Sex and the City (1998–2004): Season 1, Episode 4 - Valley of the Twenty-Something Guys - full transcript

Once upon a time,
in a kingdom far away,

a certain man
and a slightly less certain woman

kept bumping into one another.

They seemed to meet everywhere.

On street corners.

At parties.

It was almost as if
they were dating accidentally.

And then, after another chance meeting

at a wealthy lawyer's new son's briss,

they decided to pick a time
to bump into each other on purpose.

Saturday, 10:30.
The hottest new restaurant in Manhattan.



Samantha's PR firm
was handling the opening.

- Hi.
- Hey.

So, isn't Brian great?

Charlotte had a new boyfriend.

He had her big three -
looks, manners, money.

He wants to buy a painting from my gallery.

Love and a commission,
she couldn't have been happier.

- All right, it's official, he's late.
- Who?

- Mr Big, who else?
- Carrie, that's great! Is it a date?

No, he called it a '"thing'".
He said meet me for a drink thing.

He never used the '"D'" word.

Well, thing is good.
Thing comes before date.

Let's hope so. All right,
I'm gonna go in. See you in there.

Where did Skipper go?



How can you date that younger guy?
They're so unfocused.

We're not dating, it's a fuck thing.

Girls, isn't this fun?
I've turned away 20 so far.

People are actually crying.

Something came up.
He's not gonna meet me.

Listen to this and tell me
if he's not meeting me as a date

- or not meeting me as a friend.
- All right.

Sometimes you need a second opinion -
with doctors, real estate... men!

Well?

I have no idea.
And I finished first in my litigation class.

How pathetic do I feel
asking you if a guy kinda likes me?

- There you are!
- Hey!

Carrie, Miranda,
this is the hottest chef in New York, Jon.

Jon. J-o-n. No '"H'", no last name.

His strudel
was so fabulous he didn't need one.

- And this is his very cute friend, Sam.
- Hey.

Sam? Who's named Sam?

- Me. Can I get you a drink?
- Oh, good luck, the bar is packed.

No problem,
the bartender's a buddy of mine.

- Miranda?
- Martini.

20-something guys always know
the really important '"B'" people -

busboys, bouncers.

Plus, they have cute butts.

That's The Times critic. I'd better go.

Did I mention I'm sleeping with him?

Skipper!

He's lost. We gotta...

They stopped making martinis,
I got rum and Cokes, is that OK?

Well, I hate rum
and I hate Coke, but thanks.

- Martinis, ladies?
- Well, look at you.

- I was a waiter at TGIF.
- Fabulous.

- Hey.
- Hey.

- Sam.
- Skipper.

They liked each other immediately.

You want to see something?

Can you narrow that down a little bit?

Wait. I didn't...

No fair! Do it over. Let me see.

- Hey!
- Hey!

- It's you.
- I've been looking all over for you.

And here you are, holding a tongue.

- Your message said you weren't coming.
- I said I'd try to make it for an hour.

Well, yeah, but then you said that...

- What did I say?
- Never mind, never mind.

You're here, you have an hour.
Let's have a drink.

I was outside trying to get in for 30 minutes,
and inside looking for you for 20.

That leaves me with just
enough time to tell you that, I'm out of time.

You have fun.

Men in their 40s are like
The New York Times crossword puzzle.

Tricky, complicated, and you're never sure
you've got the right answer.

This place is tired.

- Do you want to get out of here?
- Sure.

Why not?

A short cab ride later,
Samantha, Jon, no '"H'", Sam and I

found ourselves at the nearby
20-something club.

I can't believe you made
Jon leave his own opening.

He's too happening to be
seen someplace borderline tired.

It was a tough town,
hot places had the life span of a medfly.

- Samantha, everybody is in their 20s.
- And so are we.

As I glanced around the room, I was amazed
at the variety of 20-something guys.

The groovy guy.

The corporate guy.

The jock guy.

The underage guy.

There you are! How are you?

- Big couch.
- Oh, here.

I don't weigh too much?

You weigh like nothing.

What's cuter than that?

As we took a swig
from our pony-necked beers,

I remembered another
type of 20-something guy.

So, what's it like to kiss with that thing in?

You want to find out?

The really good kisser guy.

Hello.

- I am so fucked.
- What's wrong?

No, I mean, literally.
I've been fucked every way you can be.

If you keep talking like that,
I'll have to charge you by the minute.

As I searched for my morning Marlboro Light,

Samantha proceeded to give me
a run down of her night with Jon.

No '"H'", no inhibitions.

We did it with him on top. Me on top.

Me on my side.

Him on his side?

Oh, my God, yes.

On his back, on his side, on his face.

- Have you ever done that?
- It's too early to remember.

Well, do it immediately. It is fabulous.

These guys in their 20s, are up for anything.

How did it go with you and Sam?

We kissed.

Just kissed?

No. We just kissed for five hours,

at the club, in front of the club,
on the corner of the club.

I forgot how much fun it is
to just kiss, you know,

even if I did only get
two hours sleep.

I didn't sleep at all.

As Samantha went on about
her sexual escapades, I glanced at my arm.

There it was in Bic blue.

20-something Sam's phone number.

I had this urge to call but I'd just left him.
My lips were still swollen.

Why this sudden craving?

Are men in their 20s the new designer drug?

Yes, Samantha, Miranda and I
were all recreational users,

but were we getting into
something we couldn't handle?

OK, we were attracted to younger men
for various reasons.

But I couldn't help but wonder,
what do they see in us?

Women in their 30s are just so grateful.

Every bullshit, nice thing you do
is like throwing food to the starving.

They give great head
and know a lot about wine.

They remind me of my mom.

They know who they are
and what they want. And I like that.

Two words - smart, pussy.

Later that week,
Miranda and I compared notes.

Shouldn't we be dating men our own age?

Good luck finding one. There are no
available men in their 30s in New York.

Giuliani had them removed
along with the homeless.

What's really going on here?
I mean, is it younger men feel safer?

What's really going on here is sex.

Good old-fashioned, eager to please,
do what I tell you to, eagle scout sex.

But I'm not having sex.
It's a kissing thing.

So what's the big deal? It's just a fling.

It's not like we're throwing out
our schedules or anything.

Sweetie, I gotta go.
I'm late for a meeting with my editor.

I didn't want to tell her
I cancelled lunch with my editor

to go to Banana Republic
and help 20-something Sam pick a shirt.

As I helped him try them on, I thought
he's sweet, fun, and I think he likes me.

Could he be more than a fling?

Could he be a potential boyfriend?

Please. This isn't Gap.

And speaking of potential boyfriends.

Later that week the crossword puzzle
asked me to meet him for a drink, blank.

Not quite a date, five letters, starts with '"T'".

Whoever this is, I can't talk.
I'm late for a drink thing.

I just need five minutes. I'm meeting Brian
later and I don't know what to do.

- About what?
- Well, last night after a movie,

we were walking down 2nd Avenue...

Four minutes, Charlotte!

I can't just blurt
out what he asked me, it's embarrassing.

What did the perfect boyfriend ask?

Meet me in front of your
apartment in ten minutes.

OK, words are essential.
Tell me exactly how he worded it.

We've been seeing each other
for a couple of weeks. I really like you.

Tomorrow night after dinner,
I want us to have anal sex.

OK, next stop is gonna be
62nd and Madison.

- 62nd and Madison?
- We're picking up Miranda.

- No, God, no.
-Yes, and then we're picking up Samantha.

Sweetie, you need all the support
you can get and I'm late for drinks with Big.

Oh, that's great.

Even in her state of abject blackness,
Charlotte was a dating optimist.

- It all depends. How much do you like him?
- A lot.

Dating a few months until
someone better comes along a lot?

Or marrying him and moving
to East Hampton a lot?

I don't know. I'm not sure.

Well, you better get sure real quick.

- You're scaring me.
- Don't scare her.

It's all about control.

If he goes up there,
there's going to be a shift in power.

Either he'll have the upper hand or you will.

There's a camp that believes whoever
holds the dick, holds the power, but...

Hello! You're driving.

The question is - if he goes up your butt,
will he respect you more or less?

That's the issue.

No, no-smoking cab.

Sir, we're talking up the butt.
A cigarette is in order.

Front, back, who cares?
A hole is a hole.

- Can I quote you?
- Don't be judgmental.

You could use a little back door.

- I'm not a hole.
- Honey, we know.

Look, all I'm saying is,
that this is a physical expression

that the body
was designed to experience.

And PS, it's fabulous.

What are you talking about?
I went to Smith.

I'm just saying with the right guy,
and the right lubricant...

- What was that?
- A preview.

Well, I can't believe it.

Same time, same place.
Just you and me.

Well, sort of. Meet my friend, Jack.

Hi, how are you?

Marvellous. My second divorce. The bitch
is getting everything the first didn't.

There he was, right in the middle
of my drink thing - Mr Marvellous.

Jesus, look at that beautiful woman.

I'm gonna go ask her
to join us for dinner. Excuse me.

He called me, crying.

Do you forgive me?

Here's what.

Why don't you two have a guys' night?

You know, talk, cry, shoot bear.

I'm way behind on my column anyway.

Here. Next round on me.

We'll do our thing another time.

Are you sure?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

I didn't know what I was supposed to feel.

Confused, sad, rejected?

I decided to walk to clear my head.

Also, I just left my cab fare on the table.

So I walked.
I walked 48 blocks in $400 shoes.

I just needed something
to take the edge off.

A little kiss to make me feel better.

But now, it wasn't working -
I wasn't getting the same rush.

Tonight, I needed more.

Uptown, Charlotte wondered when
relationships had gotten so complicated.

She yearned for the time when dinner
was followed by dessert, not lubricant.

I can't, Brian.
I want to, but I can't.

Actually, that's not true.
I don't want to.

Or maybe I do. I don't know what I want.
I'm afraid if I don't, you'll dump me

and if I do, then I'll be the up-the-butt girl.
I don't want to be the-up-the-butt girl.

Men don't marry the up-the-butt girl.
Who ever heard of Mrs Up-the-butt?

No, no, no. I can't.

I want children and nice bedding.

I just can't handle this right now.

Can we fuck the regular way?

Yes, please.

That night they made love
the Charlotte way...

polite and respectful
on 300 count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Meanwhile, downtown...

That was really great.

- You know.
- Yeah?

When you lay like that,

you have the cutest little wrinkles
on your neck.

Samantha realised as long as
she dated someone younger,

she would always be older.

She gave up 20-somethings
right then and there.

As Samantha went cold turkey...

I got in deeper and deeper.

- That was...
- Totally awesome.

I was hooked. Gone.

Who cares about age, crossword puzzles,
the cab money I'd left on the table?

This felt so good.
I'd do anything to keep this high.

And just when I thought
I couldn't get any higher.

He spooned me.

I woke up wanting more, or maybe not.

In the grey morning light,
everything looked completely different.

Candles from Urban Outfitter,
dirty laundry, a pizza box.

Suddenly, reality hit.

I'm in a 20-something apartment.

- Morning, babe.
- Morning.

Fuck! I had this amazing dream.

My father and my ex-girlfriend
were, like, dead or something.

How you doing? Nice to see you.

- Coffee, I need coffee.
- It's in the kitchen.

And I had these big hands,
like big aluminium hands.

And I lived in this like big missile silo
that was totally nuclear

surrounded by like my enemies and shit,
and one by one, they'd run at me.

They got inside somehow.
I don't remember, but they'd run at me

and I would crush them to pieces
with my big aluminium hands.

I, like, crushed this one guy.
He had no face and stuff, but I crushed him.

I could crush anything
with these big fucking hands, man.

You don't have any coffee,
you don't have any coffee filters.

Oh, I'll make that.
That's all right.

Oh! And you were in the dream.

As this beautiful unicorn woman
with glass eyes.

You, coffee. Me, bathroom.

That would make a kick-ass song,
wouldn't it?

- Unicorn woman.
- Coffee.

Oh, that's my roommate.

Every fibre in my 30-something being
was screaming, you're too old for this.

And just when I thought
I couldn't sink any lower.

I need toilet paper!

I'm just using the last
of it to make the coffee.

I decided the way to break free was to move
from one addiction to an even bigger one.

Shoes.

A couple of blocks
and way too much money later,

I realised I had just entered
an interesting chapter in my life.

I had out-grown the boys of my past and
not quite grown into the men of my future.

Hi, how are ya?

Why is it in a city of ten million men,

you always see the one you don't want
and never see the one you...

- Hi.
- Hi.

- What are you doing down there?
- Oh, it's a wobbly table.

Guess I have the touch.
Would you care to join us?

Hinge.

What?

Your crossword puzzle.
Five letter word, to bring together. Hinge.

Well, nice seeing you. Bye.

Excuse me.

Just so you know, I would have gotten
hinge on my own. Maybe.

I have no doubt.

Now Jack's hooked up, I'm single again.
Maybe we could have dinner sometime?

I don't know. I'm good at crossword puzzles.
I'm not so good at people puzzles.

Anywhere you want. Just you and me.

Call me.

As I walked away, I had a thought -

maybe all men are a drug.
Sometimes they bring you down

and sometimes, like now,
they get you so high.

Damn.

It would have been so cool
if I hadn't looked back.