Grosse Pointe
Secrets And Lies

Episode Report Card
Erin: A | Grade It Now!
Shalom means never having to say "I love you"

Gotta give a shout-out to one of the dedicated Grosse Pointe posters, Alan1959. In what seems to be a never-ending series of cursed VCR episodes, I goofed it last Sunday night and neglected to tape the show. Alan managed to get me a tape within twenty-four hours of my flub and therefore made this entire recap possible. If I had an extra fifty bucks, I'd send the man some Veuve Cliquot. Okay, if I had an extra fifty bucks, I'd buy MYSELF some Veuve Cliquot. But I'd be thinking of him as I drank it.

When the show opens, Hunter and Dave are drowsing in a post-coital haze beneath black satin sheets and a brown zebra-striped comforter. The hell? What is this, a Traci Lords film? Where's the "pizza guy" and his Velcro-fastened bikini underwear? Where are the candy-stripers in platform heels? Where's the fluffer? As if the whole Hunter/Dave thing didn't gross me out already.

Hunter wakes up with a look of contentment upon her face and gazes down at Dave as he sleeps. Awwww, doesn't he just look like a wittle angel? Dave slowly wakes, and Hunter greets him. "Well," she says, smirking, "that was fun." Dave concurs. "Who'd a thought?" says Hunter. Dave starts to lean in and kiss her but Hunter stops him. "Dave," she says, "you're a really great guy and everything...not to mention a wonderful personal assistant, but, I don't think it's such a good idea for this to ever happen again." Dave, thinking he's just hit sexual paydirt, smiles and says, "Cool. Whatever." Hunter gives him what is supposed to be a goodbye kiss and leans back. Dave looks at her in "that way," and suddenly they're at it again. And Dave must move pretty goddamn fast, because by the time the camera's panned up to an overblown portrait of Hunter, she's screaming, "OH GOD!" I hope Hank4's taking notes.

On the set, Kev's calling for the second team as Dave walks up, smiling in that "I've just porked somebody" way. "Hey, bra," chortles Dave. "Guess who I was with last night?" "Yourself?" Kev shoots back. I don't think he'd be smiling that way if he was just "with himself," if you know what I mean. Dave tells Kev that he was with Hunter. Kevin is abashed at the unfeasibility of this reality. "No way," he states. "Dude," says Dave, "it's sweet. I'm doin' a TV star. Plus, I'm still on her payroll." "Dude," says Kev, "you're like a gigolo." Dave agrees, in a rather boastful manner, that he is. Kev wonders aloud if this Hunter thing will hurt Dave's chances with Marcy. But Dave's still under the impression that Marcy isn't into him. Besides, as Dave says, "It's perfect. Hunter is NOT like a regular girl. All she wants is sex." Kev warns Dave to tread very carefully with Hunter. "She's a star and you're just a civilian," he sagely counsels. "This is a classic Hollywood recipe for disaster." I'm afraid I have to agree with him. I mean, my torrid affair with Ralph Fiennes was simply RUINED due to the disparity in our lifestyles. Well, that and the whole "stalking" thing. But even the most strenuous of restraining orders can't keep us apart...Dave tells Kev to relax because he knows what he's doing, and not to tell anyone that Dave's doin' Hunter because she wants to keep it a secret. "That's the first part of this story that makes any sense," says Kevin.

When we return from the credits and commercials, Hairless, sporting a makeshift bandanna-type do-rag, is running up to Rob in a panic, asking him for advice. Rob just looks at Hairless and says, "Dammit, Quentin! Why can't you just wear a condom?" What, on his head? Will that save him from impending baldness? I really don't think that's a viable solution but, you know, whatever. Hairless starts talking about his birthday on Friday and the party that Rob's throwing for him. Hairless doesn't want any party at all and thinks they should call the whole thing off. "Oh. Well. Okay," says Rob dryly. And I do mean "dryly." I think Rob would rather have his toenails removed with pliers than throw a party for Hairless.

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Grosse Pointe




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