Promise me you won't cry at what I've got to tell you. 'Cause if you do, I will, and you know what an ugly sight that is. Pam and I are moving to New York. Ivan got that violin scholarship, and Pam's got a good offer - new magazine they're starting, Today's Mind. They want Pam on the staff. And me? I got stuff cooking there; Bella may run again. We got Janet's loft while she's away on some worldwide tour with that damned art piece of hers. Now she calls it "A Get-Well Card to the Avant Garde." I hear she does that part under the veil herself. Yeah, Ivan's gonna play a solo with that Suzuki group of kids at Carnegie Hall. Can you believe that turkey-baster kid is a prodigy? I knew we had something special when he was born on Thanksgiving. He cries about leaving the twins; they've been his good buddies. Ah, you know how those bullies at school gang up on him, playing the violin the way he does. Got one green eye, one blue. Got two mommies and no daddy. Pam and I should never have gone to that PTA meeting together. But anybody picked on him, those twins were like two little Charlie Bronsons with Bataca bats. So what about you? You're back in the work farce, huh?
Import/export. I'm a partner, Edie. They put in all the money and I put in all my time. We import ethnic clothing, mostly from South America. And no, don't say it; I don't think we're exploiting cheap labor, so much as I think we're giving work to people who would be out of work... if we weren't exploiting cheap labor. Oh, Edie, I know what you're thinking, but it's hard to be politically consious and upwardly mobile at the same time. How naive. To think there was a time when we actually thought we were going to change the system. And all the time...