Uh, wrong.
“Ugh!” sigh-grimaced Edie’s onscreen BFF, Sharon Angela. "You can’t even compare!” And then it went downhill from there. Suffice it to say, even a top-honors win for Best Drama didn’t put these hons in that cool of a mood. And I’m told, by the small-screen by, that Edie wasn’t nearly as upset over her loss (to Sally Field) as was James Gandolfini (to James Spader). “She never expected to win—not at all, not like [Gandolfini] did,” relayed (betrayed?) a close Sopranos mover 'n' shaker.
Unmentionable subjects making mouths move elsewhere...
• Justin Timberlake has miraculously recovered from the “vocal strain” that forced him to cancel concerts last week. We’re so relieved, you? During his Monday-night performance at the Staples Center, he “sounded great,” according to one audience member. Maybe that’s because he knew some VIPs were in the house, like g-f Jessica Biel, who oddly grows more fresh-faced and gorgeous the closer Britney Spears inches toward looking like she’s auditioning for a remake of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?. Very strange watching those two Justin honeys rise 'n' fall, as it were.
Ellen Pompeo and Chris Ivery were also spotted front and center, gettin’ their sexy back with the T-'tuder. The Grey’s gal didn’t seem too bummed about her show not winning at the Emmys, as she was dancing and singing mucho to all of J.T.’s hits. Also in the house was Jamie Lynn Spears...sure Britney would love to hear that one. Ouch, and on top of those chastising parenting tips the judge in Brit-Brit’s custody battle just assigned her, like not hittin’ the booze as much. But where was the one about memorizing your lines before going onstage, I wonder?
• Caught rebel (and outrageous) comic Margaret Cho’s show, The Sensuous Woman, here in Hell-Ay before it hits New Yawk shortly. Britney will love it—as Cho stands up for the often maligned misfit entertainer’s right not to be stick thin, a point on which I certainly concur. But Tom Cruise, stay away from Cho’s strip-dance-and-potty-mouth-filled tirade/extravaganza. You will not like it. Promise. Like, really.
Uh, was that swish I just heard your hips sashaying away from the laptop you just crashed shut, or was it your digits getting your lawyers on speed dial? Both?
• Oh, and before we get to yet more Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman scuttle-scoop (please do try and stay awake here, darlings), must weigh in on that little nonblip heard round the world back there 'bout two secs or so. You know, that nonsense about Oprah and Stedman breaking up. Didn’t hear? Oh yeah, made the rounds right before the Emmys, just after the Television Academy decided not to go with Hugh Laurie as host. (Even though there was quite the commotion from certain high factions dying to have the dude, alas, no go—wonder if it was Hugh's fairly unknown talents in the drag department that scared folks? Nah...) Any-boo-hoo, so that’s about when this news flash happened about O and her man finally calling it quits.
Well, my fave hon’s PR camp never, ever discusses the power-babe’s personal crap, so fuhgeddaboud (lying) commentary there, 'kay? Which leaves us with the big, bosomy, expensively dressed and coiffed set who hang with O at her Montecito manse, and such. Some of us are actually mutual amigos, no merde. Straight from the incredibly overstuffed, down-filled everything in that Santa Barbara-sided house came this snappy comeback, when I rang up asking about the supposed bustup:
“Breakup?” replied the O-hanger. “What breakup?”
I mentioned the sundry reports. “Uh,” re-replied my incredibly connected blabbermouth, “that would have required them being together in the first place, don’t you think?”
Message o' mirth received, babycakes, message received.
• Ever since that jaw-dropping Vanity Fair bit Nicole Kidman blurted out in the last issue (the one she wasn't entirely her perky self for, in a few ways), I’ve been hearing back—quite, uh, enthusiastically, I’ll say—from some professional types who guided Tom and Nicole during their marriage. Now, these folks are supposed to be shot on sight by Tom’s lawyers for gabbing to moi (this only a slightly hysterical declaration), so let’s hear it for their bravery, 'kay? Good, now that everybody’s done e-cheering:
To avoid getting both barrels between my eyes from Camp C, let’s just describe this one by saying some experts who were paid most handsomely by Mr. and Mrs. Cruise (second installment, that is) were more than taken aback, once they heard Nic’s announcement that she was preggers with Tom’s kiddo not once but twice.
You might as well have told these über-pricey men in white that puce is the new black. Disbelief on their part was an, ahem, understatement.
And remember, all you gunpowder types, I’m just the messenger.
• Expect femme frizzies out the wazoo courtesy 12 Miles of Bad Road, the Lily Tomlin and Mary Kay Place show about filthy-rich gals in Texas. “It’s brilliant,” dished diminutive castmate Leslie Jordan to C. Gibson during the Emmy festivities. “Mark my words...it’s gonna be the biggest thing to hit TV in years.” One HBO insider says the wardrobe alone will entice viewers—they haven’t offered up outrageous couture like this since Sex and the City. Now, that’s worth tuning in for, forget bitchy broads. Just need to listen to Britney’s help for that kinda backstabbing.