Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

“Star, I’m so glad to see you,” he said, falling between her arms, his head on her shoulder. It had been a long time since the old days when he’d come to her frightened by a storm or a bully or one of their parents’ fights. They held each other for a bit.

“Are you okay?” she asked intently, holding him at arm’s length to look at him and see for herself.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he sighed. “Considering.”

“Then what the hell happened?” she demanded, smacking him sharply on the shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“It was an accident,” he pleaded.

“An accident?” she asked incredulously. “You were accidentally dealing drugs?”

“I was not dealing drugs,” he said indignantly. “JC was dealing drugs. I was just in the car when he ran into the back of the police cruiser.”

“He ran into a police car?” Star said, the hint of a smile beginning to crack her stony expression.

Hank nodded.

“With a carload of drugs?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, thank God Theresa wasn’t with you,” Star said, strangely relieved by the way things were unfolding.

They held each other and laughed.

By the time Hank made bail, the press had not only convicted Hank of being a West Coast drug kingpin, despite no charges ever being filed, they’d also “discovered” that Star was a heroin addict. True, she had been more adventurous about “experimenting” since she and Jimi had gotten together. True, some of those experiments were extensive enough to have qualified as FDA studies. But not only was she not a heroin addict, she’d never even tried it.

Star heard the news of her alarming addiction while listening to the radio in her car one morning on the way to work. This curious and unexpected fact about herself came to her with the aid of Andy Callas. Star had tuned him in to let Andy do the talking on the way to the set.

“And did you see this thing about Star Deed?”

“Who?” said Jai, the woman who worked with Andy on the air.

“Star Leigh. Okay, Jai, it’s time to let that go. She changed her name, okay?”

“That’s just wrong, Andy.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

“Star has certainly been in the news a lot lately.”

“Too bad about her brother’s getting arrested and all,” Andy said, clearly not aware of the charges having been dropped. “He’s a drug dealer, apparently, and now I see in this morning’s papers that she’s a heroin addict.”

“That really is a shame. Do you think that’s true?” Jai asked, knowing when to tee her boss up so he could drive it home.

“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you,” Andy said pensively, “if she is, she’s the healthiest-looking heroin addict I have ever seen.”

Star turned off the radio.

“Well, what’s next?” she said to Mutley as they arrived for another brutal day of running in the sand. “Come on, boy.”

She liked being able to take her old pal with her to the set from time to time. She didn’t do it every day since he had a yard of his own, but she loved the extra affection and company.

“We heard,” said Billy as she followed Mutley into the trailer. “You okay?”

“Glad I look healthy,” she moaned, falling into the chair. “When is it ever enough?”

“We figured that you’d be pretty upset. How’s Jimi taking it?” Skip asked.

“I don’t know if he’s heard,” Star said. “He doesn’t usually listen to Andy.”

“It was in the trades and the tabloids too.” Skip pointed at the papers on the couch.

“Oh, God,” Star whined as she read the headlines. “FORMER ROADIE SUES FOOLS BRIGADE. This is the sue-me state.”

“Hello,” Billy called, wiggling his fingers in a little wave as he held up his hands. “Skip and I have opted not to sue you in favor of writing a really vicious tell-all book after your career tanks.”

“You two,” Star said, pinching his cheek affectionately. “You are true Hollywood friends.”

“So, you didn’t know?” Skip said, whipping up some magic chemicals to tame the roots he’d spotted as Star had first slumped into the chair that morning.

“About this lawsuit?” Star said, pointing at the paper. “First I heard of it.”

“Well, then what was it you were talking about?” Skip said, setting the bowl of dangerous chemicals aside and adjusting her posture as he put a plastic cape around her.

“I’m a heroin addict.”

“Oh. Yeah, that does sound pretty awful,” Skip teased. “So put some down below too. Here’s an extra teaspoon to make sure the carpet matches the drapes.” He handed her the bowl of bleach.

She was shooting a scene with the show’s star, Foster that morning. As head lifeguard, his character frequently offered guidance and sage advice to his little grasshoppers. Despite his serious character, being in a scene with him was a roller-coaster ride, though Star loved him just the same. He’d been the brains behind the show and she looked up to him.

Typically, he’d do his part of the shoot and leave. The person “sharing” the screen with him acted to a piece of tape on a stick at Foster’s eye level with someone else reading Foster’s dialogue. The only thing more nerve-racking was when Foster actually stayed to do the scene, as Star was experiencing that morning. While he was on the set with her, he was also talking on two cell phones between his lines and during hers, making bets on horse races. It was amazing how he could manage both at once.

The sun went behind a cloud and the director called cut on the scene. It was a big cloud, and Star took the opportunity to call Mutley over and take a little walk on the beach.

She paused to look out over the water. The ocean always made her feel in perspective somehow. It was so vast and so eternal and so unfathomable. Standing at the water’s edge, she could see herself the right size. Not bigger-than-life, as on the Hy Voltz movie screen, but tiny and powerless in the face of how big life really was.

For the first time in a long time, the two creases disappeared from between her eyes. Her spider sense was tingling and she knew just what to do. The sun came out from behind the cloud and she raced back to the setup to finish the scene.

“Cut. Excellent, Star,” Brock said, seeming genuinely surprised. Oftentimes the call was “If it’s in focus, print it.” But there had been a new life to Star’s performance.

“Thanks, Brock, am I done?” she asked genially.

“Check the schedule, but as far as I know,” Brock said, giving her a little wave. “Okay, people, we’ve got two more setups this afternoon. Let’s act like we care!” he shouted to the crew, clapping his hands.

“Come on, Mutley,” Star said, racing back to the car.

For the first time in a long time she knew just what to do. She wasn’t a victim. She had a choice and she was willing to make it.

Star ran past the trailer, waving to Billy and Skip, who were working on their tans on lounge chairs outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called, rushing to the car.

“But, Star,” Billy called, sitting up. “The suit.”

She looked down, realizing she was still wearing the navy blue one-piece she’d made famous. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

Star raced Mutley back to the car and climbed behind the wheel. She knew just how to handle the new lawsuit as well as their standoff with the press, and couldn’t wait to tell Jimi.

The roadie in question had been injured in an accident at one of the stops on the band’s last tour. Rather than take care of him, the guys replaced him and didn’t help him out with his bills. Ironically, he’d sued only when he saw the announcement of the new concert date, figuring that if the band was getting back together, there would have to be money involved.