This week on our favorite show, Rich Women Doing Things, the rich women did things. They and their accountability clients, who text them all of their meals and exercises, sat in a heated sleeping bag in an ensemble that looks like it was made from a dozen silver windshield sun reflectors so that they could slosh around in their own juices for about an hour. They yelled at their elderly assistants, who look like they were better suited for work as Walmart greeters, for having crappy towels in the bathroom when they were expecting company. They teared up when it was revealed that they were transformed into a digital avatar for a phone game created by the greatest practitioner of the reality television arts and sciences the world has ever known and, somehow, made it all seem sweet and relatable.
What I want to talk about the most, though, is when the rich women went lingerie shopping. First of all, it was a rare appearance by Lisar, who has been sidelined all season due to work, traveling, being sick, or maybe just being totally tired of listening to the white noise whine of Dorit’s voice. At this point, she’s not even earning her paycheck.
She and Camille go to a lingerie boutique that looks like the Beverly Hills outpost of Posche and try on some sexy outfits. Camille says that she’s still unsure of her body after a hysterectomy four years ago to get rid of her cancer. She also reveals that she now has a brand-new hymen and the “vagina of a 16-year-old.” Somehow this is not TMI because it comes from St. Camille and I’m actually, like, happy for her question mark. At least we know where her halo is coming from.
They both come out in these tiny see-through lacy numbers complete with masks and whips and they look absolutely amazing. What are these women eating — or not eating — that makes them look this good in absolutely nothing? They each pick up a couple of items and get to the register and they dropped $1,391.74. Seriously? Now, I have never once in my life bought lingerie — other than a $20 jock strap at the Leatherman — but is that how much it really costs? Damn, women are getting ripped off left and right. This seems totally outrageous to me.
The most ridiculous scene, of course, is when Dorit finds out that her swimwear line has been completely changed around thanks to her husband PK, a clogged toilet in a fish and chips shop. Dorit couldn’t go to some meetings because she was in New York for non-business purposes. Couldn’t she schedule them for when she was back? She was only gone a week. Anyway, she sent her husband in her stead. That seems like a bad idea. It’s like if you couldn’t see your boss, so instead you sent a mugful of mouse droppings.
Dorit returns from her trip and finds that her wide line of expensive, high-end swimsuits called Nava has been changed into a small range of cheap suits for every woman called Beverly Beach. Yes, PK, the sound of one fart clapping, decided that she should rename her swimsuit line to “Beverly Beach,” which he described as “an imaginary place where you can go and have a candlelight dinner with no candles.” You know what that is? That’s just dinner. That’s you sitting there and getting stray pieces of arugula caught in your bikini top. Not one single person on Earth wants that for her swimwear.
Even Dorit thinks this is a bad idea and rolls her eyes as she wishes her husband didn’t stick his bulbous face in her business. But the worst part is, during the supertease of the rest of the season, we see Dorit at the fashion show for her line and it’s called … Beverly Beach. She changed it. She actually changed it to sound like a line of ill-fitting, Chinese-made matronly tops that you find at Marshall’s trying to claim it is a designer good that once sold for $129.99 but has been marked down to $7.23. The worst.
Speaking of Dorit, she continues to fight with Teddi and Lisa Vanderpump at Camille’s Perfume for Cancer fundraiser. I don’t even know what this is about anymore. I guess Dorit is mad at Teddi for telling Kyle and Lisa about what she said at dinner when they weren’t there. But, like Teddi says, Dorit refuses to take accountability for what she said. If she hadn’t said it, then there would be nothing to report.
Dorit wants to make sure she’s good with Lisa Vanderpump, so she tells Lisa that Teddi exaggerated everything she said. But, like Lisa tells Dorit, even the things Dorit already admitted to saying before Teddi’s report aren’t really compliments to Lisa. Saying that she’s a needy friend who left dinner because she wasn’t getting enough attention isn’t the sort of thing you say to your bestie. Dorit decides to straddle Lisa and pin her down and force her to profess her love. I’m no Lisa Vanderpump, but this would make me very uncomfortable, just like it does to Lisa herself. It doesn’t make her listen more to Dorit, it just makes her want to push her off.
Lisa responds by totally throwing a whole ton of jabs at Dorit when she invites all the girls over for a birthday party. Lisa starts by giving Dorit her rosé in a juice glass to mock the fight she had with Teddi about wine being in the right glass. Alright, that is a solid and hilarious gag, and even Dorit thinks it is funny. The whole party, Lisa is cuddling up to her “Teddi Bear” (barf) and making fun of Dorit and how much she talks, how they aren’t close friends anymore, and how Dorit secretly hates her. As everyone at the party points out, this is how Lisa does it. She’s been doing it to Lisar for years. When one of the girls gets on her bad side, she just makes comment after comment and wraps it in humor and innuendo so she can say, “Oh, it’s just a joke,” but really it’s a clever way to squirm out of an insult. It’s that “British humor” that Dorit talked so much about having last season.
Dorit gets sick of this treatment and walks out of lunch early, but pretends as if nothing is wrong. Lisa chases her to the door to see if everything is fine, but Dorit freezes her out and, man, it is a miracle to watch. All of the women were like, “Told you, Dorit,” and she thought she was immune the whole time. Just add this to the list of things that Dorit has been wrong about, like putting gummy bears in the freezer, buying $19,000 Hermes china, and coating her hair with golden bird shit.
But honestly, the real shady bitch at the party is St. Camille of Grammer. Do not sleep on Camille, ladies and gentlemen. She was not the villain of season one for nothing and she still has that vicious creature inside of her, even when she’s toasting to “tingling vaginas and a cure for cancer.” Because Dorit called her a “fucking cunt” at a dinner party several episodes back, Camille is still smarting, so she brings a hot pink ball gag as a joke for Dorit. She does not seem to think this is very funny, because everyone, including her, knows that she talks too much.
Honestly, this is perfect. This is exactly what Dorit needs to hear. What it says is, “Yes, you talk too much, but it’s not always cute and you need to watch what you say.” It also says, “I am St. Camille of Grammer. I was here before you, I will be here after you, and even though I’m quiet, I am not here to play.” It also somehow manages to suck all the air out of the room, even though the event is outside.
The best reaction, of course, is Erika’s, who says she loves a ball gag because it’s fashion. I mean, of course Erika Jayne has a selection of ball gags to choose from, along with all of the immaculate Gucci print silk blouses and Moschino minidresses she’s been sporting all season. But also, this is exactly what Dorit did to Erika, bringing a “funny gift” at the start of Pantygate. “If Dorit doesn’t laugh this off, I’m going to crucify her,” Erika says. She’s exactly right. Dorit is the ultimate person who can dish it out and can’t take it. Camille keeps trying to make her ball gag joke work and every time it’s awkward and hurtful for Dorit and I am all the way here for it. That ball gag has Dorit shook like a Shake Weight on a wooden roller coaster.
Across town, through the canyons and valleys of the greater Los Angeles area, a woman in a pantsuit, a full face of makeup, and at least 15 tracks of fake hair sits on her faux Victorian couch waiting for an Uber to pull up. It’s been two hours and 47 minutes now and she’s beginning to think it’s not coming. She closes her game of Candy Crush Soda and looks out onto the balcony of her empty home. Her husband is away at her poker tournament, the kids out with their friends, and she’s literally dressed up with no place to go.
She opens the French doors and lets the warm twilight sink its teeth into her pores like she’s a supermarket rotisserie chicken. She walks forward to the railing and looks out onto the horizon, toward the heart of Los Angeles, toward the ocean, toward the sky, to Hawaii, she guesses, somewhere out there far, far away. “Been waiting for the car to come get me for your party,” she texts Lisa Vanderpump. “It’s still not here. Happy birthday anyway. Hope Ken got you something nice and didn’t make you put out.” Then Eileen Davidson held her cell phone against the railing as she gripped it with both hands, leaning over the ledge and wondering just how far down it was to the garden that was overgrown and in need of some attention.