The ladies head to St. Bart's where Sonja and Ramona hit the bottle hard and LuAnn indulges in the local delicacy. 
Credit: Xavier Merchet-Thau/Bravo

We took the steep drop into St. Bart’s last night, for the first episode of a three-parter that finally promises some actual action. Pirate style! I’m unclear again why we went to St. Bart’s in the first place. Did Carole have to go to the island for work? For a hook-up with her hot shaggy-haired Aerosmith player? Did Bravo just need these bitches to get out of town and under the generous spouts of a wine dispenser? Whatever the reason, the house was gorgeous—”I’m speechless and I’m never speechless,” spoke Ramona—and totally worth that rickety plane ride where passengers appeared to stand smushed up against one another like it was the 6 train.

At the house Ramona angled for a master suite while Sonja stuck her hand down the pants of the chef and butler. The views were extraordinary, the pools inviting, the hangers in the master closet plentiful, which meant at least we wouldn’t have a repeat of Moroccan drama. Carole and Heather smartly decided to hang their fedoras in private bungalows and leave the master suite to Vegas newlyweds Ramona and Sonja. Sonja promised Heather that she would serve as a buffer between her and Ramona, between Ramona and the world even! Such was her responsibility in life. Meanwhile Ramona started squawking at the staff to cough up the key to the pool toy closet. If she wasn’t floating on a noodle with a glass of pink champagne in each hand within five minutes she would write down in her notebook a reminder to herself to have the lot of them fired.

Poor Heather then ran nose-first into a sliding glass door, holla! The camera guy missed the moment but did get a close-up of some oil and foundation smudged on the wood beam. (Though I thought she ran into glass?) She laid on the bed as her red boxer’s pug swelled. “I do want a nose job some day,” she said by way of consoling herself. Of course you do, honey. LuAnn pretended to want to take care of her. “Once a nurse always a nurse!” the least nurturing woman ever explained, before quickly excusing herself to join the drunks up at the pool.

Ramona’s eyes widened, twirled around her head a few times, then exploded into rainbow happy tears at the sight of wine vending machine in the kitchen. Sonja broke down the size equivalents for her inebriated friend. A small pour is one Carole’s breast worth. Medium is Sonja-sized, and a large is Ramona’s generous cup. But Ramona objected to the idea that she had large breasts. She has perfect breasts, as Sonja would find out later when Ramona made her massage them with lavender oil before the two fell asleep.

“Tony can you squirt Ramona…some wine,” said Sonja with a horny giggle. “Just a little squirt.” Sonja, my former favorite New York housewife, has been acting like a bit of a little squirt all season. Her displeasure over a lack of spring roll dipping sauce reminded her that she was still peeved at Heather over the toaster oven photo shoot. “This is the most talked-about toaster oven in the history of nonexistent toaster ovens,” said Carole, in one of her many fine zingers of the night. So Sonja started bleating about logos, Heather tried to defend herself in a reasonable tone of voice, and Ramona kept barging into the conversation with karate chops of nonsense.

NEXT: Russ plays a one-night show for Carole.

Before the night could really go off the rails, word came that Russ was on the premises. Dude is cool and a musician and famous by association so it was time for the women to put on their sane masks. “Don’t say anything that’s crazy,” Carole demanded of Ramona. “What would I say that’s crazy? I’m just going to be me,” Ramona insisted. “No don’t be you,” Carole suggested.

When Russ approached the table, Ramona stood and curtsied and tried valiantly not to slur and open with Ramona-style questions like “Do you have an STD from all the groupies?” or “Are you Jewish not that there’s anything wrong with that?” She spoke instead in a clipped voice free of natural inflections. “Russ it’s so nice to meet you I’ve heard so many wonderful things. About you, through Carole and we all adore Carole. Well I think we all adore you too.” She squirted some more weird niceties before passing the baton to Sonja. “I’m a friend of Carole’s,” Sonja said, batting her eyelashes, “and I’m just a nice American girl.” (“It was like introducing my boyfriend to these two crazy drunk aunts,” said Carole.) Then Sonja hurt Ramona’s feelings by declaring Carole the sexiest sex goddess ever. Carole teasingly wondered if Sonja wanted to join them in their bungalow later but Sonja had to refuse because she already had plans with Jean Baptiste and Tony.

The next morning Carole stumbled up to the main house looking sated. Ramona thought it appropriate to give her dream vacation hostess and the one Housewife who never picks sides or instigates drama some grief. Was it cool of Russ to crash their girls’ week on the very first night? Did Carole ever stop and think about how that would make Ramona feel? LuAnn agreed that Russ’ presence made her miss Jacques. (More on that later.) Carole told them all to shove it as she’s stuck hanging out with their various lumps every damn night out back in New York. They hit the beach that day and the women drank some banana rum to make their boobs grow. (We must, we must, we must increase our busts.) Everybody enjoyed a chance to ogle Carole’s plum-sized butt. “No wonder Clooney did her for a year,” Sonja said approvingly. Google break!

That night Sonja whisked the women off to her friend’s club where the madame employs only hot, young Frenchmen she imports at a discount. LuAnn, who was in a mood to party, took an immediate shine to an eye-lined Johnny Depp lookalike in a stevedore hat. Thomas, Tomas, Thom, Tommy boy. Tequila shots for every possible pronunciation! Tomas dressed the ladies up in some goofy pirate outfits and then it was Turtle Time at Le Ti. LuAnn announced to the club that she wouldn’t be anyone’s casual fling for the evening. “I want to be special, not like your other pirate women! I’m an Indian. Don’t f— with me.” Wasn’t that a chapter from her Countess book?

NEXT: LuAnn’s going to have some serious ‘splaining to do at the Reunion.

The next morning LuAnn was hating life. Was there a diner on the island that served greasy eggs and hash browns?Her voice sounded like an old Muppet with a lifetime Dorals habit. If she could just get a funnel of coffee she could tell everyone about the joyous look of running into some old Italian friends at the club. Unfortunately she was too drunk to remember knocking on Heather’s door the night before so she could point at Tomas and gleefully mouth “Can you believe I’m about to hit this s—?!” Carole, wearing an Occupy Me t-shirt (gross), also knew LuAnn was lying because she too heard her come home. “I was awoken in the middle of the night by two male voices,” she said. “One was LuAnn…” Oh, this glorious episode is almost making up for the past 12.

Buzz kill alert: Aviva called Heather and Carole on Skype, looking especially dour. “You guys look good,” she said nervously. “Do I look like s— because you guys look really good.” She then told the women that Reid had agreed to chaperone her to St. Bart’s so they’d be joining the women by the end of the week. The rest of the women cheered upon hearing the news of Aviva’s imminent arrival. But then Ramona’s face contorted as she decided to be pissy about the fact that Reid would be staying on the premises. She thought this trip was only for girl turtles.

Finally, in the most sublimely ridiculous moment of a ridiculous hour, LuAnn offered up a gift to Bravo. She’d been going on to anyone who would listen about her love of the Italians, boy Italians, girl Italians, there ain’t nothing like a few Italians coming over for an innocent nightcap when she excused herself to make a phone call to a local friend. Forgetting that Bravo might have access to a French translator she told her friend to please relay word to Tomas that he must never admit to coming home with LuAnn. The women, the world!, must never know of their after-hours shenanigans. “I never change,” LuAnn husky giggled into the phone. Countess, you dog!

Next week: Sonja wants a ride on the Tomas train.

Well Italian friends? Did LuAnn not think the cameras were rolling on her Cat call? Do you think she made out with Tomas or just talked about French stuff? Does this juicy episode help restore some of our fondness for New York?