Episode 143, originally published 11-Oct-2001

WARNING
This episode contains topical humor of a controversial nature.
Yes, that means it touches on "current events".

I have done my best to avoid anything that would directly make light of the serious plight of anyone affected by the 9/11 attack, but at the same time, I know there is a lot of pent up emotion about the event and humor is the right vehicle for some people to help release that emotion.

Years ago, when my father was killed in a car accident, myriad people came to my family's home to share their concern. No one ever knows what to say in such cases; a lot of time it's only their being there that really conveys the message and the words they say are irrelevant in that they can never really fix the problem. But people have to try, each in their own way. Some were telling jokes, but I noticed they stopped telling them when I walked near. I had to encourage them to go ahead. The jokes were not about him, after all. They were just attempts to cheer each other up. And my father would have been sad to think people had utterly lost their ability to laugh just because he wasn't there to enjoy the joke with them.

So if you're still grieving, put this one aside. But if you're ready to move on, ready to try to laugh, and willing to do your part to show the terrorists they can't take away our spirit, even in the face of adversity and tragedy and the usual limits of my writing ability, read on.
--Kent

Gold Meddling

If the US were attacked, how would Genoa City residents show their mettle?
If there were an olympic medal for obliviousness, would anyone but Nick be in the running?
Will Colleen dominate the category of cold meddling?

The scene opens with the camera focused on a desk calendar, which we'll assume as is up-to-date, not like the desk calendar your friendly author keeps on his desk, which is usually months behind. It's Sunday September 9, 2001. The phone is ringing as the camera draws back to reveal Steve Connelly going through some papers at the desk in Brad and ~~Cassandra's~~ Ashley's house, which he has been visiting while trying to reconcile with Tracy. "Hello?" he says into the phone. A pause while we don't hear dialog your fearless writer is too lazy to write. "Damn it! Can't someone else--?" he asks, obviously frustrated by some impending inconvenience. "All right, all right. I guess I can hop a plane to Boston tonight, straighten things out tomorrow, and get a plane back out Tuesday.

Later that day, at Crimson Lights, Larry and Nick are sipping smoothies. "I'm tellin' ya, man, that Trisha chick is not living on the same planet as the rest of us," Larry says. "What planet is that?" Nick asks. Larry rolls his eyes, wondering if perhaps he should have said as "most of the rest of us", but holds back. "Earth, man, I'm talking about earth." Nick nods. "Oh, right, that makes sense," Nick says, trying to sound like he's not just as much of a space case as Trisha. "So, listen, Nick, just say the word and I'll take care of her." Nick is taken aback. "Take care of her? I didn't realize you had a thing for her!" he says in a low but very stunned voice. "No, not take care of her like move in with me. Like, you know..." Larry pauses, then realizes Nick doesn't know much, so helps him: "You know, like--a hit..." In a near whisper he adds "on her." Nick raises an eyebrow. "But you said--oh, never mind. Look, do you think that would work?" he asks skeptically. "Trust the Wartman, Nick, it can be done. Just say the word." Nick shrugs. "Sure, why not. Go for it." "Just like that? You're sure?" Larry says. Nick nods. "I insist. Just don't make it too uncomfortable for you if she decides to resist, you know? Here, I'll write you a check to help you with expenses." He pulls out a check and writes it out for a thousand dollars, with a memo that says "larry hit on trisha".

It's Monday, September 10, at Genoa City Memorial. Sharon is with her gynecologist, nervously getting a checkup after some pains. "I'm worried," Sharon explains. "What if that date rape drug Matt gave me the night I conceived affected my pregnancy?" she asks. The doctor stares at her in disbelief. "You mean, like what if it gave your child a different father?" Sharon, whose intelligence makes her the perfect mate for Nick, looks perplexed. "Can a drug do that?" The doctor shakes her head. "No, Sharon, but a drug can knock you out and make you not remember being raped." Sharon, horrified, looks down at her abdomen. "So this baby might not be Nick's?" The doctor nods grimly. Sharon runs around in circles panicked. "What can I do? What can I do? Nick's expecting a child, but I can't give him someone else's baby. It has to be his!"

"I've thought about that," the doctor says. "And I think in this case, the only recommendation I can make is an abortion." Sharon looks stunned. "But, but--Nick will know. And I can't tell him what happened. What can I do?" "Relax," the Doctor explains. "I've made a call to Robertson Reproductive Labs. Nick's never made a deposit there, but I notice you have under your maiden name, Sharon Collins... what's that about?" "Oh," Sharon says, blushing, "Nick's got a very big ego. I was worried that if anything ever happened to his ability to pump out babies, he'd go crazy. So I've been setting aside little 'samples' now as a kind of insurance policy." The doctor smiles. "I thought as much," she says. Then she continues: "So that means we can abort this baby which we think is probably Matt's, get the good sperm, impregnate you, and everything will be fine." Sharon is still pacing. "No, no, it won't work. He'll know. He knows I'm already pregnant--he'll know when it takes too long." The doctor smiles knowingly. "Sharon, if that happens, you send him to me. I don't know what it is, but the water in Genoa City is very strange, and pregnancies here commonly take 11 or 12 months. I once even heard of a baby born prematurely after 11 months here." Sharon considers this. "So he really won't have to know?" The doctor nods. "He won't ever have to know. It will be our little secret," she says.

At Robertson Reproductive Labs, a woman in a lab coat opens a bin of samples, which releases a cloud of white evaporate to indicate that it's cold inside. "And this is one of the cases where we keep the samples," she explains to another person, a young man, in a lab coat, who must be new. "Cool," he says, and then laughs, as if this isn't a joke they've heard a thousand times there. Just then, the woman's cell phone rings. "Hello?" she asks. More dialog that didn't have to be written passes. "Ok," she says and hangs up. "Look, I have to go out for a few minutes. Answer phones until I get back, ok?" The man salutes her crisply. "Aye, aye, boss," he says as she hangs her coat on the rack and exits.

The phone rings again at Robertson. "Robertson Reproductive Labs," the man answers excitedly. "This is Nurse Brennan at GC Memorial. I've got a high priority request from one of our doctors here for some sperm for a Ms. Sharon Collins. Can you have that ready for pickup in 5 minutes?" The man looks confused. "A woman?" "It's just on file under her name." He nods and looks around for someone to help him, but there is no one to help. He shrugs. "Uh, sure, ok, I'll have it ready," he promises helpfully. "Fine, I'll send a courier right over." The man in the lab coat hangs up the phone and goes to the bin marked "C", muttering as he goes. "G. Cass, R. Cavanaugh, M. Clark, -- ah, here it is, S. Collins. Hmm, I wonder if the sample is the one before or after the tab." He looks at the clock, wishing his coworker would return but knowing she probably won't. "Wish I'd gotten her cell phone number before she left," he mutters. "Just have to guess, I guess." Probably it's the one right before the tab. Like she'd ever really know the difference anyway," he notes. He pulls a tube from there and sticks it into a nearby hand-held cooler, closing the lid.

It's late Monday evening, September 10, the phone rings at Brad's house. Colleen answers, since everyone else is out. "Hello?" The voice at the other end says "Colleen? Is that you? It's me, your dad..." "Brad?" she asks coolly. "No, the other one," he says with a sigh. "Look, I had planned to take a plane out tomorrow from Boston, but things with work are complicated and I'm going to have to take a flight to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil tonight and will be out of touch for a little while. From Rio, I'll be taking a small boat into the Amazon and will be out of touch for a few days, maybe even a couple of weeks. So it's very important that you tell your mother where I am and that I'll be in touch as soon as I can, ok?" Colleen says nothing. "Colleen? Honey? I need you to say you heard me." Colleen sighs. "I heard you," she says. "Tell your mommy, ok? Don't forget." "Forget?" she asks bitterly. "Like you forgot Mom when you slept with that other woman?" Steve sighs. "I'm trusting you honey. Tell your Mom. I have to run now to make my plane. Bye, honey." She hangs up without saying good-bye.

Just then, Tracy and Brad enter. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Brad," she greets them. "Anything happen while we were out?" Tracy asks. "Nope. It was quiet all evening," Colleen says, lying about the call. "Well, you'd better get to bed. Your father will be flying out from Boston tomorrow morning and we've got to go to the airport to meet his plane," she urges her daughter. Colleen scurries up the stairs, looking back happily at Brad and Tracy alone together.

It's Thursday, September 13. Shocked by the news of the attacks two days ago, the people of Genoa City contemplate Crimson Lights trying to decide what to make of it all.

"Everyone's sending supplies to help the people digging. What can we send?" Cassie asks. "Let's send them smoothies," Nick suggests. "I think they'd melt," Cassie says with a frown. "I know!" Sharon says. "We'll throw in an extra ice cube!" "Perfect!" Nick agrees. Cassie looks doubtful, but her mother prods her: "Honey, why don't you get Miguel to drive you over to Crimson Lights and you can get started packing them." Cassie nods obediently, as she always does when she is sent off in search of smoothies, and leaves Nick and Sharon alone. Sharon frowns. "Nick, this is really awful what happened. I still just can't believe it. What are we going to do?" Nick smiles slyly at her. "There's only one thing we can do, Sharon--what we always do..." And he chases her up the stairs yet again.

At Brad and ~~Cassandra's~~ ~~Ashley's~~ Tracy's, Tracy is flipping out. "I can't believe it," she says over and over. "Steve's plane--" she starts to say. "Am I going to have to grow up without a father?" asks Colleen, demon spawn incarnate, failing to mention that she knows full well that Steve is alive and well. "Sweetheart, Brad will always be your father," Tracy comforts her daughter. "But it's not the same. I want a real dad. A full-time dad." Tracy looks to Brad, not knowing what to say.

At Ashley's office, Brad arrives with a proposal. "Look, Ash, the kid's not taking it very well, so I have a proposal, something that will require extreme trust on your part. How about if I divorce you, just for a time, and marry Tracy, just for a little while, to help Colleen through some of the harder times. Then, when she's over the pain of her father's loss, I can divorce Tracy and come back to you. Ashley looks skeptical. Just then, Victor enters. "Come on, Ash," Brad says. Then he repeats his plan for Victor to hear. "You know," Victor says, "it does sound like a very rationally composed plan ... I think you should consider it."

In New York, it's still the Thursday after the attack when a private jet approaches Ground Zero. On the ground, nervous soldiers target the plane with air-to-ground missiles, but the plane dodges them. Suddenly, a cargo door opens and out come a few crates with parachutes on them. Concern hangs in the air as the packages fall to the ground. Finally, they land softly and the ground workers nervously approach to see them. They are marked "black leather rescue jackets, courtesy of Newman Enterprises".

At Jabot, Brittany is in the Board Room. She hides some sort of tape recorder behind a plant and drags a wire to a point underneath the board room table. Just then, Sean enters. "Brittany, what are you doing here? Everyone's been sent home for safety." She shrugs. "For that stupid explosion we felt yesterday? That wasn't an attack on Newman Towers, that was just Paul Williams' friend Isabella crashing her car into the building. I'm not afraid." "Well, I still think--" Just then, Brittany presses a button under the table and sounds of explosions happen behind them. Flashing lights, also hidden behind plants, also go off. "I take it back!" Brittany says. "It wasn't safe here. I shouldn't have stayed. And now it's just you and me... here... alone at the end of the world. With this nice big board room table... and, oh, look, someone left some pillows and blankets. Sean, look, I know you never wanted me, but now it's probably just the two of us left alive here... perhaps anywhere. No, no, no, don't look out that window---I'm sure the scene on the street is gruesome. Just listen to those sound effects... Come here, Sean. Take me. It's just the two of us now, Sean. Please, let's not waste these moments together... Make love to me now, please, before it's too late."

That's all for this episode. Hope you learned something. Don't miss Episode 144!
If you missed any older episodes, see the index.

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