At the house, Carmela and Charmaine clean up after the party. Carmela tells Charmaine that "the phone has been ringing all morning" with new social contacts. "Really," Charmaine says, trying to sound happy for her but failing. Carmela says that it's the food that did it, that everyone raved about it; Charmaine smiles tightly as Carmela adds that she couldn't have done it without Charmaine, and having her there "just made it so much fun for" Carmela. Charmaine looks down and says nothing. "Mainie, is something wrong? You got something on your mind or something?" Charmaine dissembles, "What could be wrong?" but she has tears in her voice. Carmela tells her patronizingly that it might not seem that way now, but she and Artie will get back on their feet again soon. "Carmela, I'm fine where I am," Charmaine says defensively, and when Carmela starts to say that that's not what she meant, Charmaine interrupts, "Carmela, I never wanted to tell you this -- it happened so long ago, and you and Tony, you, you weren't even married." When Carmela hears Tony's name, her raised-eyebrow look of expectancy hardens into one of hiding surprise with some effort; Charmaine says that "it's probably silly for me to even bring it up now." "What?" Carmela asks, trying to look unconcerned. Charmaine confesses that one summer, when Carmela went down the shore with her parents "and [she] and Tony were on the outs," Tony called Charmaine. "He did?" Carmela says, still making out like she doesn't find this revelation disturbing, and Charmaine says that one thing led to another, they started dating, and...when Carmela doesn't get the hint from Charmaine's facial contortions, Charmaine just outs with it: "Carmela, I slept with him." Hmm. Gee, why would she bring that up now? Unless, you know, she felt jealous of the Sopranos' money and power and wanted to put Carmela in her place? Oh, right, of course. So anyway, Carmela repeats, "You slept with -- with Tony?" "Really, it wasn't for me," Charmaine says with a dismissive shrug, and as Carmela continues to stare at her, Charmaine tells her, "Carmela, what I'm trying to say -- is stop worrying about me. Really. I mean, we both made our choices, and I'm fine with mine." She turns Carmela's condescending smile back around on her, picks up a box of catering equipment, and leaves with a self-satisfied smirk. Carmela watches her go, still looking like a deer caught in yet another set of her husband's marital-infidelity headlights.