My mother called me from Costa Rica to announce her trip to Europe. Accompanied by Doña Golche and Doña Esther and their husbands, Don Ismael and Don Tigre, along with my father, they would be traveling to who knows how many cities. The first step was the layover in Miami to take the ship to London, and according to her, this would give us a nice opportunity to meet. I decided to go and confront her.
Elena was staying at a small hotel in Miami Beach, the Sagamore, which, by that time, was a retirement place. Hundreds of elderly Jewish people wandered the halls, and the area was now a large hospital that survived on Social Security checks. The hotel was old but peaceful except when there was a heart attack, and the ambulance woke up all its guests.
When David and I arrived at the hotel, the delegation, except for my mother, had gone shopping, the only pleasure outside of food. I introduced David to her, and Elena was kind but not very enthusias-tic because my friend, although handsome and that was important to Elena, was a waiter and this was not enough for any Jewish mother. Then, taking advantage of the fact that he wanted to visit some friends, we went to have dinner at a nice restaurant on Lincoln Street, and there I announced, “I have something to tell you.”