Cha. Cha cha. Cha cha. Cha, cha cha, cha cha, cha cha, cha cha cha cha cha cha cha! Xylophone! Bump bump. Splashy bus!
An opening at Charlotte's gallery (featuring the works of painter Ya-El, a lesbian from Brooklyn Heights), is a heady mix of upscale "power lesbians" in sharp suits and expensive purses, and the usual arty hipsters -- "a combustible mix," Carrie VOs. Charlotte is there holding the hand of her new b.f., who owns a restaurant frequented by "second-tier models and the men that buy them salad." His greasy head swivels as a good-looking chick walks by. Miranda's date is a documentary filmmaker she met at a Harvard alumni mixer, and Carrie has Sam on her arm. Sam kvetches that she didn't know the party was "B.Y.O. man." Carrie points out that it's the opening of a LESBIAN painter, and Sam says she thought straight men followed gay women around, "to see what they're going to do." Hee. Sam's man-radar goes off when she sees a hot trainer from her gym whose "squat-thrusts are a-maaay-zing." She gets ready to go over and talk with him, and Carrie instantly gets peevish. You know what, she says? She has a headache. And she's going home. Waah waah waah! Sam breathlessly offers Carrie a Percodan. You have to love a friend who's a walking drugstore. Carrie said she had a headache, not that she was just hit by a car. Sam goes off to "make new friends," and Carrie skips out as well. Not because her head aches. What's aching lies far below her head. Except during certain times. I'm talking about her loins, see.
Carrie arrives at Big's apartment posthaste. They compliment each other on the way they look, then get right down to the good and dirty stuff. Carrie VOs that keeping her recent liaisons with Big a secret from her friends is a great aphrodisiac. She's "never felt more sexy or alive." Yes, isn't hiding the truth hot?
The power lesbians walk in a pack, surveying the art through their cool eyeglass frames. They stop in front of one piece, and one woman announces that she's going to buy it: Painting Number 700. It's a very tattoo/Sailor-Jerry-inspired work: a voluptuous blonde hung on a flaming cross, with a banner that says, "Death Before Dishonor." Roses twist around the bottom. It's cool. I don't love it. Jenny Lynn is a great Philadelphia painter, along with Mark Brozdik. They do more original work. The lesbians argue over who will buy Painting Number 700. One woman says she's buying two. Ding ding ding -- rich lesbian alert, whoop whoop! Char strolls by, pleased to overhear the competitive banter. She's never sold out a show before this, Carrie VOs. Then, not good news: the gallery has run out of champagne. Char heads to the back storeroom to see if she has more and catches her new b.f. in there, making out with the chick he was gawking at earlier. "Hey, relax," he tells her. "We're just kissing." What an ass. Char wrinkles her nose and turns to leave. He hollers, "See ya out there!" And resumes kissing the other girl. What a total ass!