Sexually curious George was back in town and he needed to hit a natural drug store fast. Did Aviva hear that her old man was dating a fashion model in her early 20s? “She looks like you but she’s black,” he told his cock-eyed daughter. “Oh that’s great,” she groaned. I’m just going to give her the benefit of the doubt that it was the “she looks like you” comment that rightly turned her off. “European features, she has a patrician look about her,” George went on. And he went on and on, in a search for “potency wood” and a better deal for his pile of basket of aphrodisiacs. Now that he was all stocked up he thought he might “do some overtures on Carole Radziwill.” Aviva said they were too good of friends, like sisters, and it would be inappropriate for him to start sniffing around. “But incest is best,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. Dear George, no.
Sonja came home after her settlement meeting looking terribly dejected. She trudged up her red carpet staircase, past her Sonja director’s chair and into the arms of her intern and stylist. She thought she’d been walking into a meeting with her former best friend, a man who would perhaps admire her figure while pushing a mountain of cash across a conference table. But the lawyers had them in separate rooms! No settlement or compliments had been paid! The injustice of it all was getting to Sonja, especially with the lot of her Upper East Side friends currently sunning themselves on various tropical isles. “The biggest complaint my girlfriends have right now is like ‘Oh, I can’t do another full lunch.'” I thought the same thing yesterday when after my drive-through burger I was then presented with a bowl of my daughter’s uneaten ravioli. How could Sonja’s ex be turning his back on her now? “We had an agreement way before I conceived my daughter,” railed Sonja. “When we agreed to get married there were promises made and he’s not keeping them.” Ah, the romance of just-blooming love. I think we saw that scene once in a Nora Ephron movie. Sonja, speaking into her leopard print-covered smart phone, worried to Ramona that she’d have to sell her
Beverly Hills Hollywood home to keep the townhouse. Then she vowed that she’d collect every single penny her ex owes her, liquid! He shall pay in cases of Ramona!
Heather was in get-it-done leather pants at her fundraiser planning meeting. She was looking to raise enough money ($400,000, yikes!) to pay for one child’s organ donation. To benefit the cause she invited a delighted Aviva to walk in the runway show. Poor LuAnn’s face pickled as she waited for own invite. But Heather giraffe-loped off in her unwieldy heels without extending the offer. At least Sonja needed LuAnn. Madame Morgan decided that after several years of separation perhaps she no longer needed to eat every meal under the glowering gaze of her former husband. So she’d hired the best of the best framers in town to take down the piece that had been painted by none other than the Queen Mother’s painter. Where did it all go wrong?, Sonja wondered. Hadn’t she been a shiny enough trophy wife to fend off all those floozies that lurk around powerful men? “You can be the best society hostess and you can handle heads of state…,” sighed Sonja. LuAnn cut her off and insisted that it doesn’t matter how fabulous a woman is if she’s married to a louse. Preach!
NEXT: Today’s breakfast special—Fresh viper.