Sitting in the office of the National Enquirer in 2003 put hair on your chest.
Hearing tabloid veterans brag about crashing Dennis Franz’ wedding or sniffing through Tonya Harding’s garbage was one thing, but when a 20 year old Santa Monica blondie walked in with a tell-all about Val Kilmer…well, I just had to stop the presses.
The blondie claimed that she had been hitch-hiking just the week before on the highway in New Mexico when a U-Haul pulled over and picked he up. Inside the truck was a man and a god who she instantly recognized as Val Kilmer.
“They were loaded on peyote,” she told me in a soft voice.
Sex happened. All the while, the U-Haul was in motion.
The far fetchedness of this story seemed like it wasn’t going to make it past my lunch break, but then the Poloroids came out. This woman had Poloroids of one of the biggest stars in the world (at that time – think “The Saint”) with his pants, literally, down.
To my shock, the honchos at the Enquirer took a pass on the story. “No drugs was kind of an official policy.”
To this day the bare flesh of his “Top Secret” still rattles around my skull and it often reminds me of all the best untold stories in Hollywood that will never be told . . . until now.