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"Hello?" "Hey, Ma." "That you, David?" "I’m thirty-three, you don’t recognize my voice yet?" "Don’t be smart. I just thought maybe it was Nicky." "Why – where is he?" "How should I know? I’m only his mother. Ask one of his so-called friends. Bunch of hoodlums if you ask me." "Ma, nobody says ‘hoodlum’ anymore. Not since West Side Story." "Doesn’t matter what you call them, they’re still good for nothing. And I never liked that movie. Since when do hoodlums dance? You’re a policeman, do you meet many dancing criminals?" "Well, there was this one guy last month . . . Anyway, I liked the dancing in West Side Story." "You always liked the dancing – did you know I wanted to sign you up for tap lessons with your cousin Linda when you were six, but your father thought it was too sissy. Put his foot down. You remember how he got?" "Not really, no." "Well, take my word for it, he got loud. Once he made up his mind about something, that was the end of that. Anyway, fat lot of good tap lessons did Linda – she’s got the grace of a hippo. The waistline too." "I still like dancing. I like it so much I’m starting as a dance instructor next week." "Thank God, you came to your senses. I’ll finally sleep good tonight – first time in what, seven years? Wait until I tell Betty next door. She’s always saying how – " "Ma, I’m still a cop. I’m only going undercover as a dance teacher." "Oh." "We think this dance school is blackmailing students, so I’m going undercover as Monsieur Pierre – " "That’s ridiculous." "No, it’s not. We have pretty good evidence, just nothing we can take to court." "No, I mean the Monsieur Pierre act. Dance teachers aren’t French. They’re Latin. Your Aunt Joan and Uncle Sam took tango lessons last winter in Boca Raton. She said the teacher was from Brazil. Or was it Argentina? I always get those two mixed up. Rio de Janeiro is in Argentina, right? " "Ma . . ." "Anyway, the teacher’s name was Ramon. Very attractive too, according to your Aunt Joan. Your uncle was jealous. Claimed Ramon’s moustache was about as real as his accent." "Fine. I’ll be Ramon. Happy?" "Of course I’m happy. Who’s going to shoot at a dance teacher?" "You worry too much." "I’m your mother. It’s my God given right to worry. Besides, what else should I do?" "Bake cookies. Knit scarves. Christmas is coming." "What, you lived with your Aunt Rose so long, you celebrate Christmas now? Fine, I’ll make you a scarf, but I’m calling it a Hanukkah present. I’ll even make one for that partner of yours. How is he? Still handsome?" "He’s fine. We’re both fine." "You always say that." "Ma . . ." "I know, I know. It’s none of my business." "I should go. Gotta practice my tango." "Me too. Go, I mean. I’m going over to Barb and Sid’s later to play pinochle. I only hope Sid keeps his hands to himself. Did I tell you last time I was over there, he followed me to the ladies’ room? I didn’t say anything to Barb, it would break her heart. If it wasn’t for her pineapple upside-down cake, I’d stay home tonight and watch The Rockford Files. That James Garner is so handsome – " "Night, Ma." "Good night, dear. And David?" "Yeah?" "Be careful when you dip. Your Uncle Sam put out his back for a week trying to impress Aunt Joan." "No one dips like Ramon, Ma." "My son, the comedian. Just remember what I said." "I will. Bye, Ma." "Bye." |