It’s 8. Pam Grier sits across from me at a Tex Mex bar off Pico. When she laughs, her mouth fully extends and her blouse buttons look ready to quit. She downs margaritas and chalks life up to accident.

She never expected Hollywood. But Hollywood expected her. She instead, was set to become a Dental Hygienist. “When I was discovered, I was workin’ my way through school. But the guy I was with, served me up heartache by marrying some one else. So I left home and went looking.”

And then she became a goddess. A gorgeous and yet semi-awkward goddess. Watching her move while she speaks—is odd. Her shoulders turn, her head tilts and lips smack around her face. She’s the woman bitching on the subway and Foxy Brown. When she talks to the waiter, she points to the menu. When she holds a glass to her lips, her head tilts forward, and her curls play suicide along the rim. Chewing ice, she answers my questions.

ME:

How do you respond when someone interrupts you? Are you irritated?

PG:

Yeah. Especially that call waiting beep. Always beeps in right before I get the juice. The scoop. Makes me so angry.

ME:

I pulled that question from a career compatibility test.

PG:

A test? You think that’s how you gonna find the answer? Can’t plan that shit. It’s decided. Already decided.

And then Pam tells a joke. She moves closer, her elbows make elongated V’s on the table. “How do you make God laugh?” she asks. Loose em’s and ha’s spill out before the punch line: “Make a plan.” And with that, Pam’s back returns to the chair. Her breath stops hitting my face and for a moment, she relaxes.

Full Disclosure

I’ve been trying to catch up with Pam Grier for a while. But she never returned my calls and to be honest: I never called her. But I still wanted to interview her. And I thought, we’ll, maybe I’ll just pretend to interview her. And so what you just read, is what I think we would have talked about.