Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

By comparison to the rest, it was just a nuisance lawsuit, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Jimi!” she shouted, running in the front door like George Bailey returning home after waking from his dark vision. Mutley barked joyously as he followed her in. “Jimi, are you home?”

“Out here, babe,” he called from the room they called their office, really just part of the laundry room where they kept their files. Jimi was sitting at the desk talking on the phone when she found him, his feet up on the edge of the old metal monstrosity she’d found at a secondhand furniture store and had refurbished.

“Jimi, I know what to do,” Star said excitedly. “I figured it all out today.”

“I’m on with the lawyer,” he said, covering the mouthpiece. “I don’t know if you heard, but there’s a lawsuit.”

“Isn’t it great? I know just what to do. Hang up.”

“What?” Jimi said, confused by her enthusiasm. He was still in the old mood, the one she knew how to fix. “Can’t it wait?”

“Hey,” Star said, grabbing the phone. “McBride? It’s Star. How are you?… Well, you should take a break. Get some lunch. Charge it to us. Take the afternoon off. It’s a beautiful day for a walk on the beach. It would be a shame to waste it in Century City. We’ll call you later…. Great, bye.”

She hung up the phone and climbed onto Jimi’s lap, straddling him as she planted a big kiss right on him. He responded by wrapping his arms around her.

“I love this solution,” he said in a sleepy, deep voice, drunk with his passion.

“No, no.” Star sat up. “This isn’t it. That’s just the kind of Hi-honey-I’m-home kiss you should be getting from me every day. We’re newlyweds, for fuck sake.”

“We sure are.” He nuzzled her, not quite ready to talk.

“Jimi, Jimi.” She took his face in her hands. “I know just what to do. I know just how to handle all this.”

“Okay, what is it?” he sighed.

“Surrender,” Star said with a shrug. “We don’t have to fight.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean it. This roadie who’s suing? He’s right. You should pay his medical bills. And you can. So settle it. I think we should settle it all.”

“What about the rest of it?” he said, sitting up.

“I can’t hide and fight anymore.” Star threw her arms into the air. “I can’t. I’m done. What difference does it make anymore? My life is worth more than this. Our life is worth more than this. I cannot, will not spend it fighting with people I don’t even want to talk to. Don’t you see? In a hundred years, who’ll care?”

“Yeah, I see,” Jimi said, a smile spreading across his face. “I do see. You’re right.” His mood was rising to match hers.

“You know what we should do?” Star said mischievously, taking his hand and rising from her seat on his lap.

“Yes,” he said.

The trip to Paris was perfectly timed.

The freedom of surrender had reinvigorated her life with Jimi. He was in love with her and his music, so her life got better. Hammer Time continued to dominate the ratings, and Lifeguards was the number one syndicated show in the world. Her career was fine.

Hank was working on Hammer Time, making work connections and staying away from the other kind. He was even dating Theresa—a little weird, Star thought, but whatever.

As if she needed a prize for having such a great life, Star was being given a humanitarian award for her service in the cause of animal rights through B.A.G.L.E. And the frosting on that cake was that the award was being presented in Paris. It was the perfect opportunity for a romantic getaway for two. Star had never been, and their schedules allowed for a little time following the ceremony to discover the legendary city of love together.

The sprinkle on the frosting was that Star was to receive the award from rock legend Sir Andrew Manchester, one of her favorite musicians and a longtime supporter of the animal rights cause. It was the first time the award, named after Sir Andrew’s late wife, had ever been presented.

The trip even timed out perfectly with Star’s production schedule, though to be honest, she had wheedled, begged, pleaded, and bullied anyone who could help create the time for her departure. The big, top-secret, season finale with Sven was up on her return, and Jimi’s New York concert was happening almost simultaneously. Star and Jimi were thinking of taking the summer off to be with each other after a pretty rocky first year. But they both hoped that the concert would jump-start Jimi’s career, so their summer plans were filed under wait and see.

A few days in Paris at the George V and an award from Drew Manchester at the Tuileries for being kind to animals was the dream weekend getaway for a girl from Arcady Key.

The trip began with an adventure. They left Hank to look after things, and Lito got them to the airport. Because the purpose of the trip was so visible, their departure was far from secret. They were amazed as throngs of screaming fans descended on her and Jimi.

Breathless with fear, they stood frozen as the mob closed in on them.

“Run,” Jimi whispered urgently into her ear at the last moment.

Star turned to look at him and caught the spirit of his grin. It wasn’t running to get away, it was a game of chase.

She grinned back.

It was on.

They took off running down the long, tiled passageway into the depths of LAX. The mob was surprised at first, and that gave Star and Jimi a bit of a lead, but it wasn’t much. Screaming with delight, the dozens who had somehow gotten on the other side of security took off after them. It turned out that many of their pursuers had actually purchased tickets with no intention of flying, just to be in the terminal with Star and Jimi.

They gave their pursuers quite a run for their money, turning over brochure racks and dropping things in their pursuers’ path, managing to get just far enough ahead following a sharp turn that they had time out of sight to hide behind an idle ticket desk. The hardest part of not getting caught was not laughing. Eventually, they got to the first-class cabin of their flight and took their seats.

Seated across the aisle from them was Star’s rather intimate acquaintance Randy Pizarro. She had not seen him since she’d escaped from his clutches and his bedroom, giving him the slip by hiding in the guest bathroom.

Star laughed at the private joke between them.

The flight to Paris was long and uneventful. They had dinner and a bit too much champagne, then passed out with the help of a little Ambien. They woke up refreshed and completely out of sync with Paris time.

The press and the crowds were there in force for their arrival, but the security was ready for it. The event planners had escorts and a car there to see them smoothly through customs and into the country.

The director of B.A.G.L.E., Mike Dean, met them at the hotel and saw them to their suite, all the while briefing them on their itinerary. Star didn’t know him well, but Mike had a mischievous quality that appealed to her. He was tall and wickedly good-looking with a Southern gentleman’s charm that Star felt right at home with. Yet she had learned from their few conversations that he was quite the party boy. They quickly discovered that they had everything in common and that both were big punk fans, as well as animal lovers. They didn’t get to spend much time together in Paris, but Star decided to change that situation at the earliest opportunity.

There was a lot to do in their short visit, but thankfully she and Jimi had a little time on their own after Mike dropped them off at the Louis Quatorze Suite. It was exquisite and romantic and the two were glad to have some quality time alone.