Sex and the City (1998–2004): Season 1, Episode 6 - Secret Sex - full transcript

Two weeks ago,
I had my picture taken.

Look up. Good, good.

It was a promotional photo
for my column...

scheduled to run
on the side of a bus.

I had misgivings...

which were somewhat mollified when
they told me I could keep the dress.

Friday night.

In lieu of any actual social life
of their own...

Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte
had all stopped by...

to live vicariously through
my first official date with Mr. Big.

Carrie!



Honey, it's fabulous.
Bravo.

It's tits on toast, baby,
but you make it work.

Let's just say it. It's the naked dress.
You're obviously gonna have sex tonight.

- Come on. It's our first date.
- She's not gonna have sex.

- She's just gonna look like sex.
- That's right. I'm just the trailer.

Please.
If it happens, it happens.

- Bottoms up.
- Wait a second.

I thought you were serious
about this guy.

You can't sleep with him
on the first date.

Here she goes again
with "The Rules."

The women who wrote that book wrote it
because they couldn't get laid...

so they constructed
this whole bullshit theory...

to make women
who can get laid feel bad.

But if you're serious about a guy,
then you have to keep him...



in a holding pattern
for at least five dates.

- You've gone up.
- Yes...

because the number of dates you wait
to have sex with a man...

is directly proportional
to your age.

Forget the math. Just don't fuck
on a first date, you're fine.

- Third date.
- Too soon.

Reality check.
A guy can just as easily dump you...

if you fuck him on the first date as
he can if you wait until the tenth.

When have you ever
been on a tenth date?

And by then, at least
you're emotionally involved.

I mean, isn't it better to find out
if the sex is good right offthe bat...

before anybody's feelings
get hurt?

- It's okay to have hurt feelings.
- And you always handle those so well.

Well, there is something
to be said for restraint.

- When did you become such a Victorian?
- The Victorians were onto something.

They valued romance.

True romance cannot exist
without good sex.

And yet you can have good sex with
someone you don't like or respect...

or even remember.

All right. Well, ladies,
I'm just going to dinner.

- Good night.
- Bye! Have fun!

Bye!

The truth is,
I was dying to sleep with him...

but isn't delayed gratification
the definition of maturity?

Interesting dress.

- Meaning?
- Interesting dress.

Don't worry. I'm perfectly capable
of restraining myself.

So am l.

I can't be hemmed in by rules.
I go with my emotions.

Some of the greatest romances of all
time began with sex on the first date.

I bet.

I will not be the first one
to speak.

And if he never calls me again,
I'll always think of him fondly...

as an asshole.

That was really--

I mean, can you believe we--
on the first date?

I mean, I didn't plan that,
you know? l--

- What do you think?
- What? Ow!

I thought it was pretty fuckin' great,
but what do I know?

You feel like
getting some Szechuan?

Had Mr. Big discovered my weakness
for great sex and greasy Chinese?

Or was going out to dinner
simply a diversionary tactic...

to keep me
from spending the night?

Before I was able
to completely indulge my paranoia...

it was my pal Mike Singer.

We've known each other
for ten years but never had sex...

because we want to know each other
f or another ten years.

- What are you doing here?
- I'm with-- I'll tell you later.

You look great.

- Not too naked?
- Just naked enough.

Hi. I'm Carrie Bradshaw.
I'm an old friend of Mike's.

I'm Libby Biyalick. It's so nice
to finally meet a friend.

So I'll call ya.

Great.
Well, have a good dinner.

Nice to meet you.

I left the table wondering why Mike
didn't want to introduce me to his date.

Again!

That very same night, something
absolutely amazing happened to Miranda.

Really good now.

Oh, my God!
I'm so sorry!

- I didn't mean-- Are you okay?
- She met someone in gym class.

Are you-- Oh, God.

- Are you sure you're okay?
- I'm fine.

So what exactly about my head
pissed you off?

I wish there was something
I could do.

Well, you can buy me dinner sometime
and a CAT scan.

His name was Ted Baker.
He was 32, a sports medicine doctor...

with an apartment
overlooking the Natural History Museum.

Three prior serious relationships,
none resulting in marriage.

Kiss to make it better.

So, really,
can I call you sometime?

Sure.

He left a message
on my machine when I got home.

He wants to go out this week.

- That's fantastic.
- No. It's too quick.

I think maybe that kick in his head
scrambled his brains.

No. Too quick is sleeping with him
on the first date. That's too quick.

You both got excited, and you
went for it. Stop blaming yourself.

I don't blame myself.
I blame the dress.

The dress. The dress led me on,
had a lif e of its own.

Then we went to this Chinese restaurant,
and you'll never guess who I ran into.

- Mike Singer out on a date.
- The whole world's in love.

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

He was acting very weird, like he--
Iike he didn't want me to meet her.

- What's her name?
- Her name was Libby Biyalick.

Mike told me everything that afternoon
while I helped him pick out sheets...

at Bed, Bath & Beyond.

So how long
have you been seeing her?

A while.

Is this a painful topic?

No. It's just she's not
someone I date openly.

- Why? ls she married?
- No.

- Is she a cousin?
- No.

Look.

The thing is, she's smart,
incredibly sweet, and sex is great.

She's just not the one
I see myself with.

Why not?

It was about three months ago.

Mike had been dumped by Fiona Brooks,
a cellist for the Philharmonic...

who he was trying to forget
as quickly as possible.

They had both loved to cook, and
shopping was a Saturday morning ritual.

So he was feeling
particularly vulnerable when--

Care to try some aged
sheep's milk cheese from the Alps?

Thanks.

- It's good.
- It's made by monks.

- Really?
- Trappist monks.

Fresh goat cheese
from the Napa Valley.

It's delicious.

It's a triple cream from France.

Mike found himself
very uninhibited.

Since he didn't think Libby
was that gorgeous...

there wasn't any pressure.

The next morning,
he woke up and felt at ease...

very relaxed.

I'm a creative director
of an ad agency...

but eventually
I'd love to have my own shop.

I'd love to have my own shop too.

Well, cheese shop, I mean.

She was one of the only women
he'd ever met...

who he felt
he could just be with.

So what's the problem?

Look. She's not beautiful...

and we don't
have a lot in common.

I mean, most of her friends
are in dairy.

But she's warm
and unpretentious...

and it was the best sex
I've ever had in my life.

What are you afraid of?
What are other people going to think?

All I know is that she's not the right
woman for me in the larger sense...

so I keep her a secret.

I couldn't decide whether Mike
was being shallow or honest...

but the question
nagged me for days.

How many of us out there
are having great sex...

with people we're ashamed
to introduce to our friends?

Have I ever had fabulous sex
with someone I didn't want to admit to?

Did I ever tell you about that
jazz musician who lived with his mother?

- Yeah. Alex.
- What about the window washer?

The one who doesn't
wear any underwear?

I met this gorgeous kid
in Spy Bar last year. He was--

He turned out
to be in high school.

Evidently, Samantha
had had lots of sex...

none of which was secret.

Fine. It just proves that I'm not
ashamed of anyone I've slept with.

Here it is.

Up here.

You look--

- Naked.
- There it was--

the dress that led me down
the garden path with Mr. Big.

- I shouldn't be embarrassed?
- No. You look fabulous.

Besides, there's no such thing
as bad publicity.

Yeah. You would say that.
You're a publicist.

You know, we need
to go someplace absolutely fabulous...

where we can toast you
where the bus goes by.

- And you can invite Mr. Big.
- No. I don't think so.

I haven't heard from him
since we spent the night together.

Sweetie, forget about him. You
are going to be on the side of a bus.

Ten million men are going to be
drooling over you on their way to work.

It's the best personal ad
I've ever seen in my life.

Samantha
had a particular knack...

for turning a desperate situation
into a hopeless one.

Speaking of secret sex...

did Charlotte ever tell you
about the rabbi?

The rabbi?

- Excuse me?
- You know who I'm talking about.

I cannot believe the two of you came
down here to interrogate me at work.

I'm sorry. It's my fault.

Anyway,
he wasn't a rabbi.

He was a Hasidic folk artist
from Brooklyn.

Close enough.

Evidently, Charlotte had seen
Shmuel's work in an exhibition...

and scheduled an appointment
to meet him at his studio.

These are outstanding.
So much life.

You have a beautiful way
with light.

Thank you.

This one is really special.

That's my yeshiva.

I wanted to
capture the exuberance of youth.

Charlotte quickly became intoxicated
by his talent...

his strangeness
and the smell of his wool.

Magical.

It was so sexy, so forbidden.

Daddy's little Episcopalian princess in
the arms of one of God's chosen people.

So we would talk about art and sex
and the Torah.

Why didn't you introduce him
to anybody?

I was embarrassed.

I mean, I could really date him,
and he couldn't date me.

I mean, what would people think?

If the sex is good,
who cares what anybody thinks?

Now, you cannot put this
in your column.

- Promise.
- I promise.

Was secret sex
the ultimate form of intimacy...

since it existed in a pure state
exempt from the judgment of the world?

Or is it just another way
in which we deny our feelings...

and emotionally
compartmentalize our lives?

- Hello?
- Do you miss me yet?

- Who is this?
- How have you been?

Great.

Fabulous. Fantastic, actually.
And you?

Well, at the risk
of sounding trite...

I haven't been able
to stop thinking about you.

I adore trite.

Listen. We should
have a real first date.

You know? The traditional American kind.
Dinner and a movie.

Of course, knowing us,
we'll skip the movie.

Just as long
as we don't skip dinner.

What a relief! I had just escaped
the "sex on the first date" curse.

That weekend,
I was out with a man...

whose name
I wanted to shout from the rooftops.

Let me get this straight.
Your picture is going to be on a bus?

That's right.

A crosstown bus
or a downtown bus?

The M2. Goes right down Fifth.

- That's a good line.
- I'm getting together...

a group of my friends tomorrow afternoon
to watch it go by.

I thought maybe
if you weren't doing anything--

How are you?

- Good to see you.
- You remember Phyllis.

Of course.
Phyllis. How are you?

- Everything good?
- Yeah. Everything's dandy.

That's what I hear.

- Good to see you.
- Good to see you again.

- Good seeing you. Bye.
- Bye-bye. Cheers.

- Who was that?
- Just some guy I skied with in Aspen.

I didn't understand. Had I suddenly
become the invisible woman?

I tried
not to let it bother me.

I also tried not to let it bother me
that he took me back to Fung Wa...

scene of our postcoital dinner.

Oh, I can't
make your party tomorrow.

Oh, no. I wanted to introduce you
to some of my friends.

Well, I'll be home later
if you miss me.

As I surveyed the room...

I realized it smelled like a cheap date
you don't want anyone to meet.

I told Mr. Big I was on a deadline
and I had to get home.

- Hello?
- Listen. I have a question.

Of all the restaurants in Manhattan,
why did you take Libby to Fung Wa?

Well, it's pretty obscure.

There's not much of a chance
of running into anybody I know.

You mean it's the kind of place...

men take women they don't want
to be seen with in public?

Yes. It is perfect for that.

- Sorry.
- The evidence was mounting.

Was it possible that I
had become Mr. Big's secret sex girl?

The next morning, Miranda discovered
a shocking sex secret of her own.

She had just
spent a wonderful night with Ted...

who had to leave early in the morning to
catch a flight to D.C. for a conference.

- I can go home. It's no big deal.
- No. Stay. It's 6:00 A.M.

I'll be back tonight.
You want to do something?

- I'd love to.
- I'll call you at work.

Have a good flight.

Miranda waited
for the dead bolt to drop...

and then used the opportunity
to ransack Ted's apartment...

and look for pictures
of old girlfriends.

She was not at all prepared
for what she found.

Yeah. Do you feel your cock
where it wants to be every night?

Every single night
when you come home...

and everything's done in the house,
and I've been doing it all day--

I don't know what to do.
I can't admit to having found this...

but now I don't know
if I want to see him again.

How can you judge him
till you spank him?

- I'm only kidding.
- But obviously this is what he's into.

Maybe it's just his fantasy life.

Later that day,
the cream of New York...

gathered to toast
the maiden voyage of my bus.

- Where's Mr. Big?
- He couldn't make it.

- What do you mean, he couldn't make it?
- I don't know. It was a work thing.

But this is your bus party.

I told you you shouldn't have--
Well, never mind.

What? He's not here because
I slept with him on the first date?

Yes. When you sleep with a man
on the first date...

the relationship will never
be anything more than just sex.

- Cheers.
- I didn't want to admit she was right.

Here it comes!

I just wanted to see my bus
and get the hell out of there.

Oh, shit.

Carrie! Did I miss it?

Not yet. No. I thought
you were going to bring Libby.

Yeah. I finally ask her
to join me in public; she turns me down.

Why?

She told me she met somebody else who
doesn't have my problems with intimacy.

I'm sorry.

Quiet.

Here you come.

Don't worry, sweetie.
Don't worry.

Nobody in New York notices a bus
until it's about to him them.

That's right.

Meanwhile, Miranda spent
another wonderful evening with Ted...

and began
to reevaluate her options.

That was one of the most amazing meals
I have ever had. Thank you.

My pleasure.

You know, I missed you today.

You did?

I guess I've just been waiting all
this time for a good kick in the head.

And here I thought that all
you really wanted was a good spanking.

- Excuse me?
- You heard me.

Ted didn't take Miranda home
that night.

He never took her calls
or returned her messages....

and she never saw him
at the gym again.

Very late that night, fueled by
a massive quantity of champagne...

I decided
to say good-bye to Mr. Big.

I just came here to tell you that
if you're embarrassed...

or ashamed to be
involved with me in any way...

that we can no longer
see each other.

The truth is, I blame myself.

I wore the naked dress
on our first date.

I slept with him too f ast...

and now I'm on a Fifth Avenue bus
with a penis on my head.

-What are you talking about?
-You won't introduce me to your friends.

You bring me back
to that restaurant...

where men take women
they don't want to be seen with.

You won't come out
and meet my friends.

You have me in a niche. Certain events.
Certain restaurants. Certain people.

Like I'm only a particular fragment
of the kind of person...

you think you should be dating.

But I've only
gotten to know a particular fragment...

although I'm beginning
to know more.

No. This is not me. This is me
reacting to your perception of me.

Well...

I think Fung Wa's
is the best Chinese food in the city...

so that's why we went there.

And...

the guy we met in the street,
and I couldn't remember his name--

which possibly means
I have Alzheimer's--

so that's what that was about.

And this afternoon I had
courtside tickets to the Knicks...

and that's all, folks.

I should have been jumping f r joy,
but I only felt a hard knot of fear.

So you and me--

then maybe this is for real?

Could be.