Downstairs at Saks, the surprises keep coming. Trista opens her purse and pulls out a set of keys, telling Charlie, "We have the keys to our own Aston Martin." Charlie fills in the gaps for those of us who lack fully actualized manhood clichés, alerting her, "This is every man's dream -- you know that, don't you?" Julius Caesar? Yes. His dream, too. Suddenly we're steaming, fast and furious, Vin-Diesel-is-my-co-pilot-style, down what I'll guess is La Cienega. We land in front of a fancy fancy restaurant, the inside of which is festooned in candles and rose petals, and empty. Charlie and Trista toast with champagne glasses held high, and Trista takes a swig and visibly relaxes in a way that makes me very, very nervous. Charlie tells us that having one-on-one time with Trista is the best way to "get that one-on-one time that I'd been hoping to get with her." Totally. Totally.
Back at the table, Charlie and Trista are already holding hands, Charlie asking Trista to tell him something about her that nobody else knows. She slurs, "Like, you reaching out and grabbing my hand." Not. Whatever. This is where you bust out and come clean about your third nipple or your jailed pappy or maybe even your fourth nipple or your fifth nipple. You don't swear someone to a vow of secrecy that you "like to be cuddled." That is such a bullshit answer. Charlie almost blows it when he kind of unromantically agrees with me, volleying back, "Yeah, but little things are the easiest to do." Trista thinks they can already finish each other's sentences. Which they can, provided that there is a rapid and dramatic shift in the ideological framework of said sentence: "And they mean the most." Charlie, relieved: "Exactly." Seriously, people, a show of hands from those of you who believe that drunken hand-holding usually means nothing. You can stop drunkenly holding hands for a second to put your hands up. And, kissing, Charlie copping a feel and copping to the fact that "you don't know how long I've been waiting to do this." In the twelve minutes you've known each other? Maybe, I don't know, twelve minutes? Charlie tells us that this romantic setting seemed the perfect opportunity "to try to really get inside Trista." Whoa whoa WHOA! Back at the table, Charlie basically gives Trista an ultimatum that he doesn't want to be involved romantically with Trista if she is "intimate" with another guy on the show. He would consider it an act of "betrayal," which is easy for him to say, since he's not choosing from twenty-five Tristas and doesn't have to worry about testing the merchandise when she's got a monopoly on that which can be -- as Charlie so eloquently puts it -- "gotten inside of." Charlie tells us that he does indeed want a rose from Trista, adding, "To tell you the truth, I'm really excited about trying to get onto the next level and having her meet my parents." These poor families. Have you ever been good friends with anyone who spent any real amount of time on a reality show? Because it fucks you up good, America, and these families just don't deserve it.