Hollywood, 1960
Growing Up
“Look!” she said, holding out her hand. “We did it!” She was downright giddy. The shiny gold wedding band and the diamond engagement ring glistened on her finger. “We finally got hitched. I wanted to do it before Mami...” Her voice cracked for a second. “I wanted her to see me married.”
The sky was overcast, and the day was heavy, but Lola and I had driven to Santa Monica beach to spend the afternoon. It was too chilly to swim, so we sat on a bench on the boardwalk and licked ice cream cones like a couple of kids. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” I said. What with work, the kids, and the grandkids... I just couldn’t get away.
“It was a simple ceremony, but lovely, in a small chapel in Mexico City. It wasn’t perfect, though. Some important people were missing. You, for example. Frida and Diego—as you know, he died three years after she did. Pedro Armendáriz. He couldn’t travel. He suffers from severe hip pain.”
“Doña Antonia must be thrilled!”
“Absolutely. She’s convinced that this time it will be forever, and so am I. Lew is different from the other men I’ve known—mature, calm, steady, respectful of my career. I’m different, too. I’m more mature, less insecure about who I am as a woman and a professional. It took a long time, Mara, but I’ve finally grown up.”
“Me, too. Finally, I know who I am. It’s brought me a sense of closure.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to get married again, too, Mara. Dutch still asks about you.”
“No,” I said. “I’m too set in my ways, and too busy. Lolly has three kids and Gabi has two. Lupita is expecting, and Lexie just got married. And I’m still working at Marie’s. I have no time for a husband, Lola! Anyway, once you’ve been married to a man like Gabe...”
Lola squeezed my hand. “We’ve been through so much together, Mara.” She paused. “I’m worried about Mami,” she went on. She swallowed hard and bit her lip. “The other day I went to her room. She was in bed, propped up on pillows, her hands scrunched up like dried fruit. Her knuckles were as swollen as walnuts. I looked down at my own hands and wondered if they would curl and knot like hers. I already feel pain in my fingers, and the doctor says that the joints of my toes are beginning to calcify. I’m old, Mara. I’m turning into her.”
“Don’t be silly, Lola. The press is always talking about your eternal beauty, your magnificent legs, your hands, your cheekbones, and your wrinkle-free chin. Marlene Dietrich said you were still the most beautiful woman in Hollywood!”
“That may be,” said Lola, “but right now, I have to find a bathroom.”
“Gosh, I think the public restrooms along the beach are closed in the winter.”
“Well, it won’t do for the world’s ex-most-beautiful-woman to pee in her pants, so I have to find one that’s open!”
We jumped into my car, and Lola sat with her legs crossed until we got to her hotel. I pulled up to the entrance, and she shot across the lobby like a bullet.
“Whew,” she gasped, when she returned. “I almost didn’t make it! I can see the headlines, ‘Dolores del Río, Star of Stage and Screen, Soils Herself in the Lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel!’” She burst out laughing. “Age,” she sighed. “That’s what happens when you’re pushing sixty! Your kidneys go.”
She was in Los Angeles to film Flaming Star with Elvis Presley.
“I play his mother!” she exclaimed, laughing.
She had expected Presley to be difficult, an arrogant pop singer trying to pass himself off as a real actor. But once rehearsals began, he won her over. He called her a great Hollywood legend and told her it was an honor to work with her. He even promised, since she was going to play his mother, to have contact lenses made so that his eyes would be exactly the color of hers. Lola loved that kind of adoration. She needed it, especially now that she was growing older. In a way, it was sad. It must be awful, I thought, to care so much about other people’s opinions.