‘Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’ Recap: Notes on the White Party

Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Recap

Happy White Party, everyone! No, no, it’s not a gay circuit party in Palm Springs (though that, too, is a White Party) or a gay circuit party in Miami (though that, too, is a White Party) or a sale at Bed Bath and Beyoncé (though that, too, is the Whites Party) or the KKK (thought that, too, is a party of whites). No, this is Kyle Richard‘s White Party a social event that is as hotly anticipated as, I don’t know, the spring formal at a Junior College? The Cupcake Day fundraiser at your child’s school? Something like that. Aren’t you so excited for the White Party? Sure you are. 

I believe that when it started all those years ago, it was for charity or something, but now it’s just a party in Kyle’s backyard where her friends clog her street with limousines and all her neighbors pull their curtains tight passive aggressively and try to scowl at Kyle while ignoring the bad house music remixes that waft across their hedges and over the invisible barriers of their property. Yes, now it is just a party where Kyle celebrates everything that is white. Mostly white people. Oh, and Brandi Glanville‘s black friends Etirsa and Byron Allen, that guy who hosts those syndicated interview shows that air at 1 AM on Sunday night (Monday morning) when you should be in bed, but you are up just dreading the bitchy email you’re going to have to send to your staff on Monday morning because you slept until noon Sunday afternoon after the bender on Saturday night. Why, oh why, can’t weekends last forever?

Okay, so Kyle threw the White Party which is, well, it’s just an excuse for people to get together, put on their alabaster outfits, and drape themselves in garlands of jewels and have a little party while Kyle and her off-White husband float in an inflatable island in the middle of the pool. Oh, and to fight. Yes, and since the fight this season is about Brandi and Adrienne Maloof‘s lawsuit, I am just going to break this down point by point so that we can refry these tired old beans once more and eat them in a taco of our own disgust.

We interrupt this recap to bring you this announcement from the producers of At Home with Yolanda Bananas Foster. There will be no new episode of At Home with Yolanda Bananas Foster this week. Please tune in next week for a very special episode Yolanda Bananas Foster’s Refrigerator Odyssey Starring Yolanda Bananas Foster and the Aryan Race Players.

Adrienne Maloof White PartyOkay, here are all the points we need to discuss about the White Party.

1. This time Brandi was smart enough to bring proof. Sure it was some dusty old emails printed out and folded into her purse, but like a good lady who doesn’t have the money to hire her own lawyer, she is Erin Brockoviching this s*** and got documentation. Her emails prove that Bernie, Adrienne’s cook, is selling stories about Brandi. So, Adrienne, the Queen of the Maloofs (a race of mole people that live under the mountain and are cooked by a man named Bernie) is busted on that one and she needs to fire him like she said she was going to.

2. Adrienne essentially admitted that she sent Brandi a cease and desist letter and she said, “A letter is different than a lawsuit.” Yes, it is, Adrienne, but now you acknowledge the letter when last week at the Tea Party of Doom you said there was no letter. So, Adrienne is a liar because there was a letter and she knew there was a letter all along and trying to make herself look blameless is just making her look worse (which is something her nose already accomplishes). And when she said, “I had to hire a lawyer too. I wish I didn’t have to hire a lawyer,” I wanted to take one of her 65% off discount shoes and bat her on the side of the head with it. If she didn’t want to hire a lawyer, she shouldn’t have hired a lawyer! She, and her legions of lawyers, started it.

3. What sort of lawyer is Brandi going to that she had to pay $10,000? Can’t she just go out on a date with an ugly lawyer from somewhere and get some “free” legal advice? 

4. Brandi said, “I don’t want to have to hire any more lawyers.” Adrienne’s husband, Paullo the chimp, responded, “Well, then don’t go running your mouth off.” Okay, this is why Adrienne and Paullo are the worst kind of rich people. They think that because they can afford legions of lawyers (more like a million of Paullo’s brothers all pounding at typewriters trying to write a subpoena) that they can intimidate people into saying whatever they want or not saying whatever they want. Like Brandi said, “Welcome to the United States of [bleeping] America.” People can say whatever they want and people can also sue as much as they want, but it doesn’t mean that because someone is rich and can sue, they should do it to shut people up. That’s just the worst kind of capitalism.

5. Thank god for Ken Vanderpump who is so rich that he can tell Adrienne and Paullo to go Vanderpump themselves for what they’re doing to Brandi. He can’t be intimidated. He has his own money and his own lawyers so he can speak his mind. He echoed their line from last season: (more on that in a second) “Friends don’t sue friends.” He told them to stop using their money to intimidate Brandi into doing their bidding.

6. Adrienne wears so much self tanner that when she comes over to Lisa’s house and sits on the furniture she leaves giant stains that Lisa can’t get off and Lisa had to have her white sofa reupholstered, which HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (breath) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA chortle chortle sputter gag death. I am dead from laughing. My ghost is writing this using a Ouija Board and my intern is transcribing. Adrienne just killed me. And then she told Lisa, “Oh, it happens to me all the time. Just use baby wipes, it comes right off.” Now I am back from the dead so that I have a corporal hand with which to punch Adrienne so hard that her spray tan falls off and collects around her feet like a little puddle of liquid flesh.

7. Alright, I hate to say it but the Widow Armstrong is right. What Adrienne and Paullo are doing to Brandi is exactly what happened to her last year at the White Party. Her late husband Russell sent St. Camille a letter saying that he would sue her for telling the truth on camera and because of that letter, Adrienne and Paul lead the charge to have Kyle kick her out of the party. Because they sent the same letter to Brandi, Kyle should have kicked them out of the party too. But she did not, because not everyone hates Adrienne like they did Russell. Kyle is a hypocrite (but at least she finally understands that Adrienne is a jerk to sue Brandi). Adrienne is a hypocrite. So is Bravo, who aired Camille’s allegation against a dead man (who can’t sue), but still won’t show us what Brandi said about Adrienne that caused this whole fight because, well, Adrienne and Paullo are the worst type of rich people and they are intimidating Bravo with their lawyers too.

8. This is all still about the “Maloof Hoof.” Yes, it is. That is what it all comes back to. Ken told Paullo that they could have sued them for saying Lisa sold stories to the press, but they didn’t even though their lies hurt his business (which I don’t really believe, but a good defense, Ken), because friends don’t sue friends. Paullo shot back, “Yeah, like the Maloof Hoof.” That is what this fight is all about. Because of that remark, Adrienne decided to go after Lisa and enlisted Brandi. When Brandi wouldn’t go along with it we started this slow decline into protracted trench warfare that we’ve been watching this whole season. Yes, it all comes back to the “Maloof Hoof.” So, no matter how many times we break it down, the plot line of this entire season boils down to this: Adrienne Maloof is a joyless succubus who can not take a joke. That’s it. That’s the entirety of it. Cased closed. 

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Adrienne Maloof FireSpeaking of how dumb Adrienne is, she also felt the need to flee her house because the mansion next to hers, the one formerly owned by the Vanderpump clan, was on fire. Sure, it was a giant blaze and took 100 fire fighters to put it out, but come on, Adrienne. She thought the fire would “jump” over to her house. Do you know how many embers would have to float on the breeze to travel the 17 acres between Lisa’s house and hers? It would have to fly past the tennis court, over the gate, over Adrienne’s expansive lawn, over her dogs that she also can’t take jokes and land on her roof. Do you know how far that is? It is further than the logical leap Adrienne makes to show how what she is doing to Brandi is different from what Taylor and Russell did last year. That’s how far it is. It is farther than the stars.

And what was up with the older kids who were hanging out with Adrienne and Paullo’s children (who were definitely absolutely in no way whatsoever born by a surrogate)? Who were they? Was one old enough to lust after? Please say yes. And what was up with blurring the faces of Adrienne’s kids? She obviously agreed to have them filmed in the first place, but is that the blur of contention now that she and Paullo are getting a divorce? I think I see the mark of the beast upon them.

{DING DONG} Oh, what was that? It was my doorbell. Oh, there is a messenger here and he just handed me an envelope. Oh, what is this? It’s an engraved invitation. “You are hereby invited to a party at the home of Ms. Kim Richards (not to be confused with her daughter Ms. Kimberly Richards) where she will be unveiling the identity of her new nose. She knows that you nose that she knows noses and would be honored if you could join her at her humble abode on Monday, February 18, at 7 PM. RSVP, regrets only.”

Oh, why I would love to attend! Thank you, Kim. It also just dawned on me that if Kim Richards were to ever have her own reality show, it should be called “Regrets Only.” Just saying.

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When we arrived at Kim’s party she was not making her signature dish, a hand-tossed chicken salad that no one will eat. Instead she was giving instructions as to what drinks should be made at the espresso bar (no alcohol at this here shindiggerino) and lighting the candles for the plastic floating flowers that were to go in her pool.

Kim Richards New NoseThe guests start filtering in and Kim is still puttering about with a bandage over her nose, waiting to show the world what lies underneath and we get to meet her dog, Kingsley, who is just as badly behaved as you would imagine Kim Richards’ dog would be. Kyle came over and said, “What happened with the dog and your nose?” And Kim replies, “Well, it had to be completely redone and this is all because you once said that I have a really ugly nose and I need to get it done for you.” Me-ow. Oh, wait, this is about a dog. Ba-ark.

Then there’s a call from the Widow Armstrong and, well, ironically it is a Kim Richards call to Kim Richards’ party. You know the Kim Richards call, when your friend phones you up all drunk with some stupid excuse why she can’t meet you. We’ve all gotten that call. Kim perfected it, but now the Widow Armstrong is taking over. “He guys. Sorry, I can’t come to the party because I met this guy two days ago and he was like, ‘Hey, let’s go to Beaver Creek for the weekend,’ and at first I thought he meant like ‘Beaver Creek,’ like he just wanted to go down on me for days, but apparently Beaver Creek is a real place and we’re going. We’re on our way to the airport now, so I can’t make the party, I hope you understand.”

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Kyle, who brought the Widow Armstrong’s daughter Kennedy to the Only the Nose Knows Noses party responds, “Oh, well, do you want Kennedy to spend the night at my house?” And the Widow Armstrong says, “Oh, she’s with you?! Oh, then I guess that’s OK. Thanks Kyle, you’re the best. Even though I threw mad shade at you last week about kicking me out of your White Party, thank you for taking care of my misplaced offspring. Oh, look, champers! Gots to go. Oh, I’ll be back in time for the White Party, don’t you worry. Byesies!!”

Okay, that is all just sad. Everything that happened there is like your soul falling out of your body and being trampled on by a stampede of wildebeests. That’s what everything the Widow Armstrong just said should feel like. But she’s so drunk all she feels is that warmth and vague car-sickness that goes with a good buzz.

Kyle and Kim then have to talk about this development with all the ladies there and Adrienne has the gaul to laugh at the Widow Armstrong. Yes, a woman — who lies about suing people and has a chef who sells stories about her guests to the tabloids and who you have to baby wipe the furniture after is — laughing at someone else. That’s rich. Faye Resnick opened her mouth and a flood of hornets came out with a deadly buzz and then she shut up and the cloud of insects just dissipated into the night. Fetch had some sort of opinion on the whole matter, but who the hell cares what this bitch has to say? I mean, at least get a $25K pair of sunglasses or something.

Into the party comes a man looking like a combination between Lurch from The Addams Family and that guy in the horror movie who controls rats. It’s Kim’s doctor and he’s there with some hot piece to take off Kim’s bandage at her house. They go off into her bedroom. Kim takes Brooke, her daughter who looks just like her, and the doctor slowly takes off the bandages by rubbing a Q-Tip underneath them. Kim looks into the mirror like she’s on The Swan and she’s catching a glimpse of her new face for the first time. “Oh, look at me!” Kim yells. I look so young and so fresh. My hair is so straight and blond, but, wait… I still have my old nose. Why is there still that small bump in my nose?”

“Mom, that’s me,” Brooke says. “You’re looking at me!”

“Oh,” Kim says. “Oh…” And she sort of trails off and touches her face, pushing it up at the cheeks as if it was moldable clay. She stares quietly, wondering why it wasn’t all fixed, why she didn’t look as different as she felt. She just has a fleshy putty nose. But she has to go outside. She walks out onto the lanai and everyone is waiting for her, standing around for the big reveal and she shows up and… There it is. There is her nose. It just looks, well, normal. Congrats, Kim. You now have the exact same nose as every other woman in Beverly Hills. Your face is now perfectly bland. Three cheers!

Kim goes around the party and everyone congratulates her. Well, everyone except for Adrienne, who says three times that her husband Paul could have done a better job. Oh, and why didn’t Kim convalesce at the Palms while she’s at it? Maybe take in a Sacramento Kings game. God, Adrienne, shut up. The only other person who hates it is Kim’s niece Portia. Kyle’s daughter is petrified of plastic surgery. Something about seeing the people that she knows best with faces that are singed with lasers, burned with chemicals, and sculpted with invasive procedures just freaks out this four-year-old. She doesn’t like when the people she love turn into stretched-faced ghoul people. What could possibly be wrong with her? 

Everyone packs up and leaves the party and no one touched Kim’s chicken salad. It sat there in a bowl untouched by any hands other than Kim’s. Now it’s time to clean up, pack up the espresso bar, collect all the floating candles out of the pool. Kim hikes up her sundress and squats down on the concrete surrounding the water. She paddles the water slightly, sending ripples out into it and drawing all the floating flowers towards her. She pulls them out one by one, blowing out the candle and stacking them next to her.

There’s only one flower left and it’s slowly bobbing around the water, just in the middle. Kim’s rowing is doing nothing but making it jostle back and forth, the tea light swaying and casting cascading shadows as it shakes. She stops and just waits, there on her haunches. She looks out onto the deck and thinks about Taylor. She thinks about her on some plane with a man on her way to Beaver Creek. She thinks about her looking out of the window of the plane and just seeing darkness below. That darkness that is pocked with strange flecks of light, like a little bit of glitter dusted on a jacket. Either that or a star embedded in the soil, burning everything around it. She thinks about Taylor looking back at that man and reaching for another glass, wondering where they’re going to end up and not caring, not caring if the plane just silently drops out of the sky like a stone and embeds itself into the earth — burning, not so much like a star, but like a pyre. She thinks of Taylor wanting to purge herself and not knowing how. She thinks about that plane.

And she looks out at the last flower and it exhausts her. She looks down at the water and sees her face, this strange face looking back at her. Kim doesn’t know how she got so old. She really thought she was Brooke for a second. That’s how she remembers herself. That’s the only way she sees herself. People say that the years go by so quickly, but that’s not true. It’s so slow. It’s so slow and it happens one line at a time, no, one cell at a time. Each one stretching out and dying. She takes a deep breath and exhales out her nose. “I can breathe again,” she says to no one listening. “I can breathe.” She lets out another deep snort and it finally sends the flower across the pool to the far edge. Kim gets up and her knees pop. She pads over to the other side and plucks out the final flower from her pool. She lets out another breath to extinguish the flame and it just shimmys away from her and fades but then stands upright once again. It’s never easy for Kim. And she can never get it done right the first time.

[Photo Credit: Bravo]


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After getting his master's degree in poetry, Senior Writer Brian Moylan started writing about television and pop culture for Gawker, The Guardian, The Washington Blade and a few other reputable publications. Brian has an honorary PhD in “Jersey Shore” studies from the University of Chicago. He's shared his often hilarious views about the tube on VH1, MSNBC, TV Guide Channel, MTV (Canada), BBC radio, and NPR. He can usually be found at his apartment in New York yelling at the TV and dodging calls from Real Housewives. He is a Taurus and likes long walks on the beach, fried chicken, and almost every reality television program ever created (especially “The Swan”).

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