Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

They arrived at the marina and boarded the chartered yacht that would take them up the coast to their final destination. Food and drink were served in the main cabin of the luxury cruiser, but Star stood alone at the prow of the ship, caressing the urn as if the act could bring her closer. Jimi fought to contain his anger over the whole farcical afternoon. In a way, he was glad Star did not want him now, because he was too angry with her, with her abandonment, to allow her her grief.

They sailed up the coast for a while, viewing the city from a rarely seen perspective. Despite having one of the busiest harbors in the world, Los Angeles has no real reputation as a seaport and is rarely depicted that way. Whereas New York is always shown from across the river or harbor or from the Atlantic, Los Angeles is almost never shown from the water. It made for an unfamiliar experience for those aboard. Things looked oddly familiar, but they could just as easily have been sailing past a foreign city.

Eventually, the boat pulled even with their house and the captain killed the engines. Star rose and walked to the rail, her black dress billowing in the stiff breeze. She upended the urn and allowed the wind to take the ashes and spread them over the water.

“Good-bye, old friend,” Star said softly as she watched the ashes disappear. “You always did want to swim out here; I thought you might like to see it now.”

She dropped the urn and sank to her knees, holding on to the railing to keep from falling overboard herself.

Theresa rushed forward to help her. “There, there,” she said, stroking Star’s hair back out of her face. “It’s over now, time to go home.”

“It won’t be home without Mutley,” Star said, dissolving into tears once again.

The guests paid their respects at the slip.

Hank took Theresa to his place while Jimi and Star returned home alone together for the first time since Paris. They rode in silence for a bit. He sighed deeply, unable to think of anything to do or say.

“Don’t you care that Mutley is dead?” Her accusation broke the icy silence between them.

“Don’t you care that I’m alive?”

“What does this have to do with you?” Star asked bitterly.

“Exactly,” he snapped. “You have shut me out. You care more about that damn dog than you do about me.”

“Is that all you can think about?” Star’s tears came again as she struggled not to let go.

“Stop being such a soap opera queen,” he sighed, looking out the window.

“Don’t you get it?” she demanded, pounding his shoulder as the tears threatened to take her voice. “He was all alone. I left him here all by himself and he died alone. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I feel like there is a curse on us,” Star said, nearly hysterical. “Ever since Cabo. It’s like fate wants to punish us for enjoying our lives after doing such horrible things. I just wanted to have a little fun, and first Mom and now Mutley is dead.”

She cried all the way back to the house, into bed, and off to sleep that night.

When she finally woke up, alone in their room, she looked to the chair where Mutley used to sleep in the hope that it had only been a bad dream. She arose, opened the curtains, and sat in Mutley’s chair, staring out to sea as he had so often. She gazed toward the spot where she’d sprinkled his ashes. And that’s where Jimi found her when he came home that afternoon.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s it. You’re coming with me.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Star, break’s over. You’ve got to get back to the set in two days, and I’m leaving for New York in the morning. Life’s in session. Put on a sweatshirt and some jeans or something, but I need for you to come with me.”

They regarded each other a moment.

She got up listlessly, went into the dressing room, and found some sweats. “Okay,” she said, emerging.

She followed him wordlessly downstairs and got in the car beside him without questioning where they were going.

The weather was beginning to warm up as spring took hold, and she looked out the window and watched the wildflowers on the banks alongside PCH blur past. After about a half hour’s drive, Jimi pulled into the lot by the offices of Mutley’s vet.

“Why are we here?” Star asked.

“For the truth.” Jimi got out and went around to open Star’s door for her. Reluctantly, she took his hand and followed him across the cracked asphalt of the lot.

They went inside and Jimi let the receptionist know they had arrived for their appointment. Star took a seat and looked around at the lobby, filled with pets and their owners. Bandages, the humiliating “Elizabethan” plastic collars, and worried faces filled the room. Star thought that she might have to leave. Her feelings were just too strong.

“Jimi?” the doctor said from the doorway. “Star, good to see you. Come on back.”

“What are we doing here?” Star asked Jimi angrily once they were in the little hallway that led from the lobby to the examination rooms. The sounds of dogs yapping and the occasional wail of a cat brought the space alive with pain.

Jimi didn’t answer. He took her hand and led her along as they followed the doctor into his office at the end of the hall. The small, warm space was filled with pictures of the doctor, from his youth to the present day, each with him in the company of a series of Weimaraners. Ribbons and diplomas told the story of a love affair that had become a career for the sprightly, curly-haired little man before them.

“Doc, tell Star what you told me,” Jimi said.

“It was a heart attack, Star,” the doctor said. “And judging from the way that Hank found Mutley, he was asleep when it happened. It was massive and almost instantaneous. He never even woke up. We should all die such a peaceful death.”

“But if I’d been there,” Star said, crying angrily, “I could have done something. I could have helped him. He wouldn’t have been alone.”

“No, Star,” the doctor said, comforting her. “There was nothing you could have done. If you’d been there, you probably wouldn’t even have known. He lay down to go to sleep and never got up again. He was an old dog and it was his time. And you and I have no say in such things. It’s as much a part of life as birth.”

Her tears stopped after a few minutes.

She looked into the doctor’s eyes and around the room at the pictures of the succession of Weimaraners that had filled the doctor’s life. She realized how many times he must have had to say good-bye.

She looked at Jimi. He gave her a nod. It wasn’t what she’d wanted, but it was what he could give her. It might even have been what she needed. She didn’t feel great, but she did see that feeling responsible wasn’t loving to Mutley anymore than she already did.

“Time to go on,” she said, rising and pushing past him. She took the doctor’s hand as they left. “Thanks.”

“Do what I do,” he said with a sad smile. “Take some time and then get another one. There’s a puppy out there that needs to love you just as much as Mutley did.”

She smiled at the idea.

Jimi started the car and they drove for a bit in silence.

“Thank you,” she said, patting the back of his hand as it rested on the gearshift.

His lips disappeared in a tight smile. It was all he had for her, whether or not it was enough.

It was one of those perfect L.A. mornings.

The cool breeze blew in early off the Pacific and the clouds dissolved into a clear blue springtime sky. The light was inspiring and the view clear and crisp, as if the whole city had suddenly snapped into focus.