Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

“Private party,” she said, pushing the door closed and turning the latch. But if she hadn’t been a married lady, she’d surely have yanked blue eyes inside before she’d locked the door. She had to laugh at herself as she looked out the back window and saw the orgy that was evolving in the pool and hot tub. She’d have to point blue eyes out to Jimi later.

She was still laughing to herself as she headed for the privacy of her bathroom. She smiled as she remembered how Roberto, whom she’d worked with on the Cabo shoot, had become so sexually obsessed with Jimi that he’d broken into the house one night when he knew Star was working late and Jimi was alone. Creeping into that very room, he had awakened Jimi with promises of the best blow job he’d ever had.

As always, Jimi woke up horny and ready to go, so with a shrug he agreed and the deal was struck. The comforter was tossed aside and Roberto moved in to close the deal when Jimi spotted the braces on Roberto’s teeth.

“Whoa, tiger,” Jimi said, pulling the comforter back up to cover his hard-on.

“What’s wrong?” Roberto asked, still panting with excitement.

“Dude, head’s head but those braces might tear my shit up,” Jimi said giving his intruder a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning over and going back to sleep.

She had to laugh and she had to love him. It wasn’t that he was a married man, it wasn’t the blow job from another guy, and it wasn’t even the breaking and entering that put her man off. It was the braces. She laughed and thought again about blue eyes and wondered what Jimmy would say; after all, it was a party.

After the shower she put the dogs away out of concern for what they might pick up off the floor, and went in search of Jimi.

When she finally found him, he was in the studio at the keyboard with Fools Brigade doing what he loved best. Star would have liked to think it was second best, but she doubted it and that was okay. She sat and listened and watched for a while. He looked so happy and complete.

Darien and Joshua, bass and guitar, had been in high school with Jimi. Fools Brigade had started in Jimi’s parents’ garage, and they were still playing, as they had back when Jimi’s father had enclosed and soundproofed the carport in self-defense. Vic, the drummer, had joined them a bit later, after they’d quit school to follow their dream to the Sunset Strip music scene and follow in the footsteps of their idols.

They were grown men now and had reached an age when most men in their field were either dead from the excesses of the life or slipping into obscurity. Some few, if they were smart, lived on the investments made during their salad days. Some, like the Stones, stayed on to become legends. And some just refused to leave the stage, even though the audience had long departed. You never knew which it was until you were being voted into the hall of fame or a made into a punch line.

Which it turned out to be hardly mattered at that moment.

Star knew how happy Jimi looked pounding out their old hits, his drink untouched and melting, his hands busy. What she didn’t know was that playing together was all that was still possible for the group. Whether or not they’d been onstage too long, they had been together too long, and the minute they stopped playing, they started fighting. But Star couldn’t tell by looking. She only saw Jimi’s joy as his fingers found the familiar keys. Eventually she went and joined him on the bench, resting her head on his shoulder as he played on into the night.

When they finally took a break, he kissed her and before she could say anything at all and put her at ease. “I have no idea who all these people are,” he said quietly into her ear. “I invited about twenty or thirty of the usual suspects, and this is who showed up. They had to have the gate code to get in, so it was an inside job. I’m thinking Hank and JC?”

“Or Theresa; I caught them upstairs in our bathroom.” She grinned, nodding. “I didn’t know they were that close.”

“The candy man is everybody’s best friend,” Jimi said knowingly. “I think they knew each other from back home. Or maybe they just had that in common.”

“Yeah, well, there’s way, way too much candy in this house,” Star said, just strongly enough to let him know she wanted to turn down the volume.

“I’ll do a little housecleaning,” Jimi said, kissing her forehead. “You amuse the band, but remember, you’re my groupie.”

She smiled as he slipped away. He could be such a good guy.

“Okay,” Jimi said, waving his arms like a traffic cop. “Mom’s home, time to go.”

“Who needs a drink?” Star asked, turning back to the more intimate inside crowd in the studio.

Jimi got it down nearer to the originally intended group and their “plus ones,” which was still fifty or so, and the odd straggler who’d turn up or regain consciousness in some forgotten room or cranny of the house and wander back into the party. Hank, Theresa, and JC were not around, but Star figured that with Hank’s house just down the road they’d moved the little party from her bathroom to the privacy of Hank’s bachelor crib.

The band played for a while, then headed out to the pool, where Jimi served dinner off the grill built into the natural rock that they’d used to frame the pool. Dinner wasn’t served until around one in the morning, but no one seemed to care.

Star knew she should get to bed for work the next day, but it was turning out to be such a magical night, and they were already home and safe. It was a relief to have a good time when nothing could go wrong.

Eventually, the fact that they were no longer eighteen-year-old rock warriors took its toll, and the professional musicians and their plus ones and twos began to drift away for the evening. As Star and Jimi were closing the gates behind the last of the guests, and Mutley made one last check of the bushes before following them upstairs to his place in the chair at the foot of the bed, the house phone began to ring.

“Who can that be?” Star wondered. It was almost morning.

“I’ll go,” Jimi said, trotting across the lawn.

Jimi didn’t come back out or call her, so she figured that it must have been someone from the party who’d forgotten something, otherwise it was too late for anyone in that hemisphere to be phoning. She had a nice walk around the big yard with Mutley, then headed inside, where she found Jimi, still on the phone, looking grave and writing away.

“What?” Star said, surprised to see that Jimi was still up, let alone still on the phone. “What is it?”

“Hank’s in jail.”

“What?” Star said, genuinely not comprehending.

Jimi might as well have said “The Martians have taken Washington.” It just didn’t make sense, didn’t fit somehow.

“He was arrested for dealing drugs,” Jimi said, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. “I woke up the lawyer and I’m on hold to see what we can do about bail tonight.”

“Hank, my brother?” Star asked, her brow knit. “It’s a mistake.” She slid down the wall and sat on the floor. How was it possible?

Their lawyer arranged for Hank to sit out the night in an office at the police station where he’d been brought after his arrest, then be taken directly to be arraigned, without ever having to actually be in jail.

As it turned out, the arraignment never happened. The lawyer met with Hank in the police chief’s office to get an idea what they were up against. Star went along to see if she could talk to her brother and find out what had happened.

The sun was just rising as she and the lawyer were admitted to see Hank in the sterile, no-frills office.

“Hank,” she said, throwing her arms wide.