the unexpected question of the evening

It was a surprise birthday party in an old building on the Upper West Side. The hallway was turned into a makeshift extension of the apartment, with notes stuck on the doors of the neighbors to join in, you know in case they complained about the noise in the hall. The cat made her way around everyone's legs jumping up to have her head rubbed.

I didn't know any of the others, the usual awkward silence when you only know the host of the party. I stuck to the wall, a party hat on my head waiting for the birthday boy to arrive off the elevator. Lost in my concentration on focusing on the elevator buttons I hear the hostess say:

" You should really talk to her, she's writing a book on Jewish gangsters."

Meaning me, the only gentile in the group. Looks of interest my way turn to rushed excitement as the doorman phones to say the birthday boy is on his way up. Then for the next four hours I hear variations of "so how did you get interested in Jewish gangsters?"

"It's a long story. But a fun one."