Sam lounges unhappily in bed, chewing chocolates and flipping the pages in a magazine. Richard walks in the door, three hours late, held up at the hotel. Sam says, "Richard, phone, have you two met?" He was too busy to call. Mmm-hmm. Sam complains bitterly that when she gets "cellulite, [he'll] have no one to blame but [himself]." Wow, just last week they were so happy together! Now he's being an ass, and she's totally become a shrew. I guess if you never learn to compromise, as all relationships require, it doesn't come easily. Or fast. I didn't think Sam would turn into such a clingy, needy love-hole all of a sudden. Or even that she'd wait three hours! Love is a bitch, isn't it? Or should I say, love is a cruel mistress. Or even quote the J. Geils hit, "Love Stinks." Yeah, yeah. Sam says she doesn't appreciate being kept waiting, particularly when she has a gift for him. Richard asks if it's really a gift, or sex. Wow, he's a jerk. She meant an actual, physical gift, one she bought herself to give to him. To celebrate "Richard's A Prick Day." The gift is art, a sequence of three red-and-black Warholian hearts. "The closest Samantha came to giving her heart to a man in a long, long time," Carrie so subtly VOs. Sam wants to hang the hearts in the bedroom, on the wall facing the bed. Richard looks over his shoulder at the spot on the wall, makes a face, and voila, the clock, she has barely a minute left on this relationship. Tick tick boom.
Carrie and Big are having wine. One box he left for the last moment of transport is his records and turntable. Carrie is shocked, and makes fun of the antiquity of some of his records. Jeez, did she never look at his record collection when they were together? She makes fun of Blood, Sweat and Tears, and Mancini. Now, since Carrie is a fashion hag and not a film buff, I can spare the rod for this one, but seriously, no appreciation for Mancini? The guy is huge, and has tons of great songs that span a wide range. Big puts the Mancini on the turntable, cued up to "Moon River." Wow, this takes me back to when I was at Circle in the Square and my scene partner, a big lug of a guy that looked like a boxer from the 1920s, took this sheet music to singing class and NAILED IT. He sang this song so beautifully, it blew everyone away. And, you know, a little movie called Breakfast at Tiffany's? Starring a beautiful woman who was a muse to Givenchy and a few other designers, maybe one of the first actresses to also be a clothes hanger? "Moon River" was in that movie, which also featured a certain city in a particular light. Which was also written by a guy writers should know about. Carrie. BRADSHAW. So don't call it corny, ya know-nothing bum. Big calls the song "classic," and recalls that his parents used to put this on before heading out on the town. Oh, wow, PARENTS perform that ritual of revving themselves up with music, too? Yikes. Big extends a hand to Carrie, pulls her up, and they dance together. Then the record starts to skip, interrupting their intimate moment via an irritating, oft-used device. Carrie pulls herself away, saying that Big owes it to "us," meaning New York City and her, to go out with a big splash. So Sunday night, they have a date. "Don't disappoint us, meaning" Carrie and Big. Wow, she includes others in her grandiose ideas! Is our girl growing up? Nah.
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