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Sex and the City Season 2 Episode 5



205. Four Women and a Funeral


There are only two times when it's appropriate...
...to wear the little black dress in daylight.
One involves leaving a party way too late.
The other involves leaving the party way too early.
The New York funeral.
Javier was a hot Cuban designer and the toast of the New York fashion elite.
He was also a good friend.
I had known him since he was Harvey.
Javier loved clothes. Unfortunately, he loved heroin more.
Wow, look at you!
You like?
Isn't it a little wrong to wear a dead man's design to his own funeral?
It's wrong not to.
Besides, at $2,000, I better get some wear out of it.
$2,000? You're kidding.
Marked up 30 percent since yesterday.
That's the thing about New York. You're always more popular when we are around.
I have to look fabulous. Everyone is gonna be there.
Reminder, honey: this is a funeral, not Friday night at Bond Street.
That's your grief talking. Get your purse, let's go.
Sorry I'm late.
-Is everyone in town invited to this? -Carrie invited me.
You got invited with a guest?
We were supposed to see a great show together.
That dress is really inappropriate.
Apparently, Charlotte and I were the inappropriate ones.
There it was, Javier's entire new spring line. It was his best show ever.
Everyone's wearing a Javier.
Told you.
Lend me your hat, please?
Fine.
But if anyone asks, it was a gift from the designer.
Christ, my heels keep getting stuck.
So much for death with dignity.
Hello. Buenos dias.
Look at the number they did on Josephina.
She is beautiful.
She wasn't a week ago.
Josephina was Javier's sister and heir apparent to the Javier industry.
In a day she had gone from ugly duckling to Donatella Versace.
Death definitely became her.
You're smoking at a funeral?
Javier would have wanted it that way.
We are asking today that in Javier's memory...
...all donations be made to Javier House...
...a home we are building to house those in the fashion industry...
...who suffer from substance abuse.
No, don't.
-No? -No.
I'm gonna help them raise money.
That's unusually nice of you.
Forget nice, the mailing list will be priceless.
And I'll have every unlisted 212 number in Manhattan.
You had to give Samantha credit. She always saw the positive.
One man's death was another woman’s PR opportunity.
Josephina, I'm Samantha Jones from Samantha Jones Public Relations.
I was so touched by your speech that I wanted to...
I'm sorry.
It's nothing to lose your hat over.
She loved hats. It's...fitting really.
Your mother?
My wife.
I'm so sorry.
It's okay. Thanks.
Kids?
Nope.
It's just a drink. He works on the same block as my gallery.
You picked up a man at a cemetery?
He's really handsome and he went to Princeton.
-The widower thing is a definite no-no. -Why?
The dead wife factor.
It doesn’t matter how bitchy she was alive, now she's dead...
...and you're the bitch who can't live up to her.
-Shouldn't you talk about his wife like that? -See? Happening already.
It's not his fault she died.
And besides, I think going through something like that makes him more sensitive.
He's felt really deeply. He's in touch with his emotions. It's kind of romantic.
Think about it. He's been married. It shows he can commit.
Then date a divorced guy. They've committed and everyone's still alive.
It didn't work for Big.
All the marriage did was convincing him he hated committing.
You broke up with him.
So I'm the one with the commitment problem?
I'm just saying....
While we were watching them break ground on Javier's last location...
...Miranda was breaking new ground of her own.
So, it's just you?
Yep. Just me.
Such a big apartment to buy for just you.
I have a lot of shoes.
Maybe the boyfriend will move in?
No boyfriend. Just me.
I have a son who owns his own business.
No, thanks. I'll take it.
With that, Ms. Miranda Hobbes Esquire, a.k.a. "just me"...
...bought herself her first apartment and promptly took herself out for a drink.
While Miranda was out celebrating her future...
...I was in contemplating my own.
In a city that moves so fast, you get the Sunday paper on Saturday...
...how did any of us know how much time we had left?
There was so much I hadn't done. I'd never been to Greece.
I hadn't finished painting my bathroom My Visa bill still wasn't paid in full.
Hell, sometimes I felt like I was barely living.
Hello.
It's just me.
So, how are you?
Just got back from a funeral.
And you thought of me? I'm flattered.
Listen...do you want to have dinner some time?
I'd like to have dinner any old time. Who am I having dinner with?
Me.
In that case, I better check my book.
-I'm hanging up now. -Fine. Saturday, 8:00, Roberto's. Be there or be square.
God, you're old.
It was so easy. Just like that, I had made a Saturday night date with Big.
In under 30 seconds, we had resuscitated a relationship...
...that had taken six months to die.
The next day, Samantha set out to break some records of her own.
You know, I rarely make personal contributions.
We'd love to have you on the Javier House board.
Maybe in this case you can make an exception?
I'll tell you what's exceptional.
Getting solicited by a woman as beautiful as you.
Richard Cranwell, senior partner at Bear Sterns...
...philanthropist, playboy. His specialty was hostile takeovers.
Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Cranwell.
Please, call me Dick.
Dick.
In Samantha's case, it was more like a friendly merger.
Perhaps we could discuss Javier House over dinner sometime.
I believe that could be arranged.
Samantha groped Cranwell for the good of all strung-out designers everywhere.
Unfortunately, she was not expecting Sandy Cranwell...
...back early from groping a sweater set at Bendels.
Get out.
I'll just leave the proposal.
Apparently, Sandy was not feeling as charitable as her husband.
Meanwhile, at her mortgage company across town...
...Miranda was having her own troubles closing the deal.
So, it's just you.
Yeah, just me.
Check the "single woman" box. Initial.
And the down payment's coming from your father?
No. Just me.
Check the "single woman" box.
In the course of one hour...
...Miranda had checked more single women’s boxes than her gynecologist.
I'm telling you, if I was a single man, none of this would be happening.
If you were a single man, I'd date you.
I've got the money, I've got a great job, and I still get, "it's just you?"
They're threatened. Buying a place alone means you don't need a man.
I don't.
Everyone needs a man. That's why I rent.
If you own and he still rents, then the power structure is all off.
It's emasculating.
Men don't want a woman who's too self-sufficient.
I'm sorry, did someone just order a Victorian straight up?
I'm sorry, Miss Jones, your card's not accepted.
That's not possible. Try it again.
Maybe I'm not making myself clear. Your card and you are not accepted here.
Samantha had messed with the wrong woman.
Sandy Cranwell practically owned Manhattan and she wanted Samantha off it.
Come on, let's go.
Sandy Cranwell had done what any well-heeled socialite would do.
She took out a social hit on Samantha.
In 12 hours, Sam had gone from "a" list to blacklist.
The next night, Charlotte met Ned the widower for drinks.
This was fun. Maybe we could meet for a real meal next time.
I'd like that.
They talked about architecture, art, the Ivy League.
The ex-wife wasn’t even in the picture...
Is this her?
...until the ex-wife's picture showed up.
Yeah.
She's so pretty.
Let's get out of here, okay?
I'm sorry. That was really thoughtless of me. I know this must be hard for you.
It's just a little weird talking about her on a date.
I understand.
It's a beautiful night. Are you okay?
I'm sorry.
It's just… Seeing Liz's picture and thinking about her....
Oh, God! I'm sorry.
Here.
Ordinarily, Charlotte hated when men cried.
But on Ned, it only made him more romantic.
Wow. So embarrassing. I'm just...feeling so much right now.
Those were magic words to Charlotte's ears.
It's okay. You just take as much time as you need.
Okay? It's okay.
Apparently, all the time Ned needed was 45 minutes.
That night, under the watchful eyes of a dead woman...
...Ned came back to life...twice.
One word:
-Rebound. -Not rebound when the other person's dead.
She has a point.
He's moving on. I'm helping him to get over his wife.
This guy has "project" written all over him.
That's not fair.
So how was the sex?
Amazing. It was like Liz was looking over us, giving us her blessing.
A threesome in absentia.
I mean, my hat blew right into her headstone.
She was clearly sending a message.
Yeah, "don't fuck my husband, you hat-loving bitch."
He invited me to a memorial service at her grave next week.
That is huge.
Excuse me, but when did cemeteries get so happening?
It's a sign that he's ready to move on. And he's ready to do it with me.
You're saying you fucked him back to life?
In a way, yes.
Man, you're good.
That night I had my date with Big.
I was feeling everything...fear, happiness, dread.
Was I ready to jump back into a life with Big in it?
Was seeing him again a huge mistake? And if it was...why was I so excited?
I had never felt so confused.
Was Charlotte right?
In a world where everyone's dying to make a connection...
...can a relationship bring you back to life?
I never really thought about it.
Come on, everybody wonders what happens after you die.
I'm too busy wondering who's dinging my car in the garage.
I think we reincarnate.
That's the easy way out. What are you gonna come back as?
Someone who knows better.
You smell nice.
I'm serious.
-Do you believe in heaven? -Yeah.
Really? What's your idea of heaven?
A big bed. And they're just saying, "Come on in."
Your idea of heaven is a bed?
It depends on who's in it.
I'm not sleeping with you tonight.
I thought we were just having dinner.
We are.
A half hour later, and I was back at Big's, the site of so many past little deaths.
It felt great and weird and...wrong.
-We can't do this. -Yes, we can.
Not like this.
You're right, let's go inside.
No. I have to go.
I didn’t know what had happened...
...but suddenly, getting back together with Big seemed like a very bad idea.
I was scared to death. The first time we got involved, I got out just in time.
Would I be as lucky the second?
Across town, Samantha was facing her own uncertain future.
-Check it again: Samantha Jones. -Sorry.
The first time, she thought it was an unfortunate oversight.
The second time was just unfortunate.
-I'm sorry, we're all full. -I'll wait for a table.
Don't bother.
By the third time she was turned away, it had all become clear.
She was deader in this town than Javier.
Teddy, take her out of here.
The next day, Miranda met her new neighbor.
Hello! Are you my new neighbor?
Yeah. Hi, I'm Miranda Hobbes. Nice to meet you.
I haven't actually moved in yet. I'm just here taking some measurements.
I'm so glad to have a young person moving in. Brings a little life to the place.
Ruthie kept pretty much to herself. Never married. She died in there, you know.
She did?
Oh, yes. It was a week before anyone realized she passed.
Rumor has it, the cat ate half her face. So, just you?
That night, Miranda had another disconcerting experience.
Halfway through her Three Delicacy Delight...
...a delicacy got stuck.
After Miranda was done saving her own life...
...she called someone who could commiserate.
Unfortunately, I was deep into screening mode.
Big had called twice and I didn't know what I wanted to say to him.
Oh my God, I just choked! I just almost died and you are not…
Hey, sweetie, you all right?
I was watching Hard Copy, and I kept thinking when they found me...
...I would forever be the dead girl who watched bad TV.
Why didn't you call me?
I couldn't breathe. I'm gonna die alone, Carrie.
No, you are not. Do you want me to come over?
No, I'm okay. I'll call you tomorrow.
The fact was, Miranda was not okay.
She went to bed hungry and locked the cat in the kitchen for two days.
After a week of being a social pariah...
...Samantha realized if she ever wanted to get her life back, she'd have to beg for it.
She went to the top, the Godfather.
Samantha Jones. The name sounds familiar.
Shippy Shipman was the queen of the ladies who lunch.
And was personally responsible for the demise of at least 70 social lives.
You might know me from the Javier House Foundation?
No, that's not it.
No?
I believe you were the whore who once groped my husband at a Whitney benefit.
It was bad. Not only was Samantha dying...
...but her entire sex life was flashing before her.
Maybe. I don't really remember.
I do.
You're good friends with Sandy Cranwell?
Yes, we go back to Chapin.
Could you maybe talk to her for me?
I think you made your own bed and you need to lie in it.
And you're good at that, aren't you, Samantha?
What do you want me to say, Shippy? That I'm a whore?
That I've slept with every man in New York and some in Brooklyn?
All right, maybe I have. Is that what it's gonna take?
Okay, I'm a big whore. Now, will you help me?
I don't think so.
Fine. And I only groped your husband's flat preppy ass at that benefit...
...because I was drunk. I'll see myself out.
The next day, Miranda decided to check out her new neighborhood.
But suddenly, she was the one checking out.
That was the peculiar thing about New York...
...you never knew if a cab was going to save you or kill you...
Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, please.
...or both.
That was freaky.
I felt like I was drowning and dying at the same time.
They said you had a panic attack.
Yeah, and I had to pay $500 of my single person's salary to find that out.
What's wrong?
Take a good look at my face, because at my funeral, there'll only be half of it.
I'll be dead and my cat will be happy.
Charlotte will be picking up men at the next grave site over.
Breathe, sweetie, breathe.
I'm all alone, Carrie.
The first people on my "call in case of emergency" list are my parents.
And I don't like them. And they live in Pennsylvania.
Sweetie, you can put me on there.
I can't! You screen!
I'll pick up. I promise.
Listen...you did the right thing buying that apartment.
-You love it, right? -Yeah.
And you won't be alone forever.
The truth was, I didn't know if any of us would end up alone.
But I did know Miranda couldn't afford another panic attack.
Meanwhile, over in Queens...
...Charlotte was about to get a surprise of her own.
You brought lilies.
You said they were her favorite.
Please tell me those are your sisters.
I don't have any sisters.
Charlotte realized she wasn't the only woman resuscitating Ned.
Charlotte's relationship died right where it started.
She was prepared to live in the shadow of a dead woman.
She wasn’t prepared to live in the shadow of three live ones.
That Saturday, Samantha hit rock bottom...
...also known as Javier House.
No one would return her phone calls. She hadn’t raised any money.
All she could do for Javier House was construct it.
But six hours of hard labor later, Samantha experienced her own rebirth.
It was Leonardo DiCaprio, ex machina.
That day, Leonardo and Samantha became fast friends. The nightmare was over.
Leonardo DiCaprio had brought Sam back to social life.
To add insult to panic attack...
...Miranda had just gotten some unsettling news.
The mortgage officer had messed up Miranda's application.
They had inadvertently labeled her as "separated."
And to clear up the confusion...
...Miranda had to write a rather humiliating letter.
Miranda had a choice. She could panic or she could just type.
Miranda killed her panic attacks right then and there.
She realized she probably wouldn't die alone.
But she kept overfeeding her cat just in case.
Meanwhile, four unreturned calls later, my number was up.
Good, you're alive.
Wait, where are you going?
Home. I'm old. It's past my bedtime.
-I'm sorry. -You should be.
I had box seats to a Yankee double header.
Damn! Who'd you take?
Someone who returned my calls.
It was deja vu all over again: Me, Big, a doorway...and mixed emotions.
Wait, not here.
Don't do this, Carrie.
Come on. We're going out.
I took him to the most non-sexual place I could think of.
I'm good!
-Did you see that? -Wow, I sure did.
Two pitchers of cheap beer later, Big and I were having a great time.
You know what my version of hell is? Wearing rented two-tone shoes.
Hey, batter batter!
No heckling the bowler.
Did you see that?
Yeah. That was nice.
Look at that. I won.
Okay, two out of three.
You want to play a second game?
Maybe.
Are you sure you're ready to get killed all over again?
I didn't know what we were talking about anymore.
But either way, I knew the answer.
Yep, let's do it.
We never made it to the second game.
I didn't know if it was suicide or not.
All I knew was Big and I had been reincarnated...
...and I'd never felt more alive.
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