My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

3. TV Cowboy Exits Screen to Advise Area Woman

If best friends save best friends, then now it was time to help Sterling with her problem. Which would have the fortunate side benefit of ending the discussion about Andie's problems. Sterling's problems could be solved.

It is a truth, universally acknowleged, that it's way more productive and enjoyable to focus on problems that are not your own.

The only issue was, how to change the subject. Might as well just dive in. "I'll keep the saving thing in mind. But on that note, can we please now talk about you?"

Sterling sighed and bit off the edge of a cookie. Which meant that whatever was happening to her had to be bad. "My favorite subject. Well, I let myself into your apartment ..."

"'Let yourself in' being a euphemism for 'I broke in like a criminal?'" Thanks for ruining my new lock by the way."

"If you didn't want me to break it, you should've given me a key."

"And hijack your joy at the sense of accomplishment?" Watching Real Housewives was mild compared to some things Sterling had done to prepare for film roles, which is how she possessed the most bizarre and disparate skills of any human. Among her abilities: starting a fire without a match, disabling a bomb, and performing an emergency vasectomy. So far, she'd only played heroines. Andie worried about what would happen if Sterling portrayed a serial killer. When she sank her teeth into a role, she left marks.

"I came over because of this." Sterling fished around inside her emerald eco-sensitive tote, which had been leaning against the side of the sofa. She extracted a tabloid. Not just any tabloid. The nastiest, most obnoxious, deceitful scandal sheet in all of Hollywood—The Star Enquirer.

Andie took the paper. Occupying the top of the front page, was an obviously photoshopped picture of Sterling. They had shaded her face, making her skin blotchy, and turned the corners of her mouth down into a frown. Her teeth looked slightly fanged, and she had a pronounced wrinkle across her forehead. Andie cringed at the headline—Sterling Champagne: Tarnished at Age 26. "Bastards!"

"Total jerkwads," Sterling spat. "But here's the weird part, I only discovered the wrinkle last night." She shivered.

"What wrinkle?" Andie pulled Sterling's head close. "I see nothing."

"I'm wearing concealer. It's there."

"Too bad you can't join the dark side and get Botox like a normal celebrity."

Sterling rolled up the tabloid and bopped Andie on the head. "Is that another Star Wars reference?"

"You're joking? You don't know about 'the Force?'"

"I never joke. Unless it's for a role. I need to be paid to grace the world with my illustrious humor." Andie laughed. Sterling was one of the funniest people she knew. "But Andie, hon, you have a serious science fiction problem. You really should put the kibosh on the Star Wars references if you ever want to get laid."

"I'm not interested in having sex with anyone who isn't a science fiction fan anyway. You're just bitter you lost that part in The Force Awakens. And, in case you haven't noticed, Star Wars is cool. Nerds are in style—like Gucci but smarter. Now, back over to you and your problems as a gorgeous, successful celebrity with a practically invisible wrinkle who won't ever get plastic surgery because she made a vow to Oprah."

"Damned straight. No one lies to Oprah. And you know very well that's not the only reason. I founded an entire charity opposing plastic surgery and empowering young girls to be happy with their bodies. Look, Andie, it's okay to be a twenty-six-year-old accountant. Hell, the older the better, but twenty-six is like ninety-six in actress years."