Elle
GODS AND MONSTERS
Dating a celebrity may sound like a dream, but for most people who have tried it, it’s more like a nightmare. Just ask Deanna Kizis what one star wanted to do to an unusual part of her body.
I once met this actor at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. We got to talking, and I was amazed to find that he seemed … interested. Which was completely incomprehensible to me. After all, I’d seen every one of his movies— romantic comedies, dramas, war epics. I’d read every magazine profile, which would detail his penchant for rock music and his hopes to direct. I wish I could tell you who he is exactly, but when it comes to dating, even famous actors are entitled to their privacy. Suffice it to say he was in the Thin Red Line, and if most women were to list the actors they’d love to date, he’d probably be there. Meanwhile I’m, whatever — just me. No feature films under my belt, no photographers following me around, no entourage. So when he asked for my number, I was beyond flattered.
He started calling from shoots in places like Sydney and London. It was heady stuff, and my friends were beside themselves. They were captivated by the minor details that people usually find boring; they berated me for not saving my messages so they could hear him speak. Then irony was inescapable: This superstar was a national obsession — and he was on my voicemail.
For our first official date, he invited me to Malibu. I would rather have stayed closer to home, but he never goes east of the 405 freeway because (his words) “There are too many people who know me in Hollywood.” I also had to pick him up. (The famous, who are used to people coming to them, generally do not come to you.) Meet a movie star and the rules go right out the window, along with your dignity.
At dinner, I was surprised to find myself a little bored. Maybe it was because he didn’t have all those one-liners screenwriters had composed for him over the years at his disposal. (He did, however, try to get some mileage out of: “Your ass looks great in those pants.” Nevertheless, when a fan begged for his picture as we left the restaurant, I indulged in the epitome of dum-dum logic, thinking, Well, she’s obviously in love. Ipso facto, I should be, too.
Later I drove him home, and as his face neared mine, I felt I knew what transcendental experience was about to take place; I’d watched him kiss dozens of women on the big screen, and they all swooned. Except, he wasn’t interested in a kiss. Instead, he took me by the wrist. He lifted up my arm. And just as I was wondering what in the world was about to happen, he stuck his face in my armpit. He took a deep whiff and, coming up for air, said “You smell soooo good.”
That’s right, Mr. Movie Star has a smell fetish. One on par with a guy who wants to lick your shoes or watch you dance around in a diaper, that sort of thing. So, he scoured my underarms like a pig digging for truffles — and didn’t even have the decency to be shy about it. (Or to wait until, say, the fifth date, which on my kink schedule may have been a more appropriate time to announce, “I’m into armpits, baby!”) As he repeatedly asked me to spend the night (Answer: No), graciously suggested we could do “everything but ‘it’” (Answer: No, good God), I knew then and there that I never wanted to see him again.
Celebrities are intoxicating because they’re admired by millions, and the idea that they’ve chosen you is the ultimate ego boost.
Who is your dream celebrity date, in your most implausible fantasy of fantasies? You’d choose them because they are our versions of Greek gods: beautiful, powerful, and unattainable for a mere mortal like yourself.
But what if you lived in Los Angeles, where stars roam the Hollywood Hills as though it were a modern-day Mount Olympus? All you’d need is access … Go out. Inevitably you’ll meet a star at the gym or Bristol Farms. Here, the gods walk among us. We work with them. We socialize with them. Sometimes we even sleep with them. Sound ideal? Perhaps not.
Since Ancient Greece we’ve known that gods and mortals just don’t mix. Virgins ran from the philandering Zeus as though he were the plague. Daphne was so fearful of Apollo’s romantic advances she decided the hell with being a woman, and happily lived the rest of her life as a tree. Mortals must never, ever romance the gods. And I’m here to tell you precisely why.
Cold, Hard Truth #1
Sometimes famous people act like crazy people, because they can.
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Cold, Hard Truth #2
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