Big ups to Wing Chun, who consoled me on the Not! Line, and to everyone on the forums for their continued patience.
Previously on the steaming, malodorous lump of crap masquerading as a television program: Dawson waxed obvious about Mr. Brooks's suspension "between dying and dead," then bid Mr. Brooks farewell by saying "see ya"; Gretchen called the senior ski trip "a rite of passage"; Jen broke into the mini-bar, then got busted doing some "recycling" by Mr. Kasdan; Joey gave it up.
Fade up on the ski lodge, early morning. We pan over the bus to see the Capeside seniors straggling towards it, then down to Jack "Now You See Him, Now You Don't" McPhee and Jen "Ladies And Gentlemen -- Mrs. Elton John!" Lindley. Jen leans on Jack as she limps along the path, and Jack asks if they're "okay" with what happened the night before. Jen says yes, "completely," and then wonders aloud what would have happened if she hadn't put a stop to their "ill-conceived fumblings," if she'd gotten pregnant and had to ditch the rest of senior year to give birth to and raise their "illegitimate love-child." Oh, for the love of Mike -- a The Best Thing reference? Did the writers get locked in a bathroom with seven-month-old copies of airline magazines or something? Jack gets off a decent line about telling "said love-child" that Mommy and Daddy can't have sex "unless Daddy's thinking about Ryan Phillippe." Jen says that she'd "be thinking about him too." So it's all fine between them, and they head for the door of the bus, only to see Mr. Kasdan glowering at them. Jen pulls a hank of hair over her face, but it's too late; Mr. Kasdan wants to know, "Are there any other delinquent acts you care to commit before we embark on our journey home?" Jen faces him and asks point-blank, "So -- what's it gonna be? My punishment?" Mr. K says that he doesn't have punishment in mind, exactly, but something more like chicken soup for her teenage soul. Shut up, Mr. K. Jen starts to protest that "they were only, like, airplane bottles," but Jack yanks her onto the bus before she can dig herself any deeper. Heh. Enter "One" Drue "Thing" Valentine, looking hungover. Mr. K bitches him out for his "tardy arrival," adding that Drue's put them behind schedule: "Just exactly what part of 'we leave at six-thirty a.m. sharp' were you not listening to?" Six-thirty? Where did they go on this ski trip, anyway -- Vail? Why the hell do they have to get up at six-thirty? Drue asks if they can stop at a Starbucks. Mr. K: "Get on the bus, punk!" Drue slumps towards the bus as Mr. K wonders aloud where Joey and Pacey have gotten to: "Probably off somewhere sucking face." "Tell me about it," Drue grumbles. Heh. Mr. K starts to stomp off towards the lodge, but Drue looks up at the windows of the bus and spots the back of a head that looks like Pacey's, macking with a girl; said head belongs to a body in a brown coat. It's hard to tell if Drue knows it's not actually Pacey at this point. Drue points the couple out to Mr. K, and Mr. K looks over to see the side of a girl's face that looks like Joey's. Mr. K rolls his eyes and shoves past Drue and up the steps. Drue smirks; the couple breaks the smooch to reveal -- what else? -- that it isn't Joey and/or Pacey after all. "Disgusting, isn't it," Drue smarms to himself, then makes a "hooo" face and boards the bus without correcting Mr. K as to the identity of the macking couple.
Cut to an aerial shot of about a week's worth of clothes strewn all over the floor, none of which appeared in the final scene from the episode, and pan up the bed to "Saint" Pacey "Of The Neurotic Heart" Witter and Joey "Mope On A Rope" Potter sleeping entwined. Joey wakes first, and she turns sleepily towards Pacey; they smile at each other. Joey's smile starts to fade immediately, though, and while Pacey continues beaming, Joey turns her head back away from him and goes rigid with discomfort. A cat gets caught in the spokes of a bicycle wheel; pan out on Joey frowning as Pacey kisses her shoulder.
New, Andie-free credits, at last. Wow, Katie Holmes looked a lot younger in the first three seasons.
"About Last Night."
As the first title comes up, I realize that I've stumbled unwittingly onto the set of blockbuster game show Who Wants To Pad The Running Time? and boy, I need a lifeline. In the lobby of the ski lodge, Pacey and Joey approach the snack machines. Joey had more of a sit-down breakfast in mind, but Pacey expositions that "bus tickets cost money, woman," and adds that she had him pay for "that call to Gretchen"; the captioning reads, "that impromptu photo session," though, so either they crowded into a novelty photo booth just now, or Joey got her Traci Lords on the night before and insisted that they take pictures of themselves having sex. Ha ha ha! Yeah, right. And then Mr. Peepers flew out of my butt. Anyhow, Pacey says it's "crackers and coffee," and hands Joey a dollar bill. "Lovely," Joey snarks. Awkward pause. Pacey says, "So." A month later, he asks if Joey told Bessie. "Bessie"? I don't think I remember a "Bessie." Ohhh, that Bessie -- didn't she have a boyfriend, too, "Teddy" or someone? Joey, absently: "Tell Bessie what?" Pacey rolls his eyes: "Does the word 'duh' mean anything to you?" Joey looks at him. "About last night," he prompts her. She half-laughs and asks what she's supposed to say, and warns him not to suggest that she say she's "a woman now" or she'll puke on him. Pacey asks, "Well, what about Gretchen?" Joey snorts all "yeah right" and cracks a joke about saying "oh, by the way, your brother deflowered me last night," and she's got a point; you don't discuss that stuff with your boyfriend's sister, especially not when she's dating your obnoxious ex-boyfriend. Joey goes on to say that she's not the kind of person who discusses her boyfriend's "sexual prowess" with his siblings.
As they head over towards the gift shop, Pacey poses a hypothetical: if she were the type of person to discuss that kind of thing, what does she "think she might say"? Joey, mildly befuddled: "About what, about the prowess?" Pacey, a little embarrassed: "Yeah. About the prowess." Joey complains that, just when she thinks he's not a typical guy, there he goes, "dragging [his] knuckles with the rest of the primates," and Pacey tries to play it off by saying that she should never underestimate the desire of the primate to hear good things about "his abilities in the sack." "The sack"? Okay, who set the time machine to 1977? Contrivance? Contrivance, I'm talking to you! I know you hear me, mister! Pacey offers Joey a Pop Tart. Joey gapes. Pacey drags her into the gift shop.
In the gift shop, Joey reads a copy of Movieline. ["That issue is about eight months old, too." -- Wing Chun] Pacey tells her to pick a hand; there's some cute back-and-forth, and then Pacey opens his hand to reveal candy; he knows it's "not the most equal of exchanges, virginity for chocolate hearts, but I thought I should get you something." Joey cracks good-naturedly that, if she'd known "there were prizes involved," she'd have asked for a car, and they joke around in that vein for a minute or two, and he tells her she looks beautiful. Joey tenses up, but tries to downplay it by saying that he's "easy," then, because she hasn't showered. They kiss; Pacey busts on her morning breath, and Joey busts on him back, and Pacey pulls her towards him again and says, "Aw, man, I could do this." Do what? "The back and forth, the sweetness and the sarcasm." Joey looks flattered and uncomfortable at the same time as Pacey adds that he could "do this" for the rest of his life, with her as his "partner in irreverence." Joey looks down, then recovers to say slyly that maybe he's just "the first of many," and he shrugs nonchalantly that in that case, he'll just have to settle for "being the Neil Armstrong of the bunch." Heh. Joey tries valiantly not to smile before following him into the lounge.
Cut to another couple PDAing it up on a Shaker settee. Pacey and Joey sit down on a neighboring sofa, look at the couple, look at each other, and chuckle. It's a nice genuine moment -- very couple-y of them. Then Pacey turns to Joey and informs her that "typically," when couples have sex for the first time, "there's some sort of morning-after discussion." Ohhhh here we go. Joey arches a brow. Pacey clarifies: "Like a...post-game wrap-up." Okay, not that couples shouldn't talk about stuff the day, but it's hardly on an officialdom par with registering to vote, Pacey. Joey nods and says that Pacey wants to know "if [he was] any good." Pacey makes a slight correction: he wants to know if it "was good for [her]." Joey gets in a dig about how of course he does, since he's Pacey Witter, "friend to woman and all." Ouch. She looks at her hands, smiles to herself, then turns back to him: "It was very nice." Pacey chews a potato chip and stares at her: "It was nice." "Yes." "Just 'nice,' huh?" Joey furrows her brow: "What's wrong with 'nice'?" Yeah, really -- in my experience, "nice" is about the best a girl can hope for the first time, and you'd think Pacey would have absorbed that by now, but whatever. Pacey says in a joking-but-not-really tone that it's fine, but there's nothing wrong with "mind-blowing" or "transcendent" either. Joey, stung, snaps that she left her thesaurus at home, and she didn't know she'd "get yelled at for [her] vocabulary." Pacey's not worried about her vocabulary. He eats his chips. Joey stares at him, then snips that maybe "nice" means everything to her, and maybe "nice" is the best she can do the morning after her first time, since she's never experienced it before and has nothing to compare it to. Pacey points out that "there are certain benchmarks in the sexual experience," certain things that "happen or don't happen," and she asks all offendedly if he's asking if she had an orgasm, but before she gets there, he splutters, "Yes!"
Sidebar time. Uh, Pacey? First of all, a woman's orgasm is pretty hard to miss if you've paid attention. If she'd had one, you'd probably know about it. Second of all, again, it's her first time. Nine times out of ten? Not gonna happen. Third of all, it's your lookout. If you thought she didn't have one, you should have asked last night and then gotten on that, not waited until you both got dressed to make her feel guilty about not feeling the earth move. And finally, LEAVE it ALONE. Joey doesn't need an extensive post-mortem; she needs a few days to get used to the idea that she's had sex, so let her sit with it, because you should know by now that, in situations like this, you won't hear what you want to hear from her in the second place.
Anyway, Joey's mouth drops open; she doesn't want to talk about it, it's not that important. Maybe not to her, but it's really important to Pacey. Joey slits her eyes and reminds him that it isn't all about him: "Do you have any idea what it's like to be me this morning?" Pacey doesn't understand. "No, of course you don't," Joey snipes. Maybe she'd "like to enlighten" him, then. Joey gathers her courage, then asks in a low tone if it's occurred to him that she's wondering how she measures up, especially since he's had sex before and she hasn't. Pacey didn't know "girls thought like that." "Does the word 'duh' mean anything?" Joey says softly. Pacey says enthusiastically, "You were great!" Good save, Pacey. "Great?" Joey repeats skeptically, a happy smile tickling the corners of her mouth. Yes, Pacey says. Great, fantastic, "every glowing adjective under the sun," and way better than "nice." Joey interrupts that that's "beside the point" -- and I see what she means, but once she actually has an orgasm, I think she'll change her tune pretty quickly, if you know what I mean, and I think you do -- but Pacey says that he wants to "run out and tell the whole world" about the night before. Joey's face falls: "You're not really planning on doing that, are you?" No. "Good." Now it's Pacey's face's turn to fall: "Why is that good?" "Because it's private," Joey bites out; she doesn't want the whole world knowing about their sex life. Pacey gets it -- by "the whole world," she means "Dawson." Joey starts in with the "you can't always bring our fights back to Dawson" thing, saying she just doesn't want to hurt Dawson any more than she already has. Yeah, Joey? He HAS another GIRLFRIEND now, so GET OVER IT, and yourself, AND HIM! Jesus! Pacey says he doesn't want to hurt Dawson either, but he does want to have sex with his girlfriend, whom he adores, without having to worry about "the soap-operatic repercussions" of Dawson finding out. Oh my god, PREACH IT, Pacey. Joey turns away and slumps back on the couch, pouting. Pacey asks her what she'd say if Dawson asked her right then whether or not she and Pacey had slept together. Joey glares at him for a long moment before snarling, "Well, I would have to tell him the truth."
Sars: [knock knock knock]
Jacob The Amish Gentleman: Hello? Oh, greetings, Goodwife Bunting.
Sars: It's...you know, just "Sars" is fine. I'm so sorry about this. I had no idea he'd get this far on foot.
Jacob: It's no trouble. Actually, he helped us raise a barn today.
Sars: Oh, is that right?
Foreshadowing: What took you so long?
Sars: I got lost on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, if you must know -- now get your things and get in the car so these nice people can get some sleep.
Jacob: See you time.
Sars: Okay. Thanks for feeding him.
Foreshadowing: Can we stop at McDonald's?
Sars: You make that poor man hitch up the buggy and ride into town to call me from the corner store, and now you want to eat? Get in the damn car!
Foreshadowing: But I'm hungry.
Sars: Oh yeah? OH YEAH? Well, here's the map -- EAT THAT!
Sorry about that. Anyway, back to the recap. Pacey stares at her with weary skepticism: "And you'd do that." Joey stares back for a long moment, slitting her eyes even further: "Yes. Absolutely." Pacey just keeps staring at her, then sighs. Joey turns away, her face melting. Pacey returns to his chips and observes in a non-neutral tone of great neutrality, "You wanna know something funny? You haven't touched me." Joey, slowly: "What?" She hasn't touched him all morning, he says: "And here I was, thinking that sex brought people closer together." He continues munching on his chips. Joey sets her jaw, her eyes filling with tears, then gets up, slams her bag of snacks into his lap, and storms out of the lounge. The macking couple watches her go, then turns to look accusingly at Pacey.
Pacey goes after her and finds her sitting outside, crying. A testicle sings a line about "wondering what went wrong." God, Pacey...please, just leave it lie. Please. Pacey sits beside Joey; she won't meet his eye for a moment. Then she says bitterly, her face wet: "You wanna know why it was so 'nice,' Pacey?" Pacey looks ashamed of himself as Joey describes a moment from the night before when he brushed her hair over her forehead (zuh?), and it "felt really nice" and made her feel "safe," like he would stick around and protect her no matter what. Well, if your psycho hot-and-cold routine hasn't chased him off by now, I'd say that's a safe bet. ["Plus, how lame are you when you need your boyfriend to protect you from YOUR OWN HAIR?" -- Wing Chun] Joey goes on to say that, when she looks back on the experience "years from now," she'll remember that moment, not "the clumsy positioning or the morning-after awkwardness, or whether or not the experience itself met the textbook definition of great sex." "Clumsy positioning"? Oh, ew. Pacey smiles a little to himself. Joey adds, "I'll remember how sweet you were," and says that he took her to "a brand-new place." I don't know what that line means, exactly -- if you didn't have an orgasm, how is that a new place? Best not to think on it too deeply, I guess. Anyway, she says she's glad she had sex, and she's really glad she had sex with him. Pacey smiles for real, gratified, as Joey wipes the tears off her face with a gloved hand and says that now she kind of wants to go home, "so [they] can do it again." Huh? What does that line mean? Why would they have to -- oh, fuck it. They schmoop, pan over to the snowy birches, end of segment.
"The Big Picture." These titles give me the ick.
Anyway, pan down over the rooftop of the Brookshaven, accompanied by the Counting Crows, to the Gretchenmobile pulling into the drive with Dawson "Bad Heir Day" Leery at the wheel. ["For those of you writing a book, that's the song that was playing while Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon did it in Cruel Intentions." -- Wing Chun] It's not even his car -- how come he's driving? He heaves a sigh as the car comes to a stop; Gretchen "Martha Raye" Witter leans over and kisses him on the cheek and tells him, "It's gonna get better. I promise." They get out of the car, and Gretchen gets an expositional assist by asking what Grams wants. Dawson doesn't know; Grams just told him to meet her at Mr. Brooks's after the funeral, and "she'd be in the garage." Then we get a filler shot of Dawson and Gretchen walking arm-in-arm to the garage. They had the funeral already? According to the timeline of this episode, it's only one day later. It happens all the time on TV shows and in the movies, and it drives me nuts -- you can't just decide to have a funeral the day. You need to arrange for all the funeral home stuff and have the body embalmed and prepared and dressed, notify friends and family, call the paper to give them the death notice, start probate proceedings, organize a memorial service, and get a damn grave dug. All of these things take days to take care of, and you cannot do all that in one day, not unless you belong to an organized-crime family. It's not like running out to pick up a McRib sandwich or something. Jesus.
Moving on. The garage. The two enter to find Grams "Little Old Lady From Kick-Ass-A-Dena" Ryan sighting a pistol, and stop dead in surprise. Grams explains that it's a prop Mr. Brooks saved. "Maybe I could use this to keep my granddaughter in line," she cracks, but Gretchen and Dawson don't laugh. Dawson looks around at all the movie paraphernalia, commenting that he had no idea Mr. Brooks had saved all that stuff. Grams says that, in spite of what he might have said, Mr. Brooks "was fiercely proud of what he accomplished in his career." Silence from the kids. Grams remarks that "it was a lovely service, wasn't it?" Dawson nostril-flares, "Yeah, quite a turn-out, too." Grams shoots him an appraising look; Gretchen steps up to assure her that yes, "it was a lovely service, Mrs. Ryan. How can we help?" Grams says Mr. Brooks didn't want his things just "collecting dust," so she thought they might donate it somewhere. Dawson uses his entire body to roll his eyes and turn away from her, and when Grams pointedly asks him if he has any suggestions, he gripes, "What's the point? Nobody even knew he existed." Maybe there's something Dawson would like to take, to remember Mr. Brooks by? Dawson starts to say something, then walks past Grams and out of the garage without a word. Gretchen and Grams exchange a "the hell?" look, and Gretchen starts to go after him, but Grams says, "No, let -- let me," and follows Dawson outside.
Outside, there's a long, violin-soaked shot of Dawson brooding in the yard. Grams approaches him tentatively and apologizes, saying she knows it's not easy for him. Dawson shocks the nation by apologizing himself, saying that that doesn't give him "the right to be rude." Wow. Nice manners, and for once I mean that. Grams philosophizes about how everyone deals with death in his own way and "there is no right or wrong." Dawson asks why she wants to "subject" herself to coming to the Brookshaven that day, calling it "completely morbid." Grams puts her hands in the pockets of her sweater-jacket and tells him that they've lost a dear friend, the pain won't just go away, it will disappear eventually but not right away, there's nothing they can do about it, fishcakes. Dawson raises his gargantuan eyebrows in acknowledgement. Grams adds that closure is important. Dawson doesn't think the lack of closure is what's bothering him. "What is it, then?" "I don't know." Grams suggests that Dawson "spend some time with him -- with his space, with his things -- find a way to say goodbye," and maybe that will help. An agonizingly long slo-mo shot of Dawson kicking the dirt in the yard, then slo-moing inside; a weird filler shot of the pier at sunset, despite the fact that, in the scene we've just watched, it's an overcast day.
Whatever. Dawson goes back into the garage. In a box, Gretchen unearths a play that Mr. Brooks wrote at age seventeen. The Woody-Allen-credits-esque tootling of a forties jazz clarinet starts up, and Dawson and Gretchen clown around, acting it out. I won't bore you with the details, but Gretchen gets a couple of good moments -- first she does us all a favor and jams an old fedora on Dawson's head, thus hiding his hair, which looks in this episode like a microwaved hedgehog; then, a bit later, she kisses Dawson and then makes the following meta-statement: "Sorry. It was in the script." Ha! ["I have to say that the snappy 1940s-style dialogue worked for Gretchen. She has a real '40s look about her." -- Wing Chun] Then Dawson starts bitching about how Brooks "gave up," and after an awkward silence, during which Dawson paces around pinching the bridge of his nose all Wiley Wiggins, he bursts out that only five people came to the funeral, and out of those five, three of them barely knew Mr. Brooks, and if he hadn't crashed Mr. Brooks's boat, nobody would have showed up at all. If it's really only the day, why couldn't Andy Griffith have come? Maybe he and Bodie sat in the back and Dawson just didn't see him or something. Anyway, Dawson calls that "pathetic," and Gretchen doesn't think Mr. Brooks "needs [Dawson's] pity." Word -- I don't think Mr. Brooks cares how many people came to his funeral. Because HE'S DEAD. Gretchen adds that Mr. Brooks saw his dreams come true, which is more than most people can say. Dawson, apparently angry with Mr. Brooks for not drawing a bigger crowd, bitches that "this is what [Mr. Brooks] has to show for it" -- just a collection of stuff. Well, yes, Dawson. Again, Mr. Brooks IS DEAD. That's all ANYONE "has to show for it" when they die. Gretchen observes that Dawson's "starting to sound like" Mr. Brooks, and Dawson jumps on that, saying that that's what he's afraid of, that Mr. Brooks just decided it's easier not to care, and by the time he changed his mind, "it was too late," and what's to prevent any of them from ending up like that. Dawson. Dude. He. Is. DEAD. It doesn't MATTER anymore. We all die alone, because THAT'S HOW DEATH WORKS. Go read some of Jim Morrison's bloody awful poetry on the subject, and also, SHUT UP.
But no, Gretchen is obliged to tell him that "that's not you" and "that would never be you." How does she know? Dawson lost the girl too, after all. Gretchen argues that he did, yeah, but then he got on with his life. Um...well, that's debatable at best, but I don't care enough to get into it. Dawson throws himself into a chair to sulk, but Gretchen keeps at him, saying that it doesn't matter if Mr. Brooks "was a coward for more years than he was a hero -- in the end, he got it right." Then we get to hear an icky story about when Gretchen realized she had Those Kinds Of Feelings for Dawson; when they watched Mr. Brooks's movie, and she watched Dawson watch the film and "come alive" and blah bloopety blay and "part of [Dawson's] life in this bigger and better way"-cakes. Mr. Brooks brought them together. Dawson looks down, smiles, then looks back up and says goofily, "I like you." Heh. Gretchen rolls her eyes: "Oh god, why?" HA! Okay, that's really funny. Dawson lists all of Gretchen's positive attributes, and Gretchen tells him it's a good thing he doesn't know the power of his own charm, or he'd use it "for evil." No comment, aaaaaand -- nope, no comment. Dawson leers at her for a moment, then asks if she'd mind...he trails off. "You wanna be alone?" Yes, he does -- how did she know? "'Cause I'm an awesome girlfriend," she smirks. Blather. Banter. Smoochies. Gretchen makes to go wait outside, but before she leaves, she tells Dawson to remember Mr. Brooks for "that great big thumping heart of his," to remember the good things about Mr. Brooks. ["My kingdom for a little less damn thumping of said heart." -- Wing Chun] Dawson smiles and nods slightly.
Gretchen leaves. Dawson looks around the garage, then heads to the upper story; his hair has taken on the greasy-yet-prickly look made famous by Ethan Hawke in Reality Bites. He unearths a like-new poster for Turn Away, My Sweet (whatever), and as he gazes at it nostalgically, a grey-haired man comes into the garage and introduces himself as the attorney handling the Brooks estate. Dawson comes down and shakes hands, and the lawyer asks if Dawson can come by his office later to discuss Mr. Brooks's will, and he gives Dawson his card and asks if Mr. Brooks used to be some kind of movie star or something. Dawson near-tearfully soliloquizes about Mr. Brooks's misanthropic tendencies while not answering the guy's question at all, finishing, "He was a friend of mine, and I'm gonna miss him." Dawson, the lawyer wants to know what Mr. Brooks did for a living. "Di-rec-tor." Say it with me now. The lawyer whatevers that he'll see Dawson that afternoon. Oh no -- more slo-mo as Dawson picks up the fedora, regards it sadly, and hangs it on top of a dressmaker's dummy. Oh, the violin, she is sad.
"Excess Baggage." Please, oh Lord, let it end.
Accompanied by The Ska Music Of Failed Physical Comedy, Jen lets herself into an office and gets her bag strap caught on the doorknob. She rings a buzzer a few times, and a guy named Tom Frost materializes and introduces himself, and they go into his office. Good god, this entire segment is so unrelentingly stupid that I just can't bring myself to recap it properly, so here's the gist: Tom Frost is a therapist, and Jen has to see him because of Mini-Bar-Gate. Jen is nervous and defensive, as shown by her inability to decide where to sit; she doesn't think she needs to be there. Tom Frost is cold and Freudian and has a tiny mouth; he turns all of her answers around on her, and he takes notes. Several awkward silences. Cursory mentions of her parents, her friends, and her drinking. After a so-not-funny-it's-almost-physically-painful moment where Jen stumbles through an explanation of her relationship with Jack and says the word "homosexual" about thirty-five thousand times, Jen accidentally breaks a framed copy of one of Tom Frost's diplomas, and then there's more ska. The questions get pointed, and Jen decides that "this is not gonna work" and makes to leave, but not before informing Tom Frost that he's "not very easy to talk to," and he tells her she should go now -- he'll tell the school she's "fulfilled the requirement." She doesn't believe him at first, then shrugs and turns to go again, but then turns around again to ask, "Am I totally screwed up?" Tom Frost says that it's too soon to tell, but he can guess that her sarcastic exterior hides "a scared, lonely young woman," her parents have fucked her up in ways she hasn't begun to deal with, and she doesn't trust people -- especially men -- and that leads her to seek acceptance in destructive ways, and in a best friend who will never fully reciprocate her feelings. Jen freezes, her hand on the doorknob; Tom Frost has clearly hit a nerve. Tom Frost adds that they don't really know "why [she's] here yet," but he'd love to help her find out. Jen looks at him, then says, "You got me for the hour -- but I'm not promising anything," and says he shouldn't think she didn't catch the whole reverse-psychology trip he just pulled on her. Tom Frost grabs his pen and his notebook with unabashed delight (hee), and we go to a montage of Jen reclining on Tom Frost's Marimekko couch and talking about meeting the gang for the first time. The segment is annoying and perpetuates a number of irritating falsehoods about psychoanalysis, but Michelle Williams does a good job with the crappy material, and I like Tom Frost. I don't know why. His mouth is weird, but I like him and I hope we see more of him.
I cannot abide the Levi's karaoke ads. We get it. campaign, please.
"Seems Like Old Times." Not the season-three kind of old times, I hope.
Frankie Sweet Music croons in the background as we pan down to Dawson standing outside the Rialto. Joey walks past, spots him in the ticket line, and greets him warmly, asking what he's doing there. He says he felt like getting lost in a crowd, and she guesses she "had the same impulse." She offers her condolences "about everything," and Dawson thanks her, saying that the last few days "have sucked in ways [he] didn't know were possible." Not watching your own show, then, Big D? He asks how the ski trip went. Joey does a lot of head-shaking and guilty grinning and says that "it was fine." "Did I miss anything exciting?" Joey finally makes eye contact, then freezes. Man, I've known three-year-olds who lied better than this girl -- and any other three-year-old on earth could see that she's lying, too, and yet people who have known her all her life never seem to catch it. Anyway, after groping for what seems like a month for something to say, Joey comes up with "Jen bruised her foot!" Dawson quotes Mr. Brooks in saying, "Alert the media!" Joey grins guiltily some more, thinking she's off the hook, but then Dawson asks if she and Pacey had fun. Joey makes "oh, yeah, sure, you know" noises. Dawson eyes her for a moment, then points to the theater: "Shall we?" Joey pauses, then asks if Dawson would rather "go someplace and...talk." Dawson smiles broadly: "Yeah. I would like that." Strangely, James Van Der Beek doesn't look unattractive in that shot. It's a sincere smile, and he looks...well, not "good," because I don't find him fetching at all, but on occasion, when Dawson isn't acting like a dickwad and when Van Der Beek actually is, you know, acting instead of flapping all the cartilage on his body, I can almost see how people think he's cute. Except for the hair, which still looks really wrong on, like, a cellular level. Look, don't fire me, I just drove to Pennsylvania and back and I'm exhausted. So, Joey says she'd like that too.
Cut to a diner, where Dawson asks if he can tell Joey something: "It's not exactly a secret, but I haven't told anybody else yet." Of course he can. "Mr. Brooks put me in his will." Joey lowers her coffee cup, shocked: "Really?" Does that mean...? Yes, it means Mr. Brooks left Dawson money. He's kidding, right? Nope. "Well, what're you gonna do with it?" Joey asks, seeming happy for him. Dawson says that Mr. Brooks's will explicitly stated that Dawson do something "great" with the money, and that Dawson shouldn't go blowing it on women and booze -- but if he chooses to do so, he should blow it on great women and great booze. Heh. I miss Mr. Brooks. "Well, no pressure there," Joey cracks, sipping her coffee. Dawson guesses he could pay his entire college tuition. Damn, Mr. Brooks left him that much? Joey suggests, "You could make a movie." "Yeah, I could," Dawson muses, and then says he feels weird thinking about spending it: "It'd be one thing if I'd won the lottery, but..." "No, I understand," Joey says. Dawson cocks an eye at her. She sips her coffee again, then looks around and back at him: "What?" "You seem different." Oh, for god's sake. Like she'd look any different. Whatever, writers -- WHATEVER. Stop demonizing sex -- IT'S SEXIST. Joey, a little rattled: "I do?" Yeah -- did she change her hair? Joey says no, and squirms. Dawson assures her that "it's not bad different, it's good different," but before he can put his finger on it, she uneasily suggests that they get out of there. "Sure," he chirps in response, then makes a "something's rotten in Denmark" face and slides out of the booth to follow her.
Waterfront. Dawson and Joey sit on the swing-set where they canoodled in "The Kiss," and Joey laughingly starts to say, "The last time we were here," and Dawson finishes, "...was a very different time." "And to think we thought things were complicated then," Joey says, still half-laughing, and Dawson laughs too. After a pause, Joey gathers her strength: "Dawson, I'm really sorry." You know, Joey, when you keep apologizing, it encourages Dawson to think that you actually did something wrong, which you didn't. Dawson tells her it's no big deal, he's dealt with it as best he can, but Joey doesn't mean What Went Down Last Spring -- she means not "being there for" him during the whole Mr. Brooks situation. Dawson again tells her not to worry about it, but Joey says she "should have been there, giving [him] everything that [he's] given [her]." Like what, a hard time? Dawson doesn't respond, and Joey goes on to say that she's made some big choices and decisions, and she might "wake up one day and realize that all there ever really was was friendship." Dawson stares into the middle distance, then looks back at Joey as she adds, "And if I wasn't any good at that, then...where does that leave me?" Dawson smiles a little and reassures her that she's not a bad friend: "I don't get to say it much anymore, but -- you're my best friend. You always were." He starts to say that no matter where she goes, or with whom -- "you'll always have a piece of my heart," Joey finishes for him, smiling. "Something like that," he whispers. She nods, "Yeah," and smiles some more. The forties jazz kicks in again as Dawson qualifies that with, "Not a huge piece," and she says, "Oh, no, no, not a huge piece," and they bat it back and forth, and she sticks her tongue out at him.
Dawson 'N' Joey Fun Times Montage. Dawson and Joey walk along the boardwalk, and Dawson does that thing where he walks along beside Joey and then flips his leg up to kick her in the ass. Hee hee! I have to confess that that made me like Dawson for a split second, because it reminded me of Stand By Me, and it's something a real teenager might actually do. Also, I still do it to my brother all the time. Joey shoves him off the boardwalk. Time-lapse fade to Dawson booting her in the ass again. Hee. As an X-chromosome informs us, "You can't take that away from me," Dawson and Joey play with a herd of poodles. Dawson and Joey get coffee, and they laugh, and they sip their coffees, and then they realize that they have each other's drink, so they trade. Get it? No, really -- do you?
Eventually, their night o' soulmating ends where it began, under the marquee at the Rialto. "I guess this is good night," Dawson says glibly, and Joey thanks him for a lovely night, even though she knows it might sound silly. Dawson says that they'll "have to do it again sometime," and they bid each other a fond goodnight. Joey starts to walk away, but then she turns around and falters, "Dawson," at the same time that he blurts out, "Joey?" He goes first: "Did something happen? On the ski trip?" Joey bargains for time: "What do you mean?" Dawson has "this feeling, this kinda unshakeable feeling" that something happened. Joey begins to look afraid as he says that she doesn't have to answer if she doesn't want to, and she asks him, "What are you asking me?" Dawson -- who, to his credit, seems to realize that he's totally out of line -- checks himself briefly, then says he's asking if she slept with Pacey. Okay, Dawson? That's none of your business. I understand the sickening urge to know what your ex is getting up to, and with whom, but you do not ask them, because you try to have a little dignity and class in your life, so shut up. Also, shut up. And then you can...shut up. Furthermore, shut up. And in conclusion, SHUT UP.
Joey blanches, then parries with, "That's kinda personal, don't you think?" ["Odd, when the correct answer to the question is 'fuck off, virgin.'" -- Wing Chun] "I think it's really personal," Dawson admits, cringing. Joey asks what he'd think if she asked whether he'd slept with Gretchen yet. "The answer'd be no," Dawson says, too quickly, and I imagine he expects that, by copping to a rated-PG sex life himself, he's therefore entitled to full disclosure from Joey -- but he surprises me by blithering that, regardless, it's none of his business, and he apologizes for asking. Okay, he's a giant stinky ass for asking at all, but he gets points for at least sort of acknowledging it. Joey looks down, biting her lip, as Dawson still won't shut up, saying that he's not holding her to anything they might have said in the past (buh?), that he wants her to live her life and "be happy," and that he knows how it is to make a promise and mean it at the time, but then "life gets in the way." And, to his (partial) credit, he seems to mean it. Yeah, it's nosy; yeah, it's inappropriate -- wildly so. But I think that, for once, he's just asking out of simple curiosity and not in order to hold Joey's toes to the fire. Not to get all Dawson-apologist, but really, considering how hideously I expected the scene to play out on Dawson's end, it's gratifying that he proves me wrong. Well, sort of. He's still a jackass, though.
Any. WAY. Joey says that, if someone had told her two years ago that they'd have this conversation, she'd have referred them "to the nearest asylum," but things haven't turned out the way they thought. Then she says that, a couple of years ago, she'd have said she'd sleep with Dawson as her first, she would have answered "unequivocally -- 'Dawson Leery, that's who.'" Dawson looks either hopeful or nervous, it's hard to say which. "It wouldn't have occurred to me..." Joey trails off. Dawson keeps giving her that prompting look. "Especially not Pacey," she sighs. Dawson says mildly, "So what are you saying, Jo?" Stricken, Joey looks back and forth between Dawson and the ground about a hundred times. Dawson's face settles in expectation. Joey looks down, makes the decision to sell Pacey out, smiles to herself, and says quietly, "No." Dude, Joey is THE WORST LIAR EVER. Dawson's head jerks back in surprise; clearly, he'd expected from her lead-up to hear that she had had sex with Pacey. Joey says with a big out-of-place grin, "I -- have not slept with Pacey." Oh, for god's sake. She couldn't just decline to answer? Or tell the truth? It's none of Dawson's business anyway -- why would Joey answer in the way most likely to tear Pacey's heart to shreds when it gets back to him, as we all know it will? Dawson has moved on, and it's time for Joey to start treating him that way, and I really, really hope Pacey dumps her when he hears about this, because it's one thing to have a couple of problems entering the sexual atmosphere -- it's a bumpy head trip in a lot of ways, especially for a girl, and that's fine. But no, Joey's still hung up on Dawson after she's SLEPT WITH someone ELSE, and if that's the situation, she's a fucking head case, and there's Pacey can do but try to save himself. I got a bad feeling last week that she slept with Pacey not because she felt ready to have sex, but because she felt she owed him for all of the shit that he's put up with, and while she certainly does owe him for that, she shouldn't have used sex to pay back the debt, especially if she knew -- which she probably did -- that she'd feel all weird around Dawson afterwards. I don't hate Joey, exactly, but she's an emotional sinkhole, and Pacey needs to get out, and do it now.
And FURTHERMORE -- and oh yes, there's more, and a further besides -- could network-television writers just ONCE make a girl feel GOOD about deciding to have sex? Could the writers on this show not constantly give a girl the green-light for intercourse and then punish her for it? They punished Andie with that whole whodunit letter storyline, they punished Gretchen, and now they've decided to punish Joey too. Oh, not sleeping with Dawson? Well, no orgasm for you, and here's a heaping helping of fight-with-your-boyfriend-the--day! Comes with two side orders, guilt and insecurity! Pacey loves her. She's fucked in the head, but she loves him back. They love each other, and that's the best possible world in which a girl can have sex for the first time, and the whole orgasm thing is not only too much information, but it's completely absurd that Pacey wouldn't know whether she'd had one, and wouldn't have given her one. Please. The man slept with a woman twice his age -- he's got the goods. But that's not even the point. The point is that they feel like they have to demonize sex, and it makes me sick. This isn't 1958. I truly hope that the girls who watch this show don't come away from it thinking that sex is this heartbreaking, guilt-ridden, ugly, torturous affair that Changes You Forever, because losing your virginity is a big deal, but I lost my virginity to a pig-dog that I didn't even love, and do you know how I felt the day? Relieved. Excited. I felt like things would start happening, and I could get ready for them, finally, because I could finally understand what they meant, and then I got rid of the pig-dog and fell in love for the first time, and when you've had sex, love can mean something so much bigger and deeper (ew, not like that). But do they show us that? No. No, they don't. Do they show us a girl having a very real reaction to growing up a bit? No. No, of course not. No, in Televisionland, good girls don't, and if they do, they get to pay for it. I apologize if y'all feel I got too personal in this paragraph. I know it's just a television show. But I can't just sit here and not say anything, because it's infuriating, and the writers get it wrong every goddamn time, and I feel like opening my window like in Network and screaming, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" God, I loathe this show.
So Dawson stutters out a laughing "oh" before admitting, "I'm sorry -- that was a sigh of relief you just heard." Oh, Dawson. You had me, kind of, and then you lost me. You don't SAY these things OUT LOUD, buddy! You just DON'T! Jesus! Quit while you're behind already! AND SHUT UP! Joey looks like she might cry, but tries to cover it with a smile. Dawson starts to babble something, but Joey fixes him with a look and says, "Ah...well, goodnight." "Goodnight, Jo," Dawson says, nearly panting with relief that he's not the only virgin in Capeside -- or so he thinks. Long shot of Joey slowly walking away. Dawson watches her for a moment, then walks off in the opposite direction. Zoom out from the Rialto; the shot goes to black-and-white. Yuck. I need a shower.