Once Upon a Star - Celebrity kiss and tell stories

by Peggy Trentini

  The mansion was decked to the nines as it always was for parties. Hef spared no expense on his parties, and this one was the best of the year, without a doubt. There were lights strung everywhere, a massive tent filled with bars, food, and there were painted women everywhere. Celebrities seemed to pour out of every crack and cranny. The ratio of women to men was about five to one, as usual. I ran into many old friends, and the night had me glowing, just as I had hoped it would.

  Once I was there, I thanked myself for coming. Times wouldn’t always be like this. I felt it important to embrace this night. I spent some time chatting up Jerry Bruckheimer next to the buffet of shrimp and olive bread. He had cast me in Doctors in Love, his first feature film. I played a party hostess opposite Hector Elizondo and Sean Young. Jerry had taken me under his wing, and liked my innocence. He had warned me about the dangers of Hollywood. Now, being on the other side, I told him that he had been right, and I told him that I should have listened.

  For as tired of the parties and the fame as I had become, there was something crystalline about this night. I can remember it in the most detailed fashion: the glimmer of the trays carrying champagne flutes, the bartenders, the women. I remember the lights strung through the tent, and the way the smoke danced when it passed by them. I remember a general hum of conversation, and swirls of smiles and make up and pretty faces. I remember feeling at peace in all the madness, and a slow-rolling need to both stay put and leave, at the same time. I felt like I wasn’t really there, but was just watching myself be there. It was the strangest feeling I had ever had.

  So, I was standing there in that big tent, looking up at the lights while everyone spun circles around me. I was thinking about life and probably looking like I was high on something. I looked down, and my gaze met the softest pair of eyes I had ever come across. They said something to me, and I was caught incredibly off guard. That train of thought I’d had, that other plane I was on, he was on it, too.

  He came toward me. He smiled. I smiled. Our eyes smiled.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Rather incredible,” I said, “All this for one night.”

  “My name is Mark.”

  “Peggy.” We shook hands and smiled again.

  We didn’t say much at first. He looked up at the lights. I had never seen him before; I didn’t feel like putting on an act. He was tall and sexy, but shy like no one I knew in Hollywood.

  “What do you do?” I asked. He wasn’t like anyone I had known. I thought, maybe, that he was a part of the catering staff, and was off work. He was so handsome though, I couldn’t stop staring. He wore his head shaved, and the lights in the tent bounced off it. I thought it was funny.

  “Is that what everyone around here asks?” he said. He took a sip of his beer and shrugged his shoulders. I could tell he was thinking about walking away.

  “I only asked, because you don’t seem like everyone else, or anyone else, for that matter,” I said.

  “And neither do you,” he said, taken another sip, and clinked the green bottle against my champagne flute so hard that I was surprised when it didn’t break in my hand. He was strong, but his energy was soft. He was a puzzling combination, yet a wonderful contradiction.

  “Want to take a walk?” I offered, and he followed without a word.

  We walked toward the zoo. Hef kept a full zoo on the grounds, and it always felt separate from everything else. We were removed, and I could hear the hum and shouts of the party like some far away land. We sat closely, talking about ourselves.

  “So, really though, who are you?” I finally asked after sharing more about myself than I usually ever did on even the third date, if there ever was one.

  “I play hockey,” he said.

  I had a quick memory of an old boyfriend rambling on about hockey, rambling about Mark Messier, the messiah of hockey. I laughed a little bit. He did, too. We both knew that I now figured out that he was an international hockey superstar. I was laughing more at myself over the fact that, even when I tried to stray from the tried and tested, I simply found another road to travel. I thought, though, that maybe this was the change I needed. I had never dated an athlete before, and, so far, it was going really well. He was genuinely different than anyone else I had ever known. He was a gentleman more than anything.

  “I’m playing a game here with the Kings tomorrow,” he said.

  I smiled.

  “Would you come?”

  I smiled again.

  I gave him my number, and he said he would call the next day to confirm my tickets and everything else. He put his hand on my leg.

  “I should go, I have a curfew on game nights,” he said.

  I loved that he had a curfew. What? He didn’t try to kiss me, or fondle me in the zoo. He asked about where I was born, and what I liked to do in my spare time. It seemed to me that he was a real human being. He held my hand as we walked back toward the party. We found Katy surrounded by men all vying for her attention. I introduced her to Mark, and then he quickly stepped out. I was lit up the rest of the night, thinking about my date with him. I hung around Katy most of the night, watching her glow in her time. I loved her for this, and I loved myself for feeling past all this. Times were changing.

  I was sipping coffee in my apartment the next morning, and Googling Mark. I needed to do some research, seeing as I had never been to a hockey game before, and really had no idea who he was, other than what my ex-boyfriend had said some few years back. As it turned out, I had really struck the jackpot, as his bio told me that he was:

  “Considered one of the greatest NHL players of all time, as well as among the greatest leaders in sport history. He [was] second on the all-time career lists for regular season points (1887), playoff points (295) and regular season games played (1756). He won six Stanley Cups, five with the Oilers and one with the Rangers, and is the only player to captain two different professional teams to championships. His playoff leadership while in New York, which ended a 54-year Stanley Cup drought in 1994, earned him the nickname "The Messiah". He was also known, over the course of his career, as "The Moose" for his aggression and strength.”

  Uh, yes please! I felt a great renewal of spirit and spunk. The phone rang, and it was Mark. He said my tickets would be at will call at the Forum. It was too last minute to convince any of my friends to go. Sure, if it was some celebrity they knew, and then they would jump on my bandwagon in a heartbeat. The second I said hockey game, they were all suddenly busy.

  I went solo, and I was okay with it. It was a part of the new me. I was doing new things, meeting new people, just being new. I was nervous and excited on my way there, like the first day of school, or the first day on set for a new project. I wore some really nice jeans with a cashmere sweater under a leather jacket. It was the perfect mix of sexy and casual. I was so glad when I got to the arena that I was neither over nor under dressed.

  The crowd was crazy, and it really got my blood pumping. It reminded me of a big concert like the ones I would go to with Vince, but this one had a lot of food and a lot more beer. It seemed like every single person was holding a beer. So, I got a beer, too. I wanted to fit in, and rarely did I ever drink beer. When in Rome, I thought. Someone working saw how lost I was, and he helped me find my seat. It was front and center on the ice. Wow, I thought.

  I kept looking around to see what people were doing, studying them on how to act or what to watch. I wondered when the whole thing would start. I tried to spot Mark, but the players were warming up and moving so fast, and they all had helmets on. It was madness. The lights went dim, and everyone started cheering. Music started blasting, and everyone started cheering as they announced Mark’s team, the Canucks. They all skated out onto the ice, and Mark got a roaring applause.

  “Messier! Messier!” Everyone shouted. I started clapping; this was so exciting.

  Mind you, I knew nothing about hockey other than what I had read on the internet. So, when a fight broke out in the first ten minute
s, I was totally freaked out. Then I was more freaked out, because the fans seemed to love it; they cheered it on. I was mortified. I started shouting, too, but for the Canucks, to defend Mark. I didn’t know what had come over me. A large man sitting behind me leaned over and put his hand on my shoulder,

  “Little girl, if you want to stay in one piece, I suggest you keep your cheers to yourself.” I looked around and realized I was sitting at the Kings’ home arena. I sank down in my seat and tried to make sense of the rest of the game.

  I loved the feeling of hockey more than the game itself. I liked the cold bite of the arena, and the sounds of the skates on the ice. I liked the adrenaline rush as the players flew past. Mark sent over one of his friends to make sure I was all right. He gave me a piece of paper from Mark with his cell number on it, and the address of a bar to meet him at afterward.

  I spotted Mark glancing over a few times to make sure I was actually there. I tried to keep smiling in the hopes that one time he would see it. The whole night was very new to me, and very exciting. The Kings won by two goals, and I hoped Mark wouldn’t be too disappointed. I hurried out to valet to meet my hunk of man at the bar.

  I knew it would take him a while to get there, so I stopped off at Trashy Lingerie to get myself something to wear later that night. I slipped it on under my outfit in the car outside the bar where were supposed to meet. I walked in. It was a sports bar, I should have known. I hadn’t been to a sports bar, maybe ever. I saw Mark waiting for me. The whole team was there, and they were all dressed in suits.

  I kissed Mark on the cheek, “Thank you. I really enjoyed the game. It’s all just so exciting!”

  I asked about the suits: apparently they’re required to wear them between games on the road. It was an old tradition to show respect and dignity for the game. It was a tradition I could certainly get behind, because all these young men looked so dashing. I laughed at all my foolish girlfriends who had turned down my invitation for the night. They could have had their pick of the litter.

  I met all of Mark’s teammates, and made a special note that I wanted to set up Katy with his goalie, and good friend, Garth Snow. He was handsome and witty, and could totally handle a spitfire like Katy.

  I sat across from Mark, sipping a margarita. He was painfully shy, and, whenever I would get too close, he seemed to get nervous. I was worried that he didn’t really like me and was wondering why he had asked me here at all. I wanted to throw myself on him, and the more he played coy, the more I wanted him. He eventually paid the bar tab, and walked me out to my car. I felt defeated.

  When I went to open the car door, he grabbed me, held me tightly, and said, “I really want to kiss you right now.”Thank goodness, I thought. I had been worried that I had lost all my skills, all my charm.

  “Then what’s stopping you?” I asked. I put one hand on his chest, and felt his heart beating through the suit. Then he kissed me. It was long, soft, and wet. It was sexy, but gentle. He spoke a certain language with his tongue, a language I wasn’t yet familiar with.

  “I want to see you again before I leave,” he said. He had me pressed against the car, and I was wrapped up, lost in his big arms and in the moment.

  “Why, is tonight over?” I asked.

  He lit up, smiled, and kissed me again.

  “Come to the hotel?”

  “Oh yeah, definitely,” I said.

  I followed him back to the hotel, and gave my car to the valet. We raced up to his room, pawing each other in the elevator, and laughing. The moment he opened the door, I started ripping his clothes off. Beneath that suit, I found six feet, and close to two hundred pounds, of solid fine-ass man. Dear lord, I had been wrong all along. Athletes were way hotter than rock stars!

  From that moment on, we went at it for hours. He had this superhuman stamina. It had to have something with the sport, but it was seriously unreal. The suite we were in afforded us all sorts of creative places to have sex. We started on the table, and then went into the kitchen. He lifted me onto his waist, and fucked me against the window. He was so strong and I was so small that I felt like I weighed nothing at all. I felt even more feminine in contrast to his frame, and I loved it. He bent me and twisted me like silly putty, and I couldn’t get enough of him.

  Afterward, we showered together and he teased me, whipping me with a towel, and licking my face like a puppy. For how big and strong he was, he was also childish and soft, like teddy bear. I wanted to curl up in his arms and fall fast asleep. I was falling hard for him. I didn’t try to stop myself. I didn’t try to slow the fall either. I just let it happen. Of course.

  I had an early call time for a modeling shoot, so I had to go. He kissed me goodbye a dozen or so times. Eventually, I made my way to the door, grinning and laughing.

  “I’ll call you when I get home, and we’ll make plans for you to come on the road and see me soon,” he said, and kissed me goodbye for the thirteenth time.

  I smiled over my shoulder and waved as I disappeared down the long hotel hallway.

  Driving home, I was beaming. I replayed the whole evening. I laughed in my car and shook my hair, trying to grasp what was happening. Mark was the real deal. Then, a strange paralyzing thought came to me and washed over my entire body. It made me sick, and left me sitting at a green light. Dating a professional athlete was no different than dating a musician. They were always on the road, and you had to fly out to go see them. They probably had hockey groupies, too! God damn. Putting a wolf in sheep’s clothing doesn’t make him a sheep, he’s still a wolf.

  No, I stopped myself from spiralling downward. No, I had to think positively. Mark had a curfew. Mark was different. Hockey was different. They weren’t even allowed to be with women before a game. They could actually get fined if they got caught. That certainly wasn’t the case with musicians. No, this was different. I was going to rely on the old traditions of the game to keep my faith in this circumstance. This was different, I kept telling myself the whole way home.

  Canucks vs. Coyotes

  The next few months passed by quickly, the way happiest times do. Isn’t that true? Doesn’t it seem that the hard times last forever? They drag their feet through time, refusing to budge or make a dent in the calendar. Then the happy times fly past, and months get swept under the rug. Is it only in pain that we take note of how precious time can be? Well, with all that said, my time with Mark was remarkable, dare I say?

  He was on the road, and I was consumed in a tornado of work, so the space our relationship provided was a welcome relief. I didn’t have time for someone to be knocking on my door every night. I felt I had finally struck a balance in love and career and life. He called me every single day while he was gone. I loved his Canadian accent coming through the receiver. I would get home to messages on my machine, and just fall on the floor, giggling like a seventh grader. He was my knight in shining armor and hockey pads.

  We had lots of steamy phone sex, and, finally after weeks and weeks of lying in my bed, thinking about him, I made time to go see him on the road. He wanted me to bring a friend or two, because there would be a lot of time he couldn’t be with me. They weren’t even supposed to have women with them on the road, or flying into visit, so the whole thing was pretty hush-hush.

  I immediately called Katy to invite her to meet Garth Snow. I knew they would totally click. I asked her to help me recruit a few more girls to join this adventure. She suggested we bring her friend, Sharise, and her sister, Shanae. They were both models, and drop dead gorgeous. The guys would be beyond stoked, and, plus, they were huge hockey fans.

  Mark planned everything for us. I loved that. I loved feeling taken care of by a man. Maybe it goes back to some other generation instinctual sort of thing, but I’m old fashion like that. I like when a man orders for me, or books tickets. I like men that just make decisions when decisions need to be made.

  We had a blast on the plane, drinking all the free champagne we could handle. I found out quickly that Sharise was also a
n ex of Vince’s. A few awkward moments passed, but we quickly weeded through it and started sharing war stories. We ended up becoming really close friends after this trip, and I always thought it was funny how we were brought together by something that should have torn us very far apart.

  When we arrived in Phoenix, a driver took us straight to a hotel, and we found out that Mark had booked two rooms. Katy and I took one, and Sharise and Shenae took the other, right next door. Mark’s room was just down the hall, as well as many of the other players. The whole thing felt like sleep away camp, because we weren’t suppose to be with the boys.

  He came over to my room to greet me, wearing that big sexy smile I had missed so much. That split moment where we first saw each other and I ran into his arms, watching him walk toward me, I’ll never forget that. He picked me up off the ground and swung me around and carried me into the room.

  “I am so happy to see you, you have no idea how much I missed you,” he said.