For two of Genoa City's tempestuous teens, the much anticipated party ended with a bang. Literally. And since both seatbelt-less victims were catapulted from the convertible, simultaneously suffering selected memory loss, there was no way for anyone to know it was Cassie's inexperienced bottom perched on the edge of the driver's seat. Funny how both kids' memories faltered immediately before reaching the convertible doors. Once at the hospital, the Newman family members performed pretty much as expected. Sharon, the wailing, weeping willow, immediately cast about for someone to blame, and between railing at the world in general and razing an array of innocent plastic cups in particular, leaned heavily on her lip-biting husband. Along with Nikki, whose face showcased its best worried frown, Victor and Victoria formed the rest of the wall of solid supportive Newman's. Conspicuously missing from the hand wringing, nail biting, tear-shedding action was Noah, apparently deemed too young, and Doris, perhaps deemed too unnecessary. But at least Noah's absence was explained.
Hold tight to your sofa cushions, fans; looks like we're about to take another ride in the wrongfully accused excursion coach! Because in Genoa City's seemingly one detective district, for the umpteenth time the always Woebegone Weber is in persistent pursuit of yet another perpetrator, attempting to ride roughshod over any constitutionally given rights. But, as usual, Weber's, snapping, snarling and growling at the base of the wrong suspect's tree. What is it with our dour Detective Do Wrong? Is there an iron-clad clause inked in his contract that states he must ALWAYS end up confusedly chasing his tail in incorrect circles? (Fan Kay's comments below tell me I'm not alone in my opinion). Although right now, Weber practically has Daniel's cell all picked out, the key locked safely away, we know that despite how bleak the situation looks now, things will eventually improve.
From Weber's pessimistic pronouncements, one might think Cassie was on the verge of being lowered into the six foot hole, but for someone the doctors cautiously claim could depart this cold, cruel world at any given moment, Cassie certainly did an awful lot of completely coherent chit-chatting with her family. And although she might have a depression in her skull, it didn't affect her reasoning powers because she almost immediately deduced that Daniel could go to jail for his alleged motor vehicle misconduct.
Despite my inability to refrain from flinging just a few derogatory darts at the Newman hospital hallway haunters, the scenes weren't really that bad. Despite my belief that Cassie's tragedy won't take her anywhere close to actually crossing over to the other side, I admit there was a time or two when I had to swallow past a tiny little lump in my throat. But I was quickly able to shake it off and return to my usual point the finger persona. Despite the week long medical melodrama, we already know Cassie will make a full recovery. How, you might wonder? Because both Nick and Nikki have uttered the magic phrase "she's fighting for her life."
Was I the only fan who found Cassie's comment that "Daniel wasn't the type of boy to drive drunk" rather amusing? How in the world could Cassie possibly testify as to what kind of boy Daniel is? No one, including his Mommy-come-lately, has a clue as to what kind of boy he was during all those away years, not to mention all the things he's been up to since he arrived in Genoa City. Cassie would undoubtedly be quite surprised to know he might not be the drinking, driving kind of boy, but he is the kind who'd set up an acquaintance for possible ravishment by a conniving character he knew naught about.
Although it's not quite over (presumably Cassie's memory will slowly return), Cassie's crisis has probably accomplished most of what it was meant to. That being reunification of the fighting factions of the Newman clan. Even though I'm sure their truce is temporary, I enjoyed every bit of the bury the bayonet moments between father and daughter, sister and brother and father and son. And with Victoria presumably not returning to Italy, at least not in the foreseeable future, it was a convenient way to oust Phyllis and son from the Newman range.
Just because Phyllis will soon have no walk-in closet to call her own didn't mean she had to pull out the classifieds to circle prospective premises with her red pen. Like a polecat, once again Phyllis landed safely on all four muddy paws. Just one near teary eyed conversation with the man who's mostly been in her corner brought forth an immediate offer for much more than a bed and free breakfast at his father's inn. So Phyllis and Daniel will soon be adding their names to the ever-expanding register of residents crowding under the Abbott roof with its magically multiplying bedrooms.
Although Phyllis' homeless-to-be dilemma touched Jack, it left me absent of empathy. Just once, why can't this woman pay her own way? It's not as if she's destitute with no skills to support herself. She has to be pulling down a pretty hefty salary from Newman, yet we're to believe she's hard-pressed to put a roof over her head. I guess the less she has to spend on rent and utilities and the like, the more can be used to purchase all those skintight see-through get-ups she loves so much.
If Phyllis really had to ask Daniel what had him feeling so bad he wanted to drown his sorrows in semi-strong drink, perhaps she really is every bit the failure at motherhood she thinks herself. It shouldn't have taken her but a half second's thought to tie her son's melancholy to lack of Lily.
But Phyllis wasn't alone in her ignorance. Equally lacking in discernment were the Winters parental pair. Perhaps they should repeat the Parents 101 course. Because they've obviously forgotten what even Malcolm, himself never a parent, knows for certain. That restricting a lass from the lad of her current dreams only makes him more desirable. For Lily, already seriously crushing, Daniel has now become the irresistible forbidden fruit. And we all know what happened to Eve when she munched on a morsel she shouldn't have.
For Terrible Tomcat, in the end it didn't really matter which formerly abused boy hit the jackpot, because he still managed to end up with money to jingle in his jeans. Though Michael uttered the big tough talk, unfortunately, he fell fall short of waddling the walk. It took Tom just a single mention of Gloria's name to make Michael reach for his checkbook. If as Michael claims, he's just buying time for Kevin to mentally gird himself against Tom's taunts, $10,000 seems an awfully expensive delaying tactic. By the way, despite Tom's claim to no fortune, how strapped can old Terrible be? We know he owns a concealing cloak of invisibility that prevents others from seeing him though he stands mere steps away in plain sight, and he also possesses an excellent set of burglary tools. He also obviously has highly developed physic abilities because he easily discovered the current whereabouts of Kevin, Michael and Gloria and somehow divined when and where she'd be at the hospital. And though he doesn't have even a nodding acquaintance with a razor, he was able to impress Ashley enough to get her to divulge personal Abbott matters. Of course, I don't suppose that's saying much. Ashley has such hatred for Gloria I'm surprised she hasn't called a press conference to tell all and sundry about the twisted twigs on Stepmommy's family tree.
Speaking of Ashley's vicious mouth, she must have worn out her forked tongue telling all she knew to Slo-Mo Gitta Get Me Some. Was it just me, or does anyone else think Gitta could easily be a clone of Ashley? She certainly carries a strain of the same disease that has ravaged Ashley. An advanced case of look-down-her-nose-itis. I know we've only just met, but my palms itched to shove that one right outta town. First physical therapist I've seen who chooses a low-cut blouse and clackety clack heels to turn her therapeutic tricks. I imagine it might be a bit difficult to support a falling man with no rubber-soled traction underfoot. And another thing, since when does an hours old employee invite themself into their patient's home? Once Gitta got a glimpse of all that went along with the Abbott name, how quickly she maneuvered herself right onto the luxurious grounds. By the way, how did she "notice" an empty bedroom in the poolhouse? When did she have time to tour the premises? Talk about a greedy opportunist. It would serve Ashley right to discover the snake she released from Pandora's therapy chest is a thousand times more slithery and scheming than Gloria.
Now, about John. His behavior certainly turned my smile to a frown. Did his new hip fool him into thinking he's three decades younger? Blatantly flirting with Gitta right in the face of his wife? Estranged or not, that was tacky and tasteless. Not at all a characteristic of the John Abbott of upstanding character we've come to respect. If he's so adamant about not wanting anything to do with Gloria, he should have served her with divorce papers.
By the way its way past time Ashley got a thorough thrashing with the truth switch. Her hateful decision to share details of intimate family problems with the physical therapist was way out of line. How would she like it if her double load of filthy laundry was hung out to flap on the line for all in the city to gawk and point at? She's really getting on my nerves. Each day that passes find me more amenable to a romance between her and Tom the Terrible. It's time for this sanctimonious scarecrow to have a taste of the horrors of the real world. She's been shielded from the consequences of her reprehensible acts for far too long.
Bobby and Brit: In last week's column, I asked and you answered. And by my last unofficial count, this coupling seems to have exactly two fans, at least the only two who chose to come forward and speak positively on this duo's behalf.
But be that as it may, despite our intense indifference, the scribes choose to keep this mismatched pair rolling merrily along. Gee, such excitement! I truly don't know if my heart can stand many more of their riveting conversations without pounding itself to death. That is if I don't die of laughter first. I had to rub my eyes and look again, because I thought all four of my eyes were deceiving me. In the thickest looking elbow length rubber gloves I've ever seen in my life, Brittany was working hard to put a shine on her hubby's shoes. I'm surprised she wasn't wearing a face mask to guard against the polish fumes. Or a full body apron. After all, wouldn't want to leave a smudge on her every day a NEW maternity top. Speaking of that belly, like her once ever-changing, now near invisible facial scar, Britt's belly flattens and enlarges from one day to the next, sometimes so flat if she wasn't wearing one of those aforementioned maternity tops, you'd never know she was with child. Other days, it's supposedly so full she's forced to hold on to it, perhaps to keep it from causing her to lose her balance and topple off those high heels.
And what of those mysterious baby gifts that keep arriving? Who's the fairy godmother dispensing pricy baby gifts. Anita? Or maybe the present provider is a he. Freddy, perhaps? (Yes, fan Sandi, my thoughts were running right alongside yours). Okay, I get that the scribes are apparently attempting to prove that opposites do actually attract. But is Brittany slipping dumb down pills in Bobby's morning coffee? Or does anyone actually believe Bobby had no idea what a baby bassinet looked like?
For that other uninteresting pair, when Kay realized Mac couldn't do it on her own, with nothing else better to do, Kay decided to play Cupid to help Mac manipulate J.T., hopefully into her granddaughter's arms. Believing that for most people, absence allegedly causes the heart to grow fonder, Kay instructed Mac to vacate the loft premises. It's an old trick, but since it's said you can't teach an old dog any new ones, it will probably work. Ask me if I care. Never mind, you already know I don't.
Last, but not least, I enjoyed the lovely montage in tribute to William J. Bell. We fans too thank the sweet prince for beginning what so many of us have come to enjoy so immensely. While at times, we love it or hate it, sometimes both at the same time, I bet very few of us are willing to give it up. May what he began continue for many more years to come.
Well, my sturdy little engine that could can chug up the hill no more, but you fans had plenty of steam so why don't you take over from here? See you all next week.