Once Upon a Star - Celebrity kiss and tell stories

by Peggy Trentini

  We had hardly made it off the stairs when I heard someone yelling my name. One of my girlfriends had followed us and had come busting through the door to find me all but straddling Mickey Rourke and about seven vodka sodas deep. She grabbed me by the hand and said, “Excuse us sir,” to Mickey, who just stood there with a smirk on his face. “Peggy, what are you doing, why are you acting like this?” She said to me, while dragging me down the stairs. I shot a sexy and half cross eyed look over my shoulder as Mickey disappeared from sight. She scolded me all the way back to the table, and that was the end of my Mickey Rourke encounter… for now, anyway.

  So, there I was sitting next to Sly’s trailer, rehashing the details in my mind with Mickey sitting in my lap staring up at me. “Shit.” I thought to myself, “Shit, Shit, Shit.” I noticed Sly peeking out the window, watching me read the magazine, no doubt trying to gauge my expression and searching for some sort of guilt. He could be such a child sometimes. A moment later his bodyguard came to retrieve me and rather than entering them with my tail between my legs, I was annoyed and defensive. I hadn’t done anything, and this riff between Sly and I was happening well before Mickey Rourke had wandered over to my table. When I entered I could feel the tension in the air. He asked, “So, how was the other night?”

  “That’s a little vague, but it was fine. How was yours?” We both knew what we were talking about, although it was never really said in the open. I guess that was our problem when and if you ever got down to the bones of it. So much was just never said between us, just swept under the rug, or under the bed, I guess would be more accurate.

  In the true nature of our relationship, he grabbed me by the waist of my Levi’s, lifting me off my feet, and I landed on his hard chest. He pulled my jeans down to my ankle boots, and thank god the blinds were already drawn. He made love to me against the wall of his trailer with more passion than I had seen from him in the last few weeks combined. He stared into my eyes as he climaxed, and I felt the sweet relief of being close to him again. The weeks, the canyon, the empty nights, the drinks, the kiss with Mickey, all dissipated into the past in that one moment and he said, “I love you, you know. Even if I don’t say it as much as I should.” In fact, he had never said it before, and I had been longing and aching to hear those words from him because I thought they would solidify this intangible existence we had.

  I was so overwhelmed by all that had just happened; the world was spinning around me. He kissed me softly and said, “Freshen up; I want to introduce you around.” The entire day had been such a roller coaster of emotions that I just held on tight because I had no idea what would happen next.

  He showed me around the set, and when it came time to shoot the next scene, I was introduced to Joel Silver, the director. He was such a nice man and ordered me a director's chair right away to sit and watch the scene. I think Sly was nervous or just thrown off his game by everything that had just transpired between us. He kept looking to me for approval while Joel had him run the same line three times. He was getting into a futuristic car and had to say to Sandra Bullock, “What’s all this stuff?” I thought it was adorable and I smiled with pride through the whole scene.

  Sandra Bullock was a relatively new actress at the time, but I thought she was truly breathtaking and I was a bit nervous meeting her. She was very courteous and sweet, saying, “It’s very nice to meet you,” and then turned to Sly, “Such a pretty girl! How lucky you are,” and then they both laughed for a bit about the scene. When she left, Sly told me to watch out for her because she liked girls. I thought it was funny because I didn’t get that vibe from her at all. It was only later that day that a makeup artist told me that Sandra had started the rumor, herself, on set so Sly wouldn’t hit on her. Clever girl, I thought to myself.

  Sly pea cocked me around the set, introducing me to everyone that would listen. I had worked on many movies by this time, but I was always surprised by the scope of these productions and how many people were running in circles to get things done. He introduced me to Wesley Snipes and a few other actors, and stood there, boasting about me, with his arm around my thin shoulders. As the day passed by and no other roadblocks seemed to present themselves, I relaxed and eased into the idea that maybe he really was in love with me and maybe I was wrong to doubt him. When he walked me back out to my car, he gave me a long and passionate kiss, holding my face in his hands. He asked me to come up to his house for dinner and a movie. I whispered in his ear, “I love you too, see you tonight.”

  The Tabloids

  It was bound to happen and I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, the inevitable intrusion of the paparazzi. It was really too bad, because I was feeling like things were on an upward swing with both my career and Sly. I had just finished a series of shoots for Fredrick’s of Hollywood and they had given me a trove of lingerie that I just absolutely loved. I was also working for Old Milwaukee beer as one of the models of the Swedish Bikini Team. Life was looking good. I should have known that whenever the waters seem calm there is a storm brewing on the horizon.

  It happened at the same club where we had met, the China Club. Sly and I were making an exit and I remember it being particularly chilly for an L.A. evening. I was huddled in the nook of Sly's coat as he was trying to shield me from the wind and the flashing bulbs. His name was E.L Woody and he was a particular kind of creep. He had been following Sly and I for some time. Once, when I was leaving a club with my girlfriends, he thrust his card in my face claiming he would give me free photos. I left the card in the gutter and sped off into the night. I remembered him immediately when his camera started flashing in my face like a bazooka gun. Nearly blinded, Sly grabbed me and ran for the car. As the door shut, there was a flurry of excitement and shouts but we were safe behind the window. I looked over at Sly: he looked stretched thin, worn out and almost afraid, as if he had realized his actions immediately and had seen the repercussions rolling in from a mile away. He saw the storm forming on the horizon. He didn’t say much the whole ride home and I felt deflated by his distance and his response to the encounter. When we got home and went upstairs to his bedroom, he turned to me and said, “Welcome to my world. You are about to get a big dose of the ugly side.”I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, and when I asked, he said, “Just don’t talk to anyone, and only trust me.” He didn’t make love to me that night. He held me in his arms as he drifted off to sleep, but his energy felt worlds away. I felt like I had done something wrong and I was afraid to ask what he was thinking. I was afraid to know what was really going on at the time.

  An entire week passed and I had all but forgotten about the incident. I was heading home from a full day shoot for Payless shoes and I was feeling good again. The sun was shining, I was working, and L.A. was playing mind tricks on me, telling me everything was okay with its pretty streets and pretty people. I stopped at a drug store to buy the new issue of Vogue and some mineral water. When I was checking out, I noticed my picture plastered across the tabloids. I stood there for a moment and looked around to see if anyone was looking at me, how perfectly cliché, I thought to myself and grabbed a copy of every one.

  I waited to read them until I got out to my car. Sitting there in a parking lot off Fairfax, my heart sunk to the floor.

  "SLY CHEATS WITH LINGERIE MODEL WHILE JENNIFER IS AWAY" was the headline on Star magazine. I flew home to phone him and ask what the hell was going on. Jennifer was girl that Sly had dated on and off, and as far as I knew, which was as much as he told me, they were over. I was under the impression that we were together, that I was his girlfriend, that he loved me. This mess was a slap in the face and I began to doubt him in a way I hadn’t had to for a very long time.

  He went on to assure me that I was the only one; that he loved me and everything had been blown completely out of proportion. He told me a whole series of explanations: that being a star had so much to do with status and the public’s perception of you. He said that he and Jennifer were an item only in the public's eye. She
was a front that made him look respectable, but that they weren’t really together. I wanted to reach through the phone and slap him. I don’t know what would have hurt more, what he said to me, or if he had told me it was true. I felt horrible about myself and I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t good enough, why he needed a front, and why, after all this time, I kept falling in the same role with him. He sounded destroyed over the phone and my heart started to melt for him as he said, “Baby Love, I will make this right and we will be together in the public's eye; but you have to trust me and take things slow.” And, with that, I believed him, mostly because I wanted to.

  I couldn’t sleep that night as I tried to stomach the agonizing feeling of defeat and betrayal. Being the obedient girlfriend I was, I just tried to swallow the whole situation and forget it happened. I tried to sweep it under his oriental rugs, as usual. When I awoke the next morning, there was a huge bouquet of red roses at my door with a card signed only with his initial, S. The next night, Sly took me to dinner at a very nice restaurant called Geoffrey’s at the beach, and far from our beaten path. It was incredibly romantic and he assured me all night that he loved me, that I was his only love, and that everything would be all right. He told me countless stories of how ruthless the paparazzi can be and how many happy relationships they have ruined with stupid rumors and jealousy. He convinced me we had to be bigger and that we were better than them. We sipped champagne and the sea salt breeze came lightly over our table. He was fulfilling the role of the man that I always wanted him to be, and as the evening went on, I began to forget about everything.

  I assured him I would do as he told me and that I wouldn’t talk to anyone. He said his PR agent was working on a story to both protect his image and take our relationship public and that it was only a matter of time before everything would be perfect. I smiled and I believed him and I promised him everything he wanted. The evening was magical and everything that had transpired felt like a bad dream. Once again, I berated myself for having doubted him and his love for me.

  We sped down the canyon and spent the evening at his Malibu home. I had only been here twice, briefly, before because he rarely stayed here and only on days at the beach would we come by for some afternoon delight. We had a great deal of champagne and I was having a lovely time basking in his renewed admiration for me. I was laughing as he covered my eyes and led me by the hand into a bedroom I had never seen. It had the most sensational view of the ocean. He made passionate love to me, holding me close, kissing my forehead, and gazing into my eyes. Everything felt real again, and I when we finished, I lay on the bed next to him and took a great big sigh of relief. I could hear the waves crashing below and just smiled to myself. See, every-thing does work itself out, I thought.

  I got out of bed to head into the bathroom and freshen up. My hair was dishevelled and the mascara I had worn to dinner now pooled under my eyes. I opened a drawer to look for a brush and my heart stopped. Sitting at the top of the drawer right next to the sink was a packet of birth control pills. I picked it up and turned it over. The name on the prescription was Jennifer, and the prescription had been filled no more than three weeks before. My heart broke in that drawer.

  “What’s taking you so long? I want you under these covers with me,” he shouted from the other room, still rolling around in our happiness. I wanted to disappear, I wanted to time travel and have never found the pills, and I wanted to cry. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided to pull it together. I mustered every last bit of resolve I had left and shouted, “Just a minute.”

  I went back into the bedroom and tried to look as calm as possible, but I was clearly not the same girl that had left the room. I am not sure what possessed me or where I found the strength to speak, but a fitting story came to mind. I sat on the edge of the bed and I asked him, "Have you ever heard the story of the frog and the scorpion?”

  “No,” he answered, looking puzzled and already slightly bored.

  “Well, there was this scorpion who wanted to cross the river, but he knew it was impossible. He looked down the riverside and saw a frog getting ready to make his journey. He ran over and asked the frog if he would give him a ride across. The frog replied, “Do you think I am crazy? You will sting me and I will die.” Then the scorpion answered with all sincerity, “Why on earth would I do that? If I stung you, we would both drown.” The frog thought about it for a moment and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, jump on.”I looked over at Sly and he looked confused, but was listening intently to the story, so I continued, “They were halfway across the river when the frog felt a pinch in his back. He asked the scorpion, “Did you just sting me?”

  “Yes, I am afraid I did,” said the scorpion.

  “Why would you do that? Now we will both die!” Said the frog.

  “I’m a scorpion. It’s in my nature,” the scorpion quipped back.

  Sly looked at me and asked which one I was: the scorpion, or the frog. I didn’t respond. I stood up with a smirk and began to gather my things. I told him I had to get some rest; that I had an early call in the morning for a JC Penney’s shoot. He didn’t fight me. He just let me leave, and I don’t know what I would have said or what would have happened had he stood in my way or asked me just once to stay. I had so little left to fight with for this relationship. He had his driver take me home and he stayed behind at the Malibu house. I had left Jennifer’s birth control pills out on the bathroom counter. He found them, no doubt, and put all the pieces together himself.

  I avoided his calls for a few days. My answering machine filled up with messages, the stupid green light blinking every time I came home. I couldn’t bear listening to them. I couldn’t even think about what to do next. Thank-fully I was so busy with work between the Milwaukee beer ads and a slew of modeling jobs I had recently booked. It was easy to keep my mind busy, but my heart was a different story. I was broken and I was hurt and it physically pained me to move through my days with ideas of him lingering on the outskirts of my subconscious. I wondered how many girls he was stringing along. I was pouring my heart out to a girlfriend of mine over a glass of chardonnay when she confessed to me that she heard he was seeing a lot of women. I felt like a damn fool and I ordered another drink before finishing the one in my hand.

  A few days later, things were looking up; I had decided that they had to. I always told myself, “We are only as happy as we decide to be,” and that this week would be better and brighter. The phone in my apartment rang and I answered it without a second thought. I held my breath for a moment, worried it would be Sly, but instead it was my agent. She said someone from Globe magazine had called and left their number several times, asking to interview me. She called to inform me that the agency didn’t field tabloid calls and that they had given the magazine my personal number.

  A few days after that, the phone rang again, and on the other end was a snotty English reporter from the Globe asking me to verify a few facts, because they were running a story about Sly and I. I answered a few questions because it seemed as if they were running the story regardless, but then I remembered what Sly had said about reporters and I quickly said, “I have no comments,” and I hung up the phone.

  You can always count on the tabloids; they never forget to run anything. Only a few days later, there it was, staring at me from the stands in the same drug store I had seen the first story in. This time, with no shame, I picked it up and began reading right there in the checkout line. Across the cover it read:

  "SLY CHEATS AGAIN WITH NEW MODEL WHILE JENNY IS AWAY".

  I know that these sorts of things aren’t supposed to upset us in Hollywood. We were supposed to develop this tough waterproof skin that just allowed things to roll right off us and get washed out to sea. Seeing this all over again, though, just brought back everything that had happened over the past week and I just about lost it right then and there.

  I sat at home with the magazine and a glass of wine and just stared at it sitting on my coffee table. They had d
irectly quoted me and twisted all my words and I knew it would be only a matter of time before my phone started ringing off the hook. I just waited in the calm before the storm. No more than a few hours later it began. The phone calls from everyone I knew and then the one call I was dreading more than any of the other calls: Sly. He was beyond furious on the other end of the line. I had never heard his voice like this before; it was like could feel the seething anger seeping through the phone.

  He was so angry that I had spoken with a reporter and kept repeating, “Do you know what you’ve done, Peggy, do you?” His words and his anger confirmed everything. I knew he was still seeing her and it didn’t matter what he said. I mean, I knew it before, but our minds have this strange way of creating beliefs in things that we want to be true. I knew now, I knew it was all true and that Jennifer was the girl for him that I had thought I was this entire time. He kept telling me the same bullshit about his image and about how she was kept around for the public, but I knew that I was the girl on the side; I knew the truth in my heart. I sat there on my couch and cried, knowing that this was the beginning of the end for us.