Another week, another perfect episode of the perplexingly faulty but nevertheless addictive And Just Like That… This week we’re gifted with Charlotte begging Harry to come on her tits, geriatric dick pics in close proximity to Gloria Steinem (yes, the actual Gloria Steinem), and a rare threesome in a show that’s skewed towards the disappointment of one-on-one sexual encounters. If nothing else, this season is at least making up for the sex that was so sorely lacking in Season 1.
Last week we met Lyle (Oliver Hudson), a pinky ring aficionado, and to the surprise of Miranda, Che’s estranged but still legal husband (very Bill de Blasio and Chirlane McCary of them.) At the beginning of this week’s episode, I briefly thought the former hairdresser turned Malibu SoHo House mixologist (an LA trajectory if I’ve ever heard one) might turn into a subplot dalliance of Carrie’s. But his and Che’s discussion about their past polyamory and strap-ons makes Carrie ill to her stomach. The world’s most prudish sex-columnist strikes again.
That conversation, though, made it clear that he wasn’t destined for a night of knocking Manolos with Carrie, but rather becoming a notch on Miranda’s sexual exploration belt as she remains under Che’s disconcertingly strong spell. Lyle, Che, and Miranda find themselves in a midnight ménage à trois so upsetting that the poly community might have to release a joint statement.
Look, the beauty of a threesome is that there’s no textbook way to start one. The shimmer of the moon on the lake, the stain of wine on your lovers’ lips, an early aughts R&B remix thumping in the background; sexual bacchanalia tends to launch from a “when you know, you know” vibe. So, I’m hesitant to declare there’s a wrong way to traverse the beautiful, sensual unknown lands of lovemaking. But AJLT’s encounter of the third kind is making me don my sex-cop uniform.
Despite being the world’s most annoying person, Che has maintained a good enough relationship with Lyle that, in this week’s episode, he offers to move Che across the country from Los Angeles to where all annoying people in New York City live: Hudson Yards. The plan is for Che to split their time between the two coasts while filming their exquisitely named pilot, ¿Che Pasa?.
After the move, and beat from the day, Lyle passes out on Che’s newly built Ikea bed, leaving Che and Miranda the other half of the mattress. In the middle of the night, despite also being exhausted, Che and Miranda tap into their horny midnight oil reserves and start hooking up. Lyle goes from being in a deep REM cycle to being alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic in a matter of seconds. And just like that, a threesome begins.
After moving Lyle’s hand to caress their chest, Che does their due diligence and asks Miranda for consent the same way my gyno gears me up for my annual pap smear: “Are you OK with this?” We then get a classic Miranda monologic consideration.
Thank you for asking. I need to think about this for a minute because my visceral reaction is “no” but maybe that’s just fear of the unknown because how will I ever know unless I try it? We’re all here, it’s kinda hot.
Only for Che to respond, “It’s getting less hot the more you talk.” This person, I swear. But Miranda gives it the old college try, only to get pretty iced out by Che and Lyle’s sexual connection, an actual nightmare if you ask me! But the two real LOLs were Lyle not taking off a single one of his eight rings for the finger-banging session about to take place and the fact that his Western denim shirt was entirely clasped by snaps. Che unsnapping his shirt in one thrust? No notes.
But after a few beats, Miranda’s body must have kicked into “keeping the score mode” by getting a Charley horse, causing her to back out of the three-way (three-Che?). “This just isn’t me, you should carry on,” she tells them and heads to the half-assembled Ikea couch in the living room. After approximately 25 seconds, Che follows her out there, saying, “I missed ya.” God forbid they go a full minute without making out. Even Brady, Miranda’s teenage son, took a break from necking.
As I said, I don’t want to say there’s a wrong way to launch a threesome. But... gun to my head, if I had to... I would say that sort-of pressuring your newly out, not-really girlfriend into a threesome with your unofficial ex-husband—who is wearing pinky rings on each hand—only to immediately sideline her in Hudson Yards of all places, shouldn’t be your go-t0 move. I desperately need this show to get supernatural so a witch can break the sexual spell Che has over Miranda. If we need to get her back in her miserable grey wig, so be it!
Maybe I was too hard on Carrie (I wasn’t) for not wanting to hear about Lyle and Che’s sexcapades. For when I saw it with my own eyes, I pleaded for a return to innocence. There is, of course, no going back, and I will carry this threesome with me as I dutifully watch the rest of this season.