- Oh, hi Cat!
- Hi, Mary!
- What are you doing here?
- Oh, I thought I’d drop by for some mid-morning wine and some dubiously on-the-nose conversations about this week’s themes, such as they are.
- Ooh, you’re so British, I love it.
- I know. You’re all such suckers for it. It’s like I can get away with anything around here. Hey, I wonder if I’ll wind up costing my husband his job in the future, which is actually the present as this scene was taped months ago, before we got divorced.
- Let’s not talk about that right now, Cat! Let’s talk about my daughter. She won’t stay out of my closet! I had to install a biometric lock on the door! But it’s not working, and she keeps busting through. I guess I’m going to have to resort to more drastic measures, like a mini-guillotine.
- That is drastic.
- I’d get a dog, but my housekeeper would have to vacuum more. It’s exhausting to watch her clean, okay? Unlike watching my husband sit around watching the game in what appears to be the middle of the week, which is so much more relaxing.
- Is my husband the only one around here with, like, a job?
- What’s a job? Ha-ha. Why don’t you see if you can manage to be in the same room long enough to ask him? Just kidding, I love you.
- I’m only in this for the potential money, Mary.
- I’ve been in therapy for seven years because my kid borrows my clothes. Oh, and I was a teen mother who moved into my childhood bedroom with my husband and baby and then my mother had a baby and now I have a daughter and a sister who are the same age. It’s, like, so totally Chinatown.
- Oh, crap, it’s that anorexic skank Michaele whose imaginary money I can’t help being jealous of, for some reason. Hello?
- Hi, Stacie! It’s Michaele! Hey, guess what! Contrary to popular belief, Tareq and I have money. We have so much money we could buy a $12 million house if we wanted to. Or we could buy a $100,000 one, just to mess with you.
- That’s cool. I hate you and talk about you behind your back, but I don’t have anything against your money.
- Do you know when the spaceship is going to come and take me away, Stacie?
- I don’t know, but hang in there. At the end of the day, I’m going to say “at the end of the day” a lot just to let you know that I’m a legitimate businesswoman.
- Did we mention that Tareq was sued by his own mother and we’re staying at The Four Seasons?
- Wow, The Four Seasons is expensive! I’m so impressed! I’ll be right over.
[A tedious interlude follows in which Linda buys a guard dog from the Obamas’ dog trainer.]
- Hi, Tareq! How come you’re sitting around a luxury hotel suite in the middle of the day dressed like Johnny Cash?
- We love to enjoy life.
- Right on. Hey, while we’re on the subject, how much money do you have? Where’d you get it? Can I have it? This isn’t “fun Stacie” talking, by the way, it’s “business Stacie.”
- Hi, business Stacie! I’m insane asylum Michaele! I can’t stop smiling!
- Why don’t you buy a condo?
- Fuck you! I’m still smiling!
- I don’t believe you have any money, but I’m going to drive you all over D.C. just in case you do.
- Hello, Mary? It’s Cat. My good friend just killed himself and I’m sad.
- Oh, no! But remember that you’re beautiful and gorgeous, and that’s what counts, okay?
- I’m Lynda. I found my new house, but it needs a lot of work. And that’s where astrology becomes of value. Also this burning sage, which I’m going to wave around now to clear the energy. I’m so cute!
- Hey, look! Versailles! I want that one!
- C’mon, Michaele. How many times do I have to insinuate that you’re out of your league here. Just because I’m driving you around this neighborhood doesn’t mean I think you can afford it. The only reason I even agreed to be your Realtor and drive you around all these expensive neighborhoods is so I could keep hinting at the fact that you and your husband are a couple of grifters and everyone knows it. It’s in my contract! Still smiling, by the way! Always smiling.
- Hi, child groom.
- Hello, child bride.
- I can’t believe we’re still married.
- I know! The Botox and alcohol help, I guess.
- Anyway, I see you’re sitting on your ass enjoying a sports game on the TV. I’m going to choose this moment to complain about how our daughter won’t stay out of my closet.
- Oh, I’m so excited to hear this story again, especially since it feels totally spontaneous.
- Our daughter won’t stay out of my closet. I love my closet. It’s mine.
- Maybe you should remember to shut the door.
- Why are you being a dick?
- I just have this one thing to say: I’m of the school that you have a damn lock. Use it.
- That’s a great school.
- Hi, Stacie, honey! I’m home! And I want to launch directly into a speech about finding your birth mother.
- Oh my God, honey. It’s so obvious this is coming from you and not one of Andy Cohen’s minions. You do care!
- I do! And it makes me so angry that your birth mother won’t give you your insemination father’s contact information, I propose we out the bitch on Facebook right now! Let’s friend her son!
- Oh, son’s girlfriend! Son’s girlfriend! Get in here and buckle my shoes for me!
- Yes, m’lady.
- I’m going to a breast-cancer benefit wearing a trench coat with nothing under it.
- Yes, m’lady.
- Come on, sons and young, sonlike boyfriend, we’re going to the gala. Son’s girlfriend, you stay here and sweep up the cinders. And stay away from my shoes.
- Hi, Cat. Hi, Mary.
- Hi, Lynda.
- So, I put together this men’s fashion show.
- Oh, like Chippendale’s?
- Well, not exactl—
- Hey, Cat, look! The daughter who ruined my life and murdered my potential and kept me locked in this state of superficiality and arrested development forever is wearing my clothes again!
- Whatever, Mary! Lynda’s ex-boyfriend is dressed exactly like my dead friend. I’ve never met him, but I think I’m going to let it all hang out now. He seems like he’d be receptive to an emotional outburst from an unstable stranger — he’s wearing a pinstripe suit with a pink shirt and a polka-dot ascot and he just greeted me with a double kiss and a “Ciao,” even though he’s about as Italian as a corndog. I’m going for it. Here I go.
- I, Lynda, think I speak for all of us here when I appear horribly uncomfortable.
- Hello, child.
- Hello, mummy. I got an A+ on my math test today.
- That’s fantastic, darling. But mummy’s going to ignore your boundaries and burden you with her adult problems now, okay?
- Okay, mummy. Just promise you’ll never sue me, okay?
- You know mummy can’t guarantee anything. But I love you! Even though by the time this show airs you’ll be living with your father in London and I’ll be over here dedicating myself to my reality-show career! Besties? Mwah!
- Hi, Stacie! Hi, Jason!
- Hi, Mary! Hi, Rich! Thanks for inviting us to dinner so we can have another fake conversation! Let’s not waste any time.
- So, Rich, you weren’t there …
- That’s right. I wasn’t there, Stacie. But Jason gave me a very good blow … by blow of the situation.
- You scared me there for a second.
- Sorry. It’s just that your husband is kind of a manly-man, defender of the family unit type. Don’t you think that’s hot?
- Pretty hot, I guess. But this is business Stacie speaking. Fun Stacie can’t talk right now.
- You know, when I was growing up, summering with the Kennedys all the time, I knew people who knew Tareq, and he was a total problem child. And that’s coming from me, former teen mother. I realize they seem close, but Michaele is in a co-dependent relationship.
- You don’t think she’s happy?
- Here we are at the bankrupt winery, honey. Look, all the vines are dead! Here, let me arrange this barrel in a more picturesque manner.
- Gee, Tareq. I really hope we can restore this winery to its former greatness, even if you’re the one who ran it into the ground with your profligate spending.
- The plans for the renovations are off the hook.
- That’s great. Hey, do you hear sirens?
- It’s the cops!
- I guess your mom wants us off the property.
- She’s just jealous.
- I’m going to cry now.
- I’m going to talk with the sheriff.
- Will we ever work it out? Stay tuned.