She had seen Alex recently, at Wanda’s funeral. Suzanne was with Jesse and Alex was with Amy Baxter, the star of the sitcom Honey, I’m Home!, who had played the part of Katie in Rehab! Rumor had it Amy had fallen in love with Alex during filming, and had left her boyfriend to move in with him. Amy was standing near Wanda’s family weeping, and Suzanne wondered if Amy had ever met Wanda. Stan and Julie were also there, along with Carl (who was now a therapist at a halfway house), Carol (who was now pregnant), and Sid (who was now dieting). It was a strange little scene.

Afterward, as everyone was walking to their cars, Suzanne and Alex paired off for a moment. She congratulated him on his network job and Emmy nominations, which Jesse had told her about.

“Listen,” Alex said earnestly, “I begged them to use you for Katie, but . . .” He shrugged. “They said your TVQ was low.”

“Forget it,” Suzanne said. “Amy was perfect for it. Very understated.”

“Wasn’t she brilliant in the swing scene?” Alex enthused, as he watched Amy talking to Jesse and reapplying her makeup.

“Brilliant,” Suzanne agreed.

Carl and Sid joined them. “You kids feel like a meeting?” Carl asked. “We’re going over to the eleven-thirty Gardner.”

“If Jesse drops me, can one of you drive me home?”

“Sure,” said Sid.

“I really can’t go,” Alex said. “Amy and I have a real meeting—I mean, a business meeting—at Trader Vic’s at one fifteen to discuss Beyond Rehab!”

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Carl said. “I make my living out of being an ex-junkie, too.”

Suzanne and Jesse drove out of the cemetery behind Carl’s car, which had a bumper sticker that said EX-HEADS GIVE BETTER HEAD. Suzanne looked back and saw Alex in the parking lot talking excitedly to Carol’s husband Rob, who, Suzanne knew, had just signed a production deal with Lowell Stephenson. “He’s probably pitching an idea about a model who ODs in Hollywood,” she said.

“A vehicle for Amy,” Jesse said.

When they’d first started seeing each other, she’d been unable to remember anything he said. She’d wondered if and when his words would stick, and what the sentence would be. Then, in the space of a week, she’d recalled three sentences of his. Random ones, but it was a beginning. First there was “I talked to my friend Roy on Friday—I told you about Roy, didn’t I?” Then, “I run five miles a day.” And there was something else about chili dogs, but she couldn’t remember the exact phrase. She was also making strides toward remembering what he looked like. She’d have a sudden image of his face while waiting for the light to change, or sitting in the bath.