Rob kneels before Schmarce as if he's going to propose, but instead says, "Listen. Before I say anything, I just want to tell you how betrayed and horrified I am of the network's behavior. Marcy. I hate to have to tell you --" "No, you can't do this!" Schmarce whimpers. "That's what I said!" Rob lies. "But they lied to me, Marcy! Damn them! Damn them to hell!" Wow. He should really consider the dinner theatre circuit. He's THAT good. "But," sputters Schmarce, "is there anything you can do? Anyone you can talk to --" As Schmarce utters these words, Kev explosively enters. "Rob! Quick! Emergency!" he shouts. "Kevin," shouts Rob, "not now! I am in the middle of something!" Kevin's confused. This is NOT how they rehearsed it earlier in Rob's office. "But they need you...right away...quick...hurry...EMERGENCY!" he stumbles. Maybe Rob and Kev should start a two-man dinner-theatre extravaganza, they're THAT GOOD. Rob pretends to be disturbed as he says to Marcy, "Can you believe this? I'm so sorry. You know what? I am going to buy you a drink after we wrap. I think I'm just as upset about this as you are." Rob walks toward the door and exits as he whispers to Kev, "Where WERE you?" Schmarce looks down at her tear-stained palms and contemplates a future without Grosse Pointe. A future of Lifetime Television for Women movies and the occasional drive-in opening. Poor, stupid, Schmarce.

Later, on the set, Schmarce enters for what will surely be her death scene. As she makes her way to the hospital bed, she has to run the gauntlet (yes, I realize I've already used that word, but here it's used in an entirely different way) of her costars and substitute family members. "This really sucks, Marcy. If it helps at all, we're gonna keep you on the pinball machine," says Johnny, all sensitivity. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to you," says Hunter, honing her incisors. "If they'd let me, I'd change places with you in a heartbeat." "I made five hundred calls, Marcy," says Dave. Too little, too late, you spineless Barracuda-humping reject. "Great," responds Schmarce, on the verge of tears. "That means only two hundred real people wanted me to live." She gets into the bed and looks over at Rob, who acts like a real man and hides behind the pink pages of the script that contains Kim's death scene.