Dirty Rocker Boys by Bobbie Brown, Caroline Ryder

said Tracey Mikolas, head model booker at Flame.
    Later that day at the supermarket, I grabbed a copy of Star and looked through the pages. What was Tracey talking about? Ah. There she was, my doppelgänger. A model by the name of Pamela Anderson, photographed with Scott Baio.
    Who is she? And why is she hanging with Baio ? I wondered.
    Pamela was five foot seven, I was five foot eight, and we were both blond bombshells with surfer girl appeal. She was two years older than me but had arrived in Hollywood the same year I did, 1989, after being spotted in the crowd at a BC Lions game in Vancouver, wearing a tight Labatt’s shirt. Hugh Hefner had made her his October 1989 Playboy cover girl, so she moved to L.A., got a boob job, and was trying to make it big as a model. In 1990, just after I shot the “Cherry Pie” video, she and I were cast alongside each other. I was excited to meet my lookalike.
    I met her on the set of Married . . . with Children , where we were playing Al Bundy’s fantasy blondes.
    “Hey, I’m Bobbie,” I said.
    “Hey,” said Pamela, flashing a quick smile and looking over my shoulder. She seemed disinterested. About as friendly as a cornered rat, I thought. Oh well. Maybe she’s just shy.
    In Al Bundy’s fantasy, Pamela and I were among four women lavishing him with attention on the couch, Pamela by one kneeand me at his other. Pamela would not stop stroking his leg up and down.
    Pamela and I were blond girls with dreams, except I was perhaps more naïve than she. There were so many lessons I had yet to learn. How desirability will gain you admirers, but rarely will it gain you true love. How beauty opens many doors, but you should beware of where they lead. Pamela was more switched on to the realities of the game we were playing, as confident and self-assured as I seemed. I didn’t realize Hollywood could chew you up and spit you out just as quickly as it could fool you into believing you’re the hottest girl in town. I thought I was too special to get hurt, too down-to-earth to get suckered in.
HAWAII
    “So did you sleep with Jani, Bobbie? Is that how you got the job?” Matthew’s eyes flashed. I had never seen him so angry. Things with him and me had hit rock bottom. I couldn’t believe that the tender lover who used to stroke my hair until I fell asleep at night was turning on me in this way.
    We were four days into a vacation in Hawaii, and despite the rainbows, sunsets, and turquoise waters, things were ugly as can be. Matthew was still bitter about Jani’s gallant marriage proposal on The Howard Stern Show , even though I had argued that it was just for publicity, to bring attention to the video andthe song. And Jani had sparked other, completely unfounded suspicions in Matthew’s mind.
    “Bobbie, I need to know what happened between you and Richard Grieco. Were you intimate with him, too? Gunnar told me he has photos.”
    Gunnar had concocted some cock-and-bull story involving me and the actor Richard Grieco, which, like everything else that came out of Gunnar’s mouth, was a crock. Yes, I had met Richard at the Roxbury. And yes, he had asked for my number. So had Johnny Depp; so had Paul Stanley from Kiss (he was so effeminate, I assumed he was gay); so had a lot of guys in town. But I had hoped that by now, Matthew would have understood that I didn’t play around. It wasn’t fair that Gunnar was doing this to me, and to Matthew.
    “Matthew, I have to tell you something. I wouldn’t believe everything Gunnar tells you. The truth is, he has been coming on to me.”
    There, I said it.
    Matthew was horrified. I knew he didn’t believe me. And even if he had, ultimately it wouldn’t have mattered. Blood is thicker than water, and in the heat of the moment, I had forgotten that nothing, not even love, was going to get in the way of Matthew and Gunnar Nelson’s careers.
    “You should go home, Bobbie,” said Matthew, his voice cracking. “I can’t do this anymore.”
    He