Lockwood Mansion: Carol Lockwood pours herself a little morning cocktail, takes a sip, then walks over to the coffee carafe and empties the contents of a vervain dart right into it. When Tyler enters the room, Carol encourages her son toward the coffee. He notices mom's beverage of choice and asks, "Rough night?" Carol says she's had a rough week, and I'm with you sister, but while cutting down on the caffeine is a smart approach, I'm not sure it should be replaced with boozing it up in the AM. Then again, my week really sucked, so perhaps we could go out for "coffee" and compare remedy notes?
As Tyler starts to leave the room with his still untouched cup of vervain-laced coffee, Carol calls out, "You know, if you're going to bring a girl home, I wish she'd have the tact not to sneak out like a prostitute." Tyler's tone is sincerely polite, but he doesn't grovel. "I'm sorry." When Carol mmm-hmmms him, he adds, "She snuck out?" I gotta say, I don't like that line, here. He went to bed with Caroline. He woke up alone. Did he imagine she danced out, shouting, "Goodnight, Mrs. Lockwood. Thanks for letting me bang your son. He's a hell of a ride." Whatever. Carol doesn't answer, so Tyler just says, "Hmmm," and takes a big gulp of his coffee. "Whoa." He looks in his cup as Carol holds her breath, then he says, "I think the cream's bad." Carol watches Ty carefully for a moment then heaves a sigh of relief that he's not a vampire. He misses all this, puts down his cup, kisses his mom and tells her not to wait up, tonight. As he reaches the door to the foyer, he turns back around to face Carol. His mouth is set just north of a sneer. He fights to keep the scowl from his brow. His voice is firm. "And Caroline? She's not a prostitute." Carol nods slowly. Satisfied by her reaction, Tyler and his goofy cargo shorts leave the room. Once he's gone, Carol sighs again, wipes her brow and picks up the phone. We close in on her face as she says, "Bill, it's Carol Lockwood. I've gotten myself into a bit of a vampire situation." I have never watched a minute of Jersey Shore, and yet I shudder at her words "Vampire Situation."
Soap Box: I'm not sure how old Susan Walters is. If her IMDb entry is to be believed, she graduated high school in 1980, so she's pushing 50, anyhow. I just want to give her props. She is a beautiful woman. I remember being struck by her looks when she first came to my notice in Elvis and Me (playing Priscilla Presley, which amuses me, given where I'm going with this). You know what I like best about Susan Walters' looks? What I like is that I can still look at her without cringing. You know why? Because she hasn't pumped her face so full of Botox, injectables and a bunch of other crap to the point where it seems ready to burst. I am not trying to claim that she's had no work done. I honestly have no idea. My point is, she looks real. Her face still has normal contours and moves the way a human face should. It's getting to where I can hardly look at most actresses over 35 -- not because they're aging, but because they're warping themselves into wax dummies. They don't look younger. They just look deformed. Ms. Walters' face is a pleasure to behold. I know there's pressure in the business to submit to these mad-scientists/dermatologists and cosmetic surgeons. And I'd imagine that when working with such a young, gorgeous cast that pressure must extra keen. So here's to you, Susan Walters, and your fabulous face. If you have had any tweaking done, your doc should be proud for not mucking you up. And while I'm at it, here's to the D.P., for realizing it's still a close-up worthy face. Okay, back to the show.