It has all the hallmarks of the juiciest TV soap opera, but Desperate Housewives has nothing on the real life gothic romance currently unfolding in New York City. The story so far: a powerful, charismatic, bullet-headed scoundrel--the former chief of police--betrays both his long-suffering wife and his long-suffering mistress with the titian-haired dynamo who is publishing his memoirs. After being strung along for a year with smooth-talking blarney in the "my wife doesn't understand me" vein, the publisher is confronted by the cad's concurrent but longer-suffering mistress: he's been whispering honeyed imprecations in her ear for nigh on a decade. She's just discovered a love note from the redhead in the cad's love nest, and confronts the publisher in her tony office. The redhead flips out and banishes the bounder. And the reason the whole story comes to light is that the cad's friend, the heroic former mayor of the burg (who's had his own much-publicized personal agita), has proferred his friend's name to the President as a potential replacement for a departing Cabinet member.
Never mind Nick and Jessica.It's time to focus some cameras on the action chez Kerik. Now there's some titiliating reality.
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