Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

In a matter of weeks, both Star’s exes had become strangers and were rarely even scheduled to shoot on days when Star was on the set. Ruf was actually kind of pleased about the situation. He was still smarting from Star’s unceremonious wedding to the unruly rock star, whose constant presence was a painful reminder of the love he’d lost. For his part, Ant kept count of his pages, and so long as the producers met his arbitrary quota of screen time, he hardly noticed anything else that happened on the show, let alone after “cut” was called.

The only problem was the fans. Star’s character, BeeGee, was the show’s most popular, and the viewers made it more than clear that they were interested in whomever BeeGee was interested in. Stan didn’t really care what the fans wanted, but he cared what the syndicators who bought and sold the show thought, and they only cared what the fans wanted, since audience, not art nor on-set acrimony, was their solitary concern.

That made it Stan’s problem.

His solution: Operation Swedish Meatball. Named by Skip and Billy for the show’s newest cast member, Sven Erickson, the unpleasant nickname was the kindest part of the covert operation. It began with a disinformation campaign to convince Jimi that Sven was gay. He wasn’t, but Jimi was all but oblivious to having Skip and Billy as intimates in Star’s life, hence Stan’s twisted plan. To that end, step two involved convincing Skip and Billy, for huge concessions, to become confederates in making Jimi, and to some degree Star, believe that Sven was just one of the girls. The final and most complicated component of the ludicrous top-secret scheme was crafting two different scripts for the show, one that included increasingly romantic moments for Star and Sven, and a second that gave no hint there was anything going on.

Jimi was only ever allowed to see the sanitized scripts, and the romance was shot only when he was not expected on the set. So Operation Swedish Meatball remained largely untested. The trouble was, no one ever knew for certain when Jimi was going to be on the set.

“He’s not coming,” Missy said, laying out the makeup. She was an unindicted coconspirator in Operation Swedish Meatball. She understood the problem, but wasn’t crazy about the level of deception necessary.

“How do you know?” Stan asked, hopeful for the first time that morning.

“Well, you did not hear it from me,” Missy sighed, debating her truest loyalty to Star and then deciding the best course. “He’s supposed to be meeting with someone from a new label and a couple of guys from the band about possibly a new project.”

“God, who’s the patron saint of musicians?” Stan sighed, leaning forward in an unspoken prayer that Jimi would have to go away on tour. “We need to make an offering or get a medal or whatever it is you do with saints to get them on your side.”

“Your support is touching,” Skip said with a smirk. “Perhaps you want the patron saint of cynical aspiration.”

“I’d perform a tribal war dance at the start of each take if I thought it would help,” Stan declared.

“You’d do what?” Star asked, puzzled by Stan’s odd behavior.

“Just a figure of speech,” Stan said, happily handing her the romance script. “I gotta go talk to Sven. See you on the set.”

“What was all that about?” Star asked the little group waiting for her.

“Maybe he got religion.” Billy shrugged, taking her bag and leading her to the chair. “You ready to get started or do you need a minute?”

“No, I’m good to go,” Star said, shedding the habitual sweatshirt jacket and falling into the chair. “I’m already exhausted and I haven’t even started working yet.”

“Want a mocha?” Billy asked, patting the large and largely unused heap of brass and copper fittings. “I think I’ve figured out how to use this thing.”

“Billy, no one wants another incident,” Skip warned, sampling Star’s hair tentatively, contemplating the next steps.

“Yeah, someone could really get hurt,” Missy agreed, popping some moist towels into the microwave. “That milk gets pretty hot, not to mention the steam.”

“Plus, remember that thing we saw on the news about that coffee bar in Sherman Oaks?” Skip said, shaking a warning comb in Billy’s direction. “The whole thing could just blow.”

“I saw that,” Missy said, programming the machine. “They found pieces of the roof in Tarzana.”

“You should probably just wait until Jimi gets here,” Star agreed, remembering how long it had taken to get the chocolate syrup out of everything in the trailer the last time Billy had tried to operate the espresso machine.

End of conversation.

“Jimi’s coming?” Missy said, looking up from the spinning towels and then realizing and feeling instantly guilty. “I thought he had the meeting with the record people.”

“It wasn’t a real label,” Star said sadly. “It turned out to be one of those infomercial compilation deals. So it really didn’t involve the band. The agent went.”

“Oh,” Missy said, ignoring the reminder bell on the microwave as she stared out the door after Stan. “Well.”

“Are you okay, Missy?” Star asked, puzzled by her curious behavior.

“She was dropped on her head as a child,” Skip whispered into Star’s ear. “Let’s get started.”

Hair and makeup for Lifeguards was mostly about upkeep and maintenance. Skip got her hair up a bit and Billy got the pink lips, lashes, and eyeliner on her. The rest of the time the three took turns freshening her up as the sand, wind, and water destroyed their work, though it mostly fell to Missy.

Jimi came in just as Star was getting ready to go over the day’s pages.

“Hey, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the top of the head. “What’s up?”

“Hey, sweetie,” Star said, reaching up to stroke his face as she leafed through the pages. “How was your morning?”

“Kinda boring,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Waited for the tile guy. Met up with some of my boys, but they had stuff. Thought I could hang with you,” he suggested, taking a chair next to her.

Missy and Skip moved nearer the door.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” Billy said, taking his hand and dragging him away. “You can teach me to work this coffee machine. You’re the only one anyone trusts to work it, and sometimes I want espresso when you’re not here.”

“Billy, my man,” Jimi said, in his element, “there’s nothing to it.”

By the time everyone had their favorite, the tension had dissolved. Star looked over the day’s pages while Missy worrid how to let Stan know the pages weren’t safe or get Jimi to leave. “So what are you up to this afternoon?” Star asked, sipping her mocha.

“Nada,” he said, taking his espresso straight with a twist of lemon. “Thought I’d just hang. What are you shooting today?”

“Some dialogue scenes at the lifeguard stand with Sven,” Star said.

“Oh, Sthven,” Jimi lisped, making a joke of it with Skip and Billy.

They laughed nervously.

“What’s that about?” Star asked, thinking she was cautioning Jimi about making fun of Skip and Billy.

“Just a little joke between me and your boys,” Jimi chuckled with Skip and Billy.

“Really?” Star asked, eyebrows raised. “What’s the joke?”

“Guy stuff,” Skip said, wrinkling his nose dismissively.

“Yeah, guy stuff,” Billy echoed.

“Guy stuff?” Star asked incredulously. “That the three of you have in common?”

“Yep,” Jimi said smugly.

Before the conversation could progress any further, Stan arrived with Sven and the episode’s director. “Star, are you… Oh,” he trailed off. “Jimi. Hi. You’re… here.”