Now Carrie lives alone, unattached, in her refuge—a one-room pine-paneled log cabin in the Hollywood Hills. The cabin, or lodge, as she affectionately calls it, was a ’30s Fox studio set. Considering Carrie’s million-plus take (with points) from Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back and Jedi, the modesty of her quaint, rustic retreat is rather jarring. There is a sleeping alcove, a bed framed with tree branches, early American knickknacks and antiques. There are no self-aggrandizing Jedi artifacts; instead there are gifts echoing precious bonds. The most striking of them is a 13-star American flag from New Yorker Simon, draped over a window. The quirky aura of the place is all Carrie: offbeat, cozy, loose and strenuously decorator-proof. Sure she could probably plunk down a mill for a Topanga palazzo on stilts overhanging next month’s mudslide. And for sure there are movie stars who need more space than this lodge just to shower. Carrie’s needs are different. The further Lucas pushed her Leia into uncharted celluloid solar systems, the more it seemed Carrie needed to nest amid intimate, secure surroundings on terra firma, or at least in L.A. The lodge is her sane asylum, sheltering her from the immensity of it all. Sitting on her couch, she can see the borders of her private universe. It’s her open house for “members” like Jedi comrade Harrison Ford and his screenwriter wife Melissa (E.T.) Mathison, Teri Garr, Penny Marshall, Joan Hackett, and her brother Todd, 25, a born-again evangelist.