When you were invited to one of Marcus Harrold's parties, you went, unless you were in the hospital or dead. Marcus was a mover and shaker in Hollywood. Known to take the careers of those thought dead and remake them. Known to take the careers of those that were overly arrogant and break them.

Of course, only the best people were ever invited to Marcus' parties. The "best" being defined, of course, as the people who most interested Marcus at the moment.

At this moment, Marcus was considering a movie project. And he had a part in it for one strong, sexy blonde woman. Marcus, being the perverse individual that he was, let it be known all over that the two blondes being considered were Pamela Anderson and Jenny McCarthy.

For Marcus, it was a match made in heaven. Both women were suffering from some career setbacks. Pam's marriage was on the rocks and Jenny had just moved out of her boyfriend's place. Either would have killed for this part. Just the situation for which he was hoping-

Pam arrived first, wearing a black, mid-thigh length dress with spaghetti straps. Black high-heels were at the ends of her long legs. Her blonde hair was perfectly coifed and she looked ravishing, so soon after the birth of her second child. A living testimony to the advantages of keeping fit. She worked the room, moving about, smiling at husbands without alienating wives, networking to keep her media career afloat.

She was talking to Marcus, her back to the door, when Jenny arrived.

Jenny was dressed in a lime-green party dress with matching heels, and it was clear to see that she, too, was trying to make an impression. She shook several hands coming through the door, offering a firm, businesslike grip with no trace of coquettishness. That could come later, she thought, if the need arose.

Marcus smiled at Pam. "There's someone I need to talk to. Why don't you come along?" Pam nodded, smiling and throwing one last remark to a woman in the group she had been in. As a result, she was about five steps away from Jenny when she turned and saw her.

Jenny, for her part, was dismayed to see her rival for the movie part walking toward her with the executive producer. For a fleeting second, she wondered if she still had a chance for the role, then determined to make herself one.

Marcus hugged Jenny and smiled. "I don't know if you've ever met Pam- Pamela Anderson, this is Jenny McCarthy." His task completed, Marcus stepped back to let nature take its course. He was back far enough that he was unable to hear the words the women would speak.

Eyes stared daggers at each other, while the mouths smiled broadly. When the hands gripped, it was firm, perhaps a little too firm, as the smiles decreased a degree, the effort showing around each woman's mouth. Several pairs of eyes watched the interplay between the two women. They seemed to be speaking softly to each other.

"Well," Jenny said, "at least we know what this party's all about."

Pam nodded slightly. "They're all waiting for us to start catfighting. They want to see us roll around on the floor. Maybe we can think of something more dignified."

Jenny nodded. "But they want to see something between us. Marcus won't be happy if we don't do something, and neither of us can afford that. Besides, I want something to happen between us. People have been comparing us for too long. If we fight it out, the spell may be broken and they can decide which of us is better." She tightened her grip as if to accentuate her point.

Pam's grip tightened in return. The bystanders could see the forearm muscles standing out on each woman now. "Well, what I've wanted since we took each other's hand is to test your strength against mine, to the end. It will prove something to both of us. But how do we make it sexy enough for our audience?"

Jenny took a step forward and their breasts were about two inches apart. Neither woman heard the gasps from several of the men. They were locked in a world which now really only included the two of them. "That should be a start. Shall we find a table?"

Pam shook her head. "We don't need a table. There was a contest I did all the time in high school in Vancouver. Sometimes it wasn't just strength, but it was always best when it was." She stepped away from Jenny, putting her right leg out between them. "Do you know this one?"

Jenny nodded, a smile coming to her lips. Her own foot slipped out to Pam's, the outsides of their feet pressed together. " An Indian wrestler? I haven't done this in years. All muscle?"

Pam nodded. "You're an Indian wrestler, too?"

"I was the queen of the South Side, when I was a kid."

"Let's see who's the queen of Hollywood."

The grips tightened even further as the women began to lean into each other, pushing forward with their hands and arms, trying to force the other off balance enough to move her right foot. Hard breathing became grunts; grunts became sobs as the pain of their effort caught up with them.

For two minutes, neither woman moved the hand and arm of the other. Both women leaned forward, now pressing shoulder against shoulder, and the hands stayed deadlocked. Forearms and biceps stood out on each like braided rope. Deltoid muscles stood out over the tops of their dresses as each bent even harder to the task at hand.

After two more minutes, Pam felt Jenny's knee press into her thigh, trying to force her leg to the side. Pam fought back and now the duel between them was on three fronts. Now the calf and thigh muscles, already defined by the high-heeled shoes, showed even more definition, as the two evenly matched women fought as though for their lives.

Neither woman had a dry stitch of clothing, neither woman had a dry follicle of hair. Six minutes now, and neither had moved the other more than an inch. The duel of strength between them had become intensely personal now. All the muscles in each woman screamed for release from this effort, and the two of them were both in tears of agony, but neither would quit.

And each of them suddenly knew that, no matter what the outcome of this particular match between them, it was a long way from over.

Jenny felt her hand being forced back, her arm beginning to bend at that angle where leverage was lost. She leaned in harder with her shoulder, but felt Pam's leg separate from her own as Pam began to stand more upright, getting ever more leverage. She sobbed loudly as she forced the last of her reserves into the contest, drawing an answering sob from her opponant, who pressed with her own reserves finally forcing Jenny to move her foot or fall. The shapely leg moved back and they were frozen in time, eyes locked with hellish hatred, hands still gripped, muscled pumped from exertion. Two beautiful, high breasted, proud blonde women, who had finished a long, intense test of strength, but had a long way to go in their personal war.