Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

But illusions were not the immediate trouble. Reality was causing Star far more problems.

Hy Voltz ’s holiday premiere was looming large. On the surface it was a joyous event, a big studio premiere of Star’s first film. There was every reason to celebrate her big moment. Yet, in truth, the experience had left her with so many unpleasant memories it was hard to be excited, let alone celebratory.

On the plus side, a piece of music Jimi had written had been selected as the title theme, and it was something for him. More than anything else, she was happy about the opportunity to promote the sound track and Jimi’s work. Jimi too seemed pleased about the event.

It was their first red carpet walk together. That is, it was the first time they had actually invited the paparazzi to take their picture together. The opening was held at the old, historic Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard, the site of all those famous handprints and footprints in the cement out front. Star had not been to the Chinese since she’d first arrived in Hollywood and taken the irresistible trip over to see.

So returning to the spot for the opening of her first film was more than a little significant to her. Of course, she was wearing a lace-up rubber outfit, huge hair, and major eyeliner. Jimi had combed his unruly hair and slicked it back. In his tuxedo he looked more like a 1920s matinee idol than a wild man rock star, and it was all Star could do to let him out of the back of the limo as Lito drove them to the event.

“Later,” she said, stealing one last kiss as they pulled up to the entry for the carpet walk.

“It’s a date,” he said, copping a squeaky feel.

The door flew open and the world rushed up to meet them.

The photographers were quickly sated with couple shots and soon began screaming out for Star alone.

Star was torn. It was work. She was there to draw as much attention to the event as possible. The best way for her to do that was to pose for the photos and do the interviews on the carpet. But fuck them, she decided, clutching Jimi’s arm, she would take pictures only with Jimi, and too bad for a movie that had treated them both so shabbily.

When they got inside, she was held up by the producers, and Jimi went to get them something to drink. Jimi was well on the way to plastered by the time she caught up to him, though where he’d gotten enough to drink that fast she wasn’t sure. The party wasn’t until after. So, drunk in the car on the way home, he had canceled their date by passing out on the way inside and slept on the floor in the front hall.

The film fared much better than anyone expected, rocketing to number one.

The critics didn’t agree, but to everyone’s surprise—including Star and Jimi—the public couldn’t get enough of Hy Voltz, which quickly became the highest-grossing film of the year. Even the sound track shot up the charts, with Jimi’s theme song getting constant airplay.

It was as if Star couldn’t make a mistake. But the increased scrutiny only served to heighten her fears that someone was going to find out what they’d done, which only drove the two of them more deeply into seclusion and—irony of ironies—only increased the paparazzi’s appetite.

The only answer was escape of a different kind.

Jimi seemed happier. In the midst of the chaos of their home renovation he’d somehow managed to get the garage studio up and running. While there was nothing official yet, he’d been having a high old time jamming with his buds on tunes new and old. He even set up a little production company he called Jimiville after the name Star had given the house.

Star was pleased that Jimi was spending more time with his work, but between the two of them the party never stopped. There were always friends over and plenty of good times, but it was starting to take its toll on Star. Often, there were still people up from the night before when she left for work at 5 A.M.

Star was working two production jobs, and her hours did not match those on the unwritten party invitations. So, in the credit column, Jimi was more occupied, leaving her on her own on the set. On the debit side, Star was catching up on her sleep in her trailer, her only refuge from the Hollywood Scene Stealers taking over her life.

The combination was wearing her down, but she wasn’t sure how to fix it. If things got too quiet the paranoia and anxiety kicked in. Not to mention that she was actually having a great deal of fun when she didn’t have an early call the next day.

Operation Swedish Meatball continued to work, as well, and even when Jimi was on the set, he was less jealous and suspicious of Star and her costar. Their on-screen romance was flourishing, and even the tabloid rumors of an offscreen romance between her and Sven only made Jimi laugh. Star was unaware of the hoax that was responsible for Jimi’s change of attitude and just chalked it up to their party-like-a-rock-star lifestyle.

It was a tiring but good time. The only real sour note seemed only a little sharp at the time.

The party moved to Star’s trailer as well. She regularly returned from the set to circumstances that to call unprofessional would be a massive understatement. Loud music, naked groupies, and more than one of the show’s staff injured. One of the wardrobe ladies ended up getting divorced over a particularly spicy afternoon.

It meant that Billy, Skip, and Missy were almost constantly on set to look after Star’s hair and makeup and to escape the goings-on in the trailer.

But it also strained Operation Swedish Meatball to the breaking point.

The romance between Star’s and Sven’s characters was really heating up. “When will BeeGee and Casey do it?” the tabloids and the fan magazines wanted to know. The romance had progressed well beyond the moonlight-kiss stage, but hadn’t quite made it to the bedroom. Clearly, what had started as a little on-the-job flirtation between the two lifeguards was barreling toward the bedroom.

Jimi remained oblivious, even going so far as to try to fix Sven up with a record promoter who Jimi knew batted for Sven’s team. Skip headed off the disaster and assured Jimi that Sven was seeing someone. Fortunately, that someone’s name was Samantha, and Sven always called her Sam.

The double play saved the day temporarily, but ultimately doomed the game.

Jimi could ask about Sam and Sven could mention her without raising much suspicion, but only because Jimi and Sven didn’t really talk much—until they discovered a shared fondness for that peculiarly L.A. obsession, the Lakers.

“We should have Sven and his partner over for game night sometime once the season starts,” Jimi suggested to a distracted Star. “Or maybe we could all go to a game.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Star said, only half-considering it as she checked herself in the trailer’s makeup mirror following a quick bathroom break between takes. “Is Sven starting a business?”

“I don’t know.” Jimi shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“You said his partner.”

“Oh, well, what’s the right term?” Jimi turned his palms skyward. “Lover, significant other?”

“Aren’t you formal?” Star eyed him in the mirror.

“Okay, Sam then.” Jimi shrugged. “We never do anything with your friends. I thought it would be nice.”

“That’s sweet, honey, but really, we’re not that close.” She gave him a quick kiss as she headed out the door. “Anyway, I’d rather keep it that way. I feel like everyone here knows too much of my business as it is.”

Sven was such a big Lakers fan and the series was doing so well that he treated himself to two courtside season tickets to the Lakers. At the price of a luxury sport coupe, the tickets were a celebrity indulgence.