Cut to Deirdre being rolled in to Mary Angela's medical facility on a gurney. As Angela looks on with exxxtreme worry, Reagan-head Felicia is yelling that the Junkie Deirdre Doll is supposed to come included with a ten-month baby. Where is the baby? A policeman insists that if there'd been a baby, they certainly wouldn't have left it sitting in the middle of a crack house: "We'll post an officer at the junkie's bedside, if she wakes up, we'll let her tell us where she left her kid." Now, I'm not a huge expert in the language of drug use, but I've always thought that a "junkie" is someone addicted to heroin, and according to Kendra, Deirdre's troubles did indeed center on an unhealthy relationship with black tar heroin, and yet according to this police officer, Deirdre was found in a "crack house." Maybe she's branching out, taking on some new hobbies? Drug-talk nitpickery aside, Mary Angela appears absolutely distraught by the idea of the police getting wind of baby Dana's whereabouts. As the unconscious Deirdre gets rolled off, Mary Angela's gaze just so happens to settle on the photo of Fairview in The Calendar of the Most Boring Conversation Ever. The month on the calendar is March, 1990, which might mean something to those of you charting the Wisteria Lane timeline at home. (Not it!)
Cut to an oddly ghoulish real estate agent handing Mary Alice and CreePaul and baby Zach the keys to their very own house, complete with white picket fence. The ghoul hopes they'll be very happy in Fairview. MAVO: "And we were, we were as happy as any family could be. Until one night, three years later, there was a knock at our door --" Mary Angela swings open the front door to reveal a fresh and clean and sober-looking Deirdre at the door "-- and I was desperate once again." And we see by Mary Angela's expression, she is indeed desperate(ly constipated).
The Adam and Eve "Desperate Housewives" graphic flashes for like a second, then we're back in the now, no credits. Wow, we're getting right to it tonight! MAVO: "It was five o'clock in the morning on Wisteria Lane when the phone calls started." One by one Lynette, Susan, and Gabby wake up and answer their phones. "Of course each of them knew something was wrong from that first ring. After all it's one of the unwritten rules of suburbia: don't call the neighbors in the middle of the night unless the news is bad. And so they came, with their uncombed hair and their unmade faces -- they came because, after all these years, they were no longer just neighbors." The three Desperates huddle around Bree in the hospital waiting room. Apparently, Danielle called them all to let them know about Rex's heart attack. First of all, Danielle -- the girl who can't manage to call 911 when she finds her father all heart attacked on the stairs -- now suddenly has no trouble reaching out and touching? And second, calling in the mother's friends is a very generous thing to do for a daughter who just saw her ice-queen mother stop to make the bed before driving her father to the hospital.