an aged-green candelabra with thirteen slender white candles. At the left of the alcove, a white carpeted hallway led off to what I i111agined were the bedro0111s. Bedroolns! Jesus! I hurried a question. "\''here's your aunt?" She stepped close again and held Illy anns in both of hers. "You'll Ineet her later. " "\\There's your Inaid?" "I gave her the night off." She smiled up at ll1e. "1 can cook. Goodness!" "Elsa, is your aunt here?" She swung I11e around by the shoulders. "Gracious! You are like a little boy. So Illany questions." I stepped away and walked to the windows. "Honey, in alliny life I never felt like such a little boy. Jail didn't really disturb me. It gave Ine things, but now 1'111 out of jail and ... " I turned to face her. "And I don't know where 1'n1 going." She reached up to touch Iny cheek. "Right now, darling, you're going to shower, and shave, and ... Well, everything you need is in the bathroolll. COlne on." She led me by the hand along the hall. 1 was dalnned if I was going to ask her again about her aunt. FraIn now on that was her probletll. Hell, I was lucky it wasn't her IIncle-with a Inachete! She opened the bathroolll door, and I followed her in. While the aparttnent was predoIninantly white, the large bathroonl \vas hlack 111arble. There was a full-length Inirror and a sunken tub that was a 111iniature swilnlning pool. Shaving soap, a razor, a toothbrush and paste were laid out on the wash stand. I-Ianging on the inside of the door were a silk robe and fresh pajalnas. I wondered how fresh, and she caught Iny expression of concern and pulled the pajaInas down off the hook. They still bore their store stickers. It was the saIne with the robe. "I had a feeling I should leave these tags on," she said, quite pleased with herself. HI'll1 not Inllch of a wOlnan yet, but I try to have sOlne sort of an intuition. " "You're a W 0111011 , Elsita. Don't Inake any tnistake about that." I was suddenly serious. HDo you really want 1l1e to change into these things?" "()f course. That's why I bought theln. I knew you'd feel dirty." "I anl dirty." She held her nose and Inade a face. "Really?" she laughed. "I never would have known." She tried to duck, but I swatted her on the fanny as she ran out into the hall.

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"Throw out your clothes, and I'll have your trousers pressed," she cl11ed back. "And take your tilne. Every little bit of soap will help." I grinned into the Inirror. Once again it was becolning fog b')' whether Iny nlother's 111aiden nanle had been Naas or Nass. I inserted a blade into the razor, turned on the hot water in the tub and began to strip. **********

She was arranging flowers on the table when I stepped out of the bathrooIl1. "Lady," I said in a high-pitched voice, '''was' you expecting sOInebody else?" She looked up and burst out laughing. "()h, honey, forgive Ine!" Then she ran forward and threw her anns around nly neck. "I swear to you, I guessed that was your size!" I stepped back and lnodeled Iny costulne. And a COSnlIl1e it was! rrhc robe hung nearly to the floor, and I had rolled the sleeves and pants cuffs up and over three times. I shook Illy finger at a hysterical Elsa. "You know, young lady, it's a terrible thing you've done to what's left of Iny ego. Now I know that I'Ill only big in your dreanls." She struggled with the words because she couldn't stop laughing. "1 tried so hard, and now look at you. 1 really don't know Inuch about buying things for l11en. " "I believe you," 1 grinned. "I'd better believe you! If you really know SOllle character who fits this outtlt, I'nl getting the hell out of here!" She laughed again and shook her head. "I prolllise you, no. A.fter one look at you I would not want to know any person that big!" She turned back to the table. "Collle on. I know you are starved." I burst out an exclalnation. "Wow!" I hadn't really noticed until just then. "My darling sweetheart, you are a frighteningly exciting-looking young lady!" I backed into the hallway to get a better look. She was wearing lounging pajanlas with a gold Chinese Mandarin coat to her waist. Her hair was pulled back to one side over her ear, and she wore on the other ear her only jewelry, a squarccut enlerald. I had always realized that she was tall, but I hadn't known it was nl0stly legs that shot her up like that. She relninded Ine of a high-juI11per, or a hurdler. I thought, unexpectedly, of the grace of a cheetah. \Vhen I looked up frol11 her legs, she was slniling. "You've brushed your teeth now," she said, and stepped up against 111C. Dinner was exhausting, as I worked frantically to down three helpings of everything. 1 looked over Iny shoulder only once, and she slniled and said, "You'll Ineet Iny aunt later. Relax, and eat your food." When I finally stopped her frolll pouring nly fifth cup of coffee, I began to

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feel almost human. But, all throughout dinner, I had been disrurbed by thoughts of Miguel. I wondered if the pain of my new friendship would one day wear off like the pain of a goring; then I knew there would always be a scar. I pushed my cup away and leaned back in my chair. Elsa was the first to speak. "You still believe in your picrure?" "You know I do." "And you're going ahead with it?" I nodded. "Darling, I've been here in Mexico long enough to merely say that I'm going to try." She smiled, then began to study the lace pattern of the tablecloth. I sensed a serious problem. "Elsa, what is it?" It was a moment before she looked up. "Well, it's just amazing that I have allowed myself to become involved in something I so violently oppose." "Good Lord, what?" "Bullfighting. " "Bullfighting? " She nodded. "The very thought of it makes me sick." A bomb had been, almost tenderly, exploded. "I hope that doesn't hurt you, darling, but I couldn't keep you from such a secret." "I understand," I said. "If you don't want to make Arruza .. .1 understand." She stood and crossed behind my chair. Then she put her fingers to my temples and began to slowly press them in a circle. "I want to make your picrure for you. And I will-if you need me. It's just that I don't think I'm going to like that bullfighting thing." I leaned back to look up at her."You think? Don't you really know?" "How could I? I've never seen the c01'"ridas." "Then you don't really know?" "I just think. Don't fight me. I will make the lllovie, but with my eyes closed." I hurst out laughing and stood to face her. "You really are a fruitcake! Do you think I'm going to twist your arm? I've never tried to 'sell' bullfighting to anyone. 1 know about it, and I will explain things to you, answer your questions. But, believe Ine, that's all. Hell, honey, I could write tirades against bullfighting as easily as I romanticize it. I've seen both sides, and the rotten side is pretty seedy." She stood looking at me for a long time. Finally: "That is all? You are not upset?" "Why should I be? I respect your opinions the same as I expect you to respect mine." She smiled, genuinely relieved. "Well, that is the only problem we have-I

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think." Then she looked directly into Iny eyes, startlingly, overwhelIningly sincere. "Darling?" It threw me. "Yes, honey?" "Now, would you like to see Iny aunt?" "Like this, in Gargantua '5 pajamas?" Her voice was soft. "She will understand. She has waited a long tilne to meet you." She took me by the hand and led Ine down the long hall. There was a Jnirrored light-blue dressing room just before the high, sanded-glass door. She pushed the door open and pulled Ine inside. It was a big rOOln, beautifully appointed in its simplicity. The most exquisite piece of furniture was the bed, not king-size, but abundant, ancient, wood-carved and sparkling white. The satin bedspread was white and tucked in over the pillows. Against the headboard was one long emerald-green satin pillow. And on the pillow was a doll. "Tia," she began, addressing the doll, "quiero presentarle lui novia." Then turning to me, she said sil11ply: "Senor, this is Iny aunt." I looked down at the little rag doll and knew, inlll1ediately, that I'd been taken. It was a silly, patchwork, little American-type rag doll with straw-yellow hair and one button-eye Inissing. But this wad of rags, and its one bright eye, had held me at bay for Inanths. I wanted to laugh, but I knew how terribly serious this Inoment was to her. We both stood staring at her aunt; then she walked to the head of the bed and switched off the lights. In the sudden blackness I heard a little girl's voice say, "I can't look at you, darling. Forgive Ine." I reached out and felt her body lean back against Ine, slid Iny fingers across her breasts, and the top gold button popped off the jacket. I tried to say "sorry," but the word stuck in Iny throat. Then both her hands ripped the jacket apart, and five gold buttons fell onto the carpet. I cupped Iny hands over her surprising breasts, and lowered her gently across the bed. "Be careful with Inyaunt!" I wanted to tell her that this was bound to be the "carefulest" J110111ent of Iny life. Instead I pushed her "aunt" higher up on top of the pillow. Her breathless voice said, "Teach Ine, darling. I should know these things, but I do not." I found her bare shoulder and began to run Iny lips slowly toward her fingertips. Somewhere in the darkness I heard the little girl's voice again say, "le3ch me," and I fel t her body quiver. I would try so hard to teach her. But Iny head was spinning.

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NINETEEN

HE ARRIVAL OF THE ROLLS-ROYCE IN FRONT OF EL TOREO

caused quite an unexpected C0111lllotion. ~'hile Pepe walked around to open the door for us, a crowd began to fOrIn. A sudden sickening feeling cranlped at Iny stoI11ach. I was well aware of the "Yankee go hotHe!" chant in other countries, but I personally had never been subjected to any anti-Alnericanisl11 fro1l1 the bullfight crowds of Mexico. I gritted Iny teeth, turned to Elsa and forced a sI1lile. "Your public, honey." "No, this tilne I think it's yours. My people want to see, up close, how any farllous director who owns a car like this can get hill1self in so 111uch trouble." I had to laugh. "That Inakes sense," I said. "Maybe they can give n1e the answer." But I was still apprehensive until I stepped out of the back seat to confront a sea of friendly faces. Now, I just hoped that the Inake-up Elsa used to cover Iny purple eye and Illy swollen ear wouldn't be too noticeable. Appearing as a real 'loser' to that crowd would only further dalnage Illy graying reputation. Elsa, looking gorgeous in a new leopard-skin hat and jacket, inll1lediately began signing autographs, until I gently took her by the ann and led her slowly toward the bullring entrance. But she continued to scribble her naI1le on every illlaginable scrap of paper that was thrust at her. "Hey, pal, how you like preeson?" I waved to the boy. "Met a lot of nice people in there." "You get broke eye in jail?" another voice called. I touched Iny ear. "C;ot this, too," I called back. Suddenly I knew that there was no prohleln. The people laughed and kidded 11lC. I kidded back. Elsa never looked lny way, but twice she slniled at one of Iny answers and squeezed lny arnl. S0I11eOne at the rear of the nlob yelled, "Dos orcjas, Senor Director!" Another voice cried, "Y el rabo!" And then a little boy's voice

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screeched, "And de fooot!" Everybody laughed. "How about that, honey?" I said. "This is Iny Mexico." "Our Mexico, Elsa. \\Then I see people like this, I know I've got to stick it out." "1 never doubted that you would." I hugged her shoulders and followed the cushion vendor into the palco Carlos had reserved for us. We were greeted by two bullfight j~rJ;lIrlls, C:hucho Solorzano and Silverio Perez, with their wives. There was a long nlOI11ent of uncolnfortable silence, then everyone laughed when I checked the bars of the palco and remarked that I felt at hOlTIe. The two nlatadors separated the six chairs so that each of us would have an unrestricted view of the bullring, and we sat down just as the kettledrulTIs signaled time for the poseo. I reached across to hold her hand. It was icy and wet.

********** I finally finished my mrkey plate at Sanborn's Insurgentes and put down Iny fork. Neither Elsa nor 1 had spoken all during dinner, a dinner that she hadn't touched. Hell, let's face it, it had been one of those days. One of those really dreadful days! One of those "fracasos" that Inakes everyone enl0tionally involved hate Hen1ingway, and Barnaby Conrad, and everyone else who has tried, intelligently, to sell them the bulls. Today there had been seven straight inferior bulls: six complete 111ansos-cowardly anilnals who were prodded out, one after the other, when the first foro bravo really hadn't "read" his billing. It was a day of the cobardes. You could slTIell the stench of sticky, sweaty fear the I110lnent the three matadors cringed themselves into the ring for the opening parade. Then, not one of theln wanted any part of the afternoon's cattle, and the over-long disgusting exhibition turned into a senseless ballet of frantic leaps and pirouettes as they danced up, and over, and around the protective hUl'laderos to ensure their s.lfety from bulls who wanted no part of thenl either. It was awful! And it had been Elsa's first experience. Now I was certain it would also be her last. I leaned across the table. "You haven't said one word all evening." She forced a slnile. "I know," she said. I cleared my throat. ~~Well, I didn't want to interrupt your thoughts. You see, when a person sees his first bullfight, and it turns out to be either very good or vcry bad, well, that person finds hinlself pretty etTIotionally disturbed. And, after this afternoon, your nerves should be completely shattered."

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She took a sip of coffee, then said: "They are. Now is that the end of your lesson?" I nodded with new-found hUInility, and intended to keep Iny word. The presence of two dark-suited Inen, who suddenly materialized beside Elsa's chair, cinched it. The youngest, a handsome, athletic type, spoke in perfect English. "Senorita Cardenas, please excuse the intrusion, 'C;obernacion.'" The word HGobernacion" had the salne chilling ring as the initials "F.B.I." I stood up and offered nly hand. "Please sit down," I suggested. "Would you care for SOI1le coffee?" The two nlen sat down. The younger one continued: "Thank you, no. We are here, sir, to ask you if you will be kind enough to visit the office of our Chief Inspector, Licenciado Blando, at ten o'clock Monday Illorning." He reached into his pocket. "Excuse Ine. Would you care to see our credentials?" I waved theln aside. "I don't think that will be necessary. Could you tell Ille what this concerns?" "I imagine," the young Inan went on, "that it concerns your visit to Mexico but, of course, I can't be sure." They both stood. "Ten o'clock, then. Monday. Inspector BlandoImnligration, second floor, office 211. At the main building on Bucareli." "I'll be there," I 111eant to say strongly. But it didn't COIlle out that way. My voice cracked. And I think I blushed. I exhaled a deep breath as the twn Inen walked away. "Now what!" My words sounded hollow. Elsa fought hard to control her feelings. "It Inay be nothing, sweetheart. Have you ever had any trouble with Gobernacion?" "()f course not. l~hat office has always been a great help to Inc." "Then there is nothing to worry about. But I do think it Inight be uice for you to go there Monday ITIorning." I picked up my cup of coffee and tried to laugh. But the coffee tasted bitter. **********

The Mexican State Deparnnent, although always a friendly building before, now loonlcd gray and oI11inous as I stepped out of the Rol1s on Bucareli Street and walked through the high stone gates. A few loungers sat on the painted iron benches at the entrance, and underneath the dark arches occasional groups of threes and fours whispered to business-suited attorneys carrying leather briefcases. I spotted the sign "IMIGRACION" painted on a stone pillar, followed the direction of the accolnpanying arrow to the right and up the stairs to the second floor. At the top of the stairs was a long, narrow hallway and at the far end of the corridor two heavy doors opened into what seelned to be a reception rooln. There was a nlUrl11Ur of

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voices as I Inade Illy way down the hall and hesitated to check the roorH's nUlllber. It was just as IllUfITIUr; the voices were guarded by whispers and tnuftlecl speech. I squinted to adjust nly eyes to the seI11i-darkness of the corridor and looked above the doorway. It was nunlber 211, so I stepped inside. The rOOll1 was predominantly crowded by Latins, but I did distinguish saIne French being spoken, and directly across froIll the doorway sat two very uncolnfortable North Atnericans. "Good Il1orning." I turned to see the young Gobernacion officer froln Sanborn's crossing toward I1le. He offered his hand. "My naITIe is Velasco. You are early, sir." I gripped his hand and smiled. "I always try to be." Velasco laughed pleasantly, which seemed out of place in the nervousness filling the roonl. "1'111 afraid you'll never get along in Mexico by being early or on time," he said. He pushed open a waist-high wooden gate in the railing separating the waiting rOOI11 froln the office section. "This way please, sir." I followed the young 111(:111 as he continued through the office. "Of course Inspector Blando has the saIne terrible habit," he continued. "He's early for everything, which throws the rest of us conlpletely off our intended schedule." He stopped before a frosted-glass-topped door with no outer nlarkings and knocked. I thought that I would like to know this young fellow better under different circuIllstances. A voice behind the glass door finally comnlanded "Pase," and the two of us stepped inside. Chief Inspector Licenciado Blando stood up behind his gray Inetal desk. "Buenos dias," he said and indicated a leather chair with the wave of his hand. I sat down. Inspector Blando was a strongly handsolne nlan. His hair was short cropped and jet black, and his face had the "in shape" hardness of the professional soldier. He studied Ine for a long 11101l1ent, nodded to Velasco, and then leaned back to listen. I glanced above the Inspector and wished that I was about to be interrogated by the strong, good looking man in the franled photograph on the wall. There was so 111uch Inore warmth and rnilk of hunlan kindness in the pleasant face of President Lopez-Mateos. "Licenciado Blando has brought me up to date on your case," Velasco began, "and he has asked Ine to explain Gobernacion's position in this Inatter. Up until this unfortunate visit, your record in our country has been, Inore or less, spotless." He glanced at his superior and then continued. "Of course, there have been saIne Ininor infractions of the law such as those nightclub altercations, and that ncar riot you were involved in a few years ago in Plaza Mexico." "] esus," I thought, "these boys are really thorough." "But this trip," Velasco continued, "this trip, sir, has been a decidedly different

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rna nero First, there was the scandal of your divorce. Then ... " I glanced at the licenciado. "Excuse me, sir." Inspector Blando nodded without expression, but the nod seemed to signify "Go ahead," so I turned back to Velasco. "There was nothing scandalous about my divorce. My wife became disenchanted with me. In our country, that's always a lady's prerogative." Velasco smiled. "We are sure that in your country it is. That is why, here at Gobernacion, we wish that it had all happened in your country." His smile grew even nlore condescending. "Have you finished?" I sat back. "Completely," I said. Suddenly I wasn't so sure that I was going to like this smart young bastard after all. "And then there was that outrageous newspaper story of your supposed affair with one of the most talented and distinguished young artists in Mexico." The hair on the back of my neck bristled and my hands began to sweat. "One day I'd like to be in the position to be able to say a few words about your newspapers. And you know damn well that story was a lie!" Velasco this time nodded seriously. "We are sure of that. If you had listened carefully you would have noticed that I used the word 'supposed.' And please, sir, don't raise your voice in this office." "I'ln sorry. I came here thinking that I was on trial, not Senorita Cardenas." "Senorita Cardenas will never be on trial here in Mexico, and we are trying to do our best to see that you never will be again. Now, may I please continue?" I thought this a very inviting question, but I kept my mouth shut. "Thank you," the young (nan continued, but the 'thank you' was courtesy, not sarcasm. "And now during the last few days we have been confronted with this distasteful situation involving your bill at the Regal-Chapultepec, and your highly publicized period in prison." I let out Iny breath sharply in Inock relief. "Thank God! I was afraid you'd uncover a nlurder before we got up to date." The room was so deathly quiet that I knew I had laid a real bomb. Velasco began to speak more slowly, seeming to carefully choose each word. "The newspaper notoriety and the violent sides taken by the various members of the press were very disturbing to this office. We feeL .. " He was interrupted by an aside froln the licenciado. He listened carefully, nodded, then resumed. "We'll get back to the hotel situation in a moment. First we must clear up your status here in Mexico. You are in this country on a visitor's visa?" "That's correct," I nodded. "But you are working, sir." "I'd give anything in the world if that were true." He snliled, beautifully, and I really began to loathe him. "Please let me explain what privileges a visitor's visa allows according to

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Mexican law. A visitor's visa, or tourist permit, allows the bearer to travel throughout Mexico, spend Inoney and, we sincerely hope, have a good tilne." "Well, you've got me dead to rights on breaking the law if it's only on that 'have a good tinle' bit. That, I've never done." For a split second Velasco averted his eyes and I caught a lightning flicker of a smile before he got himself back under control. "But you have been doing Inore than the law allows." It was a statelnent, not a question. I nodded. "If that's the law, then I certainly have because I've been doing everything I can think of to get Iny picture going." "Did you think that photographing all the toreros in Mexico was legal on ~l visitor's visa?" "No, I didn't." I turned to face Licenciado Blando. I didn't give a d
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the white-haired gentlelllan standing at his shoulder. "This is Mr. J.L. Langdon froIn the California Bank." The words "Rolls-Royce" seelned to strike at my guts instead of Iny brain, but I stood and offered nly hand. "I'm happy to meet you, Mr. Langdon. How did you ever get mixed up with this character?" I nodded toward Ferrer. Langdon's hand went lilnp and he looked embarrassed. "l'ln not here on a pleasant nlission, sir," he said uncomfortably, then rurned to the Inspector. "May we proceed?" Licenciado Blando nodded and Velasco motioned to the big leather divan across froIn the desk. "Please sit down." Langdon sat at one end of the couch and then bounced as Ferrer whaled onto the cushion at the far end. I leaned back and waited. There was sOlnething about Langdon I liked in spite of the situation. Maybe it was because he was obviously a gentleman, or maybe it was because I now knew that I wasn't the Inost unconlfortable man in the rooln. The representative froln the California Bank cleared his throat. "Sir, I have papers in my briefcase authorizing l11e to return your Rolls-Royce to the United States." It came as no real surprise, so I sounded unusually calm. "On what grounds?" Langdon cleared his throat again. "There hasn't been a paynlent Inade in over five nlonths. That alnounts to ... " "I know what that amounts to," I snapped. "Who sent you here, Mr. Langdon?" Langdon looked first at Captain Ferrer, then at Inspector Blando for confirInation. "Why-the California Bank, of course." "That's not true, Mr. Langdon! I know the boys froIn the California Bank. They would never do a thing like this unless they were forced to. This situation has been carefully planned by SOIneone else, and you know it." I took a deep breath, and tried to relax. "Mr. Langdon, where are you staying?" Langdon stood up, flustered and angry. "It seen1S to me that I'm the one in the position to ask questions. Not you, sir! I feel. .. " I jun1ped to Illy feet. "Listen, Langdon, you're in Mexico, and I'ln in Mexico, and Illy Rolls-Royce is in Mexico, and you're going to have one Godawful tilne getting that car out of Mexico without Illy signature, and I'm going to ask a hell of a lot of questions, and get the right answers, before I turn one tire over to you. Now you stop being a friggin' puppet, and sit down and listen!" Before I got the blast that I knew was about to explode behind me, I turned around quickly, said "Perdoneme, Licenciado," and sat down. Langdon looked down at me and wet his lips. There seemed to be a sudden understanding between us, and I felt sorry for hilll. "1'111 staying at the Regal-Chapultepec," he said quietly; then he too sat back down.

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"Did the bank make your reservations?" Langdon glanced once again at Ferrer. Inspector Blando said sonlething to Velasco. But before the young Juan had time to pass on the statelnent, or c0I11111and, I spoke directly to him. "Senor Velasco, please explain to the Inspector that I an1 alInost certain that what Mr. Langdon says is true. I undoubtedly owe the Illoney, and I realize that I either have to pay it or turn over the car. But these questions I'nl asking are 1110St important to my personal life, and to my future. This wasn't set up by the California Bank. Those monthly paynlents were supposed to have been Blade with my money by my business manager in Hollywood, and I had no knowledge that they hadn't been until this mOlnent. Please ask Licenciado Blando to bear with Ine a Ii ttl e longer." I turned my attention back to Langdon as I heard Velasco quietly translate my words to the Inspector. "I'm sincerely sorry that you are in on this mess, Mr. Langdon," I began, but Captain Ferrer cut in. "Look," he said, silkily, "the California Bank has agreed to pay what you owe the hotel when you give us the Rolls- Royce." "Give 'us!' Thank you, Captain. You just saved me a lot of questions." "Well, I'm only here to help Mr. Langdon," Ferrer continued, not quite so sure of himself. Then he reverted to type and blustered his voice into a breathless roar. "Look, let's quit wasting time. Either you rurn over the car and pay your bill, or I'll have you back in jail in an hour!" I had complete control of l11yself now and I spoke Inatter-of-factly. "Captain Ferrer, you and your hotel have nothing to do with Iny autol11ohile. I was exonerated of any fraud, or intent to defraud, and I can't be incarcerated on that charge a second time for the saIne debt, so 1'111 afraid you'll havc to think of something else." Ferrer's beady eyes squinted into slits. "I will, sir," he said. "You can be certain that I will." I studied the ugly face before me and I knew that the captain was telling the truth. He would think of sOInething else, just as soon as he could. I took a deep breath and spoke to Langdon in a different tone of voice. "Mr. Langdol1 t what exactly is it that you need to satisfy your bank?" "We need the five monthly obligations, plus one 1110nth in advance. But frankJy, sir, the bank would prefer that you return the car. There is too 111uch money involved to have that Rolls-Royce out of the United States." I had to smile. It was all so pat. "I see that you don't intend to hold Inc responsible for your traveling and hotel expenses. Tell Ine, Mr. Langdon, who guaranteed your expenses down here, Mr. Jeffrey Martin?"

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Langdon looked directly at ll1e. "I think you just answered that question," he said. I nodded. "That figures," and turned to Velasco. "How Inany days is the licenciado giving 1l1e to decide whether I want to pay this gentleman or turn over the car?" I heard Ferrer exciailll, "How Inany days!" but I didn't turn around as I watched Velasco ask the Inspector n1y question. Blando thought for only a second, then looked straight at me and said, "cinco." Five days. I stood up and turned to Langdon. "Well, I guess that takes care of that." I offered Iny hand, which he shook almost eagerly. "Have a pleasant vacation. You'll hear from me before the days are up." Captain Ferrer stood and stepped to the Inspector's desk and started to speak. Inspector Blando looked up froln his chair and his voice was acid. "Buenos · dlas, senor. " I stepped close to Ferrer as he turned, red faced, to leave the office. "There's going to cOlne a day, Buster, believe Ine!" Inspector Blando said, "Un Inomento," to me and Il1ade the "just a little 11101nent" Mexican finger sign. He nodded to Langdon, "Buenos dias, senor," and dislnissed Velasco with a pleasant, "Gracias, Eduardo." Then the office was elnpty except for the two of us. The Chief Inspector of hnlnigration said in ilnpeccable English, "Please sit down, sir. I would like to have a private word with you." I sat down, hard. Inspector Blando reached into his desk, produced a pipe, and filled it. He struck a Illatch, and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he looked up froln the flalne. "Do you realize that you have been getting away with murder?" "Yes, sir." "Well, we happen to like the Inotion pictures that you have Inade down here, and that, plus your past record, has saved you fro111 being in1t11ediately deported." "Th an k you, sIr. . " ~rhe Inspector blew a slow puff of sll10ke up across his face. "You know that C:aptain Ferrer is hot after your scalp. lIe really wants to see you deported." "I got his Jl1essage, sir," I said grin1ly. Blando laughed out loud. "I thought you did. It looks like you and I COlne fro111 the saIne school. It's rather interesting to sit back and 'not understand' one word that's being spoken, isn't it?" I squirtned. "In your position, yes sir. In Iny position these days, it's pretty Illiserable. " Blando stood. "Well, let's get the Rolls-Royce and the hotel bill cleared up, and then you've got to either go to the border and get 'Visitante' papers, or apply iIllIllcdiately for a work permit."

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I bounced to Iny feet. "Yes, sir!" I said. I hadn't said this Illany HYcs, sirs" and "Thank you, sirs" since the war. I shook the hand offered Inc and, fo])owing the old aXiOITI of knowing when to get the hell off stage, I ~1lInost stlllnblcd rushing for the door. "And, Senor ... " I stopped 'with Iny hand on the door knob. Inspector Blando was slniling. "Good luck with A1"TlIZO. Please let Ine know when I can see SOll1C of it. I've been a devout ajidonatio for as long as I can renlclnber ,lnd a red-blooded fan of Carlos Arruza's since he was a l1ovillero. " **********

I walked out of the building and stepped into the front seat heside Pepe, who swung the car out froIn the curb into the heavy traffic. "\\There would you like ]ne to drive you, sir?" "Senorita Cardenas.' And take it easy in all this traffic." I had never been curt with Pepe and he glanced at Ine, surprised at nly tone of voice. I could altnost hear his jaw clalnp shut. Now, how in the devil was I going to tell Pepe about the Rolls-Royce? It would be like telling a child about the loss of his parents. I couldn't just blurt out the truth that the car was heing taken away. There had to be saine way to cirCUlllvent the actual shock th.H the Rolls wouldn't even belong to us anYl110re, that it was going to be taken away-f()r good. I had watched Pepe grow with the Rolls-Royce. 'rhe car h'ld provided the irnage for all the worldly possessions Pepe had ever drealllcd ahout. It had becol11e the father he'd never seen, the 1110ther he vaguely relllelllbered. It had helped hinl to forget the poverty and hunger of his childhood, and had taught hil11 to carefully nurture the luxury of his present good fortune. l'he pride in driving the Rolls had also taught Pepe how to dress. I-Ie no longer wore the bbck silk socks with his brown suit, and he had given all of his blazingly colored ties to his younger brother. He walked straighter now whenever he left the car, which was only 1110111entarily, and he kept his handsolne head held high. \\That was I to do now, chop his legs off at the knees and cut hinl back down to his old size? I looked out of the window and estinlated the number of blocks still relllaining to pass before reaching Elsa's apartlnent. 1"his was going to be one hell of a (~hristlllas. I'd never been away fro]11 Georgia and Helen at Christlnas ti]ne. I hoped that they'd hoth Iniss 111C for a 1l10111ent or two. But I knew that Illy daughters would still be happy because there was nothing that I was about to do to hurt thenl-to ruin their (:hrist1n~lS, as I was about to do to Pepe. The truth had finally sneaked up on llle and noW it was brutally apparent. SOlnewhere along the line in Mexico I h,1(i inherited a little

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boy. I turned to Iny chauffeur. "Listen, kid, there's no sense in trying to keep it from you because you're going to have to find out tomorrow. We ... " I hesitated as Pepe steered the car to the curb in front of the aparonent. "We what, sir?" Pepe asked as he turned off the motor. I squirmed around and swung my arm over the back of the seat to face him. There was certainly no merit in trying to perfume the poison. It was better to hit him with it right between the eyes. "Pepe, we've got to send the car back to the United States if I intend to stay here and finish Arruza. " "\Vhen, sir?" "Very soon." His eyes didn't even blink, but he frowned a little. "\Vhat are you going to do, sir?" Suddenly I wasn't at all certain that my little chauffeur understood. "Pepe, the hell with what I'm going to do! \¥hat's going to happen to you?" "Nothing, sir. I'll still be your chauffeur." I shook my head. "You don't understand. Pepe, we won't have a car. I'll have to walk." "Yes sir, I understand, but it's better for you to have COlnpany. I'll walk with you." He slid out of the front seat and hurried around to open nly door. I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked down at my "little boy." "We'll talk about it tomorrow," I offered rather helplessly, and slapped him on the shoulder. "Now, Pepe, you take your favorite sweetheart for a long ride tonight." His face split into a wide grin. "All of them?" I laughed and handed him what remained of my crumpled pesos. "Pack 'em in like sardines if you like," I said. "Tonight's on me." I turned and strode into the apartment without looking back, but I heard Pepe call, "Thank you, sir," behind me. "Jesus, these Mexicans!" I thought. "How can you help but love the good ones?" I pressed the elevator button and heard Pepe honk twice for luck as he drove past the entrance-way. Elsa met Ine in the hall in front of her open apartment door. "Hi, my busy darling," she said and threw her arms around my neck. I picked her up and spun her into the living room. I liked the feel of her firmness and the soft sound of her voice. Putting her onto her tiptoes I held her close and kissed her hard on the mouth. Unexpectedly, she struggled and I released my hold. "Honey, don't be a naughty," she laughed. "We have people." I had been so relieved to hold her close again after the miserable events of the long day that I hadn't even noticed Fernando and his young American live-in

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lady friend sitting across the roonl. Both stood up to greet Ine. Jeanie Enfield Brand was a torero. Despite her social and financial status of being born an Enfield of the Enfield rifle faIlle, Jeanie loved the bulls l110re than anything else in life. She was a beautiful girl with natural red hair, which she now wore in a ponytail. And she was brave. I had seen her fight. She was an outwardly quiet girl, but with a great sense of humor. And she had her t01·e1·o-lover wrapped around her little finger. Of course, that didn't surprise Ine as I had known Jeanie in Hollywood when she was only seventeen and already had a herd of S0111e very important fellas wrapped around all of her fingers. Still, she was physically good for my usually chubby friend, Fernando. He had lost over twenty pounds since they had begun to live together only three years before. At Fernando's Inournful request, I had sunll11ed up Iny views regarding Jeanie after one of their legendary spats. "Fernando, you've given her everything she's got, so relax. She's got your love and understanding of the bulls. She's got your style with the cape and lilli/eta. And, God knows, she's got your balls. She'd be the greatest girl-bullfighter in the world today if you'd ever let her get off her pretty back." Now, Fernando rushed across the room to give Ine an abrnzo. ''I-lijo, Inano," he exclaimed. "I thought you'd never get here!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key and Iny wedding ring. "Here's the key to Iny little house. Fepc knows how to get there. And you'd better hang onto this ring yourself. ] don't want to lug it all the way to Aguas Calientes just to have sOInebody lift it off Inc." I dropped the ring and the door key onto the desk. "\¥hat are you going to do in Aguas Calientes?" Fernando put his ann around his torerll. 'jeanie's going to fight there in ,1 'festival' C:hristmas Inorning)" he announced proudly. "Wonderful, Jeanie! Congratulations! \\Tho's on the card with you?" "Two new kids," she said, "Abel Flores and C~abino Aguilar." I shook Iny head. "I don't believe I know theln." Fernando was enlphatic. "You will soon, helieve Inc. l"'hey're both great!" Jeanie's eyes flashed as she pulled away fro 111 her love. "Better than lain, Fernando?" "Honey! Chula! Baby!" Fernando tried to put his ann hack around her, hut she pushed hiln away. "Well, answer 111C, Fernando. Are they?" l'hc natural red hair was turning an unholy crinlson. "Jeanie, Abel and Gabino are l11en. They ... " "Do you tell the bulls whether we're boys or girls?" she shot at hirll, her eyes still blazing. I jumped in to the rescue. "Wait a l11inute! \Vhoa! I-Iold it! C:ut! Don't waste your strength in the living r00I11, Jeanie." I wanted to add "in the heciro()Jn, too,"

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but it didn't seem timely. "You go to Aguas Calientes, honey, and knock 'eln dead." There was a split-second silence as Jeanie made up her Inind whether or not to be placated, and Fernando burst in to change the subject. "You can sleep in our bed. We changed the sheets. VVhen we get back, we can figure out something else." He sneaked his arm back around his pretty little t07~era. "Our little place in Tlalpan isn't much, but it's got a roof. And you know it's yours as long as you want." He maneuvered Jeanie toward the door. "We'll see you sOlnetime after New Year's." I put out my hand. "Thanks, kid." I turned to Jeanie. "Suerte matadora. Dos orejas!" Fernando opened the door and started down the hall. Then he stuck his head back into the doorway to say "Merry Christmas." I gave him the boxer's hand-clasped sign for good luck, and they were gone. Leaning back against the closed door, I said aloud, "Ayee, toreros! They're all nuts in any gender." Elsa laughed, and I stepped up to put my arms around her. "When's Christmas, honey?" "The day after tomorrow." I held her around the waist and pulled her gently to the green divan. "Hijo, what a long, long day." I flopped down, stretched out my legs, and pulled her onto Iny lap. She looked at me for a long beat before: "Would it nlake you feel a little happier if you told me all about it?" I dropped my head back on the divan and closed my eyes. "It's not going to make me any happier, sweetheart," I said tiredly, "but I'm going to tell you ... all about it." And I did.

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rOOll1. vVhen she caIne back on the line to tell Jlle that there was no answer, I glanced at Iny wrist watch and suggested that she IXlge hilll in the bar. It was already one-thirty in the afternoon and, after all, it was the day before Christlnas. I accepted a fresh cup of coffee froln Els~l while I waited for Langdon to answer the page; then I heard the bank represent~lti\'e's voice say "Hello." I counted a deep-breathed "three," then began: "Mr. Langdon, I'lll turning the Rolls-Royce over to you bte this afternoon. My chauffeur will have instructions to give you the keys \\·hen YOll hand hilll Ill)' Regal-Chapultepec bill ll1arked 'Paid in full,' and signed by (:apt~lin Ferrer. 'rhe car will be in perfect condition when you get it. I had everything checked this ITIorning and I'ln sending you the paid receipt for twenty-two hundred pesos. That's one-hundred and seventy-six dollars, Mr. Langdon. 'rhe Rolls-Royce d<:aler in Pasadena will reilnburse you for this alnount. I would appreciate it if your bank would 111ail Ine a check." 'There was a Inolnent's silence as I listened, and Elsa saw ]ny jaws tighten. "Caltna, Ini vida," she whispered. I was trying to relnain cairn, but it was tough. "1'111 glad you asked that, Mr. Langdon. It's really none of your husiness, hut 1'111 sort of glad you asked that. ] gave the Inechanic Iny wedding ring to hold until you send Ine the check, and I can buy it back. 'rhe pap<:rs for the elr hav<: he<:n signed. They are in the glove conlpartlllcnt. I low you g<:t across the horder is no concern of 111ine. Oh, he is. Well, you and Captain Ferrer should lnakc interestingtraveling cOlnpanions. Why don't you take hinl all the way to Los Angeles :.lnd introduce hinl to Jeffrey Martin and the fcl10ws at the bank? It'll Illake theln Inighty proud."

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I placed the receiver back onto the stand and stood up. "Well, angel," I suggested, "let's go case my new hotue in Tlalpan." u\Vhat are you going to do about Jeffrey Martin?" I smiled, but the snlile held no humor. "I've learned nlore about Jeffrey Martin away from him than I ever learned in his office, at lunch, or over cocktails. I'm not going to get to do anything to Jeff, because sonlebody else is bound to beat me to it. He's greedy, and he's stupid, and that's a dangerous cOlnbination when you're handling other people's Illoney." The way to Tlalpan was out the highway to Cuernavaca, past the University of Mexico. Anyone doubting the country's progress should make the trip. But at the turnoff to Tlalpan the Inan-constructed beauty ceased, and the land reverted to narure and a hodgepodge of expensive high stone walls and low adobe houses. Tlalpan was the home of a few of the very rich, and n13ny of the very, very poor. The road to Fernando's was tree-lined and bumpy, and the late afternoon sun cast long dancing shadows in its hurry to disappear into the December night. Pepe turned right off the main road and slid to a stop on the loose dirt where there should have been a curb. "Here we are, sir." He jumped out, ran around a deep hole in the road, and opened the rear door. Elsa and I peeked first, then stepped out onto the dirt. A barefooted Inilkman drove his overloaded burro around the Rolls-Royce and scattered the chickens in the street. Behind the brick wall across the way a mrkey gobbled. I looked at the faded blue side of what was Fernando's little house, glanced at the two high steel-barred windows, and turned to Pepe. "How do we get in?" "Well, there are really two ways, sir," Pepe said, lowering his voice. "Fernando showed Ine in case you lose your key." He pointed up to the window on the right. "Those two tniddle bars come out. And then, of course, there's the door." He motioned for us to follow him along the side of the house and then stopped before a heavy iron door sunk into the wall. I hadn't been able to see it froln where we had parked. Pepe inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Three stray cats skittered across the dark alleyway, clinlbed the vines overgrowing the inside wall, and disappeared over the upturned broken glass ceInented across the wall's top. Pasted against the house side of the alleyway was a weatherworn bullfight poster advertising a mano a mano between "Manolete" and Lorenzo Garza. I ducked through the low doonvay, and kicked the spoiled hunk of Ineat that the cats had been chewing into the forest of weeds lining the stone walk. Then, as Elsa stepped in beside me, I turned back to Pepe. "So long, kid. Drive carefully. And don't give them the keys until you have my bill marked 'Paid in full' and signed by that fat sonofabitch." I held out my hand. "Let lnc have those a second." Pepe handed Ine the key ring,

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and I undid one of the keys and squeezed it tight in 111y fist. "Okay, Pepe, beat it. I'll look you up at the BaIner in a couple of days. I lang onto those receipts." Pepe stepped back off the stone doorstep. "Yes, sir," he said. ] Ie slniled at Elsa. "Hasta luego, Senorita." "Be a good boy, Pepe." "V " Th en: "E xcuse I11e, Sir, . b ut M erry Ch nstI11as. . " les, Ina '111. I-Ie pivoted on his heel and he was gone. Across the street the rurkey gobbled again. One of the cats sneaked back and sat on the broken glass to watch us. I heard the Rolls' I110tor purr over, and I kicked the iron door shut with Iny foot. There wasn't any Illore noise outside the gate, but the dust that soon rose above the wall told us that the car was gone. I felt Elsa's fingers close over Illy fist, and I looked down and opened my hand. In it was the heavy gold key. On one side was engraved the one word "OLE!" and on the other, just a BaIne in block letters, "J EFF." She looked at me, surprised. "jeff Martin?" "Nope, Jeff Chandler. It was a gift frorn my pal after the third picrure we made together. Every tiI11e I think I've got problen1s, I look at this key and think of hiI11. He died at the top, at the height of his career, still a beautiful young l11an." I dropped the gold key into my pocket and put 111y ann around her shoulders. "CaIne on, sweetheart, let's take a look around." At the end of the alleyway was the opening to a walled-in dirt patio. l~hree clotheslines, hanging heavy with dusty underclothes, shirts and socks, crisscrossed their way from wall to wall. A once-black sport shirt gave 111ute evidence that birds were as weIcolne as cats, and in the far corner, entangled in the weeds against the bricks, a punctured silk stocking was being pecked even holier by two enornlOUS chickens. Elsa tnade a clucking sound as she srudied the filthy clothes. "We ought to take those things down. They're already dusty." I laughed and shook n1y head. "1 guess they are already dusty enough, but let's plan on redoing the washing after Christtnas so that the birds can have another day of target practice." As we turned to explore the house, the cat on the wall suddenly dived at the chickens. It wasn't much of a battle and, watching it, I had the feeling that this went on throughout each day. There was a flurry of feathers, wild screeches frolH the cat, and then the luangy little anilnal bounced a hasty retreat up to the COlllfort of the broken glass. The chickens cackled triutnphantiy, and then turned their attention back to the sieve that once was a stocking. The Inain entrance to the house was catch-locked fro In the inside, but the kitchen door was wide open. The sink was filled with dirty dishes, although the past week's garbage was neatly piled on a newspaper in the Iniddle of the kitchen table. There was no icebox and the cheesy odor of spoiled butter seeped acidly

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through the screen panels of the china cupboard. The living room was colorful. The walls had been repainted yellow over the original blue, and the result was a senli-"EI Greco" bilious green. Jeanie was an aspiring artist, and her watercolors of bulls and toreros were pasted framelessly, and shanlelessly, against the painted plaster. A low wooden table with four unmatched chairs stood before the window with the two removable bars. In the center of a circular woven rug, which should have been a beach hat, were my two trunks and Iny leather suitcase. The bedroom opened darkly between two puzzling paintings, and I followed Elsa through the narrow doorway without a spoken word. The bedroom was not a big room, but it was all bed. That's all there was. Two box springs were nailed together, and the sheets and blankets were united in pairs to cover the vast expanse. The regular-size pillows in the center of the bed seeilled dwarfed and out of place, but the color schelTIe of the living rOOITI had somehow faded through the open door as the two top blankets, sewn together, were dusty yellow and blue. We found it possible, by lTIoving sideways tight against the wall, to thread our way into the bathroolll where a gray-white bathtub leaned precariously on four iron lion-paw legs beneath a menacing showerhead that seemed to dare us to stand beneath it and pull its chain. The toilet bowl had to be lTIOStly a decoration as lTIore than half of it protruded beneath the wash basin. I was glad that I had spent a little time in a submarine, but that still didn't alleviate my sudden fear that there would never be any hot water. We walked back into the living room, and Elsa frowned and made a face. "You know, I can stand the bird poop on the shirts, but sOlnething has to be done about that kitchen." I looked through the open door at the greasy stack of dishes, took off Iny coat and rolled up Iny sleeves. The soap was under the melted butter in the cupboard. I handed the plastic sack of light blue powder to her, and gingerly dUlllped the greenish butter on top of the garbage in the center of the table. Then, picking up the package of garbage, I headed for the door; but as I stepped out onto the stone walk the bottolll of the damp newspaper burst open and emptied the gunk all over my legs and shoes. I heard Elsa stifle a laugh as I kicked the onion peels off my toes. Then she ran to me and threw her arms around Iny red neck. "Darling, I'nl sorry, but you did look so funny." I picked her up in my arms. "Don't get your feet in the chicken feed," I warned and deposited her back in front of the sink. "Now tell lTIe, my love, do I bring the chickens to their dinner, or do I take their dinner out to theIn?" "It doesn't Inatter how you do it. Just get that sOlell away from here!" I grabbed a bucket and a spatula, closed the kitchen door behind me, knelt

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down and began to scrape. When I got back from my delivery she was standing forlornly before a pot of water on the stone. "There's no hot water," she said. "That figures. So let's heat saIne." "There's no gas." I sat down on the edge of the table and crushed the world rid of a hundred ants. "Now, dalnn it, that doesn't figure at all!" She reached out and pulled nle off the table. "Sweetheart!" They're crawling allover you!" "V\Tho is?" "Those ants!" I looked down at the table and then swiped at Iny trousers. "And uncles, and nephews and cousins! Good Lord, what a night!" In the distance a bOlTIb went off, then another. I grabbed her and held her close. "Ciood Lord, Elsa, now they're sbooting at us!" She looked up and saw that 1 was kidding. "It's Christmas Eve, and those explosions signal the start of the Po.wlt/a, " she explained. I ITIoved to the sink and turned on the faucet. "Okay, honey," I said, only telTIporarily licked, "let's freeze these dishes clean and join in the fun. We've got to get out of here, or they'll send us both to the booby hatch!" **********

It was cOlTIpletely dark with no Inoon as we clinlbed the cobblestone street toward the soft glow of light froln the public square. ()ccasional sky rockets split the blackness, and now and then balls of colored fire froln the ROlnan candles exploded high above the rooftops and drifted lazily back to earth. \\Then we reached the top of the hill I discovered the reason for the soft glow above the town. Not an electric light was showing, but the little village was cast in the spell of a thousand candles. Even the tiny children, too sillall to join their brothers ,1Illi sisters in the Posada, sat on the shoulders of their I1lothers and fathers and held lighted birthday candles which dropped faded wax colors onto the heads of their unconlplaining parents. Around the circular park a long procession of candle-bearing children l11ade its way toward the nlarket building as the crowd along the path tossed confetti and brightly colored streal1lerS above the children's heads. Leading the parade were six white-suited little boys carrying a ,vaoden altar covered with green paper grass. C)n the altar were two Inany-tilneS-lnended wax statues of Joseph and the

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Virgin Mary. The children halted before the closed doors of the Inarket, and the ones at the rear of the procession caught up with the leaders as they gathered in a semicircle and began to sing. We stopped on the fringe of the crowd. "Do you understand the words?" she asked. I released her hand and pulled her back across 111y chest. Fron1 her alone I wanted to hear those words. I wanted to remember her voice for all the Christmases to come. "Tell them to me," I said. "They are asking to be admitted. They sing: 'In the name of heaven, We ask to be admi tted, Because she cannot walk, My beloved wife.' Behind the closed door other children's voices answered and she leaned her head against my chin and whispered: "This is not a tavern. Go away, we cannot open. I t could be that you are, Worthless drifters of the road." The crowds on the street began to push forward toward the market, and we found ourselves propelled along in the joyous surge of Chrisnnas spirit. The children on both sides of the market doors continued to sing, back and forth, until the voices on the inside finally bade the candlelit procession: "Come in pilgrims. Take of this hostelry. Even though it is very poor, We give it to you with our hearts." The giant wooden doors swung inward, and we were swept through the opening by the villagers of Tlalpan as they followed the children, and Joseph and Mary, into the market. The inside of the market must have taken the whole town a night and day to decorate. The booths were cleared of all their products, and pushed tight against the walls. Ribbon streamers hung from the rafters, and the concrete floor was deep in confetti snow. The various classes of the local school jealously guarded their respecive shrines. A hundred Christ childs looked up at a hundred Marys as a hundred Josephs stood proudly by. There were Wise Men in expensive robes, and peasants and shepherds in burlap and animal skins who had come to see the Miracle. And there were animals to match the number of the candles in the street. Animals in Mexico had always interested me. Here was a country often criticized for its brutality, but all you had to do was look at the animals, and the way the

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people loved the anilnals, and you would know the truth. A thousand tinfoil stars hung above Iny head and, when the wind hlew through the open doors, S0111e of the stars fell onto the children below and they laughed and picked rheIn up and put thenl on the heads of their pigs, lanlbs and goats. These children had so little and yet, with the tinfoil stars in the curly hair of their pets, they seeilled to own the world. "Maybe th3t's why these children are the l110st beautiful children in the world," I thought. I put Iny ann around Elsa and a star fell onto her hair. It wasn't long before the villagers began to recognize her. l~hey were courteous, respectful and sincerely honored to have her join thenl at their Posada. Two little girls, angel-like in their white ChristInas cosnnnes, took her by the hands and led her into the circle of children dancing around the first pinata. It was a gigantic pink papier-Inache pig, and it hung on a rope froln a long balllboo pole held high by (\\'0 older boys. A tiny little girl stood in the center of the ring. She was given a stick, and turned loose to strike Inightily at the pinata as the hays dangled it, bouncing, just out of her reach. Around and around the circle of children danced and sang and, as I watched I felt, sonlehow, that Elsa was one of the youngest in the ring. She was a little girl again, back in school wearing a starched-white unitonn, long white stockings and white button-shoes. She renlelnbered the words of the pinata song, and joined in with the other children as they sang encouragelnent to the frustrated child in the center of the circle, who swung her stick frantically at the pink paper pig. I sIniled as I Illentally translated the words. "Give it, give it, give it. Don't lose your ainl. Measure the distance, 'fhat is in between." "Sound advice," I thought, "but this little kid is sure having one hell of a tinle with her distance." Then I wondered if she was strong enough to break the pinota even if they took off her blindfold and allowed her to hit it. And then suddenly another ChristInas Iniracle happened. 1'he little girl swung so nlightily that she nearly pitched forward onto her face, then instinctively threw the heavy stick back over her head to regain her balance, and it crashed against the piJ/lita. 'rherc was an explosion of fruits and candy frolll the fat pink belly of ~he pig, and the circle of dancers disintegrated into a I1laSS of giggling, scre~lIning, bohhing heads. For just a 11101l1ent Elsa disappeared into the l11iddle of the Illoh; then I watched her break free to run to Ine. She was flushed and out of breath, hut she hild a handful of candy. And she looked all of twelve years old. "Look! Eat one of these." She dropped two chocolate angels into tny hand. "If you eat a chocolate angel," she continued breathlessly, "one day you will become one."

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"That'll be the day," I laughed, as I took the biggest angel and bit off her foot. The walk back to the house was all down hill. I reillembered that I had used that expression, "From now on it's all down hill," almost eight months before at the Mexican border. I laughed and said aloud to myself, "It was sure one hell of a hill!" "What are you swearing about now?" I squeezed her close. "Nothing important. I was just feeling very mellow and something struck me funny." We took a few more steps and then I asked her softly: "Do you want to go home?" "You know I don't." "Where are all the lawyers?" "In San Francisco with my mother. I'll telephone them tomorrow." "It'll be cold out here tonight." "You want to bet?" The turkey gobbled as we turned the corner. I picked my little Christmasgirl off her feet, and lifted her onto the stone doorstep. "I'm very happy tonight," I said. "Thank you." "It's about time. Now I am happy." I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and bowed low. "Accept my borrowed home, Senorita. It is humble, but oh so willing." She curtsied low and swept through the opening into the darkness. I closed the iron gate softly so as not to awaken the neighbors. A watchman turned the far corner and blew his shrill whistle. "Todo bien en la ciudad!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "All is well in the city!" It sure as hell was. Then even the turkey across the street, because it was nearly Christmas, went back to sleep.

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WAS A\NAKENED BY THE CRO\VING OF A DOZE1\: J"tACIIO ROOSTERS.

It was six o'clock in the morning and it was Christlnas Day. And they were roosters, the nlales of the species, and they wanted the world to be danln sure of it. I looked across the dusty-yellow side of the blanket at the little girl curled up like a frozen teddybear, and then slid out of bed and tiptoed to the window and closed it tight. I could still hear the roosters, but they seet11ed farther away and not quite so brassy. It was freezing in the house and I hurriedly donned Iny socks, shoes and trousers. I plugged in the electric heater and aiIncd the red glow at Elsa, then walked into the kitchen and del110lished a few hundred Inore ants. I stuck nly head under the faucet; shuddered at the streaIll of icy water, and slicked Iny hair back out of Iny eyes feeling sort of altruistic about this early l11orning bit as I thought of Elsa still sleeping. I wondered if Inaybe eating the chocolate angel might be having saIne effect. I quickly discovered that there wasn't going to be any such thing as bre.lkfast unless I, personally, did sornething about it. There was a little Nescafe in the cupboard, but no solid food. I went into the living r00l11 and opened one of Ill)' trunks. It was filled with coats, slacks and sweaters, but a new Italian sport Lo.lt was missing, and so were Illy bullfighting cape and '111 lI/eta. 1"'hat was Fernando for you. He figured that the world owed hinl a living and that he owned everything in it. Of course, he gave everything he possessed including his loyalty and his he.lrt so, when you got right down to it, it wasn't such a bad deal. I began to look around for the telephone book. At least after eight o'clock I should be able to telephone someplace far S0l11e eggs and saIne bacon. T'here wasn't any phone book and I slowed down a little near the end of Iny search because I didn't relish faLing the fact that there also wasn't any phone. A rooster crowed again on the other side of the wall, and I grabbed nly heaviest sweater out of the trunk and headed for the back door.

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Any thoughts that 1 might have nourished regarding the productivity of Fernando's two cat-fighting chickens were squelched by a hurried search of the weeds and vines. Nothing! The truth was that 1 couldn't even find the chickens. There had to be a hole someplace in that impregnable wall, but I'd look for it in the spring-if 1 was still around. 1 was becoming a true Mexican. 1 studied the wall where the vines weren't too thick, until I discovered a suitable foothold, then climbed to the top. On the other side was a pasture. In it were a few pigs, two cows, a belligerent-looking goat and the rooster who stopped in the middle of his "reveille" and glared at me. In the center of the pasture was a small stack of hay, and I could see the heads of at least a dozen chickens. But directly before my eyes was the jagged glass cemented to the top of the wall. It wasn't in keeping with the holiday spirit, but somehow I didn't feel like donating the seat of my pants to a wall under any circumstances. I went back into the kitchen, returned with a washboard that I placed on top of the broken glass, then gingerly balanced my way across its corrugated ridges. Jumping the seven feet to the ground I hurried to the haystack. The pigs ran away, the rooster stopped crowing, and the goat, who was a lot bigger than 1 thought he was, shook his crooked horns and swung around to face me. "This'll be a hell of a holiday," I thought, "if I get gored by a goat." In two minutes I had eleven eggs, but as I reached into the hay pile to try for an even dozen I uncovered a face instead of an egg. "Buenos dias," the caretaker looked up and said. He glanced at my bulging pockets and the three eggs in my hand. I suddenly felt a lot like a bandit. "Buenos dias," I offered. "Perdoneme, senor, pero estos huevos son para mis ninos." I made three different heights with my hand extended to show the fellow just how tall my children were who needed those eggs. "No importa, senor. Feliz Navidad." The caretaker reached near his head, shooed away a fat hen, and handed me another egg. I mumbled "gracias," and wended my way around the cow dung back to the wall and the washboard. When I had straddled the wall's top I felt that I should at least wave to illy benefactor, but when I turned around the watchman was already fast asleep. Elsa was waiting for me in the kitchen. "\\There have you been?" I held up the eggs. "I'm a thief. What are you doing up? It's only ten after six." "1 guess sleeping alone woke ITIe up." She reached into my sweater pockets and began to extract the eggs. "Are we going to eat these raw?" "We'll build a wood fire in the sink," I said. "We're going to have them scralnbled in a little water. I've never tried it, but 1 hear it works." Then I got serious: "Honey, I made a stupid mistake. I should have had Pepe

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follow us out here in your car." "Why?" "We have to go into your place to call your mother. \;\'e don't have a telephone." "1 t 'S not a f·Importance to have my car. " "Well, it's a hell of a long walk." "We'll take a bus into the city." She noticed my expression change. "A blls," she continued. "One of those big things full of people. Haven't you ever been on one?" I nodded and flinched, remelnbering. "Just once, but it was a free ride. And they weren't people. They were sardines. And after this bus bit?" "Then we take a pese1~o. " "A what?" "An unprivate taxicab. For one peso each we can go all the way up or down Insurgentes, or back and forth from downtown to the starue of La Diana at the end of the Paseo de la Reforma." She took my face between her fingers as if she were talking to a child. "You really don't know much about Iny city, do yoU?H "So how did you become an authority on buses and unprivate taxi cabs?" She drew herself up proudly. "When 1 was a little girl, sneaking froln Illy family to become an actresss, I rode everything frolll buses to bicycles to burros. At fourteen years old I used to pass for nine. I put Iny hair up in braids, and entered all the children's quiz contests. I won a fortune and paid Illy way through dralna school. One night, even, I sneaked out of the house at ten o'clock, and we put on Little Women in a village just outside of the city." She began to laugh, carried away with her memory. "That night the audience had to help us sweep the tarantula spiders off the curtain before we could start the show." "Did you bring your brooln?" "My what?" "I'm beginning to think you're a witch." "Gracious, that sounds like ... " "No, sweetheart, that's another word and another Ineaning. This one was used as a compliment." I extracted a bowl froln the cupboard. "Now let's get busy and water these eggs." **********

They really weren't bad, not bad at all. Of course, it 11lay have been hecause both of us were starving. I was clearing the table when the noise of a 1110torcycle stopping by the house shocked me to attention. I peeked out the window. Itwas the police. A unifonned officer sat astride his cycle and I could see the shadow of

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his partner who was banging his fist against our iron door. Elsa hurried from the kitchen, imtnediately recognizing my obvious alarm. "Don't answer the door," she whispered. "Maybe they will go away." The pounding on the door stopped, and I pulled her back into the darkness of the bedroom as I heard the policeman leave the door and walk along the side of the house to stop before the window. "Well, I'll be a sonofabitch!" I whispered. "This tilne I will also," she agreed. She grabbed Iny arm and sucked in her breath as a hand relnoved the two loose bars, pushed up the window, and waved its way into the living roonl. "Hello. It's only 111e. Merry ChristInas!" It was Pepe. We stepped back into the light. "J esus, Pepe. Merry Christmas to you." He boosted hilnself through the window, grinnned and handed Ine an envelope. "I brought you the papers from the hotel." "Thanks, Pepe, but couldn't they have kept? And who's your friend?" "Not these papers could have kept. And that cop is Eddie Gomez. He lives across the street fro In me, and when I told hiln it was important he gave ITIe a piggyback ride out here. He's also illy cousin." This explained everything, so I opened the envelope to look at the RegalChapultepec bills marked "Paid in full" and signed by Captain Ferrer. And then at the top of the first page I saw the reason for Pepe's hurry. In the upper left-hand corner was a hand-written notation: "As of this date, November 21 st, 1961 Mr. Budd Boetticher is hereby extended, by the management of the Hotel Regal-Chapultepec of Mexico City, D.E, unlinlited credit for the minimum of ninety (90) days." The note was signed, in the same bold scroll, "Jon Swenson, nlanager." I burst out laughing. "How about that, sir? They made a Inistake." "They sure as hell did, Pepe. A real beauty!" I sat back on the edge of the table and stared at the papers in Iny hand. I couldn't believe it. I handed the papers to Elsa. "But I don't understand," she said after a Inoment. "This is just a receipt." I took the papers froln her and pointed to the note. "This is a lot lllore than just a receipt. It's a pretty good hunk of the hotel if we want it. The good Captain should have made out new papers to protect hinlself, but it looks like he's the only one in Mexico who's in a hurry and, as we say up in the States, he 'stepped on it.'" "I'm sorry, but you still lost me." "Elsa, if Captain Ferrer had any balls I'd have him by them. It says here that

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I had unlimited credit for ninety days, but the Captain had me in prison on the twenty-fifth day-for fraud. There are a few legal terms like 'false arrest' and 'defamation of character,' little things, but now very interesting." I handed the papers back to Pepe. "Young man, I'm ashamed of your thoughts." I winked at Elsa so that Pepe would be sure that I was kidding, then said, seriously: "Well, we're not going to do anything. I just want to finish our picture. But maybe we're not going to have too much more trouble. These receipts are sort of like a completion bond, very comforting. Pepe, take these to Henry Ehrlich and ask him to put them in his safe. I'll talk to him later in the week." Pepe sruck his leg back through the open window. "And, Pepe," I slapped him on the shoulder, "you might end up becoming a producer. You're beginning to think like one." He slid out onto the dirt. "Thank you, sir!" he beamed. "Thank you, kid!" I laughed. "That's the funniest Christnlas present I ever got. Tell your cousin Eddie to drive carefully. You get more valuable every day." "Yes, sir!" He hopped back on the motorcycle and Eddie Gomez gunned the nl0tor, and then all that was left in the street was the noise and the dust. I picked up the l~st plate from the table and headed for the kitchen. "Well, what do you know?" I said aloud to myself. "It really all does come out in the wash." I started to whistle La Macarena, and Elsa moved close beside me at the sink. She didn't look at Ine as she spoke. "D arI'lng ... " "Mmmmmm?" "Is your humor happy?" I slid the plate into the cold water and grinned down at her. "My humor has never been happier." "Then can we discuss something?" "We can discuss, and lick, all the problems in the world." The line came out easy, but I got that sickening feeling in Iny stoJnach. I remembered that I had thought last night about Elsa's voice, and all the Christmases to come. I didn't know then why I'd thought that. Now, it frightened me. She took me by the hand, led me back into the living roonl, then scooted up on top of a trunk so that our eyes would be on a level. "Budd ... " She'd never called me that, and now I knew that this was very serious. "\Vhen can we begin Arrow?" "I can't answer that, except to tell you that now, for sure, one day we will begin AI''ruza.''

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She looked down at her hands for a long, long beat. When she finally spoke I could barely hear her. "They might want me to go to Hollywood." I forced my expression not to change, but my guts did hit bottom. "They're getting smarter up there every day," I said. "Who might want you to go to Hollywood?" "Paramount. " "\Vho at Paramount?" "Hal Wallis." "You couldn't do better. VVho's the director?" "He's not established yet." "That's the sign of the times. But don't worry. With Hal, he'll be a good one." I steeled myself for a question I didn't want to ask. "When do you leave?" She looked straight at me. "Well, they'll have to test me first. But I'm not going to go. You know that!" I chose my words carefully, and spoke slowly. "You're going to Hollywood, honey. I want them to see you grown up, the way you look today. They already know, from Giant, that you can act. By the time you come back I'll have rewritten Arruza to be what I wanted it to be in the first place. The leading lady will be incidental once again, but by that time your agents won't let you make the picture anyway, so the script changes won't hurt you." "What you do to the leading lady won't make any difference. ~en you're concerned, I'm not a dedicated actress." "You'd better be, always, or I won't be proud. Be dedicated as hell! Elsa, I'ln a very dedicated director!" She remained silent for a long, rough moment, but I knew then that ours was an understanding I'd never shared with any other person. "Will you be all right if I go?" "You know I'll be all right. I'll always be all right!" "I wish I could tell my aunt the way you are." I picked her up in my arms. "You can tell her all about me when you get home," I whispered. "You tell her anything you like. But right now, we've got most of Christmas left before we have to catch our bus." **********

I t was Monday, January the fifth, a day destined to be frozen in my memory as I had never been that cold in all my life. Tlalpan's only public telephone booth was atop a hill adjacent to the main highway to Cuernavaca, but it wasn't really a

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booth anynl0re, as the local gang of roughnecks had systeInatically broken out all the glass. I had placed a call to Paul Nathan, I-fal Wallis' right-hand l11a11 at Paramount Pictures, and his cheerfully warnl secretary had assured ll1e that Mr. Nathan would get back to Ine within the hour. Only very 1110]nentarily considering telling her the truth, that I was placing a call frol11 a pay phone situated in the eye of a blizzard, I promised her that I would await Mr. Nathan's convenience and settled down on a rock an1idst the snow stann. Jesus, I Inissed all Iny prison pals. At least we could have cuddled together to keep Warl1l. Now, one of the great things about the picture business is that you never stop getting an education. The writers, God love 'enl, do all the research, then fill you in with their priceless prose about every ilnaginable subject-picture after picture-and my education concerning Eskinl0s and igloos had taught Ine that you never fall asleep in the snow, 71eve1· stop 1110ving, and never take deep breaths because your lungs'll freeze shut. So, I had left Iny pet rock and was busy flailing my anns in the circle I had trudged two feet deep in the snow when the telephone finally rang. "Budd, how are you? How nice to talk to you." "I'm just fine, Paul," I began, trying not to chatter. "'rhank you for rerurning Iny call." "My pleasure. \\That can I do for you?" "I understand that you and Hal are interested in Elsa Cardenas." Paul laughed. "And we understand that you are very interested in her. She n1ust be sOlnething. We both appreciate your taste in lovely ladies." "Well," I said, "I'm interested enough to want to direct her test for you-if you are seriously considering her." There was a slight pause, then: "Well, actually rIn intending to test-direct for I-lal. '-'Te hadn't planned on hiring an established director for ... " "Paul. .. for nothing. It's not going to cost you one red cent. I know you're going to Inake the tests at Churubusco Studios, and I'll show up when you need . Ie as th" me. I t ,s as sllnp at. "Yea, it's so simple it scares nle." But I could tell frolll his tone of voice he was genuinely pleased. "I'll check it out with Hal and get back to you, but 1'111 damn sure he'll be delighted." "Don't bother getting back to me," I hurried. "I'n1 so dalnn busy trying to get Iny picture off the ground, I'nl inlpossible to reach. Just give Ine sonle idea when you expect to test and I'll get in touch." "Well, we're planning on testing seven young Mexican actresses, and MisS Cardenas-if you can talk her into it. We weren't very successful. She gave US a flat 'no.' That's why we've lined up the other girls, but I won't be down there for at least another month."

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"She'll be ready. Just mail her the script to Churubusco." "That's great! And thanks, but Budd, we'd like to test her in a bikini." "So?" "Well, she says she's 'skeenie. '" "Paul, she may think she's 'skeenie' in Mexico, but no one I've ever known who's skinny looks anything like Elsa!" **********

I made arrangements to tell her, in person, the surprise I had in store for her regarding the Hal Wallis production. One quick telephone call to my young Mexican leading-man pal, Armando Silvestri, and I had her partner for the screen test. Armando was talented, handsome, and destined to become one of Latin America's top screen stars. He was also a devout aficionado of the bulls, and considered it an honor to be a friend of any "gringo" who had been crazy enough to get himself involved in such a hazardous occupation. So, I boarded the CuernavacaMexico City bus at the Tlalpan pick-up station and started my first hair-raising ride down the mountain highway to the capital. I would stop off and see Elsa on the way downtown, as my main New Year's resolution was to keep in shape during my stay in Tlalpan-no matter what. I'd follow through, like the American mailman: "through snow and sleet, through hell and fire, through ... " whatever they said; I'd get on that damn bus twice a week and pray my way to the Hotel Regis and my favorite steam bath, and never get fat in Mexico. I hadn't discovered that you can't get fat when you're hungry most of the time but, live and learn. Anyway, for three pesos that death-inviting contraption would careen down the mountain and deposit me in front of the Regal-Chapultepec. There, for fifty more centavos, I could transfer to another infernal machine and ride down the Paseo de la Reforma to within three blocks of the Regis. So, for an hour and fifteen minutes of high drama, excitement, pathos, bruises and sometimes blood, it would only cost me three pesos and fifty centavos, twenty-eight cents. Times were getting better. Hell, I couldn't have gotten the Rolls' motor to turn over for that. I didn't even bother to look for a seat. I knew that the well-dressed gentlemen who had muscled their way onto the bus already had them taken, so I just held onto the strap above my head along with all of the old women, the cripples, and the young mothers who were carrying infants in their arms. The only way to travel by Mexican bus is to think a lot. You've got to think of anything that'll take your mind off of the impending skidding, screeching crash where your tank-like automotive bully will always claim the right of way. If you have any compassion for your fellow man, before you start thinking, you will pray for the unfortunate bastards in the Volkswagen whom your cavalier bus driver is

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about to hit. I said a hurried, jostled prayer and began to think. Not that I hadn't been thinking-a lot. But now-Inostly because of what could be happening 'with Elsa-I had to face the honest facts. An7lzo was just as far away frOI11 being cOlnpleted. And Carlos and I were no longer close friends. We weren't enemies. That could never have happened. ()ur history together was much too humorously personal, too delightfully lurid, for us to turn against each other. I had, on numerous occasions, considered blackJnail as a Ineans to a square dinner, but then I figured that Carlos' counterattack would be disastrous so I always ended up thinking of sOlnething else. Actually, Inost of our bitter arguments stemmed froln his absolute refusal to appear in Plaza Mexico for the "tag," the most important sequence of our picture. Plaza Mexico was a necessity. Without it, it would be like Maria Callas without La Scala or Babe Ruth without Yankee Stadium. We finally got to the point where he would fly into a screalning rage at the mere suggestion of a "finale" bullfight. "I wouldn't fight in that damn bowl of concrete for all the Inaney, or all the movies in this Goddamn world! As long as that chingado Doctor (;aon3 is the 'empresa,' count me out.''' He picked up more English expressions with each trip to Tijuana, and I guess he felt that a simple English "NO!" to Ine wouldn't suffice. And that was that! No bullfight, no "tag," no picture. He was embarrassed with Iny detefIllination to relllain in Mexico. l-Ie was Inore embarrassed that I was broke. He was also bewildered by the criticisI11 of the Mexican press who demanded that Arruza be finished. And he was disgusted with his numerous paesanos wholn he had nlet through Ine as potenti .ll backers, and furious with the time we had both wasted before we discovered that those phonies were professional phonies. But, hell, in the Land of Phonies they were hard to cull out. 1 had to take the chance of wasted tilne with evel1'body in the hope that one man, just one arrogant, bragging, lying, casa-chicn counting, conniving "nlachoMexican" schmuck might be a serious investor. \Vhat wishful thinking! For a period of In3ny 1110nths there were hysterical scenes with always the saIne dialogue. "Hijo! Go home! You are a director of the first category. Stop elnbarrassing me. Puta mad1~e, I go into a restaurant and every cbil1gl/do in there says to hinlself: 'Why doesn't that cheap bastard finish the l110vie with his own 111oney?' l\!Je finish your picture! Everyone in Mexico thinks I'lll a Inillionaire!" "I've never asked you for a centavo, Charlie," I said to the Inillionaire, "and I never will." There were very few patrons in the Inain stean1 r00l11 at the Regis bal10s turcos as I entered and crossed the tile floor toward the heavy wooden door of the hot

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room. I nodded to those whose faces I recognized, and continued on when a burst of spontaneous applause spun me around. They were applauding me! Perhaps being in the "Black Palace," and getting out, would turn out to be one of my greatest accomplishments. I couldn't help grinning; I raised both arms in the open gesture of a torero with a bull's ear in both hands, and entered the rOOin whose sign on the door translated: "Caution! Ten Iuinutes will suffice." Well, I was going to spend a lot more than ten minutes in that agonizing heat. Now, I had one hell of a lot more to think about and, masochistically, I wanted to suffer. Elsa had been just tickled to death that there was a splendid chance she was going to Hollywood. The meeting at her apartment had been short and sweet. Frankly, a lot shorter than I had expected. I actually didn't have to talk her into anything. And I had been so well prepared. She was thrilled that I was going to direct her test, and delighted that I had arranged for Armando to appear with her. And she was absolutely certain that, with our combined talents, she was a cinch to get the part. Hell, all the strong points I had memorized to use against her refusal to leave me had been blown out the window in a pink puff of Hollywood smoke. When was I ever going to learn that an actress is an actresss is an actress? But, damn it, Elsa was special-one of the most special friends I had ever had, and I was going to be sure she got that job! Anything that happened that was good for Elsa Cardenas would Inake me happy. And that was that! I undid the giant-sized bath towel from around my waist and started making slow veronicas in the intense heat. Fighting a few imaginary bulls in the hot room twice a week would keep any athlete looking like AmIza. I just hoped that phantombull would gore me in the balls instead of the heart-where I'd just been "had." "Ole! " The soft voice behind me swung my attention to the doorway to face the biggest, brightest smile I'd ever seen on man or beast. And the owner of that smile had long hair. But, he wasn't a Beatle. The Beatles were the only other people in the whole world who looked like that. "Buenas tardes, matador," I said to Manuel Benitez, "El Cordobes." His Spanish was soft-spoken and reeked of the streets, but, God, that kid had charm. "I am ... " he began. "Manuel Benitez, 'El Cordobes.'" I grinned-as best I could-back. "And I alll ... " "I know, senor," he said. "They told me you were in here. May we talk?" Talk! Hell, yes, we could talk! Everyone in the Spanish-speaking world would give his right eye to talk to this phenomenon, this giant new star who single-handedly was changing all of bullfighting. We walked back into the main steam room and sat down facing each other on two wooden lounging chairs. Now I would get all the firsthand scoop on

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everything going on in Spain. Now I would finally learn the truth of his background and the reasons for his unconventional frantic style that had l110ved hinl to the top. Now I would learn. "Senor Bettishay," "El Cordobes" began, "I have always wanted to be a movie director. Please telllne about it." Well, we talked, and talked and talked. Unforrunately, he insisted I do nlost of the talking when, for one of the first tilnes in nly life, I really wanted to listen. Then we said good-bye, promised we would nleet soon again, and I assured hinl I would see all of his corridas during his stay in Mexico. It was a wonderful experience and it couldn't have happened at a better time. It was most cOlnplilnentary to have someone from another "world" and society know of your work. My ego was back to normal-at the boiling point-when I dressed and headed up the stairs to the lobby. "Budd, how are you, my dear friend?" It was Dr. Gaona. Funny, I hadn't smelled him coming. With hinl was a pink-faced boy still in his teens, who was walking in his proper place-two steps behind. "I'm just fine, Alfonso. Just real fine. I'm so proud you asked." The good doctor smiled and motioned behind hilll to introduce the youngster. "Budd, dear friend," he said, "meet Mlltnd01' de To1'OS Paco Canlino." I was shocked. Paco Camino was the other fenomeno-a teenager who had been setting the bullfight world afire. "I'll be damned," I thought, "this sonofabitch really has been able to live up to his pronlise and bring all of Spain's best to Mexico." I also thought, looking at that fat, repulsive face: "Is there no God? \\!hen is He going to punish a bastard like this, instead of sending him good luck?" "Paco," Gaona continued in carefully enunciated English, "this is one of the greatest movie directors in all of Hollywood, and he's down here Inaking a picture about our good friend, Carlos Arruza." Young Matad01" de Taros Paco Camino and I shook hands, and I nodded as politely as I could and continued up the stairs. "Quien es [who's that]?" I heard Paco ask from the shadows below. "N 0 bod y, " Gao n a ass u re d him inS pan ish. "T hat 111 ani s () f no consequence-no one you'd care to know." **********

I spoke with Arruza that night fronl the pay telephone in Tlalpan. "Charlie, I've got a great idea. I think it might be an interesting siruation to open our show with you, recently retired, sining in the front row at Plaza Mexico watching one of the three new young stars: 'Cordobes,' Canlino or Diego

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Puerta-whoever's fighting next Sunday, and you're absolutely dying with the frustration of retirelnent-because you know you're better than all three of them put together." I really "punched" that last line. "Those fucking Spaniards aren't coming here," Carlos interrupted. "You know as well as I do, Gaona's full of... " "Charlie, they're already here. I met 'Cordobes' and Calnino at the Regis steam baths this afternoon and, with a little checking, found out Puerta's staying at the El Presidente. Camino and 'Cordobes' are at the Del Prado. Call them and ask them, whichever one is fighting next Sunday, to dedicate his first bull to you. As soon as one of them agrees, I'll have cameras there." Carlos hit the ceiling. "Those Spaniards are impossible! They're real prima donnas! They won't do that!" "Of course, they will. You're Carlos Arruza!" That always worked. "Well, I'll try Camino and Puerta, but I won't call 'Cordobes.' He's nothing but a damn clown." Now I'd never met a clown who was getting paid thirty-thousand dollars American for an afternoon's work, but I let it go at that. "Okay," I said, "I'll call you back in an hour." Carlos slammed down the receiver. Then, after the hour had finally snail-dragged by: "1 told you! I told you!" Arruza shouted into the phone. "1 just talked to both Calnino and Puerta, and do you want to know what they said? They said they'd dedicate a bull to n1e for one thousand pesos. I didn't mean the two of them. Each one of those chingados wanted that! Hijo! Those damn Spaniards think they are God! When I was God, I was nice!"

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HE TIME I SERVED IN THE TINY VILLAGE OF TLALPAN \VAS FAR,

far, far longer than nly tern1 in the "Black Palace," but it will always he, more or less, a pleasant rnernory. It was cold in Fernando's little adobe house, but the wannth of the people in Tlalpan kept Illy blood circubting, and taught Ine a great lesson in that you didn't have to be rich to be happy. 'rhey owned dogs and cats, hundreds of thenl, of all colors and sizes, who rO~lIned the streets and alleyways and, like those good people, only hissed and snarled at you if you were unfriendly. And the kids in Tlalpan were really sonlething special. Every afternoon I gave classes in boxing, bullfighting and j\nlerican football. \/Vhen I went walking in the evenings I always felt like the Pied Piper and I loved it. 'I'here was Luis' bar which advertised above the swinging dirty green doors that: "You Too Can Be A King." On several occasions I took Luis up on that. You could get stoned in Luis' place on one dollar Atnerican, and on Saturday nights it was the accepted thing to do. Still, very few ladies showed up at the weekend fiestas or ever frequented Luis' bar. You see, the urinal was directly to the right of the swinging green doors, smack-dab right in the open, and it was a silllple thing upon entering to be able to judge a J11an by l110re than the set of his shoulders or the look in his eyes. I guess the one thing that I would never forget about Tlalpan was that, every so often, it got awfully hungry out there. Gabriel passed by the house ,It exactly somewhere between seven and ten o'clock every night. He pushed along an oilcan that he had mounted on wheels, and in this oil-can, resting above the silloldering charcoal, were the best tanlales any gringo ever starved for. You could get three: ve1-de, rojo, and duice, for one peso-eight cents. With a lot of funny stories and snappy patter I was able to run up a bill of one-thousand, one-hundred and ninety-three pesos. One night I paid off Gabriel frOtH Illy first defennent check

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from Ride Lonesome. He stayed drunk for two weeks, and then got lost. Eventually we found him and it cost me five hundred pesos to bail him out of jail. Poor fellow. He just went "Tlalpan," but he admitted later that he'd never had so much fun in his life-he thought. I took the dawn bus in to Churubusco Studios the day that Elsa was scheduled to make her screen test for Hal Wallis. She was wonderful and followed my direction to perfection with every nuance, every gesture. Armando Silvestri was a big help. They were beautiful together. The other six Mexican actresses discovered that she was to follow them-in secret-and, in secret, they stole out to watch. But, when they got a good look at her in her bikini, they stole back to their dressing rooms-in secret. Four weeks later we said good-bye at the Mexico City Airport. She was adorable. She said she'd sure get things straightened out for me in Hollywood. She'd sure tell them the truth about my problems in making Arruza, and she'd get somebody interested in financing the rest of the film. Damn, I wanted to set her straight, because I sure knew she'd try. The bus ride back to Tlalpan was the longest-ever. **********

It was the first of March when I walked out of the Hotel Regis to be startled at El Redondel's evening headlines: "ARRUZA LEAVES FOR SPAIN!" It was an interesting piece of news. Carlos had departed that morning, having signed contracts for the complete summer in all the major bullrings of Spain. I telephoned Mari. She was shocked to learn that Carlos had not gotten in touch with me. He had told her that we had spoken-at great length-and that I certainly understood. I'm sure he tried, knowing full well that I spent all my mornings, afternoons and evenings sitting outside the pay telephone in Tlalpan-waiting for his call. Well, that was the end of Arruza-at least for the long time being. With my star out of the country for God knows how long, no one in Mexico would even meet with me about the project. I went back to my schooling of the Tlalpan children in earnest; I even worked out morning classes in boxing where I would imagine some of the bigger boys were Arruza, and I would slip in a left hook and a short right cross on occasion. Those were serious practice punches 'cause I felt deep in my heart that one day-one wonderful day-the real occasion might present itself. It was six o'clock on a hungover Sunday morning that a frantic pounding on Fernando's iron front door awakened me from a sound sleep. I had guests. Pushing themselves into the icy living room were Jose Iberra Lopez, a littleknown Mexican producer, his grinning fat brother, and two deadpan thugs I seemed to remember.

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"We want to talk to you," Jose Iberra began. "Well," I Illumbled, "if you've got some kind of proposition, you're going to have to present it to me in the bedroorn. I feel like helL" As I staggered back into bed, Jose Iberra got right to the point. "As you probably know, 'EI Cordobes' is fighting in EI Toreo this afternoon. I've got the rights to film there and, when I show 'EI Cordobes' what you can do with a picture about him, 1'In sure he'll sign a contract." I sat up, painfully, against the soiled pillow. "\\'hat do you l11can, 'what I can do with a picture about him?'" "You're going to direct the calneras this afternoon." I couldn't believe it but, hell, I was in Mexico. \\That did I luean, I c()uldn't believe it? "You're crazy, Jose Iberra," I said. Jose Iberra turned to face the two thugs behind hinl and nodded his head. Both produced flat-nosed thirty-eights and aimed thenl at ]l1Y balls. "Not exactly," Jose Iberra said. "1 think you'll show up for the fihning, or never show up anywhere else at all." I burst out laughing. In one split second I recognized those two punks. They were the same pistole1-os Carlos had hired to rescue Ine frolll The Sanatario de los Flores, but neither one had recognized Ine without the beard. I guess you really could pick 'eIn for a thousand pesos to do a job for you, and they were certainly prepared to do it. But, somehow, it struck 1l1e funny. Because, when you're hung over, and your picture is on the shelf, and your girl is gone, you really can be brave enough to not give a shit. "Jose Iberra," I began, slowly, "you're out of your fuckin' head. rIcH your boys to go ahead and shoot. Hell, I'd alreadv be dead the 111inute Arruza found out I'd filnled 'EI Cordobes.' He'd never speak to Ine again, 111uch less finish the picture. So, tell thenl to go ahead and shoot, or get the hell out of here. I want to go back to sleep!" There was an internlinable 1110ll1ent of silence as Jose Iberra looked at his fat brother, then the two of theIn stonned out of the bedro0l11 followed by the disappointed punks. I waited for the iron door to slaIn shut; then I ran to the bathroOlll and threw up. **********

I had been shocked at the El Redol1del headline "ARRUZA LEAVES FOR SPAIN," but the April headlines in all the Mexican papers produced an entirely different elll0tion. "ARRUZA'S SEASON l~I-IREATENEI) BY SPAIN'S UNION OF TOREROS"; "LUIS MIGUEL DOMINGUIN FORC:ES B()YCOTT OF 'EL CICLON'''; "ARRUZA RETURNS." My pal, Luis Miguel

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DOlninguin, was no patsy. Now, it is legal in the fonnal rules of rejoneo for the horns of the bulls to be shaved, or blunted, to avoid unnecessary rippings or cuts to the horses. Of course, many supposedly knowledgeable aficio11ados still think that "horn shaving" takes away all danger, but this is untrue. "Islero," the bull who killed "Manolete" \vas "shaved." What horn-shaving really does is detract froin the bull's accuracy. l-Ie still feels the points of his horns-even after they are cut, and he ainlS at his enelnies with those removed points, Inissing his target SOInetilnes by a fraction of an inch. On horseback, this is of no consequence, but on foot 111any 711lltadol"s atte111pt passes with a shaved anilnal that they would never care to chance with the bull's horns intact. Well, Carlos-being the great nlaestro that he was-found that the audiences delnanded that he disInount and fight the last third of his contest with the 'JJlltieta and sword. It certainly wasn't his fault, but I knew he loved it. He was cutting ears and tails all over Spain with bulls whose horns were legally shaved, while his competitors, the Spanish l11atadors, were sweating it out behind the fence waiting for their beasts to come flying out of the torites gate with their needle-pointed weapons intact. Enter the villain, "Donlinguin!" He just happened to be the president of the Union of Spanish Matadors and Rejoneadors. And after one short Ineeting of the board of directors, an edict was written. "Don Carlos Arruza could disnlount fronl his horse and perfornl three-no nlore-punishing passes with the nl1t/eta to set up the bull for the sword." No fancy work, no Arruzi11Ils, nothing that he had been doing in the bullrings for years-doing better than anyone else in the world. I was sure that Luis Miguel was Inerely doing his duty as president of his union, but I wondered if he hadn't thought-for just one fleeting lnoment-of the added incentive of sending my pal back to Ine. Two nl0nths later I was walking along the Paseo de la Reforma on Iny way to catch Iny bus back to Tlalpan, when I bUlnped into Arruza striding out of the Regal-Chapultepec. We hadn't been in touch since his return and Carlos seemed to have forgotten that we were disenchanted with each other. "Hola, Bood!" he cried. "How are you?" "Fine, Charlie," I answered. "Just fine." I-Ie was delighted. "\\That are you doing back in Mexico?" These days I believed, and tried to understand, anything. "1'111 not back, Charlie, rill still! rnl tnaking a picture." "A picture! Wonderful! \Vhat do you call it?" "I call it Arruzo, you ungrateful sonofabitch!" And I swore 1'd never again call him "Charlie!" **********

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It was cold and raining that night when Elsa returned fr0l11 five 1110nths in Hollywood. I mingled with the nlembers of the press to Ineet her at the airport. She had received a great deal of good publicity froln the Paralnount picture and seemed more sure of herself. She was also n10re beautiful, having gained a little "cheesecake" weight in all the right places, but the one big difference was in her eyes. They were still greener than anyone else's, but they now shone bright with the spark of something I had been unable to give her. Elsa Cardenas stepped off that plane with resolute alnbition. She also stepped off with her 111other. Hank and Millie Lopez had arranged a "welcoll1e hOll1e" party at their house in Polanco. Paul was there, the Ehrlichs, Fernando and Jeanie, Elsa's sister and brother-in-law, Pepe, and just about everyone else we both knew. But it wasll't far into the fiesta before we both realized that now we really didn't know each other. It was also quite apparent that she had become ashaIned of 111e. "Everyone in Hollywood thinks that you are out of your Illind to stay down here," she said. Here we go again, I thought. "I'm not interested in what everyone in Hollywood thinks," I said. "What do you think, now that you've seen Il1y side of the fence?H "I think you're wrong, too. Arruza, no one, is worth destroying your career. You could go home now. Do television. Do anytbing.' At least you could be busy and making money." "Are those the two things that interest you I110st?" She looked back at the dancing couples inside the house for just a beat. "Yes," she said. "My mother's with Ine now and 1 want to work all of the time-and make money. Mother hasn't had a very happy life." We walked together back into the living rODin, but we didn't dance. Elsa and Senora Cardenas moved into a plush new apartl1lent building because she had bought her mother a gift shop on its first floor. \Ve spoke, now and then, over the telephone. It usually concerned advice on just what she sh()uld accept, career-wise, in motion pictures. Actually, it I110stly concerned wh:lt I believed she should not do. But, I wasn't in a hell of a good position to expect In)' advice to be seriously considered. I was "broker" than ever, S0l11ctilnes cold, and very often hungry. And I was still at Fernando's in Tlalpan. "\Then Iny host and Jeanie returned from their travels, the t01"e1"O and I nailed together a Inakeshift bed next to the kitchen. And so Elsa worked all of the time, in all kinds of pictures, and l11ade lots of Inoney. The following year in Tlalpan became a vaCUUlll, a Illotion picture 1l1ontagc of day after day of unkept promises, worthless contracts and unproductive Inectings. Paul Golden drifted away. It was certainly apparent that he wasn't going to

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enhance his furore by sticking with me. Henry Ehrlich moved his family back to Los Angeles. I nlissed Henry. Really only three good things happened. Mario Maya Palencia, a brilliant young attorney, took over the Mexican film industry's censorship problems; Emilio Rabasa became the director of "Banco Cinelnatografico," the film bank, and Jorge Duran Chaves replaced Iny old "stillphotographer friend," Gregorio Algara, as the head of the "Sindicato," the film laborers' union. Perhaps, finally, Mexico had a chance, but I shuddered when I considered that these beautifully educated, ambitious, hard-working gentielnen would be forced to negotiate, and deal with, mostly, other Mexicans. I got a surprise letter from Gaylord, who had finally done his tilTIe in prison and wandered back to Hollywood. He wanted me to place a collect call to a numher in Los Angeles-which I did with extreme interest. The suggestion my exworthy opponent Inade was-in his own words-"a gas!" Gaylord had joined in an effort to organize a Freedoln March in Washington, and it was his naive belief that I would immediately quit whatever I was doing and represent the screen directors in this new cause. I explained that I was their NUlnber One SYlnpathizer, but that I still was quite busy trying to prevent the American Gringo froln being further victimized by the guile of the Mexican Businessman. Gaylord thought that was funny. Just that fleeting conversation with Gaylord knifed hard into an unpleasant string of thoughts. Gaylord stood for a simple incident in prison. Miguel Castro Flores would always remain a very sentilnental melnory of a true friend, .who was still in the "Palacio Negron-with a good many years still left to serve. I had tried to see hinl five different, carefully spaced, rilnes. When I gave Illy nalTIe, and showed Illy credentials, the guards kept me waiting for hours, and then told me that "today it was too late for visitors." The last ITIorning I went there at seven o'clock and I was told that he had just been 1l10ved to the Military Prison. l""'his titne I got the "Inessage." He didn't want to see me. I remelnbered his "student" young lady friend and wondered if, now perhaps, Miguel thought he was doing TIle a favor. I-Ie was a very proud man. I would wait, hut I was certain that, one day, I would find hiln. A few Inonths after Iny last unsuccessful visit I was granted an appointlnent with Licenciado Miguel Aleman. The ex-president had written Ine a beautiful letter which he thought Inight help me finish Arruza. I was ushered iInlTIediately into his private office. Miguel Aleman is undoubtedly one of the Inost channing, culrured and attractive Illen who ever headed a nation, and his sense of hutTIor is always apparent. "l-low have you been?" he delnanded. "Well, for a time, Licenciado, your hotel had me in jail." "C:orrection," he laughed. "It's not Iny hotel. It's just my jail, and anyway I

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kne\v that you were getting right out." We talked for awhile; then, as I was leaving: "A man I met in prison, a tnan who really loves you, asked tne to say hello." "Thank you," he said and his eyes grew grayer. Jeffrey Martin also ended up in prison. I was disappointed that it wasn't exactly like mine, but still son1ewhat sad to learn the news because I inwardly liked Jeffrey. The newspapers stated that it was because of twenty-two counts of forgery, misappropriation of funds, and grand theft. He'd ll1anaged to get a bundle from Jack Warner, among others, and that was a work of art. The Rolls-Royce was also mentioned in all the reports. It was still white and silver, but Jeffrey had installed a gold telephone. \\Then I learned that Jeff's attorneys intended to subpoena me to testify in his defense, I realized that they were quite unaware of all that had transpired. Hell, Iny testilTIony would hang hinl, and I honestly didn't want that. I immediately set about trying to track down Eddie Fare. I knew he had another job. He'd been brave enough, and stupid enough to venture back into Mexico, and he now drank-considerably. It didn't take Iny still-loyal Pepe long to discover his whereabouts in, of all places, suite 1005 of the I-Iotel Alameda-right next door to the Barner. At eight o'clock, on what he figured was going to be one of Eddie's blurriest ITIornings, I knocked on his door. "Bueno?" "Telegrama, senor," I said-with IUY A-picture accent. "Slip it under the door." I fumbled around beneath the door, then: "Senor, eet won' feet. Eet's (] beeg telegrama." When Eddie opened the door I like to think he was surprised, but all I can remember is that he turned white as chalk and I was worried he tnight faint. "Good ITIorning, dear Edward," I said as I gently pushed Iny way past hinl into the suite, "I've got a little writing job for you to do. I want you to type a confession about your and Jeffrey's doings concerning 'The Sanitariutll of the Flowers~' Be sure to mention things like 'kidnap,' 'brutality,' 'dope'-you know. If you tnake it very exciting reading the first tilne, you won't have to do it over again-and again-and-. " Eddie stared at me for a long beat, his ITIouth agape. "Mister Martin will killllle," he finally said. "Mister Martin's in Los Angeles, Edward. 1'111 here and you'l'r ten flights up!" Eddie wrote an Academy Award piece of prose the very first tiIlle around. Actually, I think he embellished it a bit. He used all of the right n~Ul1es, places and prescriptions, and he spelled them all correctly-in Spanish and in English. 'I'hen we had the pages notarized. I mailed a copy to Jeffrey's attorneys. I was not subpoenaed. But, damn it, I did feel sorry for Jeffrey Martin. I-Ie was such a bright fellow.

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\-\Thy couldn't he have waited just a bit longer to become a lTIultimillionaire? He certainly would have Inade it-with room to spare. And, knowing Hollywood, I figured he still ITIight. Finally, saying good-bye to the good folks of Tlalpan, and their kids wholn I had learned to love, and the dogs and cats and chickens, and even the drunks at Luis' "You Too Can Be A King," was much more difficult for me than I had ever dreamed it would be. It was tough sledding while I was there, but it was also a happy tilne I would never forget. And then the circumstance of my being able to return to Mexico City was quite as bizarre as the rest of the improbable history of the making of Arruza.

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-no ll1atter what. Sure there were '~toots" now and then during- the st~l\' in Tlalpan, but every Tuesday and Thursday I Inade that daInn hus ride to the Banos Turcos at the Hotel Regis and back. I could have driven those huses 111ysclf and never I11issed a turn in the road or a pick-up station or corner. 'rhe only probleln was that each trip-both ways-passed by Elsa's apartlnent on one side of Insurgentes and Arruza's town house on the other. 'They were so dose together that I felt like an ostrich in heat as I swiveled Iny hC;1d first away frolll one side then away frol11 the other. Elsa and C:arlos and the tinishing of tny tiltn seetHed to have less and less in C01111110n with each passing day. It was a Thursday. I'll never forget it when the door to 1ny private drying-out dressing room burst open and the light flashed on. "1'111 Gustavo Alatriste," the handsolne intruder began, Hand I \-vant to talk to you." I sat up. "Looks to Inc like you've already started," I said. I knew who he was. Everyone in Mexico knew who he W,lS-;l top 1l1otion picture producer who also had the good fortune to be 1l1arried to the beautiful and talented Mexican filtn star, Silvia Pinal. "I'll get right to the point," he continued. No "with your pCrIllission." No "by your leave." Actually, no 111anners at all, but I was to learn thLlt was C;ustavo's personal style. "I've been n1aking pictures for years with Luis (Bunuel) and I've won all kinds of awards. Now 1'111 ITIOre interested in winning all kinds of IHoney. I just returned froll1 Europe and they tell Inc over there that the best Anlerican director of westerns is right here in Mexico City." "Really?" I said. "Don't play coy. You know they were talking about you."

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I sat up straighter. "No, 1 didn't know it," 1 said, my temper beginning to surface. "If I had, I would have said 'Thank youo'" "Well, I want you to direct a western for me-with Silvia. I'll find a script and get back in touch with you." "I'll write the script," I corrected. "I saw your wife in Vh-idiana and I'd be delighted to work with her. But-I'm not going to write that script in Tlalpan!" "So, what do you want?" "You move me to a first-class hotel here in the city, and I'll deliver a full screen treatment to you in four weeks. Then-if you like it-we can talk a deal. Now, Senor Alatriste, when you move me to a hotel, I mean the works: anything 1 need, food, drinks-the everyday important things that keep a writer writing." He looked at me for a long beat, then burst out laughing. "You fucking gringo directors are worse than the Spanish or French." "I've had a lot of practice," I said. The following Saturday lTIorning I lnoved into the Hotel Diplomatico, a stone's throw from Plaza Mexico, and went to work. I had already decided to call the picrure Two Mules for Sister Sa1'°a, and I wanted Bob Mitchum to play the leading lnan opposite Silvia. It was going to be my return to Hollywood film after Arruzfl, and it was also going to help me finish my picture with Carlos at last. I'd put every penny I made writing Two Mules back into my own production and, for the first time in my life, I felt a little like my friend Mike Todd. Writing the treatment was quite easy, as I knew exactly what I wanted. I would use Silvia's beauty as a young nun endeavoring to escape to the United States just before the Mexican Revolution. Bob Mitchum would playa professional dynalniter, hired by the revolutionists to survey the escape routes from (~hapultepec Palace to the border of Texas. He would plant his loads of dynalnite beneath the bridges along the way so that, if the need presented itself, they could be blown up to halt the federal annies. My nun and dynamiter would Ineet by chance and fall in love; it was an impossible situation, but one that I would resolve to everyone's satisfaction. I telephoned Gustavo's office. They thought he was in Acapulco. Three nlore weeks went by. I was ready to start writing the screenplay, but no word froln nly producer. Still, all Iny bills were being paid on time, and I settled down to rationalizing that this was the way working Mexican producers did husiness. So-what the hell! These days I usually woke up whistling. Things had finally changed for the hetter. At least now I had a warm place to work and I felt I was working very well. I hadn't heard one word from Gustavo, but all Iny bills were still being paid on titne, and now I was at least one-third through the screenplay_ I'd finish it as soon as I could, not waiting for a deal froln Alatriste, and-if he ended up not liking it-I'd put it together myself. Dalnn it was good-a real love story. Hollywood

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had never let me make a sensitive film. I guess those studio heads figured I had been so fortunate with beautiful ladies because I could throw a good left hook, or fight a bull, or run off-tackle. Most important, now, was that I could finally pay my own way. Checks, salary deferments froln past Illation pictures, were beginning to catch up to me. It wasn't nluch but, since I had learned to live on nothing in Tlalpan, life suddenly became easy. I plugged in Illy electric razor and studied the face in the mirror. The scars, I thought, didn't show, but the irises of the eyes were even blacker; and two new muscles ran along each cheek, Illuscles acquired trom hour after hour, day after day, of keeping Iny jaws clalnped tightly shut. It was the twenty-second of Decelnber and I had been invited to call on Arruza at his town house at four o'clock. I smiled and wondered if, finally, Carlos and Mari were going to invite me for Christmas. I doubted it, as they already had a record of three straight misses. I then wondered what he really wanted. Christ, it could be something terrible! I wasn't looking forward to the trip over there where I'd have to step off the bus right in front of Elsa's Illother's store to begin the walk to Arruza's. I'd spoken with Elsa on several occasions, but hadn't seen her for over a year. And that situation, no matter how you sliced it, was a sad and lousy shame. I thought of another happening that had upset nle a great deal. Sarita and Manuel Capetillo were now divorced, and the unpleasant notoriety hadn't been without numerous unhappy repercussions. But, with a great 111ntndor and a gorgeous actress, it was to be expected. I rang the buzzer at 44 Rio Mixcoac and a strange voice said "Bueno." I figured it was a new maid when I gave my nalTIe, and there was a long, long silence. Then the door burst open and Mari-Carmen, nly favorite Arruza, jumped into Iny arms. She was eight now, the spittin' image of her father, and with just as I1luch energy-if that was possible. I wrestled and tickled her into the open patio off the inner entrance way and then looked up to face Carlos and Ruben Padilla. It was a happy surprise to see Ruben. He and Mari had done a great job of keeping our picture from completely falling apart. At least Arruza and I were speaking again. "Hello," Carlos said. "Carlos," I nodded, then stepped up to greet Ruben. He had gotten grayer during the past year and was better looking than ever. I'd always had a ball with Ruben. He had a fantastic sense of humor and I sensed that he was there to take the pressure away from Carlos' and my meeting. "Hola, mi director!" he shouted. "Carlos, here, said that you were well. I think you look like hell." I laughed. I had been right. He didn't disappoint Ine. "1 do not look like hell. 1 aln well. And I love what you've done to your hair. Who's your hairdresser?" "Father Time," Ruben said and slapped me on the back as we walked into

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C:arlos' office-den. I sat down at the card table across from Arruza and his l11anager. 'rhe 1l1atador was not cOlnfonable. Hell, neither was I. Carlos got right to the point. "I alll fighting in Plaza Mexico on January twenty-third. Would that make you happy?" My stomach turned over. "If it would make you happy," I said. "What changed your Inind?" "Doctor Gaona's out. A l11an nalned Angel \lasquez, a big sports promoter, is taking over Plaza Mexico and about everything else." "And he wants you to fill his plaza?" Carlos bristled. "Everyone wants me to fill their GoddaITI plazas. The price is right so I Inight do it." I steeled myself. "For one corrida, Carlos?" "He wants Ine to sign for two." "I hope you're considering signing for two," I said. "Why two?" "I could use the second corrida just for close-ups." Carlos glanced at Ruben to take over. "Bood," Ruben began, "can you raise the nl0ney to photograph those corridas'?" "I can try." "Hell, you've been trying for years," Carlos interrupted. "We want to know if you (an!" ~~I repeat, I can try," I said biting Iny tongue to keep from saying one more fucking word. Ruben lit a cigarette. "How lTIany canleras are you going to have at the plaza?" "I want five." "'fhat's going to take a lot of money." "I want a lot of Inoney." C~arlos coughed. Ruben took a long puff from his cigarette. Then: "What do you estilnate photographing those two c01"'ridas will cost?" Wl(> do it right, about fifteen thousand dollars. There'll be lots of 'bites' that will add to the actual cost of production. I'll have to pay the plaza-plenty. Then there'll be the necessary police protection, the permits, the gratuities. I'll want two rolls of fihn for each calnera. Five cameras-two Sundays. That's eighteen thousand feet of EastJnan color filtn, Ruben, and that ain't hay." "I won't put up one penny!" Carlos said. I took a sip of coffee, and a long titne to swallow it. "Well," Ruben said, standing, "good luck. I'Ill going to be here for C:hristnlas. Keep us infonned." 1 put down Iny coffee cup and walked to the door. "When is the second corrida scheduled?"

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"February sixth," Ruben said. "I'll be there at both of thenl," I said. "So will I," said Carlos. I stepped up onto the curb on Insurgentes and glanced at Iny watch. It was 4:30 in the afternoon. In exactly thirty-two Inore days to the Ininute the gates of the pUe1Ta de cuadrillas of the largest bullring in the world would swing open, and Carlos Arruza would make his long-awaited return to Plaza Mexico. It had been thirteen years since Carlos had appeared there. Then, in 1953, "Manolete" had already been dead six years. There was no competition, no Inore peaks to conquer, nowhere else to go. Arruza cut both ears and the tail of his last bull and then retired. 'rhe second "Golden Age" of bullfighting was over. Now, at forty-six, he was returning as a rejoneador. The plaza would be sold out. The aficionados knew that Carlos' pride would force him to dismount from his horse to finish the fael10 with the 'I11uleta and sword. Ten thousand fathers would take ten thousand sons to show theln "how it should be done," to show them the difference between Arruza and those new fen om enos. That would leave only thirty-two thousand seats, and those tickets would be sold out days before the corrida. "Hijo.'" 1 needed fifteen grand quick! And it was Christmas. What a lousy time of the year to have to raise luoney, especially in Mexico. From now until New Year's Day it would be illlpossible. Then frol11 the first through "The Day of the Three Kings," January the sixth, it would be just as difficult. Hell, people wouldn't even go to their offices until after the sixth. And I needed to have that fifteen thousand at least two weeks before January the twentythird because it was going to take one hell of a lot of wheeling and dealing before I'd get pennission to photograph those two cor'ridas. A voice behind nle said: "Hi." It was Elsa. "What are you doing standing here?" she said. "Waiting for my bus." 1 caught her look. "Don't flinch," 1 said. "You're the one who invented buses." She smiled. "I guess 1 did." There was a "nothing" silence. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was justnothing, then: "M erry Ch nstmas. . " "Thanks. The same to you. H "And to your mother." "Why don't you wish mother 'Merry Chrisnnas' yourself? She's in the store." "I really am in a hurry," I said. "You know ... there's so 111uch to do. H "And the picrure?" "Carlos is reappearing in Plaza Mexico on January the twenty-third." "Wonderful! You've waited a long tilne."

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"Perhaps not too long. It'll be worth it." "And now you're actually going to finish Arruza?" I laughed. "Jesus, Elsa, I guess I'm in a rut, but I'ITI going to try." "Do you still want ITIe to play 'Mari?'" "Of course. You know that." "Good. That would Inake me happy." I wanted to ask her if she had changed her mind about bullfighting, or what, but I didn't. "Come on," she said, "I'll drive you home. I guess I just can't stand to see you wait for buses." I'm not sure to this day just who sent me Beldon Butterfield-the Good Lord--or the devil himself. I had met Beldon at a cocktail paty. Beldon was the Hedda Hopper of Mexico City. He knew everything, who was doing it to whom, and just where and at what time they were doing it. He was an authority on that subject as he was doing a lot of it himself. And when Beldon spoke about money, you had to listen. Money, in any form, was all that he gave a damn about. Well, suddenly there was Beldon pledging five thousand dollars to the cause of cOlnpleting A171lZ0, and he assured me that he would be able to raise the additional ten grand within a few days. And-at the time-I would have placed my two-dollar bet on the Good Lord being the benefactor. Beldon was also a strange young man. That is, I thought him strange until I met his mother. She called Beldon "Alan" all of the time. "Dear, darling Alan," she would say. Alan was Beldon's brother who lived in South America, and had made a point of not seeing his mother for years. After that, I didn't think Beldon was so strange anymore. I got to like him very much. Beldon had been raised in Argentina and schooled in the United States at Taft. He was beautifully fluent in both English and Spanish, and possessed a colorful vocabulary that enhanced his very funny stories. I think Beldon's personal appearance had a Inarked influence on the various executives he encountered. When you combined his dark, studious good looks with his tattered shirts and shiny suits, you had to be impressed with the apparent fact this was a young man with an abundance of geniune class and confidence. It certainly worked on the Mexicans. They were very impressed with Beldon. Well, Beldon came through in a hurry. He raised the first five thousand &oIn Sandy McNally, heir to the McNallys and all of their maps. Sandy was an astute young businessman who was making it on his own the hard way-in Mexico! The second five thousand came from Jeffrey Coffin, a hell of a cute guy who was a born gambler on anything, or anybody, that looked exciting. This time Jeff was certainly spinning the right wheel if he was looking for excitement. ()n January the seventh the Mexican holidays were finally over and Beldon

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and I went to work. We had cOIn piled a list of I1lusts that had to be cleared and there were a hundred little nothings that should be settled. Most in1portant were the absolutely essential releases and contracts to be drawn up, agreed upon, and signed. First, we successfully culn1inated our deal with Angel Vasquez for Plaza Mexico. \\That I mean is we got the plaza, but it cost us a fortune in scotch-overices, colder cash, sweat and worry. Senor Vasquez was a Cuban. He l11issed all that had been his in Havana. He intended to get it all back-in a hurry. We visited the "Union de Matadores," the "Union de Picadores y Banderilleros," the "Sindicato," where Jorge Duran Chavez was now in business, thank God!; the "Office of Film Censorship," where we had the usual delightful meeting with my good friend Mario Maya Palencia; and the "Mexico City Department of Police," where we negotiated for protection frolll the gentlelnen I now wished to consider only as nodding acquaintances. On Saturday, January the twenty-second, at four-thirty in the afternoon, so that we could chart the sun and shade, our production group assembled in Plaza Mexico. Beldon was there; and Jeff and Sandy, who were to be stationed \vith two of our five cameras; and Carlos Carbajal, Iny sensational cameraInan who had sweated out all these years; Rafael Esparsa, our sound engineer, and his two sound crews; the grips, electricians, camera operators and their assistants, and the ten police officers assigned to us. And Ruben Padilla, accolnpanied by his 1-ejo71ead01; Don Carlos Arruza. "Hijo! You tell me to ride he1-e, Inove then:! Now will you please tell nle just where you'd like Ine to die for your Goddam calneras after I've passed that fucking bull up nly ass?" Carlos was beautiful when he bfew. I suppressed a slnile. "Carlos, I have only suggested where the beauty of what you are about to do can best be captured on film. I know that what I've suggested is ilnpossible. No 11lotador could do those things. But, if you're lucky enough to hit any of those spots, at any tiIne, it'll just be frosting on our cake." That did it! I could see hiIn saying to himself: "No 111otodor" ... "lucky enough" ... "any of those spots" ... "at any tilne" ... "Puta Inadre!" He glared at Ine for a long beat, grunted, and then he and Ruben rurned and walked up the long, dark runnel of the Pue110 de Cuadrilins. I winked at Carbajal. We both knew that Arruza would hit all those spots at just the right tiIue, and that he was the only '1natador in the world who could do it. Once Carlos had rell1arked to a fretting Beldon: "Never worry about Arruza. He has a lot of 'proud!'" I pointed out the two locations for the sound crews, at the top of the plaza next to the bank, and in the alleyway of the sunny side. Then I passed out the written instructions to the canlera crews. Each canlera, nUlnbered froIn one through four, had a separate set of rules: they were to roll on one cue, cut on

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another. They had definite spots along the red barrera where they would roll and cut as Carlos toured the ring, after the fight, with the trophies I was certain he'd receive. The high camera, stationed at the very top of the plaza, was to grind only on the opening parade and during Carlos' work astride his horses. \\'hen that was over they were to try to get down to the alleyway with the rest of us. I, personally, would circle that cal/ejon behind the fence with Carbajal who would operate a hand-held Arriflex. We would concentrate on unusual closeshots. Carbajal had only one set move to make in a hurry. Directly after the poseo, as Arruza still circled the ring, we would dash into the Puerta de Picadores and set up a canlera to catch Carlos in the act of changing horses. This would have to be a lightning move. Carbajal and I timed it until we figured to have at least thirty seconds to spare before the matador would ride out of the sunlight and burst through the gates upon us. After all the instructions were thoroughly understood, we rehearsed the cor"rida contemplated action until it got dark. Then, knowing that Angel Vasquez would demand another pound of my flesh to turn on the plaza's lights, I suggested that we all go home-to pray. "All right, roll it." I listened as the camera picked lip speed, then looked back into the corral. Number 169, Gavilan, was a handsome bull from one of Mexico's top g0l1ode1-ias, Tequisquiapan. He weighed in at 440 kilos, nearly half a ton-quite big enough to toss Carlos and anyone of his horses over the four-foot bnn-C1-a. Arruza had hand-picked Gavilan for his anticipated speed. A heavier bull, at Mexico City'S altirude, would be "run-out" by the horses and have little left for the iaena with the nt-uleta and sword. Gavilan swung around to face the noise of the camera's whir. I slid Iny ann through the narrow window in the concrete, and the hUlnp of Inuscle on his massive shoulders swelled up like an inflated balloon. I withdrew Iny arm so as not to lure him, charging, into the gray-painted wall. It was twelve o'clock: time for the sorteD, the drawing of the bulls for the other Inatadors: Jorge "El Ranchero" Aguilar, Rafael Munos, "Chito," and the Spaniard, Manalo AInador. Numbers of the bulls, scribbled on cigarette paper, were crulnpled into a hat. The representatives of each matador then drew to discover which two anilnals his torero was to face. A few moments before, we had filmed the morning activity outside the plaza. Now our cameras were stationed in strategic locations to record the separating of the bulls into their individual pens. The anilnals were maneuvered about by the "Judas steers," the only ITIeanS of controlling them, lured into a smaller corral, and then allowed to run, singly, down the long tunnel underneath the plaza to rurn into the numbered individual stalls where each would remain until the time for his appearance in the ring. I had planned An'Ouzo to be the "Red Shoes" of bullfight pictures, a ballet counterpointed against various non-bullfight musical themes-until Plaza Mexico. '['his I wanted to be 1-enl! I wanted to smell the bulls and sweat out the stench of

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ilTIpending destruction and death. I wanted live sound here, just as it happened, the low calls and whistles of the corral workers, the snorting of the bulls and the rusty creaking and slalnming of the heavy gates. I heard Carbajal clear his throat. I instinctively touched lny 44Ciuadalupe" as, at the far end of the long tunnel, the gate swung open and Gavilan have into view. Our Arriflex was set up on the sandy floor of the tunnel. Our only protection was to be the aleroless of the toriles caretaker. I--Ie stood just in front of us to swing across our path the wooden gate of the pen into which the charging bull would rush. Gavilan heard the noise of our calnera and picked up speed as he caIne toward us down the runway. Suddenly, ten scant feet in front of our lens, the heavy door crashed open across the narrow tunnel to cut off our view of the bull. We heard Gavilan skid into his pen, and the gate slaIn shut. l--hen the bolt clanked locked, as it would reIllain until a little after four-thirty in the afternoon. At three-fifteen, Joaquin, Carlos' Pormguese trainer, cOlllpleted supervising the ribbon-decoration of the four horses. Carbajal and I Inoved silently about the corral photographing the magnificent anilnals as they waited, nervous, but seelllingly anxious to show the aficionados of Plaza Mexico what they could help their master do. Arruza had borrowed a beautiful, spotted gray froln his friend, Evaristo Zambrano, in Monterrey to Inake the pasco. I rClnarked, the day before, that this was one of the most ilnpressive horses I'd ever seen. (~(lflos glanced, fatherly, at his own animals and snorted: "Of course he's ilnpressive! l~hat's why I borrowed hinl for the parade. But he's a stinking coward! Show hiln a bull and he'll junlp you right into the thirdrow seats.n Arruza's "proud" carried well over into his horses. Califa, the lead:..off horse for the 1-ejol1es, wore blue and white silk ribbons in his nlane and tail. He was a big black with a strangely spotted head and strong and t~lst. Jinete was a bay beauty with a white blaze across his face. I-Ie had been born and trained at Pasteje, and Carlos was especially fond of this spirited six-year-old. Jinete's Blane was braided in green and yellow. Faraon had been nalned for Arruza's closest torero friend, Silverio Perez, the "Pharaoh ofTexcoco." Faraon was white and was the sinallest, but 1l1ost experienced, of the horses. lIe would he used for the placetnent of two-handed bfll1dcrilllls. Faraon was decked out in ribbons of red and hlue. l~hese anilnals sensed the ilnportance of the day. l'hey stood like sprinters waiting for the call to the starting blocks. Even the ucoward" froln Monterrey secll1ed to have delusions of grandeur. **********

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It was four o'clock, one-half hour before the paseo, when Arruza stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of his house. I had never seen Carlos look better-ever. The jacket and vest of his traje corto were jet black. The trousers were gray with a barely discernible check. He wore the flat-topped Sevillana cocked over his right eye. Around his waist was the only flash of color, a sash striped with bright yellow, green and red. Carlos may have been forty-six years old, but he looked twenty-five. Only the touches of silver at each temple gave any indication that he had been "The Best" over twenty years before-he and "Manolete." He smiled that little-boy smile at the crowd waiting in the street to wish him "suerte." That is, he smiled until he suddenly discovered that he was smiling at me, then he tugged at the brim of his hat and stepped into the front seat of his white station wagon. We had two of our cameras mounted behind the front seat. One would photograph over the shoulders of both the matador and Alfonzo Alvarez, Carlos' expicador, who was driving. It would also give us a splendid view, between the two men, of all that would transpire ahead of the car. The other camera would cover only the hood of the station wagon and fearure the close-up reactions of the crowd outside the plaza. Two motorcycle officers preceded us as we pulled away from the curb. Carlos turned to glare at the cameras. He knew damn well they would be there. It was just a good time for glaring. Tor'eros, a few minutes before a co nAida, take great delight in glaring at everything-except their public. As we turned the corner of San Antonio I rolled both cameras, and the gray ugliness of Plaza Mexico swung into view. Thousands of aficionados were still outside the bullring fighting to get in. When the motorcycle officers hit their sirens all eyes focused on the matador. "Dos orejas! Suerte, Matador! E1 Ciclon! Arruza!" It was like old times. As we neared the high stone pillars of the main gate, I tapped Carlos on his off-camera shoulder. "Don't be so damned happy," I said. "Be serious!" The matador turned his profile away from the camera before he spoke. After all this tilne he was nearly as professional as Tony Quinn. "You want this to be a true picrure?" he said through clenched teeth. "Of course!" I shot back. "Well, then you be serious and let me act happy because I am so Goddamned scared to death!" Alfonzo passed under the archway and drove down the ramp through the two concrete runnels. We kept filming until the station wagon stopped and Carlos slid out. Then we grabbed the two cameras and raced to our designated positions across the bullring. At precisely four-thirty in the afternoon of January the twenty-third, 1966, the trulnpets blew, the kettledrums rolled, the red gates of the Puerta de

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Cundrillas swung open, and Don Carlos A.rruza rode out onto the grar-ydlo\\' sand of Plaza l\1exico.

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Inyself grinning back at him-just like the other fifty-two thousand spectators who jaml11ed even the aisles. Carlos Arruza could chan11 your eyeballs right out of their sockets, and in the bullring could ask for, and get, a prolnise of any other part of the human ~lnatolny. This had been a well-established fact on two continents, and just about everywhere except Russia and Red China. Of course, Carlos had never fought a bull in any of their bullrings. 'fhe aficionados stood to a 111an to greet their rerurning idol. They were all there: the aged who lilnped alone to Plaza Mexico with their lnelnories of Carlos in his 'teens,' the conteI11poraries of Arruza who accepted no other as "El NUlnero Uno," the young Illen who came to see if the legend was true, and the kids who were brought by their parents to be shown that it was. I rolled the Arriflex with its twelve-inch close-up lens, then turned to look up at the crowd. Seated behind Ine, in the expensive bar're1~as, were three stylish ladies who used to be gorgeous. They also used to know Carlos ... well, 111any years before. I wondered what their reactions were when they discovered that Carlos looked just the SaIne. Across the plaza, in the cheaper seats of the sunny side, were lllore women whost:! beauty had dissipated. Several of theln knew their sons looked just like Carlos. I-ligh up in the privacy of a palco at the top of the plaza sat Don Rodolfo C;aona, the real "Califa" of taur011tachia. Carlos had named his "Califa" for Don Rodolfo, who, now well into his seventies, was the only remaining torero of that first "(;olden Era," those years before 1920 he had shared with "Joselito" and Jllan Beln10nte. (Jose to the Puerto de Cuadrillns, behind the burlade1~o marked Enlp1'"esa, stood

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Angel Vasquez and Fernlin Espinosa, "Annillita." I knew what Vasquez was thinking. He was counting his Inoney. "Annillita" was a different Inatter. Years bet()re, after returning as "The Best" of his own epoch, he too had returned to Plaza Mexico. He had been good, but not good enough for that crowd. They were brutal. Arruza nodded to the three matadors behind hill1, then looked up at the plaza band as if to say: "Let's go!" The first notes of Cicio A71dllluz brought a roar froln the crowd, and Carlos spurred the spotted-gray into his parade dressage. You had to rnan'el at this ]TIan who, only InOlllents before, had said he was afraid. Of course, Carlos hadn't Ineant that he was afraid of the bull. He was never afraid of the bull. The tense situation of his reappearance, the attitude of the roughest audience in bullfighting, bad luck with the wind-these 'were the things to worry about. But now, there he rode his prancing horse filled with the hard-earned confidence that he, Don Carlos Arruza, owned all of what was Mexican bullfighting: the honor, the wealth, the prestige. \Vhen he reined in at the bnrrertl to salute the Autoridad, I unconsciously cried out: "Ole, Charlie!" He swung his head to glance at me, but our eyes didn't meet as I was already racing toward the Plle11f1 de Picadores to help Carbajal set up the camera for the changing of the horses. I ran along the cal/ejon to the red gate of the picadors and dashed into the n1l1nel. \\Then the gate closed behind nle I was in cOlnplete darkness. Picadors have no duties in the plaza with a 11'ejO11 ead01; so there was no one in the long nlnnel except Joaquin, who stood behind Ine holding Califa. He kept the big black horse filr back frUITI the gate so that the sudden flash of sunlight upon C:arlos' entrance would not startle hilTI. Joaquin and Califa and I waited-and waited. \Ve heard the applause build to our left, froln the shady side, which Incant that C:arlos had cOll1pleted his circling of the ring and was ahnost upon us. \\'here in the bell was Carbajal? And then-it was too late. The gates swung open and Arruza rode into the blackness of the tunnel. I was just standing there looking stupid and surprised as if I'd been called "out" at the plate. No C3lncr3, no calneralnan, no nothin'.Just Ine. "\Vhat in the devil are you doing here?" Carlos shouted. "I couldn't get a ticket!" I shouted back. I thought I saw hilTI grin, but it was pretty dark. Then he slid off the spottedgray, swung up onto Califa, spun around and rode back into the ring. I dashed after him through the quickly closing gates and ran into C:arbajal walking dejectedly toward me behind the red fence. I~e was ahnost in tears. "We dropped the batteries onto the concrete." "Where are the other batteries?" "They're coming." "Th' . I" ey re cOl1ung. "They're here," he groaned. "Okay. We'll get the shot at the next corridn. C:olne on!"

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We ran to our assigned spot behind the matadors' burladero, and got the cmnera 1110unted just as the trumpets signaled for the entry of the bull. "Close-shot on the toril gate!" I yelled. "Roll it!" I heard the Arriflex reach speed a split second before Gavilan Inade a spectacular entrance into the ring. Carlos rode to his left as the black bull skidded to a stop in the center of the sand. Ricardo, Arruza's banderille1~o de confianza, stepped out from behind the Inatador's burladero and called to Gavilan. "Aja, taro bonito!" he cried. Gavilan centered the sudden movement of Ricardo's pink cape, and burst into pursuit. The banderillero stepped back behind the barrier, lifting the cape up over the wooden fence. Gavilan slid to a stop a few scant feet in front of the burlndero. Then, to properly introduce himself, he slnacked his horns, three tilnes-WHAP, WHAP, WHAP-into the wood. The whiteness, where the paint had been gouged away, showed clearly fronl across the ring. "Let me have him!" Carlos called to Ricardo. The matador swung Califa toward the bull, then veered off to the center of the ring as Gavilan gave chase. Carrying the green and white rejo12 at arm's length straight out from his right shoulder, its barbed end pointed directly at the sand, Carlos spun his horse around to face the bull head-on as the animal stopped again Inidway to the fence. "Aja, tooooro! Eje!" Arruza's voice sounded loud and clear in the sudden stillness of the plaza. And then it happened. Carlos backed Califa three steps, then took off toward Gavilan who stood waiting for hiln. Both horse and bull had been calculated into perfect rejoneo position, hut as Arruza raced close to the bull, Gavilan merely shook his horns in greeting. You could hear the gasp from the knowledgeable aficionados. There was disappointed silence from the rest. C:arlos reined Califa closer to the bull and began a slowly ditninishing circle around the beast. Gavilan pivoted his body to keep Califa centered between his horns. But he wouldn't budge an inch. Now the audience began to scream as the Inatador circled his horse just a few yards from the bull. And then, finally, Carlos ran out of circle. There was nothing left to do but ride right over the bull. The beautiful Gavilan was a manso, a coward who didn't wish to fight. At least he was allergic to horses. I waved a yellow handkerchief to signal all cameras to cease filrning. My lovely bubble of Plaza Mexico had burst. Carlos caught the flash of yellow silk out of the corner of his eye. He swung Califa away from the bull and called to Ricardo. "Put him by the fence!" he shouted, then as his banderille1·o stepped out from behind the fence, Carlos cantered past our calnera.

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"You'd better stick around!" he yelled to me. I figured I would. I had seen Arruza gored when he was eighteen, badly. I-Ie had ordered Ricardo and the rest out of the ring, stuffed his blue sash into the hell10rrhaging wound, then killed his bull-just before fainting. Right now, as he glared off at Gavilan, he had that same wild look in his eyes. As Ricardo spread his cape, the bull jerked his attention away frOI11 Califa and burst clear across the sand toward the pinkness. I saw the quick look of understanding between Ricardo and his matador. I hoped it was the truth of what I thought I saw. The ballderillero wove Gavilan through three SIll00th passes, then left hinl standing five yards out from the ba1"rera. Carlos didn't waste a nlOIllent. I-Ie raced between the bull and the fence. Gavilan took three quick steps toward the horse to protect his position by the boards, Carlos' hand shot downward, and the green and white ribbons of the well-placed rejo12 fluttered atop the giant tossing tlluscle of Gavilan's powerful shoulders. There was applause. Quite a bit of it. But I counted it off as applause of relief, of appreciation that Carlos could have done anything with this Goddalnned bull. He stopped close to me again as he reached for his second 1'ej0l1. "Were you still saving film?" I had rolled all five cameras the second Ricardo placed the bull. "Not one fraIne," I said. "Well, you'd better save a little," he growled. Christ, with Carlos, you just couldn't win. But, so help Ine, there'd cOlne a day. Still, I knew what he Ineant by the reJllark. Our canleras were rcady. The second, third and fourth rejol1es were the saine, well executed, courageously done. When he lined up for the third 1'ej0l1 , still astride C:alifa, I figured that he had given up the idea to use his favorite, Jinete. C:arlos silnply felt that Gavilan didn't deserve it. He had a point. The audience was in cOll1plete sYl11pathy with Arruza's frustration. He was giving thenl one hell of a show, a fantastic display of bravery, and a lot of horsemanship, But he was furious, sick that he wasn't able to really show them what he came to do. The fact that his hull refused to charge made no difference to the matador. There could be no excuses. He would force Gavilan to charge. When Carlos caIne out of the runnel astride the white Faraon, already holding the banderillas clamped tight together in his right hand, I knew that he was seriously considering riding right up onto Gavilan's horns. He Inaneuvered Faraon in a tight circle around the bull until the anilnal burst into a short charge away froIl1 his querencia near the fence; then he placed the sticks quickly, beautifully. As the aficionados applauded and the band played La Diann for the first rinlc, Carlos rode to the b01-rero, hooked the reins to the wire around his waist, and took

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a blue and white banderilla in each hand. Arching his back, holding the slender barbs so that they stuck out from his fingers parallel to the sand, he spurred F araon into a high-prancing passage, and moved off toward Gavilan. The bull swung around to face F araon as he danced toward him. Now his black rump was tight against the boards. Carlos rode from the center of the ring until Faraon was within fifteen yards of Gavilan. There, calmly, quietly, he called for the bull's attention as he slowly pirouetted the white stallion in a tight circle. "Hooaaa, taro ... Hooaaa," he soothed. Carbajal had the Arriflex mounted directly behind the bull, and as I looked over the camera I could see Carlos and Faraon stage-center between the horns. Now Gavilan seemed to be paying careful attention. His giant head nodded slowly to the rhythm of Carlos' sing-song cadence. He listened attentively, then took two short steps away from the boards as the matador swung Faraon in a wide arc toward him and rode away looking back over his right shoulder. Many in the crowd stood as they sensed what Carlos was about to try. When he spurred Faraon in a half-circle toward the boards, everyone in the plaza stood. The bull was only ten feet out from the barrera as Arruza aimed his white horse at that narrow space between those black-tipped horns and the wood. There were screams of "NO!" but it was too late. Carlos leaned far out from the saddle as he raced toward the bull. Gavilan swung around to face the approaching Faraon head-on. "Toooro!" Carlos shouted. Gavilan lowered his head and charged. Fifty-two thousand voices cried out as Carlos raised his arms high and drove the bnnde'rillas straight down onto the bull's m01~illo, right smack on top of his shoulders. Gavilan continued the charge toward the horse's exposed belly, but Faraon swung his hind legs toward the barrera, and the bull chased the swishing tail headlong into the fence. "Ole! " The band burst into La Diana and the plaza exploded with an ocean of white handkerchiefs. In the dead center of the sand, both hands held high in the air, Don Carlos Arruza spun Faraon in a dancing circle to acknowledge the hysterical ovation. He had returned! The clalnorous tribute to Carlos was not about to slacken, but the matador had noticed how eagerly Gavilan followed the pink lure of Ricardo's cape to the far side of the ring, and he had work to do. I watched Carlos closely as he passaged Faraon toward the Puerta de Picadores and signaled for the rejon de muene to kill the bull from horseback. But then he looked toward Ricardo, and held down two fingers spread over the darkness of his brown-leather chaps. This was it. I had heen right. Both Arruza and Ricardo had discovered that Gavilan might turn out

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to be a splendid aninlal with the ?Jilt/eta. He h'ld followed Ricardo's Clpe ~1\·idly. Sonletinles truly brave bulls really are allergic to horses. Perhaps anything! Bulls are bulls! Carlos, always the showlllan, kept the cro\\'d's attention on hilllseif. 11e took the killing rejo}] and rubbed sOlne saliva over the point of the hlade. '";\I()! NC)! NO!" the people shouted. 'fhey wanted the 11latador to dislllOlllH. 'rhis is what they canle to see. Thev delllanded he show theln that Inagic he could per' . fOrIn with the red cloth. Carlos looked up at the protesting fans, shrugged that the bull wasn't worthy of a fl1Cl1t1 on foot. But he kept one eye on Ricardo. So did I. On the opposite side of the ring Ricardo stepped toward the bull and shook his cape. Gavilan burst into action, and the "1/"deri/liTo gave hinl those two, \vide, SIllooth veronicas that Carlos' extended fingers had delnanded. --rhat was all the nlatador needed to see. l--Ie jUIllped off FaraoIl, sbpped the white horse's sweat-wet rulnp affectionately, and began the long walk to the hl/rlndt'ro of the Inatadors where his sword handler, "La Rana," the Frog, was waiting. Slowly, like 3 rolling W~l\'C at high tide, the chant began to swell: "TC)-RE-RO! l'()-RE-R()! 'r()-RE-R()!" Carbajal and I raced around the alleyway and set up the Arritlex behind the brl1·ladera. Carlos looked up froln where "La Rana" was unstrapping his leather znjones, saw Ine, and winked. Applause can sOlnetinles 111ellow even the lllost bellicose antagonist. He then took the furled 111l/Ieta and the sword in his left hand, carried the tlat-brilnn1ed Sevillflnfl in his right, and walked thc few steps to salute the Autoridad. As he turned and Ill0ved away frolll the red fence to dedicate (;i1vilan to the entire audience, the applause was deafening. I S(lW, fr0l11 the expression on Carlos' face, that it was a happy and we\colne sound. Ricardo, who had been keeping (~avilan 's attention, folded his cape and vaulted over the barrero as he saw his lnatador (lppro(lch. 'rhe bull watched the spot at the fence" where Ricardo and his pink cape had disappeared, thcn spun around when he heard Carlos' soft voice behind hiln. "Aja, toro. Aja!" the Inatador called to hillt. Gavilan wiggled his right ear. Now here was sOlnething sensible, not a tlying' horse he couldn't catch on his horns. This new enelny was a Inan, on foot, easy to see, easy to gore whenever he wanted. Like now! Carlos stood straight and still, and didn't even shake the 1I11t/eta as the hull bore down upon hinl. He sighted for the PIIse de /11 'lJ11I£Tte with the cloth held out fronl his waist by the stick and the point of the sword. I-Ie didn't even suck in his stolnach as he lured Gavilan's right horn into hrushing against his j~ll'kct. 'l'here was an "Ole" froln the crowd. Not a big one, just a startled exdaillation. 'rhey hadn't really expected that. The Inatador relnained Illotionless, not even bothering to inlprovc his position as the bull skidded around and raced back at hinl. "-

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"OLE!" This time it was a concentrated yell. Four more thunderous "aLES!" Carlos repeated the statuesque pass four more times without giving an inch until the bull's shoulder bumped him backwards against the boards. He was knocked off balance and dangerously out of position-yet, being Arruza, he dropped to his knees and really gave them something to scream about, a spinning molinete where it seemed impossible that Gavilan would not drive a horn into his face. It was bedlam. Carlos twisted the bull around him twice more with little half-passes that didn't even have a name. Then, as the band blasted La Diana, he rumed his back on the horn and, grinning like a director who has just read his first good review, strutted away from the bull and looked up at the suddenly devout, fifty-two thousand, electrified Arruzistas. 1 laughed and looked around at the crowd. Then 1 saw Armando, the operator of our high camera, rushing toward me down the cal/ejon. The number four camera, escorted by the camera crew and two policemen, was right behind him. "Are you grinding 32 frames on the jaena, senor?" "Yes," I shouted above the commotion. "Go back to normal speed after the kill." I pointed to a vacant square meter in the alleyway. "Put it there," I said. Finally! Finally everything was working for me. Those boys had gotten that camera down to the ring from the very top of Plaza Mexico, in a matter of less than four minutes. Impossible! I hadn't expected that. But we were watching the impossible. And now we had five cameras on it. Ole! Carlos took the muleta in his right hand with the sword, and glanced off to where he had deposited the bull. Gavilan stood there quietly watching the slight movement of Ricardo's cape. "Leave me alone," the matador motioned to his banderillero. Ricardo moved behind a burladero. ''Hoooaaa, toro!" Carlos then called to the bull. Gavilan swung around to face him and immediately burst into a charge when the matador shook the red cloth. Carlos watched the pointed horns rush toward his exposed body, then slowly lifted the muleta up even with his eyes. Gavilan swerved out a bit as he followed the lure and lunged into the air as he passed beneath the matador's extended arm. "OLE!" The bull's imperus carried him five yards past Arruza. He slid onto his knees as he skidded around to recharge. Carlos took him into a sweeping pase por alto, and again Gavilan's front legs flew up into the air as he drove his horns up at the rising 1l1uleta. No one remained seated in the plaza. The ones who had seen Carlos thirteen years before looked at their wives and sweethearts as if to say: "I told you! Look at hi1l1.''' If their sons were tiny, they lifted the little boys onto their shoulders. I glanced behind Ine. Most of the old men had tears in their eyes. A few of them were crying.

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"GAVILAN!" Carlos had finally acknowledged the anilnal's nalne. "Aja, toro bonito!" This time the Inatador swung the lJ1uleta low in a quarter-circle and pivoted his body to the right in a majestic derecbazo. Gavilan kept his llluzzle glued to the cloth, and followed the lure into a ballet of nine, unbelievably perfect, right-handed muletazos. \\Then Carlos conlpleted the spectacular series with a slow-nl0tion pase de pecbo, and walked away you could. barely hear the . with his back to the bull, . band above the wild cheering. Hats sailed down into the ring, and co~1ts. rrhe matador nodded to three bullring attendants who jUlllped over the fence and tossed the coats back up toward their owners. Carlos stopped to pick up a goldencrusted sombrero, walked to the bon'ern and skiIllIlled it to his friend, Pedro Vargas, who was standing in the first row. Gavilan had strolled back to the fence. I lllotioned for Carbajal to set the Arriflex on its tripod directly behind the bull as I watched (:arlos walk slowly toward the center of the ring. I had to sInile. The tnatador was walking slowly to give us time to reset our calnera, Now I knew what he planned to do. He stopped fifteen yards out froln the bull and spread the lIut/eta with his sword. Then he hesitated to he absolutely certain that our Arriflex was ready and in position. It was, and we rolled it. We were photographing over C;avilan's widespread horns. The bull shook his shaggy head and looked off toward the Inatador who stood profiled to hiIn, with the red lure in his right hand covering his legs. Directly behind Carlos, far across the ring above the toril gate, a wooden sign read: Gavilan 169 Tequisquiapan I heard the canleras of the still-photographers clicking behind Inc. 'rhose photographs of this bull and that ITIan would be cherished by the lIficionados for all the years to come. Carlos waited until he saw Ine step directly behind our calnera. l'hen he knew we were fihning. This tilne he didn't call to the bull. I--Ie just studied hinl for a long beat in the silence of the expectant plaza, then took one fast step forward. C;avilan's black silky tail swished against th~ boards and he lunged into a charge. 'rhe n13tador Inoved the 11luleta farther out at ann '5 length before his body and the bull swerved to his right, following the lure. Then, even though the beast was ftrtnly comnlitted to pass in front of hirTI, Carlos swung the red cloth in the slow arc of a pendulum behind his back. Gavilan leaned to his left to drive his horns into the swinging muleta. His right shoulder bumped the l11atador's buttocks in passing. "OLE!" The pendulo.' Arruza had invented the pass. It had been copied, and 111odified, but sure as hell no one had seen it done like that for thirteen long years. Now all the old men were crying. And the stylish ladies in the ba17"e1"11 seats were rCI11enlbering how really long ago it had been, and marveling. And, across on the sunny

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side, those other wornen were proud that their sons looked just like this man. Carlos switched the muleta behind his back into his left hand and pivoted to face Gavilan as the bull wheeled around. Now he cited for naturales. The animal followed the smaller lure, and Carlos sculptured him circling into seven perfect left-handed passes and drew seven thunderous "oles!" from the frantic crowd. Then, changing hands again behind his back, he furled the cloth over the sword and deposited Gavilan close to the fence with a flashy 111Olinete. He placed the bull right smack onto that same piece of sand, directly in front of our camera. The handkerchiefs were coming out again as he lined up for the kill. Ricardo moved in behind the bull, his pink cape ready. He saw that Carlos had decided to dispatch Gavilan in the animal's chosen terrain, a daring proposition. Ricardo thought it an unnecessary risk. The matador noticed him and yelled: "Fuera!" Ricardo moved away. Sighting down the sword's curved blade, Carlos raised up onto his toes. "Hoooaa!" he called to the bull and swung the cloth on its stick out toward the animal's wet muzzle. Then, as if wired to a master cue-light, Carlos and Gavilan charged at each other. The bull saw clearly his enemy's leg thrust out in front of him. He hooked at it, but the redness of something flashed across to obscure the target. He swerved to catch it on his horns, and felt a sudden burst of fire through the hump of muscle on his shoulders. Spinning around he saw the man standing alone, holding an arm raised high into the air. Then the figure of the man became fuzzy; there was a roar, and he felt himself topple hard onto the sand. It looked as if the crowd had sent out for more handkerchiefs. Now you couldn't see the people. The steady chant of "TO-RE-RO! TO-RE-RO!" echoed around the concrete bowl. Carlos strode to the matadors' burladero and handed the sword and muleta to "La Rana." The Frog was beside himself with emotion. He had expected his matador to be wonderful and had only prayed that he'd be great! Arruza slapped him on the shoulder, then turned to accept both ears and the tail of Gavilan. He took four strides into the ring and held up the awards for all to see. God, it was a pretty good average: four ears and two tails from two bulls-thirteen years apart! The band broke into Paso Doble Carlos Arruza and Carlos began to circle the ring close to the barrera. He knew where every one of our cameras was located, and he didn't miss a trick. I had told him once of a great lesson John Wayne had taught Ine about actors. "If your star doesn't have any dialogue," the Duke had shouted, "have hiln do something!" Carlos did everything.' He stopped in front of Beldon's calnera to drink from a Spanish wine-skin, pick up a colorful sombrero and toss it back, and he held still for a giant close-up while raising his three trophies into the air. Two more times he circled the bullring. The audience savored every Inoment. Then he stood, for a long be~t, in the very center of the ring and

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looked up at the cheering crowd. I-Ie seen1ed to be asking: "\t\Tell, are there others?" The answer of "TO-RE-RO!" carried as far as Insurgentes. Radio and television had conveyed the triulnph to all of Mexico. VVe had just recorded it for the entire world-forever. As Carlos Arruza stepped around the bur/flc/ero into the crowded cllllejoll, I raised the yellow handkerchief for the last tin1e and cut the calneras.

CI-IAPTER

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A CAJDO CARLOS ARRUZA EN NIEDIO DE LOS TOREROS DE LA Epoca como un rayo. Ha casaudo estupor. Ha sido eDIna una

revelacion. Como si resucitaran Miguel Angel,

0

Beethoven,

o Dante ... " I folded El Unive1~sal, dropped the newspaper onto the table, and turned to Beldon. "Well, that's a clipping I'm going to keep." Beldon put down his cup of coffee. "The resurrection of Michelangelo, or Beethoven, or Dante! That's pretty strong stuff." I nodded. "Yesterday Carlos was great. It wasn't just what he did with the 11utieta. He's always done those things. But, yesterday, he created that fantastic fae121l after the bull had been fought from horseback. That's what the people who really know about bulls are raving about. Look, a fighting bull, during rejoneo holds his ... " The telephone rang and the desk clerk announced that Senor Padilla was on the way up. I pushed back a chair, and was pouring a fresh cup of coffee as Ruben knocked and then stepped into the rOOITI. "\\There were you two last night?" I knew why he asked. "Here, going over the budget," I said. Ruben sat down and reached slowly for the coffee cup. "It was a beautiful party. Just like the old days. Carlos and Mari missed you both." "I'll bet they did." "Oh, come on Bood! You're acting like a horse's ass!" "I guess you could say that." "After yesterday, I'm sure Carlos has faith in you again." "Gee, great!" I said. "Now I feel like a murderer who's got a slight chance of being paroled."

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"Okay. So you're botb being horse's asses. I'll adlnit that Carlos is just as bad, but it'll work out. You'll see." He took a sip of coffee. "VVbat are the future plans?" I sat back and consulted the notes in front of Ine. "Beldon and I went over what's left of the Inoney. We've decided to use only three cameras for the second con·ido, and concentrate on fihning the horse action. I'm sure we didn't get anything yesterday except the pasco, and the two-handed banderillas from Faraon. We intend to shoot nluch less fihn on the nextfncl1a. God knows we can't ilnprove that. "VVe'll shoot mostly close-ups. And that will take care of the bullfight. This way we'll have enough ITIOney left to go to Pasteje and clear up all those retakes with Elsa." "Does Carlos work with Elsa?" "Of course, Ruben. Elsa is now our leading lady." "\\Then would you like to fihn at Pasteje?" "Not until I get both con·idns cut together. In ahout a 1l10nth." "Good," Ruben said. "Carlos will be ready." "Ruben. Both you and Carlos know that he is to wear the identical outfit for the second corridn." Ruben shook his head. "He's not going to do that." "That figures. An' why not?" "It's his worst superstition. He just will not wear the saIne costullle for consecutive c01Tidas. " I glanced at Beldon and he crossed his eyes. It was his way of saying: "Oh, shit!" "Well, Rube," I said slowly, "then you're going to have to arrange for a bullfight, somewhere, next weekend where your 111atador can dress hill1self up in another outfit before Plaza Mexico." Ruben frowned. "Would you care to tell hilll?" "Nope. You're the dove of peace." "You know you really are impossible!" I nodded. "I will be until this danln show is finished." "\\That else?" "N a rurally, the saIne horses." "The Zalnbrano anilnal is being shipped back to Monterrey this 111orning." "That's okay. rill happy widl the paseo. But the other horses, Califa and Fara on , Blust be used and with the saIne-colored ribbons. Joaquin can change the colors 00 Jinete, since Carlos never rode hiIn, but not the others or the fihn won't Inatch." "And ... any other little technicalities?" . d "The sanle-colored rejones and bnndc1·iilas. We have color stills and I inten to check theIn." "Carlos wants to know when he can see the filtn." "I'd rather he'd wait until I cut both c01"'ridas together."

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"Tha t's not going to l11ake him ... " "Very happy," I finished and reached across to refill his cup. Ruben glanced at the stack of newspapers. "Did you read them all?" "Thoroughly. They're sensational!" "What they say is the truth." He turned to Beldon. "You've really got to know the bulls to understand just what Carlos did. By the time he dismounted, that bull's head was a mile in the air. He'd been chasing horses on the dead run and he'd learned to hunt them with his head held high. Carlos took into the nut/etn, and taught him to fight in a completely different style, to look for his enenlY on the ground. He taught that bull to fight on foot! It was impossible, but he did it. You can have the 'Cordobesas' and the Carninos but, by God, let them get a bull that's been chasing horses, and then try to do the things that Carlos did. Yesterday, we saw a true genius!" "Ole!" I said. Ruben grinned. "I guess I got carried away." "Don't apologize. We all did." Beldon laughed. "I'll be the first to admit Carlos was just wonderful." "J ust wonderful, hell! Charlie was Charlie and that's a lot mor'n just wonderful! " Ruben glanced at Beldon and winked. I guess he caught the way 1 accidentally said "Charlie." During the two weeks preceding the second Plaza Mexico corrida there were only two major catastrophes. Things were picking up. Ruben did arrange a bullfight in Acapulco for the in-between Sunday. Carlos took his second-string horses. One of them was gored. The con'"ida took place in the Iniddle of a tropical hurricane, and the matador's muleta, resembling a sail, blew him around the ring like a badly listing schooner. He had one hell of a time even finding the bull. It was a bigger disaster when the time came to kill him. Ruben told me, later in the night after a couple of consoling brandies, that Carlos got another idea for a slaughter. He said he bought a gun. I kept my door locked for four days. On Thursday night the matador himself telephoned the hotel. "Hello, this is Arruza," he said. "Arruza," I thought. "Really!" "Yes, Carlos?" "I have terrible news." I could feel his sadistic smile. "The bull for Sunday is a silver-colored one." I counted to ten hurriedly. 1 knew the bull I had picked was Gavilan's twin. (:ar10s was still playing gaInes. "Well, you'll have to change him," I said. "I can't change the Goddamned bull! This is the Federal District!"

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"Please put Ruben on," I said. There was silence, then: "Yes, Bood?" "Ruben, change the hull. I-Ie Illust be black, horns turned in, very close to Gavilan's 440 kilos, just like the one I had in the corrals-especially reserved for

us-yesterdaJ'!" There was a long pause, then: "Carlos says we cpu't change hinl." "Ruben, you know Goddanlned well if Carlos Arruza requests a spotted-pink bull with green horns and a lavender tail, he can get hinl." I figured quickly that I'd better have a lot of aces in this hole. I shot Iny wad. "Tell hiIn-suppose-the film of the first cmi"ida didn't turn out!" "Didn't it?" "Jesus, Ruben, this is not the tiIne to Inake like George ,,,rashington. Tell him that's what I said!" Ruben coughed. "I'll see what I can do," he said. Of course it turned out to be Illy original black bull. The hurried replacelllcnt for the silver anilnal was nalned Peregrina. He caIne froln the glll10derin of Reyes Huerta, and weighed exactly three pounds less than C;avilan. Since I had already seen to it that both bulls had the identical horn conforIllation, the 11latador could well have been fighting Gavilan all over again. ()n filtn it was ilnpossible to tell which bull was which. Carlos used all three horses: Jinctc, Califa and Faraon. They were beautiful. We even got the shot we nlissed fraln inside the Puerto de PiclIdores. By placing the calnera farther back in the tunnel, we photographed in silhouette and didn't Iniss the ZaInbrano horse at all. Arruza had Inelllorized what he hadn't done with the 'lilli/eta in the first C01·1·ido. During the joena, with the second bull, he put the frosting on our cake in close-ups. He cut two ears froln Peregrino that afternoon in Plaza Mexico. J actually think the Autm·idad was reluctant to present hinl with another tail. The new triun1ph called for another party at Arruza's. Mari, personally, telephoned Ine, but I had a previous engagelnent, so I celebrated over C:hinese food with the Lopezcs. But it was one hell of a day! The following l110rning Iny producer, C;ustavo Alatriste, arrived frolll Acapulco--or so he said. Funny, when things begin to get going good again, people "arrive" froln everywhere-no rnatter where you are, in I-Iollywood or Mexico City. Gustavo had "heard" that I had been successful in fihning both C01i·idIlS, and he was just delighted. I-Ie knew how hard I'd worked and said: "It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." Then he inquired about the treatIllent of 1u)0 Mulesfm· Siste1" S01·0 and I surprised hinl with the news that I had alrllost cornplctcd the screenplay, and that I believed I could finish it in less than three weeks. I-Ie

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infonned Ine that he and Silvia were leaving for Paris at about that time, and it would be very rewarding for me if he could take the completed screenplay with hinl. I proInised hinl he could. Then, if he liked it as much as I did, when he returned we would work out my "writer-director" contract to make the film. \Vhat intrigued Ine Inost about the conversation was that he didn't seeln to be one bit concerned about my hotel expenses. As a matter of fact, he offered to advance Ine nloney for anything additional I might need over food and lodging, but I was able to decline the offer, since for the first time in years I was in fairly good financial shape. But it was a novel experience to finally discover that there actually was a Mexican producer with a heart. It wasn't until the middle of March that we got the two Plaza Mexico corridas cut into one. George Crone, my wonderful old cutter, and I worked ten hours a day to edit the twelve thousand feet of film down to twenty-seven hundred: one-half hour of picrore. This was our tag, the last sequence in Anilza, and it was stupendous! Combining the two bullfights we were able to show Carlos, on horseback, at his best. Then, having filmed the faenas at 32 frames per second to slow the action just a trifle, we intercut close-ups and were able to make the corrida even more artistic. I was ecstatic and couldn't wait to tell Carlos. I wanted to use that fantastic filn1 as a suppository, and ram it hard-all the way up my pal, Don Carlos Arruza's ass! "Carlos?" "Yes. " "Plaza Mexico is ready for you to see." "Both cO'l"1'"idas?" "Both corridas are now just one con"ida." 'rhere was a mOlnent's pause. "\Vhen can I see it?" "Now." "Today?" "Right." "Where?" "Churubusco Studios-projection room six-twelve o'clock." "Who's going to be there?" "J ust you and me," I said, "mano a mano." I used the bullfight term "hand to hand," because, damn it, that's what that screening was for-just the two of us! We sat ten cushioned seats apart, Carlos seven rows in front of me in the otherwise empty projection room and ran "Plaza Mexico." From his first view of the station wagon sequence Carlos leaned forward to rest his chin against the back of the chair in front of him. Twenty-seven times (I counted them) during the halfhour he flinched bolt upright. "When the projection room lights flashed on at the conclusion of the running, he jumped straight up into the air.

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"That's better than I am!" he shouted. "You are a Goddalnned genius.''' "You're the genius, Carlos. I just ailned the calneras." "But ... but-that film is fantastic! Of course I always knew it would be!" I'd waited a long time. "And so?" I said. He sobered down for a thoughtful beat, then he grinned just like a very, very happy little boy. "Gracias, Bood," he said softly. Jesus. How long that had taken! I looked across at hinl for a difficult moment. I had planned so many miserably cutting things to say. But they wouldn't come out. I felt myself starting to smile. But I fought it. Then, like two rockets at the end of their count downs, we both exploded into peals of laughter. Carlos jumped over the seats and hugged me in a dancing abrnzo. "You are a toda madre.''' he shouted. "A complete mother!" That dirty expression had never sounded clean before, and I loved it! The following Saturday night Carlos and Mari gave another party. It was for my group and me, and we were all there-with bells on. It was a wonderful evening. We had run the Plaza Mexico sequence the day before for all of the party's guests. Now, there were two types of devout aficiol10dos-the "Arruzistas" and those who just loved our picrure. Carlos was his old-time channing, extremely funny self. It would have been impossible for an outsider to even suspect that the two of us had ever had a serious difference of opinion.

********** We finally got a break in the weather and c0l11pleted the retakes of Elsa and Carlos at Pasteje. She was wonderful. And she was professional and sweet-an unusual combination. Early in May we prepared the last sequence to be fihned for A1"1iIZI1. We were going to photograph during a fiesta at Carlos' new ranch, Rancho Dolores, near Toluca. I wanted to show the Arruza I knew: the great dancer, the fine singer, and the complete screwball. Silverio would be there. So would Juan Silveti, Lorenzo Garza, Solorzano and "Arnlillita." We were just going to throw the party, toss Carlos in with his friends, and filnl it. No real planning. I knew what we'd get. On Friday, May 13th, Carlos, Mari, Beldon and I drove the hour-and-a-half to Rancho Dolores. We were going to have lunch, then set the stage for the filrning we had scheduled the following weekend. After an exhausting meal, Carlos and I sat sunning in the open patio. Leaning against a stone pillar, suspiciously stationed directly in front of 111e, was a skateboard.

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"That's a skateboard," the matador said, pointing to it. Knowing that our personal "Olympics" was on again in full force, and well aware that it was Friday the thirteenth, I had chosen to ignore it. "How about that," I said. It was a simple statement. I sincerely hoped the subject would be dropped. "Try it!" the 'Nulnber One' commanded. "You're out of your head! I'd kill myself! I've never even seen one of those things-up close." "Neithe'r have i, 'til this morning." "Really," I said, with absolutely no interest. He glared at me for a second, couldn't stand it a moment longer, jUlnped up, and dashed to the skateboard. "Look," he called over his shoulder, "it's easy!" With that he really got carried away-and blew his act. He rode that dalnn board on one foot. He skimmed backwards. He skimmed backwards on one foot, then switched to the other one in mid-air to puncruate his art. He maneuvered it in and out of the giant pillars. "It's easy!" he shouted. "Ole, papa!" Mari-Carnlen called to her daddy from behind me. I motioned for her to come sit on my lap. Carlos bounded across the patio and deposited that deadly weapon at my feet. "It's easy!" he screamed again. "Go on! Try it!" I looked down at that silly plank on wheels, then up at that crazy killer of bulls. "You never tried this-this thing 'til this m017zing?" "Of course not. It's easy!" "] esus, Charlie! I got your message. I'm sure it's easy, but forget it." Arruza was shocked. "You mean you're afraid?" "Yep," 1 said. "Maybe you're too old." That sonofabitch would try anything. "Maybe," I said. He rurned on his boot-heel and stomped off under the archway. "I'm going down to the plaza," he called over his shoulder. I watched until he disappeared under the concrete steps, then spoke to MariC:annen in Spanish. "How long has your father been practicing on that damn thing?" I asked. wTodo dias desde Navidad," Mari-Cannen grinned proudly. "Bueno, eh?" "V d " I sal. °d ~es, very goo, Hell, he should've been great after practicing on that damn skate-board every day since Ch1'istnl0S! The following Thursday Carlos telephoned. He had a dreadful cold, and asked if it would be too difficult to postpone the party sequence for another week. ()f cuurse I told hilTI that it would not. "I think Behnonte has the colic," he continued. "I'm going to drive to the

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ranch early in the morning. You want to conle along?" Belmonte was Carlos Junior's favorite horse. Carlitos was studying 7"ejol1co with his father and Joaquin. "It sounds like Belmonte gave you the colic. I don't want to catch it!" Carlos laughed. "You really are rurning into a coward. Now you're afraid of a little cold. I'll call you tomorrow when I get back." "Do that," I said. "I'll sterilize IUy phone." He laughed again, and we both hung up. At 5:45 the following afternoon, the telephone rang. "It's Bernardo Fernandez," the caller said. Bernardo was a newspapernlan \\Tho wrote for Ef;tO. He was one of the few who believed that, somehow, I would actually finish A177/zn. "Bernardo, how are you?" There was a long, long beat of silence, then: "Budd, there's been an accident on the road to Toluca."

"Oh?" "Budd ... Carlos Arruza is dead."

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HE CIRCUS STARTED ON FRIDAY NIGHT. ALL THE ANIMALS WERE

there; the toreros, their agents, the bullring ernpresas-sonle of them decent country-bullring promotors-the others clones of the good Doctor Gaona, who was one of the first to arrive as there were press photographers in every nook and corner of the Inortuary. And they all had their pictures taken looking sorrowfully down at the body of Don Carlos Arruza who, now, wasn't "EI Nutnero Uno" any lnore. Sorrowfully, yes, sOlne of thelll were dalnn good actors, but-no matter what-all their eyes had the same expression: "Thank You, Dear Virgin of Guadalupe, that the torero in the box isn't 'J11e!" The press had an unexpected break. Senora Camino, Carlos' Illother, was in Sevilla, Spain that Friday night. Generalisilno Franco, himself, arranged her visa and transportation to Mexico with nothing more than a few signatures, and the C:atholic Church waved the "twenty-four hours following death" edict. So everybody had an extra day at the circus. There was silnply nothing else in all the papers. I stayed with Mari and the kids until all of Carlos' friends arrived-the tardy ones having waited around the morruary until they had their picmres taken. But the funeral itself was worse! Nearly twenty thousand mourners made a picnic out of Sunday, May the twenty-second. You could buy peanuts, popcorn, Coca-Colas, and nl0st any brand of beer. You could get a postcard close-up of the crushed station wagon for one peso. You could buy a larger close-up photograph, for only two pesos, of Carlos' dead face in the morgue. I guess celebrity funerals all over the world are Roman Circuses. It just hits you harder in the nuts when ... Well, Elsa and I watched most of it from a small hill fifty yards froln the grave site. We moved up there when I spotted two of the seven television cameras-the two master-cameras mounted on twenty-foot-high parallels-zooming in on us as we walked through the cemetery gates. I was glad we moved away. When the crowd sensed that the red carnation-topped casket was finally about to he lowered into the grave, they rushed forward to get a flower souvenir and tipped

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Carlos upside down into the hole. It took quite a few rninutes to rearrange the casket, but Inost of the front-row spectators did get their flowers. "La Rana," the Frog, Arruza's loyal sword-handler, couldn't attend the funeral. He had been driving the station wagon through the evening fog at just over thirtY miles an hour when it skidded out of control, and crashed C~arl()s' side of the car into an oncoming bus. "La Rana" was lucky. I-Ie didn't get a scratch. But some of Carlos' friends had The Frog locked up-for Inanslaughter. Mari didn't find out about it until days after they buried the I1lan "La Rana" adored. 'rhen she had The Frog released. **********

\Vhen I finally realized that the Inost-alive J1lan I'd ever known was dead, I just closed up shop. I didn't want to see one single franle of that picrure. I 1110ped around the hotel, cursing Iny fate. lV1y fate, can you believe that! Then I settled down to suffering silence over the loss of a dear friend. Yes, "dear friend." Sure, at times I hated his guts, but now I knew I had also loved hinl. Gustavo Alatriste's rerurn from Paris exploded Illy ashen Inood. "I love the screenplay," he began. "It's truly beautiful. It will Jllake Silvia an international star." "s 0 ... ..,,, I questlone. . d ~ "Well, we Mexican producers don't have the kind of 1110ney your boys have up in Hollywood, so, here's nly proposition. I'll pay you fifteen thousand dollars for the screenplay, twenty-five thousand dollars to direct, but you'll have to take ten thousand dollars of that out in trade at Illy furnirure store. I'll supply you an unfurnished apartment until the fihn is ready for distribution, and a chauffeur and a limousine while we are fihning. You get ten percent of the producer's profit, and that's that." I burst out laughing. This had to be the Jllost audacious sonofabitch in the history of film. But he had made Ine laugh-and I was certain I never would again. "\tVhat do you Inean, I 'have to take ten thousand dollars out in trade?' I didn't know you had a furniture store." "I've got a lot of things," he slniled sweetly. "You can't Inake a decent living in the Inotion picture business." "But you pay me, then get it all back-at a sizable profit," I cOlllplained. "Business is business, and you certainly don't want to live in an unfurnished apartment." Then he reached into his desk drawer and handed 1l1e the contract he had already Inade out. I really couldn't believe it, but I read the contract very carefully. It was all there-just like he said. Peanuts! Fucking peanuts! I'd worked ]llY ass off all these years as a director, and now 1 had progressed to a salary of peanuts. But I wasn't in Hollywood; I was broke; my pal was dead, and I suddenly faced the truth that

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Arruza-now-had to be completed, beautifully, not just for my own ego and artistic satisfaction, but for who Carlos had been, and for Mari and the kids. And my "job" with that damn Mexican producer would make me financially independent for at least a little while, and would give me more "cushion-time" to arrange the completion of my picture. Two Mules for Sister Sara wasn't going to be my picture anymore, but it would be an important bridge to the future. I signed the contract. Gustavo picked up the telephone and told his secretary to bring in my ITIOney for the screenplay. He certainly was efficient! Suddenly, a clammy feeling hit me in the back of my neck. I tore open the envelope, and stared down at the cashier's check. It was for $7,560. "What in the hell is this?" I exploded. He lit a cigarette. "It's your money." "It's half my money. What happened to the rest?" "The difference pays your hotel bill. It was quite high, you know." "That was your obligation!" "It was my 'loan.'" "L 00, kG " ustavo ... "Now, you look," he said, dropping some ashes on his priceless MexicanColonial desk. "If you don't like the deal just pay your bill at the hotel; It's $7,440. I gave them a Certificate of Deposit to guarantee that bill. If you don't want to make our picture, I'll just withdraw my deposit. The Hotel Diplomatico's managementstaff are all very good friends of mine." I felt like I had just refused the blindfold, and had already heard: "Ready! Ailn!" 'E1 Federal'-the 'Black Palace,' the cold and the rats all flashed across my I1lind. I'd sure as hell been there, and I didn't intend to go back. "When do I get the apartment?" "Sarita and I are going to visit some close friends in Cuatla," Gustavo Alatriste said. "When we get back, I'll call you. Where will you be?" "In a cheaper hotel, Gustavo. I'll let your secretary know." And, with that, I turned and walked out in the cold street-passionately clutching Iny loot. **********

I moved out of the Hotel Diplomatico the following morning and into the Golden Suites, quite a way from Plaza Mexico, but nearer everything else. I had stayed right around the corner at the Monte Casino during the filming of Magnificent Matador, and the El Presidente was just down the street. There were great restaurants in every direction serviced by waiters I knew, and I was beginning to feel "at home" again. I went back to work. It was nearing the end ofJune, but it was cold in the cutting room, cold and damp and late. I glanced at my watch. One-fifteen in the morning, and it was pouring rain.

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Wonderful old C;eorge Crone was sounJ asleep with his head resting Oil t\\'o filnl cans. Cieorge adlnitted to seventy years, but I knew he was older than th;lt despite the fact he had the enthusiasl1l of a teenager, loved our picture, and had stuck with I1le froln the very beginning. C;eorge would never tell IllC th;lt he didn't feel like working, so I always let hilll doze off whenever he looked tired. Still, the past week he didn't look tired. He looked ill. lle'd been fig'hting a cold, hut he wouldn't go home. I had a cold-a bad cold, 111ySelf. Mine would disappear, but 1 worried about George. We worked far into each night sp1icing Illore dose-up shots of Carlos, switching around sequence after sequence to ilnprove every tiny point, every detail. Finally George got so very sick he had to go hOlne. I-Ie died one week later worrying about how "our" lllovie was cOl1ling along \\'ithout hinl. A thing called "walking pneulnonia" stopped that heart that was as big as his head. God, two of them in such a short tinle! Suddenly I knew just who, now, had to play the part of Mari Arruza. The dignity Iny filtn Blust now possess deIllanded it. Now, with all that had transpired, it couldn't be anyone else. It would be brutal explaining it to Elsa, but that wouldn't be necessary for a long, long tillle. 'lelling Elsa could wait. So, I stuck with it until I felt all the added close-ups were being used to the best advantage. I was certain that, now, the audience would want to see Carlos up close. Of course, so did 1. Jesus, it was hard to work all alone remembering those two funerals. Around the Iniddle of August the vultures swooped down upon Ille in earnest. Suddenly An'uza was an attractive business deal. Carlos was dead, and now all the Mexicans wanted the picture. I had a lot of great new friends and sOlne outright new enenlies. Many of Arruza's friends were Illy I110st intilnate eneInies. Overnight I was besieged by creditors. There were honest debts owed for past work on the picture, but up until now they were debts that had heen willingly deferred. Suddenly everyone dernanded illllllediate paynlcnt, or, quote, "You will find yourself in real 'Mexican Trouble' again." Unquote. But, being neighborly, the Mexican producers wished to help 111e settle Iny affairs-for a "reasonable hunk of Arruza." And then along caIne Audie Murphy. I'd directed one of Audie's first pictures and we became friends. But I didn't realize what good friends we were until Audie arrived in Mexico City with blood in those deadly gray eyes. SOlnehow, up in Hollywood, he'd found out about Illy current problcllls. I Ie stayed just one day, looked into the situation, deposited $5,500 in our Al'7'1lzn account, and flew back h0l11e. Audie didn't want a "reasonable hunk" of the picture. l-le said he'd "jes' appreciate a sixteen-Illillinleter print, one day, if there was ever going to he one handy." And, if the picture did Blake Ill0ney, well, ptlyin' hinl back, sOlne other day, " wou ld 1)e Jes . 'fiIne. " T'hey don't give you the Medal of Honor for bein' jes' an ordinary fella. Another good thing happened to l1le in August. But, again, it would he awhile before I'd discover just bou' good. I was having coffee alone at Iny table in

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the restaurant at Churubusco Studios. The Arruza bills had been paid, and now the picture was cleared of any and all debts, except the Pathe Lab bill in Hollywood-which was no worry. But, financially, the show was far from being completed. I had three days of added scenes I wished to do. There was the music to be composed and recorded, the sound effects, the English and the Spanish narration. It was certainly necessary for a big piece of money to arrive from somewhere! Of course, I could get it immediately by forking up most of the seventy percent I, personally, still owned of Arruza. But this didn't seem quite fair. Especially to me. I was weighing just how much a "reasonable hunk" might come to, when a giant shadow crossed the white tablecloth, and stopped there. "Hi," a voice said from up near the ceiling. I leaned back in my chair. "I'm Ron Ely." And the smile was about as ingratiating as you can get. And, when you're lucky enough to see it flashing at you, you've got to consider that you're really lucky because Mr. Ronald Ely is six feet, five inches and two hundred and twenty-five pounds of the damndest man you're ever likely to meet. "You got an extra cup of coffee?" Ron continued. I nodded that I did, and he slid into a chair.. "I'm down here doing Tarzan, " he said, "but don't hold it against me." "I figured you were," I laughed. Ron was dressed in the ageless loincloth and a blue mini-bathrobe. The nakedness of his tanned legs had hit me at eye level when I first turned my head. The waiter poured him a cup of coffee. He dumped a teaspoon of sugar into it and looked up. "Heard a lot about you," he said. "Mostly ... ?" "Bad!" he grinned, "or I wouldn't have introduced myself." I liked him immediately. "I hear you just fell out of a tree." He grew serious. "I sure as hell fell, but not out of a tree. The vine I grabbed was accidentally still tied off. When I started to swing on it I flipped." "It sounds like a great stunt!" "Oh, it was! Three cameras got it. And they'll use it." He grinned that grin again. "But ouch!" "From how high?" "Thirty feet." He pulled open the robe to expose his left shoulder. There was a new, ten-inch scar. "The broken ribs don't show," he said, "but, boy, do I know they're there!" "I'll bet!" "\\Then are you going to finish Arruza?" I mimicked "Duke" Wayne. "]c:)t as soon as 1 CAN!" I-Ie stood. "Well, good luck. We'll have coffee again soon. Right now they're waiting on the set for me to break something else." "Like?" "Some of them would like it to be my neck." ******* ......

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My taxi skidded into the curb in front of Alatriste's office in a pouring rainstann. Gustavo had telephoned the hotel just half an hour before, silying it w.1S urgent that I visit hiI11 iI11I1lediately. This tinle I didn't appreciate the call. 1\1)' cold was getting worse by the hour, and I reall" loved his renn "urgent." I hadn't heard one word froln the bastard for over six weeks, but I w;}s rcady for hinl. In Iny att.1chc case were hotel receipts stanlped "paid in full" for every day since he .lnd Silvia h'1
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I spent twenty-five percent of the following two weeks on the Two Mules project, and seventy-five percent trying to get rid of my cold. The miserable tlu-or whatever I had-still prevailed, but the time spent on endeavoring to regain control of Iny screenplay began to payoff. There were a couple of finn Hollywood deals pending, and nUlnerous Mexican producers professed undying interest. I had crossed the latter off as a waste of tiIne, but just what to do about the pair of legiriInate offers had nle talking to myself. Aaron Rosenberg wanted this screenplay very Inuch. I'd Inade two pictures for Aaron at Universal. We had our differences, but we were still good friends. Actually, I'd discovered that Aaron had been right more tinles than 1. And he had been unusually understanding about our disagreelnents. I liked hiln very much. Aaron would also sign me as the director. This was imperative to me, as I had figured Two Mules for Sister Sara as insurance for my future as a director after Arruztl. I realized that this was tough on Aaron because I hadn't actually directed for over four years. But the price was right. He went out of his way to be fair. However, I was reluctant to give Aaron the absolute artistic control he delnanded, the conlplete authority over all script changes and casting. And it was obvious that I was going to have to direct the picture his way. Of course, he deserved those rights for the money he was willing to spend. Still, Two Mules for Siste11" Sara had become very close to my heart. And, more important, the money offered would not be enough to finish A1771za. Another Hollywood producer, of sorts, Carroll Case, also wanted the script-badly. He claimed that I had been away from Hollywood too long and that it was ilnpossible to make a deal on such a major production with me as the director. He was anxious to invest twenty-five thousand more than Aaron for just the screenplay, but he wanted to be able to negotiate for another director when the tilne came to put the show on the road. The money sounded like a fortune. I had already figured it out in pesos. But, I couldn't stolnach having written my brain dry for SaIne other director. And the seventy-five thousand wouldn't finish A1i'1IZa either. But, the thought of turning those deals down certainly didn't help lne sleep nights. I felt like a traitor to my own cause for even considering it. The honest truth was that, these days, I felt like hell-period! I was dead tired most of the tilne, irritable, and couldn't even enjoy the golf game Beldon had arranged for nle at his Bellavista Country Club. Fortunately, our foursome got rained out before I was forced to total Iny score for eighteen holes. But, after all, it had been the first tilne in over five years, and I did hit the ball well-occasionally. Still I knew, as we slushed to the clubhouse through the driving rain, that I shouldn't have tried to play anything. My legs felt as if they had aged ten years and, for the very first tinle in Iny life, I had one hell of a tilne breathing. That night I telephoned Elsa and invited olyself over. I needed to see a friend.

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It was strange stepping into her new apartrnent. I had never been there. 'rhe few tilnes we had Inanaged to see each other, she had picked Ine up. "Keep your distance, honey," 1 said. ~'I feel like hell." "You look like hell." I started to 11lake a joke, but I knew it would fall flat. "I'd like a drink," I said. "I think 111y throat's been sandpapered." It was the first tinle I'd thought of a drink in weeks, and she seelned to sense it. She looked at Ine for a long beat, then: "You must feel lousy," she said. "\Vhat would you like?" "Hell, anything tall and cool that doesn't taste like booze." "I'll dream up SOIne 'Singapore gin slings. '" I started to ask where in the devil she'd learned about theIn, but I didn't. She'd never been to Singapore. It had to be at the Luau in Beverly Hills, so I just trudged behind her into the kitchen. I downed two gigantic gin slings as we talked about A1'7"liZII and 'lwo J\1111es, and those drinks really slugged Ine, but I was tuo exhausted to try to figure out why. If I were drunk-it just didn't l11ake sense. She didn't say anything, just mixed me up another one at my request. I downed it as if I were about to be subjected to Mexican Prohibition, then collapsed onto the big divan to rest Iny steaming head on her lap. She stroked l1ly forehead for a I1lornent, then: "Do you know that those ocean waves pouring off of your head are icy?" 1 opened my eyes. "I can't feel anything, Elsita. 1 guess I'ln really loaded, but I'll be all right." 1 waited for her to say: "Of course you will," but she didn't. So I closed Illy eyes again and said, "1 1-enlly feel 1ike hell! n **********

1 was awakened by a persistent, uninterrupted hissing. I was lost, and felt as if I were floating-lazily-soInewhere. But 1 had no idea where. I figured I'd think about it for awhile before I opened Iny eyes. I turned Iny head and felt the itch of a Goddamned growth-oF-beard again. (~ood Lord! The SanatariU1l1 of the Flowers? Tlalpan? 1 straightened around and Iny neck hurt. T'hcn I discovered that my legf: and arms were tied down. I forced open Iny eyes. Elsa was there. But she was out of focus as if I were looking up at her through cellophane. Ever so slowly I came to realize that, wherever we were, J was sure as hell in an oxygen tent. I'm pretty sure I passed out again the 1110111ent I discovered 1l1y new predicanlent. I'd always figured there'd be a few Inorc "dranlatic sequences" before Arruza was completed, but I hadn't anticipated being the Leading Man. And, if I

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did pass out again, that was the only thing I was "pretty sure" about for days. Outside my oxygen tent was an obscure montage of doctors, nurses, friends, enemies-all smiling. Elsa, Ruben, Beldon, and needles and tubes and plasma kept Fading In and Out. BELDON! He had said something like: "Without a Mexican will, the Mexican Government will automatically own Arruza .. .if.... " It seems that this choice tidbit shocked me into arrested rigor mortis for another twelve hours. During the morning of the Seventh Day, when I'd learned we all should be resting, a group of colorfully uniformed nurses propped me up onto two pillows. They were outfitted in various shades of yellow, green, blue, rose and lavender. I remember because I later thought that we should have been photographing in Eastman color to compensate for the dreadful "script." Elsa sat beside the bed, holding my hand. The only fellow I ever saw with his black suit shiny in the front stood at my feet. They introduced him as the notary public, but I guessed-by the sheen of his Mexican silk-that he might have something to do with the funeral. He did seem to be measuring me. And then, solemnly, out of the backdrop of shadowy spectators, Beldon stepped forward. He spoke ever so slowly, either out of respect or to be certain that his voice would penetrate my fogginess. "We're going to remove your mask, for fifteen seconds at a time, so that you can dictate your last will and testament. Remember your daughters, Georgia and Helen, and Elsa, and me, if you like." Two nurses performed some kind of a countdown, and jerked off my oxygen mask. I gasped, "Me die-tate? You've ... got to ... be .. .kidding" and closed my eyes. I felt the mask being readjusted, and heard Beldon's voice, far away, say, "Can you hear me?" I opened one eye. "Listen carefully," my partner continued. "We can't tell you one word to say. It's not legal. You must think of everything yourself." I had a feeling that he wanted to add, "Time's a w3stin,'" and I resented the unspoken implication. Think of everything! Jesus! All I could think of was that the mortician masquerading as a notary public sure as hell needed a new suit. A will! I struggled to think of one line. Then I tried to think of one motion picture when somebody made a will. Glenn Ford! God love Glenn Ford! He always showed up when I needed him. Glenn was "dying" once for me. And he made a will. What in the devil was the dialogue? And suddenly I knew that, once I started to ad-lib, I could remember it. I squeezed Elsa's hand and opened both eyes. The silent audience moved forward. The "mortician" poised his pencil into the ready-alert. Stenographers bent over their typewriters. I felt right proud of this "Last Act." They jerked off my mask. "I-Budd Boetticher," I wheezed, "being of sound body and mind ... " Being

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of 'sound body and 'lllind." I didn't think I was going to say that.' I knew that it was going to kill me, but I burst out laughing, and faded out in a spasm of coughing. It was evening before I was able to struggle through the final lines of Iny Last Will and Testament. I bequeathed many things to Inany people and an added percentage of Arruza to Beldon. He deserved it. It wasn't until Elsa and I were left alone that she, tactfully, got through to nle how very ill I was. I had the type of pneumonia that killed George Crone. The slang nalne was "walking" or "galloping pneumonia." Glenn Ford had it once that tiIne he "died" in a western I'd directed. Your lungs don't collapse. They just fill up with jelly, over a period of months, and strangle you to death. The doctors deterrnined that my infection had started in June. Damn! That was one thing I'd never considered-trouble with my lungs. Other organs, yes. I abused theln. But not Iny lungs! I remeIubered that the last thing Charlie Arruza had said was: "I can't breathe!" Now, BOTH of us ... before we finished our picture? I was in the A.B.C. Hospital. Thank God! If any hospital below the Rio Grande was going to keep Ine alive, this one was. A whole staff of doctors was looking over me, although I was the special case of Dr. Noel Hawley, a brilliant, handsome young surgeon with a great sense of responsibility, and Dr. Leon Green. It was written sOlnewhere that I was going to get to know Leon C;reen very well, like him very much, and marvel at his every Illove and decision. Still, although I knew in my own heart that everyone was Inistaken about what was to be the outcome of my illness, I certainly was ill.' And it was going to be a long time before I'd get back on my feet. Elsa gave Ine a good look at Inyself in her mirror, and I damn near said hello to the stranger in the reflection. At ten o'clock that night the lights flashed on in Iny rOOlll. Dr. Green and Dr. Hawley were there with a staff of other doctors and nurses. 'Ve were still shooting in Eastman color as everyone was unifofllled in bright blues and yellows. 1"he A.B.C. Hospital gives you the full trea011ent. All we needed was Alfred NeW111an'S music. Dr. Green stepped forward, swabbed sOlne orange liquid all over the right side of my chest, and stuck me in four places with a hypoderl11ic needle. I-Ie saw the question in my eyes. "We're just going to do a little exploring," he sclid gently. I had a pretty good idea for what.' Well, that exploration was a thing of beauty! Dr. C;reen injected another gigantic needle through my chest into nly right lung that was half as long as a bande1-illa. I was impressed. I lay there and watched it disappear! But it didn't hurt. And when he pulled it out and held it up to show the other doctors the tiny clip of tissue in the pincers at its tip, I just knew they'd all say "1l1111I1UnI111111n!" And they did. I didn't go to sleep until Manalo, IUy male night nurse, gave 111e a double dose of everything. Early the next morning Beldon faded-in at the foot of Iny bed. "I've got to

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talk to you," he said. I wasn't going anywhere, so I listened. "The will isn't really enough," he began. 1 wondered what I'd left out. "\\That I mean is," he continued, "the will takes care of everything if we have a problem, but ... " I also wondered how in the hell he got in on my problem. "Get to the point," I coughed. He did! "I want you to sign over to me Arruza, and the right to purchase Two .lV/utes for Sister Sara. It will also be better if you give me your 'power of attorney.'" My oxygen mask began to cloud up as he continued: "I'll finish A177tza to the best of my ability, and make the most lucrative deals possible on the screenplay." He didn't even clear his throat, or avert his eyes, as he drove home the most important point. "You're not going to get well," he said. I sat up a couple of inches. "You don't have a right lung. Your heart isn't going to hold out much longer at this altitude. Your kidneys are shot. And they're pretty sure you've got cancer." Just like that. That was Beldon. And maybe he was right! Since Beldon was on the hospital's Fund Raising Committee, and had been responsible for getting me in there, I figured he might have some inside information. He suddenly came into focus pretty clearly through the glass of my mask. As I struggled to pull it off, 1 couldn't help from thinking what a great Nazi officer my partner would make in a war movie. I could picture those cold eyes and hear that emotionless voice in a giant close-up. I jerked the plasma needle out of my arm. "Beldon," I gasped, "this is the one fuckin' time .. .in your life ... you're ever gain' to have a chance ... to lick me. And, Goddamnit, I'm going to ... give it to you." My day nurse screamed as I slipped one foot out of bed. I thought I saw Beldon turn and walk out of the room. I wasn't sure. I was very sure, however, as I fought back to consciousness, that Beldon Butterfield had just saved my life. I was danlned if 1 was going to die. I've always had a feeling that many people are kind of relieved when they learn "The Truth." Certainly, Death is a thing that may frighten us, but 1 think it's a thing we don't have to, at least willingly, accept. Maybe Death is wrong. Anybody can make a mistake. Hell, maybe Death's got the wrong rooln number. Well, that's what I figured. And I was furious! 1 Inade up Iny Inind to give Death one hell of an argument when he showed up. I'd think of s01l1ethillg! And 1 was sure going to have the hospital change the number on nly door. 1 had the barber shave me the next afternoon and Manolo gave me some encouraging news when he canle on duty at six o'clock. The laboratory tests for cancer were negative. Now, I figured we'd divide our attention between the heart and the kidneys. Dr. Green walked into the rooln. "I hear you couldn't find any cancer,

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Doctor," I said. "No, but we're going to have to rernove your right lung. \\'e c.1n't take .1 chance on the infection spreading to your left lung," Dr. (~reen continued. "But you're not strong enough to undergo a 1l1ajor operation. \Vc'll build you up for a few weeks, then l11aybe fly you to Houston." I'd always wondered just how people really felt during 1110Illents like this. I was sure you couldn't direct this kind of stuff unless you'd actually "been there." I was surprised that I, personally, didn't feel anything. It had just heen an honest, forthright, statelnent by a doctor I trusted and adlllired. That was that. "Doctor," I began, "what kind of life can I expect to lead with no right lung?" I was thinking of "The Duke," but Inaybe I wasn't that strong. "A norrnallife, if there are no cOlnplications." "Can I play golf?" I was \vorking up to the 'J/~e; questions. "You can play golf if you use a cart." "Ride horseback?" "On gentle saddle-horses." "Ignore that question," I said. Then: "Doctor C;recn, wh:at about-sex?" "That's usually up to the individual. Let's say that you can lead your nonnal life-with linlitations." That answered everything. I'd always led a very abnonnal life, with no lilnitations. Dr. Green nodded good-bye and reached for the door, but I stopped hiIn. "Doctor, isn't there SOIlle exercise that tnight help get rid of that congestionthat jelly?" "Yes. At sea level we Inight take a chance," Dr. C;reen said slowly, Hhut not here in Mexico City at over seven thousand feet." "What could I do at sen level?" "Well, there are certain exercises, but they are very strenuous. At this altitude, I wouldn't allow it if you were only twenty years old. 'T()o dangerous." I-Ie tapped the spot on his jacket above the heart, and walked through the doorway. Manolo caIne in after awhile and swung the wheelchair around. "Would you like to take a little ride, sir?" he asked. I slid out of the bed and stood, shakily, for a 1l10111cnt just staring at that datnn chair. "Hold it! rIll going to walk over there," I said. I took one short half-step and stopped. My knees shook so th.1t it was irnpossible to bring the other foot forward. It was also illlpossible to cOlllprehend that I was this physically spent. It was as if I were paralyzed. My legs didn't hurt. They didn't even tingle. The problclll was that they didn't do anything. I teetered until I could force Illy right foot up even with Iny left, but I kept 111y legs spread apart so I wouldn't fall. I could barely breathe, and Illy heart pounded forebodingly in

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the funereal silence of the hospital. This sure as hell was it! Sink or walk! I forced three more slow-motion stumbles and then collapsed back onto the bed. Manalo rolled me over on my back and I began to cough. I remember counting the coughs. There were fifty-three. When I stopped coughing, I began to spit up. I opened my eyes as Manolo wiped the sputum off my chin. A small portion of phlegm on the towel was greenish and thick. It looked like jelly. And I knew immediately just what I had to do. It was eleven-thirty before the night-nurse completed her rounds of the fourth floor. When I told Manalo that I wanted the furniture pushed back into the corners, he didn't question me. He just went to work and began to clear a wide space in the center of the room. I lay in bed and watched my "plaza" open up. VVhat I was about to do didn't seem foolhardy or idiotic. It was a necessity. The extra blanket Manalo had borrowed was lying across the foot of the bed. It wasn't made of raw silk. And it wasn't pink. But, it was certainly heavy. And I guess, in the long run, it was the finest capote I ever spread into a ve1."onica. A veronica is the basic, two-handed, cape pass in bullfighting. It is a very physical maneuver and, if you follow through as you should to keep the bull from running over the top of you during the ensuing pass, there is definite muscular strain, and a lot of twisting body-movement from the waist up. You can "feel" seven or eight good veronicas when you're in shape. Sick, you'd be lucky to perform three. To torear de salon is a must for every t01·ero. He should be able to play an imaginary bull to perfection in the safety of his living room, to instinctively fit his artistry into every pass. He won't have time to figure out his gracefulness in front of a bull. Toreando de salon can be likened to shadow boxing. It is splendid exercise for the stomach, the waist and the arms. I was about to make it great exercise for the lungs. I intended to perform veronicas until it killed me. Or, until I got rid of that congestion. Dr. Green was going to have to use an estoque to cut me open. The first few attempts were disastrous. Hell, it was tough enough to stand and spread that blanket out in front of me. Passing it across my waist, and then swinging it wide to follow through was impossible. But, I did start coughing from the exertion. So, I kept it up. Twice, though, Manolo had to carry me back to bed. This was a strange vendetta against the ravages of "galloping pneumonia." I was more frightened at the outlook of my future life without a lung than I was about the possibility of a fatal heart attack. I struggled out of bed again to plant myself in the middle of the floor. I was too delirious, too stoned on fear and emotion, to consider the ludicrousness of torearing with my bare ass sticking out of that silly hospital mini-gown. There was a bull on my back and I had to fight him off-fight him out in to the open where I could see him. And then there he was standing in the corner of my room. He was big. And he was very black. "Aja,-Gavilan!" I coughed and shook my capote.

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He caIne at Ine fast. And when I drew hinl past Iny sucked-in belly, his breath was hot. And the odor was sickening. "Please, Senor!" Manolo cried. "Leave me alone!" "Si, nlatador." It was three o'clock in the 1110rning when we finished with that bull. I was as crazy as a loon, but coughing beautifully. I wasn't so deranged that I overlooked that. I struggled for breath, and spit up sOlne Inore phelglll into the paper napkin Manolo held at Iny mouth. "Save that gluck," I said. "Save it all for the doctor." We had nearly a third of a wastebasket full-full of Kleenex and greencolored jelly. I felt Manolo lower Ine gently onto Iny pillow, but I rolled onto Iny side and began to vomit. There was the unexpected pain of 3 needle pricking through the skin of Iny buttocks, and then, slowly, all becalne serene. Manolo pushed the two oxygen tubes back into Iny nostrils, taped theIn there, and I floated, gratefully, away. I vaguely renlelTIber dreanling that I cut both ears and the tail frolll C;avibn. It was strange that Gavilan had returned. \Vhy then couldn't Charlie? 'I'hat bull had been in Iny room. It was all so very clear. And the ovation was deafening. I was taking a final tour around the yellow sand of Plaza Mexico, when Dr. Green's voice awakened Ine. "How do you feel?" I opened Iny eyes. It was 1110rning. The furniture was all back in place. My capote was gone. The day-nurse was there instead of Manalo. And I felt alive. I raised up onto Iny elbows. "I feel better," I said. "You were very sick last night." "Yes, I was sick at Iny stonlach." "You certainly were, but you may have been lucky. We're having laboratory tests run on that sputum, and I want sOlne ITIore x-rays taken this afternoon." "More x-rays?" Dr. Green nodded. "You just ITIay have coughed up enough of that congestion to allow us to save a portion of your lung." "Really?" I said. "If we're lucky. Don't get your hopes up, but we'll see." He made a few notes on a pad and then walked out of the rOOlll. I collapsed back onto my pillow. Lucky! God love Manolo and Iny "bullring." Tonight I was going to use the muleta and sword. And I seriously considered bringing in SOl1le picadors and horses. Ron Ely paid me a visit during his lunch hour. "I hear you fell out of a tree and broke your lung," he said.

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I grinned. "Well, it wasn't exactly out of a tree. It was over a lTIoviola and five double Singapore gin slings. But I did break my lung." "You look a lot better." "I looked worse?" "You sure did-for the last couple of weeks." "You were here?" "Sure. It was pretty exciting. I kept coming back because I couldn't believe anybody could be such a mess.)) "Kind words!" I laughed, and started to cough. Ron jumped up, charged into the bathroom, and returned with a clean towel. I racked through my spasm of coughing and spit up some more of my "lung" into the towel he held for me. \iVben 1 looked up to try to make light of the convulsion, I was cOInpletely unprepared for the expression on his face. He was acutely worried. It stuck out all over him. This big lug, who gave the iITIpression that life was really a gigantic bowl of cherries, was worried- about nle. "I'm all right," I said. "Yeah, you sounded great!" "Ron, the more I cough, and the nlore I spit up, the better chance I've got to lick this thing." "Oh, you're going to lick it," he said. "I just don't want you to cough up your balls on the way." "You've got a point. They're all I have left." He placed the towel on the nightstand. "\Vhere are you going to stay when you get out of here?" 1 hadn't even thought about that. "I don't know," I said. "You're broke?" "I think we usually say 'temporarily without funds. '" "Then you'd better figure on moving in with me." Just like that! Hell, we hardly knew each other. 1 shook my head. "I can't do that, Ron." He stood. "Of course, you can." With that he turned and strode out into the hall. I was to learn that this was his way of averting anything he considered to be an unnecessary discussion. Ron had said: " ... when you get out of here." Dalnn, I was going to get out! Up until that moment, the entire hospital bit had been an irrational delirium. Now, getting out was going to be an actuality. And I was determined to leave that hospital with both lungs intact. 1 lay back and thought about it-hard. Tonight we sure as hell were going to bring in the picad01~es and all their horses! Dr. Green arrived early the following nlorning. My temperature was just slightly above nonnal and he relnarked that I finally had some color in my face. The

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new x-rays showed that the top third of Iny right lung was now clear. lic explained to tne that this was an indication we tnight expect SaIne 1110re ilnprOVell1Cnt. "\\That kind of exercises are you doing?" he said. "Exercises? " Leon Green smiled. That was a surprise. "\\Tell, if you do think of sOlllething, take it easy. Dr. Hawley and I have bets on you all over the hospital." "If I think of something, I'll be very careful," I said. He nodded seriously and walked off toward the elevator. How about that! He had no idea what I'd been doing, but whatever it was, he wasn't going to stop me. And he was protecting Manalo. That was pretty great! Actually, Manalo and I had been blessed with wonderfully good fortune the night before. We fought a whole encie1'TO of bulls, but with Inuch l110re artistry and grace. I discovered how to toreol" a bit less strenuously, and get better results. I'd veronica myself into a spaSln of coughing, then sit down on the divan and really work on it. SOlnetimes I could keep one of those fits going for five Ininutes. Manolo and I had this lung bit licked! Oh, it wasn't going to be easy. I could still barely move. It was going to take a lot of breathing exercises in bed every day. And a whole cm-'rida of bulls every night. Elsa showed up in the afternoon. She was very "Mod": dressed all in white leather and looked little-girlishly sInashing. I beat her to it this tiIne. "Hi," I said. I thought she was going to cry, so I pushed myself up straighter in bed and pulled the oxygen rubes out of Illy nose. I figured that's what frightened her. "Put those back!" she gasped. "You are Ve1)' sick!" WOlnen! Jesus! I stuck those dalnn things back into nly nostrils and tried to smile around them. "I'ln much better/' I said. She studied me for a long beat. Finally: "You nre?" "Of course." "What do you Inean 'of course?' You were dying!" "\\Tho said?" "Everybody! " "Well, 'everybody' was wrong. Now, don't look at I1le like that! I'Ill going to be a1l1~ight." She pouted. "Would you rather I told you a joke?" "Well, Jesus, that'd be better!" She smiled. "You are getting all right, but I was frightened to death. After the first couple of weeks, they wouldn't let tne even see you." "Vou were here?" "Many times. And I must fight you about that dreadful will you coughed up." "You know about that?"

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"I was holding your hand." "Oh, for. .. ! I don't remember any of that." Then I started to laugh. "Yes, I do! So, what are you griping about. You're in that will." "\Vho isn't? That's why I'm a gripe." "But I didn't die, so it hasn't done anybody any good." "You might have. And that was silly!" She reached out and lightly touched my hand. "They say that you are going to get well?" "They know I'm going to get well." She stood and walked to the window and squinted through the venetian blind down at the parking lot. I've studied enough bad movies and television to sense that this upstage walk-away was about to being something serious. But, damn, Elsa wasn't like that. She was dead-honest and sincere. I guess she just had a knack for doing the honest and sincere things badly. "You think I 'went Hollywood' don't you?" "Honey, you have a perfect right to 'go' anything. You're beautiful and you're talented. Hell." "Well, don't you?" she repeated without turning around. "Yes. " She walked back to the foot of the bed. "I don't think I meant to. I guess it just-happened. " "It's not a serious thing. Relax." She forced a smile. She really was beautiful when she did the ingenue bit. "I'll conle back tomorrow-if you like." "I'd like. Thanks." Then I knew I had to tell her-now. Right now! It couldn't wait. "Honey, please sit down for a minute more." She sat on the bed and I yanked those damn tubes out of my nose. "Elsa, when Carlos was killed, I realized that there was only one woman in the world who should play the part of 'Mari Arruza'-Mari Arruza." She didn't even flinch. I went on. "Mari, playing herself, will give the picture the added dignity and authenticity it now must have. That part, now that Carlos is dead, just can't be played by an actress-by any actress." "Will Mari do it?" Her voice was firm. "I think so. It's important for the nlemory of Carlos, and for the kids." "Have you spoken with her?" "Of course not. She has a full year of mourning. I'll ask her next May." "Next May? Now you're going to wait another eight months?" "I've got to wait for myself too," I said and patted her hand. She was thoughtful for a long, long beat, then: "Why did you tell me about

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'\1ari now? That could have waited." "It really was Inore like asking you. And, hell, why wait?" "\\,Tell, no Inatter. You're right. It is hest for the picture. " "Thanks, honey. \,Ve're still friends?" "Of course. \J\le ahvays will be. You know that." I did know that. And it Illade Ine happy. The next three weeks snailed by. I guess hospitals are the saIne ~lll over the \\Torld but, since I can now only relllelllber the pleasant rll01l1ents, the A.H.C:. rnust really be a dinger. I had a lot of guests. Ron caIne l11any tilnes, but he never again Inentioned that he I1light like Ine to Inove in with hilll. Elsa was there at least every other day. ;\1ari and Ruben arrived often. They brought Ine four pairs of pajaIllas and a silk robe. Mari grew more srunning with every visit. Manuel Capetillo and his gorgeous exwife, Sarita, showed up now and then-separately. It was quite a parade. I guess business was the one thing which contributed IllOSt to keeping Ine fightingly alert. These days I didn't feel cOlnfortable going to sleep. I was afraid that Beldon, or some nurse, would hand 111e sOl1lething to sign in Illy dreanls. I cut out all forms of sedation. I didn't dare relax. I just hreathed that oxygen, to keep my mind clear, like a World War II pilot after a binge. There were so I1lany letters and contracts to read, to study, finally to ignore, or flatly turn down. I reckon everybody thought I was pretty sick-and delirious. There was still great interest in Two Mules for Sister S"rll. Actually, the enthuSiaSI11 picked up a few beats when I went into the hospital. The letters and telegrams from Hollywood kept pouring in. Everyone seellled anxious to buy the screenplay. But not buy 111C with it. My friends Blust have figured that I didn't ever want to come honle. But, occasionally I got the idea that SOllle of theln were a hell of a lot more interested in purchasing the script than in seeing Inc get well. l~his seelned very unfriendly. So, I decided to refuse theln all. And then there was a good batch of correspondence froln a well-known New York film company regarding Arruza. These people were very anxious to put up the money to finish the picture, to put up all that we needed. But, there was one little clause in their contract I ahnost overlooked: a guarantee delivery date of the completed motion picture, nlusic and all, by Novelnber the fifteenth of that year. We were already well into October. Hell, I wouldn't be up by Novell1ber the fifteeth! By signing those papers I would have given thenl the whole kaboodle of A1i~uza for that breach of contract. But, I was sure it was just a tenlporarily thoughtless contract-attorney's naturally instinctive "nlistake." It was cold and dalnp when I checked out of the A.B.C:. Hospital, but it was going to be pleasant in Cuernavaca. I had arranged to spend a few weeks there to bask in saIne J11uch needed sunshine. I looked like an elnaciated ghost, still shuffled

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when I walked, and couldn't walk very far. MyoId friend, Carlos Reyes, the Duke's chauffeur and pal, let Pepe pick me up in one of his Churubusco Studio limousines. I could always count on Carlos. I guess everyone could. Pepe was now working for hiln, and he was letting my exchauffeur drive me to Cuernavaca just for old time's sake. But, when we left the hospital, Pepe turned north instead of south. "Where are we headed?" I said. "I've got to drop something off for Senor Reyes near Reforma." I rested my head on the back of the seat and closed my eyes. When he pulled to a stop, I sat up and looked out the window at Rio Neva 46. It was a big white Italian-Colonial. I watched as Pepe crossed in front of the car to drop off whatever it was that he had to leave. Then, as he opened my door, I suddenly got the idea that what he was dropping off was me. "Here we are, sir," Pepe said. "Here we are ... where?" "Mr. Ron Ely's. He said to tell you that 'his house is your house.'" "Now 100, k P epe ....I" Pepe grinned. "Excuse me, sir, but he also said to tell you that, as sick as you are, he can handle you with one finger. He said not to give me any trouble." I had to smile. If Ron was figuring on ever handling me, it might be healthier to stay sick. I motioned to the gigantic front gate. "Does your Mr. Ely expect me to scale that?" Pepe turned, crossed the sidewalk, and rang the bell. Now this was sure like Ronald. Damn, I'd been kidnapped! No wonder he never mentioned my lTIoving in with him again. He'd just made up his mind. And that was that! It was going to be very interesting to see if two such blockheads could actually live under the same roof. But it was going to be fun trying. I'd bet on that. As soon as you walked inside the house got bigger. Donna, the pretty young Mexican maid, ushered us past the spacious living room and up the wide stairway to my quarters. Donna was badly stricken with her boss. That was obvious. It was "El Senor" this, "EI Senor" that. And when she said it her voice went soft. She wanted to show me his bedroom, but I could barely stagger into my own. Manolo arrived shortly after I'd crawled into bed. Ron had certainly thought of everything. "The senor said ... ," Manalo began. "Now, Jesus, don't you start that 'El senor' bit," I cut in. "My host's name is Mr. Ely. So, what did Mr. Ely say?" "Mr. Ely said that I was to remain as your night nurse for two more weeks. But that I wasn't to let you fight any lTIOre bulls."

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"Now, how in the devil did he know that?' ~~He seen1S to know a lot of things," Manalo said, as he walked into the h~lth­ rOOln to arrange the various Inedicines and pills. Some of Iny 1110St vivid IneInories of Mexico were t()rIlluiated at Rio ;'\e\'~1 46. Regretfully, I was a nonco111batant-just a convalescent unable to participate in the world's most elnulous sport while all around Ine records were being broken still two years before the Ol)'lnpics. Ron is the "handiest" actor I've ever known. I've seen all the truly rough ones froln Victor Jory through Bob Ryan, Palance and Mitchuill. Still, with his trelnendous size and cat-quickness, Ron has to be considered as the "Nulnber One." During each day he fought elephants and tigers, crocodiles and lions. i\nd he fought theln hilllself. The "Tarzan" COlllpany used no doubles except the ones Ron also fought. And that 111enagerie wasn't Inade up of taIne pussycats and doped lizards. Those crearures all still possessed their untalnpered-with lethal weapons. I know. I helped treat the cuts, bites and claw 1l1arks. But it was in the evenings, after the rest of the cOlnpany had gone hOIlle to their dinners, that the real action began. Ron always came hOlne, but he never wasted Inuch till1e in eilting. The romances were short, but always sweet. l~hey were filled with fun and laughs. And his partners were always beautiful, sOlnetilnes talented, and usually gracious. Most fellas would have settled for anyone of thcln. The "Tarzan" series was a Inurderous show with its dangers ever apparent, and the people involved seellled to picture thelnselves on shipboard, on a trip far away from the stark realities of a tedious profession. "larzan," for Inany, was an escape vacation, and SaIne who flew down froll1 I-Iollywood worked very hard at escaping-if only for a while. But, I often wondered if the Western Airlines planes, on the Mexico City run, ever flew close enough so that those "discreetly presentable" ladies could occasionally wave to each other in passing. "You know, 1'111 pretty sick of all this," Ron said unexpectedly. We were sitting in the living rOOIl1 in the two big upholstered chairs that faced each other across the long coffee table. It was already quarter to one in the 111orning, and he had a six o'clock call. But that's the way we ended every night-talking. Then he would half-carry me up those inten11inable stairs. I thought I knew what he was "pretty sick" of, but I let hiln continue without interrupting. "This is really a rat racc. Every week a different girl, knocking Inyself out, not getting any rest.That's no way to live! What cUll I trying to prove?" "The saine thing anybody who risks his ass every day btls to try ~ln' prove." He looked up. "Now what's that supposed to 111ean?" "Ron, you're no different than a race car driver or a t07"l'l·O. rIll sure you lnust realize that you can get yourself killed every day you work. So, why not also face up to the fact that, when your work's overt it's physically and Inentally essential

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that you open your escape valve and howl a little." "Yep," he said, "and so I work and howl six days a week. Six, hell. Seven! That's what scares me." "Well, why do you insist on taking all those chances?" "You mean on the set?" I nodded. "1 guess I don't trust anybody else to get the job done. And then, I really couldn't stand seeing some poor guy getting clobbered on my show. This may not make sense to you, but I think of 'Tarzan' as my own personal responsibility." "Sure it makes sense. That's the way you should feel. VVhat you do on the set is your obligation, but ... " "But what?" "Well, did you ever consider 'howling' with one girl for a while? It's easier. Luis Miguel 'Dominguin' once remarked that no bull is as frightening as the thought of having to cut both ears and the tail every night to save your reputation." Ron grinnned. "Your friend has a point. But one girl! Who ~ows one girl who can interest you long enough to bother to find out her last name?" I wondered if I'd ever discover who the one girl was who'd clobbered Ronald into this way of thinking. But 1 said: "I know one who'll have you calling her by her last name as long as she chooses." He sat up straight. "Yeah?" "Yeah. Unless some smart fella has already snapped her up. She's a close friend of mine. Used to be married to another close friend who happens to be a great matador, so she's been raised on kooks. Her name is Sarita de Flores de Capetillo. And she's just as fancy as her name." Thanksgiving we had a dinner party for four. Donna cooked a fantastic turkey, and Elsa and I chaperoned the introductory mano a mana of Sarita and Ron. It really was a "hand to hand" rivalry of devastating personalities. Our host outdid himself. I never saw him funnier or more impressed with his opponent. Sarita used every trick she'd learned as Mexico's most elegant courtesan. And their maneuvering was a joy for an aficionado to observe. From the combined moments of Ron vaulting over the banister into the living room, to little-boyishly apologizing for keeping his guests waiting, to Sarita crinkling those giant, olive Spanish eyes to announce that her martini was just a soupcon too 'wet,' it was apparent that life was going to be remodeled around Rio Neva 46. And that my friend Ronald was in for just a soupcon more sleep.

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T\VENTY-SEVEN

uerEN BALLARD TELEPHONED

~1E

THE \VEEK AFTER

THA~KSCI\'­

ing. He was photographing a Illotion picture for John Sturges up in Torreon, and had given John Two jWlllesfo1" Siste1' Slirfl to read. John liked it very much and wanted Ine to fly to the location to discllss the possibility of fitting it into a future schedule of his AJpha Corporation. I was certainly in no physical condition to travel, but this was terribly iIllportant. I knew that I had to ~'gut" myself together, no 111atter what. Also, J anlCS C;arner and Bob Ry~1n were starring in John's show, along with Jason Robards. Jilll and Bob were old friends, and I was anxious to 111eet with Jason, who111 I considered one of Ollr industry's truly great artists. I just had to go. It would be a real shot in the ann to spend SOlne til11C with talented Hollywood people again. And last, I was doubly proud that I had written sOlnething that John Sturges liked. I didn't know hinl very well, but he was a fine producer-director, and had Inade t\vo recent blockbusters, 'Tbt' .\Jllgn~t;({,llt St'V{'/l and The G1~eat Escape. I adlnired hinl very Inuch. Ronald bundled Ine off on the plane, and Lucien, John .lnd Nate Edw.lrds met me at the airport in Torreon. Nate was John's production Inanager. I--Ie had been with Ine on both Bullfighter and the Lady and Seven J\;lel1 Ji'1'O'J}/ N071'. It was good to see hinl again. I knew that if John and I could negotiate .1 deal, I would be in good hands production-wise. Well, they gave Ine the VI.P. treatlnent and I loved it. 'rhe plush suite at the Hotel Rio Neva brought back fond 111el110ries of the "good old days" and set Ine to thinlcing-hard. I looked down at the four reels of the Plaza Mexico sequence I had brought along to run for Iny friends. A1,'lIza! Jesus, it had been brutal! But now, with Charlie gone, the only way out was to finish it. No I1latter what Jeffrey Martin had once said, there are I1loral obligations in business. And, if I were fortunate enough to Inake a deal with John on Two Mules I fully intended to use that

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money to help get our picture into distribution. That night John and I had dinner together. He did want to produce my screenplay and he intended for me to direct. But when I told him I had been paid a portion of the nloney owed me for the script by that blonde star's producer-husband, and that I imagined that he-being Mexican-still figured he "owned" the property, John wisely decided to hold off until I could clear the project of all possible liens, and any dispute over legal ownership. However, he understood I needed a sizable hunk of money to complete Arruza, and he promised to look at the four reels the following morning. Actually, I had anticipated this. John was a brilliant businessman. He would certainly recognize the commercial value of what I had been doing. It was "Standing ROOin Only" in the hotel's makeshift projection rOOITI. All the actors were there, all the stuntmen, and most of the large crew. John was at the rear of the theater with Lucien and Nate. I sat in the front row between Bob and Jim. Jason Robards was two rows behind me, sipping at a Sunday morning Bloody Mary. We hadn't met. It was a great running for a highly enthusiastic audience. Many were aficionados, and their "oles" roared above the sound track. \\Then the lights flashed on, there was a spontaneous ovation. Behind me, Jason's distinctive voice cried, "Bravo!" I turned to smile at him. He stood, regally, and the room became silent as he slowly downed the last drop of his drink. Then, dramatically, he pounded his sport jacket on the spot just over his heart. "You really know how to grab a man," my new friend Jason Robards said to me, "right here in the cock!" I guess that was the nicest compliment I'd had since Charlie Arruza said "gracias. " That afternoon John, Nate and I had a hurried business conference. It was agreed that Nate would prepare a budget for what reinained of Arruzo, and John's Alpha Corporation would then finance the completion of the picture. This would encolnpass three days of filming with Mari and the kids, the music, sound effects, narration in both English and Spanish, and the two composite color prints of both versions. I was given a very substantial advance for future expenses, and then we all drove out to the airport so that I could catch the evening plane back to Mexico City. God, what a pleasure it had been to do business with businessmen! But ... I had carefully studied John Sturges during the short visit, and I was well aware of the truth of what to expect. John had worked hard to reach the top, and he sure as hell was there. He was the boss of his conlpany, and not about to waver one iota from that position of power for anyone, or anyone else's picture. Nor should he. I was certain that he wouldn't interfere with Iny direction of

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A'rruza's relllaining work, but I wondered if he would like, or even underst~1nd, what I did. And then, when the actual filrning was cOIllpleted, the show \\'ould be his: Alpha's, to do with as he pleased. John would Inake all the arrangeillents, and I would have to sit and listen-if I were consulted at all as to Illy ideas for distribution and less inlportant things. Still, I I1lade up Illy Inind then and there that, in this case if it became necessary, I would stoop to the subservient and border on the obsequious-two words I used only in scripts to describe very inadequate characters-because I was determined that, now, l10tbing was going to stop the completion of my picture. ChristInas nl0rning I visited Mari with flowers for her and riding boots for the kids. I was surprised to walk into the den and find Manuel Capetillo slouching cOlnfortably in Charlie's big desk chair. That is, I was surprised until I saw Sarita's and Manuel's two handsome sons playing boisterously \\rith Carlitos, Manolo and Mari-Carmen. Then it made sense. Manuel had known that this was to be a rough "Navidad" for the Arruza fan1ily, and he and the boys had shown up to help l11ake things easier. That was like Manuel. I was just glad I hadn't brought along Ronald and Sarita to wish everyone a Merry Christlllas. We three conversed in English, Mari's newly discovered hobby, and she was talkative and smiling. It suddenly struck rne that now, right now, was the tinle to approach her about the picture. "Mari," I began, "I've finally decided who 'II11lst play you in the 111ovie. It just can't be anyone else." Mari stopped slniling. "Not Elsa? Now you don't want Elsa?" We had always had a gentlelnan's agreelnent that I wouldn't cast anyone for that part without Mari's approval. And Mari liked and respected Elsa. "No," I said. "Elsa was perfect-before Carlos' accident. Now she's cOlllpletely wrong and I intend to reshoot her scenes." Mari stood and moved a vase of poinsettias closer to the garden window. "Do I know the actress?" "Yes, Mari. I want you to play 'Mari Arruza. '" Capetillo looked at Ine as if I'd suddenly gone Inad. Mari turned to face tne, wide eyed. "Me! Me! 1'111 no actress!" "Neither was Carlos an actor," I said, "but you've seen how great he is in our show." "But why 'lIte?" "Wh o nl~e you, M an."" I sal. 'd She looked straight into Ine for a long beat, then she slniled. "Mari Arruza," she said. And that was that. I telephoned C:apitan Mauricio Locken right after the holidays. I had an idea

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that might eliminate that long wait for Mari's full year of mourning. Mauricio was the stepson of Ruiz Cortinas, Mexico's ex-president, a millionaire in his own right with a "hacienda" that was the envy of all Mexico. During a period of temporary boredom, he had become an adequate 11"ejoneador himself. We had met while he was training at Pasteje and had become friends. I told Mauricio that Mari had agreed to appear as herself in Arruza and I felt that if he would allow us to convert his beautiful little bullring to match Pasteje's, she might condescend to be photographed a good deal earlier than next June. I knew that Mauricio could afford Mari and the kids complete privacy. There would be no members of the Mexican press as spectators. With his large staff of guards and their frightening police dogs, there would be no undesirable visitors at all. He was happy to help me in any way, and I drove to Mari's with my fingers crossed. Mari, as always, was Mari-just wonderful. She knew that it would be taking a dreadful chance, and that if discovered she would be in for some brutal notoriety. "Arruza's Widow Becomes an Actress After Only Nine Months of Mourning!" wouldn't read too well. But, she agreed. She knew that this was what Carlos would have wanted. Hell, he'd done everything but invest to try to finish our show for eight long years. Now, she could do it for him. We agreed that we would photograph the three days of retakes during the middle of February. I called John. He was back at Churubusco Studios shooting his interiors. He had great news for me, too. Jason had agreed to do the English narration. And the price was certainly right. Nothing! Jason would merely endorse Alpha's check for the Screen Actors Guild minimum and mail it to his guild. Jason! Wonderful! He would be the best. And John had arranged for Ken W Purdy to polish my narration. I'd read everything Ken had ever written and had just finished The New Matadors-his beautiful book on Formula-One racing. This was an unexpected break for A1-ruza. But, of course, we were now getting some unexpected class-thanks to John. The three days of shooting in mid-February went exceptionally well. Mari could have had a fine career as an actress if she had chosen. She was gracious, cOlnpletely natural, and as beautiful as ever. I dreamed up a practice-bullfight sequence with Carlitos, Manalo and Mari-Carmen. Mari-Carmen stole the scene. As she worked with the muleta against Manalo as the "bull," she looked and moved just like her daddy had those last days in Plaza Mexico. I was very happy with what we accomplished, and certain that the retakes and added scenes would enhance our show. The close-ups of Mari cut into other close-ups of Carlos, Ruben and Joao Laureano, Charlie's first Portuguese instructor, as if they had all been shot on the. same day. Actually, most of those close-ups were filmed five years apart. We assembled Arrllzo, ran it for John and Ferris Webster, John's cutter. They

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made SOlne intelligent suggestions, and then surprised 1l1e by packing up and returning to Hollywood. John left the I11usic and sound effects cOInpletely up to l11e, with no suggestions. However, Alpha, not having been graduated-as I h3d-frol11 "Basic Conlbat Training to Thwart the Everyday Mexican," Inade one naive lnistake. The sound effects cuner was given a flat deal to be paid over a period of six weeks. And, when the six weeks were over and he hadn't cOlllpleted his work, he moved on to more lucrative employment. He already had Alpha's checks in the bank. Now he could Illake SOIlle additional loot by working on various Mexican productions. He, frankly, just didn't give a danln when we finished An7lzlI, and I ended up sitting in his cutting roonl throughout each working day cajoling hinl into occasionally working on our picrure. This proved to be an irritation to John and onc hell of a waste of severallnore Inonths. Charles Grever, president of Mexico's and New York's Grever International, S.A. Inusic COlnpany, found Ine the Arruza thenle. It was written as a love SOIlg by Arnulfo Vega, a youngster still in his teens, and it was beautiful. I turned the song over to my favorite COlnposer, "Maestro" Raul Lavista, and sat back for another two months of fingernail-biting while he plunked away at his piano. We were finally able to record in July and the wait was worth it. Raul followed Illy plan to keep the bullfight paso dobles at a Ininilllulll. I~e interwove the I1lusical sounds of the corridas into the love theme, into the true Inusic of Mexico, the 11lflrincbis, the off-tune chords of the street organs and the singing of the children. And, he had done it Inore beautifully than I had hoped for. Now, every day, I was becotning more and nlore proud of the tinle I had supposedly wasted. Finally, after all those years as a director, I dearly loved a Illation picture I had helped to create. But acrually, having Charlie Arruza as your own personal genius for over nine years, what director could have gone far wrong? Early in September we finished the dubbing, and ] sent Alpha the edited color work-print, along with the English and Spanish sound tracks. John telephoned Ine to say that he believed the Mexican sound tracks could be ilnproved by running them through a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer sound systelll. I thought that a splendid idea, asked to be advised when a conlposite print of the English version would be ready, and settled back at Ron's to begin another screenplay I called A

Time for Dying. And then a strange sequence of events canle to pass regarding two Mules for Sister Sara. I was right about that producer-husband. I-Ie did figure he owned Iny screenplay, no matter how little of our contract he had fulfilled. I-Ie had heard that Aaron Rosenberg was still interested in obtaining "his" property,. and he had contacted Aaron in Hollywood. The first I knew of the goings-on was froln a telephone call froln Aaron. He had purchased the screenplay, outright, frolll Iny producer-husband-friend. Aaron told l11e, when I silTIlnered down, that he only paid

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$17,500 for it. His only aim had been to get it legally out of Mexico so that I, or any other producer who would contractually guarantee that I would direct it, could purchase the screenplay's rights from him. And he set the total purchase price at just what he had put into it: $17,500. Since Aaron didn't plan to produce the picture himself, this was an unbelievably altruistic piece of gamesmanship. I suddenly had a warmer regard for Hollywood producers. At least one of them. But, as Aaron explained, he figured 1'd had enough problems. And I was inclined to agree with him. During the next few weeks I arranged for Carroll Case to purchase the screenplay froIn Aaron. Aaron's attorneys wrote a beautiful contract for Carroll to sign. It protected me from every angle. No one else could direct my picture. In case of a future sale or transfer to a third party, I went along with the script. Complete protection, and I was truly grateful. I needed Two Mules for Siste11' Sara to direct right after the release of Anl'uza. I hadn't written that screenplay for SaIne other director. The plaintive letters poured in from Carroll during the next thirty days. He could not set a big picrure deal with me as the director. After all, it had been too long since I had directed a hig picture. The "please-help-me's" and the tearful wails of abject poverty caused by the purchase of my script finally got to me. I signed a directorial contract with Carroll for one-third of Iny last salary, and accepted a fivethousand-dollar advance. Carroll explained that, this way, he 'ntight be able to get the show on the road as a "B western." At least, now, my price was right. But, this didn't bother me because I knew that Two Mules wouldn't be a "B western" by the tilne it was completed. And the five grand was just eating money. And, anyway, all I really cared about was finishing Arruza. We could talk about those other things when I returned to Hollywood.

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TWENTY-EIGHT

YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THE COLOR PRlNT, AND THEY'VE DONE A

splendid job here at Metro in fixing that dreadful Mexican soundtrack. Frankly, I think with a couple of minor cutting changes, we can make a fortune on this show. See you next week. Here's Nate." John's voice had sounded loud and clear, even above the usual din of Churubusco's luncheon crowd. And the words he had spoken were certainly lcind words. He was one hell of a ITIan to have for a partner. Nate picked up the phone in John's office and told Ine that I was expected in Hollywood the following Monday morning. The Western Airlines ticket was ready to be picked up and Nate would meet me at the airport. I would only need to be there a couple of days, Nate explained. There was very little to do with the picture. Damn if Los Angeles didn't look even bigger. Seven years before, I could see some dirt and grass between San Diego and Los Angeles. Now, every building and house seemed to stick out, colorfully, into sOll1ething else substantial right next door. I looked down from the descending jet and, for one slow beat, got a little stage-sick. Home. Jesus! Was I ready for this? Or worse, was this ready for Ine? And then I thought of the Mexico I'd just left behind-of the professional villains, the devoutly unscrupulous bastards, the ... l-Iell, suddenly Los Angeles and its Hollywood looked a little bit like Disneyland. And I was a kid again, and I couldn't wait to touch the ground. Nate was waiting for I11e as he had prolnised. I--Ie was wearing that wonderful look on which he had cornered the Inarket, that saIne expression as Illy favorite mortician of the shiny-front black silk suit, the one in the A. B.C. I--Iospital sequence. "We're very disappointed in Anilzo," he said.

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I picked up my suitcase and smiled at him. "That's good news, Nate. Whenever really bright folks are disappointed with what I do, I know I've got a hit. Remember the Duke and his two big disappointments: Bullfighter and Seven Men From Now?" We drove in silence to the high gray walls of Metro-Goldwyn -Mayer. I had to smile again. M.G.M. reminded me of "El Federal," but the walls didn't look quite that high. And I wondered if the prisoners inside those walls were as tough-or as nice. John was seated in his director's chair when 1 walked onto the Ice Station Zebra set. He was genuinely glad to see me. I sat down beside him. "Well, let's get right down to straight talk," he began. "1 think An~uza is just deadly in the beginning, amateurishly edited, and doesn't-in any way-live up to its potential. No one on my staff liked it at all." Well, Hollywood hadn't changed. It was only October, but the members of John's Alpha Corporation obviously sensed that Christmas was just around the corner. "What, specifically, didn't your staff like about Arruza, John?" I said. He took a slow puff on his pipe. "The very same things I didn't like. You didn't take advantage of any of the tricks of modern photography. The show is filmed in the same old-fashioned style throughout, and the way you handled Arruza's death doesn't payoff." I had answers for all that crap and, suddenly, looking at my talented benefactor, I had renewed faith in my future as a motion picture director. "\\That minor cutting changes do you think might remedy all these mistakes?" I said. He smiled, compassionately. "Well, I only have one way to work. You run on back to Mexico and leave the film to me. I'll turn it inside out, probably switch the opening-maybe. I really don't know yet just what to do with it. But I'll tell you one thing. You turn Arruzn over to tne to cut as I see fit, and I just might win you an Academy Award." Jesus, the whole world had gone on an altruism kick. I figured it started with Aaron Rosen berg. "Before we decide anything, John," I said, "I think I'd better see the picture." He stood. "Of course, you should. You'll see what I mean. I'll tell Ferris to book you a projection room. After you run it, come and tell me just what you think-honestly. " "I will, John," I said. "Honestly." I felt a terrible sense of guilt, and a great lack of appreciation for the altruistic, as I sat in that dark projection room and ran my picture. Hell, I just loved it-honestly. The color print wasn't that good-yet. The lab had printed some of our beautiful evening shots to look like high noon, and we didn't have Gary

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Cooper. But that could be fixed. I did find two sequences that should be deleted: minor editing. Maybe that was what John meant before he got carried away with himself. And then the Plaza Mexico tag flashed on the screen. Jesus Christ! They had fixed the soundtrack all right. They had "fixed" me right out of a movie. It was as if some other director had cut the motor noise out of Frankenheimer's Grand Prix! Plaza Mexico was now a pink tea party. The hysterical audience "oled" in well-modulated, dulcet tones. And the beautifully drunken plaza band had been sobered up. All the bullfight ambiente was gone. I now had a gringada-an American picture about the bulls. After the lights came on, I sat alone for a long time-thinking. Of course, the sound track could be fixed "back." The two cuts could be luade in the first reel, and the color corrected. I knew that John was going to be disappointed with what I was about to tell him, but he had asked me to be honest. "1 love the picture," 1 said, "with a few minor changes." John looked at me sadly, then strode back to his chair near the calnera. rIn certain he didn't know that I had followed him. Ferris Webster knelt beside hinl and whispered: "So, what do you want to do about An-uza?" John didn't bother to look up. Nor did he bother to whisper. "I just don't give a damn!" he said clearly. Now, I hadn't heard that line read with such feeling since Rhett Butler. But, not agreeing with Scarlett's usual procrastination, I decided to think about this catastrophe today. I stepped beside him. "I'm sorry, John, but we both have to give a damn about Anitzo." When he glanced up, I knew that he was sorry I had overheard his hasty remark. He was upset with my picrure, and disgusted with my srubborness but, above all else, he was always fair and always a gentleman. "Look," he said, "I can be wrong, but I don't think I am. I'll stake my professional reputation on just how this picmre should be cut. Still, let's let others be the judges. Set up a screening and get an overall reaction." "That makes sense," I said. "\Vhen?" "Naturally, as soon as possible. How long will it take you to compi,le a respectable guest list?" "Where do you want to run the show?" "Here at Metro. In the theater." "I'll be ready by Wednesday." He smiled at me. "The theater here seats three hundred people." "I'll fill it by Wednesday night," I said. "What time do you want to run?" "Eight-thirty. " "You've got a deal."

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The ride with Nate to Hollywood's Ramada Inn was a long one. The only words Nate and I spoke were good-bye when I stepped out of the car. Hell, I had anticipated this might happen and it made me sick. I was sure that John and I would have never been so far apart on any other picture. But, A1"'ruza was a very special subject, filmed in a very special way. I didn't know "all" about bullfighting after more than twenty-five years. I couldn't very well expect John to understand what I was doing after only a few sketchy months. I knew I would never hope this about] ohn Sturges again, but God damn it, this time I hoped-with all my heart-he was w1-ong! I registered at the desk and followed the bellboy up to my suite. I couldn)t help thinking "Shit!" to myself, as I trudged through the door, crossed the ample living room, and flopped across the over-ample bed. When the bellboy thanked me and left me alone, I rolled over on my back and began, alphabetically, to dream up my guest list. It startled me to suddenly wonder if everyone was going to still be alive. And then I got to the B's, the members of my own clan, and sat bolt upright in bed. Georgia and Helen-my own two daughters! Right over the Hollywood Hills in Van Nuys! And I was worried about a damn screening! Emily had remarried. His name was Bob Hall, a hell of a fine fellow, devoted to Emily and an extremely successful restaurateur who, I had learned, was absolutely magnificent with my little girls. I found what I hoped was still Emily's number, and dialed the phone. I thought, unexpectedly, of the expression "The Moment of Truth." W'hat mere bull could ever look as frightening as that black receiver in my hand? A soft, mature voice said, "Hello." I took a deep breath. "Emmy?" "No, this is Georgia." "Oh, hello. Is this Georgia Boetticher or Georgia Hall?" There was a slight gasp. ".Why-this is Georgia Boetticher-of course!" She pronounced our name like it really meant something special! "I'm glad," I said, "because my name is Boetticher, and I. .. " "Daddy!-Daddy!" "H'1, swee th eart. I Iave you. " "So do I. Me too!" "Who's that?" "I'ln Helen. I'm on the other phone." "Hi, squirt. How old are you?" "Seventeen." "Seventeen! Jesus. How old are you, Georgia?" "She's nineteen. Be twenty this month." "Well, let Georgia answer herself." "She can't. She's crying."

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"Well, that's a hell of a note. Why aren't you crying too?" "I never cry," my daughter Helen said. I was really home and my world was back in place. And both Iny kids were just the same. The sweet one like her Inolnlny. And the tough little hell-raiser like ... "Look, characters. Let's meet sOlneplace. I'll get a cab." Two voices yelled in sync: "We have a car!" "You do?" "Of course!" "Who drives?" "Oh, Osc!" Helen said. "Both of us. \\!here are you?" "The Ralnada Inn on Sunset." "We'll find you. Right away! Love you llladly. Bye." Then I heard Helen say: "Now, Georgia, stop crying," and the phone clicked

off. The combination of nly wildest drealns and Iny Illost lonesoillc prayers hadn't prepared Ine for the two young ladies who burst through the door of Iny suite, then stood stock-still, uncertain as to just who was on display. 'rhey were gorgeous! Georgia had grown slightly taller than Helen, a short-cropped brunette with a Vogue figure. All the regal beauty of Emily was hers. And she had her mother's voice and manner. Helen wasn't my baby any longer. But first glance shocked Inc to realize that I must prepare myself to face the lnany young Inen who would sell their souls to try to claim her as their "baby." I shuddered at the thought. Helen's figure wasn't Vogue. It was Petty-Vargas-Playboy. Two grown girls who looked like this. Jesus! And I thought I had paid Iny penance. "Hi, Daddy. Welcolne home," Georgia said. "You look just the saine." "Only your eyes got older," Helen added, "but I dig thenl like they are. You're a gas." I'd never really been a gas. I thought I was pleased. "Well, don't just stand there. Sit down," I finally managed. My two young ladies plopped down on the divan, and Georgia burst into tears. "Now, Georgia," Helen began to soothe, then she spun on J11e quite defensively. "Well, Dad, you can't blame her. We both thought you were dead!" I hurried to pass that one over. "Close," I laughed, "but not quite." "Ellen told us you'd been 1cilled by a bull!" Iny youngest continued. "We thought it was true!" "Ellen Quint, your nurse?" I was flabbergasted. "\Vhy?" "Well, I guess we were being obnoxious and she figured that'd settle us down."

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"Didn't you ever ask your mother?" I sputtered. "Didn't you ever tell her what your crazy nurse had said?" Georgia stopped crying and wiped her eyes. "Mom never mentioned it. We just thought she knew too, and didn't want to talk about it." "Look, kids." I found I was really struggling for words. "Over the years-I'll tell you all about it. Just trust me. If-if you missed me at all, I missed you a hundred times more. I just didn't want you to share all the crap I was going through." Suddenly they were both in my arms. "Dad, we don't want to know anything you don't want us to know. You're home, safe, and we adore you. It's a miracle!" Georgia sobbed. "A fucking miracle!" Helen repeated-with emphasis. "What?" I shouted. "Well, it is, Dad," my carefully educated daughter beamed, "and you know it!" I knew it all right, but what happened to the "Marymount School for Girls" and that "Eunice Knight Finishing School?" Every minute approaching Wednesday night, eight-thirty, rushed past. And then there I was greeting the three hundred guests I had invited to the screening. It was quite a group: directors, writers, producers, actors, stunnnen, musicians, and one hell of a lot of other talented people who didn't give a damn about bullfighting. Even Emily and her new husband were there. Later I was to learn that John always spoke of it as "That night Budd had all of his close friends to see Arruza. " I wasn't irritated by the insinuation that the running was "fIxed." I was highly complilnented that such an experienced man in the ways of our industry could believe that, after seven years in Mexico, 1 could still count on three hundred close Hollywood friends. It made me feel warm all over. The showing was beautifully rewarding. Spontaneous applause began during the first reel and continued throughout the picture. \Vhen the lights came on, there was a standing ovation. This professional audience accepted it as a very special screening of a motion picture not quite ready for release and, in spite of the dreadful soundtrack and the uncorrected color, they genuinely understood what had been accomplished. And I was proud. The following morning I had coffee in the offices of the Alpha Corporation. John was there, and Nate, and a sort of nondescript second assistant director of John's whose name, I thought, was Tommy Schmidt. "I hear all your friends liked the picture," John began. "So did all my enemies," I smiled back. "I'm sorry you were too tired to join them." He shrugged, then: "Well, no matter, 1 still think we're on the wrong editorial track. Tell you what. I really am beat. Let me have three weeks of rest, sun-

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shine and fishing and I'll send for you. Then we'll sit down and talk it over, and try to figure out what in the world we can do to fix that show." We shook hands on that, and John suggested to Nate that he drive me back to Hollywood. This time the ride to the Ramada Inn seelned longer. Neither Nate nor I spoke one word to each other from the monlent I stepped into his car. Well, the uncomfortably silent drive gave nle a very private tiIlle to continue to piece this debacle together. And then, suddenly, out of the blue, I began to realize a part of what had gone wrong. Nate Edwards hated my guts! Christ, he was so unilnportant to Ine that I had completely overlooked that simple truth. Seventeen years before, during the production of Bullfighter, I had physically tossed hilTI over the bullring fence into the ring. He had it coming. John Wayne or not, he was 711y production manager then, not the Duke's. But his lack of respect for Inc had proI1lpted hiln, on several occasions, to "cut" my camera. Now, no one yells "cut" on a director's set except the director! At least, they didn't in those days. But when Matador Felix Briones got himself unexpectedly caught on the horns of the bull, Iny overconfident production head yelled "cut!" And I don't think anyone word in the history of our industry ever caused such immediate trouble. Unfortunately for Nate, as he landed in the ring, the bull lost interest in the fallen Illatador and burst off after him. It wasn't that dangerous a situation or I wouldn't have done it. I--lell, the beast was clear across the ring when he started his charge, and Nate had plenty of tinlC to jump back over the barrier. But I did Inake Illy point and I guess he had never forgotten it. Now it's true that Hollywood grudges SOllletilnes last a long tinle, but seventeen years may have become a new record. But there he was-perched behind the wheel-right smack-dab next to me. And, finally, I figured that he just might have done a first-class job of sabotaging both l1le and Iny picture. John respected Nate, and if Nate had voiced his dishonest opinion of AlIl/ZI1, John-as preoccupied as he was with his own projects-Inight have been inclined to agree. Hell, he wanted to make Two Mules with I11e. He never gave a daI1ln about A1fl-lza. But what happened between John's telephone lines of: "You're going to love the color print. We can make a fortune on this show," and that "Acadcluy Award" bit? I was feeling a bit like Sherlock Hohnes, when Nate broke the silence. "\Vhat are you going to do now?" he said. "It looks to 111e as if Mr. Sturges is fed up with both you and your Inovie." "Nate," I began so slowly it stanled 'fne, '\vhen the tilne CGlneS, I'nl going to fix my show just the way I want it. My contract with your Mr. Sturges, and the Alpha Corporation, states that I have cOInplete artistic control of A 177LZO, and-even if I should die-John is ITIorally and contractually obligated to cOlnplete the picture

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as I desired, especially pertaining to the authenticity of the art of bullfighting." During the remainder of the trip it was really quiet. You could barely hear the traffic. That night I took the late plane back to Mexico City.

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T\VENTY-NINE

ARl ARRUZA HAD A SURPRISE FOR ME. SHE SAT IN THE FR():'\:T SEAT

with Manuel Capetillo as he guided his black Continental out Refonna and up the slight incline onto the narrow highway to l()iuca. I sat in the back seat with Mari-Caflnen. The Arruza and C:apetillo boys were already at Manuel's ranch. They had spent Friday night there. \,\'e would breakfast with them in an hour. It was the Sarurday before Chrisnnas. I was curious about Mari's surprise, but a lot l110rc curious as to wh~H had happened to John Sturges, his Alpha Corporation, and Illy picture. It had been seven weeks since he had set out on his prolnised 1l1
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Mari-Carmen ran off to join the boys, who were playing at cowboys and Indians. Mari and Manuel stood, holding hands again, atop the crest of a snlall rise. The sun was just breaking through the evergreens in the forest behind, silhouetting them spectacularly against the new-yellow sky. "Baad," Manuel said softly, "here, right here, is where we are going to build our hacienda. Mari and I will be married next month." There, suddenly, for the first time since "The Sanatarium of the Flowers," I was absolutely overwhelmed by the presence of God's will. I looked at Mari standing there beside her man; Mari Arruza more beautiful than ever, glowing. And Manuel Capetillo: tall, handsome, now confident that he and no one else was truly "EI Numero Uno." And they were in love. And from that moment I came to know that Death is a very final thing. And that-no matter who you are or what you have accomplished or become-when That comes to pass, you will be buried very deep. And that our form of Life is a God-given thing that should be fully nurtured and spent with honor and dignity, and perhaps a little happiness. Just as long as you damn well can! **********

Beldon telephoned the minute he returned from Hollywood. I met with him in his office. The trip north had certainly left its impression. There was the sparkle of movie tinsel in his eyes and he was full of Hollywood mannerisms-the affectations that only rub off on the uninitiated. He leaned back in his swivel chair, propped his feet on the glass top of his desk, and lit a cigarette. "Well, I spent three full days with John," he began, proudly, "and I'm afraid I'lll going to have to give it to you straight." "That would save a lot of time," I said. "You know John thinks Arruza is a piece of crap." I smiled. "I can't imagine John using that term, but I'm well aware that's just what he thinks." "We can't even get a release," Beldon continued, knowingly. "So, where do we go from here?" "What do you mean 'we can't even get a release?'" Hollywood had really left its mark. I'd never seen Beldon so sure of himself. "Look, John and Ferris Webster worked their tails off trying to fix your Goddamned picture. They spent hours switching everything around. They tried every angle they could think of to help you. They switched sequences around. They changed the music. They fooled with the narration. But nothing worked. Hell, John Srurges doesn't have the time to fix your mistakes." I really bit my tongue and forced open my clenched fists.

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"You were saying sOluething about not getting a release." Beldon drew himself up, trying hard to look as tall as Sturges. "John sent the picture back to New York with TonlIny Schnlidt. I-Ie, and John's agency, shopped it everywhere. Nobody wanted it." For one split second I was speechless, then: "They sent back tbeir reedited version of Arruza?" "Well, of course. It's a hell of a lot better than yours." Now I'd heard everything.' It was absolutely incredible that a fellow Director's Guild member could do a thing like that! Treason is usually perpetrated by producers and cutters. I just had one more question. "And John sent my picture back to New York with that assistant director?" "Tommy's a smart boy," Beldon argued. "He's going to go a long way." I didn't know just how far young, anlbitious Mr. Schluidt was going, but already, for me, he'd gone too far. But he had nlade two finn points. He certainly wasn't nondescript any longer. And, now, I would always relnelnber his naIHe. I stood to lean on Beldon's desk. He reITIoved his feet. "Beldon, you've got all the necessary characteristics to becolne a successful Hollywood producer, but you'd better learn to pick your Hollywood heroes a little more carefully until you get some more experience. Your new friend, John Sturges, is completely wrong about A1TIIZO. I've bent over backwards to rcrnain courteous to him out of deep appreciation for his financial help, but 1'111 now up to my nose with his arrogant pomposity. I often wonder what he thinks I've been doing since long before he becalne a director. Now, I'nl going hOllle to put Iny show back the way I want it-just the way I want it-and what 1'111 about to do is going to save your financial neck." I put out my hand. "Good-bye, Beldon. Thanks for SOBle of the things you did right." He shook my hand, weakly. I headed for the door, then: "()h, one last sinall item, Beldon. When you telephone your pal, John Sturges, to bring hiIll up to date, please don't give hinl my best." The following morning Ron and I made arrangetnents to ship Illy things back to Los Angeles, and that night I returned "hollle"-to stay.

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NOTICED IM1\1EDIATELY THAT THE BOLD LETTERING ON THE

water tower now read The Burbank Studios instead of Warner Brothers, but they hadn't changed the two police officers at the I1lain gate, and they both recognized Ine. "Welcome back," they said. "\\That happened to the Rolls-Royce?" "This is ~y daughter's car, fellas," 1 laughed. "Can I get by you two in spite of it?" I was sure Hollywood was still the same prestige-conscious town. It's what you drive that gets you in, and who you a1-e is where you park. "We'd let you in if you were on crutches," the tall, thin one nalTIed Fred said, as he waved me by. "Where are you headed?" "Wherever they're shooting NeveT Trust 11 Drunken Indian." "You really have been gone a long tinle, sir," Duncan, the other guard cut in. "That show's now called Flap, and they're on Stage 11." I'd shat the interiors of Legs Dinl1lOlld on Stage 11, so it was easy to find. "Hola, Tona," I said, as I stuck Iny head through the dressing rOOITI door. "Que pasa?" "Hey, sweetheart," Tony Quinn shouted and jUlnped up frolll where he was playing cards with three of his entourage. "1 thought you were dead!" "Everybody thinks I'ID dead, Tony, but that's slightly exaggerated." He picked Ine up in a giant bear hug and spun me around. "What a disappoin011ent," he roared, "because I'ln in 1110uming. Look at Ine!" He backed off and spun into a "Zorba" pirouette. He certainly was in mourning: Indian-1TIourning, with a shiny black suit, topped by a dirty black rurtleneck sweater. Maybe the studio changed the title froln Dnlllken Indian to Flap because Tony Quinn doesn't drink. But, in Iny book Anthony Quinn could play anything.

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"Sit down, sweetheart," he comnlanded and I1lotioned for one of his stooges to make room for me. Inlmediately, all three did and 1110ved to the back of the room. I got right to the point. "Tony, I need you to re-do Jason Robards' narration in A1"ruza." "Jesus, nobody should ever redo Jason's anything." "Trust TIle, Tony. I'nl dead right about this." He sat down across the table frolll Ine. "What's the Inatter with his narration?" "Well, in the first place, he's going through a divorce, and his heart sure wasn't in his work. It was unfair of John to make hilll keep his prolnise." "There's got to be a better reason than that." "Dh, it isn'tJason's fault. The words are wrong. John had Ken Purdy rewrite my original narration into a complete gringada. Jason's opening line, over a highzoom-in shot of Plaza Mexico, reads: 'This is the biggest bullring in the world.' Christ, 1 didn't spend half my life filming a picture about a concrete bowl. I I11ade a show about a 11l0n!" Tony studied me for a long beat, his dark eyes squinting. I figured, hurriedly, I'd better continue. "My narration says: 'Occasionally a man is born, whose life is so different, so dangerous, so honorable and so courageous that only a very sll1all portion of that, man's life can be told at one time. This is the story of a portion of such a 0180 S life. This is the story of Carlos Arruza. '" His black eyes twinkled. Now 1 had to hit hilTI with the punch line. "But, Tony, I've got to tell you up front-l need a couple of days, and I can't pay you one penny." 1 heard the three stooges snicker. "Hey, pal," Anthony Quinn said slowly, "1 can't give you a couple of days. It might take me a week. I've never done narration." . t es on M y next stop on the way to M.G.M. was at Harper and ASSOCla · . "l! B . d ventura oulevard. James Harper was John Sturges' bUSIness Inanager an hiS offices handled the books for The Alpha Corporation. Mr. Harper looked up from the script he was reading. "1 can't open the Alpha Corporation's books for you," he said. "Those figures are none of your business." . he "Th e A rruza pIcture . .IS very muc h Illy b ' " I b " d 0 IS USlness, egan, an s . t1 . · . 'ca 13S un b e1levable fact that a fellow Inember of The Directors GuIld of Anler l t overlooked the obligatory law of the 'Director's Rights' to the first satisfactory CU t of his picture; and so is the fact that The Alpha Corporation's financial investJ11e~t in my film is infinitesinlal compared to my own personal tilne and Inane)' spe over all these years, and furthermore ... "

CHAPTER

THIRTY

Mr. James Harper was a wise and honest businessman, and observant enough to quickly perceive the truth of all of my statements, as well as the fire in my eyes. I walked out of that office with the information I wanted. John's young, ambitious, over-his-head assistant director's abortive "vacation" in New York City to peddle my unfinished picture had cost exactly $2,279.75. I had never planned a scene more carefully, weighed every single word of a script more thoroughly, or steeled myself so masochistically to give the performance of my life. My "partner" John Sturges certainly had no doubts in his mind as to who was the superior director-any more than I was at all uncertain as to who was the better actor. I doubt if he had even given that a thought. But I was prepared to give an Academy Award performance-one that would guarantee the complete return of Arruzo back under my complete jurisdiction. I intended to play Mr. Sturges as if he were the Spanish guitar in the hands of Andres Segovia; start the music slowly, build to a shattering crescendo-then break a couple of strings. But, it was going to be painful. My honest affection for John was most certainly over. Still, without his help, there might never have been an Arruza ready for release in any form. Itls a damn shame in our business, or in any business, that you have to maneuver someone you care for into ending up hating your guts. Betty, John's outer-office secretary, looked up from her desk. "Mr. Sturges is tied up in a meeting. I'm afraid he can't see you today." No "Welcome back," no "Look who's here!" They all knew "who" was here. The telephone call I had anticipated from James Harper to John had taken care of that. "Well, Betty, would you like me to just walk past you into the office?" I said. "It was a long trip up here and I intend to see Mr. Sturges now." She buzzed the intercom. "Mr. Boetticher is here, Mr. Sturges, and he seems very definite about seeing you." The door from the inner office opened and John took just one long step and stopped. "Yes? " "I need some more Inoney, John." That was the first "note," and he frowned. "For what?" "To put my picture back in the shape it was when I was happy with it, and to redo the narration." "Jason's not going to 'redo' anything." Now, that was the moment to "strum" a little louder. "John, you, Jason and Ken Purdy are all absolutely brilliant with what you do, but you're also-all three of you-completely miscast for Arruza. I don't want Jason anymore. I've just made a deal with Tony Quinn."

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John's eyes really squinted. "And what's that going to cost?" "Exactly as much as you paid Jason. Nothing!" There was a long, long beat as Betty went back to her typing, then: "So, how ITIuch do you need?" "Oh, I think $2,279.75 will cover it," I said. "TWANG" went the first string, and John knew exactly why I had set the amount at that figure. "1 really have a lot of work to do, John," I continued hurriedly. "''''hat I can't figure out is why you set about to 'fix' my picture. I would never have had the audacity to suggest 'fixing' your Magnificent Seven." "TWANG!" "Fixing?" Actually, I had greatly admired The Magnificent Seven just the way it was, but 1 said, "Oh, I would have suggested a couple of changes." And the whole danlll guitar exploded! "Betty, make out a check for exactly the amount this gentlell1an has requested." He spun on me. "I want nothing more to do with your Arruza.''' He spit out the title. "And absolutely nothing lTIOre to do with you." "I'd like that in writing, John." "In writing, hell! You have my word on it!" And this time 1 believed him. But I walked out of that office very sick at my stomach. The following ITIorning 1 set up shop at Movielab in Hollywood. I had expected to be surprised at some of the "fixing" John and Ferris had done to Illy picture, but, after my first screening of their version of Arrllza, the better word would have been horrified! Aside from the Metro sound and 111usic track of the finale, the dreadful narration and the color corrections, they had put the beautiful love theme over the titles before anyone had the opportunity of Il1eeting Carlos and Mari Arruza. Worse, they had deleted the narration over Carlos' dralnatic station-wagon drive to Plaza Mexico, which set up the whole final bullfight and gave a reason for the making of the picture. Well, what the hell, Al'TIIZn was all lnine again and 1 knew it could finally be "fixed." The next week 1 tnoved into the Franklin West Towers and rented a fashionable apartlnent overlooking Hollywood Boulevard. It would be a few 1110re days before Tony Quinn would be able to begin recording his narration of Ani/w, but all-finally-was well. And I was relaxed for the first tilne in 111any years. Friday nlorning I received a call frolll Iny attorney, Saln Picone, inquiring if I had read the morning Hollywood Reporter. It seenlS Illy poverty-stricken l1lillionaire pal, Carroll Case, had negotiated a clandestine deal with one Marry Rackin ev~n before he sobbed me into signing that contract. The Reporter also stated

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that Mr. Radon had signed Don Siegel to direct Two Mules. Funny thing, instead of exploding at the news, I burst out laughing. "Marty Rackin! Jesus Christ, Sam," I said, "he's the idiot who stated, in print, that the reason he wanted to make John Ford's Stage Coach again was he wanted it done right!" I'd only had one confrontation with Mr. Marty Rackin. He had been hired, during my early days at Universal, to write some jokes and snappy patter for The City Beneath the Sea, which I was directing with Tony Quinn and Robert Ryan. He and I had never met when he walked on the set and stopped to join me in a cup of coffee at the coffee-donut table. Actually-not really join me-because I guess he thought I was one of the young laborers. "So, what's the boy-genius already fucking up this morning?" he began by way of greeting as he looked off at my empty director's chair next to the camera. "Oh, I usually fuck up really unimportant things first," I said, taking Iny last sip of coffee. "This ITIorning I burned all your jokes because they weren't very funny." Then I walked back to my chair, which had my name on it, and sat down. And I never set eyes on Marty Rackin again. And good old Carroll Case. I should have known better. Now, there was a "Mexican Producer" loose in Hollywood! But, this chicanery amused me more than upset me. Hell, dueling one nervous moral leper in my own country, while eating three square meals a day and sleeping warm would be like boxing your grandmother, figuring-of course-that your grandmother couldn't "go." "Look, Sam," I said, "hit Universal, Carroll Case and Marty Rackin with the biggest lawsuit you honestly feel is feasible. I'll bet my shirt that Rackin never saw my contract with Carroll. And I'll guarantee you that Universal doesn't know anything about it. But, Sam, there are too many law suits going around. Settle out of court. They'll jump at it. And then, I'm here, Arruza's down the home stretch, and we'll move on to something else." But, damn it, I sure felt sorry for Sister Sara. She was a hell of a nice nun while she lasted. **********

"We shall not see Carlos Arruza again. He was killed only a few weeks later, capriciously, senselessly, in an automobile skidding on the rain-soaked road from Rancho Dolores. He was not even driving the car. He was asleep on that May the twen rieth, 1966. "But, no man is dead until the last man who remembers him is dead. "And, so, Carlos Arruza must live-forever." Those were Ken Purdy's words, not mine. Now, those words I truly loved.

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And Tony Quinn's voice was perfect. On the screen Carlos was held in a freeze-fralne, both ears and the tail of Gavilan held high for his cheering aficionados to behold. Then, slowly, the closeup of my matador dissolved into his bronze statue that stands atop the high wall of Plaza Mexico. Finally my friend had died on the screen with the stature and dignity he deserved. The lights came on in the projection room, and I was satisfied. It had just taken a little longer than I had expected. VVhen I returned to the aparunent that afternoon there was a message froIn Sam Picone. He had settled the Two Mules lawsuit for a real bundle. And, it couIdn't have happened to a more deserving studio, or two nicer guys. Funny though, I figured that was really dirty money, and I had a giant urge to get rid of it. Actually, I dam near did-in two fell swoops. That night I bought a new car, not exactly another Rolls, but it would get me by-nicely. Then the following Inorning, as soon as I could get a call through to Mauricio Locken's ranch, I really splurged. I bought myself a birthday, Chrisonas and New Year's present all rolled into one: a beautiful Portuguese Lusitano bullfight stallion, and his name was Piropo. The Spanish word piropo means precious stone, or a cOlnpliI11ent, flattery or an endearing expression. A piropo is what a young Spaniard whispers to a desirable "senorita" in passing, such as: "Lovely one, please don't look at Ine directly with those eyes, as the sheer beauty of them blinds me." Well, Illy Piropo was a precious stone, and I had thought about him for olany years. Having spent I1lost of my pre-athletic days on my father's spectacular horses, I was certain that I had become one of the world's great horsemen by the time I reached eighteen. I don't feel unique in that delusion of grandeur because we all make Inistakes at that age. But I got my comeuppance with my very first view of a Porruguese rejol1endor Inounted on a Portuguese Lusitano stallion. I quickly discovered that not only wasn't lone of the world's premier equestians, I really didn't know a dalnn thing about horses! Piropo had been foaled, trained and fought by one of the finest riders in the history of rejoneo, Simao da Veiga. And he was the first horse who received top billing on the bullfight posters along with his master. "SIMAO DA VEIC;A Inounted on PIROPO," the posters read. Carlos Arruza was finally able to buy the great anilnal froIll Maestro da Veiga in 1958. Piropo was getting old even then, and Arruza's Portuguese trainer, Joao Laureano, decided it was time for the matador to invest in a horse with an abundance of knowledge. Well, Piropo knew more about the bulls and bullfighting than 1110st of the t01~e1~OS. But he really didn't care a hell of a lot about Iny pal Carlos. Now, that had always intrigued me. Actually, the only tilne Piropo appears in the picture is when Laureano shows how expert the great stallion really is at

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"playing" the bulls. Well, one day, following an unusually disastrous practice session, Carlos-in anger and frustration-kicked Piropo. I wanted to yell "Action!" to the horse, but the stallion beat me to it. He kicked Arruza back-and broke the matador's right leg. So, he was promptly sold to the President's stepson, Mauricio. And-what do you know-the last time I saw both Mauricio and his new horse, Mauricio, too, was hobbling around on crutches. Well, you've just got to understand, that horse was certainly my cup of tequila. And now Piropo and I were going to continue my own rejoneo education. And that, for a good long time, should take care of my physical needs. Now it was time to celebrate. I telephoned Robert and Rosemarie Stack. Chasens! It had been a long, long time. Perhaps there is a better restaurant sOlnewhere in the world, but that evening I wouldn't have traded where we were dining for all of them put together. Of course, maybe it was so damn wonderful because I was actually "dining" again, and my guests were two of my very favorite people. Bob had always looked just the same since the first day of filming Bullfighter, and it was a pleasure just to be looking across the table at the gorgeous Rosemarie. They don't make a lot of ladies like Roselnarie Stack anymore. "Of course," Roselnarie continued, "even Robert and I thought you were out of your mind." Bob cut in. "Everyone else thought you were just plain crazy!" We'd been having a lot of laughs, but suddenly I grew serious. "Robert, I wasn't obsessed with filming a picture about Carlos. Hell, that was actually unimportant. What was important was that so many obstacles suddenly presented themselves. People, studios, business managers-things, and those problems simply had to be overcome. I've always had the idea that quitting is a lot like stealing. Once you do it, the second time becomes easier-until one day you're a full-fledged quitter. Everybody up here quits when things get too tough, and then they rationalize the situations as having been more beneficial, financially, for theln to 'step aside.' I finished Arruza for nie-nobody else. I tnade that bed and I wallowed in it up to my neck, but, by God, I finished what I set out to do. That, to me, was what was important!" There was a moment of silent embarrassment. I hadn't meant to get so carried away with Iny own rationalization, then: "So, what are your distribution plans?" Bob asked. I'd thought a lot about that. "There's only one man I want to handle this picture, Joseph E. Levine. He's certainly the modem Phineas T. Barnum and, if he likes it, he'll do a better job than anyone else. I'm going to arrange a 'World Premiere' in Tijuana and fight a bull from horseback to get the press and all you famous characters to attend. It'll be an interesting weekend. If all our 'star' pals think there is a chance that this time I'll real-

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ly get killed, they'll all show up to see the picture. Then, I'll send the Los Angeles reviews to Levine-which should get him out here to see A7TIIZ/I for hiIllself." "Well, it certainly looks like you've got it pretty well figured Ollt," Bob said, "and we'll be there with bells on." **********

It did turn out as a very interesting weekend. And everyone I invited was there "with bells on" except Tony Quinn and Charlton Heston, who were fihning in Europe. Kevin Thomas, the Los Angeles Tilnes' ace Inotion picture critic \vrote: "Arruza," which director Budd Boetticher began thirteen years ago, premiered last weekend in Tijuana, at the Roble Theater. Crowds lined the sidewalks for blockc; around the theater to watch 1l10torcycle police, sirens whining, escort the limousines of the director's specially invited guests who included actress Sharon Farrell, Lucien Ballard, the film's photographer, Don Murray, Robert Loggia, Richard Carlson, William Holden, and a pair of former 'Tarzans,' J ocko Mahoney and Ron Ely (whom Boetticher credits with saving his life when illness struck him down during the tedious years of filtning). Robert Stack, who starred in 'The Bullfighter and the Lady' for Boetticher, and his wife, Rosemarie, drove down from La Costa with Edgar and Frances Bergen for the gala event. Sunday morning, following the Saturday night premiere, Boetticher, astride his Portuguese Lusitano stallion, Piropo, demonstrated the art of 'rejoneo' (bullfighting on horseback) with a fast-charging young bull at Don Jose Alvarez Malo's beautiful new 'Cortijo SanJose' bullring by the sea." And, following that introduction, he wrote a rave review concluding with: "No one is really dead until the last ITIan who renlenlbers hinl is dead," says Quinn. "So Carlos Arruza must live forever." Then he ended his own sUlllJnation of the film with one word, "Whew!" Well, that review alone was sure to have good 01' Joseph E. Levine boarding a plane for Beverly Hills. And I was proud, and delighted. But Kevin's review didn't fully cover the backstage action of that great weekend. He hadn't heard the wild screams from the Stacks and the Bergens as they hung onto their seats in our limousine as four motorcycle police guided us in and out of traffic down the sidewalk on the wrong side of the street at breakneck speed on the way to the theater. Robert was yelling that he didn't care to be included in my death wish. Roselnarie

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was laughing uproariously at Bob's honest concern. And I never saw two cultured, sophisticated, talented souls like Frances and Edgar Bergen, who, completely out of their element, were having such a hell of a good time. I'm certain that Edgar never missed Charlie McCarthy during the entire forty-eight hours. And then Kevin wasn't out front of the theater when our walrus of a television interviewer, herself obviously the same age as Robert, gushed: "Oh, Mr. Stack, I've been a devout fan of yours ever since I was a tiny little tot. Won't you please say a few words?" Well, Bob lunged for the extended mike, to say possibly more than a few words, but Rosemarie grabbed him by his loose arm and ushered hiln on into the theater. After the premiere there was a dance atop the Hotel Azteca roof garden. OUf out-of-town group had taken over a good section of the hotel, and the midnight 'til dawn affair reportedly was a smashing success. I say "reportedly" because I tried to get some sleep so that both my beloved Piropo and I would be in top shape for the following day's bullfight exhibition. As I was walking down the hallway to Iny suite, two of our most respected guests staggered past me in the direction of the elevator. They were dressed to the teeth, and wanted to know exactly what time the prelniere was scheduled to begin. I told them "exactly" eight-thirty p.m.-which bad been the correct hour. The gentleman glanced fuzzily at his watch, mentioned that he thought they still had tilne for one more drink, then continued on down the hall. I wondered what they were going to tell their husband and wife back in Beverly Hills about Arruza. They had missed one hell of a movie. But-that's Tijuana for you. Sunday morning was a riot. Our gang showed up at the "Cortijo San Jose" full of spirit (and spirits) to witness Piropo's and my exhibition of rejoneo, and we gave theIn a pretty darn good show. I placed no rejones because I had bought only one young bull to play, and I wanted hiln to stay fresh and full of fire. But I did well in the placenlent of three pairs of handerillas, and-enjoying the thrill of victory, I decided to try a pair of cortos, short banderillas only eight inches long. Piropo and I set up the young animal in perfect position close to the fence. But, in the excitelnent, I failed to realize that my bull was still fresh as the morning dew, and extrelnely upset that he hadn't made contact in over a dozen Inad charges at Piropo's fully exposed body. As I spurred Iny beautiful horse into a tight turn, and leaned far out of the saddle to place the short sticks, I watched, as if in slow Illation, the bull's horns crash into Piropo, one on each side of lny right leg, and we were lifted and slammed hard against the wooden barrera. Perhaps I heard the audience scream, but I really don't reInember because the loud crack cOIning from the direction of Iny lower back greatly overshadowed even the enthusiastic shouts and applause of Iny guests. Suddenly it was as if I had been stabbed just above my tail bone. There was a split second when I was certain I'd never regain my balance

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astride Piropo, who was struggling to regain his feet. rrhen \ve were both speeding away from the bull, who was also a bit groggy frOll1 the ilnpact, and I discO\'. ered that the two (0170S were in perfect placenlent slnack on top of the animal's muscular shoulders. Then, and only then, did I hear the deafening cheers echoing from the grandstand. And the sudden pain dinlinished as I pirouetted Piropo in a tight circle, and raised both my arms to accept the ovation. A Mexican brunch was served, but the food did nothing to decrease our group's enthusiasm-as tequila was provided froln wooden kegs, before, during and after. And then the real fun began. I had arranged with Alfonso Bustamante to purchase, along with Iny bull, two young hece170S from his bull-breeding ranch. The "girls" were frol11 his best fighting stock, and were to be returned to the ranch, unhanned in any way, directly after the "festival." I'm sure, if the pretty little cows learned of their good fortune before our premiere and "festival," they 1l1ust have spoken, and giggled, about it a lot. They were to be "fought" with cape and 'l1lltleta by all these rank amateurs and complete neophytes-nothing 1l10re. No ballderilll1s, or-heaven forbid-a sword. Well those little cows had a ball! My friends went flying through the air for over half an hour. But nobody backed off. Bob Stack was just gre~lt, remembering his lessons well, and Ron Ely's full-out cartwheel was spectacular. It was really a one-and-a-half as he lit on his head. And I got a tossing too. \Vhen I burst out laughing at Iny pal's Inisformne, he literally picked Ine up and threw me at the cow. I had time for nothing more than another spectacular sOlnersault, felt my back crack again, and made Ronald's day. I think he enjoyed Illy tossing J110re than Iny Illovie. But the unrehearsed perfonnance of Sharon Farrell was the highlight of the afternoon. She was still feeling no pain froll1 the night before, and was the bravest of the brave. She fought those cows froIn the front and frolH the h~1Ck. But finally a horn caught her. There she was, with one of I-Iollywood's 1110St spectacular figures, practically depantsed by the anilnal. But she fought on and on ~lnd on, and-believe Ine-all other action in the bullring stopped. After it W;1S over, and she Inanaged to pin all of the loose pieces of her outfit together, all Iny I11illc guests lined up to request tickets for any return engagelnent. So, I guess the best way to describe those wonderful forty-eight hours was to quote Ron Ely on the bus as we were stopped for the border inspection. l "Any you folks bringin' anything back froin Mexico?" the border gLl~lr( bellowed. "Christ, I hope not!" Ronald answered hopefully. **********

Now anyone who is anybody at all has experienced a

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or more times in their lives, and I'd certainly had my share. But never, never in my life had I had one like the morning after that final eventful day in Tijuana. Painexcruciating, stomach-retching, teeth-shattering pain-is something any, brave soul can fake putting up with in the boxing ring, on the football field, or in any bullring as long as you are surrounded with an abundance of fans who are all personally delighted that what has just happened to you hasn't happened to them. It was six o'clock in the morning when I agonized a look at my wristwatch, and I was home in bed at The Franklin West Towers, and I was sure as hell alone. Worse than that, I couldn't move a damn thing but my eyes. It was just lucky that my wrist, with the wristwatch, lay on the pillow beside my head, and I happened to wake up looking that way. I thought about being paralyzed a long time before I got brave enough to try to move a finger, but eventually the finger did move, and I steeled myself to start trying to move other appendages one at a time as the morning wore on. You know, you can't discuss back damage with anyone who's never experienced it. Nothing shows-like the dignity of a boil on your nose or on your ass, for that matter, if you have a friend you care to show it to. A back problem is just there, and it's all yours. Well, mine was sure as hell all mine. I knew I'd been hurt when the bull crashed me against the boards. But it went away when Piropo and I heard the applause. Sure I'd been smart about joining those who took a plane from San Diego back to Los Angeles instead of the long ride home in the buses and cars. I'd had a feeling that I might be in trouble when all the "Oles!" died down. But I never figured it would be like this! Maybe, I thought, I could get Jason, the stylishly uniformed black doorman, to bring me some food. He liked me a lot, couldn't pronounce Boetticher, so he called me Mr. D-for director. Jason had a passkey and could get in. There was no way I was going to be able to help him. The only problem now was I had to figure how to rorn over and reach for the phone without fainting. But time and starvation finally won out, and over the next two weeks my new dear friend Jason became my personal manservant on the sly. He did everything for me. Well, almost everything. I really didn't feel up to his crawling along beside me on the way to the bathroom to boost mp along when I knew I couldn't crawl another crawl. I took care of that problem all by tnyself. But, damn, the toilet bowl always looked high up from my position with my face flat on the floor. Going to the toilet took time. A lot of time. But I wasn't going anywhere else. Then, of course, there was the big problem of getting down on the carpet again. I'd sit there and grit my teeth, remembering standing atop the high diving board at the Evansville Country Club with my dad yelling "Jump!" But I didn't dare. Christ, I was only four years old then, and I hadn't learned about balls and bulls. And I wasn't smart enough to want to be a poet. Anyway, I finally devised a plan to get off the toilet. I'd close my eyes, lean as far forward as the pain would permit, yell "Geronimo," and tumble headfirst. I figured if I fainted, at least

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I'd be back down on the floor. It's hard to believe it, but that period of Iny life lasted two horrible weeks. It was on a Monday when I finally decided to try once lnore to face the living world. Struggling into my SWiIll trunks, and agonizing into Illy bathrobe, I headed down the hall toward the elevator. As I turned the hallway corner I could hear the elevator descending toward my floor, and I autolllatically took two hurried steps to push the down button before it swished on by. I relnember that it was only two steps because Iny whole body recoiled at the n1ere thought of step nUlnber three, and I was again paralyzed with pain. Then I sort of fell against both the up and down buttons, and was lucky enough to lnake better contact with down. As the elevator doors swung open, I was suddenly staring in at the damndest best-all-around-good-Iookin' gal I'd ever seen. She smiled at me, and I just leaned against the wall and tried to smile back. But I think my agony never even let my slnile get started, and I felt like a God-damned fool. Now I'd never tin1ed the waiting period of our elevator while the doors remained open as I never thought that would ever COIlle up in any conversation. But it did seem longer than I would have guessed. Anyway, as the doors began to close, I heard her voice. "You were coming in?" she inquired pleasantly. I nodded the best yes I could, and steeled tnyself through the doors as she held the hold button. Then the elevator started its downward journey. My first reaction to this unexpected vision was: "] esus, wouldn't Mickey Spillane enjoy describing this one!" And then I was ashatned of the very thought of that! Mickey Spillane! This one! Really! I threw those books and those pictures immediately out of Iny mind and settled on just one word-"c1ass." \Vhen I noticed the style of her Neiman-Marcus suit, spotted the Gucci label on her driving gloves, and recognized the abundance of personal confidence in those eyes, I was pretty sure my pal Mickey'S heroes would never get a real good shot at even meeting this young lady. Strange thing about those eyes. 1'hey intrigued llle the most. They didn't tnatch like all the other pairs. The left one was sort of greenish blue, but the pupil of the right eye was so Illuch larger than the other one, I couldn't ascertain the color at all. So I just stood there, like a graveyard statue staring at that eye. "I stuck my mother's cuticle knife in it," her soft voice advised Inc, "when I was a very Ii ttle girl. Shocked back to semiconsciousness at being so obvious I could only lllutter an embarrassed "What?" "My eye, she said. "You certainly looked as if you wanted to know." And then the elevator stopped dead on the lobby floor. C;od, I would have given anything if we had boarded it at the very top of the Elnpire State Building. But we hadn't, and there we were-period! I leaned back against the elevator wall I)

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to hold the door open for her, and she smiled again: "I wish I had tinle to hit the pool today," she said. "It's a beautiful morning." "Young lady," I began, trying to show some speck of intelligence, "I'ln not going swilnming. 1'111 going to spend all the day in the J accuzi." She turned to face me again and saw me wince a couple of steps forward, as the elevator door closed behind me. "Oh," she said, but with only polite interest, "what happened to you?" I didn't think of the consequences. I just didn't think straight at all, and I actually blurted out the honest to-God-truth. "We prelniered a filnl of tnine two weeks ago in Mexico, and the following day I fought a bull for the entertainment of my guests, and I got hit." The very second 1 got to the "fighting a bull" bit, I tried to bite my tongue, but the whole damn sentence got out any way. She looked steadily at me for much too long a bit, then said: "How very exciting." And she spun on her heel to cross the lobby and exit through the opened glass doors. It hasn't been easy for me to occasionally make a complete ass of Inyself. I've truly fought against it over the years. But, this time, I knew I'd just garnered Inyself an Oscar. And when 1 had watched her float across the lobby to her car to expose that figure Inoving underneath all that elegance-well, I wanted to go back upstairs and die again. Outside the apartment entrance, I watched as Jason held the door of her Thunderbird open for her as she slid into the driver's seat. And then she was gone. But there was no way Jason was going to escape even two feet past me until 1 got SaIne answers. "Jason," I denlanded, "who in the hell was that!" 1 never saw Jason's gold teeth show in a more sparkling grin as he seelned delighted that 1 had asked. "That's Miss Mary Chelde," he began. "She been here jes' three weeks. COlne down froIn San Francisco. Lives on the eighth floor. Got her own public relations cotnpany with a partner in New York. Handles Hula-Hoop, Frisbee, l""he Ice Follies, and a wad 0' winter athletes. But she don't date nobody!" Now tbllt shocked 111e, but I thought I'd better regain my sense of humor. "l""hat's it? You don't know her blood type or her Social Security number?" Jason's sInile faded. "Look, Mr. D," he said seriously, "1 get tipped to know as much as I can 'bout evcr'body who lives here, and you sure ain't the onliest gentleman who's got eyes on that lady. Every stud in the place been askin' questions, and a lot of the old Inarried fellas too." I bUInped into Miss Mary Chelde four separate times during that week-once again on the elevator and three tilnes in the sunken garage that was

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sectioned out by apartment floor numbers. Her 824 was only a few yards down and across from my 617. I had always ridden Piropo every 1110rning except Sunday, and she obviously opened her office in Beverly Hills around the saIne time. Of course I wasn't back to actually riding again, but I did visit Illy fiery stallion every morning to assure him that my health was irnproving, and tell hilll over and over how truly wonderful he was. It was difficult, at first, to even nod hello to this gorgeous girl after the 1l1CSS I'd made of our first meeting. But she was always polite, ill1ll1aculately coifted and stylishly dressed, and I did, finally, introduce nlyself by nanle at our fourth confrontation. The tolerant smile was there, but those eyes flashed "I-Iollywood phony," and whether I liked it or not, I knew it was going to he a hot day in tinsel town before I broke through that ice. Audie Murphy telephoned to thank Ine for the 16rDI11 copy of .~1i·/l::.tI ] h
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der if, in 1880, I would have been stupid enough to like and trust Phineas T. Barnum. Anyway, we started discussions as to where we should premiere A1"'ruza in the United States. And, figuring with this kind of enthusiastic support I was well on the way to a renewed successful career in the motion picture industry, I decided I'd celebrate by asking Miss Mary Chelde for a date. I called her office. Well, she was nice about it, as nice as she could be. But the downright refusal exploded my newly refurbished ego. I looked at the phone as if I were holding a rattlesnake and blurted out: "Why not?" Miss Mary Chelde always seemed to bring out the class in me. Perhaps Mexico had left its mark. Thinking back, I shudder as I remember that I never said or did anything right in my approach to that young lady. There was a long moment of silence, and then she really set me straight. "It has nothing to do with you, Mr. Boetticher. It's simply that I am very busy reestablishing my company here, and I only take the time to see one gentleman whenever he passes through." What the hell, I'd already blown it, so I forged stupidly ahead. "Are you engaged to this ... gentleman?" This time there was not one second's pause. "Not at all. I simply find him the most attractive man I know. He's extremely busy, and when he is in the Los Angeles area, we enjoy each other's company. Now," she said, cutting off any further conversation with the deftness of a surgeon's scalpel, "I must be getting back to my affairs. Thank you, anyway, and good -bye." I placed the phone back on the receiver and sat down hard on my desk chair. "You're just dynamite, brother!" I said to myself out loud. Then I thought: "But she's not engaged." And I ended, out loud: "But that's sure as hell not going to do you any good!" Then, realizing that seriously talking to oneself is often regarded as the first sign of insanity, I walked into the bathroom and took a cold shower. During the following weeks the business workings of Hollywood caught up with me. I had forgotten that this town was based on the old proverb that: "If everything is frantic, you're getting someplace." Making pictures had never been a problelTI to me here in the states. But, while I was gone, a new non-talent group seemed to have taken over what used to be the artistic side of films, and they just didn't know what they were doing. Agents should agent. Lawyers should lawyer, and bankers should hang around their own buildings and just bank. But, damn, they were everywhere. And, to set those of us who make movies straight, they began telling us what their wives and children thought we should do. One organization in Salt Lake City decided they'd computerize our industry. They'd invite two hundred complete strangers in off the street, read them a paragraph summarizing a one-hundred-and-fifty page script, and have each of these two hundred

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talented individuals off the street write down their suggestions as to just how the proposed Inotion picture should be filtned. For instance: "Do you like the part of the leading man best?" "Do you think the script is funny enough?" "Did what you read Inake you cry?" Jesus Christ, I couldn't believe what was happening to Illy industry! Deals would be begun. Deals would suddenly be blown apart overnight. Young directors would conle to Ine with their tales to ask Iny advice, when all I felt like doing was to vOInit. And for the first tilne 1 heard the expression: "1-lollY'Nood now doesn't I11ake Inovies. It just Illakes deals." l\1y answer to th~lt was lock the God-damned agents in their offices. And, of course, that period was the beginning of all the trash. 1 flew to New York to discuss Arrllz,n prernieres with Joe Levine. He was excited about a new film he had Inade: C{/rnlll Kn071}ledge. Vv'c sat alone together in his Illain projection rOOln, and I just loved the show. Ann-lvlargret was sensational. Jack Nicholson was sitnply wonderful-as he always is. And then I \\'as forced to squirnl through that dreadful final scene. "God, Joe, you don't need that!" I said. The boss looked at me as if I'd lost Illy Illind. "What the hell do you Inean 'I don't need that?'" "Jesus, Joe, that would 111ake Ine uncomfortable in 16n1111 and black and white. If a major COlnpany like yours gives the kids unnecessary sex like that, they'll begin to believe that's all they want." Mr. Levine looked across at Ine for a long titne, then: "You're a fucking Inoralist," he said and walked out of the projection rOOIl1. I sat there, very nluch alone, for a long tilue. I knew I had blown ~l lot of Joe's enthusiasm for Arruza with Illy own personal views about his picture-a tilln I had absolutely nothing to do with. But, dalnn, it was a great picture until then. And I'll fight anyone who honestly believes they have to be trashy to sell tickets. Back in Hollywood I was thrilled with an invitation frolll Phil Chalnbcrlin for Arruza to open the very first Los Angeles Filtn Festival. In his letter to Ine, he emphasized that Arruza was a cinch to win the Acadelny Award for best documentary. I told hinl to get permission frolll Levine. Joe turned hinl down. "Sweetheart," the boss said to Ille over the phone, "I've always had lousy luck with fihn festivals. Trust Ine." And I knew I was a dead duck. \Vhen the top executives call you "swcet. h " trust Ine," ,re.In rea I trou bi e. h eart " an d en d Wit you Following that disappointlnent, I got a worse shock. Understand 1l1C. I certainly hadn't forgotten Miss Mary Chelde. Hell, I'd already been "around awhile enough" to know that perhaps Illy deflated ego kept Ine on the hunt. 1 rationalized that I didn't need another involvelnent. At least not until I rcally got back on my feet. And then I sat Inyself down and told 111yself the truth. I wanted a lot to get to know that beautiful lady. Actually, I'd spent I110St of the

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flight back from New York trying to figure out how to do it. I was thumbing through the new pages I'd written for A Time for Dying when the house phone rang. It was Jason. "When you get a moment, Mr. D," he began, "walk on down here." Jason had turned out to be a real corker. "You run onto something hot?" I grinned. "Hotter'n you think. I got some real news 'bout your would-be lady friend." I walked on down. Jason wasn't grinning when I confronted him. "I got some real bad news for you," he said. "Go on." "Well, Miss Mary Chelde's reason she ain't datin' nobody is who she's datin' is the commissioner." I was flabbergasted. "She's in love with a Russian?" "Nope, Mr. 0," he said solemnly. And then what he did clobbered me right in the guts. He took a short step backwards in the manner of a punter, and kicked an imaginary football clear across the lobby. All I could say was, "You're kidding!" "Nope," he said. "He's been pickin' her up for dinner the last two evenings. " There wasn't anything left for me to say. I walked over to the elevator and pushed "up." Then I had to smile. "Up," hell. My life had just hit the bottom of the bottoms. I knew I had to cool all my devious plans, as I had enough on Iny mind without having to contend with nightmarish visions of a contingent of Los Angeles Rams knocking on Illy door. Well, not exactly "cool" all my devious plans; I'd just run silent for awhile-until I could figure a way to circUlnvent this trauma. Whoever, up in Heaven, was in charge of my personal toril gate had just let out a BIG bull!! Now, I've always been aware of the honest fact that Somebody up There really likes me, or I certainly wouldn't have been kicking around this earth all these years. Well, for sure, Somebody does, as things began to change for the better almost right away. And I've always had a great rapport with the press, because they knew that I told them the truth-no matter what. Like-for instance, Hedda Hopper calling: "Budd dear, Hedda. Did you really throw Karen in the pool in Palm Springs last night?" And I'd say, "Yep, Hedda, I sure as hell did. And she deserved it. But I was loaded or it wouldn't have happened. But I guess I'm glad it did." "And, of course, you'd rather I wouldn't print it?"

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"Sure, Hedda, I'd rather-if that Ineans <:lnything." "It lneans a lot. And I won't. Talk to you later," she'd say, and hang- IIp. Anyway, people were discovering I was really hOlne, ~lnd ~l lot of Illy newspaper pals were very interested in exactly what had happened during all those years in Mexico. And they wanted interviews. Well, fortunately, I had discovered that Illy Miss Chelde always took Saturday afternoons off, and sunbathed from two to four at the pool. And the very first tilne I got a gander at that young lady in a swinlsuit, I knew I had to think of sonlething-quick. 'rhe pool bar was always open, and I never Inet a colull1nist who didn't like a double martini now and then. So, I al ways arra nged Iny interviews-on Saturdays-from two to four-just as close to where Miss Mary was sunning as I could get. And I told stories that would have given Baron Munchausen an inferiority complex. But Illy stories were true. You know that by now. And I had a feeling that Miss Mary was listening. Good Lord. I talked loud enough. And one Sunday lTIorning I got a call froln ",rinn Blevins, one of Illy f:lvorite fellas froln The Herald EXfl7nil1e1; Los Angeles' evening newspaper. "Thought you'd be happy to know that young lady you've been yelling ~lt asked about you," Winn said. I was a bit taken a back. "\\That do you Inean, 'yelling at?' What young lady?" "Mary Chelde," Winn continued. "1'r11 doing a story about Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, which she's handling, and she asked I11e if I knew a char;1cter named 'Bud Botcher,' or sOlnething like that. Seenls this fella has S0I11e wild stories to tell, and she wanted to know if any of theln were true. \\'hen 1 found out she was talking about you, I told her they were all true. Just thought you'd like to know." "Wait a nlinute, Winn," I shouted. "What did you Inean when you s;lid 'yelling at?'" My friend Winn burst out laughing. "Just what I said. Mary told Ine she considered wearing eannuffs at the pool but I advised her that eanl1uffs in July-even in I-Ioll),wood-Illight be considered sO]l1ewhat affected. Anyway, we both had a good laugh. So good luck, tiger." And he hung up. "Well," I quoted out loud, "we have Inet the enelny." 'rhen 1 adnlitted to myself: "But she sure as hell 'hain't' ours!" So I decided I'd just better lay low for a spell. And I did sort of "hide out" for a couple of weeks. I Illoved Iny stable tinlC up to 8:30 every ITIorning, and tipped Jason to park Iny car in the garage when I returned. I really didn't want to run into Miss Mary. I wasn't clnbarras scd

37<)

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about all the stupid things I had said and done. Now, at least, she knew who I was. But I had a lot of figuring to do, and I certainly hadn't come up with a plan that might reverse this fiasco and assure me some chance of at least a dinner date. You're damn right I hadn't quit. But I did wonder if my determination to accomplish this goal was based on pure ego instead of an honest desire to start some kind of relationship with this elusive young lady. I spent about thirty seconds deciding between the two, then threw out "pure ego" and settled on "honest desire." I even considered saying a prayer for help like the dreadful time in The Sanitarium of the Flowers, but that thought did embarrass me, and I hoped none of my special angels up There had been paying any attention to this new predicament at all. But Somebody must have been watching. I was sitting alone in my living room fiddling with the remote control of my television set, doing the usual up and down, back and forth, trying halfheartedly to settle on something, when up popped Robert Stack. It was the Merv Griffin Show and Bob was in a group discussing danger. Not things of circumstance like wars, hurricanes or earthquakes, but danger one subjects himself to-for honor, or love-or for money. With hilTI were Robert Conrad, Keenan Wynn, and a handsome young foreigner I didn't recognize. Conrad finished telling Merv why he insisted on peforming most of his own stunts; then Merv turned to Robert. "Bob," he began, "you've been a polo player, a speedboat racer, and you are the world's champion skeet shooter. What's the most frightening situation you've gotten yourself into?" I turned up the sound. "That one's easy," my friend Robert grinned. "I had a director promise me he'd never ask me to do anything he wouldn't do. Next thing I knew I was standing in the biggest bullring in the world calling off to the most frightening beast I'd ever seen, and ... " Keenan Wynn broke in. "That was Budd Boetticher, wasn't it?" And I could have kissed him! Well, Bob went on and on about the filming of Bullfighter. It was all true, and his stories were delightful. He remembered some of it better than I did. Or maybe he just told it better. Anyway he was a big hit until finally, running out of time, Merv rurned to the handsome foreigner. "And now, Jean-Claude, being an Olympic champion skier must have afforded you some pretty hairy experiences." And the great Jean-Claude Killy took over the remainder of the show. I flashed back to Jason. He'd said Miss Mary Chelde handled "a wad 0' winter athletes." Damn, 1 sure hoped Jean-Claude was one of them. He just

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had to be! He was the best, and my Miss Mary didn't do anything second rate. I couldn't wait for Saturday afternoon at 2 o'clock to roll around. 1 watched out of my bedroom window until I saw her saunter around the linedup deckchairs to find a suitable spot in the sun. Then I headed for the elevator. This could be my last real shot, and I was going ta Inake the best of it. She watched me as I walked around the deep end of the paol and continued on in her direction. Well, that was a hell of a start. She was actually watching Inc when she'd never even glanced in Iny direction before. The swimming pool at The Franklin West Towers was Olynlpic size, and it was a long, lang walk down its side ta where nly lady was sunning. Actually, it was another stroke of good fortune because it gave nle rinle to renlelllber all the cultured, colorful, fascinating things I'd said ta other young ladies upon first meetings. She was still looking up at me when I stopped beside her chair. "Hi," I mumbled. "Hi," she answered, smiling. "Won't you sit down?" Hot damn, she'd seen the show! **********

On the way out the Hollywood Freeway to Burbank, I suddenly discovered that I was really talking to Inyself. Had my experience in Mexico so warped my mind that I was even considering working on another relationship? As the Duke would have said, "J ee-zuss Christ!" I had been "snake-bit." T"WICE! And I had asked for it myself. Did I really believe that sonlewhere there was a gal who could Inake Ine happy? And that sOlllewhere was here-in Los Angeles! And was I stupid enough to actually get a thrill out of working on it before I even got to know her? "Yes!" I found myself saying out loud, and then I ended that idiotic affirma ti ve wi th, "] ee-zuss! " "El Torito" was exactly the same as I had left it so long ago. It was a dalnn good Mexican restaurant, and Guillenno-the owner-nlanager-was an honest aficionado of my films, and admired me for nly bullfight career in his beloved Mexico. That's why I had lent him so much of Iny Inell10rabilia of the bulls when I took off to film Ar·ruza. And every iten1 was still in place; the tllounted bulls' heads, the "suits of lights;" the autographed photos of nly friends-the true greats of the bullring froln Mexico, Spain and Portugal. It was an exaggeration of my own bar in the home I had sold. I had stored all the torero treasures away until Guillermo begged Ine to let hilTI borrow everything for the opening of his new nightspot. "SENOR!" He came running froln clear across the enlpty dining rOOlll.

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Good old Guillermo. He hadn't changed llluch except for a bigger "tire" around his already ample waist. But-as I said-El Torito served g'reat food. "Hola, Guillermo," I laughed~ as he bear-hugged my breath away, "the place looks great. You haven't changed a thing." "Why change, senor? 'Mi casa es su casa,' and you are all over my \-valls!" I sure as hell was. Photographs of me doing everything I ever did with the calves, the cows, the bulls and all their uncles were framed in every nook and corner. I'd forgotten what a corny ego trip that restaurant was, but that was long ago, and it didn't embarrass me-then. "Guillermo," I spoke very slowly, "listen to me carefully. Tonight just nlay become a very special night in Illy life. I'm bringing a new lady in here." "OLE!" my friend interrupted. "Look, we'll 'ole!' later," I continued. "Tonight I want to impress her, really impress her! We'll be here for dinner prolllpdy at seven, and I want a quiet table away frolll the crowd." "Of course, senor," he beamed. "El Torito's weel make thees a great night for you!" "Good," I said. "See you at seven sharp." "Si, matador! A las sieste! Y dos orejas y un rabo." Two ears and a tail! I smiled as I flashed back to Luis Miguel, "Dominguin." "It'll be one hell of a long cold winter," I thought, "until I get around to that-if ever!" But, like Scarlett, I'd sure wait and think about it-just as long as I damn well had to. At seven o'clock sharp, as I strode through the swinging doors of El Torito, with my lady on my arm, I had never felt better prepared. How many young directors had I told, "Never start a picture 'til you're really ready, totally prepared." Well, I was ready and laboriously and meticulously prepared. I even looked Illy best-ever-which wasn't saying a lot, but I'd worked on that, too, the best I could. I wasn't going to conquer Miss Mary because I was the cutest kid on the block, so I was ready to "set her up" with my taurine background, then charm the hell out of her with colorful stories and devastating anecdotes. This was going to be a far superior performance than my finale with John Sturges, and we'd hear no broken guitar-string "twangs" from Maestro Andres Segovia. Guillenno was waiting for us just inside the doors. "Welcome, Senor y Senorita," he gushed, "your table ees ready over here!" And he hurried off, broken-fielding his way around the crowded tables of early diners. Glancing at nly c0l11panion, I was sOInewhat disturbed to see that she was quite inattentive to the l1laSS of taurine treasures surrounding her on the walls. So, I waved a Barrynlore gesture encolnpassing the entire restaurant.

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"I'll. .. I'll show you around-when the dinner crowd thins out. l~hey have quite a few things of mine in here that Illight interest you." "Oh, I've certainly heard you've led a dangerous life," she said glancing around, "and I adlnire real honest-to-God guts." Then, as an afterthought: "You know, the only thing that really terrifies tne in this whole wide world-is a horse." TWANG! BOING! Sonofabitch! Strike one! And to make tnatters worse, Guillerrno had ignored Illy request for privacy, and instead honored us with a specially set-up table next to the bandst~lnd. There were flowers on the table, and a thoughtful corsage of gardenias for Miss Chelde, but the two arc lights for the bandstand were angled onto our "stage"-which was already hot enough to Inelt all the flowers and Inc in no time at all. OUf "host" pulled out the table froIn the blistering red Ie.nher cushions, and we both carefully sat down. Now, fortunately, I knew that the Inariachi hand never went on until nine, so I now had one hour and fifty-five Ininutes to spread Iny chafIn. I went right to work. "You know, this place reminds I1le of one of Illy favorite bars in h1exico," I lied. "It was a delightful spot, and its naIl1e was 'You Too C:al1 Be A King. ", "Telllne about it," Illy lady suggested. Now we were getting sOlneplace. This opening could lead to a thousand and one nights. "Well, it was in a tiny village called Tlalpan." I was thrilled to see her lean forward, then: "Senoras y Senores-ladies and gentlelllen-." It was C;uillcnllo, and he was on the bandstand and, worse, the entire Inariachi band was filing in behind hilTI. "Thees evening we have as our honored guest a fal1l0US Illovie director who was also a fine torel'O in Mexico. So-for heenl an' hees lady-l anl bringing out the Illusic two hours early. Everybody have a good tillle!" Then he grinned at Ine; I waved sheepishly at the diners, ilnd the Illusic took over! Now, SaIne of these "Inariachi" boys were also ""lInigos" of tnine, and they were glad to have me hOIlle again. And, by God, they started playing their hearts out! I leaned forward as Mary shouted at Ine froIll across the table. "You were telling Ine about this little village." "It was in Tlalpan," I shouted hack.

"WHAT?" "1 SAID, IT WAS IN ... " Then the sound level escalated as the two trUlllpeters took over. 'rhe hand

3H3

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THIRTY

was playing La Macarena-for me-and I knew that those trumpets were now going to be featured for a long, long time. \Vhat had happened to my plans to share a slice of Hemingway-Spain with my lady fair? Now, very unintentionally, it was pure Steinbeck, and my best-laid plans-along with those of the mice-had gone more than astray. They'd gone to hell, and I now found myself playing out the finale of my most favorite picture, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. I was my Culver classmate, Tim Holt, and I felt as old as Walter Huston, and just like Tim and Walter, all my "gold" was blowing away in the wind. Then, very unexpectedly, my sorrowful expression provoked another banderilla in my already punctured plans. Mary started to laugh! "It looks as if we're going to have a little problem in communication," she yelled. There was simply nothing else far me ta do but shrug, helplessly, and she turned her attention back ta the bandstand. And, for the first time in my life, I hated that music. My first remembrance of La Virgin de la Macarena was, of course, during my early days in Mexico. While the Virgin of Guadalupe is the patron saint of Mexican bullfighting, Macarena is the "young lady" the Spanish toreros pray to. The Virgin is named after an Arabian princess, clad in white dress, green and gold cape and red sash; she wears a corona featuring sixteen silver stars and a diamond cross. She is a youthful, but majestic, figure with tears on her cheeks and a pearl necklace wrapped around her left hand. "Oh, dear Virgin Macarena," the Spanish toreros pray, "please help me this afternoon to exhibit my art in its truest form. Guide my bulls straight to the cloth. Let there be no wind to confuse them into my body. And help those bastards in the audience to understand what I am trying to do-if the beast turns out to be cowardly, treacherous. " Now, I've been a Presbyterian since christening, so I've always gone right to the Top. My prayers are person to Person and I've never had much truck with the little Spanish Lady, or any virgin for that matter. But, looking across the table at the back of my beautiful lady's head, I thought maybe I'd best take a shot at it. "Dear Little Mac," I began, as I closed my eyes and strained furiously, "are you listening?"

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\Vith R:lIld y, the most all -around gentlem an I ever Ille t.

Seriously mnrcm plating the future.

\Vith Dl!bra al Arru"l.:l's " P:lslcje" ranch.

My brave

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Elsa-straight off the prison wall.

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Nlari Carmen Vasquez de Arruz3_ \·Ve study the film clips.

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"'ARRUZA' may belong among the last great examples of classical filmmaking. What is held by the cameras, becomes virtually an essay in the rewards of seeing clearly and seeing whole, Dilen in shots of breathtaking duration. BLidd Boetticher's 'ARRUZA' is a magnificent documentary... worth waiting for."

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Audie Murphy and Lucien as we discuss "A Time For Dying."

Lucien Ballard- "EI Numero Uno" in anybody's book.

Ron Ely.

Lucien B:1lbrd.

Like Arruza and Manol ere, my n.vo "eI num ero unos."

j\lly beloved ·'Piropo."

Mary Chclde Bocttichcr.

Mary fl yin g through the air, with a little help from her Spanish sta llion "Sultan."

I A special performance for James Michener.

The great John Ford, who really was my pal.

\\lith Hal Roach Sr. at"EI Cortijo Lusit:mo. " My tru e God Fa ther, sti ll a tige r at 97.

CHAPTER

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THIRTy-ONE

~1IRACLE. AFTER ALL, IT H:\D BFE;\; SF\'F~­ teen years since that night at EI l"orito when we listened to the stirring strains of LIl Virgin de III J1aCfl1"ellll. Still, the saIne truillper notes seetHed to

T COULD HAVE BEEN A

have transcended all those years to drift down to us fr0l11 the Spanish bullring high atop the hill above our stables. But the bullring \V~lSn 't in Sp~lin or Portugal, it was in Southern California, and in exactly. five rnore Ininutes its ((I/ulril/a g.ltes would swing open and we would enter for the pIIJlJO. There wasn'r one scat ;l\'ailable in the high wooden bleachers surrounding the ring, and the j\1o(}rish-~lrched palco-the fifty-seat private grandstand for our personally invited guests-was filled to capacity with celebrities: studio executives and producers wholn ] considered my enemies only a few years before; actors Wh0l11 I had helped reach their present prominence, and stars who, along the way, had consistently 1l1ade Iny filans better than they should have been. And they say HI-IollywooJ" is tough and forgetful. Well, they remelnbered. It was a day of celebration, a day to end with il special preview of our new film, My /(ingdoln for .. ", a very personal docudr31na of the fOfll101tiOl1 of our stahle of Portuguese-Andalusian horses, and we were scheduled to exhihit eleven Lusitano stallions. All those years filming Arruza practicing with the bull apparatus had given me an idea. I thought, what a wonderful thing it would be for the people in the United States to see these nlagnificent aninlals working against the horns without some of the disturbing problelns of an actual bullfight. So we taught our tOIl1";110 wielder to charge us in an honest attelTIpt to gore us as if he were a rcal fighting bull. Now the only danger is to us. What the hell, if we get killed, (:Jcvcland Amory won't care. Well, those horse aficionados began to flock to our exhihitions. And I was proud of what we had accomplished. But I was Inore proud of the two ~

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excitingly talented equestrians who were joining Ine in the century-old traditional parade: nly beautiful wife and Carlitos. Carlos Arruza Jr. was thirty now, more handsonle than his celebrated father, nluch Illore reserved, but an equally brilliant horseman. He had been living with us for the past six months, playing himself in our film. It would be out soon, and the girls were going to fall in love with Carlitos. I looked off at hiln as he stepped up onto the saddle of "Gladiador," the son of "Califa," his father's last great black stallion. How much like "EI Ciclon" Carlitos was! In the dilTI light of the stable he could have easily been Inistaken for his dad. And Iny wife! Well, the sight of her mounted on her spectacular white "Ciclon" gave me chills. She was costumed, not in the Spanish t'roje C01,.to like Carlos and Ine, but in the eighteenth-century formal casaca of the Portuguese rejonend01: And her beauty made me think of my pretty little Maca1~ena in far-off Seville, and 1 remelTIbered that miracles did happen. "Did happen" Hell! The biggest dalnn miracle of all was that my bride learned to ride. Frain her nerve-shattering quote of "You know, the only thing that really terrifies me in this whole wide world-is a horse," to "I want to learn how to ride like you do," made my future project as her instructor seem quite cOlTIparable to the preparation for Lindbergh's flight across the Atlantic. I had played it very cool by never introducing her to my beloved Piropo until the third straight week we had been together. She never changed her expression when the first burst of fire exploded from my stallion's flaring nostrils. However, she did put on the dark glasses she'd been carrying, and I noticed a pearl-sized tear somersault slowly down her cheek. The "learn to ride" bit upset me even lTIOre. I owned a "jet-fighter plane" of a horse, not a Piper Cub, to teach her on. My first reaction to her request was: "Jesus, another divorce!" Then, when her aches and pains set in, and Iny shouting abuse reached a higher level, my bride complained that Werner, her ski instructor in Aspen, never talked to her like that. I bit my tongue, and cleaned it up. "The difference is, good 01' Werner wanted to-to take you to dinner, Iny love," 1 said. And we ate another meal in silence. But she learned. By God, over the years, how she learned! And now she can ride with the best of them: the grandee ranch owners of Spain and Portugal, and the matad01~es who think they can ride. Now, I never really appreciated silence under any circumstances. But, when the noted equestrians of our country come to visit, it tickles the hell out of Ine that you can suddenly hear a feather drop-when my Mary rides into our ring. A fella, no Inatter how lucky he is, isn't supposed to have had the seventeen happiest years of his life when, during that period, he almost forgot he could apply for Social Security. Mflco1'"ena was certainly attentive that night I spoke to her, and I will be forever grateful.

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Now, I always heard that when one is drowning, his entire life tl~lshcs before him. And I've always thought that very do\vnbeat and Ill0rose. V\,Thy docs one have to drown? Hell, \vhy couldn't you flash the good things before your eyes whenever you chose? And stick in SOll1e of the tragedies now clnd then. You can learn from theln! So, as I lnounted l11Y jet-black "lvlajestad" and adjusted the reins in my . left hand, I flashed back. It \vas easy.. I did it all the tilllC. Not back to those years in Mexico; the parade was about to start and I didn't have tinle for tbtlt, but back over the last seventeen years. "And for all of this, and the genuine c0l11plexities revealed in its sparse and lovely style, An-lizo Illay belong :unong the last great eX:1IllpIes of classical fillll Inaking." Roger Greenspun, 'Fbe j\le71' } (n"'" 711I1i'.,', August 24, 1972. NaITIe n1e any director who wouldn't ren1elnber tbot.' And all the "characters" who surrounded the tnaking of that picture, funny thing about then1-the good ones and the bad-they got what they deser\'ed. Only Audie Murphy-one of the really good ones-didn't end up with luck. ()ur picture together, A Ti'l11C for Dying, saved hinl for a while, but, in the long run, when you win your country's highest honor at eighteen, Inayhe life e.lll hecorne pretty dull in the hUlndruIl1 confines of the Illovie business. And, always searching for excitelnent, I'll bet Audie knew, with no regrets just hefore that plane hit the ground, that his own "Tirne for Dying" had arrived. Believe Ine, quite by accident, I got Illy first look .It I)ebra .lfter twenty-eight years. She was appearing as guest of honor on a religious television progran1, and she was just as ravishing as ever, perhaps even Inore beautiful with the Inaturity the years had afforded her. It secIned she had found inner pe~lce and contenunent and was cOIl1pletely happy with her discovery. She sang quite he,lutifully, a song she had written in IneInory of her Illother. A song, as she put it, that would perpetuate the not-startling fact that she would never, ever forget her. And I also knew, so help 111e God, that neither would 1. It's too danu} had j\,1I1Cflrt'/1I1 didn't handle Debra's career. The world would never have rell1eInhered Joan C:ollins. Mother and dad died within a year of each other. I):Hi was eighty-nine. I got to know hinl during the final years of his life, and I finally discovered that he was very special. He told Ine that he was proud of what I had .lCC0I11plished, and the hell with Boetticher & Kellogg. That really tickled 111C. Mother had one great year of parties, and then-whap~ I don't think she ever realized just how irnportant Iny father was to her. \\!hell they assured her in the hospital that she had suffered a Inajor heart attack, she didn't believe theIn, She'd faked so Inany she'd gotten in a rut. So she left her hed and ,vent for an evening stroll. They found her on the roof garden. But if dad had still heen alive, she would have believed bi111. Strange thing ahout our lifelong relationship. She W;lS

3H7

CHAPTER

THIRTy-ONE

beautiful, and charming, and extremely funny-when she chose to be. And I loved her. Too damn bad, though, we never got around to being friends. Ron Ely, however, found his Guinevere. Her name is Valerie and they have two little girls. And they both know that no one else in the world had ever been blessed with a child-except, perhaps, the one born in Bethlehem. But, of course, that one was just a boy. Beldon just disappeared. And just "disappearing" for Beldon lnust have hurt him very much. He wanted to be John Sturges. Oh, yes, the real John Srurges retired to count his money. Thank God he had it when I needed it! Pepe, dear Pepe, has his own transportation business in Mexico City. I've often mentioned his name to my little Friend in Sevilla, and suggested his continued good fortune. Two Mules for Sister Sara was made with two delightful and talented stars, but also with Marty Rackin and Carroll Case. \Vhat I care to remember most about that is a hurried telephone call I received from John Ford shortly before he died. "Did you make that piece of crap I saw on the rube last night?" he growled. "No, Jack," I said. "I had nothing to do with that except the title." "I didn't think so," he said. And the phone slammed down. Miguel Castro Flores finally got out of El Federal. And I hope he really did have all that oil and gasoline buried somewhere. And I also hope that he and El Presidente meet again some day. They'd like each other. And, thinking of "The Black Palace"-Captain Ferrer ended up there. I never found out for what, but that didn't bother me. I knew that if my three pals-Boxer, Hatpin and Caballo Santos, weren't still in prison-they'd be back soon. And they'd make a point of "looking up" the good captain. They knew the whole story. Elsa came to visit us this fall. It was a cinch that she and my wife would become friends. It always amazes me that I could have had the great fortune to have known one, and married the other. And-oh yes-Elsa's just as beautiful as she was that first day at Vista Hermosa-except maybe her eyes are greener. So, that just left Jeffrey Martin in my "flash-back," as I "passaged" Majestad up the dirt incline leading to the plaza. Well, Jeffrey was back in Hollywood. We had met, once, in front of his office building: Jeffrey, my wife and I. He threw his arms around me and thought it would be a grand idea if we all had lunch. "We have a lot to talk about," he suggested. We declined. But, he's been home now for a few years, and knowing how tough and unforgiving Hollywood can be with crooked executives, I figure he's well past his second million by this time-or maybe his fourth. Oh, wait a minute. You'd probably want to know about one other thing.

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Miss Mary's gentlelnan friend, the (~onllnissioner, probahly C~ln take LIre of himself better'n any ilnportant fella I've ever heard of. Ask AI Davis. Any".'ay, he's the kind of gentleInan who also cares that his friends and associates are well t~lken care of, too. So, for Miss Mary's personal welfare, he checked Ine out. I was ahsolutely shocked to learn that the verdict was "thuInbs up!" It seelns everyone had nothing but great things to report. I-Iow lucky can you get! Jesus, if he had pulled the names of a similar nUlllber of Illy I-Iollywood "friends" out of the hehner, I would have been cringing frol11 the spectacle of a Inultitude of uNeros" sitting in the front row of the ROlnan Colosseuln, signaling their wrath. Now "thulnhs down" has never bothered Ine. I have never intended to run for political office. But this was one time I wouldn't have appreciated negative opinions. Finally, not too long ago, to Iny cOlnplete surprise, one l110re truly wonderful thing happened. Bullfighter and the Lad..r was put back together eX~lctly the way I had hoped it would be released thirty-seven years before. I an1 told this has never happened to any other Illotion picture director in the history of the cineln:a. I got a call frolll Iny friend David Shepard, Director of Special Projects at 'rhc Directors Guild of Atnerica. He had heard that forty-t\\TO Ininutes had been cut from my preferred version of the picture, and that I had liked Iny version one hell of a lot better than the one John Ford edited, and John \\layne and Republic Pictures had released. I told hinl that, in Iny opinion, there was no cOlnparison between the two versions, that the cut version had lost Illost of "Illy J\1cxico," the true art of bullfighting, and had absolutely destroyed the relationship bet\\'een Robert Stack and Gilbert Roland. Well, that's all I)avid needed. lie loves and understands fihns and seenlS to adnlire what I have accolnplished over the yeIrs; and he and Robert Gitt, head of UCLA's FilIn and Television l\rchives, went to work. Gitt discovered that The Library of Congress in \Arashington had a COI11plete 35mlTI dupe picture negative and Inatching soundtrack of the full 124minute version. It seeIns Republic had considered distributing it as a foreign filIn with Spanish subtitles. Still there was 111uch to be done. 1\\'0 reels had disintcgr;lted because of nitrate decon1position. David called I11e again and I advised hilll th~lt The Duke had presented both Bob Stack and 1l1C "our" preferred picture in 16mm. It was a heart-wanning display of honest affection because he told us both, individually, that if we liked "our" long version better than "his" and John Ford's to stick theIn up our asses. I really never had a chance to follow his suggestion, and Inine was lost during nly divorce. But Robert had his print, ilnd still loved it just as it was. And that, and I1lonths and rnonths of work by Robert (~itt ;lnd his staff, eventually had "our" Bullfighte1- and tbe Lady ready for a world prelnicre at UCLA. It was a triulllph! 1"\\'0 ears and a tail! l~hree hundred disappointed patrons were left standing outside the packed theater when the curtains p;lrtcd and the music of La Virgin de fa j\111co1-ena burst frol11 the screen to accolupany the

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THIRTy-ONE

main title. It was thrilling, and most certainly rewarding, but not half as much as the telephone conversation I had experienced the day before. Robert Gitt had called me to request that I try to get in touch with Gilbert Roland. It seemed he had refused to join Bob Stack and me for the premiere. I explained that the "matador" and 1 were not exactly close friends, but, what the hell, I agreed. The conversation was quite brief, and to the point. "Did you tell the Los Angeles Times that if this film had been in its present form you would have gone to Metro instead of Universal, and that 1 would have won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor?" the "matador" asked, his voice shaking with enlotion. "1 sure as hell did, Gil, and I think you would have," I replied. "Well, I had the same problem with John Ford on Cheyenne AUtUlll12.' I am not a supporting actor. I am a star. I have always been a staT! And I don't understand ... " "Bob and I will miss you, Gilbert," I said, and gently hung up the receiver. Then I burst out laughing. What a delightful, totally rewarding thing it is to wonder for thirty-seven long years if you could have been mistaken, then to find out that you've been dead right all along. "A han1, is a ham, is a ham," as Gertrude Stein would have written, and age alone has very little chance at the curing. *********

*

The three of us reined in before the 111ain gates, as the trumpets sounded and the drulns rolled from the tape of our cassette systelll, and the red and gold doors swung open: Carlitos to the far right, llly "bride" of seventeen years in the middle. Across the sand, seated in the palco, were our friends-who hadn't forgotten: Robert and Rosemarie, Ronald and Valerie, JiIll Coburn, Craig Stevens and beautiful Alexis SIllith, Robert Vavra, Steve and Aline Reeves, James Karen, Pernell and Cara Roberts, Ivan Rado. And, they say "Hollywood" is tough and forgetful! They were all there to help us celebrate the cOlllpletion of our picture, and that group would Blake anybody proud. But the proudest thing of all was the sight of Iny two gorgeous daughters sitting in the front row: Georgia with her handsol1le husband, Steve, and Helen between two wishful suitors who were both fumbling to hold her hand. My sonin-law delighted nle. He was just as special as Georgia. I really, really liked him. Very few adoring fathers can Illake that claim. But Helen was a different cup of honey. She was beautiful. Everyone accepted that honest fact. But I had a deepdown feeling that she would never, ever find a fella who could talne her-even a

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little bit_ She joked that she was "just like her d~ld." At which I bug-hed, h()II()\\'I~', and argued that she Inight be just what her dad used to he. But, \\'h~1t th~ hcll~ Then, I nodded SIIerte to Illy handsoille young "stt'PSOIl" on (;L1di~HI()r and grinned at Iny wife who sat her ~~drag()n" so pr()fessi()nall~' hl't\\Tl'll us. "Sue1-te, rejo71eadorn," I said. "I love you." And, with the first n()r~s of Cicio Andnlllz, the three of us-Carlitos Arruz~l, Nlary Chdde BOl'tticher, ;lIld her husband-rode the first prancing high steps into our future. \Vhen, in disgrace with fortune and Inen's eyes, I all alone beweep Iny outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with Iny bootless cries, And look upon Inyself, and curse Illy fate, \".Tishing Ine like to one l110re rich in hope, Featured like hiln, like hin1 with friends possess'd, Desiring this Inan's art and that Inan's scope, With what I 1110St enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts IHyself alinost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then Iny state, Like to the lark at break of day arising Frolll sullen earth, sings hynlns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love relllclnber'J such wealth hrings That then I scorn to change Illy state \\rith kings.

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Budd Boetticher Filmography Compiled by Chris Wicking 1941 1943

1944

Technical advisor: BLOOD AND SAND Assistant director: DESTROYER THE MORE THE MERRIER THE DESPERADOES Assistant director: COVER GIRL In 1944 Boetticher also co-directed two other films with Lew Landers and William Berke.

Films directed by Boetticher 1944

1945 1946 1948 1949 1950 1951

1951 1952

1953

ONE MYSTERIOUS NIGHT THE MISSING JUROR YOUTH ON TRIAL A GUY, A GAL AND A PAL ESCAPE IN THE FOG Directed several films for the US Armed Forces, one of which, THE FLEET THAT CM1E TO STAY, had commercial distribution. ASSIGNED TO DANGER BEHIND LOCKED DOORS BLACK MIDNIGHT WOLF HUNTERS KILLER SHARK BULLFIGHTER AND THE LADY THE SWORD OF D'ARTAGNAN (Made as the "pilot" show for a TV series, it subsequently had commercial distribution. Boetticher shot it in three days.) THE CIMARRON KID BRONCO BUSTER RED BALL EXPRESS HORIZONS WEST CITY BENEATH THE SEA SEMINOLE THE MAN FROM THE ALAMO WINGS OF THE HAWK EAST OF SUMATRA

1955

THE MAGNIFICEN1~ NlATADC)R THE KILLER IS LOOSE Between 1955 and 1960, Boetticher Inade a nUlnber of television prograITIS; the "pilot" show for MAVERICK, with Jack Kelly; four episodes of THE DICK PO\\'ELL SHO\\T; TI IE C:C)lJN1' ()F MONTE CRISTO; CAPTAIN CAT (episode of the series 11()N(;KONG).

SEVEN MEN FROM NOW THE TALL T DECISION AT SUNDOVVN 1958 BUCHANAN RIDES ALONE 1959 RIDE LONESOME WESTBOUND 1960 COMANCHE STATION THE RISE AND FALL OF LEGS DIAMOND 1959-1968 ARRUZA 1969 A TIME FOR DYING Boetticher also wrote the original script of 'T\V() MULES Fe) R SISTER SARA. A HORSE FOR MR. BARNUM-PRODUC:TI()N T() BEC;IN IN SPAIN-SPRING 1990.

1956 1957

AFTERWORD

by William K. Everson Andrew Sarris, one of the first American critics astute enough to recognize consistency d style in the films of Budd Boetticher, once wondered where he found the energy and ,piration to do such fine work in the face of critics "so fantastically indifferent that they obably couldn't tell a Boetticher film apart from a Selander or worse" (American Film, 68). Although this isn't the point of Sarris' statement, it does of itself say a lot about the lues of Boetticher's films. It im't difficult to recognize a Lesley Selander Western (especially e Hopalong Cassidy series), because of his relaxed style, devoid of the frenzy so popular in ," Westerns, and his delight in taking time out to reverse cliches. Joseph H. Lewis, a fine "ector who was a contemporary of Boetticher's on smaller Columbia films in the mid-40's 1y Name is Julia Ross, So Dark the Night), is likewise instantly identifiable because of his nchant for elaborate compositions and framings, long takes and intricate mobile camera ots-allluxuries in the realm of the "B" movie. Boetticher's films aren't so easily recognized >m stylistics alone. Just as one can identify a Jean Renoir film from its overall humanity and rtain intangibles rather than from a visual style which could shift from film to film, so one n identify a Boetticher film mostly from its lean quality and a kind of raw energy injected en into non-action material. Boetticher's Escape in the Fog and Lewis' My Name is Julia Ross ~re both made at Columbia in the same year (1945). Both starred Nina Foch as the pivotal aracter, each time as a girl enmeshed in a nightmarish world of intrigue and not at all sure her own sanity. The similarities are admittedly superficial, but they are enough to display e individual qualities of each director. (It should also be noted that Lewis' film was a ogrammer rather than a "B," given some slight but significant advantages in terms of added ldget and shooting time.) The Lewis film was full of effective editing, inventive directorial mrishes and colorful compositions. It was instantly recognizable as a Lewis film-but it was, :er all, his 23rd movie. One can not honestly say that Escape in the Fog was then instantly cognizable as a Boetticher movie, not least because it was only his fourth film as a director. It one could say, even then, that it was taut, lean, different. And better than the average )lumbia "B" by far. Given a list of the Columbia "B" directors of the period-Lew Landers, harles Barton, William Berke, Ray Nazarro, D. Ross Lederman (all with different areas of ,mpetence), one would be inclined to say, "No, none of them did it-it has to be someone ie." One of the hallmarks of Boetticher's "B"s at Columbia, especially Escape in the Fog and ,e Missing Juror, is that they were good enough to make one wish they had been given the ldgets so that they could be even better. This is not the place to describe the history and nction of the "B" movie, but since orthodox "E" movies have not been made since the mid)50'5, and the term has been misunderstood and used loosely, with quality seelningly the ctor that differentiates them from the "A," a few quick explanatory words are in order ~rhap5. "E" denoted budget rather than quality, and most "B"s were fodder pure and simple, ough clearly there would be a major difference between a Monogram "E" and one made at :GM. Basically they were made quickly (often in a week or less), and cheaply, with the sure

knowledge of how much they would cost and how much they would bring in. rrhcrc we series movies (Charlie Chan, Blondie), the cheap \Vesterns, the little actioners. Fe smdios they were useful ways of developing new talent in acting, writing, directing: mi made on "B"s hardly mattered. For distributors they were a useful means to an end sine could be packaged with an "A" fearure and sold as a complete program. Small town cxhl often found them a boon since they could be bought cheaply, and the right film in th( location could make more money than a Inajor "A." And an ambitious director could sh studio heads just what he could do to improve a standardized product by injecting rc;] into his handling of it. Such care might not result in an extra dime at the hox office, I craftslnanship and worthiness for promotion to better things would come to light. J. course, there have been "B"s that have had genuine artistic merit and have heen award recognition they deserve. The main problem wlth the "B," artistically, has always been its standardii'..ed I often of less than an hour, and the fact that top writers were seldom .lssigncd t( unimportant product. It is difficult to be subtle in a story running for only an hour: di: has to be very much to the point, conveying information rather than ilnpressive prose .. is often not of the best, since there is little rehearsal time and of course the players are second-stringers. Too, type-casting of regular studio contractees further reduced subt familiar villain or cOInic-relief face was a kind of visual shorthand, conveying infort immediately that would have been better handled via nuance. There is little time t( aonosphere or suspense carefully and methodically; too often a schlock musical score is to tell the audience what is exciting or frightening when the director has no time to give care it needs. These are all elements that tend to be forgotten when critics sneer at tl movies. Given their plot elements, The Missing J111"01' and Escape in the Fog could we been expanded to Hitchcock-scale exercises in major suspense (though they I1light ha that wonderful lean quality in the process). There's trenlendous skill involved in the I' of "B" movies, and many major talents have evolved through them. l~he director of £1 the Fog was able, a few years later, to make a truly outstanding film like Bul/figbu1'" Lady; but the director of The B1~ove Bulls (Robert Rossen) could never in a hundred ye.}1 made The Missing JtJ,1~or! Boetticher's apprenticeship on "B" I110vies at Columbia and later Monobrral11 pr bore fruit so quickly because while he was honing his craft he was doing so witi' knowledge of what he was aiming at. His first job in a film was as S0t11C kind of assis director LewlS Milestone on Of Mice ond Men in 1939: a superh film (and :1 rn;l~rnil directed one), that would give Boetticher a real goal, even if he was only working wid~ on the second unit. Later he worked with Rouben Mamoulian (as a technical i1dvt~ Blood and Sand. Before he actually moved into full-scale solo directing (with 19~ Mysterious Night), he was directing odd scenes and retakes for routine "BUs like 5/11' Raider, learning the standards of mere competence that were deemed quite acceptable intended Inarket, and also how to improve on them. Boetticher's career, partiCLlI~ students of his body of work as a whole, seems to reflect the neamess and disciplr characterizes the individual "8"s. First there are the interesting "B" Inovies. Moving lesser major company like Columbia to a Inajor lesser one like Monogram nlight not j

seem like a step forward. But while Monogram didn't have a great reputation for quality, they had a terrific sales force that knew what rural exhibitors wanted, and their "B"s, like the Roddy McDowall features Black Midnight and Killer Shark that Boetticher made for producer Lindsley Parsons, were designed as all-purpose products-economical enough to make, short enough in running time that they could playas supports in big city double bills, but also just long enough and big enough that they could play top of the bill or even single bill in the rural areas where those kind of simple dramas and action stories were still much in demand. They gave Boetticher a chance to feel his way around a slightly more generous budget, and when the time came to switch to "A" product with Bullfighter and the Lady, the production of which, a fascinating footnote to film history in itself, has been told so well in Boetticher's own text, he was ready. I don't think any other director in film history has switched so suddenly, so dramatically or so successfully from "B" to "A" product in one leap. Certainly Joseph H. Lewis, Robert WIse, George Stevens, William Wyler, even to a degree Stanley Kubrick, all followed the traditional (and admittedly useful) path of going from shorts or editing to assistant directing to "B"s to programmers and ultimately ·'A"s. Even Boetticher's switch to "A"s came, in a sense, at a fortuitous tinle. In the early 50's Hollywood was much concerned about the competition of television, and sought to combat it with the one major asset then denied to television-color. Since TV was then inundated with old Hollywood "B" films, almost all of them of a higher quality than could be produced in the inflated economy of contemporary Hollywood, the traditional black-and-white "B"s died out. What replaced them was in essence an upgraded "B" product-a Western that ran 80 minutes rather than 55, starred a Glenn Ford or an Audie Murphy rather than a Johnny Mack Brown or Gene Autry, was in color rather than black-and-white, and had production values reflecting the increased budgets. While many standard directors assigned to this newstyle product tended to flounder, being unfamiliar with action fare, or turning to pretentiousness to make the material look more important than it was, Boetticher was in his element. He was in a sense making "B" films his way-with the money and stars and time he'd been denied before. There was so much of this product around that the good ones tended to get lost in the shuffle, but Boetticher's war films (Red Ball Express), actioners (East of SUmtltra) and Westerns stood out then, and survive well today, even though exhibition outlets are slim outside of the archives (especially in Europe) and the diminishing number of revival and repertol)' houses. From this period The Man from the Alamo (Universal, 1953) stands out especially as a first-rate and much under-rated Western, containing some brilliantly staged, paced and executed action scenes which owe much to the felicitous collaboration between Boetticher and snmt man/2nd unit director, David Sharpe. Out of this period too emerged the films that are now regarded as classics in the Western genre and among the more significant Boetticher films-the Randolph Scott Westerns. (Curiously enough, Joseph H. Lewis, whose career paralleled Boetticher's in some ways, also directed two of these.) Two conditions semi-dictated the look of these Scott Westerns. They were made by Scott's own company with some of his own money, so while they had to look good (and did), they had to achieve it on relatively controlled budgets-meaning virtually no spectacle in the accepted sense, restriction to a few basic locations, and much outdoor shooting to avoid studio overhead. Also, Scott was ageing and anxious to avoid as much physical action as possible. This

cutting down on riding and fisticuffs Ineant a build-up in plot values. Suspense and psychological conflict took precedence over Elst action; romantic \'alues were played down in deference to Scott's age; and he often played a man with a wife and family in his past, seeking forgetfulness or revenge. But despite the greater emphasis on talk, these were no slow, pedestrian \Vesterns: Boetticher's austere no-frills style was entirely appropriate, and when the action came it was often in bursts of astonishing sa\'agery. Sam Peckinpah's Ride the High COUlltly (1963), a Randolph Scott (and Joel ~1cCrca) \Vestern that is certainly a genuine classic in its own right, is nevertheless a kind of apotheosis of all of the Scott-Boetticher films, so Boetticher's contribution to film (and of course he is not unique in this) is sublinlinal as well as specific. Looking back over these notes, I sense that I Illay have short-changed Bocttichcr as a director. I didn't set out to "prove" that he was a great director-there's too much of th;lt kind of writing, and in the final analysis only the films theIllselves can do that, and sometinles not right away. Already Escape in the Fog seems substantially better than it did in 1945, and it is only over the past few years that we have had the chance to sec the full, original version of Bullfighte'r the Lady and to see how much damage was done to it, how much poetry (and 1 use the word advisedly), removed, in its shorter release version. And although it has been some twenty years since Boetticher was in the main so-eaIn of production, now he seems on the threshold of a whole new career. An intriguing docmnentary on his training of horses (with Raben Stack and other actor friends appearing), was released last year for the video cassette market. A long-cherished dream, a script which for years has not been able to secure production backing, seems about to be realized in Spain. And emulating John 11ustoI1, Boetticher has turned into a robust, virile and colorful character actor, as wiOless his brief but telling appearance in Tequila Sunrise. So the Boetticher career Inay well be approaching a new, personal and self-determined peak-and no career should be assesscd when so Inuch rClnains in the future, hopefully the illl111ediate future. Having worked with Mr. Bocttichcr at a number of festivals and tributes here and in Europe, I know what a joy it is to wimess his older work enrapturing audiences who in many cases arc discovering it for the first time. What a greater joy it will be when those same audiences have a chance to acknowledge Budd Boetticher as a major contemporary director of the 90's.

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This first printing of When in Disgrace is lilnited to one thousand copie~ printed on Mustang VelluIll. An additional 300 deluxe copies signed by the author were also printed. The type is Janson Text cOlnposed by Pro-lYpe. Printed at the Kimberly Press.