The Real Housewives of Dallas
Howdy, y’all! We’re already four episodes into season two of The Real Housewives of Dallas, so let’s get caught up: BFFs Brandi and Stephanie didn’t talk for months, but they’ve tentatively reconciled. Ever since Marie Reyes tweeted a police report about LeeAnne trying to kill someone with a knife and sandpaper (sure), our favorite former carny has entered therapy to work on her anger issues. LeeAnne has already demonstrated how much she’s grown by getting mad at Stephanie because of a dumb-ass text message, a conflict she healthily worked through by wearing a “two-faced” Stephanie Halloween costume in an attempt to roast her newfound nemesis at her own party. Cary, meanwhile, wants to stay home with her daughter Zuri more, to her husband slash co-worker Mark’s chagrin. That’s all you got, Cary? Step it up! Didn’t you hear that we’re attacking people with sandpaper this season?
We have two new cast members (and one less Tiffany — bye, Tiffany!) in D’Andra Simmons and Kameron Westcott. Really, the main thing you need to know about D’Andra is that she was supposed to inherit her mother’s successful skin-care business in 2004, but nearly two decades later, Mama Bear Simmons still won’t let her offspring so much as look directly at the products, lest the curse of D’Andra’s gaze negatively affect their bottom line. Kameron, RHOD’s very own Elle Woods, loves pink. She also loves her teacup Yorkie, Louis Vuitton, presumably named for the bag she carries him around in. Kameron’s husband, Court, comes from money money, but her personal dream is to pioneer a line of pink dog food. Okay, got all that? There will be a quiz.
Travis recently bought a multi-million-dollar mansion at auction without Stephanie’s permission. I would describe the not-so-kid-friendly house’s aesthetic as “Scandinavian sex cathedral.” There is a pool in the living room, which sounds like an extremely efficient way to drown your children and dogs and also probably me, on my way to pee without my glasses on at 3 a.m. It’s also perilously close to Heidi’s house. (That’s LeeAnne’s friend who, you may recall, asked Cary to deep-throat a corn dog last year.) To make up for Travis’s impulse purchase, Stephanie will get to redesign the property however she likes. At least, that was the plan. In reality, Travis can’t restrain himself from pursuing his James Bond–slash–Hugh Hefner vision for the home, which includes a glass elevator to the bedroom. When Stephanie protests, Travis says, “I’m the one making the money, so …” Wow, Travis sucks. Go take a dip in your Illuminati living room.
In last week’s episode, Brandi revealed to Stephanie that she recently suffered a miscarriage. She and her husband, Bryan, my least favorite Tim Roth character, have an appointment with her OB/GYN to talk about their fertility options for the future. (Also, Bryan can’t recognize a plastic model of a vagina, which seems like something we should talk about.) Brandi tearfully explains to the doctor that her miscarriage came not long after she underwent a tummy-tightening “mommy makeover.” She’d been told that, if she were to get pregnant, the baby might not be able to make it to full term. Brandi feels terribly guilty, and it’s heartbreaking to see the doctor comforting her that this wasn’t her fault.
Meanwhile, LeeAnne is on a mission to prove that she’s a nice person, goddammit. “That anger that they saw was just one facet of the diamond. Because I sparkle, honey,” she says, sounding, as always, like a naturally occurring non-drag Alyssa Edwards. Phase one of the LeeAnne Is Sparkly and Not at All an Attempted Sandpaper Murderer Plan: the annual PositiviTEA luncheon, a charity event to benefit women living with HIV/AIDS, of which LeeAnne is chair. Even I can tell that her keynote speech goes great and I’m still distracted by the thought of the LED-light lipstick from the future she was applying just moments before. The women — okay, mainly LeeAnne, who immediately reverts to her truest self once she steps out from behind the podium — gossip about Stephanie’s “sinkhole” of a new house and suggest she’s a desperate social climber.
As relatively dull as I find D’Andra’s story line to be, her 76-year-old mother, Dee — who looks about 20 years younger than her age, and whose everyday makeup look seems to be an homage to OG Rita Repulsa — is (a) terrifying and (b) perhaps my favorite person on this forsaken peach pit of a planet. I don’t understand why she doesn’t have an entire hour-long television program devoted to her and her alone. D’Andra suggests they update their eye-cream tub to a more hygienic tube or pump. Hard pass. That “takes some of the glamour away from it,” Dee explains. “I do not like it as well.” (Dee saying “I do not like it as well” is my personal “cellar door.”) Later, in a follow-up scene I would find indistinguishable from their first confrontation if mother and daughter weren’t wearing a different pair of power blazers, D’Andra psyches herself up to ask what it will take for Dee to trust her to take her place. An emotional Dee explains that her reluctance to hand over the reins to her daughter stems from her motherly overprotectiveness. D’Andra is frustrated, but she’s not ready to walk away from business. Something tells me we’ll be seeing at least three more versions of this exchange over the course of the season.
Cary and Kameron meet for drinks on a drizzly evening. Kameron forgot her umbrella, but fortunately, she has a plastic “raincoat” cover for her Birkin ready to go. Kameron complains that, try as she might, she’s having trouble getting Brandi — who’s been too busy eye-rolling at Kameron’s descriptions of her dog’s all-Cavalli ensembles — to open up to her. “I have not seen any social grace from her at all yet,” she says. How does Kameron feel about Auto-Tune? I think “Social Grace” could be her very own “Money Can’t Buy You Class.” The newly madeup Brandi and Stephanie meet up on a “first date” of their own, toasting their rekindled friendship with truly massive tequila shots (god bless Texas). Brandi takes her Kameron impression for a test drive, to Stephanie’s delight. Honestly, it’s pretty solid, all pursed lips and uptalk.
Stephanie invites Brandi over to tour the new house, which she promptly christens “Chateau Shut the Fuck Up.” It’s so great to see their effervescent chemistry in action again. Now when will they dump Bryan and Travis and accept that they’re meant to be together? Stephanie points out Heidi’s house through the trees — oh, God, does this mean LeeAnne will be in the neighborhood all the time? For her part, Brandi has wisely instituted a rule that LeeAnne is not allowed inside her home, even as the two women have grown closer lately. Naturally, Stephanie suggests they prank-call Heidi. Brandi whips out a voice that’s part gravelly Ghostface, part possessed baby doll: “Heidi, you’ve been a really bad girl. Heidi, I love you.” Is this the perfect opening to the Housewives horror flick I never knew I needed?
Given that Zuri’s last birthday party was “kind of a fail,” Cary is all in this year. She’s summoned not just ponies, but … lemurs? Are lemurs really an option? Could I order lemurs for an adult party? (Not, like, an adult party, just a party for adults.) Brandi comes bearing gifts, conspicuously bright-pink presents for Cary and Stephanie — but nothing for Kameron, even though she’s standing right there. Brandi gives them bottles of Jack Daniels Tennessee Fire, as well as an invitation. She’s going to Memphis to visit her father (who recently survived a stroke and who, until last year, wasn’t part of her life) and she wants Cary and Stephanie to join her. They’re thrilled. That is not a word I would use to describe Kameron’s reaction. “Don’t worry,” she chides Brandi. “It’s not awkward at all that you give them gifts in front of me like this.”
This is far graver than your typical faux pas. Doesn’t Brandi know that all pink objects in the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex are legally considered the property of Kameron Westcott?