The Real Housewives of New York City
Just as the tides ebb and flow, the moon waxes and wanes, and the ripe figs of spring become the trampled rotten mucus balls of summer, so does the intoxicating drama of The Real Victory Lappers of Promiscuity Junction turn into the boring swill of rehashing what the hell happened last week. Wedding cake goes stale in about a week, and so does the wonder of Rey, Luann’s drunk former flame who runs a charity for poor people in between long swigs of sugary vodka drinks.
The news made the New York Post, therefore cementing it in the firmament of gossip and news that is regularly belched forth by Gotham’s tabloid press. But not only were journalists going over the events of that night, so are the ladies. Luann tells the whole tale to Sonja Tremont Morgan of the Quassy Amusement Park Morgans at Hunt & Fish, a bar that, shocking to no one who knows a drag queen and looked at the name of the establishment, is only filled with women. Luann lets Sonja know that she only went on a few dates with Rey and considers him someone she was dating, “not a lover.”
Sonja assumes, as did the rest of us, that means the Countess didn’t lower her drawbridge for this misbegotten knight, but we are all wrong. “A lady knows how to pay for her free trips to Ibiza,” the Countess purrs to Sonja. (Okay, she didn’t really purr.) I love how, um, shall we say … sex positive the Countess is. She doesn’t care who knows she had a one-night stand with Rey, the gloves someone wears to pick balloons of heroin out of a drug mule’s poop. More accurately, Sonja calls it a “multiple-night stand and recipe for disaster.”
I am loving the Countess and Sonja show, by the way. It’s like a middle-aged Snooki & Jwoww but with more fur vests and fewer giggles about queefs. Who doesn’t want to watch an Upper East Side version of Grey Gardens but before it got really bad? It’s like when Big Edie and Little Edie only had one raccoon gnawing at their walls instead of a whole pack of them. The scene of them waking up in the morning after a night of partying and finding their thongs in piles on the floor is hilarious. “It’s gonna be a long day,” Sonja sighs through her morning haze. I feel like she says that every morning. Also, the two of them wearing their vests and slips in the kitchen while making coffee is just the sort of thing we used to love about Ramona and Sonja (or Bethenny and Jill).
The best part of the whole scene, though, is the Page Six victory dance that Sonja does when Luann reads her name out of the Post. She throws her hands in the air and gives deuces to the four winds. I have a feeling she does the same victory dance every time her dog poops outdoors, she laughs really hard and doesn’t pee just a little tiny bit, or she makes it home with all of her teeth intact. Sonja is really the MVP of this episode. Not only did we see her dance, but we also got her reenactment of the fight inside of Dorinda’s party. It was like she was giving us actual human emoji faces. “Ramona was all like [dancing Spanish lady emoji]. And John was all like [waving hand emoji]. And Dorinda was all like [crying smiley face emoji].”
I love Sonja so much. She has a bunch of great lines, from calling a man on Viagra a “sundial” because it is up all the time to when she says, “Girls usually love me at parties, I’m the one making out with all of them.”
Just as Sonja and Luann have one version of the story, there is a whole different story from Ramona, who wears a red dress to Bethenny’s Secret Santa party with sleeves that had so many cut outs only Kyle Richards would love them. Of course when Ramona tells the story, she comes out entirely blameless and Dorinda’s boyfriend, John, a whisper that came out of a llama’s vagina, just randomly started attacking her. We saw the footage. We know that’s not how it went down. Jules pipes up and says that she has a whole different story to tell everyone, but as soon as she’s about to give the real tea, Dorinda shows up and Ramona shushes her.
I’m starting to be amused by how little Jules knows about life. Sure, she may not know what a TV tray is or how to eat caviar off of a cracker or how to live life without a nanny around, but those lapses are endearing in their own slightly annoying way. What I absolutely cannot fathom is that she doesn’t understand how this show operates. She says that she doesn’t know why Ramona is twisting the story so she looks blameless. Duh! Has she even met Ramona June Singer? (I made up that middle name.) Then she says that when she sees the first hint of drama, she runs in the opposite direction. Excuse me? What did she think she was signing up for? A charity golf tournament?
Now we get to talk about the next source of drama on the show: Dorinda’s Christmas decorating party in the Berkshires, where everyone goes up to her house and literally shits all over the rug. Well, Ramona’s dog Coco does. What is wrong with all of these women with their pets that can’t control their bowels? And what the hell does Ramona feed her dog that it takes dumps stringier than Pinocchio at a marionette orgy? Did that dog eat one of her weaves? Coco’s poop looks like a skein of yarn coming out of its ass, something to be dragged around like Linus with his security blanket.
Anyway, Dorinda doesn’t invite Sonja because she says that Sonja is too vulnerable and she doesn’t want all the women to gang up on her. That is a nice sentiment, but I don’t entirely believe it. She says to Luann, who is repping for her new roomie, “Do you want Bethenny to show up tonight and dismantle her?” That is such a perfect word choice: “Dismantle.” That is exactly what would have happened. Bethenny, with her quick wit and sharp tongue, would have taken Sonja apart like a primitive Voltron right before our very eyes. Bethenny would have clicked her apart, square by square like a Rubik’s Cube, but no one would have put her back together again. Then all of Sonja’s issues would have been laid bare, leaving her mentally distraught, and everyone would be frustrated yet again when she didn’t do anything to change it.
Dorinda is right. There is a lot of tension, but I don’t think Sonja is to blame. Sure, Sonja and Bethenny have their fight over Skinny Girl/Tipsy Girl. But also, Carole and Luann are still at loggerheads over Adam. (Ironically “loggerheads” is also Adam’s nickname for his penis.) Ramona and Dorinda are going through whatever issues it is that they go through. Then, as we learned once everyone arrived, Luann and Bethenny still hold resentments over who really invented the alcoholic sludge known as Skinny Girl. (It was Bethenny.)
There are so many cracks in this little piece of pottery. It seems like it is about to crumble right before our very eyes. And now, another crack will be added: Luann’s now fiancé Tom. Contrary to all of the walks of shame she has been taking, Luann seems really smitten with the guy, who is a friend of Dorinda’s. The only problem? He used to date Ramona. The trouble is not so much that Luann is dating him, but that she will now get all the criticism that was hurled at Carole last year. Luann didn’t check with Ramona to see if they should date, she downplays Ramona’s relationship with Tom, and she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks because she’s happy. That puts her in the same position Carole was in with Adam, but now Countess Crackerjacks wants to be blameless? Sorry, sister, it doesn’t work that way.
Nevertheless, it was nice seeing her so happy at dinner — and as far as I’m concerned, Tom can get it. He’s like a Daddy Warbucks with his handsome bald head, deep voice, and even deeper pockets. Yeah, he’s not the tallest, but he’s got about a foot on Jules’s husband Pizza Box and a good six inches on Dorinda’s boyfriend, John, a Frappuccino made with sewer water and breast milk.
That night after dinner, as Tom and Luann approached the front door of the restaurant, Tom caught something move out of the corner of his eye and turned his head toward the bar. A redheaded woman noticed him and waved with just her fingertips. He thought about how risky it was to be seen in public talking to her. “Honey, go get in the car, I have to use the restroom before we leave,” he said, ushering Luann out to the sidewalk before returning to the bar to talk to the woman.
“What are you doing here? We’re going to get caught!” he said.
“Oh, don’t worry about LuMan. She’s always been oblivious,” she said. “I told you if it wouldn’t work with one of them, it would work with the other. This is going to be perfect. I have a little gift for you.” She pulled a velvet box out of her purse, which was sitting on the bar, and handed it to Tom. He opened it and saw an eight-carat rock shining inside.
“This isn’t going to fit me,” he said.
“It’s not for you. It’s for your bride-to-be. I need you to take the next step and propose. You have six weeks to do it. And she needs to wear that ring all the time. There’s a little special something in there my technology crew has been working up.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t you worry about that, my angel,” she said, flicking him on the side of his nose with her manicured nail. “Now you better get back to her before she wonders what you’ve been doing in the toilet so long.”
“Will we be even then?”
“Yes, darling. We’ll be even. Now run along.” He put the ring in his pocket and rushed out the door. She sat back on her stool, staring into her martini at the bar. She sploshed it with her swizzle stick, making the two olives at the bottom collide into each other, releasing a bit of their juices as the clear liquid began to get muddied with brine. That’s just how Jill Zarin liked things, just murky enough for her plan to work.