And Just Like That, Carrie Bradshaw Gets More Action than Any Older Woman Not Working at OTB

Miss the opening episodes of the "Sex and The City" sequel? Read on.

Int. Manhattan Studio Apartment — Day.  

CARRIE BRADSHAW, impeccably groomed, as one is while working at home, is writing on her laptop:

Carrie: (V.0.) I can’t help noticing, now that we’re older, that everyone seems more so. MIRANDA is more critical and impossible to please. CHARLOTTE is perkier and more in denial about things that annoy her. Me?  I’ve had so much work I can’t crinkle my forehead and think about this…Okay, Me? I’m making even more extravagant impulse decisions. Like buying a $2 million Tribeca apartment to get away from painful memories of my late, rich husband, Big, then putting it on the market the day after we close. Is that what aging is, the ossification of one’s traits until your most extreme self is frozen in amber? And what shoes coordinate with amber? 

CUT TO

Int. Trendy Manhattan Restaurant — Night

AIDAN, an old flame, and Carrie are having dinner in a restaurant, which is easily identified as being in Television New York, as they can hear one another speak.

Aidan:  I was sorry to hear about your husband’s death from alleged sexually inappropriate behavior in Real New York, but I assume he left you all his money and you’re picking up the tab. I hope so because $40 for an entrée is insane.

Carrie: Oh, Aidan, you hick. Even in Real New York you can’t get a cup of coffee for under $6 and my studio apartment with attractive young neighbors hanging out on the stoop would cost $5,000 a month. I pay $6,000 so there are never any homeless.  By the way, I have been having Exit Out of Grief Sex, in which, though I am 58 in Real New York, on Television New York one attractive man after another is available for me to sleep with and I’m the one who doesn’t call after. And if you caught the previous seasons, about jizz, anal, and tushie licking, you know anything goes.

Aidan: (Excited) Check!

Carrie: (Grimacing in pain) Ouch.

Aidan: What’s the matter?

Carrie: I’m trying to wrinkle my brow to show I’m in deep thought. Aidan, I'm suddenly wracked by self-doubt.  You see, one of my gay male friends told me men have feelings too and until I can clarify whether he meant all men or just gay men, I think we should put Exit Out of Grief Sex on hold.

CUT TO:

Int. Malibu apartment -- Day

Carrie’s good friend, Miranda, a lawyer who was formerly married to a man but now identifies as gay, is struggling with a STRAP-ON, which has so many straps and buckles it should have a speaking part. Miranda’s lover, CHE, a stocky, gay female comedian for whom Miranda gave up her own professional dreams, is lying in bed reading the script for her new TV show.

Che’s phone rings.

Carrie: (O.C.) Che, I have a question about men and their feelings and since you are a butch gay woman with a terrible haircut, which I think of as sort of man adjacent — I mean, you don’t spend a lot of money on shoes — I want to ask you: Are men okay with casual sex?

Strap-On: (Yelling) Absolutely!

Carrie: Who is that?

Miranda: (Yelling from across the room) It’s the strap-on I’m wearing. With interchangeable dicks. It’s so humiliating.

Carrie: I’m not taking information from a talking dick.

Strap-On: That’s too bad because I happen to be very well-connected.

CUT TO:

Ext. The steps of the Metropolitan Museum – Evening.

Guests are arriving for the Met Ball, which is like the Met Gala in Real New York, only you don’t have to suck up to Anna Wintour to get in. A series of extravagantly dressed party-goers arrive, stopping to address the camera before going inside.

SEEMA: Hi, I’m Seema, Carrie’s real-estate dealer friend of Indian descent, here to expand her previously white world and flash real estate porn.

Charlotte, with husband, HARRY:  Hi, I’m Charlotte, Carrie’s WASP friend with a Jewish husband, a daughter who is transitioning, and another daughter who writes songs about how miserable it is to have money. (To Harry) Say, “Oy”, darling.

Harry: Oy.

LISA: Hi, I’m Lisa Todd Wexley, Charlotte’s black friend, who is on Vogue’s International Best Dressed list, lives on Park Avenue, is a documentarian, and is married to a hedge fund banker, because black people can be rich and successful, too. Yes, we dare to go there. Also, taxi drivers won’t always pick my husband up.

NYA: Hi, I’m Dr. Nya Wallace, Miranda’s black friend, who is a professor who sometimes talks trash and has spectacular meltdowns on the phone with my successful husband in the music business. That’s how inclusive this group is. Two black friends, one spectacularly rich, one merely doing very well, because there are a range of black people in the world. You hear me, y’all?

The friends go inside to the party.

Carrie arrives, wearing a blue cape and the voluminous wedding gown she wore on one of the worst days of her life, when her fiancé left her at the altar.

Strap-On: (Muffled) Oh, my God, is that Rihanna?

Carrie: Shut up. You know the deal was no talking. And stiffen up. The front of my gown is sagging.

Strap-on: You shut up! Who got you the tickets? Holy cow, Rihanna’s coming in our direction.

The front of Carrie’s dress poufs out and PHOTOGRAPHERS race to get her photo. Carries preens, delighted.

CARRIE (V0) And just like that, I’d repurposed my pain into something good. It is Television New York.

Credit Roll

Next Week: Carrie has sex with A POOR PERSON.