Homeless Hilda talks to Benton. She asks him incomprehensible questions intended to illustrate that she's one keg short of a party, then links Benton to the New York Times. He looks offended at being wantonly associated with the nation's finest paper. H.H. says she saw Catherine talking to herself and running hell-bent down the sidewalk. "Her own private hell...wherever it is," H.H. said. "You never know what people are going through these days." This show puts out casting calls for melodramatic actresses longing to spew pseudo-philosophical or otherwise moralistic ramblings. Today, the role of Mrs. Washington the Convict's Mama will be played by Homeless Hilda. One can only imagine what tomorrow will bring.

His interest thoroughly piqued by the case, Wallace reverts to what he does best -- harassing people at the police station. A lab technician says the drug-test results are too premature for her to speculate to the press about Catherine's mental state. This isn't good enough for Wallace. "How many times have I pissed off your boss by referring to you as 'chief medical examiner' in my column?" Wallace wheedles as he simultaneously kicks Journalistic Integrity in the groin and spits on its writhing body. Compromising accuracy gets him everywhere, though -- the technician confesses the blood-work shows traces of a stimulant that, in early testing, looks to be an antidepressant. Wallace demands a phone call when that's confirmed, and then flees the scene.

Classical music washes over a rapt audience. Paul Rudd as Zander Price sits at a piano and pretends to play. After consulting Stereotypes and You: Partners in Acting, Paul tries to play Zander as a wild-eyed artiste, staring off into the distance with a pained expression and rocking his body back and forth. It's also possible he's just constipated. Wallace dozes in his chair, his head nodding forward until chin hits chest. Brooke stares longingly at Zander. Paul Rudd's crazy hair fluffs. In this role, he's a cross between Jon Bon Jovi and Tom Hulce in Amadeus, with a bit of Robby Benson thrown in just for kicks. As he finishes, Zander stares off into space, furrows his brow and bites his lip in anguish. "The Emmy is so mine," Paul Rudd thinks. The audience gives him a standing ovation -- except for Wallace, who sprawls in his seat like a particularly motion-impaired sea lion. Brooke prods him into standing. "Even you have to admit he's a great pianist," Brooke whispers, fantasizing about all the different ways she'd like the pianist to tickle her ivories. Zander bows and catches Brooke's eye, which would be implausible were she not holding a "Zander 3:13" sign and swaying. "Bravo," she whispers, wishing she hadn't left her vibrator in the cab. "I thought about canceling tonight's performance, but I know Catherine would have liked me to play," Zander says wistfully. "This is Chopin's Lullaby. Goodnight Catherine, and sweet dreams." Paul Rudd stares up at the big TelePrompTer in the sky one last minute before turning toward the piano, sitting down and upping his emotional investment in this scene by at least a nickel. He could just buy a Hallmark card and set it on the piano bench. It would be equally affecting. "Shoot me with a tranquilizer gun now," Wallace cracks at Brooke, who shushes him and resumes daydreaming about Zander's instrument.