Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

“Yeah, thought I’d come by, check in,” Jimi said, giving Stan an intentionally complicated handshake just for the fun of making him look uncool. “Sven, you and Star are at bat today. Your hair looks really nice.”

“Thanks.” Sven was always a bit put off by Jimi’s manner toward him, but unable to put his finger on just why. He turned to check his hair in the mirror.

Jimi swapped a look with Skip, rolling his eyes behind Sven’s back as he primped.

Skip let a snort of laughter escape.

“Well, it looks like you’re busy,” Stan said, shoving the director back through the door. “Come on, Sven, we’ll come back—”

“Stick around,” Jimi said, putting his arm around Sven’s waist and guiding him chivalrously into a chair. “We were using the new espresso maker you got for the trailer, Stan. Billy makes a really mean latte. What’ll you have?”

“That’d be great,” Sven said, a little flustered by Jimi’s familiarity, but taking it as a sign of generosity. He was new to the show and so had no experience of Jimi. “That’d give us a chance to talk before we start shooting.”

“Well, I’ve got to get back to the set,” the director said, rushing for the door.

“I’d better go with you,” Stan said, following hurriedly.

“No, wait, guys,” Sven called after them. “They’re in the middle of setup and they’ll come for you as soon as they’re ready. They know where we are. I’d really like the chance to go over this before we shoot it.”

“I’m not thinking we’re going to have time,” the director said evasively.

“Yeah, we’re running way behind,” Stan agreed, again pushing for the door.

“What?” Sven asked, completely confused. “But the whole reason we came over here—”

“Was to let Star know that we wouldn’t have time for the scene today,” the director said, riding over him.

“So we’re not going to get the chance to do the make-out scene?”

Icy silence.

Stan and the director, their backs to the room, froze in the doorway.

Skip examined his copy of Variety very closely as Billy busied himself with the lattes.

The only sound was of steam escaping as Billy heated the milk.

“Don’t worry, Sven,” Jimi said, breaking the silence and patting him on the shoulder. “It’s just like kissing a guy.”

Even the sound of escaping steam stopped.

“Well, I mean, I know it’s impersonal, but that’s just the point,” Sven said. Completely misinterpreting Jimi’s meaning, Sven rose and spoke to the director, who was forced to turn back. “I’d like to take the time to do what we can to bring some life into it. It’s the first time for these two characters, it’s a little unmotivated, and I think it’s important.”

Still no one spoke.

“Well, Star always says that she just imagines that she’s kissing her husband,” Jimi added, trying to be helpful. “You just do the same.”

“That’s absolutely right, Jimi,” Stan said triumphantly, turning back into the room, as Operation Swedish Meatball succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. “Good advice. Don’t you think, Brock?” He gave the director an elbow.

“Right,” Brock said. “Just pretend you’re kissing your husband. Transference is a powerful way to bring, um, reality to a situation when there’s, uh, no time for preparation.”

“Transference, that’s the ticket,” Jimi said, passing Sven the latte from Billy’s inert hand and giving him an affectionate little pat on the ass. “Just as long as you don’t imagine that you’re kissing her husband,” Jimi concluded with a laugh.

It started small but everyone laughed. Almost none for the same reasons, but it was hearty bordering on hysterical.

Star laughed along, though she didn’t really think it was that funny; she was relieved and mystified that Jimi was taking it all so well. Perhaps wisely, she decided simply to leave well enough alone.

While Operation Swedish Meatball was under way on the work front, Star had been at work on a secret plan of her own. To make a more solid commitment to their life together, she’d decided to make getting the house ready priority one. It was a great idea, except that, like it or not. Star already had at least two other priorities—shooting two television shows a week.

That meant, in the midst of the shoots, Star was having to meet with decorators and contractors to approve samples, colors, plans, and changes. Star found herself with more to do than ever. But with the added demands of keeping up with the house, she was even more overloaded. For the first time, she resorted to some of the pills a bud of Jimi’s had recommended in the final days of Hy Voltz to pep her up once in a while. Not every day, but when her schedule got too much.

Not only did she feel that she could get more done, she felt more organized somehow. She could sit in the tub with a yellow legal pad and plan out a week’s worth of work on the house, then get on the phone, get it all delegated, then sleep it off and get back to work. It was like magic. And magic can be so tempting.

For the time being, it was working. Even their fear and anxiety over Cabo subsided.

“Honey,” Jimi called to her one rare evening when she’d returned home at a reasonable hour. “Come here and look at this.”

“What?” she called back from the kitchen, where she was making herself a smoothie. “What is it?” She walked into the den licking the honey off her finger, still carrying the jar. “You want a smoothie?”

“Look at this.” He pointed at the screen.

“Oh, Jimi,” Star said irritably. “You dragged me in here to look at porn? Whatever they’re doing, I’ve seen it, or done it, or whatever.” She turned to go.

“No, wait,” Jimi said excitedly. “That’s not it. Look at that guy there. With the nipple ring.”

“The one who obviously dyes his hair?” Star asked, turning back, squinting her eyes and folding her arms.

“Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right.” He chuckled. “You notice anything else about him?”

“Aside from the obvious similarities to every man on earth?” Star said, hungry for her smoothie.

“Not just that,” Jimi urged, taking her arm and leading her nearer to the huge screen she was having no difficulty seeing. “Look at his face.”

“His face?” Star snorted, looking. “That’s a novelty.”

“Doesn’t he look kind of like—”

“Oh my God!” Star said, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and covering her mouth. “It’s the plumber.”

“I knew it,” Jimi howled, throwing himself onto the sofa beside her. “I thought it was.”

“It’s totally him.”

The video and the smoothies were quickly forgotten, though not the honey. Star and Jimi loved honey. So much so that they had devised a game they called simply Honey. They took turns. Each would take the jar and put a spoonful of honey on his or her own body. The object was for the other to lick off the honey. They had discovered that you could lick and lick and lick and the honey would still be where you put it, so a couple of spoonfuls could go a really long way. Their plumber proved quite inspirational, and they used nearly half a jar.

Their porn star plumber was not the only interesting discovery that the renovation produced. Getting a permit for additions, Star was asked to sign some papers about the ownership of the house, about them and previous owners. She discovered that the house had once belonged to Vincent Ewer, the star of one of her all-time favorite movies, Stolen Love. It was the story of a man who while robbing a woman’s home discovers her most private fantasies and then pretends to be the woman’s ideal in order to win her love. But once he has that love, he begins to reveal his true self, and he is not at all the man she fell in love with.