Just when everything was going really well, I saw a familiar face approaching and I sighed to myself. It was Caitlin Reynolds. We had grown up together. I didn’t have anything against Caitlin, but I didn’t have much in common with her either, at least not on a personal level. It wasn’t that she was a bad person. She was just very self-centered in a child-like way. And although she was the granddaughter of a very famous painter, she didn’t seem to have much appreciation for art. That really got to me.

I sensed Mark tense up beside me. Uh oh. I could guess why. He was a player, and Caitlin was a party girl. Great. I could just imagine how they might “know” each other. Here came the awkward.

“Beth, I’m glad you’re here,” Caitlin said when she reached us. “I wanted to talk to you.” She glanced up at Mark, and got a puzzled look on her face for a moment. “Hey, I know you.” Then recognition seemed to dawn. “Oh wait! We hooked up once! Mike, right?” she asked as if she were discussing having gone to college together, rather than having had sex with him. I felt like kicking her in the shins.

“Mark,” he answered coolly.

“Oh right,” Caitlin said with a faraway look. “Thanksgiving weekend. That was the night that Lydia Stuart unfriended me on Facebook. Mike here provided some good distraction.” She snort laughed like she was remembering something funny. Good times. Forget kicking her in the shins. I wanted to beat her senseless. Okay, more senseless than she already was. Fucking oblivious.

Mark looked like he couldn’t decide whether he felt more mortified or apoplectic. He subtly slid is arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. I can’t say that I minded, but it was a useless gesture. It wouldn’t have occurred to Caitlin that I might have minded her reminiscing about having carnal knowledge of my date. At least the warmth of his body, pressed against my side, was providing me with some good distraction though.

Just then, another familiar person approached. I recognized Paul Gerard, a handsome and sophisticated man in his fifties, who was the scion of a wealthy old Philadelphia family, an art collector, and very active philanthropist. I was happy to see him, but then, at that point, I would have been happy to see an IRS auditor.

“Beth, how nice to see you,” he said with a warm smile, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “And Caitlin is here too,” he added, and that pretty much said it all.

“Hello Paul,” she replied, glancing around and looking uncomfortable.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said to Mark.

“Mark Patterson,” Mark said, extending a hand for Paul to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mark,” he said in a friendly tone, and then turned to me again. “I came over to tell you that I’m the owner of several of the photographs in the exhibit, and I could arrange for you to have a private showing before everyone else.”

“That would be wonderful,” I said glancing at Mark. I was thankful for the excuse to get out of there. “Nice seeing you, Caitlin,” I said, automatically handing her my business card. Then I followed Paul, who was already headed for a hallway off to our left. Mark walked beside me resting his hand on the small of my back. I was hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin through the fabric of my dress.

Paul was leading us toward one of the smaller exhibit rooms. He had a word with a guard at the entrance, and then signaled us to follow him into the exhibit space. There were several glass cases with movie memorabilia, and framed photos, lit with spotlights, adorning the walls.

“I’ll leave you two alone to enjoy,” Paul said, and with a wink, as he left.

“I think that was a rescue mission,” I noted dryly.

“Beth, about Caitlin…”

“Mark, you’re both single and over eighteen. I promise that I’m not judging your lifestyle choices.”

“I just meant it was uncomfortable. I can’t believe she said that.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry about that. I know that Caitlin is just clueless, not malicious. And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“About that other thing, though… I realize I must seem like a womanizer, but it’s not that I have a problem with commitment.”

“It’s okay, Mark…”

“It’s just that I hadn’t met anyone who I wanted to commit to in the past.”

“Really, it’s okay, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I just wanted you to know. It’s not because I have any emotional baggage and it’s not because I don’t respect women. I mean, I could commit.”

“Mark, as Braden so helpfully pointed out, I’m not exactly an expert on commitment. I’ve dated plenty of guys. I mean, not plenty plenty! I’m not like, prolific, or anything.” We stared at each other, and after a beat, we both laughed.

“So, while this conversation is incredibly awkward, this event isn’t too bad,” he said casually. “Well, I mean the parts after the car. Actually, I wouldn’t mind going with you to one of these things again.”

“Really? You wouldn’t? Well, next Saturday night, I’m going to a Great Gatsby party for a foundation at the home of that guy you just met,” I said, hesitantly.

“Great Gatsby? Would I have to wear a costume?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He sighed. “I’ve done it before.”