Hot Dr. Lawson interrupts, calling Elizabeth away and purring in a low voice that he got those Itzhak Perlman tickets they'd wanted. He's right to whisper. That sounds damn dull. Well, except for dinner. And the implied intercourse. Elizabeth squirms. Evidently she doesn't want Rachel to think she's defiling Mark's memory, but Rachel is smiling privately with pleasure. Elizabeth awkwardly blows Lawson off temporarily so that she can continue chatting with Rachel. "Handsome," Rachel grins, referring to Lawson. Elizabeth tries not to choke on her embarrassment. Rachel asks to stay with her, saying she'd like to check out Northwestern and the University of Illinois. That's not in Chicago, but I guess Chicago's closer than St. Louis, so I'll buy that explanation even though I know she's full of more shit than a pig sty. Elizabeth sighs with relief and agrees to let Rachel and BJ stay. "Separate bedrooms, of course," she giggles. "Of course," Rachel nods. Because what's one night in separate beds when you can shag yourself silly back at your own apartment?
Sam, Abby, and Neela snack on ice cream. Frank pops up long enough to steal one and get admonished by Neela. "One treat now and again isn't going to kill anyone," Frank insists. "In your case, that little truism might not be completely accurate," Neela says cheerfully. Sam decides that an eating audience is a captive audience, so she decides to retell the phenomenally boring story of her and Steve. It actually makes me wish I owned Ishtar so I could pop it in and show myself a better time. Sam was fifteen and scooping ice cream at the mall, and he was twenty-three and working construction, and apparently unfamiliar with the words "statutory rape" -- or even "disgusting." Apparently Steve would come in with his pals and eat ice cream and scope out her underage ass, and impress her with his sweat and his muscles and his apparent inability to snag a chick of his own age, presumably because they saw through his macho bullshit. So he and Sam hooked up and started making out in his Mustang. Having once made out with a guy in a Mustang equivalent, I can attest to the fact that it's uncomfortable and cramped, unless you are an Oompa Loompa. Neela, typically, wonders what Sam's parents had to say about all this. "They had plenty to say, but I didn't listen," Sam says. "What happened?" Neela asks. "Alex happened," Sam shrugs, licking her spoon.