Real Housewives of New York City Recap: Bookgate
Aviva’s decided she’d like to write a mem-wahhhhh. And by that she means a pamphlet about her struggles being born into a family that spoils her and of course losing one of her legs. The idea came to her one day a few weeks ago when her agent told her he couldn’t really help her if she’s got nothing to promote. It had always been her dream to write a book. Right behind being a folk singer, getting a minor in women’s studies, visiting the Grand Canyon, reading the entire Sweet Valley Twins series, getting a brown belt in karate, meeting at least one of the members of Wilson Phillips, flying a kite, and learning how to make caramel apples. So naturally she invited Carole to a flat bread pizza lunch to get her insight on making it in the biz. And it made sense because Aviva would like nothing more than to be Carole. She’s like nothing more than to wear her skin. Carole was growing increasingly concerned that Aviva was becoming single white female on her. She didn’t want to talk about writing styles with her. She’d slaved over a typewriter for 5 years. (Which sort of sounded like a vacation to Sonja). Aviva’s writing style was texting some guy she was paying to write her autobiography. Who has time to write when you need to get your hair done or there is a sale at Barneys? But what Carole realized mid-meal was that Aviva wants the rest of the world to think she had someone ghost write her New York Times bestseller. The same book, as Heather points out, that was discussed on an episode of Oprah. But instead of explaining to Aviva that she must be on a laundry list of pharmaceuticals she calmly asked for the check, spit on her plate, and took a waiting cab to central park to meet her normal friends Heather and Kristen.
Later on Aviva met up with Ramona at a wine bar. (Always better to meet the enemy on their own territory). There she explained her own distorted version of events of what had transpired at her lunch with Carole. She had, it seemed, been given the impression that Carole was belittling her dream. But Carole was defending what she’d taken 20 years to create: a writing career. Aviva comparing herself as a writer to Carole is kind of like Kristen Cavallari appearing on one season of The Hills and then asking Natalie Portman for acting tips.
Harry dropped by Aviva’s new house to drop off their son and chat about his sex life. Harry, it seems, is the Slade Smiley of New York City having been with more than one house lady. He was thinking about getting it back on with Sonja. That was fine with Aviva because she felt like they were a good couple anyway. Both love to drink copious amounts of alcohol. They could probably share medication. He is willing to listen to her stories about the products she will never develop or sell. She pretends he isn’t using her for camera time. What could go wrong?
Sonja’s intern Tyler just graduated from college and was hoping to find a job in finance. When he read the craigslist ad looking for someone to help with book keeping he didn’t know it actually meant helping a woman on the Upper East Side adjust her boobs into her old swimsuits. It was the reason he spent many nights smoking a cigarette in the alley behind her townhouse. “What the hell happened to you,” he’d whisper to himself. And then he would hear her calling him from her shower asking for him to come rinse off her back. But Sonja needs people to help her organize her life. She barely has enough time to sharpie her own evening bags let alone take time out for girlfriends. But she made time for Kristen by arranging for them to get spray tanned in the middle of her bedroom. “Before you put back on your clothes and try to forget the fact that I just started at your jugs can we discuss what happened with Carole and Aviva,” Sonja asked. Sonja just didn’t understand why Carole couldn’t congratulate Aviva for this opportunity to let someone else write a book about her boring life and try to sell it online.
Then Aviva met with Heather at a nail salon because it was exhausting watching someone else unpack all your belongings. She wanted the girls to come over for a house warming party. It would just be she, husband Reid, a couple of close friends, and her image consultant who never left her side. Heather pretended to care. When Aviva brought up her forthcoming book. What was it about, Heather asked. Who is your audience? Aviva explained it would be about stories and the audience would be anyone who likes to pick up a book. It was very specific. “So it’s not about your one leg? What is the hook? Because you’re not that interesting,” Heather explained.
By now Carole had let everyone know that she had heard from a friend of a friend that Carole used a ghost writer named Bill and as it happened the publishing house that was handling her book passed on Carole’s book a year or so before. They’d have to do a complete overhaul, she explained.
At the party most of the girls found themselves enjoying a cocktail in Aviva’s new bedroom, which conveniently was also the site of the makeshift bar. Just a group of old friends drinking gimlets and chatting about the fact Aviva has only owned one bed in the last 20 years. Seriously, couldn’t she have used an advance from her book deal to spring for a new headboard? But while Aviva was basking in the glow of her new curtains and the tchotchkes on her bookshelf she was pulled into an adjoining room by an increasingly frustrated Carole. Why would she lie? She’d written for television and film. She had an ongoing column. She’d written two books. And someone who might be related to Fran Drescher who has never had a job was going to insult her career? But Aviva who had rehearsed scenes with Kelly Bensimmon earlier that morning insisted that Carole was treating her like she was an inferior writer. And that was probably because she was.
Next week: Carole considers pushing Aviva down a flight of stairs.
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