Hank Landry changed out of his blue New York City policeman's uniform and checked the jacket and pants. He brushed off a little dust and straightened them on the hanger. He checked his uniform shirt and decided he'd need a clean one on Sunday. "Ma!" he yelled. "Got a uniform shirt to be washed and ironed."

He changed into black pants, put on a clean blue shirt and tucked it into the pants. He buckled the belt.

The stairs creaked as heavy footsteps trod upstairs and down the hall of the two-story Queens' house where he lived with his parents. Joanie Landry, his mother, stood outside his door and said, "OK, give it here." He handed her the shirt and she draped it over her arm. "Are you going to the dance with Louie tonight?"

"Yeah," Hank said. "He met some nice girls there before and wants to go again."

"Maybe," said Mrs. Landry, against all hope, "you'll meet a nice girl there. Settle down."

Hank laughed. "You're moving too fast, Ma. I want to meet someone, but it's not easy to find the right girl. I thought I had her before." His face stilled. He selected a tie with blue and white stripes and slipped around his neck.

"Come over here," said Joanie. Hank walked over and stood while she fastened the tie. He slid the knot up.

"How do I look?"

"Handsome, very handsome. All the girls will want to dance with you."

"Dream on, Ma. I just want one."

"Nancy is getting divorced," said Joanie. "Two kids. That husband of hers left her for another woman."

"Louie told me all about it, Ma. I'm sorry to hear it."

"If only she hadn't married that bum while you were in Viet Nam." Joanie sighed. "Shotgun wedding." She'd liked the petite, dark-haired girl like her own daughter.

"That's past. It was hard at the time, but I've got to move forward. Please don't try to get us back together." He remembered the 'Dear John' letter he'd gotten in 1968 that broke his heart. The college sweetheart who'd promised to wait for him had been lonely. A handsome, good-time 4F had shown up. If it hadn't been for Louie's support, he might have drunk himself into oblivion. Or worse.

Joanie looked up at her tall, blond son. Her mouth drooped.

"Promise me, Ma."

"I'll promise if you'll dance with at least three girls."

Hank looked down at his mother and put his hands on her shoulder. "I'll try to ask three girls to dance. Can't make them. OK?"

"OK."

"You'll just have make do with the grandchildren my sister and brother gave you. Ma, I know you want me married and settled down, but you'll have to be patient."

Mrs. Landry said, "My son. Eight years a policeman, two years a soldier, going to law school. What girl wouldn't think you're a good catch?"

"Cops and Nam veterans aren't popular, not in 1969." He kissed her forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

The front doorbell rang. "That's Louie. Bye, Ma." He left the room. The front door opened and shut. Hank was off to the dance. Another night with another girl or two. Interchangeable like dolls.

The sun had set and the day cooled off slightly as Hank and Louie sat at a table at the Garden Ballroom in Midtown. Louie fanned himself with a menu as the men stirred drinks with melted ice. They watched the men and women, dancing, talking, checking out the room and each other.

"Hottest July I can remember. Not as hot as Nam, though," said Louie.

"No," said Hank. He pushed his warm drink away. "Today on First Avenue there were dust devils," said Hank.

"Dust Devils? The little whirlwinds?"

"Yeah, it got that hot. One devil picked up a bunch of flyers and blew them around as it crossed the street." Hank laughed. "Against the light. I couldn't catch it to give it a jaywalking ticket."

Louie laughed.

"Do you like working in the 17th?" Louie asked.

Hank nodded. "It's interesting with the people from the UN. I like being near Midtown."

"And the occasional dust devil to lighten things up. Maybe you'll work for a Midtown law firm when you pass the bar."

"Maybe not." Hank looked out the windows of the ballroom at the lights of midtown but didn't see them. "I've been thinking I'd like to move outside the city. Long Island."

"Join the exodus. Why?"

"Don't know, exactly, except the City is not the one we grew up in. Many people I knew moved to the suburbs. All my aunts and uncles, most of my cousins. So many immigrants moved in. Always been immigrants. My mom's parents came here from Italy during the Depression. Old move out to make room for the new."

"Good point. This drink is warm. Let's get new ones and see who we can dance with. My parents want me to get married," said Louie. "Out of the house."

"Mine, too," said Hank. They ordered Cokes at the bar. As they waited for their drinks Hank heard a man and woman speaking Vietnamese. He'd learned a good bit in Viet Nam. The man asked the woman if she knew what subway went to Queens. She didn't.

Hank turned to them. "Excuse me, the Number 7 goes to Queens."

The man nodded. "Do you speak Vietnamese?" His English was very good.

"Some," said Hank. "I spent a year in Viet Nam."

"I worked with the US forces as a translator," said the man.

"Duc?" Louie asked.

"Yes," said the man. "Do I know—Louie? Louie DaSilva?"

"Duc. Hank, I knew Duc in Saigon. He married an Army nurse." Louie eyed the very pretty young woman Duc was with. "How is Evelyn?"

"She's fine. She's at the table. This is my sister, Tien," said Duc. "Join us for a drink, why don't you."

Louie looked at Hank, who nodded.

"Sure. This is Hank, my friend from the Army."

They chatted as they sipped cold drinks. Duc was a translator at the UN, Evelyn was a nurse. Tien was an instructor in French at Hofstra and lived with Duc and his family in Garden City on Long Island.

She danced with Louie and Hank, then Louie danced with another woman while Duc danced with Evelyn. Hank and Tien sat and talked. Duc was a natural interpreter but she like teaching. She'd been educated in France. Hank told her he was studying law. He liked talking to her, her French accent, her dark brown eyes looking at him while she listened.

Time passed and Duc said they had to get back to Long Island. Duc and his family left.

Louie asked, "Do you want to stay?"

Hank shook his head. "Let's go. I've got things to do tomorrow."

"Did you ask for Tien's number?"

"Hunh? No."

Not interested?"

"Not that," said Hank. "It's just...I'm not ready. You know."

Louie said. "I know. I know. Give it a chance. She likes you. She told me so. Asked me all about you."

"Did you get her number?"

Louie laughed. "No, she likes you. Let's go."

Sunday afternoon Hank patrolled First Avenue near the UN. The heat baked the sidewalks and streets. People walked slowly. Hippies in bell bottoms and long hair strolled alongside tourists and families in Sunday clothes.

Hank walked along the East River. The sun shone hotly on the sluggish river. People stopped and pointed, muttering. He looked to see what they were looking at.

A dust devil twirled on the sidewalk. It plucked at people's clothes and gathered up scraps, then whirled around a young woman heading downtown. It yanked at her skirt, and she put her hand down to keep it from flying up. The dust devil yanked her hat off her head and slipped away. She turned to chase it. The dust devil passed Han. He grabbed the hat as the little whirlwind moved into the street and collapsed, dropping its load on the ground.

The woman came up to him and he recognized Tien.

"Tien?" he said.

"Hank!" She smiled. "Good to see you again. "What are those things?"

He smiled, realizing he liked seeing her again. "We call them dust devils, like little whirlwinds. It's the heat."

"Dust Devils." She laughed, a happy sound. Hank smiled back. "Naughty little things."

"Yes," he said. "Here's your hat." He handed her the beret. She took it, her fingers touching his hand. Her deep brown eyes looked into his blue eyes. He felt something loosen and fly away.

"Thanks, Hank.

"You're welcome, Tien," he said. "Say, would you like to go to dinner with me one night?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," she said. "I'll give you my number. Call me."