Page 146 of Something Like Winter

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“I’ll make it quick. You know we have the gallery opening in two

weeks.”

It had taken ages to find an available downtown spot with all the

right elements. Location, parking, lighting, wall space—and most of all

—price. Finally, Tim had found someone sympathetic to their cause. The

Eric Conroy Foundation would have its gallery, but it wasn’t opening as

soon as Marcello thought.

“Four weeks,” Tim corrected.

“Ah, but the space will be ready in two, and it would be a shame to

let it go to waste just because that Belgium artist is on holiday.” Tim checked his watch pointedly.

Marcello continued unabashed. “You’re supposed to point out that

we have nothing to exhibit. Well, I was thinking that painting you did of

Eric would be a perfect piece to hang in the gallery.”

Tim stared at him. “It’s in my bedroom.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“No, I mean, how the hell did you see that painting? Do you snoop

around my bedroom when I’m not home?”

“What else am I supposed to do with my free time?” Marcello said.

“You have a gift, Tim. Eric raved about your talent, and the few

paintings you’ve allowed me to see left me thoroughly impressed.” Tim’s face flushed. “Thanks, but I’m still changing the locks on the

doors.”

“I’ll find an open window,” Marcello assured him. “Anyway, instead

of boring empty walls, why not exhibit your best paintings? You’ve

worked hard for the foundation. Treat yourself.”

“It’s a little self-indulgent,” Tim said.

“You’ve worked hard,” Marcello repeated. “And it would make Eric

proud.”

And Ben, if he ever found out. “I’ll think about it. Now get out of

here, you old windbag.”

“Old?” Marcello said as if offended, but he smiled and took his

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