By Natalie Pinkham
Last updated at 11:43 PM on 11th April 2009
TV presenter reveals the astonishing story of how she ended up sharing an intimate, late-night card game with Hollywood’s sexiest leading men...
Nat. Naaat?’ Don Cheadle’s voice echoed in my ears. ‘Nat??’ He became louder. ‘NAT!’ He was getting impatient. ‘It’s on you, 200 to play,’ he urged.
I was jolted into action. We were 15 hands in, in a late-night poker game. I was surrounded by more Hollywood stars than you could shake a stick at.
I was jaded, tipsy and dizzy with adrenaline from the past ten hours – and in the same room as George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon.
Now, have I got your attention? Then you’ll want to know just how this happened...
Golden memories: Natalie Pinkham gambled until 4am in the glamorous Hotel Du Cap
’d been on a last-minute trip to Cannes with my friend Liz. It was on a shoestring – we just wanted to live and breathe the film festival for a few days, but all on a budget.
So we stayed in a single-star hotel and made the most we could of the French Riviera.
Just as I got back to Britain – nursing a four-day hangover from cheap French wine – the phone rang.
It was Mark Scheinberg, the head of poker stars.com, sponsors of the European Poker Tour, a televised tournament that I used to host for the Challenge and Eurosport channels.
He asked if I could throw some stuff in a bag and make my way to the airport for a flight to Nice.
I politely explained that I had, in fact, just stepped off an easyJet flight from the same place and could do with some R and R for the next few weeks, at least.
Then he said: ‘Well, that’s a shame because you are invited on a private yacht with the cast from Ocean’s Thirteen.’
So there was George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon...I was stunned into silence, but
only briefly.
‘This tiredness thing,’ I explained, ‘it’s nothing a ten-minute power nap and a Berocca won’t fix.’
Before you could say Royal Flush I was aboard the Gatwick Express – and heading towards what would prove to be one of the most memorable nights of my life.
Cannes do: Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Matt Damon pose together before the premiere of Ocean's Thirteen at the famous film festival
Bubbling with excitement, I tried my best to manage my expectations, persuading myself that it may not all be as thrilling as the invitation promised.
I forced myself not to send out a group text to all my girlfriends, and chose instead to just call my mum to tell her of this impending adventure.
‘What are you going to wear?’ she enquired. It was the million-dollar question and one I couldn’t give the thought it deserved. I really only had a Top Shop dress to hand. It was yellow and floaty and the only thing that was clean.
My mum suggested I splash out on some shoes; Gatwick departure lounge does, after all, have a great retail section. I agreed, and duly slapped a quite simply stunning pair of silver stilettos on my credit card.
After a restless journey, I finally arrived at our hotel, plucking my eyebrows and painting my nails en route.
As soon as I got into my sumptuous room I hurriedly shaved and moisturised my legs
and washed, blow-dried and straightened my hair. If I was going to meet the likes of Clooney, Pitt and Damon I had to look my best.
Now I love to organise and plan (apparently it’s a Virgo thing) but this last-minute trip allowed me no time whatsoever to indulge this trait.
I had no time to lie awake at night, predicting and planning every last detail of the evening. It was thrilling but tortuous at the same time.
When we arrived at Antibes harbour we went through various security checks before drawing up alongside the gargantuan yacht.
It floated majestically in all its 300ft of polished white glory. As soon as we stepped on board our phones and cameras were taken from us.
My heart sank – how was I going to record the evidence now if I did encounter a Hollywood superstar?
Next we had to sign a document promising not to divulge details of whatever happened on board. Just what was I walking into?
At the game: Daniel Craig as James Bond in Casino Royale
Finally we were asked to remove our shoes. Now come on, this is going too far, I thought. The shoes were my outfit. It was like cutting Samson’s hair; I was nothing without my stilettos.
There was also the height and leg-length issue; all girls know that you rely on an extra few inches to help you strut with confidence.
However, everyone was in the same boat (pardon the pun) so I reluctantly pulled on a pair of the complimentary slippers and edged my way on to the superyacht.
The boat really was a thing of opulent beauty; every detail oozed wealth, from the gold gilded bar and heavy crystal tumblers to the white leather seating that encircled the onboard hot tub.
I felt self-conscious – would they suddenly realise they had made a mistake and that I actually wasn’t on the guest list?
I edged nervously and curiously across the deck. I was with Joe Hachem – a world champion of poker – and his lovely wife Jeannie.
We made sure we had a good snoop around. Each cabin was about the same square footage as my entire flat in London.
Then, just as we settled on deck for a third glass of champagne, in they came, one by one, the stars of Ocean’s Thirteen: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Don Cheadle, Matt Damon.
Poker buddies Brad and George promote Ocean's Thirteen
I blushed and wasn’t quite sure where to look. I had to appear cool, calm and collected, as if these sorts of A-list gatherings were commonplace fixtures in my diary.
George approached us for a chat. A voice inside me urged me to say something clever, witty and engaging.
The next thing I knew I was doing an impression of Gordon Brown. What? I can’t even do it very well, but somehow it provoked a laugh from Mr Clooney; maybe it was out of politeness, although I prefer to think he was genuinely amused.
Brad then tucked in alongside him. Here he was, the ultimate pin-up, within touching distance. And he was uber-cool. He didn’t say much, but when he did, he made it count.
Natalie was on a strict holiday budget
I was with Tamar Yaniv – the then big cheese at Pokerstars.
Normally she is one of the most intimidating ladies imaginable, striking and articulate with a ruthless business brain. Not now.
This was a thing to behold: the boss who normally left men quaking in her wake was modestly blushing as she described the relevance of her tattoo to an inquisitive Mr Pitt.
There were plenty of sycophants fawning all over the stars: wealthy businessmen who had paid in excess of £100,000 to enjoy the cast’s company. It was pretty cringeworthy and we did our best not to follow suit.
It transpired that all aboard had in some way contributed to George Clooney’s Darfur relief effort called Not On Our Watch.
Pokerstars had in fact donated a cool £1million to the fund in exchange for some publicity with the movie, which was also why five representatives (myself included) of the global gaming site had been invited to join the stars.
By about 11pm the evening seemed to be drawing to an end. It had been exciting but I felt that it should really just be beginning, otherwise it would have all just passed in a brief blur.
Just then Brad approached Joe and asked if there was any chance of an impromptu game of poker.
I kicked Joe’s shin, raising my eyebrows – urging him to agree. ‘Of course,’ he blurted.
‘OK, we’ll meet you back at the Hotel Du Cap and set up in a private room. See you all in half an hour?’ Brad suggested. Sucking in my cheeks, I tried to disguise my delight.
Joe, his wife, the rest of the Pokerstars gang and I were off to play a very exclusive game of poker with Brad Pitt and all his friends.
At the Hotel Du Cap – arguably the most glamorous hotel in the world, given the calibre of stars who have swept through its revolving golden doors – we were ushered into a small room behind the downstairs bar.
A buy-in fee for the game of €300 – about £270 – was agreed. I gulped – that was more than my flight.
I didn’t have that sort of cash on me so threw my boss a desperate look. She cottoned on, and discreetly slipped me a bundle of notes under the table.
The game was under way. Everyone was there – Brad (with Angelina looking on from a nearby couch), George, and even Martin Scorsese, who slipped in to check out the poker action.
I had Don to my left and Matt to my right. Matt’s pretty wife Luciana sat the other side of him. She kept asking him to explain the rules as she had never played before.
Now, as many top players will tell you, beware the novice; it is often harder playing against them than a pro.
New players are unpredictable and often bet when they have nothing. They don’t mean to bluff – they just don’t realise that they should have folded much earlier on.
On the third hand of the game I had a pair of jacks – pretty good. I had to act decisively in order to impress Hollywood’s elite.
The cards kept turning over – a three, a five and a seven which I reckoned would not be of much use to anyone else.
Then came a ten – lower than my jacks, so probably not a winning card for anyone else.
I decided I was still ahead, and fuelled by champagne and excitement I made the biggest bet I could.
I thought I must be in with a good chance. It was just me and Luciana left – surely she wouldn’t call my bet?
If she did, I was either going to scoop the pot, but in doing so knock Damon’s wife out of the game, or she would take me down. Good old British fairplay aside, I longed for the former.
Matt and his wife Luciana, who wiped Natalie out
She pushed all her chips into the middle and we were game on.
Don (who was playing dealer) requested we both revealed our hands.
She had a king and a four – so not even a pair. I had jacks. I was ahead.
Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Only a king (making a pair) could save her. I tried to look unruffled – my shaking hand reached for an already empty wine glass. The last card came. In slow motion Don’s hand turned it.
A king. Noooooooooooo! Please don’t let the dream be over!
Damon blurted out a cheer. Luciana clapped with glee, turned to Damon and asked: ‘Did I do good, baby?’
‘Yes, baby, you did good,’ he cooed back – showering her in kisses. Oh get a room, I thought. I was crushed.
I glanced up to my boss like a rejected puppy looking for any scrap of consolation.
Sensing my despondency, she calmly asserted that rebuys were allowed.
Her fearsome authority was back – her declaration meant that I could play again. Once again she slid some crisp new notes under the table and I was back in the game.
Four more hands in and I wasn’t seeing any action. I always play poker in a tight and aggressive way, so I play the hand only if my cards are up to it.
I fold weak cards, unless of course I am feeling really feisty and I’m in the mood for bluffing.
The tension was broken as the patio doors to my left swung open and a bearded Daniel Craig sauntered in. ‘Room for a little one?’ he enquired.
I felt like tapping my lap and saying, ‘Yes, right here, Mr Bond,’ but resisted the temptation.
This was turning into some sort of surreal fantasy, as if I had been superimposed on to a movie set. Brad replied: ‘No man, we saw what you were like in Casino Royale.’
Cue muffled laughter. Oh come on Brad, that was just a movie I said – again just to myself, though.
By now it was 4am. Tiredness was burning my eyes, but the thrill of the evening was spurring me on. The game was winding up and it was agreed all the poker winnings would go to the Darfur cause.
My boss wearily explained she had an 8am meeting so would have to turn in. It felt like Romeo And Juliet – if we fell asleep, then when we woke it would all be over.
I had to be gracious, though – I couldn’t be the last to leave, desperately clinging to the dregs of the night. So we bade farewell to our new Hollywood friends – and as soon as we had hailed a cab I scrambled for my phone and, ignoring the time, called my mum.
‘Sorry to wake you, Mum, but have I got a story for you.’
‘Wake me?’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting by the phone all night.’
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