Char, in a lovely pink and black Chanel dress, pours tea for the Charlotte, NC, possible baby donors. The husband is in a mustache that rivals any pair of ape-hangers I've seen on Monster Garage. She, the mom-to-be, is blonde. Char rattles off the amenities of their neighborhood and proximity to the best schools, not that they would send him or her to a PUBLIC school, oh no. Blonde Baby Mama says, "She. It's a she. I didn't want to know nothing about it, but I was there and they asked me, and it's a she. Ever since then, I've been thinking of little girl names." Char and Harry's faces freeze. Blonde BayMa says she likes "Tiffany" and "Britney. Any name with an 'Eeee' on the end." Char says, "We're not getting the baby, are we?" BayMa instantly bursts into tears and says no. Harry, with a perfectly controlled voice, asks why they put them through all this, then. Handlebar says, "We've never seen New York." Char contains her emotions well, but Harry has a face on him that contains disgust, anger, loathing, and a little pity. That Evan Handler is good.
Char enters Harry's office. Elizabeth Taylor's puppies sit in a basket. So cute! He's writing an angry letter to their baby lawyer. He squeezes the bridge of his nose between his eyes and asks, "How much more can we take!" Wow, Char's been in this baby-fight for a lot longer than you, pal. And she's taking this like a trouper. A real pro. Char kisses him on the head and says, "It's okay. That wasn't our baby. Our baby's still coming." Harry says he thinks "God lost our address." Char says, "We're Jews. We've been through a lot worse things than this." Yeah, you mean the Mayflower crossing, Miss Star-of-David carpetbagger? That was rough.
Sam enters her office to find flowers: Not-yet-bloomed tulips, with a note from Smith that reads, "Looking forward to spring." God, that's sweet. She picks up the phone and calls him. He's on line at catering, in animal skins and a horned helmet. Even in the comedy of it all, that helmet is better than most of the hats Carrie has donned this season. Sam says she got the flowers and the card, and "sorry to be a wet blanket," but could he please not have sex with anyone else? He says he won't. Then she upgrades her pleasant request to a firmer "Don't." He says okay. Sam, happy, says, "Cool!" Wow. This is a new Samantha!
Carrie finishes making up in her vanity, makes a satisfied little sound of "all pretty now," then says goodnight to her "gorgeous Russian." Alek sits on the sofa, looking more lost than Steve's Maaaa, fiddling with his cufflinks. He says he thinks he's having an anxiety attack. "What if they think I'm a silly old man with his light machines?" Don't you mean "when," silly old man? That light bulb contraption is straight out of the video for "Rock Your Body." Carrie takes over on cufflink duty and tries to reassure him that he will be fine. He says, quick like a bunny, "Will you come with me?" But she has her party. And she doesn't have anyone's phone number to call and cancel. And she's done absolutely everything he's asked and now she wants to do something she wants to do, for once. Sad Piano goes pling pling pling! He says he needs her there. She says, um. Then he says he'll be fine. She says, no, okay, she'll go. It's important to him. Carrie, you idiot. He takes her hand and says, "Promise you won't let go all night." She promises. Why is she falling for this needy routine? Oh, right: She's an idiot.