An evening of foot rubs and unfortunate negligees, talk of Sonja's plummeting worth, and a cappuccino date gone sour.

By Karen Valby
Updated June 17, 2011 at 03:30 PM EDT
Bravo

Oh sweet Jesus, it was that kind of evening. Ramona was in a new candy-colored negligee, her hand weights tucked beneath a hotel bed. I kind of loved her little face sitting there alone on the sofa waiting for Mario. A sip of pinot, then 20 more, just waiting for my man, not thinking at all about the possibility of a mistress. Across the river, Alex and Simon were cooking up a feast for lovuhs. Simon did a little cheerleader back kick into his wife’s caboose, which apparently is his way of announcing he’s feeling frisky.

No aprons necessary, Alex dear. It’ll be just one more article of clothing that Simon will have to remove, Tide stain stick, and fold neatly back in the drawer. Tonight he wants you full of oysters, wearing nothing but a black bra-er and some boy shorts. Or maybe a Miss Havisham lace robe? All he knows is he’s got a big present for you. Surprise! It’s gift basket of weird undies, sitting astride his crotch. (Can I please have a blog from a Bravo crew member on being present during this scene?) Alex led the way to the boudoir, awkwardly flouncing a purple ribbon in the air. “Wait for me, I’m coming!” hollered Simon behind her. “I always do,” she winky-winked back. What can I say, this show is my TV equivalent of a box of cheap wine. Doesn’t quite feel good going down, but it still gets you to a strange happy place. Hangover’s a bitch though.

Uptown, Ramona had removed her watch, and hid her blackberry under her pillow. Such gestures demanded a bigger response from Mario than “hmm, good time.” How about great time? That’s what Ramona was waiting to hear you big lug. Ramona isn’t much of a masseuse but she’d invested in this yummy-smelling oil and she wanted to rub it all over Mario’s pecs, and by that she meant abs, and by that I meant eww. Anxious to indulge in a little foreplay Ramona took the opportunity to wonder if there was any truth to the fortune teller’s claims that there was another woman in Mario’s life. “Avery!” he said. Mario has a real salesman’s air about him so it was hard to gauge his honesty. However wacky Ramona is, I do hope her husband isn’t stepping out on her. Though I did have to laugh when Mario told Ramona to get behind him and work on a knot in his back while the camera cut to her saying “I think the way Mario and I look at eachother says it all.” Out of my line of vision, woman!

Sonja has acted like your embarrassing wealthy aunt all season. I guess we now know why. Some movie deal possibly involving John Travolta went belly up and she’s been stiffed with a 19 million debt. (I’m sure I’ve got those numbers wrong as I’m going solely on information gleefully supplied by Jill Zarin.) Times are tough which means she only gets to take trampoline class twice a week instead of three and she’s still ponying up for those expensive facials but that’s only so she can romance Dr. Sadick. The doc wasn’t much of a looker but all the girls in town, including Sonja perhaps if this debt malarkey sticks, are after him. “He’s a doctor,” said Sonja in a real no-duh voice. “Come on, this is New York City.” I think I smell a wedding for the Season 5 finale! If Cindy gets invited she can pretty much bank on the fact that she won’t make into any of the wedding pictures. Good one Sonja. Peeved after their souk shenanigans, Sonja iced Barshop out of every shot. Poor Cindy, who made quite a production settling her assistant and brother down on the sofa to look at Morocco photos, saw but one fleeting image of her ankle at the back of a camel train.

NEXT: What I would have given for LuAnn to give into her rage and flip that table.

Let’s see, there was quite a bit of filler. To wit: Kelly’s adorable daughter Teddy art-directed the family Christmas shot, which meant dogs in the dishwasher. Jill is an expert when it comes to menswear so she rolled over Bobby which was probably a good thing as he was interested in suits with a slight sheen. Jacques and LuAnn had a romantic dinner for two at a French bistro and he sweet-talked her in his obnoxious fake Indian accent. Countess giggles! Am I totally off-base or is there something a little off about Jacques? However nuts these women drive me I do want the chosen men in their lives to treat them well. Jill is launching a line of shape wear and she named it Skweez and didn’t invite Ramona to the launch. Sonja spoke the truth when she said that no matter how black or lacy, no man will ever be interested in squeezin’ the Skweezy.

On to the main event! Alex opened her peepers extra wide and turned her rubbery face all sincere-like when she asked LuAnn to meet her for a one-on-one conversation. They had to put Morocco behind them if there were ever going to be friends again. LuAnn already looked like she wanted to spit in the woman’s face but the Countess agreed and the two met for coffee on a chilly winter’s afternoon. LuAnn wore her intimidating boots. Alex came armed in a fresh blow-out (more conditioner, woman!) and her Chinese brocade jacket with the extra poufy black collar. Where should Alex begin? Oops, the Countess wanted to get the first word in: “You came barreling down the staircase,” LuAnn sneered. Alex nodded seriously. “You know we need to talk about it,” she said. Hmm, Countess isn’t interested in talking. “You really embarrassed yourself,” said LuAnn. “I do think that we we need to discuss it,” repeated Alex. Again, not interested. It was so on.

The Countess was vile. Alex has no class. The Countess was having a wonderful henna tattoo in her salon. Um, Alex correctly pointed out, that was not your salon. Brakes on? Breakdown! Alex, who let’s be honest is not a very threatening woman, and as much as she said she would not tolerate LuAnn’s condescension, my money is on LuAnn in a street fight, won me over again when she told LuAnn she never cried during that fight. (Although I think she did.) “Kelly might have been crying but I wasn’t crying,” snapped Alex. Santa Claus get our ass out here and fix this stupid tattoo!!! Then LuAnn insulted not just Alex’s footwear (fair enough) but Louis Vuitton himself. And with that, she stormed off in the huff, leaving Alex with the bill. But not without first leaning down and delivering one last warning: “Don’t forget what happens to the messenger,” she hissed. Wait. What happens to the messenger? Don’t leave us hanging like this Countess!

Next week: She’s not Donald Trump. She’s Sonja Morgan. And don’t you ever forget it.

Talk to me Big Apples: Did Simon and Alex’s night of nerd foreplay endear, disgust, or bore? Do you think Mario is a stand-up guy? Should dogs, however much we love them, ever be in a dishwasher? Did Sonja’s little act of revenge make you like her a little again? Team LuAnn or Alex?

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