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Juliette is sitting with Goodman discussing the events of the day. Goodman says there is good news and bad news. Good: Deacon signed the contract. Bad: CrackMom got pinched with some Oxy. So Goodman’s brilliant suggestion is to have CrackMom come live with Juliette.
My thoughts exactly Ms. Barnes. What the fuck are you paying him for? His ideas are CRAP.
Rayna and Deacon meet for an intime discussion. They both play it so beautifully that for once I’m not hating on one or the other. Rayna knows she needs to let Deacon go but he’s her one constant, he is so deeply entwined in her life and her career she can’t see how she can untangle them. And she’s trying to keep everyone happy but she’s falling apart. And in his own way, Deacon is standing by her, supporting her in the ways he can.
I’ve got nothing snarky to say about this. They’re just two complicated, confused people with real-world problems.
Scarlet and Gunnar are recording, Scarlet taking strength and courage from Avery’s menacing presence in the booth.
My vagina just sewed itself shut.
Deacon tells Juliette once and for all that he is not going on tour with her. She needs someone she can count on and he says “Right now, I’m just not that guy.”
I say douche move because it still leaves the possibility open of him changing his mind in the future. I think he likes having Juliette dancing attendance on him. He’s been in Juliette’s position with Rayna for two decades and now he gets a shot at being the Alpha in the relationship. But Deacon, just because I understand doesn’t mean I condone. I think you are being a prick. A small, flaccid, middle-aged prick.
Lamar is sitting with his Drawer of Emotions, looking at old photos. Something like sadness and regret flicker across his reptilian face.
CrackMom moves in and promptly starts casing the joint. Seriously, please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this is the dumbest idea. Give CrackMom easy access to expensive and pawnable equipment, furniture, jewellery to say nothing of access to Juliette’s private life, her secrets and foibles that she could sell to tabloid rags for $$$.
I’m just going to wipe my dirty cracknose with my methy hands and then rub them on you. You don’t mind that, do you baby?