“Penelope, how did you two meet?” an elderly man asked as he attempted to shove his microphone into my face.
Timothy kept that from happening. “Distance,” he ordered, giving the man a look that seemed to temper the guy’s aggressiveness.
“At a party,” I said. “He was rude, but he got better.”
Several of the reporters chuckled. Timothy nodded his head and looked chagrined. “Yes, that was the worst mistake of my life.”
The banter continued for several minutes, then Timothy cut them off. “This is a night about art, my friends,” he said, “not about relationships, no matter how enchanting Penelope is. First, sample the refreshments. Then mingle among the paintings. Choose your favorite and write about it. I shall enjoy reading which painting or paintings you’ve chosen to share with the readers of San Jose.”
Timothy started to move forward, but then stopped and looked back at the man who’d asked Timothy his reason for building another art gallery. Addressing the man primarily, but loud enough that others could hear, Timothy said, “There are more than fifty art museums and galleries in New York City. The last I heard, San Jose was listed as having between ten and fifteen, but several of those specialize in glassware or other areas of work. My gallery is, right now, only paintings. Did San Jose need another art gallery? I think so. Otherwise I wouldn’t have opened Caldwell Fine Arts.”
As if he’d said what he wanted to say, Timothy steered me forward. The reporters seemed willing to open a path for us after we’d had our little chat with them. Several of them smiled at me. One woman praised my dress.
A huge buffet table was spread with glasses of bubbly. Timothy had said no alcohol, so I figured it must be sparkling apple juice. There were crackers, cheese, and vegetable platters. Oh, and huge platters of fresh fruit all sliced for easy nibbling. Napkins and small plates were available, as well as abundant glasses. Neither the glasses nor the plates were plastic or paper. I guessed that Timothy’s team had set up an arrangement with a catering service for their dishes. I hoped the service also washed up afterwards. I was certainly not suitably dressed to be on the clean-up team.
“If I may have your attention,” Timothy announced to the assembled crowd. His voice was so loud that not even the chatter of so many people kept everyone from hearing him. They all turned, stopped talking, and prepared to listen.