Chapter 6
Nicolas Cage
The Whiskey Bar
Work was on an upswing. It was one of those times of flux where, creatively, I felt empowered, and the throws of life were throwing me full force into, and through, my career. I realized I hadn’t had time to breathe in weeks, so I took a weekend off. I ventured down to Orange County to spend some time with my family and old friends. It was only a forty five minute jaunt down the 405, but it may as well have been another country. The whole world looked different down in Orange County; the sun seemed to shine brighter, and the music hummed more softly.
An old high school friend of mine, Allison, lived on the outskirts in a big country-styled home with huge windows so she could stare at her land all day. When I arrived, she was on the patio sipping an Arnold Palmer, watching her young husband cut the lawn. I felt simultaneously happy for her, but wildly jealous for the normal kind of life that I wasn’t having. Everything was a trade off, and I knew that, but in the sun of Orange County, I became very aware of the choices I was making and what I was giving up. The circus that my life existed in was surface level at best, and, even if I’d had a lawn, there was no man there to cut it.
Allison reminded me of everyone I’d grown up with in Orange County. She was bright, blonde, and happy with no reason not to be. She proudly showed me the home they had purchased just months after getting married – only years after high school. She showed me where the children would sleep once they were ready to have some.
Allison and I went out on two of their six horses. I chose the white one with a perfectly combed mane, because it reminded me of a fairy tale. The trail we took wound around the outer perimeter of their property and through a grove of orange trees. I had made it almost the entire ride. In fact, I could see the house around the next turn when my saddle started to slip. I guess I should have double checked my gear, because before I knew it, I was sliding off the side of my fairy tale, and crashing roughly to the ground. One face full of dirt and a broken wrist later, I spent the rest of the day in the ER.
At the end of the weekend, I went back to Los Angeles a bit worse for wear. I spent the early half of the week taking it easy and nursing my hot pink casted wrist. Everyone thought it was pretty funny, and a few projects had to be put on hold until I got the cast off. I got a call from Heather late Thursday night, and she had already decided that, cast or no cast, we were going out. She insisted it would be a mellow night, promising me wine and chicken noodle soup at the Rainbow Room.
The Rainbow Room, located right next to the legendary Roxy on Sunset, was my all time favorite place to go for a low octane night out. It left you feeling like you were just in an extension of your home. Some of the best nights of my life, birthdays, and broken hearts, took place within those walls. I couldn’t say no.
Heather and I got cozy in a booth together, and sipped red wine and chicken noodle soup. I remember that she spoke most of the time, because she had recently seen the demise of what had once been a very promising relationship. Watching her, listening to her, and trying to help her made me feel in some way alienated from my own life. How many times would we sit together and cry together and drink together over the same sad, sordid story? I felt like an observer of my hamster wheel of a life. I drank more red wine to quiet the unsettling voices that had begun to speak their own mind within my thoughts.
What was I really doing here?
A funny thing about Hollywood and red wine: enough of both makes you forget about everything else. So, two bottles of pinot noir later, Heather, my hot pink cast, and I, were paying our tab and heading down the street to The Whiskey. I loved The Whiskey, just as any other girl who frequented the Sunset Strip. Its dark corners and ever-happening vibe afforded us all a playground of constant trouble. You could slip away and no one would ever know, or wonder where you went.
Heather and I had posted up on the outdoor patio, wine-drunk in the late summer air. I was making Heather laugh hysterically by commentating on just about every person who walked outside as if this were a horse race. I stopped, speechless, when Nicolas Cage and Cary Elwes, that sexy British actor from Princess Bride, walked in. They looked so manly and so bravado that I felt like I had to take advantage of the situation. I heard those new ideas come creeping into my mind, but I wasn’t ready to let go of this kind of good time just yet.
We didn’t even have to move, or bait them, or do anything. Nick and Cary walked right over to us like the heavens were serving up fine men on a silver platter. Heather giggled in her schoolgirl way, and I did most of the talking. My hot pink cast really broke the ice as we all had a good laugh when I told the story. For a split second, I was thankful for my new accessory, but that quickly passed.
Sparks were flying between Nick and me, as he kept casting his sexy baby blue eyes all over me. He was shameless and wasted no time in letting me know that he was digging me. I thought about playing hard to get, but that wasn’t really my best game, so I went right along with where this night was going. The four of us grabbed a booth and sat for a bit, sharing stories and drinks. They must have asked us ten times why they had never seen us before.
There was a fresh easiness to Nick. He kept his friends close, and I felt right away at peace with him. He made me laugh, and he was really down to earth. He had the demeanor of a very old friend that had come to visit from far away. It was as if we had been waiting to have this time together, though neither of us really knew it. Nick was attractive, no doubt, but I knew I had a more maternal connection to him. I felt like I wanted to be near, but not necessarily with, him. It was a new feeling for me.
“Well, ladies, it’s been a pleasure,” Nick said, and started to stand up, seemingly out of nowhere. Heather and I looked at each other, confused.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean, we’re having a small party at my house, and I’m not sure if you’d be at all interested, but I mean, of course, you’re invited,” Nick said.
“We’re ready, let’s go!” Heather shouted, and shot up from the booth.
We followed closely behind Nick’s Porsche through the Hollywood hills. His house was beyond excessive. It looked like a replica of an old gothic castle plopped down in the middle of L.A. The inside was no different. It was lavishly decorated and had themed rooms. The hallways were lined with old movie memorabilia, and I felt like I was in a museum and less like I was in someone’s house. Although everything seemed strange at a glance, it wasn’t all that strange, having gotten to know Nick. He was eccentric and comfortable enough with himself to let his freak flag fly. I loved that about him. He was a very freeing person to come across.
In the kitchen, Nick and I made margaritas for everyone. There were already quite a few people at his house when we showed up, and I figured he went to the Whiskey looking for more girls, and then found us. It’s funny how people surround themselves with those that are similar in nature, because all of Nick’s friends reminded me of what I already knew of him. They were all a little loud and off kilter, a little eccentric, but warm and funny. We were gathered in the kitchen, listening to animated stories. Nick’s eyes seemed to cut through the crowd and seek me out wherever I happened to be.
I was talking with a friend of his, perhaps for too long, or too close, because Nick came out of nowhere, slid his arms around me, and said,
“Isn’t she just so beautiful; it almost hurts the eyes,” and he flashed that million dollar grin before sweeping me out of the room. He held my hand and took me swiftly down a long hallway lined with swords as tall as me and full bodies of armor.
“I have to show you something,” he said with the enthusiasm of a child. He took me into a room that was entirely filled with Elvis memorabilia. He was beaming with pride and awaiting my reaction. I hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t it. Of all the things in the world he could have shown me, I guess I wasn’t that surprised. There was clothing, guitars, signed shirts, and lunchboxes.
“My Aunt Lena, she started c
ollecting when I was a kid. She collected for over thirty years; I just kept going where she left off,” he said.”
“I just think he was so cool,” I said, not really knowing what to say, but genuinely impressed by the collection. I think anyone that has passion, whether it’s about Elvis or climbing mountains, is attractive. He grabbed my hand again and led me out of the room, up a winding staircase, and past a series of closed doors to one at the end of a long hallway.
“There’s one more thing I have to show you,” he said, and closed the door behind us.
His bed took up most of the room, and it was just as lavish as the rest of the house. It was so huge and full of so many pillows, that I had the instinct to jump on it like a kid. So, I jumped onto his bed on my knees, and pulled my shirt over my head. I turned around to see him taking off his shirt, and my jaw hit the bed as I stared at his perfectly sculpted body and dragon inspired tattoo climbing up his back. I had a secret weakness for tattoos, and I wanted him on me right away.
“Get over here,” I said.
“You have any tattoos?” he asked, slinking toward me.
“No, but you could check anyway, maybe I forgot,” I said, and grabbed him by the belt, throwing him onto his back on the bed. He started to unbutton my jeans and I ran my hands across his chest, dragging my nails on the skin, leaving red marks where my hands had been.
“The first second I saw you, I loved you in these jeans. Most women wouldn’t wear jeans to the bars around here, but you - you’re different; you’re about as real as they come around here,” he said.
I inched my way down his body, kissing the insides of his thighs. I ran my fingernails down his legs and told him to relax. I took my time, careful, and paid close attention to the rhythm of his breath to gauge what he liked and where to go stronger. Within minutes he said,
“Stop, stop, come here, please,” almost begging me to get on top of him. As soon as I gave him a chance, he grabbed me by the waist and threw me on my back.
I spent the next hour being ravaged by him. He took me up in his arms and bounced me on his lap before flipping me over and burying my face in a pillow. I loved it in a way I hadn’t known myself to love sex before. I was being completely handled by him, and found myself just giving up and letting him take me. I’m sure everyone in the house heard me when I came, and, upon hearing my satisfaction, Nicolas came , , too. When we were finished, he looked over at me, and, in the most sincere voice I had heard him use, said,
“Thank you,” as if I had literally just saved his life.
“No, thank you,” I said, climbed out of bed, and went to the bathroom to freshen up. The funny thing about Nick was that I felt we were cut from the same cloth the moment we met, and our time in the bedroom saved me just as much as it saved him. I needed a good rousing, a massive ego boost, and I felt like I was back in the swing of things. When I came out of the bathroom, he had laid my clothes back on the bed and was out in the party that was now in full swing. When I came out of the room, he met me with a fresh drink and kissed me on the cheek.
“You’re a cold drink of water, you know that, Peggy?” he said.
We spent the rest of the night shooting pool and laughing. I was in complete bliss with my existence, and I knew that wherever it was I was going, I was okay with it. I had been a lot of places, but something about that night, something about Nick, made me feel more in control of my destiny.
Near the end of the night, I found Heather in a dark corner getting hot and heavy with Cary. She was having a grand time. We left just before sunrise, and I remember holding her hand as we giggled and ran to our car. I looked over my shoulder as Nick waved from the front door.
Heather squeezed my hand and looked at me, “Nights like these,” she said.
“Nights like these, indeed,” I said, and smiled just as the sun started peeking over the Hollywood Hills.
Chapter 7
Johnny Depp
Up on the Rooftop
It was an early October evening, and Mercury had just fallen into retrograde, stealing the sense of clarity I’d had all September. I ventured out that night into a city I had always felt I knew so well, but, with the Santa Ana winds blowing heavily over the hills, everything in L.A seemed mysterious. I had been invited to a party at Ted Fields’ home by a girlfriend’s publicist; one of those close, but not too close, invites that leads you into an evening without the slightest clue as to what to expect. The gorgeous home was tucked behind a heavy wrought iron fence and tall trees in the posh Holmby Hills. After arriving, I realized how private the private party was as I mingled with Charlie Sheen, Steve Bing, and Sharon Tweed. I sipped gin and tonics while making small talk about everyone’s new work and our favorite hideaways around town.
I held the black cocktail straw between my burgundy painted nails, twirling the ice in my nearly empty glass, and made eye contact with all the beautiful and gifted people I found myself with. As the evening spun by, some familiar faces, and some that I would never see again, cycled through the rooms, leaving behind trails of conversations and advances that the Santa Ana's would eventually blow out to sea. I spent a great deal of the evening in a dimly lit room on the first floor, smoking cigarettes, and watching the men play pool. I liked this room because its atmosphere seemed to lend itself to the general vibe of the evening in which you could slip away through the walls and no one would wonder where you’d gone.
A delicate brunette with eyes like silver dollars was explaining to me her theory with staying thin,
“If you sleep in past breakfast, and even lunch, sometimes, you’ve missed like, more than half your daily calories…” she said and threw back the shallow end of her vodka. I tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but Johnny Depp had entered the room and sucked all the oxygen out of it. He stood at the far end of the pool table and I could feel his eyes burrowing through the back of my skirt. I repositioned myself in the conversation so I could catch his gaze, and still appear to be involved with the doe-eyed new friend.
“I know what you mean; I’ve been living on celery for weeks and I’ve never felt better,” I said, and laughed, although nothing was all that funny. I just wanted him to see me smile and toss my long golden hair over my thin shoulder. John’s stare was relentless and left very little to question. I met his gaze, bit my lip, and waited. The high ceilings and dim lighting of this dark room made the swirls of smoke visible over the pool table. As I began to wonder if he would make his move, I threw one killer smile his way and finished my drink. Just as I was about to leave the room and fix myself another, I heard someone say,
“Come on, John, if you want to play, take a fuckin’ number.” I glanced over my shoulder to see him all but climbing over the pool table to get to me before I disappeared into the party.
“Excuse me, miss, my name is Marco, and I couldn’t help but notice,” he said, and smiled, placing his hand on my hip while I fell into his words. He was physically magnetic. I could feel myself being drawn into this electric energy that seemed to hang about him at all times. I laughed and played along because I knew all too well who he actually was. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, I said,
“Why, Marco, it is so very nice to meet you. Come here often?”
“The pleasure is all mine. Truly,” he said, and kissed my hand. His lips were soft and warm; they melted against my skin. I felt my breath quicken. “But no, not often. I happen to be new to town. I am just a bit actor trying to meet some important people in hopes of future employment, but I have other interests, as well.”I smiled for a moment and he started to blush. , This made him seem vulnerable for the first time since he entered the room, so I moved in closer.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
“I’m just a bit actor trying to meet some important people in hopes of future employment.” We broke out into a giddy laughter nearly before I could finish my sentence. I put a delicate hand on his chest and tugged at his button-down, which I thought must’ve cost more than I made in a
week.
“What do you say we take a stroll, away from these crowds?” He asked, although it was less of a question and more of an assertion. He held my hand tightly and led me out of the room before I answered. He took me through a maze of rooms and kitchens, each decorated in a distinctly dark style, yet unique in their own rights. We passed several people slipping in and out of dim corners, but he didn’t seem to notice anyone besides myself. The stone floor clattered under my heels as we made our way up a grand stone staircase that wrapped around the backside of the home. He stopped at a large Gothic-styled window with a stained glass image of a dying tree. He opened the window out into the night and stepped through onto the roof.
I never questioned him for a second. I felt completely at ease in his presence. He held my hand and helped me through the window, holding me close once I was outside. We perched ourselves on the roof overlooking the lush courtyard where the party was in full bloom.
Once Upon a Star - Celebrity kiss and tell stories Page 12