Mexico City, 1959
A Meeting of Personalities
“Lew says there’s a new movie offer!” announced Doña Antonia.
“I’d rather stay home and take care of you, Mami,” said Lola. She was mixing up a batch of lemonade in the kitchen. It was Luz’s day off, and Esperanza had gone to visit her niece.
“Don’t you dare! I hate it when you fuss over me!”
“It’s for the kind of film you love,” piped in Lew from the hallway. “The kind that inspires. It’s about the Revolution!”
I was back in Mexico for the summer—this time, just for a vacation.
“This film would give you another chance to work with the genius scenographer Gabriel Figueroa,” interjected Lew. “And El Indio! But he’s not directing. He’d be your leading man. The director is Ismael Rodríguez. And by the way,” added Lew, “you’d have a costar.”
Lola shrugged. “I don’t mind sharing star billing with Emilio.”
“No, not him. Someone else. A woman.”
Lola frowned. She wasn’t about to share the spotlight with another one of Emilio’s teenage bed partners.
“María Félix!” said Lew calmly.
Doña Antonia burst into guffaws, then grabbed a handkerchief and began coughing violently. Lola poured her a glass of water and called for the nurse.
“See, Mami?” she said. “I need to be here with you!”
“You need to be on the set with María Félix, demonstrating how a real lady acts with a rival—gracious, friendly, diplomatic... This can’t be easy for her either.”
Lola agreed to read the script—the story of a passionate Revolutionary known as La Cucaracha who is madly in love with Colonel Antonio Zeta, played by El Indio. Zeta, however, is smitten with the widow Isabel, and naturally, the rivalry leads to an explosion.
“I will play La Cucaracha,” announced Lola, putting down the batch of papers. She’d taken the script into her office and read the entire morning without pause. Lew slouched in a heavy armchair opposite her, pretending to read a book, but secretly observing her reactions.
“How can you think you’d play anyone but the cultured, elegant, Doña Isabel?” said Lew. “María will play the coarse, ragged Cucaracha. She could never play Doña Isabel.”
As usual, Lola wanted me to go with her to her first meeting with María Félix. According to the press, María had a fiery personality and a colossal ego. Lola was sure she was going to insist on top billing. But Lola could be just as stubborn, and she had no intention of allowing her rival to grab the spotlight.
“If you’re there,” Lola said to me, “maybe she’ll behave herself. She won’t want you to witness a tantrum.”
On the day of the appointment, I pulled a soft beige knit Chanel sheath with navy trim and a matching jacket out of Lola’s closet. From her makeup box, I chose heavy eye shadow and Malaga-wine lipstick to highlight her high cheekbones and wide forehead. I combed her hair into a voluminous updo.
“You’ll intimidate her with your sheer gorgeousness!” I quipped.
When we arrived at the studio for the contract negotiations, María was already there, also dressed to the hilt, in a short-waisted, powder blue Pierre Cardin jacket, and a matching skirt. I braced myself for a blowup.
“Don’t give an inch,” I whispered to Lola.
The two women stood staring at each other. Each was as breathtaking and resolute as the other. For a long while, no one said anything.
“Well,” said María finally. “I read in the press that we hate each other.”
“I’ve heard the same thing,” responded Lola.
They stared at each other a minute more, tense and unblinking.
Then, suddenly, both women burst out laughing.
“Gossip is like a snake waiting in the grass to bite the unsuspecting,” murmured María.
Lola stepped back and ran her eyes from María’s fedora all the way down to the tips of her Chanel shoes. “You’re as stunning as they say you are,” she said.
“So are you!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. In the end, they decided to share star billing. Their names would appear next to each other on the screen and on all publicity. It was the beginning of a long and satisfying friendship.