All language subtitles for sex and the city s04e17

Every morning,

millions of New Yorkers
leave their crowded apartments

and head out
to the even more crowded streets

on their way to work.

Today, I was one of them.

Sometimes,
a girl just needs a new start.

I had a new do, a new mortgage,
and, therefore, a new job.

I had just submitted
my first freelance article

for one of the most relevant
and provocative magazines

on the newsstands today, at least to me.

Vogue.

Also known as Mecca, where I belonged.

This isn't Vogue.

Oh, you didn't like it?

No. No one is saying that.

Well, I am. I'll say it.
I didn't like it. There, I said it.

What Enid
is trying to say, Carrie,

is that you wrote
a wonderful first draft.

That isn't Vogue.

There it was, the article
I'd put my heart and soul into,

and it was bleeding.

Your spin on the idea, Carrie,
is very clever.

Different types of men
as the new accessories for fall.

"A Prada..."

"A Prada dress should always be worn
with an investment banker."

I mean, that's wonderful.

Julian, the assignment was
500 words on accessories, not men.

And I'm not convinced
she knows anything about purses.

Or, for that matter, men.

Enid, for the love of God!

Ms. Bradshaw, what you've handed us here

is essentially
just your newspaper column

with the word "style" jammed in
where the word "sex" used to be.

We're not looking for Vogue
according to your agenda.

-No one cares about your agenda.
-That's not true.

Oh, forgive me.
I don't care about your agenda.

I care about designers.

Oscar de la Renta, Chanel, Dior.

I want less Carrie Bradshaw and more,
"Carry this bag with these shoes."

Do you see what I mean?

You're a writer.
You should be writing this down.

I was trying to find a way to introduce
the bags and the bracelets

with a little humor.

Kind of, "Men are the new black."

-It was supposed to be funny.
-It was supposed to be bags.

Well, I didn't really bring
a writing implement.

Can I... Okay. Bags.

[Carrie] An hour later, Enid had to
leave for a lunch date...

...presumably to devour another writer.

Don't let Enid get to you.
She just came back from Paris,

and apparently humor and irony
are out this season.

Billie Holiday.

The only woman I can think of
in more pain than you right now.

Come on, cookie, chin up.

In publishing, you need two things.

A tough hide,

and a dry martini.

Martinis in the morning?
Is this allowed?

Is it Vogue?

Only in absolute emergencies.

Last time I broke this out

was when I heard that
fun-fur was making a comeback.

Look at this mess.

Why was I even hired?

Well, I'm afraid you have me to blame
for that.

My daughter introduced me to your column
about a year ago.

I thought you'd be a natural at Vogue.

Well, I guess you thought wrong.

Haven't been wrong yet.

Vogue is all about vision.
And you, cookie, have got vision.

We just have to find a way
to hide your vision from Enid's vision.

A little less you,
a little more purse...

Come on.

Drink.

Cheers.

One and a half martinis later...

And the sad thing is,
this is what I do best.

-I mean, look at it.
-Cookie, you're drunk.

-Yeah.

Cookie's drunk.

I'm drunk at Vogue.

How can anyone get so drunk
on one and a half martinis?

I didn't eat breakfast,
and I'm a size two,

which should make me perfect for Vogue,
but, nope,

I'm drunk, and a failure at Vogue.

I feel awful. This is my fault.

Oh, Julian...

I came in here today so cocky.

I thought I knew it all.

I had my men jokes

and my purse puns.

And you heard her.
What do I know about purses? Nothing.

What do I know about men?

Oops.

I spilled.

I spilled at Vogue.

Okay. Okay.

Maybe we better just take you home.

I can't go out there.

I'm drunk.

I'm drunk at Vogue.

Oh!

-Left, right, left.
-Yeah.

Now look at me.

Pretend I'm saying something fantastic
about corsets.

Excuse me.

Please tell me that wasn't Anna Wintour.

It wasn't. Just...

-Left, right.
-Right.

-Left.
-Left.

Left, right, left.

So sorry.

That night,
at a more appropriate cocktail hour...

Oh, come on, there must be something
you want for your birthday.

What I want for my birthday
is not to celebrate it this year.

What if I want to celebrate it?

That would be celebration enough.
Besides, I have everything I need.

Oh, it's not about needing something.

It's about wanting something
just for fun.

Something decadent,
something naughty, even.

May I tempt you with dessert?

How was everything this evening,
Mr. Wright?

-Delicious, thank you.
-Alexa.

I took the liberty of pre-ordering
our chocolate soufflé

for you and Ms. Jones,

if you're in the mood
for something sweet.

Always. Thank you
for keeping an eye on us.

I couldn't help it.

You're the most attractive couple
in the restaurant.

I know what I'd like for my birthday.

An all-night, nonstop,
championship fuckfest with you.

Then consider your candles blown.

And Alexa.

You asked.

Is a three-way with a 21 -year-old
a bad idea for Richard's birthday?

What are you gonna get him next year?
A four-way?

Look, he doesn't wanna be monogamous.
He'll either cheat with or without me.

Well, happy birthday to you.

It's not like he asked me
to get him a hooker.

These are the options?

It's someone we know.

And at least this way,
I'm part of the fantasy.

Yeah, the fantasy being

that he's attractive to someone
young enough to be his daughter.

He is, Charlotte, that's the problem.

Richard's in his fucking prime.

Men get better-looking as they get older
and women get--

Three-ways, apparently, or...

a Marc Jacobs
ultra-mod little notebook, huh?

Evidently, I'm recommending it
to Vogue shoppers.

Just be careful, Samantha.

When a man has a fantasy
and you fulfil it,

there's always the chance
that the relationship could blow up,

and then you're just the idiot

who did it with him on the golf course,
or something.

-Was it you and Trey?
-No, it's a "for instance."

Sorry I'm late.
I was shopping for a stroller.

I shouldn't even be here.
I should be out doing all the things

I'm supposed to do
before the baby comes,

and I'm unable to leave my apartment
ever again.

Like what?
Jujitsu and off-track betting?

Like buying a crib.

-Oh.
-Evidently, I'm to go to Crib World

because it's a whole world of cribs.

I guess Crib City wasn't big enough.

Why isn't there a store called
"This Is the Crib For You"?

And they just have one great crib

and they deliver it and assemble it,
and help you raise your child.

You don't have a crib yet?

No, Charlotte, I have a job instead.

I'm sorry, but when am I supposed to
find time to prepare for this baby?

I don't have a vague idea
how I'm gonna do any of this.

Well, I don't have a Vogue idea,
so hello.

Why don't you let old One-Ball help you?

Yeah, I tried that.

And he starts acting all father-figure,
and I get territorial,

and the salespeople get confused.

Trust me,
it's too complicated for Crib World.

Let me help you.

I know you said
you didn't want a baby shower,

but it's not too late
to change your mind.

-I hate baby showers.
-Ugh. Who doesn't?

The games, the finger sandwiches,
all that enforced oohing and aahing.

I don't ooh and aah.
I don't care who's having a baby.

Think of the gifts.

It'd be a great way
to get all the stuff you need.

Without having to go to Crib World.

But who would I invite besides you guys?

All the bitches
that made you go to theirs.

-Hmm.
-It's your shower,

and you can invite or not invite
whoever you choose.

Would you really want to
throw me a baby shower

after all you've been through this year?

Yeah.

I think it would be good for me.

Okay, but no cutesy, storky shit.

Just an adult, dignified lunch
with presents,

which I will open after everyone leaves.

You have to open the presents.

No opening of presents,
no games, no crustless bread.

And I want fried chicken.

Fried chicken?
But it's not Super Bowl Sunday.

It's my shower,
and I'll fry if I want to.

What should we do for our gift?

Let's just stick
to the registry three-way.

The next day, Charlotte decided
if she was going to host a baby shower,

she should hide the evidence
that she had wanted one of her own.

Later that week, I had a meal with
the perfect dinner accessory, Julian.

So, my wife is a former dancer.
She was with the Martha Graham Company.

And the first time I saw her on stage,
I fell in love with her.

She pliéd and I plotzed.

It'll be 24 years next September.

So you got married
right out of grade school.

I knew there was something about you
that I liked.

Mmm. What about your life?

Is there a man in your life?
Is it a great love?

Um...

Well, I just broke up with somebody.

And yes.

It was a great love.

But he went there. I went there.

And there you have it.

So, Julian, the reason
that I asked you to dinner tonight--

Was because you knew I would pay?

Besides that. Um...

I wanted to tell you that I really
appreciate your interest in my article,

but I've decided not to finish it.

So, what, you're just gonna quit?
No, no, I don't let my kids quit.

Technically, I'm not one of your kids.
I'm just a girl you get drunk sometimes.

All right, forget about me.

What would your father say
about you quitting?

My father wouldn't have
a whole lot to say about quitting.

He quit my mother and me
when I was little.

Sorry.

Thanks. No, I mean,
a long time ago. I was five.

Why'd he leave?

No idea, never said.

And that's the name of that tune.

Hmm.

-What?
-No, no, it's interesting.

Your father leaves without any answers,

and you spend your life
asking questions about men.

Well, it's 20 years of analysis.
Forgive me?

-Yes.
-Okay, Vogue.

Vogue.

What if I could fix it
so that you only deal with me,

and Enid spends less time
hating your writing,

and more time
hating Tom Ford's line, hmm?

Julian...

Come on, cookie, you're no quitter.

We get to work on this together.
What do you say?

Why are you being so sweet?

Martini guilt.

Later that night,
I got to thinking about fathers,

or the lack of them.

Some say a daughter's relationship
with her father is the model

for all her subsequent relationships
with men.

Is that just pop psychology,
or is there some truth to it?

And if you were given
a less-than-perfect model,

does it mean a life
of less-than-perfect relationships?

I couldn't help but wonder.

How much does a father figure figure?

Gentlemen, I understand your concern,

but I'm looking
at the contract right now.

I'm sorry, could you hold for a moment?

I'm on a conference call here.

Charlotte York says it's an emergency.

-Charlotte, what's wrong, are you okay?
-I'm fine.

I'm just looking over your registry,

and there are some things
you forgot to include.

Like a Manhattan Whoozit.

-A what?
-It's a learning toy.

Active toys make for passive children.
There's a whole philosophy behind it.

I don't have time for philosophy.

I'm on a conference call
with our London office.

What about a Peek-A-Ball? Peek-A-Ball!

-Peek-A-Ball, Miranda?
-Jesus, Charlotte. I have to get back.

Just one more quick thing.
I know you said no storks,

but I saw the most gorgeous centerpiece,
in the shape of a stork--

-I'm at work.
-We have to order it by noon.

Now, its feathers are white Fiji mum.

-What did I say?
-No storks.

But these people
are giving you expensive gifts,

and they're gonna
want to see a little baby.

No storks, no present opening,
no cutesy baby stuff. We agreed.

-What about a marzipan baby carriage?
-Charlotte!

It has a white chocolate,
peanut butter baby inside.

And you can eat the baby.

Miranda?

Miranda?

The next day,

Samantha made a conference call
of her own.

Ms. Jones, welcome.

Will Mr. Wright
be joining you for lunch?

No, actually,
it's Richard's birthday this weekend.

And I'm trying to put together
a little celebration for him.

Certainly. Would you like to reserve
one of our banquet rooms, or...

Oh, that won't be necessary.

It's a very small party.

A very small private party of three.

Just Richard, myself, and a third...

if you have any openings.

I'm wide open.

Lucky me.

And now that Charlotte's house
was ready for the baby shower,

she wanted to make sure
Miranda's house was ready for the baby.

So, the bassinet can go over here

-by the bed.
-Uh-huh.

So that when you have to get up
for feedings, he's right there, see?

-Yeah.
-Unless you're planning

to have him sleep in the bed with you.

-Can't I go to jail for that?
-No.

In fact, many cultures believe that
it's safer for the baby's breathing.

Although you do run the risk

of rolling over
and smushing him in your sleep.

But that almost never happens.

But almost isn't never, so if you want
to err on the side of safety--

Um, I'll just put him in the thing.

-The bassinet? Great.
-Mmm.

And then when he's big enough,
you can put the crib here.

Is that what you were thinking?

Oh, I hadn't thought about that yet.

You need to start thinking
about these things

'cause there are
a million questions to answer

before the baby ever gets here.

Do you have a birthing plan?

Do you know
what kind of a mother you wanna be?

Yes, I plan to be a good mother.

But a marsupial mom or a stroller mom?

Will you be breastfeeding
or bottle-feeding?

And what about babyproofing?

'Cause with all the sharp edges
around here,

I mean, this place is a death trap.

Okay, you need to back off.

I'm just trying to help.

This is your idea of helping?
Pointing out all the things I do badly?

-I'm not pointing out--
-Yes, you are.

You need to try
to let other people in a little.

'Cause once you have that baby,
it's not just you anymore.

You're not gonna be able
to control everything.

Look, I just want to enjoy
the fried chicken and be done with it.

Oh, um...

Well, I had to rethink
the fried chicken,

'cause you're the only one
who wanted all that breading.

So instead we're having mesclun greens
and a lovely puttanesca,

with a Fiji mum centerpiece.

A Fiji mum stork centerpiece?

One stork.
I think you can deal with one--

Two storks. I saw the invitation.
There's a stork on the invitation.

That's not a stork. That is a duck.

And that duck is smoking
an "It's a Boy" cigar.

That duck's not for children.

That duck is fucked.
This whole shower is fucked.

You can't have a shower
without some baby stuff.

You keep this up, you're gonna have
a shower without a mommy.

Fine!

Miranda, you better show up.

I am not getting stuck
with a bunch of lawyers,

who, if they're anything like you,

won't even appreciate
a beautiful puttanesca.

Watch out for the sharp edges!

Thanks for coming down and talking.

I really didn't have a choice.
You couldn't make it up the stairs.

[groans]

-There, you feel better?

The back, yes. The other stuff, no.
I'm gonna be a terrible mother.

-Miranda!
-I am.

I have no maternal instincts,
no patience.

The way I yelled at Charlotte...

She was just trying to point out
what needed to be childproofed.

-Oh, my God.
-What?

I'm what needs to be childproofed.

You wanna quit?

Come on, I'll quit the magazine,
you quit the baby.

We'll be two quitters.

We'll live happily ever after.

Can I tell you a secret?

You're not really pregnant,
it's water weight?

I dropped my niece on her head.

I was babysitting when I was 13,
and I got bored.

I got bored, Carrie.

I was doing my homework,
she slid down the couch.

-Two stitches.
-Get off my stoop!

How is this kid ever gonna make it?

A type-A mother
who works 50 hours a week,

-and no father figure.
-He has a father figure.

Steve.

I meant you.

-Oh, really?
-Yeah.

I do like those Yankees.

[couple speaking indistinctly]

-Second date, dinner and a movie.
-Yeah, I hate them.

Hey.

Do you think
it really can be as simple as:

"My father walked out, therefore
I'll always be messed up about men"?

My father came home
every night at 7:00 on the dot,

and I have no clue about men, either.

-So it's a crapshoot.
-Mmm.

Do I have to go to my own baby shower?

-I RSVP'd to a duck with a cigar.
-All right.

-You're going.
-Okay, it's late. I gotta catch a cab.

Wait, let me get you a forklift.

-When you're ready.
-Yeah, okay.

Go, go, go.

-Good girl, good girl.
-Thank you.

-You did good.
-You too.

The next day, Miranda decided
not to duck her own shower.

- Hey, you showed up.
-Yeah, yeah.

Bring on the ladies in hats,
and let's get this over with.

-Where'd you put all the storks?
-You said you didn't want any storks.

Yeah, I know, but...

Charlotte!

-What did you do?
-Well, it's your shower.

Oh. Can you get that, 'cause I have to
get the rest of the sandwiches,

which have all of their crusts.

Nothing cute. No ridiculous,
over-the-top baby stuff allowed.

Oh.

-Hey, Mama.
-Why are you opening the door?

Aren't you supposed to be sitting
on a lily pad, being worshipped?

What is that?

It's a four-tiered baby cake
made entirely of diapers.

-I baked it myself.
-We ordered it online.

What am I supposed to do with it?

How the hell should we know?
Didn't you want one?

No.

We're not taking it back. We've already
been seen carrying it down Park Avenue.

Definitely not Vogue.

Charlotte said it was the shower gift.

See, I told you we should've gotten
the massage certificate.

One hour,
two platters of chicken,

and 13 lawyers later,

all talk had turned to babies.

Well, almost all.

She may be 21,
but I have 21 years of experience.

I could fuck her under the table

That's good to know,

because in a three-way situation,
it could come to that.

Honey, I have tricks
she hasn't even seen.

Those Trix aren't for kids.

And no matter what happens,
she's just renting him. I own.

Exactly.

Although, I don't really own.

So it's more of
an illegal-sublet type of thing?

Yeah.

Wow.

It's a breast pump.

Oh!

You know, I didn't want you coming
to my office to borrow mine.

You know what? I have to pee.

Oh, no, wait, wait. Here.

-You take Charles.
-Oh.

Have fun, Mom.

Okay.

All right. Keep it coming, ladies.

-Let's keep the presents coming, ladies.
-Miranda.

-Yeah?
-Nothing.

-Something tells me this one's Tiffany.

That's from me.

Oh.

-That is elegant.
-Oh, my God.

That's exactly like the rattle
Trey gave me when we first...

-You okay?
-I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry, everybody.

Excuse me.

What happened?

What did I do?

-Charlotte?
-I just need to be alone right now.

Okay.

Except, you know,
you got 20 people in the other room.

-I'm sorry I ruined your shower.
-You didn't.

And there wouldn't even be
a shower to ruin if it weren't for you.

Look, I know this is hard.

And I really appreciate you trying
to be okay with me having this baby...

because I need you.

I mean, let's face it.
You're the only person in my life...

who knows how important it is to have
a cake made entirely out of diapers.

There's lotion in there too.

Oh, yeah?

And, um, baby bottles.

And a receiving blanket.

See?

I would never have known that.

You would've figured it out.

And just like that,

Miranda realized she might be
a good mother figure as well.

Uh, hello.

Somebody better go check on Mommy
in the guest bath,

'cause little bits here has wet himself.

-And myself, I might add.
-Oh.

Well, I happen to have
four tiers of diapers.

Oh, good.

Ladies, can we cut the cake
and get out of here?

-I have a three-way to go to.
-Yeah.

That's my earring.

That night,
at the birthday three-way,

Samantha made sure it happened her way.

Just so we're clear,

tonight is just about sex, not love.

So there will be no kissing
on the mouth.

Richard's lips are off-limits
to anyone but me.

What if he kisses me?

Who's up for champagne?

I'm up for anything.

Hey!

Easy, Sam.

There's more than enough of me
to go around.

You tell her, Daddy.

The one thing
Richard didn't want for his birthday

was to feel older.

-Get rid of her.
-I'm on it.

Hey.

[Carrie] It was time for the fledgling
to leave the love nest.

Anything else you want
for your birthday?

No, this is great.

Just you and me.

What about my three-way?

I have a busboy arriving at midnight.

Seriously, let's try this.

Just you and me.

Nobody else.

Oh.

Okay.

By giving Richard
what he thought he wanted,

Samantha finally got what she needed.

Monogamy.

The following night,

with a little after-hours help
from my favorite editor,

I finished the impossible.
My first Vogue piece.

And now my favorite part
of the writing process...

-print.

Congratulations, cookie.

Five hundred beautifully written words

and some of them even include
the Carrie Bradshaw agenda.

Cleverly hidden, of course.

It's a literary Where's Waldo?

When I finish a new piece,

I usually celebrate
by opening a bottle of Château La Tour.

How do you celebrate?

By buying shoes and purses.

Well, in that case, have you ever heard
of the Vogue accessories closet?

Oh, my God!

It's too good.

I'm sorry, but it's... Oh!

It's too good!

You're just like a kid
in a couture candy store.

This is too much.

How can this be?

Well, designers send us things,
and we photograph them.

-Oh, my God!
-Shh, Carrie!

Do you know what these are?

We're not even
supposed to be in here.

Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes.

I thought these were an urban shoe myth.

Now if you'll excuse me,
I'll be pillaging the men's side.

Okay. Oh, my God!

These are authentic patent leather.

And if they don't fit, so help me,
I'm gonna wear them anyway.

Oh. Crap.

Oh, they almost fit.

- Carrie.
-Yeah?

Tell me what you think
about these Versaces.

Okay. All right.

Oh!

-What do you think?
-Oh, my... What...

-What are you doing?
-I'm just showing you these briefs.

Well, don't.

Julian, pull your pants up.

Oof! Look at you in those Mary Janes.

Stop.

What happened to your wife, the dancer?

She's having an affair
with her friend, the chiropractor.

-Carrie.
-What?

I find you adorable.

You're old enough to be my father.

Hardly. Would your father wear Versaces?

Pull your pants up now.

All right. But, cookie,

as someone who really cares about you,

let me just say, I think you have
some serious issues with men.

I do right now, yes.

An older man can help you work through
some of those father issues, cookie.

Okay, don't "cookie" me, Freud.
Pants up.

Show some respect. This is Vogue.

Turns out Julian had an agenda, as well.

But it was cleverly hidden, of course.

From then on, once a month,
when I went to Vogue,

I thought it best
to work exclusively with Enid.

This new piece shows improvement,
but still positively reeks of you.

This magazine doesn't care what
Carrie Bradshaw has to say about shoes.

What does Carrie Bradshaw
know about shoes?

Enid, with all due respect,

men, I may not know,

but shoes...

Shoes, I know.

-I'm walking.
-Oh, I'm walking too.

I admit it's tempting
to wish for the perfect boss,

or the perfect parent,
or the perfect outfit.

But maybe the best any of us can do
is not quit,

play the hand we've been given,

and accessorize the outfit we've got.