Joe Cohen just stood there for a moment, ashen (this word is overused, but, believe me, here it was appropriate). And in that moment, I kid you not, the other three people in our circle were so appalled, they literally froze in midsentence. I know this sounds like poetic license, but I assure you it was true. Everyone was shocked, and there was nothing anyone could say to extricate themselves or their respective companies from the debacle.

At this moment, Joe Cohen turned to me and, apparently looking for my one redeeming virtue, or one area of common ground, said, “Come with me. I’d like to show you a picture on the other side of the far wall.” As we left to go see the picture, the remaining three stood there looking at each other in suspended animation waiting for the next calamity to blow them all away.

“Well, son,” Cohen said, looking at me and then turning to gesture at an old painting, “I see you’re interested in artwork and the Old Testament” (he didn’t add, “and tasteless jokes”), “so I wanted to show you this Orazio Gentileschi. Gentileschi, you know, is one of my favorite painters of biblical scenes.”

For a moment I just looked at what was to me a pretty mediocre piece of wall covering and wondered what to reply. I knew enough to now that art has its own lingo. If I could only find the proper cultivated observation to make, I could perhaps dispel the illusion that I was a worthless Neanderthal. I would have to find something more appropriate to say about the painting than that I liked it or that the colors were pretty. Describing it as a home run, a grand slam, or a great touchdown for Gentileschi was also out. I thought to say something about the texture, but I didn’t know what to say about it.

I decided my only hope was to steer the conversation away from art and on to the Bible, where I could display some erudition. “My,” I improvised, “Gentileschi really has captured the spirit of David’s anguish at being betrayed. Whenever I read this story I always imagine the scene in my mind. It’s just unbelievable how well Gentileschi has captured it. He must have been a great biblical student to have been able to capture the moment so well.”

“Yes,” Cohen averred. “The emotion of Gentileschi’s strokes has always moved me.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, I thought. Just remember: Talk Bible, not Art. “I’m so glad you showed me this,” I continued. “Tell me, which other scenes was Gentileschi able to capture on this level? I’d really like to see them as well.”

“Well,” Cohen replied, smiling for the first time, “many people think his greatest work is Joseph Fleeing Potiphar’s Wife. Gentileschi actually painted two versions of this scene. The one most people are familiar with hangs in the Louvre in Paris. That one, though, is damaged. The undamaged version is actually in my private collection at home. I was able to obtain it from a dealer some years ago before Gentileschi was so popular.”

This guy is really loaded, I thought. “That’s unbelievable,” I said.