Diva Spelling alumnae Shannen Doherty and Joan Collins really should play Candy and Tori Spelling in the TV movie of their lives, don't you think? Read on to find out why, and when the hell is Lindsay Lohan going to stop playing with SamRo's heart so? Is "never" what I heard you say, Lindz?
Let’s see how the overly moneyed are handling their scandals right now. First up, Candy Spelling and her innkeeper daughter, Tori. Remember when Tor-hon had her son, Liam? It was overwhelmingly saccharine, actually: His birth turned out to be the heartwarming occasion that broke the ice that was, at the time, thick between the two Holmby-Hillbillies. And in case you’ve been hiding under a rock the size of one of Candy’s pinkie rings, C and T’s relations are newly frozen over, yet again, thanks to Tori’s recent tell-all book.
“Don’t count on it,” sighed one of the girls' closet mutual amigas when I asked if newly arrived daughter, Stella, might help bring on the familial thaw the same way Liam did. “You’ve got to realize two things,” advised Camp Spelling-Split. “First, there’s that book,” she whispered,”but more importantly, you have to remember Tori never told Candy she was pregnant—that’s gotta hurt.”
I’d safely guess Candy must have some idea by now. Or not? Who knows with folks this rich. Could the senior Ms. S possibly be waiting for grandchild documentation in the next tome Tori-doll delivers? And trust, she’ll deliver plenty of dirty-laundry literature in the coming years ‘cause that Spelling fortune is being diverted to avenues elsewhere, I assure you.
90210, the remake, could only hope to write merde this messy and de-lish, eh?
Pay-Off P.S.: Bro Randy Spelling’s no fool. He’s not messin’ with that beaucoup Dynasty moola Candy controls—notice how Randy stayed away from the Cedars-Sinai hoopla, too, once the little Stella arrived?
Plus, The Hills harlots are still bitchin’ at one another; Clint Eastwood and Spike Lee are bickering back and forth like a bunch of old-fogy filmmakers left out in the rain at the bingo tourney. Damn, can’t anybody get along nowadays?
Looks like some peeps are putting aside their differences in the name of good food and good sense. Arnold Schwarzenegger and his pencil-figured wifey, Maria Shriver, celebrated their daughter Katherine's B-day Monday night at WeHo’s wholly overpriced, fab eatery the Palm. Also at their table helping ring in the young lady’s 19th was none other than outspoken Democrat Rob Lowe, a man, just in case you haven’t heard, who's been having some nah-stay things said about him by a couple of his former nannies, via legal docs—real sex-tape-worthy kinda junk. Only prob being Lowe says he never, ever, did anything naughty to either gal.
Whom do we believe? Same with Tori and Candy, come to think of it. I mean, is it mama or daughter dearest, in that unfortunate case, we feel sorry for? (I say neither. Both tough-butt broads are probably going to outlive the rest of us, in high style.) Similarly, are we to swallow that the once kink-addicted Lowe is now entirely a changed Beaver Cleaver type and that these two nannies are nothing but vulture opportunists? Quite the conundrum, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it all, really.
Shriver, looking like some kind of well-coiffed PTA leader who’s smoked a little too much crack reigned regally with Arnie by her side. They were an odd pair, really, as the Creep-inator seemed to have a bit o' trouble hobbling ‘round the ritzy steakhouse, almost like all those steroids he abused for years are finally taking their toll, perish the unimaginable thought. And then there was burgundy-adorned Rob, who’s been known to help the ill-mannered Austrian during campaign season. Obviously, Schwarzenegger was returning the favor, displaying for all the world to see that not only was he standing by his well-dimpled friend, but that he was doing so in the presence of his impressionable child.
Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson, another off-the-wall twosome (our frisky ‘n’ funky theme today, doll-cups, do you like?), supposedly ended their whatever this week when sources spotted LiLo schlepping her stuff out of Sammy Ro’s place. Maybe her redheaded roomie simply had enough moola to move on out and get her own place now that she's finally secured another paycheck from appearing in the chuckle flick Labor Pains. But this inseparable duo isn’t dunzo, not at all. Of course you heard: S.R. took Linds as her date while dining at Il Sole with hot-pink-mess Lily Allen (whose an amigo to Ronson’s big bro, music producer, Mark), and let’s not ignore LiLo’s finger familiarly when it comes to fiddling with the back of Sammy’s pants while on-set. Uh, when exactly is the last time you gave a pocket tug to someone you weren’t intimately involved with? Girl might not be a high school graduate, but she’s smart enough to know the paps are lurking everywhere, like Tori’s resentments, and that no gentle gesture goes unnoticed. But is Samantha smart enough to realize her BFF is more attention-slut than lady lover? Would she be the only one shocked to find out Lindsay isn’t gay?
Just a query, nothing more, so relax all you legal eagles who eat pansies like me for lunch, as a daily routine. An innocent question, that is all. Sort of like when I rang up Lindsay’s publicist and just put it to her straight (my kinda preferred poking, believe it or not): “Did Lindsay give Samantha those notorious hickies on her neck or not?”
The silence has been deafening. Just like Ah-nuld’s booming and moronic movie lines.