Well, that's a wrap! The sun finally set on our sun-soaked mansion dwellers, but not before some secrets were revealed and others, frustratingly, were kept hidden from view. Despite Andy Cohen's best prodding, we're still left wondering.
So let's see how everyone fared in the reunion...
Ohhh the Maloof. What can you say about the Maloof. Last night she Maloof'd. Part one of the reunion? Well, she Maloof'd some more. You just can't maloofing stop this mothermaloofer from Maloofing. Did we learn anything new about the Maloof during the reunion? Not really! What was there to learn? That she's rich? That she likes her husband, named Maloof's husband? That she is evidently going to Las Vegas, as she was sure to wear some glitter in her hair? All of these things we've known since the year 1 CME. (Common Maloof Era) She seems like a peaceful lady who went onto a television progrum to promote her basketed-ball squadron and the luxurious sex casino she runs in Lors Veegums. All the drama that came rumbling down the mountain was probably a bit unseemly to her, but she didn't let it faze her. She just Maloof'd along, maloofily, and that's all she could do. I was a little mad that Andy didn't ask Maloof about what it was like being in the limo that night when the Sisters Richards got in their big house-stealing hoedown, especially because I wanted the details about her heroic efforts in bringing fellow limo passenger Martin back to life, after his rusty old steam-powered heart had given way at the shock of it all. Using her special Maloof magic, the Maloof maloof'd him back to life and the two of them sat there for a while, thinking maloofy thoughts, feeling maloofy feelings, and then it was time to go. I wish Andy had asked about that! But no, instead they only addressed her sparingly, cheaply using some of her material in that short segment fakeout thing they do toward the end of the episode, you know, the excuse to show more commercials. Ah well. Great big maloofs to you and yours, may all your maloofs be as maloofy as hoped, maloofily.
Poor Taylor spent most of the reunion doing her patented SmileCry™, a terribly sad move that speaks of oceans of loneliness, regret, and despair. What did we find out about Taylor during the reunion? Not much. She likes to make flirty references to Kyle a lot, which Andy does not take kindly to. He's happy to twitter and gawp at straight stuff and gay guy stuff, but when the gals were all touchy feely with each other, Andy was at first laughing in a strange way, then brusque. "We've established that," he said curtly when Taylor said (granted, the joke had been beaten to death) "I'd kiss Kyle." Anyway, so there was that hogwash, and we found out that Taylor has no plans to have the piece of lumber removed from her upper lip, because it's been there so long and it involves surgery and what can you do. Oh well. The bulk of Taylor's SmileCrying™ came, of course, when the subject of Russell came up, as Taylor and her smear of goose liver pâté of a husband clearly had some problems during the filming. Namely, she wants a sunshiny, happy married life, but he is cold to her and always working. That's not what Taylor wants, distance and chilliness. She wants folksy, familiar warmth, it seems. Sure she might have to throw the odd $60,000 children's birthday party to keep up with those infamous Joneses, but mostly Taylor wants a regular kind of comfy, cozy life. Instead she gets awkward hair-slicker Russell. Russell with his beady eyes hidden behind angular glasses, Russell who asks the occasional one-too-many questions about Cedric, where he's gone off to. Taylor knows she can be ridiculous sometimes — knows that going "Oklahoma" on someone's ass doesn't really mean anything, knows that she shouldn't have antagonized poor vanishing Kim like that — but mostly Taylor is trying to feel like she deserves the things that she wants. It's hard for her, but in a strange way she knows it shouldn't be, hence the SmileCry™. She and Russell have decided to keep their family together, which is a sad survivalist way to say that you're not going to get a divorce. Not "We're going to work on the marriage" or "We're rekindling that spark." No, it's "We're keeping the family together." We're weathering it, hunkering down, growing hard but resigned toward one another, stretching smiles onto our faces, holding the line, because we're a unit, and if we break apart, if we scatter into the wind, then we'll all be weaker and worse-off for it. The heart only needs to pulse and pump blood. It needn't do anything else. Taylor and Russell and Kennedy will disappear into the void together, thank you very much, their sonar ping growing fainter and fainter as they sink, together, into the murky dark.
The takeaway about Camille on the reunion was that, as Andriah so bluntly pointed out, Camile is incapable of assuming responsibility or accepting blame for just about anything. Everything awful and weird that she did on camera was mostly Kelsey's fault, or Kyle's fault, or something else's fault. Camille was nasty (if accurate) about Faye Resnick simply because Faye started it by giving some kind of look, one that Camille felt the need to replicate horrifyingly on camera. It was like a fishhook had caught her cheek and she was having eye spasms at the same time. Good look, Camille! On the matter of Kelsey, Camille was somewhat forthcoming, admitting that she's getting a huge sack of money, giving us a rough timeline of events. But I guess there actually wasn't that much to say on the matter, as we already know so much from tabloids and just a general intuition about how marriages like that meet their ends. Of course Kyle and Camille bickered and sniped at each other, about Camille's porn past, about Mauricio (who was brought on with the other husbands at one point and with whom Camille continued to flirt, in front of Kyle), about the way Kyle treats Kim, about New York, of course of course. So sick of New York. Camille didn't come off quite as badly during the reunion as she did on the actual show, but you can still see that she's a cold, calculating lizardperson who fancies herself quite a bit better than other people. Or who, at least, has a nuclear reactor at her core that's filled with the atoms of shame and self-doubt and, yes, insecurity. The reactor fuels her body and then some, it's too much energy, it comes out in strange gamma rays, it radiates hot and sickly and turns situations poison, like the core meltdown that brought about the Dinner Crazies, when Medium smoked her magic cigarette and everyone else went loudly insane. Camille's got to get a handle on that old Soviet core of unease and insecurity or one day she's really going to collapse and it'll poison all of Los Angeles's drinking water. (How much of a bad thing would that be, though, really? Think about it.) Camille also needs to figure out what to do with her lizard eyelids because they are not working for her. They are heavy with scales so they keep drooping down, making her always look vaguely afternoon drunk. I'm sick of it! Very sick of it. In the end, nothing with Camille was resolved. She said she maybe implied that Mauricio was cheating out of spite, but that's it. Everything else was either true and fair or a product of her difficult year. The Year I Made 50 Million Dollars From a Loveless Marriage. Fair enough.
Obviously we don't really even want to talk about Lisa, we want to talk about Cedric. As we all know, there was some sort of incident and Lisa and Cedric don't speak anymore. Last night we learned that the incident went something like this: Ced finally, impulsively decided to move out, packing up all of his things in Ken's suitcases. He said he needed to go and Lisa felt sad but what could she do. That was that. She wished him well, thinking maybe things were going to be OK. Sure she found out that he actually did have family, sisters at least, but so what. Maybe he wasn't really a street urchin with a prostitute past. Maybe so. It's OK. Things could get better. But then, a week or so later, Cedric called Ken at his office and, it seems, threatened to blackmail him by "telling his story" or whatever to people who were interested. Ken was like "Fuck off, you cheeky little twat," and that was that. It seems that Cedric didn't actually have a story about the Vanderpumps to sell, as we've not seen the story anywhere. Or, I suppose, there could be a story, but no one cares. Either way, Cedric is now living on his own somewhere, he has flattened his hair with a clothes iron, and he is trying the acting thing. As you'd expect, he's a brilliant, brilliant actor, as we saw in his little video segment last night. When Ken was brought on he explained that Cedric had told him that he'd always hated Lisa and her kids and her dogs and whatever else Lisa has, which made Lisa cry and made Ken angry. "I hate him, he's an awful person," Ken said. "And I swear by great Martin's ghost that I will avenge my wife!" So they are done with Cedric. And of course Cedric is not done with them. Or at least not done with the idea of them, of still hitching his wagon to their dim star. And then later, of course, he'll complain that he's been doing all this talking about Lisa and Ken for free, whinging about how he's not even getting paid. Poor dear. Poor creature. Maybe one day he'll run into Russell at the gym, Russell having signed up a week ago and having sat on a bench every day all week, waiting for Cedric to show up so he could casually run into him. And Russell will say "Heard you've had some residency troubles. Well, we have plenty of room at the house. Taylor can sleep on the couch." And Cedric will smile, make a plan to call his friend at the bank to look into this guy's finances. He'll put a hand on Russell's shoulder and say "You know, people call me a sex object," using Lisa's old joke. "But, sometimes I make exceptions."
Kyle & Kim
Ugh. I am mad at them. I am mad that we had to spend so much time on the boring Camille vs. Kyle thing that's never going to get resolved and then when we got to the good stuff — how did Kyle steal a house, is Kim an alcoholic — they totally clammed up and said nothing. They just blubbered on the couch and whined about how they are rebuilding their bond and we all sloshed our wine around and yelled "Who cares about your bond! Give us the dirt! Andy, threaten them! Tase them! Torture them! We want answers!!" Andy tried, meekly. He flat-out asked Kim if she is an alcoholic and there was no answer. He didn't really even bring up the house stealing thing, did he? They just cried and sniffled and everyone else sat there awkwardly, Camille shaking her head, still thinking Kyle quite the bully, and that was it. Grr! I wanted so many details, so many answers. I was foolish to wish for them. I should have known we wouldn't get them. They've circled the wagons, put up the wall, and that's it. There were little bits that were somewhat funny and telling — like when Kyle said "Well, I was a child actor too, I was also working" in this way that kind of strips Kim of her only identity at this point — but beyond that, there wasn't much. There was just old raspy Kim, rattling away, her eyes beady and red. When they did their toast at the end, Andy said some folks were drinking champagne, others were having sparkling cider. Of course he didn't say who had which. We can guess it was Kim, though, right? Hers almost looked like water. It's water and fake bubbly for her these days, I guess. It's keeping those narrow features of hers together, it's balling her fist and squeezing her nails tight into her palm, it's trying to not feel the humming in her head for hours at a time. She went all day once, without hearing it, without feeling its sharp metal whine in her body. The feeling, the terrible clattering dread, is lifting, maybe? Could it be leaving for good? Of course there are still things, still moments and issues, but Kim is trying to have a new lease on life. "A new pair of eyes," she says to her kids when they ask her what's going on. "Mommy just needs a new pair of eyes to see the world better." And she's trying. She really is. She still doesn't like the real world, and yet she knows that she's missed it, spending all those years behind her prickly haze. And though some days all she can do is sit on a small section of her white couch and ball herself up and stay there all day, until it is dark out and the street lights have buzzed on, she's still not doing anything bad. She's just sitting. She's just doing what she needed to do that day. Needed, within limits.
The tremble in her hands is starting to fade. She feels more steady. She can do this. It's only one day. It's only one week. It's only California. It's only time. That's all. Just one foot in front of the other. Here we go. And here we go again. And here we go again. That's it. She's doing it. It's not that hard. Here we go. Here we fucking go.