Since it hit ninety degrees this week in New York, the images of the snowy winter that started this episode of The Real Housewives felt momentarily soothing. All of those beatific miles of freezing white... But then I reminded myself just how miserable all of those blizzards actually were and I realized that I'd rather see a close-up of whatever picture Jules definitely still has on her iPhone of her busted vagina than relive all those mornings in February when I had to clear off my car at the crack of dawn. In any case, we leave the frigid tundra quickly and start with Bethenny coming into her office and, while there is no discussion of her nether regions, we can all be placated by the fact that Kristofer, her “Celebrity Make-Up Artist,” looks very well rested. (Can I just say that I find it completely preposterous that the guy’s title is not simply "Make-Up Artist" but instead it must be "CELEBRITY Make-Up Artist?) Anyway, it's bandied about that maybe this guy – who earns a living by only tending to the faces of the incredibly famous – garnered his aesthetic freshness by having ingested someone’s placenta. Listen: I do not mind these gynecological references. In fact, I hope he will sculpt his client’s eyebrows so they eventually resemble fallopian tubes, but it turns out that his alertness is not actually due to downing a shot of liquefied afterbirth. No, Kristofer looks so wonderful because he recently had his fat frozen. This is aspirational television at its finest, folks! But let’s not stop there! We can also stare at our screens and covet the ginormous clutch Bethenny had made out of what I’m guessing is a Skinnygirl shopping bag and she’s told by the assistants who clearly hate her that her brand new accessory will look amazing with a jumpsuit. We’re not two minutes in and already I’m certain that everybody in that loft dreams hourly about murdering their boss and replacing the pops of Skinnygirl red paint on the wall with her plasma.
As for Bethenny, she’s feeling anxious. Her surgery is only three days away and she’s getting ready to launch a new line of Skinnygirl chocolates that I pray will be made by chemists who had nothing to do with crafting the formula of her margaritas because that shit tastes like evil. In any case, the medical issue she’s facing is no joke and her friends have been incredibly attentive and kind in the days leading up to it. Carole, of course, has been there for her, but the real news is that Ramona has been unbelievable, something that – bizarrely – doesn’t surprise me at all because Original Ramona was clearly abducted in the dead of night by a fleet of aliens interested in studying the root of where lunacy comes from and the New Ramona they dropped in its place has proven herself to be nothing short of lovely and selfless. I mean, Ramona brought Bethenny flowers and toted along a book so she could hang out in the other room and read while Bethenny recovers so she won’t ever have to feel alone. That sort of thoughtfulness is no joke so I refuse to make one here.
Luckily, other jokes have begun to percolate like coffee laced with laxatives because the beauty routine is not over. Tokyo shows up next. His job as the hairstylist today is to wrap Bethenny’s head in a wig cap and toss a red wig on top. Come to think of it, Bethenny sort of looks like one of the aliens that I think might very well have stolen Original Ramona. That’s not to say that Bethenny looks bad. She pulls off the ridiculous look and she knows it, which is evident the moment she bellows, “I’m definitely having sex with a stranger tonight!” Is it wrong that I sometimes say that while I’m not wearing a wig or have not just been tended to by a man who is carting around his very own cellulite icicles?
In a place where there are no wigs, Sonja and Ramona show up to get a dance lesson after the women dancing on a bar at Luann’s last event inspired Ramona. It’s not that Ramona can’t already dance, but now that she’s single, she wants to upgrade her game. As for Sonja, well, she thought she was going to attend a pole dancing class, but regular writhing and hair flipping will work just as well. (For the record, I’ve taken a pole dancing class. That shit is harder than it looks. Tip your strippers handsomely, people.) It’s really cute that Ramona asks to learn moves that will be appropriate for someone her age to bust out – and somewhere Avery is weeping in relief – but there’s something odd about watching two people in the same dance class when one is in leggings and a tee and looks like she’s taking a dance class and the other is in a dress and heels. My guess? Ramona wanted to learn the new moves in the kind of outfit she’d eventually break them out in and I have to applaud her practicality here, which is a sentence I never ever expected to write with Ramona as the sentence's subject.
But since they are Real Housewives before they are dancers, Ramona and Sonja must stand awkwardly in that room and discuss how Luann is currently floating into the I’m-In-Love-And-You’re-All-Just-Jealous-Of-My-Bliss heavens. It’s Ramona’s opinion that everyone is annoyed with Luann and that it’s fucking ridiculous that she’s announcing to every friend and cab driver who will still call her “Countess” that she will soon marry the bald man she met about a month ago. It’s Sonja’s opinion that Luann just wants so badly to be married that she’s allowing herself to be caught up in something everyone else is scoffing at – loudly. After all, Luann has been out there and single and “banging away” for a long time now! She’s ready to settle down and be happy, but Ramona is quick to say that it’s not Luann's happiness that she begrudges. No, it is Luann’s “self-absorption” that is rubbing Ramona the wrong way, and only because those extraterrestrials absconded with Original Ramona and her carcass (one that was made up of 50% water, 25% delusion, and 25% self-absorption) can I giggle and agree with this adorable pod-like version of New Ramona. For the record, I have no idea what substances New Ramona is made up of, but I pray she will not decompose come the warmest days of summer.
Back in Skinnygirl Central, Bethenny shows up and struts into her event in her red wig, a black and white jumpsuit, and the handbag that is the silliest thing I’ve seen since she insisted on driving a shrink-wrapped car around the Hamptons that one summer she didn’t want to kill Jason. Carole is already there and she’s thrilled at how happy her friend looks. Me? I’m happy one of the waiters had his face blurred out, proving that some people are wise enough not to sign a consent form to be on a show in which they will have no ultimate control over how they come across. Still, the party looks fantastic, though I must confess that an exposure to Willy Wonka warped me at a very tender age and I’m just an unapologetic fan of any room that’s decorated in candy. Bethenny works the crowd and serves some chocolate and muses that she wants Carole to be proud of her and it’s a rather sweet moment that reminds me that these two aren’t fake friends. It’s sort of nice to see legitimate emoting go on in a context that’s usually defined by women screaming at one another in a crowded restaurant because one of them regifted the other a necklace, isn’t it?
What’s very much the opposite of nice is fighting the alphabetized list of concerns that flood into my head the moment Jules heads into a plastic surgeon’s office and begins referring to her pre-ravaged vagina as a “perfect little pistachio” and requesting that she return to having the pussy of a sixteen year old. First off, do pistachios have hymens? Because, if so, I’m officially off all nuts and legumes for good. Secondly, I think it’s lovely – important, even – to feel in touch with one’s own body, but it gravely concerns me that Jules is giving her new vagina such a hard time. I’m genuinely concerned at how elaborate and far-reaching this woman’s body issues seem to be. I’m also gravely concerned that she agreed to even have this moment of her life filmed. I’m not a shy person by any means, but gazing at your labia in a hand mirror is just the sort of thing that should maybe occur in the privacy of your own home, no? This chick is seriously gunning to be given a contract for next year – and I think she’ll get one, especially if her divorce continues to land in the press day after day due to its rabid contentiousness. See? Every form of misery has a shiny lining that looks like a hymen!
The next day Bethenny meets up with Carole and shares that she’s second-guessing getting her surgery because she’s been getting opinions from other people who aren’t so sure that she needs it. Carole is there to accompany her to a new internist and to offer her some caution about not doctor shopping because every doctor will tell her something different and she will only listen to what she wants to hear. Sitting with this particular doctor, Bethenny explains what she’s been through and is given some medication that is meant to help the body to heal itself and, for now at least, it appears that the surgery is off.
Back at her apartment, one that is far too white and pristine for my comfort for a woman who has openly discussed her heavy bleeding, Bethenny lights a fire to ward off her chilliness and gets ready for Ramona and Dorinda to arrive. Ramona is first. She cheers when she sees the simmering logs, announces that coffee makes her have diarrhea, and manages to look fucking fantastic while saying such a thing. Dorinda walks in next and she’s followed closely by Carole. They all drink tea while Bethenny tells them that she has cancelled her surgery, but the big news is that Ramona’s form of birth control used to be the diaphragm and she carried that plastic disk everywhere and it never once showed through any of the leotards she used to wear. And now that we know how Ramona avoided pregnancy in the eighties and that Bethenny’s organs won’t soon sit beside her on a metal table, it’s time for everybody to discuss the disaster that they have decided is Luann because Sonja being a disaster got boring once she stopped falling down in public from ingesting too much cheap prosecco and Original Ramona was taken far far away from this galaxy, thereby negating her as the current walking disaster of the group. Carole’s view about Luann is simple: she thinks the apology she received reeked of insincerity. Dorinda’s opinion is that everyone needs to just fucking move on, proving yet again that Sober Dorinda is easily the wisest woman waltzing across the Upper East Side. Ramona attempts to explain that she implored Luann to genuinely reach out to Carole, but Luann is far too self-involved these days to even care about making a phone call to truly mend fences and Bethenny corroborates that with a few choice tales of her own about how Luann clearly only cares about herself and the newest love of her life. Then she goes ahead and coins Luann “unlikable” and she might as well have just dropped an invisible mic because being called “unlikable” might be even worse than being called “motherfucker” – but maybe that’s just me. Personally, I’ve always thought “motherfucker” kind of had a snappy ring to it.
After it’s confirmed that everyone besides Dorinda and Sonja hate Luann, Dorinda pulls the short straw and meets up with her. Luann orders her quiche in French (and anybody who rolled their eyes watching that is just jealous that she’s in love) and then tells Dorinda that she probably will not be attending the dinner Dorinda’s throwing later that evening. See, Tom is not in town – and Luann is so that person who doesn’t feel the need to go out when there’s nobody to impress. Besides, she has a cold and she wants to just get under the covers. But Dorinda is relentless and she tells Luann that she needs to get back in with the other ladies. “Why would I want to?” asks Luann, and I think my walls might have shook for real when I immediately screamed at my television, “Because you signed a fucking contract to hang out with them and bare your life for a semblance of fame!” God, I wish Countesses had the superpower to hear me screaming filthy insults from my living room… Hey, aliens? If you guys can hear me, when you’re done experimenting on Original Ramona, maybe you can swoop down and swipe Luann. If you tell her you’re rich and the beds in the spaceship are swathed in sheets with a thread count of a thousand, she might go with you willingly.
“They always go to the “Countess” thing. That’s their safe haven,” says the woman who has insisted on calling herself that for decades. “It’s a jealousy thing.” Oh lord, Luann is such an insufferable idiot. Sure, these women might covet money and fame and sitting closest to Andy on the couch come Reunion night, but my guess is that none of them is screaming into a pillow late in the evening that it’s unfair that Luann got to find her soul mate and gets to be fake royalty to boot. At any rate, Luann agrees to show up and have a drink and Dorinda asks her to please make some sort of peace with the rest of them and to maybe start with Ramona. Then she role-plays with her and pretends to be Ramona, which means that this season we have watched Dorinda play Ramona, Ramona play Bethenny, and Jules’ vagina play a pistachio on steroids.
For the dinner that should have mandated that the guests don bulletproof vests – and you know how Dorinda loves her vests! – Jules shows up first, sits gingerly in a chair, and lets the world know that she texted her husband that they can finally have regular sex so she can stop having to offer up her other holes. Speaking of other holes, Luann walks in next, announces that she’s tan because she’s been in Palm Beach, and declares that if Ramona has a problem with her, she needs to say it to her face. Um, I think Ramona has already done that. I also think that Luann is far too certain that Ramona’s anger stems from wishing she had ended up with Tom and that it was she who was flitting off to Palm Beach and I just don’t get the sense that any of that is accurate. Yes, Ramona dated Tom, but losing the guy hasn’t seemed to cause her to rail against the universe. Carole walks in next and takes the seat next to Luann and then Bethenny arrives and Luann’s assholeness is illustrated perfectly when she asks the woman who has been hemorrhaging for weeks, “How are you feeling?” and then cuts her off to say that the cold she’s been suffering from has been a nightmare. Seriously? Luann sucks – and I say that as the one person who has never slept with Tom.
And what, exactly, do we know at this point about Tom? Well, he has a place in Palm Beach. The apartment he now shares with Luann is a penthouse with a terrace. He’s never been married before. He thinks Luann is a fucking queen. He apparently likes women who squirt. He’s never owned a dog. He is currently shopping for an engagement ring. He has slept with Sonja. He dated Ramona. And he has no idea what he’s in for.
Carole plays nice at the dinner. She congratulates Luann and then takes off for the bathroom and that’s when Sonja walks in. She’s nervous to be around Bethenny, but Bethenny is ready to move on. She feels shitty for how harshly she reacted when Sonja told her that she was naming her company Tipsy Girl – shady as that was – and now she wants to turn the page and she will do so by steadfastly ignoring the problem and instead announcing to the table at large that Carole and Adam have sex all the time. Listen, I think Adam is adorable and I’d straddle him at all hours of the day and night also, but none of that really matters right now because Ramona just walked in, right as Sonja declares her lack of enjoyment for tea-bagging. This is a conversation Ramona and her brassiere and her diaphragm simply cannot take! It’s so very déclassé, but she finally sits down once she gets enough attention from her fake outburst. Luann confronts her immediately about having spoken badly about her and reveals it was Dorinda who passed along the incriminating information. Ramona denies saying much of it and decides to maintain in the moment that she is Luann’s friend.
“Then don’t talk shit about me behind my back,” Luann growls through literally gritted teeth.
Watching the carnage beginning to bubble at the end of the table, Bethenny joins in the fun. She gestures at Ramona, Sonja, and Luann and says that the three of them live in a very small bubble, meaning they have all cavorted – often sans clothing – with the same men. There was Harry Dubin, a man who allegedly slept with any woman followed by a Bravo camera. And there is also Tom, who Sonja then reveals was her “friend with benefits” for ten straight years.
“I knew it was only a matter of time before my history with Tom was brought up,” says Sonja, though she makes sure to clarify that the guy is just her (sometimes naked) friend, but he and Luann are in love and getting married. At this news, Ramona doubles over in laughter, Carole sits openmouthed, and Bethenny – for once – is silent and appears legitimately gobsmacked. As for Luann, she rages that anything (or anyone) that Tom did before they were massively in love does not concern her. She doesn’t care who he’s fucked. What she does care about is why all of these bitches (besides Carole, who she’s going to ask to be her flower girl) can’t be happy that she has finally located her soul mate who is looking at diamonds as they speak and he never offered Ramona a diamond and he probably didn’t even pay for Sonja’s drinks all those nights he slept with her, and she’s done with this bullshit. Besides, Tom is coming home and she wants to be there to greet him and make him swear that he never thinks about what Sonja looks like bent over.
And while all this is going down, Dorinda and Jules are outside smoking, blissfully unaware of the misery unfolding at that table. It appears, my friends, that sometimes smoking can be beneficial, at least for your mental health.
Nell Kalter teaches Film and Media at a school in New York. She is the author of the books THAT YEAR and STUDENT, both available on amazon.com in paperback and for your Kindle. Also be sure to check out her website at nellkalter.com Her Twitter is @nell_kalter