First of all, my sincere apologies, fans, for my late column. Clumsy me, I managed to sprain my wrist over the weekend and had to enlist my son to do my typing for me. Out of respect for his inexperience, I had to make it briefer than usual. Hopefully, next week will find me more like my usual self.
Remember when I could hardly find a civil syllable to utter about Nick Newman? In all those columns in which I amused myself by deliberately disobeying my Mother's excellent advice decreeing that if one had nothing pleasant to pass along, one might want to keep one's sarcastic tongue lodged mutely in one's mouth? Well, in real life I for the most part heed that pearl of wisdom, usually keeping the majority of my uncharitable comments where they belong. In my unreadable mind. But as most of us realize, Genoa City and the citizens who populate it, is a figment of a writing team's sometimes rather wild imagination, so that makes this town and its tenants fair and poachable game.
But back to Nick. In the days spoken of in the prior paragraph, had someone presented me a dagger and offered me the opportunity, I would have gladly used it to ensure Nick Newman was no more. I'd had it up to here with Nick and his pouty-mouthed pronouncements. If I had never again caught a glimpse of his angry face, it would have been too soon. But that was then, and just as the saying goes, this is now. And I am ready to start loving me some Nick Newman now. Yes, color me thrilled that Nick has decided to trade in his doting Daddy flip flops for some kick Brad's butt boots to wade back into the Newman corporate fray.
His arrival couldn't come a second too soon. Poor Neil has no clout; ditto for his empty-titled wife who will quickly query how high when told to leap up. As for Victoria and Sharon, it's a wonder either can even see well enough to place one high-heeled foot in front of the other with their vision so severely impaired by Brad's oily brand of charm. And since Phyllis now toils for the competition, there is no other man on the Newman payroll with enough brass equipment to give Brad a run for the Newman money. Yes, I know Phyllis is a woman, but as proven by her attendance at Mikey's bachelor bash, as well as at numerous other times and places, she's shown she can easily hold her own with the fellas.
Which brings me in a convoluted circle right back to Nick. Unlike his sister, his allegiance and blind obedience cannot be bought with little more than a Brad kiss and cuddle. And continued cozying up to Nick's spouse will definitely not win Brad any brownie points with that particular boss. Should make for some interesting watching as Nick begins to build his own alliance. Obviously, Neil won't hesitate to jump on his bandwagon, and now that Dru is beginning to share some of her husband's concerns, she shouldn't lag too far behind in doing the same. Though he is captaining a competing team, Jack will willingly do all in his power to help topple Brad from whatever pedestal he tries to climb, just for the pure pleasure of revealing Brad's clay feet to all the world. That leaves Phyllis, a loose cannon by even the most conservative standards. We saw a glimpse of what could be between Nick and Phyllis at the bachelor party. I doubt their companionability will stop there.
But all that's for just a little bit later. First, Nick has to get back on board. And that should make some fun viewing as well when big sis gets wind of his career aspirations. I doubt the fact that they share the same blue blood will do anything to make their business coupling compatible. I don't know about any of you, but I want to see Brad fail so badly, I can almost taste it.
I know it's only a soap, but I still find myself irked when certain things don't at least make a pretense of being likely to happen.
Take the jailing of Terrible Tom. Once again I found myself wondering: Is Genoa City a small town or a big city? Because only if Tom had been arrested and jailed at facilities akin to those in Andy Griffith's Mayberry town, would I have expected him to be allowed to make call after operator unassisted call (otherwise known as collect) to all and sundry seeking financial relief from his incarcerated status. Then, insult was added to my already injured sense of reality when after Gloria was verbally strong-armed into providing that relief in exchange for getting to continue her lie-filled marriage, darn if she wasn't able to do so without the very necessary services of the bail bondsman middleman. The absence of said middleman should have resulted in her being stuck with the entire bail requirement, not just 10%. I had to keep reminding myself: It's only a soap.
Over at Newman Enterprises, another pretense was in process. The pretense that anyone other than Sharon Newman was destined to be Seasons' spokesperson. Lucky for inside track Sharon that she, unlike the other spokes-wannabe's, just happened to have another lipstick in her purse. And why did she need it anyway? Her lips were already coated with color. It wasn't as if she was going to have to put it on. Objective focus group or not, does anyone out there really have any doubt who will end up speaking for the line? They might as well have saved us all time and unnecessary viewing and announced Sharon's name at the press conference.
I guess there was just no pleasing me this week. Thankfully the Sheila shenanigans on Lauren's rooftop was but three days long. Because I don't think I could have stood much more. I didn't harbor any such silly illusions that by chance Sheila might actually get caught. No, my mind wandered to other questions. Like if Sheila so wanted Lauren dead, why didn't she simply shove her hallucinating body from the roof? Talk, talk, talk. And saying not much of anything. So, once again, invisible Sheila gets away unseen to rant and rave aloud in her hotel room, plotting more mayhem.
For her idiotic actions this week, the dunce cap goes to Gloria. There really isn't much more that can be said about her, except to repeat for the zillionth time that she deserves whatever she gets. Again Tom convinces her fiction is preferable to truth and ignoring all the posted danger signs, she uses her key and with Jennifer's help, opens the door and lets the monster out of his cage, though it means he's liable to go after one or both of her sons. But that matters naught to this poster child of all that motherhood is not. Nothing and no one is going to cause her to give up her weekly payments from her living, breathing lottery.
As Lauren continues to be the object of Sheila's obsession, now that Tom has for the most part figured out all the pieces of her poisonous plot, Sheila may have to divert part of her attention to damage control. Tom vs. Sheila. Now that could be something both interesting and new. Tom didn't get where he was simply by terrorizing small children and their weak Momma. But will he be able to hold his own with the devil's daughter? By the way, perhaps Nurse Sheila should go back and do some additional research. I thought the poison she selected was supposed to kill Lauren quickly. How? By making her hallucinate herself to death? With the wedding only days away, we can be sure of only one thing. That there is more Sheila inspired doom and gloom in Lauren's immediate future.
So, is Bobby Marsino really gone for good? When I sniff, all I smell is setup, not death. If it wasn't a setup, then what was the purpose of his trip to the Mansion and his "complicated" non-explanation? With his wife's time on the Genoa City canvas down to less than 10 days, alleged death seems an easy way to tie up most of the loose ends, yet leave a loop or two open in case the scribes ever want to bring either of them back. Despite Brittany's despair, I wasn't able to scrape up much sorrow.
The elder Newmans have returned from their trip. But will Nikki be rested and clear-headed? Doubtful. Bobby's death will probably send her reeling in a whole new tailspin.
Of course, there's always more that can be said, but my son has done about all he's going to. Lon and Antoine will have to take it from here.