Okay, I'm thinking that it might not be such a hot idea to run a Circuit City commercial for video equipment. featuring a priest fantasizing about videotaping his altar boys -- you know?
Benson and Stabler walk down the street to a building and speculate how Holt must have won over the neighborhood kids. "That's exactly what these kids -- and Evan -- need. Somebody to love them," figures Benson. "Be a part of his world," says Stabler. "Rich, educated," says Benson. "White," adds Stabler. They ring the buzzer of a decidedly cruddy-looking door. Inside, they talk with Evan's mom, a surly, chain-smoking woman in a bathrobe. "What'd he do?" she asks. Nothing, they tell her. "So why you want to talk to him?" she asks. Stabler tells her it has to do with her son's piano playing. Evan's mom narrows her eyes. "If you're from that fancy school you better talk to my son 'bout who's going to pay for this!" she snarls, as she puts out her cig. Hey, lady, did you never watch Fame? Fine, then -- no "My Child is an Honor Student" bumper sticker for you! Evan shows them into the kitchen and shuts the door. "How was the audition?" asks Stabler. Evan shrugs and smiles as if to say it went okay. "Uh, my mom," he mumbles, embarrassed. "Families," says Stabler. Evan sheepishly gestures around the apartment -- decorated in Squalor Moderne -- and says that it's not nice like Holt's place. "I guess there's a price for everything, huh?" he says. Benson says Holt needs to pay a price, too. "That's why we need you to tell us who these kids are," says Benson, holding out Holt's album of snappies. "Holt's my teacher," says Evan. "He cares about me a lot. I mean, he even bought me a coat one year." Stabler tries to convince him: "If you don't help us, Holt goes right back to giving those lessons." Evan says he's no Ray Guzimano. "Do you know how old he was when his first CD came out? Seventeen." "So what?" asks Stabler. Evan's twenty-one. "Some prodigy," Evan snorts. "Julliard took in a forty-one-year-old flute player last year," says Benson. "It's not too late." Finally Evan begins looking through the album, reminiscing like it's the Special Victims Class of '92 Yearbook. "That's Cesare," he says, pointing to one kid. "Know where he is? Jail." He turns a page. "That's Ricky, he's a junkie. And," he points to another set of photos, "ah, that's Tony. Know where he is? Nobody does. And me? You know, I still live here. But that's okay."