But ... not just yet.
Don't bother moving to the edge of your sofa cushion in bated breath anticipation just because it SEEMS an unsuspecting Sheila in all her undisguised glory is about to open her hotel room door to Lauren. Because we've been peeping toms in GC's make believe world for a very long time and have all learned the hard way how often our hopes and expectations are dashed to the dirt and then trod upon. So, in this prototypical town of uncanny coincidences, the chance of Sheila or any of her wig wearing alter egos flinging open the door and giving Lauren a close up gander at whichever one they are, is virtually nonexistent. At least for now. My guess is the Tomcat, his pockets emptied of Gloria's pilfered pennies, has already returned to the City where everybody who knows his name hates him, except, of course, for his new sheet mate, Sheila. So though normally he would park his decaying carcass on an AC barstool, this time he will go, where else? To Sheila's, where I expect he will materialize in the hallway like a malevolent Caspar to keep Lauren from completing her good deed delivery of the most unlikely of gifts from Scott to Sheila. A date planner. Right! An appointment book for a woman who has no life. Now that's a novel idea.
Sheila provided plenty of comic relief with her ever increasing trips in and out of reality. I kept expecting her to start crooning a catchy little crazy woman tune (ala Tricia Dennison). I found it funny that she felt ill tempered toward Gloria for having the gall to choke on a chunk of filet mignon, because it made Lauren look at, though still failing to see anything abnormal, her disguised face. It wasn't Gloria who convinced Sheila to play server. If she didn't want Lauren to get a glimpse of her patched together face, why was she so anxious to go there and hover about? And didn't Gina tell her to keep her attention on tables other than those under the big top, I mean at the big table? Yet Sheila neglected her own table guests in order to glare malevolently at the happy group. Seeing her after the party with her hair sticking every which way, her lipstick smeared was too funny. Talk about being several cards short of a full deck. No need for this one to worry about whipping out the Phillips to give a twist to her loose skull screws because they long ago were stripped and fell out due to constant overtightening.
Though I confess I didn't try very hard, I couldn't scrape up so much as a sliver of sympathy for Sheila's loud lament of loitering through life alone and unloved. Maybe if she hadn't spent so much of it obsessing over one family or another, she might have had a life and wouldn't be alone, dripping tears on a threadbare carpet. Funny, too, was listening to a woman who'd never even make the prelims in a Ma of the Month contest talking about Lauren's motherly lack.
But regardless of my hard-hearted stance against Sheila, it looks like the scribes may have already begun construction of a door labeled "Sheila's Way Out." Can anyone say "Sybil?" Forget about the fun it's said can be had with a barrel of monkeys. The many maniacal maidens stuffed inside Sheila's psyche make those monkeys look like stolid sticks in the mud. Who is really CEO of SheilasManyFaces, Incorporated? Is it Brenda, Jennifer or that hard looking, tough talking, suck-it-up leather coated unnamed Sheila with the severely yanked back hair? Much as I babble bitterly about Sheila and her evil designs, like fan Zack below, I admit excitement is slowly beginning to build in my sometimes critical cranium. With a crazy mind like Sheila's to play in, the scribes can take this one any number of interesting ways. And I have to agree with another of Zack's observations. Tom has no idea how much trouble he may have bitten off by hitching his red wagon to Sheila's team of workhorses. And I can't think of a better man to be caught in a leaky rowboat in a deep creek without a working paddle.
As for poor, clueless Scott, do you suppose Sheila accidentally struck him with the stupid stick when he was small? Because her story has more holes than a block of Swiss cheese and no amount of Scott's creative glue can make this tale fit believably together. Every time he opens his mouth, I want to reach out and close it for him to stop him from uttering more nonsensical syllables. Such a polite, accepting young man. He apparently learned the "children should be seen and not heard" lesson very well. Forget about asking Kevin what he knows about his mother. Instead of taking pot shots at the unwitting messenger, sentencing him to going to a concert solo, Scott should just go straight to the Mother Lode to mine for information. By the way, a tsk, tsk, tsk to Kevin for his bad advice to Lauren to remain mum on her checkered past because Scott wouldn't want to know. He barely knows the boy, how does he know what he wants? And Kevin will earn a fourth tsk if he doesn't go back and retract his words now that he knows Scott's inquiring mind does indeed want to know it all.
Whoever was wielding that stupid stick against Scott obviously paused to tap Gina on the head with it as well. How else to explain that conversation she had with new bosom buddy Gina and Lauren? According to Gina, not only was the mysterious Heimlich heroine too humble to accept any thanks, she also hadn't even picked up her check. Excuse me for my stupidity (perhaps the stick man hit me with a glancing blow) but since when does any business, even one so shoddily run as the AC, pay the hired help the next day and for only a couple of hours? And Gina's lucky she didn't lose an eye when that red flag started flapping wildly when she discovered Jen's address and phone were fake. Talk about a thing that would have made anyone with a modicum of sense go Hmmmm. But not our trusting Gina, who undoubtedly didn't call even one of her heroine of the hour's prior employees. Instead, Gina fondly thought of her as Gloria's guardian angel who came out of nowhere and went back just as quickly. Was she implying God's hand was in that plan? Right. No, wonder Gina's just a manager and not an owner.
Gina might be content to follow rather than lead, but obviously Brad isn't going to follow that example. Though he should still be in the infancy stage of his probationary period, already he's racing up the ranks. Neil has labored loyally for decades on Newman business, but the stockholding ranks have remained completely closed against him. But Brad's hotly contested Jabot shares have managed to buy him a ticket to enter the roped off realm of Newman ownership. One thing you can say about Bradley, no matter what time of the day or night opportunity knocks at his door, you can count on him to be waiting on the other side to usher it inside. But I doubt Neil will be jumping for joy when he finally hears the happy news. Poor Kneel, oops, I mean Neil, after giving years of his all to Newman, well at least the parts of him not distracted by family matters, he's never been offered even a nibble from the Newman stock pie. I bet those easily uttered words which on separate occasions have been spoken by Newman father, son and most recently daughter, of how completely the clan appreciates blind loyalty will now sound like meaningless mumbo jumbo to Neil's affronted ears. Oh the Newmans value Neil all right. Just not as much as Brad. If the Newmans refuse to put their stock where their appreciative mouths have been, will Neil look toward Jabot to fulfill his career aspirations?
I guess if Neil finds corporate life no longer to his liking, he can always take a stab at a drug rehab counseling career. And I bet you only need one guess to figure out who could be his first client. Since I like Devon, I'm trying to dredge up at least a little bit of interest in what happens to his mother. But it's been about as easy as trudging through wet, heavy sand. But if Yolanda succeeds at dislodging the clinging meth monkeys from her slight back, making her son smile for more than a minute, it might be worth the long wait. Like I said, I like Devon, but watching him mope about has been a real depressing drag.
Dru, on the other hand, seems as happy as a clam with the way her career is shaping up. If it's true that a good leader is one who can delegate, then Dru is probably one of the best in this topsy turvy town. After having hatched the grandiose Seasons egg, she's quite content to sit back and leave the cracking and cooking of it to noggins more knowledgeable than hers.
Speaking of empty noggins, the bulb in Sharon's Brad-obsessed brain glowed so brightly when he entered her space, I had to slip on my shades to protect my eyes from being blinded by the light pouring through her entire set of displayed choppers. How quickly Sharon forgets. But we don't. From Jabot to Newman, for the love of Nick. That's what she once said. But not anymore. Now she claims if not for Brad, she'd not be at Newman. Am I stupid? Don't anyone rush to answer that. Wasn't Brad planning to remain at Jabot while Sharon went to look in Newman's nooks and crannies for the self she originally thought was hiding somewhere at Jabot? And despite what is being stuffed down our throats now, Brad was happily playing Mon Capitain at Jabot until Jack tricked him into involuntarily halving his investment. So forgive me for scoffing at the pair's latest claim that they are each at Newman mainly because of the other. As usual, Sharon hasn't a clue what she wants. If you don't believe me, let's take a brief and admittedly very selective review of some of the scandalous pages from Sharon's family album.
Finding new faced Matt Clark's ear more sympathetic than her spouse's, only her apparent low capacity for strong drink saved her from being maneuvered into a compromising position after tossing back tequilas. Her fling with Diego, who sampled but found what he really wanted in Victoria, alienated her spouse so she sought solace in her father in law's lips. It wasn't there so off she went in search of her sorry self, but found Cameron instead. Eventually, she returned, scandalous tail repentantly dragging the ground claiming a devoted family life was all she now desired. And finally, swearing up and down her loving husband was what she wanted most in the world, she got him. Then like a dark cloud, Cameron drifted back into her sunshiny life and when that was over, motherhood and tranquil family life was no longer the nourishing meal she wanted on her ever changing dinner plate. So, like I said, Sharon doesn't know what she wants. Except that whatever it is, it's never what she currently has. Nick ought to save himself and us the coming misery by divorcing his unfaithful spouse before she cuckolds him yet again, this time with Brad.
Though Victoria often seems a bit too desperate as she looks for love in all the obvious places, I'm really tired of seeing Sharon pant after men she's not married to. Can't the scribes think of anything else to do with this woman?
According to Victoria, Daddy might be good at recognizing a winning business team when he sees it, hence his idea of exchanging Newman Stock for Jabot, but both Newmans are apparently blind to the explosive potential of a team of a whole different kind. Namely, Sharon and Brad. How long before their eyes pop open?
Am I the only fan who's noticed a funny thing about the Genoa City employed? Okay, I know there's a whole lot of funny things about them, but the one I'm referring to has to do with their route to the office. Now I'm sure there are plenty of you who stop by the nearest Starbucks for a cup of flavored java to go. We have one of those in my Midwest town, but a lot of the locals are just as happy with the scalding cheap stuff at the QT. The routine is you leave your house five or ten minutes early to allow time to run in and get your caffeine jolt to jumpstart your work day and chase away whatever sleep cobwebs still remain even after your morning shower and primping preparations. Not so with GC working stiffs. These people must leave home at the crack of dawn because they stop at various also open at the dawn of day establishments for coffee, prolonged conversations, sometimes even a whole breakfast. They have time to organize their briefcases, talk on the phone and generally conduct pre-business business. Some of them have even been known to squeeze in a workout that seems to last the better part of a morning.
And some of them, like Jack, never seem to make it to the office at all. Part of his morning was spent trading jeers and jabs with Victoria (which failed to find a chink in her delicate but strong chain mail armor), who left, only to fling barbs back and forth with Brad at the office. Meanwhile, Brad began his day at the AC bantering with Jill over a fall back position at Jabot. By the way, I guess except when it comes to Kay, Jill doesn't mind letting bygones be bygones. How else to explain her quick forgiveness of Brad for tricking her into dropping the hair care to come tidbit. And what of her comment that Brad would eventually bump his generously oiled head on Newman's glass ceiling. What, promotion prospects at Jabot are suddenly unlimited? With Mommy Chancellor pulling the strings on every Jabot puppet, seems to me the ceilings at Jabot are just as unyielding to anyone without either of the family names. But, back to the story. Having made sure he had left an uncommitted toe in Jabot's revolving door, Brad then left to bicker with Vikki at the office, only to return to receive sympathetic comfort from Sharon. Which put him in position to meet yet again with Jill about that fall back. And because Jack had apparently remained there much like a piece of heavy AC furniture, and in the most unlikely of coincidences, was seated, unseen, naturally, within hearing range of Jill and Brad's conversation, he was able to irrevocably veto their potential plan to sneak Brad in without his knowledge. And Jack, as always, wrongly believing he holds the game winning hand, gloated and giggled over Brad's share dilemma. But the coming week is sure to deflate Jack's buoyant balloon when he discovers that money, not even pots and pots of Chancellor gold, can't buy him any glee and that Newman had opened his money sack and showed his dutiful daughter what Newman gold and a persuasive, compromising tongue can purchase. Offering Brad something no sane person would refuse. And since Brad might be referred to by many derogatory terms, insane is not one of them so naturally he leaped at the offer before it could be rescinded.
That Jack. He can't even buy himself a break. Every time he tries to manipulate an outcome, it blows up in his face. The thought of Brad continuing to possess even a share of Jabot stock was so unbearable he clapped his thinking cap atop his tousled mane and ruminated until he'd concocted a fool proof plan to force them from Brad's clutches. "Fool" being the operative word. And in a roundabout way, he was 100% successful. Thanks to his interference, Brad no longer owns even a tiny slice of Jabot. But after all his work to pry Victor's tentacles from the family pot, Jack wound up being the one to inadvertently reattach them. If he thought Brad an unlikable bedfellow, just think how sheet-twisting his nights will be now that Victor is once again a sharp, thorny shareholder in his side. His mama (oh, that's right, she wasn't around much, was she?) okay make that Papa, should have explained to him the reason it's sometimes better to let sleeping dogs continue to slumber. Because when you wake them up, they might bite or have a canine cousin named Victor whose bite is waay worse than his bark.
But Jack wasn't left with absolutely nothing to celebrate. Because after years of wishful hoping, threats, ultimatums, plays and counter plays and sometimes outright begging, Jack has finally convinced Phyllis Jabot is the best family company to work for. And why shouldn't she? It's not as if there are hordes of hopeful hirers, lucrative contracts in hand, lined up outside her apartment door. I would say it should be interesting to see how she and Jill will interact together, but I guess it doesn't really matter, because when it comes right down to who's really running Jabot, we all know it ain't Jill.
Yes, little Joshua is cute as can be, and a baby in the house brings ever so much joy, but the same can't be said for his mother, Princess Britt and her histrionics. How overwhelming can it be to take care of one tiny baby who does little more than eat, sleep and that other thing while being waited on paw and painted claw? Yet, even that is too much for our pampered pet. Perhaps if Brittany would use her own quarters occasionally, which presumably are well out of the mansion traffic loop, he and she might get more than a minute of rest. Kay's living room is really living up to its name these days. In fact, it may as well be renamed the living, kitchen, nursery, bedroom, conference room.
I see Kay is still determined to meddle in Mac's relationship matters. Why, she's become a regular Nurse Phil. Dear Abby, I mean Kay, just can't keep her hands out of this romance, ever ready with more advice to the love stuck. She has apparently made it her goal to ensure Mac has a man to grow old with and won't wind up like Grandma or Auntie Jill, alone and manless. So after listening closely to J.T.'s intent to depart from a place where he felt he'd outstayed his welcome, Nurse Phil prescribed continued close proximity by way of a pup tent on her palatial grounds.
Just the night before Maiden Mac had rejected J.T.'s spa advances, deciding to latch the barn door even though J.T. had already been inside and tramped all over her grounds, but now it was a brand new day and her come hither kisses seemed to say she might be exercising her woman's prerogative to change her mind. Well, go ahead, Mac, bound back into Blondie's bed, I mean crawl into his tent, and get it over with. There's a two word phrase for wavering women like her. And tease is the second one. Candles, hot water and an hour's worth of conciliatory words didn't do it for her, but thinking J.T. could wind up being yet another one who got away, did. So, scribes, put us out of our FF misery and put Humpty and Dumpty (you pick which is which) back together again. Because J.T.'s repetitive please baby baby baby please and Mac's no, J.T., wait is not what most of us want to see. For once I agree with Brittany, get on the same page or take the darn book back to the Library so somebody else can check it out.
Of course, it's completely in Mac's character to be slow to forgive and forget. Even though that's about the only characteristic that lived through the remake of moral Mackenzie Browning. Just ask Daniel, whose name was unhesitantly crossed out in indelible red ink because unlike George Washington, he was quite competent in telling a flagrant age related lie. The bottom line is J.T. should have trusted the woman he loved (yes, he finally uttered the "L" word in his begging quest for forgiveness) enough to let her in on the Marsino's secret.
What's not the Mac we used to know is the way it seems she's using Kevin to goad J.T. to action. Should I break my date with Kevin she asked coquettishly? Do you want to, he questioned inanely, avoiding a direct answer. I'd feel funny about canceling so late she chirps, causing me to want to break her. Seconds later, Brittany's banshee screeching so frightened all the birds flitting among the trees on the estate they started their southerly trek for the winter two months early. Then, just because Miss it's all about me had a spitting, hissy fit, thinking her baby had been snatched when he was only out sniffing the flowers with Jill, suddenly it wasn't too late after all, and Mac practically broke her fool neck phoning Kevin and brushing him off so she could be free to do what she wanted to all along, which was make moo cow eyes at J.T.. Served her so right that all she saw was J.T. rushing to play Rhett to Britt's Scarlet once again.
Which brings me to the rumor bin and the few items at the bottom of it. Though it's been denied time after time after time, once again the rumor racing unchecked through cyberspace is that Brittany a.k.a Lauren Woodland is on her way out. It goes with the second one that says Bobby "the Snitch" Marsino will be making a one day appearance. Self-obsessed Brittany's put a strain on my nerves for her entire stay except when she was with Raul, so if the whispers turns out to be true, don't anyone hold their breath waiting for me to pass around a petition begging the powers to let her stay. Not saying it's true, just what's being whispered. As for the third, it remains unconfirmed whether or not Adrienne Frantz will be coming aboard the GC love boat. Your guesses are just as good as mine.
Fans had plenty to say this week, so I'll move out of the way now and let them express themselves.