After a nice, long holiday break what a thing to turn on Bravo and get hit in the eardrums by Faye Resnick’s voice. “Lisa, you know I can’t help telling the truth. You know that’s my nature.” Her nasal righteousness penetrates like a contagion. Symptoms of infection include a tawny yellowing of the skin. It turns out that it was Lisa’s nudging that got Kyle up from the table to go check on Brandi outside. And our little giraffe was rather unhinged. “Please don’t cry,” said Kyle, petting Brandi’s arm. Inside Lisa took slow, silent sips from her shot glass, willing herself to her happy place as Faye yammered on about Brandi’s ill breeding. “Who cares about our money?” she insisted. “It’s about our integrity.” Placid Camille just sat there spelling out m-o-r-a-l-l-y c-o-r-r-u-p-t on her leg underneath the table. Poor Faye’s tender heart was broken, broken!, when she heard Adrienne’s tremulous voice. Out front Brandi tried to use her lacquered red baguette to ward off the bright lights of production. “I’ll be fine, I’m always fine!” she insisted from the curb, her long legs folded up like Abraham Lincoln. This was all very hard on Kyle because her girlfriends are like her sisters. Like sisters! She’s making it too easy on her haters this season.
Taylor hadn’t said a word all evening but the stress of watching her former nemesis get eaten as an appetizer was exhausting. So the next day she regrouped by making herself splurts of juice. Then a woman named Alisha—clairvoyant/medium/”apparently associated with Oprah”—came over to bless the house. “This is for discharging,” she said, pulling something out of her purse. No worries, just an everyday black rock used to purge negativity around Taylor’s $1.5 million lawsuit. Naturally there followed some tongue sacral work which involved a few too many lip close-ups. Then Alisha really got down to business and went all blinky and charismatic as she tried to commune with the litigation spirits. “I actually feel like there’s going to be a settlement made. Father? No! Yes I feel like a settlement is going to be reached. Father?” Let’s just spray a little Febreze in the doorway, give a ring-a-ding of this Salvation Army bell, and consider the house exorcised. With the dark cloud cleared, Alisha offered to spill on Princess Diana’s otherworldly adventures in exchange for a turkey sandwich. Taylor’s lawyer/boyfriend John later called with news that those ass hats suing her would give up the fight if Taylor would just cough up her wedding ring and two Hermes bags. Quick shower break.
Kyle invited newcomer Marisa over for a yoga lesson. “All these women. It’s like high school,” said Marisa, her little Keratin-treated pony tail the width of a baby’s thumb. “No it’s not like high school. It’s like elementary school,” said Kyle. Girls are the worst! That poor yoga teacher was determined to just keep talking through their gossip. “Instead of competing with who did this and who did what, move into Warrior 2 with a nice feeling of strength…” But these were rich women in work-out gear, and damned if they were going to pay any attention to their shorts-wearing teacher. Marisa just thought it very rude that Taylor and Camille didn’t even try to engage her at dinner. The teacher plugged his ears, put them in a hip stretch and gave one final plea. “I mean, how about if we don’t even talk for a few seconds?”
Lisa took Brandi for some retail therapy. In an additional attempt to cheer up her young friend she wore her canary-colored dress that showed off her generous decolletage. While Brandi admired a tube top/mini Lisa pitched the idea of Brandi sitting down to hear out the sins and apologies of her comely waitress
Shena Scheana, the little fawn in a black cocktail dress who Lisa excused from her restaurant opening after discovering she’d slept with Eddie Cibrian while Brandi was pregnant and married. Vanderpump Rule #1: You don’t turn down Lisa’s suggestion to meet your husband’s former mistress when there is a new Bravo show premiering.
NEXT: So much eyeliner.