It would behoove the latest Mrs. Jack Abbott to stay clear of photo shoots for they are infested with bad luck. Once again, Sharon got to pass Go and collect her $200 while narrowly escaping the drooling jaws of death. As suspected, the only person who gave a flying kahuna about whether or not she died in the crash was Brad. Jack turned in a good performance but my confidence waned when he instructed Michael J. Fox’s body double to draft a eulogy a mere half-hour within hearing the tragic news. If history has taught Jack nothing of his new bride he at least by now should acknowledge the fact that, like a set of Ginsu knives, Sharon is virtually indestructible.
Those crazy Newmans really can keep a person guessing. With the open gash in her back still not yet healed from her brother’s backstabbing over the Clear Springs project, I was floored to hear that of all people, Nick was the one Victoria trusted most—with JT running a close second. Our friendly neighborhood PI should watch his back though; he can now add Thighmaster to his growing list of enemies. Brad really has no business issuing orders for anyone to stay away from his wife when he can’t even muster the dignity, not to mention common sense, to stay clear of his precious Sharon. Victoria really hit the mark when she dissected his reaction to Sharon’s appearance at the Newman Ranch, all except for the part about him being “transformedâ€. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is capable of transforming the wooden Brad. His all-purpose facial expression is a one size fits all for each and every situation—good or bad—that comes galloping his way.
If ever a poster child for the old adage, Life’s A Bitch And Then You Die, was needed, Phyllis could fill the spot nicely for hers is an existence that nightmares are made of. Since having sex with Nick Newman the night of Lauren and Michael’s wedding, life has been nothing but a cavalcade of cruelty. If only all the sluts who knowingly bed other women’s husbands could get their cummupence the way Phyllis has, the world would be a much better place.
Though much has been made on the message boards of Nick Newman’s eventual return (it is alleged that Joshua Marrow has renewed his contract for another five years, I have a sneaking feeling that Latham will milk his “death†for all it’s worth. I wonder if Nick too will end up being the farmhand of some simple blind woman like his father before him? The idea of Nicholas doing actual work is intriguing to say the least. I see him more easily in the role as the sex slave of an old, wealthy socialite who just happens to be vacationing on her yacht when the Newman jet burst out of the sky and landed in the water. He will of course be devoid of all memory of his former life yet somehow his desire for round-the-clock lovemaking will remain as innate to him as breathing.
I know Daniel was just trying to be helpful but the last thing little Noah needs is to turn to his porn-addled step-brother during this crisis. What a ghastly ride it’s been for the ten-year-old this past couple of weeks. Each time the boy is dropped off from school there is fresh hell awaiting him on the other side of the front door. Though Sharon claimed he cried himself to sleep after hearing that his father was dead, I have a hunch she was only able to quiet him down after a generous dose of horse tranquilizers was administered. More than anything, Noah needs some stability in his life right now and the only person I know that can give him that is Zapato. Parents and step-parents come and go, kid, but man’s best friend will always be around when you need him most. Mark my words.
Donating flowers seemed to have kept faithful man-servant, Miguel Peña, so busy that he was M.I.A. during the Newman melodrama. They must have been delivering bouquets and wreaths by the truckload for him not to find the time to utter a simple, “Lo siento,†to the people who have buttered his bread for over two decades.
Of all the lives that went spiraling out of control the minute Genoa City’s television sets crackled to life to broadcast the tragedy, Neil Winters emerged not only unscathed but smelling like a rose. Things have worked out so beautifully for him in fact that one can’t help but wonder if he might have had a hand in orchestrating this fatal turn of events. By killing (pun intended) two birds with one stone, Neil has managed to exact revenge on Phyllis by taking away her husband and claiming his rightful spot squatting under the right-hand armrest of Victor’s chair. Neil has finally managed to become the black son that Victor never had. Not only did years of bending and scraping prove its weight in gold, but he also has the added pleasure of giving Brad orders. Imagine that. Somewhere, on that big runway in the sky, I know Dru’s looking down on him, pumping her fists in the air.
So Katherine claims to have lawyers she will instruct to draw up the sale papers to buy back Jabot when in reality she only approached Michael to carry out the task. It’s truly ridiculous that Michael is the go-to attorney for all the legal wrangling in this damn town. He can barely close one case before another springs up, demanding his expertise in all-purpose law. Now might be a good time to think of replacing wishy washy law bug Christine Blair with someone who can ease his overwhelming workload. He may even want to consider taking on his wife as his law partner since attorney-client privileges are strictly prohibited in their marriage. She’ll finally have the full disclosure she so desperately desires and Mike will have peace knowing that he’s living by her rules.
