Free The Lonely Hearts Club by Brenda Janowitz Page B

first person we call.”
    “When will that be,” I say as we walk down the hallway toward the elevator, “do you think?”
    “We’ll call when the next freelance gig comes up,” he says as he presses the button for the elevator. I wonder if he knows that he hasn’t answered my question.
    “When will that be?” I say, trying to sound confident and professional.
    “First person we call,” he says with a smile as the elevator doors open.
    “Great!” I say.
    “Great,” he says. I stand there, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
    “So, we’ll call you,” he says with a smile as the elevator door closes.
    When will that be?

11 – Birthday
    “ Surprise! ” the crowd screams as I climb up to the rooftop of the Delancey with Chloe. Even though it’s the dead of winter, Chloe told me that the band we were here to see was set to perform on the roof, so I let her lure me upstairs. The retractable roof has been drawn and the heat lamps are on.
    We immediately freeze in our tracks. Cameras are flashing like crazy, and somehow I know that it’s not the paparazzi here to greet us. Through the flickering lights, I can barely see the crowd of people circling us.
    I thought that we were coming to the Delancey, one of our favorite Lower East Side rock clubs, to see Cakewalk perform, but I now see that instead, I have been tricked into doing the one thing I do not want to do tonight—celebrate my twenty-second birthday.
    “You are dead to me,” I mutter to Chloe under my breath.
    “I had no idea,” she says without letting her lips move as my mother comes in to embrace us both.
    “Surprise, honey!” my mother says, emerging from the crowd of lights like Diana Ross returning to the stage for an encore, as she pulls me to her bosom for a hug. “Are you surprised?”
    “Sure am,” I say.
    “How about you, Chlo?” she says, hugging Chloe. “Bet you didn’t think I could pull something like this off?”
    “I can honestly say that I did not,” she says.
    “I didn’t even know you wanted a party, Pumpkin,” my father says as he walks over to us and hugs and kisses me. He is wearing a pair of jeans and a black leather blazer with a white button-down shirt underneath. As usual, he’s got on his gold Tiffany belt buckle, but since it’sthe weekend, he’s forgone the usual shellac in his jet-black hair, and I notice for the first time that he bears a striking resemblance to Gene Simmons.
    “Me neither,” I say.
    “Ha!” he says back. “Your mother is something, isn’t she? How are things going with the freelance job?”
    “I could really use a drink,” I say.
    “I made sure they stocked the bar with 1990 Lafite.” He produces a wineglass from out of nowhere and I take a swig, surveying the crowd. I wonder whether my parents shelled out the cash for an open bar, too. I could really use some hard alcohol right now.
    A waitress walks by with a tray of mini hot dogs. Chloe, although immersed in conversation with my mom, manages to grab one and dip it into the mustard. My dad and I reach over and grab some, too.
    As I look around, I see that my mother has completely redesigned the Delancey’s roof deck—Chinese paper lanterns hang delicately from the ceiling, the way they used to do on the terrace of Tavern on the Green, and there are two overlapping Oriental rugs laid down on the stage, à la U2’s video for “Elevation.” Right above the stage, there is a massive hot-pink neon sign announcing H APPY 22 ND B IRTHDAY , J O !
    And if that wasn’t enough, my mother’s also had the entire thing catered. In the far left corner, where Chloe once made out with a crazy Brazilian guy, only to have his girlfriend appear and try to take a swing at her, there are mini crab cakes and chicken satay being passed around. Right in the middle of the room, where Jesse once got so drunk he threw up right on the floor, there is a caviar bar and vodka slide. People are already lined up to drink the vodka