Catana Cayetano with Robert Graf in the 1966 TV production Porträt Eines Helden

In writing my recent book, Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity (Kindle) or Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity, I tell the story of growing up within a culture and a race that was different to my own. Here’s an excerpt:

We arrived in Los Angeles in July 1975. Two weeks later I met with Walter Kohner a film agent who handled primarily European actors.

“I am curious to know, Catana,” Walter said the minute I sat down for the interview, “why you left a successful career in Europe to come to the States?”
“Family reasons,” I shrugged. “Just wanted to keep my son closer to his dad.”
“You are aware that it won’t be easy for someone like you to gain a solid foothold in American show business…” he looked at me over the rim of his glasses offering me a weak smile. I nodded, but said nothing. “You’re new in Hollywood only once,” Walter admonished, “thus, you must make the best of any situation that presents itself. We will certainly support you as best we can, as long as you understand how things are here. The parts will be few and far between, and you will need to be patient.” Ten days later I had my first audition: a nineteenth century Caribbean harlot, James Earl Jones’ concubine in a swashbuckling movie. “Dress the part, wear something sexy,” Walter suggested over the phone, and added, “Good luck!”
I entered Universal Tower wearing a beige silk halter-top and black silk trousers. In my opinion it was an alluring outfit in an understated, elegant way. I was led to a large waiting room filled with actresses who had obviously “dressed the part.” Tiny skirts, lots of legs, blouses that revealed everything… they all seemed to sport ‘Hollywood boobs’, those round, immobile, and hard as a rock breasts. I couldn’t believe the wild hairstyles and vulgar make up. I had never been in one, but this could well have been a steaming brothel all right. If I had to look anywhere close to that, I had no chance; my acting ability just wouldn’t stretch that far.
Fortunately, my agency had pull and after signing in, I was lead straight to the casting office. There were four people in the room; Mr. Goldstone stood up and shaking my hand, introduced himself as the director.
“So, you are here from Europe! Welcome to Hollywood,” he said smiling in a delightfully friendly way. “Tell us about yourself,” he added as he relaxed into a chair.
I let them know about my acting work and added that I spoke several languages.
“Wow, several languages!” Goldstone exclaimed impressed and suggested I give them a sample.
I put a few sentences together in my mind, and began, “Seit fünf Wochen bin Ich in Los Angeles, y hace dos semanas compré un condominio muy bonito en Sherman Oaks. Nostre cose dall’ Europa non sono arivate ancora, mais je suis certain qu’ils arriveront cette semaine. (I’ve been in Los Angeles five weeks and two weeks ago we bought a very nice condominium in Sherman Oaks. Our things have not yet arrived from Europe, but I am sure they will get here this week.) Then I’ll have everything here and will be settled, finally.”
“Gee! Fantastic!” Mr. Goldstone exclaimed. “I want her screen-tested,” he shouted to his assistant. “Take her information and make arrangements with the studio.” Turning to me he added, “You’re not right for the character you came in for. But let’s see some test results; I have an interesting idea.” With a beam that covered his entire face, he came over to shake my hand and walk me to the door. “Hope to see you soon,” he smiled broadly. That was it.
“She jumped right off the screen,” was the report an insider gave Fred after the screen test. Six weeks after arriving in Hollywood I signed my first film contract. A cameo was being written for me into a major movie starring, among other luminaries, James Earl Jones, Robert Shaw, Geoffrey Holder, and Peter Boyle. I was the girlfriend of a Polish pirate played by Avery Schreiber, who spoke every language except Polish. My costume was quite lovely: lacey, frilly, and decent; and the three solid scenes were hilariously funny.
Read more: Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity (Kindle) or Split at the Root: A Memoir of Love and Lost Identity.