Boogie Night.

The svelte starlet emerges from the elevator, lithe and perfumed. "I’m ready for the interview. Would you like to… do it… in my hotel room?"

The jaded interviewer cocks a smug look, smirks, and says, "Well, I’ve got all my equipment ready."

"You’ll use all of it… and more. Come on up."

Dissolve to starlet enjoying a highball, while interviewer tries to be professional (as professional as it can get – the interview is for a man’s magazine). "What can you do that turns your man on?"

"Oh, isn’t it obvious?" Starlet crosses her legs, with a suggestion of more to come. "Let me demonstrate…" Cue ‘70s disco music.

Poof!

And so ends the porn-movie version of last night’s events. The real-world version: FHM Australia gets their local outfit to interview a model they shot last month. The poor stooge they choose to execute said interview: me. Model turns out to be down with the sniffles, so we schedule the meeting for Tuesday. Idiot interviewer assumes the hotel she’s staying in has a coffee shop where we can do the interview in peace. However, since we’re talking about the Millennium Plaza Hotel (teetering between decent and cheap-ass quick-bang get-a-roof-over-your-head-while-you-get-laid), there turns out to be no coffee shop, just the lobby, or the model’s hotel room. We choose the room.

So I find myself alone with a half-Japanese, half-Filipina model, in her hotel room, with nothing but my clothes, my tape recorder, and my utter self-consciousness. Why should I be self-conscious? She’s the one being interviewed! She’s the one talking to me about Victoria’s Secret lingerie and bondage and bikini contests! I’m just the guy asking questions!

Doing these FHM interviews is never easy – especially when, on orders from the gruff-but-friendly Allan M., I have to wing it. I entered the hotel room knowing nothing but the model’s first name; that was all that Allan gave me to go with. I left the hotel room knowing much more than is usually revealed in cocktail conversations (Butthead: "You said cock. Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh…"). No "knowledge" in the Biblical sense, mind you. But you can imagine how complicated the situation was, two total strangers having an hour-long conversation on everything from Japanese sex instruments to love hotels to Brazilian waxes. With no ‘70s disco music throbbing in the background to make the going easier.

The door opens. Juliana Palermo walks in, feigning surprise. The starlet on the bed is nonplussed.

"Oh, hi July! I asked her to join us, dear. So you’ll have more material to work with."

The interviewer is cool, despite the strenuous ministrations of the past fifteen minutes. "I can give her some material she can work with…"

Cue ‘70s disco music...