The episode opened back in the hot tub, beads of mist gathering ominously on Kyle and Taylor’s heads. The mood had taken a troubling turn. “You don’t need him to be okay,” Kyle assured her trembling friend. Dramatic music played in the background. Snow started falling. A staff of three had gathered in the kitchen, slicing scallions and raw meat. Camille snoozed behind a closed door. Taylor drank some more white wine. Storm a comin’.
Taylor should know by now that Kim needs her rest. But she was drunk and messy and needed to go to a safe place to dredge up some Oklahoma memories. So into Kim’s leopard-clad arms she pounced. “I would never bet on me. I grew up with nothing. We had nothing. We were so poor.” I read this Danielle Steel novel! Kim, that sleepy cutesie pie, assured Taylor that she was smart and capable and a hard worker. Not now, Kim. Doesn’t she realize this is Taylor’s time to riff? “It’s easy for me to be drawn to Adrienne because she has no problems,” Taylor moaned. “And you and I probably have similar problems.” Cut to a paralyzed Kyle, holding up her bath towel, wondering if the scene she’d just walked in on was heading South. Taylor sobbed to Kim that she had been an ass to her last season and Kim, with marvelous timing, replied “Yeah, I know.” Which set off some giggles and the inevitable teasing/tense exchange between the Richards sisters about which one of them was really owed an apology. Call it a draw, ladies, and Kim, send Mauricio a nice letter thanking him for being like a brother to you.
Time to eat and then get cozy under some cashmere blankets and watch Steel Magnolias! Uh oh. Taylor is hiding in Kim and Kyle’s closet, her emaciated frame accordioned into a suitcase. Don’t worry Kyle. Kim knows this drill. “Come on, we got to get you out of there, get you dressed, get some makeup on,” she said. Clap, clap, off we go. Oh Kim, maybe you too could be a life coach! This is nothing a little blush and gloss can’t fix. Except for the fact that some villain has stolen Taylor’s blue flowered makeup bag. (She blames Lisa, of course. Kyle blames the altitude and alcohol. Only Adrienne is willing to call a nervous breakdown a nervous breakdown.)
Taylor, swathed in black, staring under glassy hooded eyes into the mirror, looks terrifying. She will play your little games, she will endure whatever dog-and-pony show the ladies have planned. But do not mess with her toiletries. Somebody find that god dammed bag! The ladies twirled around searching furiously, bleating nonsense at each other, until the bag is found in Kyle’s bathroom. “Well I think you worked through it,” Kim sing-songed like Mary Poppins to a shuddering Taylor. “Pick up your bootstraps. Let’s get upstairs and eat.”
NEXT: Taylor has not in fact worked through it.