Mean girl party! The richest old dude you’ve ever seen! And I bet you thought for a minute, yeah, I’d hit that for his palace, don’t front.
A white Bentley convertible rounds the majestic lion’s head fountain that spits out nothing less than Chablis and pulls up to the front door of Adrienne’s home. It’s Lisa VanderRidiculous. She lives across the street, might I add.
She’s there for a little cooking lesson, horrified to learn that Adrienne has no idea how to use fire and provide her family with sustenance. What if something happens to her personal chef? The firemen might break down the doors to find Adrienne and her family dead, their empty hands clawing at the wood paneled refrigerator doors, unaware that if they had only opened them and shoved the contents into their mouths, they could have lived.
Chef Bernie hovers in the background, hissing and spitting and wishing ill on Miss Lisa, his arch-nemesis. They put on gloves (along with their couture outfits) and Lisa shows her how to reach up the butt of a chicken and rip out the guts. It’s the most elegant fisting you’ll ever see in your life, I guarantee it.
Lisa and her dry wit do their best to show Adrienne how to handle food, but after she uses hand soap to clean the chicken, Lisa calls it a done job, jams some herbs up the bird’s keister, shoves it in the oven, and pours herself a massive glass of wine.
Bernie narrows his eyes, smiling evilly. Miss Lisa will not make him redundant today, oh no.
At Taylor’s house, she’s arranged a play date with Kyle and her daughters, and Dana. Dana’s Thai-speaking genius baby is nowhere to be seen. Taylor brings up the Brandi fiasco, wanting to know if there have been any apologies. Nope! Kyle goes on and on about how she doesn’t even know what crystal meth is, methaline? Methadone? Meth U Eth A? What is it?
Dana hums and moans along, trying to reach out and caress Kyle’s shoulder, or maybe steal her daughter to make Kyle love her. If only Dana could figure out the magic formula to unlock Kyle and Camille’s love…
Lisa is back in the Bentley, but the house she pulls up to this time is not a house. It is a mother trucking palace, and to call it a home is an insult. This is Mohammed, her beyond wealthy friend. He’s about Lisa’s age (in his 50s for sure – he can afford the best doctors and hyperbaric chambers filled with Martian air, or whatever is the latest trend) and has a girlfriend in her early 20s. She’s tall, dark, and has a body that is stupid hot. She’s in a god damned cat suit, and is the body type that can pull off a cat suit. I hate her.
Mohammed wants to throw a surprise engagement party for Lisa’s daughter Pandora – the same age as Mohammed’s girlfriend, I might add – whom he sees as a goddaughter. Now, he isn’t a godfather to her, but Lisa has no problem with the party idea. (I mean, duh.) She laughs and says, “Goddaughter? Better put her in the will!”
“Hmm. Be careful on the stairs. Aha ha ha.” She’s so damn funny and quick witted. Lisa? I adore you.
He wants to do an Arabian Night Theme since his house is a like a palace in Dubai. He leads her through the various ball rooms to the “cozy” party room (roughly 2000 square feet up velvet and drapes and poufs and probably bags of diamonds) that has a secret panel that hides a big ol’ screw chamber. Seriously, it’s a giant bed straight out of a Sean Connery-era James Bond flick.
His house is over 60,000 square feet. Just… Damn. He offers to have a camel out front, for funsies, and some belly dancers, and opium and slaves and barrels of oil for everyone to swim in, and it just sounds charming. Beheadings at 2am, be sure you stick around for that!
We cut back to Adrienne’s massive house, but now it looks positively piddly in comparison. Keep working, Ad, you’ll get there. She struggles down her sweeping staircase in a slinky, ankle-length dress. (Kick pleats are you friend, I’m just saying.) She’s having a Spa Day for the gals.
Now, I’ve had spa days with the gals, and it’s usually two or three of us hitting the local day spa for a massage, facial, and maybe a mani-pedi. This is Beverly Hills, you freaking hicks, so let’s step it up, okay?
Adrienne has her own spa in her house. Before you think that means a mud room converted into a place with a Hammecher-Schlemmer massage table jammed in by the stand-alone sink, it entails:
- a spray tan booth
- hydrofacial machines
- 2 manicurists on staff as well as
- 3 masseuses
- 2 aestheticians
- 3 waiters
- and Chef Bernie
You know. Your typical run of the mill “in home spa.” Now, go stand in your bathroom and look at those “spa towels” you bought yourself and your bamboo accessories for soaps and scrubies, and the inflatable pillow and the bamboo and chrome “table” for your bathtub that holds a glass of wine and a romance novel and realize that you will never have this. Shame on you for trying.
Bernie has whipped up a bunch of desserts that are fairly ho-hum, even though everyone oohs and ahhs them. He did use edible gold to dust over the red velvet cakes, so there’s that big ol’ “fuck you!” to poor people. They EAT their gold and then shit it out. How you like them now?
Kyle arrives, hugs Bernie (we don’t hug the help, Kyle) and putters around the food until Taylor and Dana show up. Dana sees the gold dust on the food and has a small orgasm. Lisa and her friend Wendy arrive, tease and flirt with the strippers-turned-waiters serving champagne to everyone, and they all go upstairs to the spa where pale blue silk robes await them. Oh, and there are spa shoes – white flip flops with faux flowers on the thong and a heel, tres tacky, non? – custom made for each of them.
Now, go think back on your bridal shower, your wedding shower, baby shower, whatever fancy party you had. Are you crying yet? This is just a day of relaxation; there is no other special occasion here other than these ladies have tight shoulders and sagging skin.
I’m not jealous. No, I am not. Also, among all of the delicious foods and wines and desserts laid out for these women, there is a freaking fro-yo machine and bowls of sprinkles. What the hell? (No popcorn maker? Nacho fountain?)
Camille saunters in, chats up the man meat, and joins the girls. She’s very gracious to Adrienne, and seriously, I have come 180 on her. If they had more friend for hire DD and Alison DuBois, I’d think differently, I’m sure.
Kyle asks Adrienne how much one of the machines in there cost. “$40,000.” For one machine.
Kim staggers in after everyone’s been there for an hour, and she wanders around saying, “Hello?” and flips her hair. She figures out she needs to climb the stairs, so she keeps both hands on the rail and eventually she makes it. Score one for Kim! She and Kyle greet each other, then sneak outside to the haunted trampoline on the back of Adrienne’s property.
I’m serious, she can spend a gazillion dollars on face-fixing things, but she can’t pay some teenager $20 to blow the leaves off the trampoline?
Brandi arrives, is very nervous, but determined to make a good showing and not start any drama. Too bad Kim is horrible and starts in on Brandi’s dirty, dirty mouth like a sewer. In a voice over, Kim has on that freaking satin blouse from the six months in the late 70s when prairie style was cool, and flips and flutters the extra sleeve pinned to her neck.
Kyle slips into Mean Girl mode and the two of them are just rotten. The two of them pick on Brandi when they see she’s there and talk about how they’re going to ignore her. Whatever, grown-ass women. Camille and Lisa catch up on how much better Camille’s son is now that her two children aren’t split up (did you know that Kelsey did that? Demanded his son to be with him, and his daughter could stay with her? What a prick.)
Anyway, therapy is helping him, normalcy is key, and she wraps it up in a pretty bow, things will be better. Good to hear.
The party quickly becomes awful after Adrienne tells Brandi that she needs to keep the peace and apologize to Kyle and Kim for the drug slam. Even though she didn’t start it. Brandi sucks it up and decides to talk to Kyle, and it quickly becomes everyone telling Brandi, who is crying and trying to keep her composure, that she was wrong, and Kyle never slammed her kids, she slammed Brandi’s parenting. So it’s fine.
It’s like they think the reaction should be “It is what it is. Now we’re fine and I’m not responsible for anything I brought to the table!”
Kim sprawls on one of the massage tables telling anyone who will listen that she doesn’t care about Brandi, Brandi doesn’t exist, and Kyle is a traitor for talking to Brandi, whom she doesn’t care about.
The whole thing was unsettling, women can be AWFUL to one another. Even Lisa was ugly about things. Even Adrienne wasn’t supportive, and said that Brandi was more wrong because of the crystal meth dig, even though Adrienne knows nothing about what actually happened. I really feel terrible for this poor woman. She’s rightfully angry that it’s all her fault in their eyes, that it’s unfair. She leaves, and I don’t blame her one bit.
(Side note, I watched “Watch What Happens Live” with my gay boyfriend Andy Cohen, and Brandi was on. Kyle called in and apparently she made a HUGE apology since watching the show, seeing what we’ve all seen. So. I don’t hate Kyle anymore, because it was clear that she was horrified by herself.)
Kyle tells Kim about the “But you said, but YOU said” bully session outside with Brandi, and tells Kim that they were mean, too. Kim will hear nothing of this, bring the handsome boys with champagne! Kim, you are getting on my last nerve. Also, eat something, your skin is bagging around your face, for crying out loud.
NEXT WEEK! Mohammed has had actual mermaids fashioned for his party! Dinner with RUSSELL, omg he is dead you guys, and Kim has a secret boyfriend! It’s getting crazy, y’all.