Chapter 9
By the end of his first two weeks in Golden, Theo had indeed become a regular at the Chalice, had become familiar with the Boughery, had found a favorite bench at the riverside, had befriended Shep, had purchased and bestowed the portrait on Minnette, and had become thoroughly acquainted with Broadway.
Every day, he walked past the Verbivore bookshop, sometimes more than once. He frequently saw a man, whom he assumed to be the shop’s owner, sitting in a wicker chair near the entrance. Theo had a mind to stop and pay a visit sometime soon.
Day sixteen, for no particular reason, was the day.
Tony was sitting by himself, cigarette and newspaper in hand. It was early, and many of the nearby businesses were still closed.
“Good morning, sir,” Theo said, greeting him. He knew by then that such behavior was acceptable as a southern practice. “Are you the proprietor here?”
His accent and his use of the word “proprietor” immediately marked Theo as a visitor to the city. Tony stood and stepped toward him.
“Yessir. I’m the owner. Good mornin’.”
“Well, if you are open for business, I’m looking for a book about the history of your city.”
Tony smirked. “Well, I’m open, and let me be honest, there aren’t any good books about the history of our city.
” He spoke with the certainty and confidence of an expert.
“If you want to know the history of this place, it might be easier to make one up yourself. But I do have some books that claim to tell you what’s happened here in the past. I can hardly give the damn things away, so they’re real cheap.
Or if you just want to borrow it, that’s OK too. ”
As Tony spoke, he felt the old man’s warm, fearless gaze. His eyes were clear and alert, a blend of melancholy and good humor.
Theo smiled and patted Tony’s arm. “Let me buy whatever you think is best. And if I have questions about what I read, I will bring them to you. Maybe we could make up a history together.”
Tony’s eyes widened and warmed to the suggestion. “That we can do. And I have a whole staff that can help us. There’s a group of old guys who sit here with me most days, and they’re the biggest bunch of liars you’ll ever meet. Better than a room full of senators.”
He rubbed the light patch of whiskers on his chin with the back of his fingers.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll get a book for you.
I know one that you might enjoy. The author was a local newspaper guy for years.
And better yet, he married into one of the old families.
Now that’s how you really learn the history. By the way, my name is Tony.”
“Nice to meet you, Tony. I’m Theo.”
They shook hands and stepped out of the morning light into the dim confines of the shop.
Theo breathed in the rich scent of old paper and scanned the mélange of shelves and tables.
There were far too many books for the available space, a common characteristic of local single-venue bookstores.
Large or odd-shaped volumes that didn’t fit in proper spaces were stacked on the floor.
Upholstered armchairs, which were scattered randomly around the room and presumably meant as places to sit and read, were filled with books.
“I like your shop, Tony. It reminds me of some of the old bookshops in Scotland. And of one in Paris that I like very much, Shakespeare and Company, near Notre-Dame. I worried about it when the fire happened. You would like it, I think.”
Tony nodded. “I do like it. I’ve been there several times. It’s where I learned to organize my inventory. I use the same system they use. Can you tell?”
For the next half hour, the two men talked. Tony learned that the old man was an avid reader with a wide range of interests. They agreed enthusiastically on the virtue of holding printed books over scrolling through digital ones.
“Those damned devices are killing little dinosaurs like me,” Tony lamented.
He learned that Theo had grown up in Portugal and had lived in numerous places across Europe, in Brazil, in New York City, and elsewhere. Theo learned that Tony was a military veteran with strong opinions and limited filters when expressing them. They agreed on the horrors of war.
“And why have you come here of all places?” Tony asked with a tone of mild disbelief.
“I have a bit of business here concerning some properties. I heard from others that this is a nice city with good art, and I have long been interested in the American South but never had the chance to visit. I’ve heard some awful things about it, but so far I like all the southerners I’ve met.
I thought it might be nice to try one more town before I go to heaven. So, here I am.”
Tony scoffed. “Heaven? My god, you don’t believe in that sort of thing do you?”
Theo smiled but did not otherwise respond. Tony, the contrarian, bit his tongue. He could provoke that argument at some future time. For now, the lingering dictates of southern politeness called for restraint.
“How long will you be here?” Tony asked.
“I don’t quite know.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Well, I’m looking for a place. For now I’m at the hotel down on the river.”
“What sort of place you looking for?”
Theo explained his hope for something small, easy to maintain, and convenient to the theater and concert hall. Something furnished. Something he could rent. Price was no issue.
“Let’s go outside, and I’ll show you one possibility,” Tony said.
They returned to the sidewalk. Tony nodded and pointed to a building just a few doors down from the bookshop.
“It’s called Ponder House. I don’t know if that would work for you, not even sure it’s for rent, but the man who owns it has an apartment up there. He fixed it up a few years ago but never found a tenant he trusted.
“He didn’t want any college students or young people because he thought they’d make a mess of it. And since it can be kind of noisy down here, especially at night on the weekends, it’s not very suitable for older people.
“Plus, you have to walk up three flights of stairs to get to it. I’ve never been in it, but I bet it’s nice.
The owner is real old school, got a lot of culture.
Ivy League, blue blood, all that. The building‘s been in his family for generations. That’s where his office is.
He does a lot of work for some of those old families I was talking about, the history makers. ”
As Tony spoke, Theo studied Ponder House and assessed the area as a possible place to live. The charm of Golden was palpable there.
On both sides of the median, the old storefronts, like that of the Chalice — once threatened with demolition — had been rescued, pampered, and groomed into something of their former elegance by citizens intent on protecting the city’s historic architecture.
Ponder House was within easy walking distance of all that Theo would need to feed his active mind — art galleries, lecture rooms, bookstore, library, concert venues, theater, and Riverwalk.
There was even a touch of Portugal. The Symphony Hall, a custard-yellow edifice visible from Ponder House, reminded Theo of painted facades in Lisbon and Porto.
At the top floor of Ponder House, a small functioning balcony — part of the apartment, no doubt — gave a bird’s-eye view of Broadway.
A wrought-iron railing, a fleur-de-lis, reminded Theo of European homes he’d known.
Since he was used to city sounds, he was not concerned about noise.
And even at eighty-six, he was fit and undaunted by the prospect of stairs.
“I don’t know if it’s for rent,” Tony said, “but Mr. Ponder is probably at his office already. If you want me to find out about it, I’ll ask him.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tony. But I’ll stop in and ask him myself. You have much to do, and I have nothing at all. I’ve already taken too much of your time. Thank you so kindly. Let me pay you for the book and let you get back to other business.”
Theo reached for his wallet.
“No, no. This is my welcome gift to you. Promise you’ll come back for a visit. I want you to tell me more about Portugal and maybe we can argue some about heaven. And if you have any questions about what’s in the book there, you ask me. Me and my staff.”
They shook hands. The radiance of new friendship shone in both faces.
As Theo was turning to leave, Tony noticed and spoke to a young man walking toward them. It was Simone, a student in the music department at Golden University.
“Good morning, Maestro Simone,” Tony said, with a touch of the dramatic. “I can see you haven’t taken my advice yet. I’m telling you, get a guitar.”
The young man, as if by reflex, broke into a smile. This was not the first time he had encountered the bookseller’s banter.
“Simone, I’m telling ya’, get rid of that damn cello.
Yo-Yo Ma has the market sewn up. Why you throwing your life away on that thing?
Get yourself a guitar. You can make a living with a guitar.
I’ve heard of people making literally hundreds of dollars a year playing guitar.
Then you’d have some money to buy a book.
And you’d at least have a chance of getting yourself a girlfriend.
And guitars’re a lot easier to carry, Simone.
Look at you. You look like you got a damn hockey player on your back.
You’re going to kick yourself someday. I’m tellin’ you. ”
As Tony carried on his lecture, the young man shook his head and grinned good-naturedly. He was clearly a veteran, a survivor, of Tony’s horseplay.
Tony continued talking, his hand on Simone’s shoulder. “Mr. Theo, let me introduce you to Simone. He is one of our upstanding university students. A grad student, no less. Here all the way from the state of Washington to study with the famed Professor Gobelli.”
Theo, no longer smiling, tilted his head with obvious interest as Tony continued the introduction.
“Yessir, rumor has it that Simone could have gone to San Francisco or Boston or Chicago but only Golden has Gobelli, so here he is, throwing his life away. I’m trying to talk some sense into him, but he won’t listen. ”
Theo’s smile returned. He looked into Simone’s eyes. “I’m Theo. And I will have to respectfully disagree with Mr. Tony. I have a great love for the cello. Maybe someday you can tell me about yours.”
“Thank you. I need all the allies I can get. I’m Simone Lavoie. It’s nice to meet you. I wish I had time to visit right now, but I need to get to my class.”
“Simone, I’m telling you,” Tony chimed back in as the young man walked away, “come back sometime, and let me talk a little sense into you. And buy a book. You gonna miss me when I’m gone.
What am I going to do with friends like you?
Come in an’ buy a book. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be closing the doors in a week.
Maybe less than a week. Throw the dog a bone, Simone. ”
Theo surmised that this banter was a regular ritual.
Simone, ten steps away, waved at the two men without turning around and continued on his way to class.
By then, two other men were sitting in wicker chairs beside Tony’s. Tony introduced them to Theo, who stepped toward them, bowed slightly, and spoke a greeting.
“Theo, these, my new friend, are the ‘senators’ I mentioned. They’re all retired, and they can’t find any friends, so they sit on their asses around here most days.
I even had to buy the chairs for them to keep them from lying down on the sidewalk.
” There were five chairs, including Tony’s, under the awning in front of the Verbivore.
“We called this illustrious group ‘the Penny Loafers,’ ” Tony continued with a broad swipe of his arm.
“ ‘Penny’ because that’s more than they spent — combined — on books last year, and ‘Loafers’ because that’s what they all majored in at college — loafing.
And my god, look at their shoes. You’d think they’re still frat boys from the sixties.
When I close up shop and file for bankruptcy, they’ll all be homeless. ”
There were grins on every face as Tony delivered his diatribe. It was apparent the PLs were accustomed to these steady doses of his ragging.
Theo perceived it was all in good humor, grounded in the sort of affection that exists among those who don’t take themselves too seriously.
Theo tipped his hat. “Tony, thank you for the introduction. It is nice to meet all of you.”
He made the short walk to Ponder House, satisfied it would be a good place to call home if it could be rented.
Already, he had acquaintances, maybe the beginnings of friendship, in the neighborhood.
His plan was working beautifully.