THIS WEEK’S RAP SHEET:
The innocent: Crystal protests her drug test.
The ill: Di does some sick things.
The interloper: The handsome new doctor has terrible timing.
Another day, another synth soundtrack — The background music cracks me up sometimes. It’s so … dorkily groovy. And you know what else is dorkily groovy? Helen — because she has just parked crookedly, like a teenager with a brand new driver’s license. Let’s get her a shirt that says, “I can’t even park straight.” No, I think I’d rather see her in the leather jacket and red shirt she’s wearing right now. And I don’t really want her to do anything straight.
Is it just me, or is she smirking at something as she walks toward the main gate? I do know she’s carrying two briefcases and wearing sensible shoes, and somehow both of those things make me love her. Yeah, it doesn’t take much.
The wing office — Karen is concerned about Crystal, who is on a hunger strike. She tells everyone to keep an eye on Crystal — “especially you, Di.” Ah, such a subtle setup.
As everyone files out of the office, the phone rings. It’s for Karen, and of course Fenner sticks around to see what’s up.
Karen: They’ve appointed the new No. 1. Temporarily, anyway. Helen Stewart.
You know that expression, “The blood drained from his face”? Well, that’s what just happened to Fenner. And he’s pretty pale to begin with.
The luckiest piece of plastic in the world — Helen is putting on her new nametag. Is it wrong that I just watched that twice? And then she straightens her shirt and grins to herself, proud of her new gig. Adorable.
And how great is it that she’s not wearing a power suit, despite her new title? On the other hand, with her curves, any suit is a power suit.
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Simon. He gives her two big notebooks but no encouragement.
Simon: You must have a very pleasant sense of victory. Better enjoy it while it lasts.
Helen: Well, I know I’ve picked up a poison chalice, but I’ll do my best to keep a grip of it.
Simon: You’re just a pretty face to brighten up the board table, Helen. Till they pick their man.
Their man? Are you sure you don’t mean their dyspeptic doughboy with a comb-over? I mean, if they want to be consistent.
Helen just watches him go, her grin turning into a smirk.
The four-bed dorm — It’s time for breakfast, but Crystal’s still not eating. She insists she has never done drugs, and the test that came back positive had to be wrong.
Di: You know, I’d like to believe ya. I really would.
Similarly, I’d like to pretend I’m interested. I really would.