Chapter 2
As Theo concluded his stroll along Broadway, he returned to the small coffee shop he had passed earlier that morning. The aroma of caffeine hung like a scented cloud (and functioned as highly effective advertising) at the entrance to the business.
A painted windowpane next to the door identified the establishment in gold letters outlined in black:
The Chalice
Light Street and Broadway
Monday through Thursday, 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.
Friday and Saturday, 7 a.m. to 11 p.m.
Sunday, 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.
Once inside, Theo took a deep breath and scanned the room.
Standing, sitting, alone and in small clusters of various generations, ethnicity, and attire, people of all sorts had gathered in witness to the shop’s magnetic pull.
A young man leaving the building with a cello on his back and a coffee in hand skillfully navigated the tables and the incoming customers with occasional whispers of “excuse me.” He caught Theo’s eye with a sideways glance, smiled, nodded, and spoke a greeting.
Such a thing was unusual, even suspect, in the big cities where Theo had spent most of his life, but he reciprocated the gesture with a nod and a smile, then stepped toward the short line where orders were placed.
He sensed that he might become a regular there, an intuition that proved true for the year he lived in Golden.
If only the coffee is as rich as the ambiance, he thought.
That wishful possibility seemed unlikely.
Theo was used to the strong coffees of Europe — abatanado and café pingado in Lisbon, café con leche in Madrid, espresso in Bologna, café noisette in Marseilles.
The American shops had often disappointed him, even in New York, where, for every excellent cup he’d consumed, he had endured a half dozen letdowns.
His standards, he had been told, were rather exacting.
The old man exchanged a greeting with the barista at the counter, placed his order, received his drink, and took a seat in a nearby armchair.
He was more than a little surprised at the quality of the espresso and nodded approvingly as the first sip rested on his tongue.
He studied the room: the customers’ faces, their voices, greetings, and gestures; the care with which the cheerful barista did his work; the activity from table to table.
But in short order, his attention was drawn to and fixed entirely on the artwork that covered the walls of the shop.
On the left, right, and rear walls were portraits, ninety-two of them in total, done in pencil on white paper and in black frames of three sizes.
All had obviously been done by the same artist. And, as if to reflect the customers in the shop at that moment, the collection included a full range of humanity — age, race, and expression.
Portraits and portraits and more portraits.
Even from the distance between himself and those framed faces, Theo perceived the richness of detail and delicacy with which they had been rendered.
There was a quality to them, an aliveness, that would almost make one believe the people portrayed were spectators of the Chalice rather than mere adornments on the walls.
The old man’s mind began to spin a fanciful vision: each of the ninety-two frames is a window.
Each face depicted in the frames is standing outside the building, peeking in with amusement at the customers on the inside.
At night, when the shop is closed, the faces in the portraits leave their frames, step inside the shop, mingle, talk about who and what they’ve seen or overheard that day, share stories, and then return home by opening.
He smiled at the colorful, if ludicrous, idea. Such things crossed his mind frequently.
He had the imagination of a poet.
But he had, too, the eyes and mind of a connoisseur. Though he was easily interested in many things, he was keenly interested in a particular few. Portraiture fell into that category.
And so, while he wanted very much to study each of the ninety-two drawings closely and slowly, he decided to wait for a more opportune time, when the shop was less crowded.
For now, he drank his espresso in small, deliberate sips. To do otherwise, in his mind, would have been disrespectful, even irreverent, to the barista’s art. When he finished his drink, he took up his hat, sauntered out of the shop with glances to the left and right, and returned to the hotel.
Later that afternoon, following lunch and a nap, Theo walked to the river, strolled a section of paved pathway south to north, sat for a quarter hour with his face sunward, and then made his way back to the coffee shop. Aside from a few tables occupied by students, the place was empty.
There was no line at the counter when Theo stepped up to place his order.
“Welcome back,” the barista said. “Twice in one day.”
Theo was impressed that the man remembered him, especially given the number of customers who had been in the shop at rush hour earlier in the day.
“My dear fellow, you made a superb espresso this morning. Well done and thank you. Perfectly je ne sais quoi. I have returned for the encore.”
The younger man chuckled. He didn’t often hear French in the Chalice. “Well, thank you, sir. I will aim to make this one even better. If it’s not just right, please let me know. My name is Shep. And you are…?”
Shep reached a hand across the counter. The old man grasped it in both of his. “My friends call me Theo. It is very nice to meet you.”
Shep noted the precise enunciation and foreign accent in the old man’s speech.
“And you as well. What brings you to Golden?”
“I am here on business. But right now I’m very interested in the portraits.” Theo gestured toward the walls. “I noticed them this morning and am back to look at them more closely. Can you tell me about them?”
By then a group of four women had entered the shop and formed a line behind Theo.
“I’ll be glad to, Mr. Theo, soon as I get a break. But here’s something that will get you started. It might answer some of your questions. And I want you to tell me about you when we get a minute.”
Shep handed Theo a local magazine, The Gold Standard.
On the cover was a picture of the coffee shop, taken at the entrance through a fisheye lens that caught all three walls — left, right, rear — and most of the portraits.
In the center of the picture stood Shep and another lean, slightly gray-headed man, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a tweed jacket.
The caption read, “The Art of the Chalice.”
Theo opened the magazine, turned to the article, and began reading.
It began as a lark. A “what if?”
A “would you?”
A “maybe.”
Coffee shop as art gallery.
But that is what the Chalice, one of the city’s most popular downtown businesses, has become in recent months. Located at the corner of Light Street and Broadway, the Chalice is owned and operated by Shep and Addie Carlile, both natives of Golden.
They bought the unoccupied three-story building during the early days of the downtown renaissance and, for almost a year, spent weekends and free time renovating the ground floor.
When the building was finally completed, they left their bank jobs, apprenticed at an upscale coffee shop in Atlanta for two months to learn the art of coffee, and eventually opened their doors to strong sales and five-star reviews.
The Chalice offers a limited premier assortment of drinks and light pastries.
Since the shop’s opening, a loyal clientele has led to a thriving business.
Its location — within two blocks of performance venues, restaurants, retail businesses, the courthouse, and Golden University’s School of Art and Design — provides the Chalice with a steady stream of customers.
Go any day at any hour, and you’ll see a variety of faces among the patrons.
Some of those faces never leave the room!
The Chalice is a few streets away from the home and studio of Asher Glissen, also a native of Golden and one of its most prominent artists.
Over the course of his career, he has taught private lessons, served as curator of the Bredlow Center for the Arts, illustrated numerous ad pieces and periodicals, and become renowned as a master of portraiture.
When the coffee shop opened, Glissen was one of the first customers in line. He claims to have spent a sizable portion of his retirement savings on coffee within months of the shop’s opening.
A year ago, the Carliles invited Glissen to display some of his artwork in the shop. He took the idea and ran with it.
Shep Carlile explains, “Asher said he had something in mind but didn’t tell us what it was.
About a month later, he showed up with half a dozen portraits of some of our regular customers.
We were floored. It took off from there.
People love it. Some folks come in just to look at the drawings. We’re really proud to have them here.”
There are presently 92 portraits on display. All are for sale. When one sells, another piece takes its place.
Glissen speaks of the coffee shop in glowing terms. “The Chalice has become an institution down here, a real melting pot. I’ve tried to capture that in the portraits.
My mother, who was an artist, used to tell me that every face is a story.
I think she was right. These drawings are a neighborhood in their own right.
It’s been a labor of love to bring them together.
I’m thankful that Addie and Shep have given them a home. ”
Glissen can often be seen at the Chalice and elsewhere downtown, camera in hand, photographing material for his work. If you’re in the coffee shop, he might well ask you to look his way. If he does, don’t be surprised if you become part of the Chalice gallery.
More customers entered the shop. While Shep prepared their drinks, Theo reread the article, then rose from his chair and walked to the rear of the room.