Previously: there was The Nana, she was played by Linda Lavin, she was painted as a holy terror of a woman, and she had cancer. She also hated sunshine and the ocean. I think that about covers The Nana.
Is there a rule that every episode has to begin in the Cohen kitchen? We're at the fifth episode in a row that's bowed in this particular room, making me wonder if the scripts have become templates, wiped and re-filled with the droppings of typewriter-monkeys. Seth is reading a music magazine, marveling that Bright Eyes has two albums out that are in the top ten right now. He feels like the world is finally catching up to his musical tastes, making him depressingly less avant-garde and the show depressingly more arrogant about itself. The phone rings. "Setheleh," says The Voice on The Other End. It can only be The Nana. "How are you?" Seth asks. "If you were all that interested, you would have called me," The Nana yawns. She then orders him to cash The Birthday Check, to which Seth offers an ungrateful quasi-apology that he's sure that whopping twenty-dollar discrepancy in her records is really vexing The Bank of The Nana. Seth shouldn't look a gift Nana in The Mouth. Dentures can be dangerous things. The Nana wants to talk to The Son, but Sandy isn't around, so Seth idly mentions that The Hussy is available. As The Nana, on her end, holds the phone away from her ear in disgust, Kirsten pantomimes her frantic disapproval of this turn of events. Just in time, Sandy shuffles in to take the phone. "Awkward family moment, avoided for everyone but me," Seth mumbles into the phone. Well, it was, until you verbalized it, brainiac. "Love you," he says. "Could've fooled me," The Nana replies.
Sandy takes The Phone and leaves. Ryan asks how The Grandma is feeling, because he learned nothing from the last episode in which she appeared and we were assaulted by the phrase "The Nana" to the point that my cranial bruises never quite healed. Seth corrects Ryan: "'Grandma' evokes homemade cookies and someone who's actually nice to you." And crocheted afghans. Kirsten agrees that The Nana is not nice to anyone, but does exposit with a smile that she's in full remission and doing splendidly. Can you go into remission when you have advanced lung cancer and a four-to-six-month prognosis? Did the writer forget to return to "The Nana" before writing "The Return of The Nana"? Seth wonders if The Nana is immortal. How about just being happy that she's alive, douchebag? I'm suddenly worried that the excellent Linda Lavin will have to endure a relapse episode the time the show gets desperate for some genuine emotion. Suddenly, Sandy booms his way back into the kitchen. "The Nana! Headed for The Altar!" he sputters. They're all stunned. Sandy suggests that they pack their bags, y'all; they're going to Miami. Seth is thrilled at the opportunity to play shuffleboard while eating dinner at 4 PM with people whose teeth are in jars to their cafeteria trays, rather than bared or clenched in anger at his every move (see: Summer). "This is going to be the best spring break ever!" Seth crows. We smash to the credits.
Seth shuffles into Ryan's Poolhouse of Pity and starts raving that he can't wait for Ryan to meet The Gang at The Nana's condo. "We got Abe, we got Stu, we got Stan. Although I think Stanley may have passed on," Seth muses. Wait a minute now. When, exactly, did Seth go visit The Nana at this condo? If she hates the beach and the nice weather, which she did last season, then it makes no sense for her to have had this condo back then. Which means she just bought it, and thus Seth would've visited in the last year, which...no. He did not go to Portland via South Florida. That would be like trying to have sex with Summer via Marissa's vagina: improbable, unpleasant, and ultimately futile. Ryan bursts Seth's bubble: he can't go because, you know, Marissa, and the crotch fortress he has to storm, and his newly free ne'er-do-well brother...the usual stuff. Seth objects that, as a twenty-one-year old who has lived through both prison and three episodes of this season, Trey might be able to fend for himself. Perhaps Ryan is just worried that Marissa will get in trouble on Trey's watch, and he'll get arrested for ganking a white horse so he can ride to her rescue. Seth points out that they deserve a vacation after all the shenanigans they've tirelessly endured. Then he plays the Sandy card: "It would mean a lot to my Dad." And Seth can't very well be there to support Sandy, because he's got pinochle, bridge, and a bingo cruise on his agenda. Seth and Cliff Huxtable would have been great friends, I'm sure of it. Ryan wonders what Seth will say to Summer. "I'll apologize, and then get out of town before I can screw up again," he says. Then he starts breathing the word "Miami" over and over again in different sing-song tones, trying to sell Ryan on the idea, while Ryan looks at Seth as if he is mentally tallying the therapy bills. But as soon as Seth whips out the jazz hands, Ryan can't resist. "Miami," he says, grudgingly.
Up in the Cohen bedroom, Sandy is on his computer, delivering a grotesque plug for American Airlines, its website, and its frequent flyer program. It occurs to me that this show could've made a mint if it got a winery to sponsor Kirsten's alcoholism. Kirsten wonders why Sandy is rushing to The Nana's side right this second. Sandy pauses. "I love my mother," he says. "But who else would?" Hee. Kirsten scolds him for it until he points out that the same could be said of Caleb. Nice to call into question the sanity of their other parental units. Kirsten notes what a wonderful son Sandy is. "How about husband?" he asks idly. She kisses him on the cheek: "Definitely top five." What confuses me is the notion that someone would be after The Nana for The Loot, when it's been established that she's a forty-year social worker whose extra cash, what peanuts it is, goes to the ACLU. When did she move to Miami -- and after chemo costs, with what extra money? Does chemo make dollars grow on trees? That would be kind of a nice reward.
Ryan and Trey are on the phone, discussing the upcoming split of the Atwood molecule. "Don't worry, Mom, I'll be fine," Trey teases. He hears a knock at the door and rings off quickly, claiming that he expects the landlord; he then opens the door and gawks openly for ten seconds. "Definitely not the landlord," he manages. Cut to Jess the Drug Ho, standing in front of Trey with that "come hither" look that, frankly, might be the only one she knows how to give. She saunters inside, claiming she wants to thank him again for not selling her out, and holding a bottle of tequila with a ribbon on it. Trey thanks her. "That's not the gift," she says. "I figure, a guy's been in prison for eighteen months, it probably got pretty lonely." As she speaks, she goes to the bedroom and undoes her top, dropping it on the floor as she disappears. Apparently, we're supposed to think Jess and Trey haven't slept together yet, despite the fact that she showed up there at the end of the last episode practically cloaked in Astroglide. Trey is hungry, so he runs off to dinner.
"Eye Of The Tiger" plays as Summer beats the hell out of a zebra-striped punching bag suddenly hanging from her bedroom ceiling. Leave it to Summer to make boxing even trendier. Seth sidles into the room, so she spits out her mouthpiece -- ostensibly, she wore it in case the inanimate object fought back -- and impatiently demands that he state his intent and hold the bag. "Anything for my Million-Dollar Baby," he sucks up weakly. She whacks the bag. "I came to apologize," he flinches. "Why? Because I was humiliated in front of your oh-so-hip, super dorked-out, indie-music-loving comic-book geeks, who looked at me like I was some dimwitted Orange County ho?" Summer spits, smacking the bag for emphasis. Funny how she remembers it that way; I remember her being the one making the scene, by dragging Seth off and yelling rude things about the crowd before stomping off in a huff. But, potato, pot-ah-to. Seth doesn't stand up for anything, because his life's goal is to stick out his lip and hope Summer finds him adorable enough to kiss another day. But he does say that his only goal was to have her be there to join him in this comic-book stuff, and really be a part of it -- a nice sentiment that he perhaps should have expressed before the party, instead of tricking her into attending. But he wouldn't be Season 2 Seth if he wasn't infuriating. Summer decrees airily that Seth can no longer affect or upset her. Then she pauses and says she could really use a time out from their relationship. Seth is taken aback, but hides it as well as he can, pointing out that he'll be in Miami, anyway, so it's all fine. "Perfect. Go to Miami, get wasted and wind up on the Music Video Nation Miami spring break special," she foreshadows. Technically, one could claim that Seth's actions later are simply because he was following orders. I'm surprised Seth didn't think of that himself. Right now, he insists that all he'll be imbibing is Metamucil. Summer orders him to leave and sow his oats and get his "Coheny Cohenish Cohenisms" out of his system. Nobody makes me want to rip apart and stomp on the word "Cohen" quite like Summer. Seth dares to wonder what will happen when he returns. "We'll see," Summer says, with a genuine trace of regret mixed with her irritation. As Seth leaves, Summer rips another one off on the bag.
Ryan walks into Marissa's room, surprising her, because, again, the normal rules of engagement don't apply in these people's houses. She pounces on him and, through their dueling tongues, proposes a weekend of nothing but drinking each others' saliva. Ryan has to ask her to hold that thought until the following weekend. Playfully, Marissa shoves him down onto the bed. "Why? Going somewhere?" she asks with a big smile. Marissa is awfully happy for someone who was, until Alex, a boozy anger-management case. I guess the love of a good woman purified her soul. Ryan tells her that they're going to Miami to be with The Nana. "Aww, that's really sweet," she coos. Ryan confesses that he feels weird leaving Trey alone, especially because they were going to go beat a job out of an unsuspecting employer; Marissa offers to hang out with Trey and help. Ryan is grateful and they start to make out, agreeing to make up the weekend of heavy petting as soon as possible. I know I've said it before, but man, I feel like the Marissa backlash has led to some strenuous reimagining of her character lately -- she's perky and sunny, kind to her mother, off the sauce, leaving lawn furniture where it belongs...but my sympathies cannot be bought, show! I will remain strong!
Sandy pedeconferences with Kirsten as he heads out the door, making sure she has all the emergency numbers she could need, and a stash of cash. He also gassed up her car, because apparently, Kirsten is ten and can't provide for herself. Trivia nuts take note: the alarm code word is "Grease Lightning." Kirsten can tell that Sandy is making himself spastic over The Nana, but Sandy insists that he's fine.
Outside, they load up a cab. "I've got my cardigan, my orthopedic shoes, and my humidifier," Seth lists. "Now take me to my people." Uh-huh. Everyone hugs Kirsten, who watches them leave with a faltering smile and then reenters her eerily empty house with a lost and sad expression on her face. Leaning against the door, she stares at the phone like it's her worst enemy, but one she knows she can't live without; sure enough, she picks it up and calls to see if Carter is at the office.
Poof! We're in Miami. Terrible, awful, no-good, very bad Will Smith music with painfully obvious grunting and lyrics -- you know what I'm talking about -- guides us through establishing shots and straight to a hotel. Take that, American Airlines! You didn't even get a stock-footage shot of a jet. time, sponsor a cast member. Or buy one from the comic: "Little Miss AA.com." Sandy, Ryan, and Seth get out of their cab, at which time Sandy adds insult to injury and consciously quotes Will Smith: "Welcome to Miami." Seth complains that there are too many young, tan, healthy people there. Which is different than in Newport, where everyone is young, tan, and either anorexic or grievously addicted to some substance or other. "I don't like it," Seth says. "Let's check in anyway," Sandy suggests cheerfully. Hee.
Kirsten breezes into the office, straight past Carter -- who seems already to be in her office, which doesn't make sense -- and announces that she has the weekend to herself. And in her mind, that means she can snap her fingers, and Carter will jump to her side for a working weekend of electric fingertips brushing across piles of paperwork. Carter clears his throat and circuitously informs her that his work on Newport Living -- that one magical issue -- has gotten him a job offer. Kirsten puts on a proud expression until she finds out that it's based in New York, and that he's leaving Monday. Apparently, in addition to hasty business ventures and a lack of retained legal counsel, The Newport Group has also waived its two weeks' notice policy. Kirsten can barely remain composed. Carter insists that his publisher is lining up someone even better to take his place: "I hope you don't think I'm jumping ship." She turns around to face him and smiles, "Because you are." Then they hug weirdly, Kirsten holding her breath and not daring to touch Carter for the first few seconds until she can really sink into the hug. Kelly Rowan is great. Carter suggests a farewell dinner at The Arches, but Kirsten beams that he should come by the house, so she can cook for him. And then carry him upstairs.
Darkness has fallen in Miami. Seth, Ryan, and Sandy stroll, with no purpose except to get in another joke about Seth's being an old fogey all of a sudden by hating on "that vibrant nightlife" that the kids love so much these days. They also exposit that they're not with The Nana because she plays The Mah-Jongg on Fridays, which startles Seth because of his carefully crafted agenda. Otherwise, this moment simply exists for them to declare this a weekend with nothing to worry about; they are carcasses in the desert, and Fate is one starving vulture.
Marissa shows up at Trey's in pigtails. He opens the door in a bedsheet. Mischa Barton, I swear, gives this moment the awkwardness you would if you suspected a secret attraction between the two characters. I don't think we're supposed to believe that exists for Marissa; I guess she's just covering her bases. All four of them, including the home plate Trey wants to slide into so badly. Marissa announces that she wanted Trey to know she's there for him while Ryan's gone. "Cool," Trey stays, studying her. "You know, you don't have to [hang out] if you don't want to," he adds. "No, I want to," she says, offering to take him around the day on a job hunt. Trey agrees, and then thanks her for not leaving him all alone in Newport without his partner in pectorals. As Marissa leaves, Trey peeks at her through the curtains. She catches him and waves spiritedly; he waves back and watches her drive away. Jealous Jess the Drug Ho slithers up to Trey: "You and Marissa Cooper?" she snorts. "Yeah, right." Trey insists that it's not like that. "Sure it isn't. Not in this lifetime. Or in this town," Jess yawns, sitting down to snort a line of coke. If Jess hadn't been invented, like, three weeks ago, she'd be well aware of the fact that Marissa has already gone for one bad boy -- Ryan -- before nailing her gardener. So in fact, there's a very good chance that an ex-inmate could imprison his wang in Marissa Cooper's crotch jail. Trey is pensive as Jess gets herself good and stoned.
Lots of hot women and more fucking Will Smith lead us into Act II, so that we're reminded that some Cohens are in Miami. We cut from a hot girl roller-skating across the frame to a shot of an oxygen tank rolling across the sidewalk, in a nice little visual transition to The Nana's condo patio. There are old people, pastel cushions, and wicker. Three old men are crabbing at each other. This is the Florida I know. Seth sees them and beams, "Now we're talking." He puts on giant, thick black sunglasses and hobbles over to the gang. "Hey, look who's here!" they shout. "How's your nervous stomach?" Seth groans and lowers himself delicately into a chair. "My back's a little sore," he grunts, his speech sounding forty years older suddenly. It occurs to me that Josh Schwartz must be a big King of the Hill fan, because he's just turned Seth into Bobby Hill, and imitation is either the sincerest form of flattery or the surest sign of creative bankruptcy. Sandy and Ryan watch Seth yak with the oldies. "Now I'm officially terrified," Sandy says, implying that whenever Seth made his phantom visit to The Nana's condo and initially befriended these people, Sandy was not there. Which, again: whatever. But Ryan gets off a good one: "He doesn't have this many friends at school," he says incredulously. Which is really funny, but also, look who's talking, Lone Wolf.
"So they do fly planes from Orange County to Miami," gushes an older voice. We see The Nana as she adds, "I wouldn't know, I see so little of you." Then she and Sandy hug as he compliments how fantastic she looks -- which, it's worth mentioning, she totally does. Linda Lavin looks trimmer, and the honey-blonde hair works on her. She attributes her glow to the joy of being The Affianced, although I would think it might have more to do with the excessive radiation she must have undergone in order to get rid of incurable lung cancer. It's worth asking how, if it's only been a year, she looks so completely healthy and fantastic. I need the number of The Nana's doctor. The Nana gives Ryan a welcoming hug while also complimenting The Fantastic Arms. Bravo, The Nana. Finally, she hugs Seth, asking him to tell her everything he's done in the last year. "Eh, I can barely remember what I had for dinner last night. Please!" Seth scoffs, sitting back down with the octogenarian set, all of whom are sympathetic to Seth's sudden memory loss. The Nana turns around and gives the kind of "Well, what can you do?" look to Sandy that makes me realize why Linda Lavin's performance so far this hour has been weirdly familiar: the way she floats, speaks in a low, calm, but Zen sing-song tone, and has puppy-dog eyes, she is a dead ringer for Nathan Lane in The Birdcage. Not even at the end when he's dressed as Mrs. Coleman -- just when he's being the mothering side of Albert. I don't know. It's so strange. Sandy and The Nana retire to chat, so Sandy warns Ryan to watch Seth and "make sure he doesn't die of old age." Ryan stares at Seth, who asks, "Is this Metamucil malted?"
The Nana serves Sandy a big sandwich for lunch. That seems kind of mean. What about Ryan and Seth? They're growing boys! Seth, in particular, could use some carbs. Slap some pasta on a French roll for him, The Nana. Come on. Sandy is apologizing for Kirsten's being unable to make it, but The Nana clearly doesn't believe it, and also isn't that bothered by it. "How are things with you two?" she asks. Sandy sighs and confesses that they could be going better. "You two will work it out," The Nana says, calmly. Sandy can't believe that his tough-as-nails mother is suddenly a romantic softie. "Love will do that," she says. I hate this storyline. It's very, very typical. And while we're here, why is The Nana living in Miami if she hates California weather? Unless the main draw is that in South Florida it rains once a day, she has no room for arguing that contradiction. Anyway, The Nana then drops the bomb that her wedding is going to be in June, which startles Sandy: "What's the rush? Pregnant?" Ha. The Nana is less amused. "You go through a year like I did, you don't waste time," she says. Then she reveals the following: her fiancé Bobby is twelve years younger, and South Beach skews too old for him, so they want to move to the condo in Sarasota that Sandy bought her. WHEN?!? Oh, my head. I think I have to stop pondering this storyline. Although I do love that South Beach "skews old" for Bobby. It reminds me of the time my grandmother complained that everyone in Naples -- where she lives -- is depressingly old. And my grandmother, it's worth noting, is ninety-three. Sandy is, of course, horrified that The Nana is getting hitched and moving to a beachfront property in Sarasota with her gigolo, despite the fact that WHY has he allowed that place to just sit there empty? Good lord. I broke my "stop pondering" rule. The Nana can read Sandy's obvious cynicism about her fiancé, and swears that he's a good guy with a healthy business that he can move anywhere. "Anybody always needs a good chiropractor," she points out. Sandy almost vomits onto his plate, which I find kind of funny -- I love the idea that the show is picking on chiropractors, like that's the last sign of a true charlatan. "Not another word," scolds The Nana. "Eat your lunch." Sandy complies. He knows when The Nana is The Boss.
Summer whales on her punching bag with her back to the door this time, and with "Eye of the Tiger" playing in her headphones rather than on her stereo. This explains why Zach walks in suddenly and has to tap Summer shoulder to get her attention (although it doesn't explain the COMPLETE LACK OF PRIVACY anyone has in this damn town). Summer, caught mid-stride, whirls and instinctively punches Zach in the mouth. It's very satisfying to see. He slumps to the floor, cradling his jaw. She apologizes, explaining that her therapist told her to box her way out of a rage blackout. Zach says he just came over to see if she was coping well with The Seth Affair. "I'm in gym clothes and my hair's in French braids, so I'm terrible," Summer pouts. "Cohen and I are on a time out." While she babbles about Seth's being in Miami, goofing off the way he always does when they break up temporarily at this time of year, Zach tries not to brighten -- but he can't really hide it. "Are you too full of rage to hang out?" he asks. Summer sighs. "No offense, Zach, but hanging out with your family couldn't sound worse," she says. Ha. No shit. Talk about a pack of pretentious shitbags. Zach grins that they're off at an economics conference in Aspen, which translates to "getting drunk with people who count their drinks simply because they think it's fun to add." When Zach offers to cook dinner, Summer is sold. "Francesca gave me a great recipe," he twinkles.
While his sort-of girlfriend is off being greased by his business partner, Seth is down in South Beach playing shuffleboard. He takes a killer shot that wins him the game. "Oh! SIT DOWN!" he gloats in triumph. Pan to his opponent -- a man in a wheelchair. I totally laughed at the gag even though it's cheap, which I guess means my amusement can be inexpensively bought. Sigh. It's hard when you come to terms with that about yourself. Seth apologizes for his bad choice of slang, and then does a victory lap. An impatient Ryan wanders up and whines that he wants to eat lunch. Ryan needs a little self-direction, methinks. Before they can go, a perky female voice drawls, "Can I get in on the action?" From nowhere appears Jamie King, with long platinum hair, a tan, and an angelic smile. She introduces herself as Mary-Sue, points out her grandmother, and sweetly says she wants a game off Seth. "It'll just take a second," he whispers to Ryan.
Bait Shop. Marissa is wandering around. Okay, so wait, I guess now it's the day, Saturday, which means it was still Friday when Marissa went to Trey's...never mind. Trey emerges from the office holding a t-shirt and announcing that he will be cleaning toilets for the foreseeable future, or at least until somebody figures out another place for these people to hang out all the time. Delighted, Marissa throws her arms around him. Trey's face registers surprise and pleasure. He clearly has decided that Marissa might be into him. So he invites her around for celebratory margaritas later, an offer she accepts readily. "I feel like my life's coming together," Trey says, because he can't go an episode without referencing Turning It All Around. Marissa leaves, and Trey watches her go, so that we're absolutely clear that he's evaluating his chances of poking the stick.
Mary-Sue, meanwhile, has bested Seth at shuffleboard. Seth is gutted. Ryan is hungry. "I can't leave it like this," Seth says. "These people look up to me. I'm like a god to them." Great. Put them in your comic book -- the Geriatric Goon Squad, or something -- and move along. Mary-Sue beseeches Seth to play again, this time for a wager: if she wins, Seth acts as her partner in a dance contest she entered. "It's for MVN's Spring Break Special," she drawls as adorably as she can. "The winner gets five thousand dollars, which will help with my college loans." Seth can't resist, because he's not supposed to be able to; in fiction, particularly fan fiction, a "Mary-Sue" is an insider term (thank you, Google) for a perfect character who shows up and wins over everyone in sight, usually with some kind of sob story that melts the hearts of those around her. Authors frequently use "Mary-Sue" as a parody, which Josh Schwartz is certainly doing here; I find it interesting that he's using a parody of lazy, obvious storytelling within an episode built with very obvious, lazily constructed actual stories. I hope the rabbit hole collapses in on him. At any rate, Seth puts on his old-man glasses and announces, "The only move she's getting out of me is a victory dance." Ryan -- who seriously needs more to do than just watch Seth be a buffoon -- rolls his eyes and sighs.
We're then treated to a rather lengthy parody of MTV Spring Break idiocy, wherein an annoying VJ gets up and starts talking like a Jamie Kennedy character -- his signature phrase is, "Oh bananaz oh bananaz oh bananaz," according to the captions -- and it goes on forever and won't stop, and I can't hide from it. There is also a lame girl with him from Sherman Oaks: The Real Valley, a jab at Laguna Beach, MTV's attempt to show us the real Orange County. This episode is just a layer cake of parody. And you can't spell "parody" without "par," and that's definitely what this is -- average. Some dude comes out and starts rapping. FINALLY, we get Seth and Mary-Sue and Ryan wading through the crowd of freaks. Seth is trying to justify his loss: "I've never played anyone under eighty-five before." Then he asks Mary-Sue what manner of dance contest this is: "Jazz, tap, a little soft-shoe?" Mary-Sue bites her perfect lip and holds up a can of Reddy Whip. "Maybe she's baking a cake," coughs Seth. Mary-Sue explains that, instead of dancing, she's going to coat herself in whipped cream and then Seth has to lick it off and eat a cherry out of her mouth before any of the other contestants can do it to their girls. And here comes the sob story: "If we win, it'd mean so much to my grandma, not having to worry about my college loans, with all the money she spends on medication..." Seth immediately announces that of course he will help her grandma, and takes Mary-Sue's hand. Ryan stays put in disbelief. "Hope Summer hasn't paid her cable bill," he calls out. Hee. I like Ryan better when they let him be funny, but it would be nice if that came within the context of an actual plot for him. It's like he's either brooding, or he's being Seth's wry, dry sidekick.
Ryan calls Marissa. There is commotion all around him. He shouts into the phone that if she could manage to keep Summer away from the television, that would be great. Marissa would love to help, but she's going over to Trey's to celebrate his employment. She can't invite Summer along to that? Suddenly, a girl staggers up to Ryan and slurs, "They disqualified me from the wet t-shirt contest, but don't they look real?" Then she lifts up her shirt. Everyone behind Ryan cheers madly. He stares, shell-shocked, because these people can't enjoy ANYTHING, even in a sarcastic "These people are so hilariously lame" kind of way. Seriously, I have never seen a more miserable group of teenagers. It's called people-watching, Ryan, and it's FUN. You can have this mythical "fun" without being One Of Them. Marissa starts giggling because she can hear all this. "That wasn't The Nana, was it?" she deadpans. Heh. Ryan watches Boob Girl run off to vomit, and mopes that he wishes he were back home. Marissa wishes so, too. Weighty pause as they imagine all the bony sex they could be having. Then she warns him to stay out of trouble, and they hang up, full of hormones.
Zach is wearing a chef's toque, and whipping up some pasta with flour artfully dusted across various parts of his chest. "Wow, it's like a regular Olive Garden here," Summer praises. Oh, God. Run, Summer! RUN! "Buon giorno, Summer," Zach says. Wait, so she just showed up in his kitchen? Oh wait, fake front doors don't have locks. Right. (I'll get off this kick someday, really.) Summer looks at the open cookbook and reads that he's making gnocci. "So, what is ga-nochi?" she mispronounces. "I don't know. I'm making nee-oki," Zach replies loftily. What an asshole. I want to stuff the toque in his mouth and pound his face into the counter. Zach turns on the television to keep them entertained while he cooks, and oh, lo and behold, it's MVN's Spring Break special. Summer bites her lip and thanks Zach for inviting her over in her state of misery. "Don't worry, I won't talk about Cohen," she vows. Zach smiles that he's just here for the gnocci -- in the immortal words of Fred Durst, he does it all for the gnocci, the gnocci.
Sandy and The Nana arrive at lunch with Bobby. Except it's dinner time three hours behind them in Orange County -- unless Summer showed up at 11 AM to watch a mysteriously long, excruciating homemade pasta process. I would suggest this is dinner, too, except that we're treated to a dinner scene later. Nice timeline, Schwartz. Your name doesn't deserve what Spaceballs gave it. Bobby is a predictably tanned gray-haired guy, youngish and kind of dopey, but friendly. "You look way too young to have a son this old," Bobby says cheerfully, kissing The Nana on The Cheek and offering up a "no offense" to Sandy. "Why would I be offended?" Sandy says in such a way that it stops conversation. Then, The Nana clears her throat and announces, "I have to tinkle," which...would The Nana really announce The Functions of The Bladder? I think not. But anyway, it contrives to leave Sandy and Bobby alone at the table. "She's a great lady, your mom," Bobby says. "What a pistol." Sandy cracks, "I always thought it was more of an AK-47." Heh. Sandy points out how much The Nana has mellowed since getting engaged. Bobby tells the sweet story of their courtship: "I cracked her back, and the rest is history." Sandy lays it on thick, saying how wonderful it is that she's met a nice and honest guy, because they've all seen on 60 Minutes what happens when a woman has imperfect health and an empty million-dollar condo in her name. Whoa. Generous gift, Sandy. What cases, precisely, paid for that? Or was it that successful restaurant you ran? Yeah. Bobby shrugs gamely and says he doesn't go for 60 Minutes. "I'm a Dateline guy myself," he beams. "I like that Stone Phillips!" Sandy nods firmly, "And who doesn't!" Hee again. I kind of like Bobby. He's a big, dumb galoot. Sandy explains with narrowing eyes that he's a public defender with a tendency to be suspicious of everything. "I'm working on it, but I got a ways to go," he says dramatically. Bobby glows, "You can trust me, Sandy!" Sandy nods that he knew that, so when all his cop friends and FBI buddies offered to run background checks, he told them not to, because The Nana is not The Senile. "If she trusts you, I trust you," Sandy all but hisses. The thinly veiled conceit works, of course, and Bobby's grin falters. The Nana sits back down at this precise moment to announce that, hurrah, the restaurant has fresh crab! Not so different from Newport, though -- just sleep with Jess the Drug Ho and you can have the catch of the day for weeks.
Marissa shows up at Trey's with a DVD in hand that they can watch while they drink. Trey suddenly has a couch, a TV, a coffee table, and a DVD player, because the show couldn't keep up the Poor Kid realism for long. Marissa brought The Notebook, declaring it to be the best movie of all time, showing neither taste nor judgment. ["Or an ability to read the room; that movie's not for straight boys." -- Wing Chun] The only way Trey would be into that movie were if he could steal the actual notebook and pawn it for enough money to buy a Jeep. Trey coughs that he tends to prefer shoot-em-up movies, at which point Marissa delivers a movie spoiler that I won't share with you, because I'm loving. "If it's your favorite movie, I'm in," Trey sucks up. He then offers a toast to Marissa. "Oh, to me -- I like that toast," she says. Man, Mischa Barton is doing okay with this. She managed to deliver that line in a cute way, not an egotistical or annoying way. I am on the floor. As they drink, we pan down to the margarita pitcher...
...and then pan up a glass of wine to Kirsten. This is the second transition like that in this episode. Both good, but they need to be careful -- juxtaposition is an addiction, people. Kirsten stares vacantly at some lit candles, but is snapped out of her reverie when Carter appears out of nowhere. No comment, I promise. "I'm a little early," he says. Kirsten smiles and says it's okay. "You made all this?" he says, impressed. Kirsten shrugs that it's amazing what she can do when she's off work. They smile and laugh until there's a pregnant pause, at which time she offers him wine.
A guy practices the whipped-cream thing on his girlfriend while Seth tries to back out of this with Mary-Sue, claiming lactose intolerance -- and lacking the foresight to know that dairy could probably help his budding osteoporosis. Mary-Sue levels him again with Grandma Mary-Ellen's financial situation, and how her entire education is riding on his tongue. Seth surrenders, because Mary-Sue is a Mary-Sue, and that's what is supposed to happen. She peels off her sundress to reveal a perfect body in a bikini. She should just enter a pageant, then. For Miss USA you don't even need to be talented. I saw the last winner on a talk show and she admitted she'd never have won if you needed skills, because she has none. So if you're going to get naked, you might as well skip the whipped cream and do it where you are most likely to get in line to be the sixth Mrs. Donald Trump.
Ryan watches the stage with dread. A Southern hulk strikes up a conversation about how he is trying to find his girlfriend, who snuck down here to "immodestly [reveal] her body for money." Ryan nods slowly. "Spring Break. That does happen," he says politely. "Doesn't happen where we're from," the guy drawls, announcing that they go to Bob Jones University. That's such an old, easy target, and yet they scare the crap out of me, so fire away, Schwartz. "She'll be expelled, which won't matter when she's burning in hell," says The Stereotype. "I think she's cheating with her partner in sin," he adds, so he brought all his Bible study buddies down there to beat the crap out of the corruptor. Because any fists that fly in the name of Judgment Day are fists of God. At this point, naturally, The Stereotype lets slip the name of his girlfriend, and in a massive surprise to anyone who has never left the house before, he is referring to Mary-Sue. Ryan gulps.
Kirsten, happier now, swipes a bottle of wine and brings it to the dining table. "This is scandalous," Carter purrs. "I don't think I've ever finished a full bottle of wine before dinner." Really? God, even I've done that. Kirsten giggles that it might be a bad sign when you drink so much that you are incapable of opening the second bottle. I call that a tragedy. Naturally, here we get the shenanigans where they stand close and try to open the bottle together, and their hands touch, and they linger too long before pulling away with averted eyes. Puddles of drool form at their feet. Kirsten mumbles something about dinner, and then walks away and exhales hard, a look of guilty lust tinged with desolation on her face.
The Nana and Sandy are sitting at a table, neither the slightest bit concerned about having seen nary a dandruff flake of Seth and Ryan the whole time they've been there. The Nana is fretting about Bobby's lateness. He was going to stop at his office, but it's not far enough away for him to be this late. On cue, a cell phone rings. Sandy is impressed that The Nana has The Technology at her fingertips. "I'm very hip," The Nana says, flipping it open. "I just can't read The Buttons." Then set it to answer when you open it, dolt. Sandy presses a button for her and she answers the call. Of course, it's Bobby, and of course, he's not coming -- something about a persnickety malpractice suit that won't go away. We hear the word "airport," and we know he's leaving and not coming back. The Nana's face falls, and Sandy stalwartly looks anywhere but at his mother. "Bobby won't be joining us," The Nana says softly after she hangs up. "Just like that, huh?" Sandy murmurs. The Nana stares at him. "What did you say to him?" she says, sharply. Then she stomps away. Aw. I really wish Sandy had been wrong. I kind of liked big, dumb Bobby.
Marissa and Trey are playing quarters, except they're playing it wrong. First, they're shooting into an empty cup; second, when Trey gets the quarter in it, they both drink. And while I'm not averse to the second rule, the first is kind of crucial -- you shoot into a cup full of booze, and when you score, you force somebody to chug the entire cup rather than just taking a wimpy sip of their own drink. It's not sanitary, but that's the game, baby, and it's the best. Marissa is intimidated by Trey's quarters brilliance. "I was All-Chino in drinking," Trey cracks. "Well, I thought I was All-Newport, but clearly you're in a league of your own," she says, trying to shake off a buzz. She scoots back onto the middle of the couch and breathes hard. Trey suggests watching the movie for a while, so he sits to her and starts the tape. Then there's a weird bit where she sort of looks sideways at him, as if she's uncomfortable somehow, and then looks away; he catches that and stares at her, then turns away, and she catches that...et cetera. Marissa clearly gets a vibe, because she decides they should leave and take a walk for some air. I have to say, all of her scenes with Trey have had a little bit of attraction in them -- I think they have good chemistry as actors, but beyond that, I think Mischa Barton is, consciously or not, putting some extra juice into the scenes. Because I remember thinking a while ago that if Marissa wasn't careful, Trey was going to assume she was interested in him, and so I totally do buy that Trey thinks Marissa's sending signals. That in no way justifies what he does later, not at all; just that in the addled mind of a coked-out, drunk, and confused guy, he didn't make a very big leap in assuming she was attracted to him. Anyway, Trey ushers Marissa outside, and then says he has to run back inside for his coat. Hastily, he fishes a bag of coke out from under the couch cushion -- great hiding spot, Trey -- and snorts some off his house key. Since when is Trey a cokehead? Did Jess the Drug Ho make it so, or was he already a dabbler?
Fucking Annoying Bananaz VJ is on stage with Dumb Fake TV Star, introducing the whipped-cream-eating contest. The pairings all wander onto the stage, and a stagehand begins the process of squirting each girl with a sloppy trail of whipped cream. The Stereotype spies Mary-Sue and is full of the rage of Jesus. "It's time to bring fire and brimstone down on her and that skinny little sinner!" he drawls. Mary-Sue accepts the cherry in her mouth with an angelic and hopeful smile. "Hot chick sundaes!" shouts Shut Your Stupid Mouth, Please, VJ, Or I Will Beat You Into A Bananz Split.
Summer and Zach are eating dinner as that which Loser Blowhard With A Microphone keeps calling "Spruuuung Break" plays on the television. Zach needs to work on his seduction. Summer is delighted with his gnocci, so Zach goes to get her more, causing her to idly start watching the show. "Oh, ew," she says, grossed out by the contest and wondering aloud what kind of pathetic people would humiliate themselves in this manner. On cue, Seth pops up behind Mary-Sue, having finished the whipped cream. He eats the cherry out of her mouth as an aghast Summer watches, and Team Sinner is declared the winner. Furious, Summer rockets up out of her chair and plants a kiss on Zach. He's startled. "I guess you liked the gnocci," he says. They smooch again.
Cut to the MVN set, where everyone screams and cheers as Ryan surges through the crowd. He makes it up on stage with zero interference from Production or Security, and tries to rip Seth away from Mary-Sue. She simultaneously spies her boyfriend, and the Pop-Up Bouncers can't keep The Stereotype from getting on stage with his Bible study buddies. "Think we can convince them to turn the other cheek?" Seth wonders pathetically.
The Nana sits forlornly in her living room, which is replete with all the clashing patterns I've come to love from my own visits to Retirementville, Florida. Sandy enters and apologizes for butting into her affairs, but promises he was only trying to protect her. He sits down to her, and The Nana turns her face toward him, a tear trickling down her cheek, and oh my God, it hits me again that she is Nathan Lane. "I know," she says. "I guess part of me knew. I guess that's why I wanted you to come down here. I just...wanted to believe I wasn't going to be spending the rest of my life alone." Sandy immediately offers to extend his trip. But The Nana pats him on the leg and insists that he go home to be with the woman he loves. "But it would be very nice if you visited your old mother a little more often," she adds. And that's it. Seriously. No fighting, no real fury, no drama, nothing. Sandy was right, The Nana is okay with it, The End. I would have liked this story a lot better if she invented the whole thing and hired Bobby to play a charlatan, all just to get Sandy out there. You know, often I think the show suffers from trying to stay away from its destiny as a nighttime soap, but really, it needs to go Melrose: admit that you're a soap, and act like it. Stop writing stories about whether Billy will take over his father's carpet store, and get to the wig-ripping and the Heather Locklear. Camp isn't just for ten-year-olds any more, Josh.
Carter loved the meal. "I'll tell the chef," Kirsten snickers. "I thought I was," Carter says, amused. Kirsten chortles her confession that she had the meal catered, because she's a terrible cook. Carter can't believe she's blowing her cover, when there are so many other fun things in the room she could blow. "Maybe it's the wine, but I think it's because I can't lie to you," she says, her smile faltering into a slightly more meaningful expression. Carter laughs softly and admits, while they're being honest, that he almost didn't take the job in New York because he really didn't want to leave. "That's nice," Kirsten smiles. "In the beginning you hated Newport." And of course, Carter replies, "It wasn't Newport I didn't want to leave." They stare at each other, and he slowly leans down to kiss her. Twice. I buy this from her end, but not from his; I feel like in the buildup to this story, they forgot to write some for Carter and then panicked and threw it in clumsily during the winery scenes. When they pull apart, Kirsten looks hungry, gutted, tempted, and terrified, all at once. Kelly Rowan is really adept at displaying several emotions at once; you can see her go through them all. Eyes closed, as if she can't open them while Carter's so close or it'll be all over, she breathes, "Good luck with your new job, Carter." He smiles sadly, kisses her on the forehead, and leaves. Once the door closes, Kirsten's whole face contorts as she tries to fight convulsive sobs. She composes herself and picks up the wine glass, then stares at it hatefully and walks to the freezer. There, she pulls out a three-quarters-full bottle of vodka with no markings or label on it. We should all have such meticulous propmasters at home. She pours herself a glass on the rocks. I know some people thought it was a quick leap to her having vodka in the freezer, but actually, a lot of people do that. I have a half-full bottle in my freezer right now that I always forget is there. We've had it in there, and nipped from it periodically, over the course of two years. So I'm figuring they just keep their vodka cold, and she decided she couldn't drink wine because it's not strong enough to dull the pain and it makes her think of Carter, so she's switching to something that might to a better job knocking her out. I may hate the Carter story, but Kelly Rowan has totally sold that her character is confused and empty and totally unable to understand or cope with whatever feelings she's having that threaten her life as she knows it. Sorry to gush -- I guess the rest of the show frustrates me so often that I like to get a bit exuberant about the stuff that's good.
It's a windy night on the beach, and Trey and Marissa are getting blown around as they stroll. Trey's totally manic, blubbering about how great this place is and how his job and his friends are awesome. Then he howls. This should have been Marissa's first clue that something is horribly wrong and she should run. Nothing good has ever come from a grown man howling. He encourages her to try, so she lets out a really half-hearted yelp. "That was terrible!" he blasts, laughing. "What?" she shrugs, embarrassed. "I'm not one for the howling." Trey decides Marissa needs to be woken up, so he grabs her and spins around and around, which makes her laugh but also drop her purse, out of which her cell phone falls. Trey puts her down and pants that she makes him feel like anything is possible -- a new emotion for him, given that he's not the Atwood who's had a year of growth under his belt. Marissa uncomfortably takes the compliment and tries to steer them back inside. Trey grabs her and purrs that he's seen the way she looks at him, and no one's ever been so nice to him... "Yeah, because you're Ryan's brother," she says, trying to extricate herself from his grip. Trey babbles that he knows it's more than that, and he understands that she doesn't want to hurt Ryan, but, see, Ryan never has to find out about it. He tries to kiss her; she struggles and pushes at him. Trey gets angry and spits that she thinks he's not good enough. "Ryan gets all the good life, right?" he growls, still trying to kiss her. He then shoves her down onto the ground, and that actually looks like it hurt. "Get off me," she whimpers, trying to catch her breath. "Come on, no one needs to know," Trey says, tearing at her clothing. They struggle, he claws at her, she's hurt, she whacks him on the head with something really hard. As she scampers away crying -- toward the water, I believe, which...okay -- Trey tries to follow but he's bleeding massively from the head and he can't get his bearings. "Wait," he shouts. Then: "Dude, look what you've DONE." He falls to his knees sadly, because sex wasn't this hard in prison.
Seth and Ryan walk back to the hotel from the Sprung Break madness. He's covered in whipped cream, head to toe, and has a sculpted mohawk. He makes a comment about how they believe in "an eye for an eye," except that would imply they licked the whipped cream off of him, which I'm fairly sure a Bob Jones student isn't going to do to another guy. Ryan decides to check in on Marissa, so Seth says, "I'm going to go up and lick myself clean." Ryan looks hilariously skeeved as he dials her number.
A phone on the beach rings. It's Marissa's; she left it. Trey crawls over and stares at it, sees that it's Ryan, and ass-plants on the beach in total dejection, trying to figure out how he can blame this one on some other jackhole from the water polo team.