C.C. visits Lemon's office wanting advice on what to do about her secret relationship with Jack. Lemon protests, explaining that she had a Three Musketeers bar for breakfast, but when pressed she implies to C.C. that no man is worth compromising for. Then she remembers that yesterday was her birthday.
Jack is startled to see C.C. waiting for him in his office. She has agreed to settle out with Sheinhardt to the tune of $5 million for each child who was turned orange by their toxic dumping. She wants their relationship to go public, but Jack hesitates, afraid that his colleagues may still harbor resentment towards her. C.C. realizes she has sacrificed too much for a man who isn't ready for commitment and she regrets having taken the advice of a woman who tapes her bras together. "Lemon," grumbles Jack. C.C. puts on a wig for disguise and heads for the freight elevator. "Everybody looks good in a Sheinhardt," says Jack.
Jack derisively thanks Lemon for talking C.C. into going public with their relationship. They stop in front of the elevator. "You just don't understand what I'm going through," bemoans Jack. "Nobody understands what I'm going through." The elevator opens up and folksy political strategist/folksy TV personality James Carville is standing inside. Next floor: ladies underwear, magic, lawn equipment, and bi-partisan sex. Carville tells Jack that if he's worried about the opinion of his peers he should get out in front of the story, Cajun style, and break the news on his own terms...Cajun style. A series of sharp pain in my groin, knees, and back reminds me of that not long for this world HBO drama K Street that had no script, no sense of humor, no Larry David, and plenty of James Carville. Turns out Tina Fey writes for Carville better than Carville does.
Jack asks C.C. to bring him his John Legend CD, but when she arrives he takes her to his executive dining room, taps on his glass, calling everyone to attention, and amid the audible gasps and/or contained chortles of the company men, he introduces his lover C.C. to the crowd -- his liberal hippy-dippy momma. "I'm Jack Donaghy, damn it, and this is my woman." The gesture does not go unnoticed and soon a man stands up and admits to contributing money to NPR. That's nothing. "My children go to public school," says a woman in the dinner crowd. "I'm gay" announces an old man; "I'm black" reveals a young one. C.C. is so grateful to the crowd that she admits to having voted for Reagan in 1984. Applause explodes from the audience.