Heather Kozar, Playmate of the Year, 1999

The past year has been a total trip," says Heather Kozar, pattering barefoot across the blond wood floor in her new Hollywood Hills home. She glides from room to room, giving a tour of the boudoir, the Japanese-inspired bathroom, the office and the skylight-equipped TV area. Then it's out through a glass door and onto a vast stone porch, where Heather sweeps her arm in the air to emphasize the thousands of tiny lights shining below. "West Hollywood is over there. And that's Burbank. And the Playboy Mansion," she says, pointing toward the landscape like a real estate agent trying to sway Leonardo DiCaprio into buying the property, "is right over there." She takes a deep breath and exhales, (text concluded on page 148)Playmate of the Year(continued from page 131) then shows us that quintessential Heather smile (demure at first, then bursting at its seams). "I feel so peaceful up here."

Hollywood has been good to Heather. In the past 17 months, she has landed a national Wendy's commercial, a part on Aaron Spelling's Rescue 77 and a stint as a spokeswoman for Trashy Lingerie, Los Angeles' coolest underwear emporium. But it's the little things about Heather—the way she squeals with delight when her cat, Kokomo, bounds onto her lap, or the way she blushes, burying her head in her hands, while watching her Playmate profile video ("I am such a dork! Look at that hair! Did you see me trip right there?")—that ensure that even if Heather Kozar becomes a household name, Heather will always remain the goofy, self-deprecating girl next door. This she promises. "I talk to my sister and friends from back home and ask, 'I'm not changing, am I? Do I sound different? Snobby?' I figure if my personality hasn't changed by now, it's not going to," she says.

Heather was born in Akron, Ohio on May 4, 1976. "I lived a sheltered life. My mom, a born-again Christian, was against nudity on TV, cussing and soap operas. She even freaked out about violent cartoons. I wasn't allowed to take sex education class in school because my mom thought it meant we would be taught how to have sex. Growing up, I thought it was bad to be naked or to look at myself while in the bathtub. I had low self-esteem, because when I did those things, I thought I was doing something wrong."

When she was 18, Heather's father passed away, and his legacy taught her a valuable lesson. "All my father did was work his butt off. And where did it get him? Dead at 50. Ever since then, I've thought, Why work so hard and stress yourself out if it's going to kill you? I make it a point to live a stress-free, fun-filled life. I surround myself with upbeat friends. I think I enjoy life more than most people." Much of this enjoyment stems from the fact that since migrating west, Heather and her fiancé, Glen Barensfeld, have become part of Hef's intimate circle of friends. That, combined with the world's declaration that the Playboy Mansion is hip again, makes it impossible for Heather not to have a blast. "I try not to act like a maniac," she says, describing the hundreds of late nights she has spent with Hef, his good friends Brande Roderick, Mandy and Sandy Bentley and the rest of the gang. "But boy, do we share a lot of laughs. When I'm partying, I know exactly how to push the envelope. I can be cute and fun and sexy and sassy and push it to the limit—like hanging out of a limo roof naked—but I always stop myself before I do something totally stupid. I'd hate to be thought of as a sleaze." Heather's favorite Mansion event so far has been the New Year's Eve party, a fete that attracted such celebrities as the Red Hot Chili Peppers and actor Joaquin Phoenix. "I wore this sheer lace dress with sparkles," Heather says. "It was just on the edge—sexy but beautiful." When they're not whooping it up at the Mansion, Hef's group can be found sipping cocktails in the VIP sections of Los Angeles' phattest restaurants and clubs. "There are certain places we go each night of the week," Heather says. "Wednesdays we go to Garden of Eden, Thursdays to Atlantic, and so on. It's so much fun to see firsthand how people react to Hef being back on the scene. All the guys—even celebrities—are like, 'You're the king!' It's amazing to be in the middle of the excitement. Hef is happier than he's ever been. I feel really lucky to be able to go to the Mansion any time I want." Of course, Hef isn't the only one who attracts attention. "I don't really mind if a guy comes up to talk to me in a bar. But I do mind if he says something ignorant, such as 'Nice rack.' As an opening line, that's not going to cut it." To charm Heather, a guy has to be "fun-loving, generous and, of course, a good listener. Physically, I'm a butt and wings girl," she says. Wings? "That's what I call a guy's back muscles," she says. "If they're sculpted right, they look like angel wings." Back in the house, Heather examines a picture frame in the shape of a school bus that contains her class photos from grades one through 12. "I had a lot of boyfriends in first grade," she says, motioning to a photo of a tiny girl with curly, maple-colored hair. "But then I lost my front teeth, and that was the end of that." As a teenager, Heather wore flannel shirts and no makeup. She got along better with boys than with girls. "There was a lot of screaming in my face and crazy stuff from the girls," she says. "I guess it's because their boyfriends liked me or something. It's not that I was better-looking than the other girls were—I think I was just nicer. High school was really a time of confusion for me. I had good days and bad days, fun times and not-so-fun times. I guess everyone goes through that." Going back to Akron and flaunting their success in the faces of those catty schoolgirls might be sweet revenge for some. But gloating is not Heather's style. "Going to my hometown makes me nervous," she admits. "I feel like I'm right back in that rut of wanting to be popular and in the best clique and wearing the right clothes. I'm proud that I did something with my life, but I certainly don't think I'm better than any of them."

As a teenager, being famous never crossed Heather's mind. The problem was, she didn't know what to do with her life after graduation. "I was accepted to college, but I never sent in the check," she says. On a lark, she decided to enter a local swimsuit contest. She won the top prize. Then came the Hawaiian Tropic swim-suit pageant and a nudge from a photographer, who encouraged her to enter Playboy's lingerie model search in Cleveland. Once again Heather wowed the judges.

In 1997 she appeared in Playboy's Lingerie Model Search, as cover girl for the May/June 1997 Playboy's Book of Lingerie. She also appeared in another pictorial in the July/August Playboy's Book of Lingerie.

"Next thing I knew, Playboy called me from Chicago, asking me to come in for a Centerfold test. I was like, 'Huh? What? Me?' I found out on St. Patrick's Day that I was going to be a Playmate. Talk about an ego boost." Two years later, and hundreds of miles from Akron, the 20th century's last Playmate of the Year sips a glass of merlot, amazed at her good fortune. It's 11 p.m., and down on Hollywood's notorious Sunset Strip a line snakes around Barfly, where hundreds are waiting to enter Brad Pitt's birthday party for Jennifer Aniston. Up in the hills, a sleepy Playmate sinks into a white couch. Sure, she could hang out with Hollywood's A-list tonight, but what's the rush? If everything goes as planned, Heather will be the toast of the town soon enough.

When I'm partying, I know exactly how to push the envelope—but I always stop myself before I do something totally stupid.