fellow Argentine actress Perla Mux, who costars with him in fourteen films from the late 1930s to the early 1950s. The union lasts four years, producing a daughter, Christina, before ending in divorce. Then, in 1946, he marries a second time to Lydia Barachi. Six years later, in September 1952, they split after having a second daughter, Alexandra (“Alex”).
In 1950, Dad flees to Hollywood to appear in a supporting role in his first American feature for Republic Pictures, The Avengers, before signing a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer to star as a romantic lead in English-speaking movies. After his MGM film debut in Rich, Young and Pretty with Jane Powell in 1951, he quickly becomes one of the most promising Latin actors since Rudolph Valentino and Ramón Novarro, as he climbs his way to international stardom. My father’s story—a foreigner with a foreign name and accent making something of himself in an alien land—becomes a great example to me. It teaches me an important lesson: If you work hard and pay your dues, almost anything is possible.
Despite his success, my father is realistic about how fleeting fame is—a lesson he later imparts to me when I become an actor. “Hollywood is a momentary place,” he says, “and I feel this is my moment. I like it here, and I’d like to stay. But perhaps two years from now, some fellow in the balcony of a theater in Kansas City will get up and say, ‘Aw, I’m getting tired of seeing that guy on the screen.’ Six other people might join him and that would be the beginning of the end.”
Long before I am a twinkle in my father’s eye, Dad’s romances with many of his female costars become well-publicized affairs. His torrid relationship with tempestuous platinum-blond legend Lana Turner—sparked during their making of MGM’s The Merry Widow (1952)—makes national headlines as the thrice-married actress seeks to make my father husband number four. The press turns their affair into a carnival; the two lovers are unable to even go out of town in order to retain some semblance of privacy. Finally, in October 1952, they call off plans to marry, although three months later Lana goes ahead and divorces her then-husband, wealthy sportsman Bob Topping, when rumors resurface that my father and she still might wed.
While on loan to Paramount in 1953 to star in Sangaree, a 3-D Technicolor drama for Pine-Thomas Studios, Dad meets his match. He falls in love with his luscious, flaming redheaded costar: my mom, Arlene Dahl. He is immediately attracted to her “softness,” the thing he looks for most in a woman. Mom possesses that quality and more, and the fact that her father has raised her with that same old-world philosophy about women makes them a perfect match.
Mom is a Minneapolis native of Norwegian descent who worked various jobs through high school and was active in local theater groups before embarking on a show-business career. After starring on Broadway and in two features for Warner Bros., she finds her greatest success at MGM, just like my father. She costars as the female love interest in many successful feature films for the studio, including The Bride Goes Wild (1948) with Van Johnson and Three Little Words (1950) with Fred Astaire.
Mom becomes Dad’s steady the same year MGM loans them out to costar in their second Pine-Thomas Studios film together, the independent romantic adventure for Melson Pictures Corp., The Diamond Queen. At the same time, my father is seeking his release from his MGM contract after more than four years in the studio’s service. Dad and Arlene are the talk of the town and are treated like Hollywood royalty everywhere they go. Their union does create quite a stir with the media because Mom is not yet divorced from her first husband, actor Lex Barker (who, after divorcing Mom, dates Lana Turner, the woman Dad almost married), and because Father is eleven years her senior.
Their relationship is contentious and rocky during their two-year courtship and even after I am born, as evident in this exchange with a reporter during a November 1953 interview:
“How about some pictures kissing her?” the photographer says to the reporter.
In no mood to act lovey-dovey, Mom, exhausted from her stage performance the night before with José Ferrer in Cyrano de Bergerac, turns away from Dad, who smooches her on the cheek and announces, “The patient will live!”
After considerable coaxing, Mom eventually complies after the reporter asks her, “What plans have you after this show?”
“I guess to get a good rest.”
“Might as well quit fooling around,” the reporter adds. “Do you two have any plans to get married?”
“You’ll be the first one to know it,” Dad says with an unctuous grin.
“Aw, tell her first,” the reporter jokes.
The reporter excuses himself and pulls Dad outside. He asks him the same marriage plans question privately.
Dad says, “We may. We’re thinking it over carefully.”
“Are you free to marry?” the reporter asks.
“Of course. Since October!”
The reporter cracks a smile. “Sorry, but I can’t keep up with you guys.”
“Wait a minute!” Dad says seriously. “One marriage and one divorce ain’t bad! We’ll let you know.”
On June 25, 1954, after deciding they cannot live without each other, they quickly marry in a simple ceremony at the Last Frontier Hotel’s Little Church of the West. Former tennis champion Gene Mako and his wife, Laura (“Larry”), serve as best man and matron of honor.
My parents move into a palatial spread in Bel Air, the same place I briefly call home after coming into this world on January 20, 1958. When Mom goes into labor, Dad is doing what any good actor does: He is working to provide for his family. He is in the middle of rehearsing for NBC’s Jane Wyman Theater (yes, the same Jane Wyman I would costar with years later on Falcon Crest), which is broadcasting live that night, when the hospital calls to tell him, “Mr. Lamas, your wife is about to give birth.”
Like most fathers, Dad always wanted a son. After receiving the news, he sprints from the set despite Jane protesting, “It’s almost show time and we have no second act.”
Turning to her as he runs past her, my father famously hollers, “My son is about to be born. I’m not missing it for anything.”
On April 10, 1958, my parents baptize me at the Church of Religious Science in Hollywood. Laura Mako is my godmother; architect William Pereira is my godfather. Dr. Ernest Holmes, the church’s founder, also attends; Dr. William Hornaday conducts the baptismal ceremony.
My early years are not always easy and happy. I never enjoy the standard Hollywood childhood most second-generation kids of celebrity parents do. In mid-February 1959, a month after my first birthday, Father is suddenly out of the picture when Mom sues him for divorce, claiming she has “lost all contact” with him. After a brief separation, they try to make the marriage work again. On the surface, it appears it is.
But even though my parents share a zest for life, they are polar opposites. Mom is a reserved yet fastidious overachiever; Dad is a gregarious and proud macho man. Mom dresses me impeccably in ruffled shirts and velvet pants; Father talks to and treats me like a little adult.
I come to revere and idolize my father as he whisks me off with him in his sporty Alfa Romeo convertible with the top down, taking me almost everywhere, including to meetings he has in Hollywood. He props me up on a chair, and I listen quietly to him and all these grown-ups talk about the business in my presence as if I am one of the guys. In reality, I am just a two-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears, snot-nosed kid who still pisses in his pants and has no idea what in the hell they
