Chapter Thirteen
After a successful shopping expedition, Jason, wearing a pair of black jeans and one of those shirts that didn’t have to be tucked in, led Naomi, very hot in a black dress that showed off her curves, to the gallery.
“You sure this is this place?” she asked.
He looked around for a second, trying to get his bearings before answering. This part of the Village had a bunch of different galleries within steps of each other. They were in the right area for sure. But this gallery…
He turned and saw a small bodega across the street. And over his shoulder, a small burger place.
And the gallery.
Confident in his understanding of the area, he nodded, walking Naomi to the front door.
Except there was…nothing.
No carpet. No tiny platform desk waiting for someone to stand behind it, checking names off a list.
No wonder she was confused; he was too. But, as far as he knew, this was the place. “I’ve seen a few exhibitions here,” he finally said. “I actually think I saw a painter who’s friends with Tom Walker exhibit his stuff here. Oliver…Goldsmith?”
Probably way too many names, but this was Naomi he was talking to; her contact list was as long as his, and she was always listening for names she didn’t have. All the same, Naomi nodded. “Name rings a bell,” she said.
The group of artists Tom and Oliver and Max were a part of, were well connected.
If his memory served, the random book signing Max had mentioned wasn’t just any book signing.
It was a signing for best-selling author Leonard Abraham that served as a kickoff for the Hollowville Hanukkah festival, and his famous Hanukkah history book.
But if he had to guess, there was another, closer connection that Naomi would recognize Oliver Goldsmith from. “He’s also working with Samuel on projects they can’t talk about.”
And that wave of recognition flew across Naomi’s face like Jason had expected. “Right. The stuff with all the NDAs,” Naomi said. “Yes. Samuel is how I know him. I think he was at the exhibit Tom Walker did last year?”
Jason smiled. “I’ll take your word for it; I wasn’t at that exhibit.”
“It was interesting to say the least,” Naomi said, making Jason wonder what exactly had gone down that night. He knew abstractly about how Leah and Samuel had started their dance around each other that night.
“But yes,” Naomi said with a smile. “I know NDAs a bit too well for my taste.”
Jason looked at her, remembering who she’d worked for and what she’d done for them for as long as she had. “Any events you had to sign one for?”
“Plenty,” she said with a grin, “Still can’t talk about them if I want to work with the clients.”
Which was loyalty the clients she worked with deserved.
But unfortunately, they had more problems than loyalty to think about. They were waiting for Parker-Roth, and yet at the same time standing in the middle of a busy section of the village, in black clothing in front of a darkened gallery.
He walked closer, trying to get a glimpse of…anything inside.
Unfortunately for him, the windows were blocked off internally by long, black drapes.
Great.
“What do we do? Knock?”
Jason laughed; the thought of treating the front door of a gallery like an apartment amused the crap out of him. “Don’t think that would work. It looks absolutely dead or empty or covered in there.”
“Covered?”
Jason nodded. “With sheets and all,” he replied. “He said three?”
Naomi nodded, going through her phone, presumably for notes because they’d actually spoken on the phone as opposed to texting. “He did. Should I text him?”
“Who?”
At the sound of the voice, not what he expected, Jason looked and saw a tall dude with the brightest blond hair he’d ever seen. “Hey,” he said. “You’re…?”
“Max Parker-Roth,” he said. “And you’re Jason Greenblatt.”
Jason nodded. “That I am.”
“Which means,” Parker-Roth continued, a grin on his face, “you’re Naomi…”
“Nachman,” she said, excitement clear in her voice; whether it was for the event or the prospect of getting another signed contract, Jason wasn’t sure.
“Yes,” she continued. “Thank you for meeting us so early.”
“It’s not a problem,” Parker-Roth said. “Just gets me down to the gallery a little bit earlier. Come on. Let’s go inside. We’ll talk, sign contracts, and I’ll give you the lay of the land.
And as Parker-Roth headed toward the front door of the gallery, Jason couldn’t help but notice the way Parker-Roth knocked—two long ones followed by one short, and he wondered if the building was a gallery or a frat house.
*
Naomi followed Jason into the gallery; this whole thing was already a bit outside of her comfort zone, but she needed to remember that this was a business expedition. Fascinating, but business.
“Thank you again for meeting us,” she said, doing her best to hide her discomfort in civility.
“Of course,” Max Parker-Roth said as he led them through the gallery. “I’ll eventually have to do prep work, but we need to talk a bit and sign contracts before we get to the nitty-gritty of the exhibition and its preparations.”
Which made sense.
Their destination was a small wooden table that sat in what seemed like the most sedate and calm room in the entire gallery space; it reminded her of an office break room, with books in a small shelf, a single-cup coffee maker, and all of the paraphernalia that went with it, and a tiny fridge that made more noise than Jason’s engine.
Which had to be some kind of gallery office.
Either way, the table was clean, and Parker-Roth gestured toward the top of the table. “Let’s sit and let me see the contract.”
Obliging, Naomi pulled out the binder of papers for the wedding, the folder that contained the contracts and her notes, passing the contract and some of the pages from the binder about the wedding venue to Parker-Roth, who sat across from her.
“Do you need a separate room for the bride and the groom? Are you going to need rooms for the bridal party and the groom’s party before the wedding?”
Naomi grinned. There were tons of different customs associated with Jewish weddings, and which, if any, were going to be used as part of the ceremony depended on the preferences of the bride and groom.
Having separate spaces and then a space for the bride and groom at the end of the wedding ceremony itself was one of them. “I like the way you think,” she said. “I take it you’ve worked with more Orthodox weddings before?”
Parker-Roth shrugged. “I wanted to be prepared. I assume this is for the wedding Samuel is making the ketubah for and Isaac is making the chuppah poles for?”
Naomi nodded. Having it theoretically confirmed that the Jewish art world she was working with was small was one thing; having it actually confirmed right in front of her was another. “Yes. Exactly. There’s…”
“Wait,” Parker-Roth interjected as Naomi was about to talk about the people who’d signed contracts already. “You were Ida’s pride and joy?”
Which was the first time she’d heard herself referred to like that. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “But I did work for Ida…before.”
“She left town because she’s an absolute piece of garbage.” Parker-Roth shook his head and Naomi felt Jason’s arm around her shoulders, the conversation and its focus careening out of control. “Anybody who worked anywhere in her vicinity knew she was trash.”
“And,” Jason continued out of almost nowhere, “that Ida’s business only continued because Naomi was loyal.”
Which was yet another point that she wasn’t used to digesting.
“Well,” she said, smiling in an attempt to yank back control of the conversation and the subject matter where she could digest the turn it had taken. “Thank you for your confidence in what I do as a planner. But I have to ask…”
Parker-Roth looked up, his eyes wide. “I’m all ears.”
“What came first?” she asked. “The event design or the art?”
“Good question,” Parker-Roth replied. “The event design was a natural outgrowth of the art. The kind of art I do involves special skills that very much complement the event design in a way that made it…fun, I daresay.”
Jason asked, “You didn’t plan the event design?”
Parker-Roth shook his head. “I was randomly asked to help a friend out of a jam five years ago—there was a completely unexpected book signing at an event, and the person who was usually in charge was otherwise busy. I volunteered to do the flow, because you learn how to organize the flow for an exhibit, so you can organize the flow for a signing, right? Turns out you could, and also turned out that I really liked it. I mentioned that to my friends over dinner one night, and so Tom calls me, tells me that his usual designer couldn’t help him.
Asks me to take the job. I liked that, and soon enough I was offering my skills to more of my friends who needed some event of theirs organized in terms of room flow.
At that point it became ridiculous to not supplement my income with something I enjoyed, as long as it didn’t keep me from doing art and doing charity. ”
Jason nodded, and Naomi liked the flicker of inspiration she saw in his eyes. “Charity?”
Max nodded. “The Parker Pack is actually my mom’s side of the family.”
The Parker Pack?
It took her a second to place the name. Then she remembered that the ‘Parker Pack’ was a foundation that helped to raise money for the families of kids and young adults with cancer.
It was spearheaded by a childhood cancer survivor, and her parents, who helped her to execute her mission of giving back to the community that helped her.
Not only that but also pay it forward to other families who needed it.
That is when it sank in, reminding Naomi where she’d seen Max Parker-Roth’s face before—on a poster for a Hockey4Hope event.
“Oh wow.”
Parker-Roth nodded again, as if he’d understood the undertones of the conversation even though she hadn’t expressed them. “So, every few exhibits, I do one for the Parker Pack, either proceeds, content, or usually both. Like this one.”