Check in on Part 1, right HERE.
Nighttime. Back at the Pit.
Inside, David and Donna sit at a table, David perusing the menu; Donna, looking pensive. Apropos of nothing, she blurts out, "I can't go to Europe."
After David asks why, she readily pulls out her passport - that she was just...holding open for no discernible reason? - and shoves it in his face: "I can't show that picture to anyone! I look horrible!" David assures her she looks cute, but she remains unconvinced.
Here comes Steve, Peach Pit uniform on whatever the opposite of "fleek" is. He approaches the table and meekly inquires, "Can I take your order?"
David and Donna both look up and, flummoxed at what stands before them (i.e. Steve's hair), gawk at this all-out clown, given that they've never witnessed him put in a hard day's work in his life. David, with his freshly bronde forelock, starts laughing and Steve warns, "Can it, Silver," then takes a big, showy look behind him and fills them in: "Look, it's a bet, all right? Brandon bet me that I couldn't hold down a job." David asks, "Does Nat know this?" like, Jesus FUCK, at least someone is asking this and trying to maybe advocate for Nat. But Steve is a vapid, soulless ghoul with no conscience, so he merely threatens them: "No, and neither of you two weasels are gonna tell him, right?"
Steve and his tresses are true menaces: to Nat; to his friends; to society; to mirrors and hairstylists across the Westside.
Poor, oblivious Nat bustles over, coffee pot in hand, and instead of throwing the undoubtedly viscous, boiling liquid in Steve's perm, he tells him, "We're backing up here, come on." As Steve follows behind him, Donna calls out, "Wait a minute! What about our order?" The non-zany non-antics of this subplot are truly of hell.
And they just don't stop! As Steve walks behind the counter to grab a tray of food, he asks, "I thought you said it wasn't busy this time of year." WHAT LOS ANGELES DO THEY LIVE IN I NEED TO KNOW. Because it's never not busy here. Anywhere. Ever. Nat, probably having some kind of horse-racing debt to pay off before he gets a tire iron to the knee cap, is just happy for the windfall: "Yeah! Things are really hoppin' huh?"
Steve brings the tray around the counter to deliver to a table as his hoodwinking-of-Nat co-conspirator enters - regrettably having turned the cheesedick up to 11 - mocking Steve with, "Waiter! Oh, waiter!" Steve assures him with a grimace, "I'm loving this, Brandon. I never knew what I was missing."
Painfully stupid story short: he starts passing out the food to this couple (Brandon looking on from the counter like the self-satisfied twat he absolutely is), the order is incorrect, the lady is kind of a big bitch about it, which was delectable, and Brandon swoops in to save the day, assuring the patrons that they'll get it straightened out and that it's their moron server's first day on the job.
As earlier, he flings his arm around Steve's neck and asks him, "Are we having a little problem here, Stevie?" Steve growls (?) and walks away, hopefully into an already-out-of-control grease fire in the back room.
The next whatever. Jim's Big Boy Business Building.
Inside, he's finishing up a call in his office as Dylan sits before him. Jim oozes smarm all over the phone, telling the poor person on the other end of the line, "How 'bout if I come over the hill? Sure, I loooove risotto." What the fuck? All the while he keeps looking up at Dylan and smirking. Dylan, in return, looks at him like this:
Followed by this:
No notes.
Jim hangs up the receiver and turns his attention to Dylan: "I haven't mailed your check this week...since you're here, I might as well give it to you," and slides an envelope across the desk. He asks about school, and says that Dylan will need to start thinking about college soon, etc. etc. and if, like me, you're pleasantly surprised at how sincere Jim is being in this moment, just you wait until the following scene.
But first, to finish out this one: Dylan tells him that he wants a new trustee, but Jim says that he made a commitment to Iris (who is, I assume, the settlor of Dylan's trust) and, "Unless she decides differently, the trust is immutable. Your mother wanted some consistency in your life. Some direction." Dylan scoffs, "What, and you're supposed to be it?" As is his wont, Jim's voice rises as he says, "Dylan, on the day you turn 21, you can take that money and you can flush it down the toilet if you want, but until then, you are stuck with me. Whether you...or I...like it or not."
Dylan stands and snatches the envelope from the desk, getting all up in Jim's mug: "Fine. But don't you ever ask me how it was in school, okay?" At that he swans out - like, had he been wearing a scarf in this moment, he would've absolutely flung it over his shoulder - slamming the door behind him, and I bet you'll never guess what Jim does in response:
...
HoW After Dark.
Inside the Lair of the Parents Walsh, Jim exits the bathroom and climbs into bed with Cindy, saying, "It's getting to the point where I'm as sick of Dylan as he is of me." I doubt that's possible, Large Guy. And then: "I should've charged him with kidnapping when he took Brenda down to Mexico." Sounds reasonable. "He coulda shared a cell with his father." I know I'd want this totally level-headed, unflappable business "professional" having control over my multi-millions.
Cindy, as she should, looks aghast: "Oh, Jim! He's not that bad." Jim asks how she could say that, "After everything that's happened?" Because of this, you cuck:
And this:
DRINK IT IN.
Cindy tries to reason with him that Brenda is miserable and not snapping out of it and, "Maybe we should reconsider." Jim hops on his Emotional Manipulation™ brand steamroller, revs the engine and takes a few passes over Cindy's prone body while whining, "Wait a minute! We agreed, Dylan is no good for her! You gotta stick by me on this." Translation: you have no say in this and a rational discussion about any alternative is out of the question.
And with that, Cindy's spine lets out its final death rattle and evaporates from her body entirely as she gives her rod of a husband a small, defeated nod, just as he likes it.
Synth Drum and Key-tar takes us into the next day at the beach club, being prepped for opening by the employees...
...and then fading into a mass of members milling about: playing volleyball, heading to the water with their boards, lounging on cabana chairs.
The camera eventually pans up to Henry, surveying the scene from his balcony, probably enjoying a moment of reprieve from a hectic start to the day...
...which is then shattered by the appearance of The Smuggest Man Who Ever Lived at his elbow, chomping on some gum and pointing out to Henry all the girls on the beach he's planning to dick down this summer. It's clear from this conversation that the BHBC does not have an HR department.
And then: THE MOTHER-FUCKIN' ZUCK. She marches out onto the deck, CLIPBOARD IN HAND OF COURSE, swaaaaathed in beach club gear, from the top of her spiffy new Mom-cut to the tips of her toes. She approaches the men with, "Hey, Henry, hi, Brandon, how are you doin'?"
Brandon whips around and after absorbing what stands before him, and with sheer terror in his eyes, asks, "AHHHHHHHHHNdrea...why are you wearin' that shirt?"
AHHHHHHHHNdrea dorks out that she's, "running the kiddie camp program. I'm head counselor." WHY DON'T YOU JUST WEAR A SASH, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNDREA. She'll probably start some seaside summer camp version of The Blaze and all of the tykes will be required to write in-depth exposés about the state of the snack counter and go undercover to lift the lid on the depravity of the club's kayak rental policy.
Anyway, Brandon is legitimately hilarious as he turns back to Henry with his eyes bugged out and asks, "She is???" She says that she didn't want Henry to tell him; she wanted it to be a surprise: "Isn't it great? We can hang out all summer together!"
As Brandon smiles and likely cries through gritted teeth, his walking, talking cross to bear gets her No Nonsense back on and says, "No time for small talk. Henry, the kids are signing up like crazy, and I need more hats." Henry directs her to their location inside and she's off with a "Stalk See you guys later!"
Brandon turns back to Henry, complaining about AHHHHHHHHNdrea's hiring and sarcastically adding that, "It's gonna be a regular West Beverly reunion around here." Henry, like Nat before him, wants to get entrenched in this teen's personal affairs and asks, "Is there something I should know about? I mean, she isn't your girlfriend, is she?" Brandon says "no" a literal SIX TIMES (that's gonna leave a mark!) and adds, "We're just friends. She's always kind of...kinda, ya know, liked me. I then lead her on, over and over and over again - it is taxing, lemme tell ya! Especially for everyone around us, mostly the viewers! But it gets my rocks off, I won't lie. Then my new Flavor of the Week appears, AHHHHHHHHHHNdrea behaves like an embarrassment - I mean, a complete and utter disgrace - we somehow make up and 'move on', but in a couple of weeks we start the sickening cycle all over again! Like clockwork! It's a HOOT. And I don't wanna spend all summer feeling guilty every time I talk to another girl." Yes you do. It's your kink. Just admit it and MOVE THE FUCK ON.
In Brenda's room. She and her tremendous pajamas read on her bed. Jim, in his Dork Dad finest, manages to knock for once in his goddamn life and enters the room announcing, "Come on, get up. I've got a surprise for you!" She tells him she's reading and that she'd rather consume shards of stained glass and a carton of cigarettes for dessert than share airspace with him, but he insists: "Throw on some shorts, come on! Your mom's already packed the car!"
He seriously won't let up, even after Brenda, clearly lying, tells him, "I wish I could. But I made plans with Kelly for the day. I'm sorry - can't it wait until tomorrow?" Jim gets his sad sack on and sighs, "All right," then shrugs and exits.
He's still shrugging and shaking his head as he walks into the kitchen. Cindy's at the counter, packing a box and cooler. She asks after Brenda and he tells her, "She's not coming. The same kid who used to torture us every birthday and Christmas to find out what her presents were, didn't even try to pump me." Great logic. Cindy says, "I'm worried about her, Jim. I mean, it feels like she's drifting off on some emotional iceberg." Cindy is deep.
Jim, however, is a pilonidal cyst on the tailbone of humanity, and stampedes right over Cindy's concerns, telling her, "I know Brenda. Believe me, this is her stubbornness coming through. She's decided if she remains miserable long enough, we'll finally give in. I'm not giving in." Yes, Jim. You win. At everything. Except parenting. You're pretty crummy at that. Blah, blah, they head out to their "mystery" destination (the Beach Club; it's the Beach Club) with Cindy saying, "At least Brandon will get a kick outta this," as they go. He won't, because he apparently thinks everyone's out to cock-block him during his Pussy Posse summer at the beach. Whatever.
Kicky music takes us back to the club, where Brandon swaggers about, brow furrowed, truly the picture of someone about to swim in several nautical miles of vagina for the next two months.
Henry asks him to take a bottle of champagne and some flutes up to "the new couple in cabana 33," and WHOMST COULD IT BE.
SURPRISE! Except that it's not. Like, at all.
More smiling through gritted teeth from Brandon as he asks why they're there, and Jim dweebing on about, "living a little" and Cindy nearly wetting her pants squeeing about, "spending the summer at the beach!" These poor bastards.
Cut to Brandon and Henry descending a staircase and more moaning from Brandon: "Now my mommy and daddy are here, too. Any more surprises I should know about?" Rather than backhanding Brandon and then firing him without any real cause (remember: no HR!), Henry sends him on his way to some Mrs. Goldberg who needs help unloading her car in the parking lot.
Brandon arrives to a hideous minivan that's being swarmed by children wielding water guns. The harried Mrs. Goldberg, who has obviously come to the beach to drown herself given her lot in life, gives Brandon her cabana number and then rushes off to round up her uncontrollable brood.
As Brandon lugs various beachy accoutrements across the lot, he comes upon the Speedster and I guess figures that Brenda is there with Dylan for a covert date...
...seeing as in the next scene, he's sprinting through the club, trying to track them down to warn them of Jim and Cindy's presence, DESPITE having protested like a jackass and then turning around and tormenting his sister about the whole fucking ordeal in the first quarter of the FUCKING EPISODE. He's such a non-lane-picking little bitch.
He runs up on Kelly, asking if she's seen Dylan, and she tells him not yet, but that she invited both him and Brenda as her guests that day. Brandon tells her about the Jim/Cindy of it all and then darts off again on his desperate manhunt. In today's installment of Jennie Garth Looks Great in Every Color: Lavenderish-pink. She looks fantastic in lavenderish-pink.
Back at the Cabana of Walsh. Cindy heads back out onto the deck, soaking in the view, calling for Jim to come out and join her.
As she leans over the railing, she spots something in the distance! OH NO! She removes her glasses and:
Yep.
There they are.
Oh, boy.
Jim, having been yammering on and on this whole time from inside about being a cheapskate and renting them a lower-cost upper cabana (which, if we're being honest, I'm with him; I'd much prefer an upper with a better view and less noise. I can't wait for the time in my life when I'll never be able to afford something like that), finally joins his wife on the deck, champagne and flutes in hand.
Cindy, wanting ONE GODDAMN DAY where Jim doesn't throw a toddler tantrum about Brenda/Dylan, tries to casually move their celebration inside with, "Maybe we should get outta the sun; let's go check out the paddle tennis courts!" Jim's all, "We just got here!" and herds her over to the balcony's edge again. Clearly looking for some beach-adjacent sexxing, he tells her, "Let's just stay up here...by ourselves." No, thank you, please. See Cindy's expression in this screenshot for further clarification.
So then he OF COURSE spots Brenda and Dylan...
...and starts stroking the fuck out, looking like he just witnessed a gangland style murder, like, get a grip, sir. Having been confronted with what is apparently the ULTIMATE BETRAYAL of his sad, sad life, he asks, "You tried to keep me from seeing this, didn't you?"
Cindy's face SAYS IT ALL.
He chokes out, "I guess the surprise is on us."
Yes, it is. SUCK IT.
And then we fade out on Jim and his brain aneurysm and Cindy regretting her entire marital life as DOOM SYNTH plays and we gear up for some true white trash waterfront THEATRE coming up in Part 3. I am so ready.
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