They pull up to Fairchild's pink villa, where he meets and kisses them. He turns to a blonde woman and offers, "I would like to introduce you to my wife," and the cut from that moment is so severe you really get the feeling that they left it in there to create that vacuum moment where we could hold the line through a montage-y moment, catch our breaths, and collectively scream, "WHAT?" Because, I mean, what? It's not even that I'm stereotyping a fashion magnate. Which I could. And it's not even like I'm saying that the only thing vague about his effeminacy is how much the word "vague" sounds like the word "faygeleh." No, I'm not saying either of those things. I'm saying that the man, quite literally, inasmuch as such a thing can be literal anywhere in the world, actually lives his life overlooking Lake Homo. So I'm not trying to make any libelous implications, because I want people to like me and give me a lot of money. But I am saying that Stephen's wife should avoid going swimming. Because it's getting on dinnertime. And he wouldn't want his beard to get wet. But he doesn't have a beard, you say? Look again. Look again.
Out on the lanai of the house, the ladies enjoy some champagne, because that's clearly what they need right now. For their challenge, they each try on their street-bought outfits and show themselves outside. April strides out first. She's wearing a dead goat collected from the countryside around her neck, and knee-high boots that aren't so much "whore" as they are "whore-like." Stephen moves right on to Yoanna, who doesn't think she did as good a job as she thinks she should. Shandi wears a skirt cut at a forty-five degree angle at the bottom, and Steven thinks it's great she's showing her legs. With absolutely zero fanfare, he picks Shandi as the winner. Yoanna cops to feeling disappointed, but Shandi chooses Yoanna to share her glare in the winner's circle. And Shandi -- who feels as La Traviata as the soundtrack suddenly becomes -- leads the way into the dining room. Shandi and Yoanna are placed at a grand table in the middle of room with the rest of the guests, and Mercedes and April are hilariously relegated to a kids' table with two wooden chairs in the next room. There are about eight people around the table that we never get to meet, so let's cut over to the other table, where Mercedes swats at her face and complains, "I have, like, a bug in my eye or something." The bug continues to torment Mercedes, who leaps up to the pearl-clutching horror of the people in the juxtaposition, who speak of their favorite models. Kate Moss. Christy Turlington. Shandi can't think of one. She's thinking of later tonight, when she has to swim the Como Channel and tell Eric before they go. Before they leave, though, Fairchild hands Shandi the next Tyra Mail, which she reads aloud: "You've gotten to know each other very well. Tomorrow, you'll get to know each other even better." April wonders if the personal nature of that note indicates that Tyra knows what happened the previous night, and my answer remains staunchly the same: Stephen Fairchild's wife is one very unhappy woman.