This episode was a two-fer: our regular ladies plus the slimy tanned bags of desperate flesh that work for Lisa at SUR. I’m sorry, the “attractive” people that aren’t really waiters and bartenders deep down, but soon-to-be-famous “actors.” (Is that too harsh? Look, one girl pronounces “bitch” like “batch.” I can’t be held accountable for my actions when confronted with that.)
Morally Corrupt Faye Resnick called Brandi out for being vicious last episode, proving that she understands what it means by viciously going after Brandi over the amuse bouche. (Wait until the main course, Faye, god.) Brandi gets up in tears and leaves, and Faye one-two punches with “What are you going to say about me?” and then turns to the group and basically says that she can’t be held accountable for what she says about Brandi because everyone knows how she is: awful.
Yeesh. Kyle goes after Brandi, who is openly sobbing outside, and tries to convince her to come back. Why? Why would you do this? Let the woman go home!
Inside, Faye picks her teeth and says how she doesn’t feel bad because she has a bullshit meter, which must go off all the damn time around herself. Lisa has her fill, but is a lady about it. She goes out to talk to Brandi, tells Kyle to let her go home, then goes in and thanks Kyle for lovely food but a poor evening. I love you, Lisa Vanderpump. Kyle sits unhappily at the table with two empty seats now, sad that her Forever 21 Prom Dress is going to waste.
Taylor is juicing what appears to be soggy linen napkins when the door rings. It’s her psychic, someone “connected” to Oprah. Miss Alisha (and her spiritual entourage that insist on pulling her hair and making her bend and twist to get answers from “Father”) comes in with a treat for her. It’s a black rock for her to “get intimate with” until she lets out her discharge (I am not making that up), and that she isn’t supposed to “touch her bead with her fire finger.”
Some of us need to touch it, Miss Alisha, who are you to dictate what beads get touched until one discharges?
And then AND THEN she goes on to say to Taylor that, and I quote, “WHEN YOUR TONGUE GOES UP, THE SACRED ELIXIR COMES DOWN” and the oral sex jokes just write themselves here. Don’t forget to touch his “bead” with your fire finger, too. Some dudes don’t know they’re gonna like it, HEY-O.
Taylor wants to know if she’s going to get a settlement for her skeevy dead husband’s lawsuits, and Alisha bends and turns as the angels/ghosts pull her hair and twist her like an invisible game of keep-away. Also, why are ghosts going to court in the future? Does that mean they’re in hell? That’s the worst afterlife I’ve ever heard of.
She gives the legal equivalent to: “Molly, you in danger, gurl,” and then smudges the house, pulls out a spray bottle of pink water that she claims are roses (which de-electrify and magnetize the energies of the corners, or some shit) and California, you are just too cray for me. This shit be cray, and:
Or y’all need me to come up with an even better scam. THE BEST, though, THE FREAKING BEST is when Alisha finishes and says, “Later I’ll tell you the truth about Princess Diana, because she told me.” Wow. This woman is the worst.
Kyle is with her personal yoga instructor, who is going to test his limits of OM by not putting Kyle and her friend Marissa (the Hollywood royalty chick from last week) in literal Savasana (corpse) pose. In the most stressful session of yoga ever, these two women yammer on, gossiping about dinner and the other ladies as Yoga Man grumbles about breathing deep, silence, and half-moon pose until he finally snaps and says to STFU and breathe into Cobbler, laying on Marissa’s back with his fingers in his ears. Dude, I hope they paid you double. OM.
Brandi meets Lisa at a boutique so Lisa can begrudgingly set her friend up with her server, Scheana, the doe-eyed chick that banged Brandi’s ex-husband while Brandi was pregnant with her second child. Lisa has to do this because of her new series, “Vanderpump Rules,” and this makes an excellent segue. It’s rotten for Brandi, she knows it, but she signed a contract, I suppose. Brandi sighs and agrees and no one looks happy about this.
The best thing, though, is that Brandi, in a voice over, says about Scheana, “She fucks celebrities and goes on Access Hollywood. She’s a star fucker.” Ouch.
Taylor ambles about her kitchen packing what she thinks is a lunch for her daughter. There’s a tin of caviar, a split bottle of champers, some water crackers… At least she’s not trying to juice the dish towels any more. The phone rings. It’s her lawyer, with news about the upcoming potential settlement. The person prosecuting is an old friend, actually, and apparently things went sour between them. He wants her 10 karat wedding ring and – get this – two of her Hermes bags for his girlfriend.
You know, I have heard some sleaze-ball stuff in my life, but this takes the cake. He wants her wedding ring? DAMN, SON, THAT IS COLD. I’m not a huge Taylor fan, but I will “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” for her here because dayum.
Taylor says in a shaky voice, “I can’t believe that someone has the guts to ask someone for their wedding ring.” Ooh, I hope this is some horrible publicity for that dude, because gross. And his girlfriend with her grabby hands for two PURSES. (Yeah, Hermes, but it’s ultimately a PURSE.) This is like high-level mugging, you know?
Yolanda, Nordic Goddess, continues her downward spiral with me by enforcing more gender norms and generally being demeaning to her children. Her daughter, the model that needs to watch her weight (all 70 pounds of it), wants to stop modeling and get back into volleyball. It was evidently a super competitive and successful team, which is awesome! I’m a huge fan of volleyball. Yolanda isn’t, because it makes girls “mannish and bulky.” OH HELL NO, LADY.
David Foster comes in, presses his fingers against her face in some weird lovers-mind-meld they do, then tries to fist bump Yolanda’s young son. It’s painful. And we’re led to believe that Yolanda cooks often for her family. I’m too busy being grossed out by David Foster going on about how women need to care for their men and it’s time for that shit to die, come on, young generation. MAKE ME PROUD.
Brandi goes to visit Camille, and if you look closely when Brandi enters, you can see Friend For Hire Didi in the background in an orange shirt and a flattop. Man, she’s looking rough. She fades into the background to recharge, refuel, and watch. Always watching Mistress, always ready to serve. Soon. Brandi and Camille adore each other, which must be why Didi is aging. Brandi is her Dorian Grey.
We made it all the way to the patio before Camille rags on Kelsey, but he really is a D-Bag, so eh. Camille also has great advice for Brandi regarding her meeting with Scheana: get closure, don’t ask for details and don’t let her hurt you. They’re going to be running into each other often, so it’s time to squash the beef.
Quick interlude with Yolanda at the stables, where she informs the audience that giving children horses is so good for them. It teaches them responsibility. (So does a kitten, and those are smaller poops.) But, sigh, having a horse now is such an expense. After all, there are the horse chiropracters and massuers, the vitamin energists and holistic hoof-pedicures, the spiritual therapists and sports groomers. It was so easy when all she had to do was ride with Rohan, every arrow striking true…
Brief interlude with the Bickersons, who are trying to pretend they love and respect each other. They’re making a skin care line, and they have such seething hatred for one another, I just don’t know how they held on this long. Best moment: Adrienne claiming that Brandi is the cause of her troubles with Paul. Sure.
Taylor has dinner with Lisa, Ken, Kyle and Mauricio, with her lawyer as her date. She explains that they’re celebrating her settlement ending, and all she had to do was give up her wedding ring, two Hermes bags, and will still have to pay a little money, but at least it’s over, right? Mauricio looks horrified, because he’s good people. Meanwhile, the lawyer date reminds everyone of his lizard-breeding as he smugly tells Kyle that he saw Kim at a cigar bar so what’s that all about? Sobriety, what? Kyle swallows nervously, says she doesn’t know (she doesn’t) and moves the conversation along to the canapes. Can these people just have a damn meal without bickering?
Brandi shows up outside of SUR to meet with Scheana and gets a pep talk from Lisa. Ugh, this is going to be painful, but if there’s one thing we know: Brandi can hold her own. Scheana, with bruises on her legs like a filthy common laborer, told Lisa earlier that she has to do this because “I need to say my side.” UGH. No, you don’t, you social climber.
Scheana: [freaking out] Um, let me unload all of my stuff on you and say first, I’m sorry and that I’m crying now, which usually makes people give me things?
Brandi: No. You participated in the ruination of my family. You don’t get to cry. In fact, everyone BUT you gets to cry.
Scheana: Um. I’m terrified but I want to be on TV, so…
Brandi: Yeah, sucks, right? Now. You knew he was married. You also knew he was cheating on you with squinty-faced Leann Rimes, so you went on TV to cry and say how heart broken you were. I watched that with my child, and that’s how I knew you existed. You’re gross.
Scheana: I…can’t dispute that. But I’m stupid? And immature? And selfish? Also, he totally took me on trips and bought me things and I loved him, and oh my GOD, he totally lied to you so much about things, and we saw each other all the time and you didn’t know about it and I even fucked him on your boat and-
Brandi: Let me stop you right there. Tell me his friends who knew about you [gets the names] and now let me tell you that I don’t care about your feelings here. You’re just a waitress [BURN!], Eddie can’t act even though he can lie, and by the way? He was the love of my life. We have two children together who have never heard me say a bad word about him. And they are perfect and my life, and you were a part of destroying my happiness. Stop being a dumb hooker, I’m Audi.
Scheana: I don’t have the depth of understanding to process just how badly I got served there.
Urban-Looking Dance Squad: Let us pop and lock and make “Ooooh!” noises to fully express just how hard you got served, then!
Lisa comes over looking miserable and tells Scheana she did the right thing by apologizing (I’m guessing she didn’t hear anything). Scheana cries prettily and dabs at the corner of her giant eyes and says in a small voice, “This is so hard on me” and I officially do not give a shit about this girl.
NOR THE SUR SHOW, I AM SORRY VANDERPUMP. Lisa is fabulous, and I adore her, but the direct lead-in to the spin off filled with plastic people with no brains and a deep need for material goods is so repellent to me. This would be a great show to make kids who want to be actors, you know, not go to LA. At least in New York you have to have your wits about you, you know?
Actor-slash-models, is there anything worse? (If they’re good people, that’s one thing. These kids? Repugnant, bitchy, small-minded fame whores. No thanks.).
NEXT WEEK: A dinner party where someone doesn’t leave in tears! They leave in a body bag. I’m kidding. They leave in tears.