Chapter 24
Whenever a portrait was sold and removed from the Chalice, another one, from inventory kept in Shep and Addie’s office, was put in its place. Within minutes, a face would be freed from storage and brought into public view.
Theo greeted those newcomers enthusiastically. Each one meant another name, another story, and another thread for the living tapestry he was weaving with the bestowals.
What did become obvious early on was that, at the rate of one a week, it would take almost two years to depopulate the Chalice wall of its then-present occupants.
Concluding there was no good reason to limit himself in that way, Theo resolved to increase the frequency of his giftings.
He could do at least two, maybe three, each week.
He had the time, the desire, and the money.
It was Mrs. Gidley who most felt the effects of Theo’s accelerated activity.
Addresses of recipients could be difficult to find, especially when Asher used nicknames on the back of the portraits.
It took considerable sleuthing, for instance, to ascertain that “Chard” Dellamore was actually Richard or that “G Dawg” Salter was actually Brian.
Mr. Ponder volunteered to hire additional help, but Mrs. Gidley quickly shot down the proposal. By now, she was fully invested in Theo’s “silly idea.”
After stepping up the frequency of bestowals, Theo’s apartment was inhabited at any given time by three, four, or as many as half a dozen faces, propped up on the couch, leaning on a windowsill in the kitchen, or looking down from a bookshelf.
And his calendar began to fill up with appointments.
Tuesday, Bob, seven o’clock. Thursday, Hendley, seven o’clock.
Monday, Ahmad, seven o’clock. He spent a portion of most days at his dining room table, handwriting invitation letters for Mrs. Gidley to deliver.
One bestowal presented a unique challenge: Ellen.
Even though she was a regular presence on the Promenade, she had no address to which a letter could be mailed.
Shep told Theo what little he knew about her.
“She’s homeless, but I think she stays at the Mission sometimes.
I’ve heard she sleeps under the bridge a lot and who knows where else.
” Shep chuckled and shook his head. “Asher had a devil of a time getting a photograph of her. She kept talking about the goons from Columbia, whoever they are, and he could hardly get her to sit still. He had to take her picture at one of the tables outside. She’s an interesting person.
You want me to try to find her for you?”
“I would like to get a letter to her,” Theo explained. “Do you know if she can read?”
“She’s pretty private, and I can’t say I’ve talked to her all that much.
She never actually comes inside the shop.
She doesn’t want to leave her bicycle alone.
But somebody bought her a cup of hot chocolate one day and took it to her.
Now she’ll just come and stand at the window till we see her.
We always take her a cup of hot chocolate.
“Sometimes she’s on another planet, but other times she’s pretty clear-headed. I’ve seen books on her bicycle before, and I think she reads them. If you give me the letter, I’ll try to give it to her next time I see her. She passes by here pretty often.”
“Do you know her last name?”
On the back of her portrait, Asher had simply written “Ellen.”
The barista shook his head. “I’ve never heard anyone say her full name. She’s always just been ‘Ellen’ to me.” Shep raised his eyebrows. “All she has is a first name. Kind of weird, isn’t it?”
They both laughed.
Theo left the letter with Shep. It was shorter than others he had sent and was written with the simplest of words and the shortest of sentences.
Dear Ellen,
Mr. Glissen, the artist, drew a very nice picture of you.
I saw it in the Chalice, the coffee shop near the fountain.
I bought your portrait and would like you to have it.
It is a gift. You do not have to pay anything for it or do anything in exchange.
If you will, please meet me at the fountain this Thursday at four o’clock in the afternoon, and I will deliver it to you.
Your portrait, with all its details, are quite beautiful. I am an old man. I will be wearing a green hat.
I look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Theo
Even so simply written, the letter, Theo thought, might be too difficult or possibly intimidating for the unconventional recipient.
He was pleased to learn that Shep had not only delivered the letter but also read and explained it to her.
She clearly understood it and had only asked Shep to clarify the date and time she was to be at the Fedder.
Shep was cautiously optimistic that Ellen would show up and more than a little interested in how the introduction might unfold.
In anticipation of the meeting, Theo spent considerable time studying the woman’s portrait.
Her head tilted slightly forward and down, as if reluctant to look into the camera, as if trying not to be noticed.
There was a bashfulness about her attempted smile but clearly, hers was a face that had suffered loss.
It bore the road wear and troubling scars of hard-fought survival.
The eyes — heavy lids above and flaccid circles below — were tired and unfocused and, even on the page, seemed to be darting about.
The skin on her face was furrowed, a swath of corduroy from crown to neck.
Her bottom lip protruded, bulldoggish, beyond her upper lip and hinted that she might be missing teeth.
Her hair, pulled back and held in place by some hidden means, was wiry and windblown, rebellious against any efforts toward grooming. A bandana hung loosely around her neck.
Theo questioned the wisdom of his decision to give her a portrait — where would she even keep such a thing? — but as the time for their meeting approached, he found himself anticipating this bestowal more eagerly than any of the previous ones.
He had scheduled his appointment with Ellen for four o’clock assuming that ample daylight would lessen any apprehension she might feel about meeting a stranger.
The afternoon was cloudy with a chance of rain — another reason she might not show — but Theo put on his hat, grabbed his large umbrella, and walked to the rendezvous.
As he approached the Fedder a full half hour before the designated time, he saw her. She was already sitting on the bench, her bicycle within arm’s reach.
If Theo had arrived two hours earlier, he might have witnessed her arrival at the fountain.
He would have seen her riding her bicycle, barefoot, from the direction of the Mission.
He would have also seen her walk the bicycle to the Fedder, remove a pair of knee-length socks and red high-heel shoes from one of her several plastic bags, and sit to put them on.
He would have noticed that she looked around frequently as the clock inched toward four.
The Ellen that Theo finally did see as he approached their meeting was far different from the one in the portrait.
She was wearing a dress, one that she had carefully chosen from the clothing pantry at a homeless shelter.
It was the color of wheat, no doubt some wealthy donor’s act of charity, that buttoned at the neck and reached just below her knees.
A scarf with a floral motif, bright reds and golds, was draped around her neck and across her shoulders.
She was a kaleidoscope whose every movement brought a shifting pattern of color.
She was also wearing thick layers of rouge and cherry-red lipstick and a peacock-blue wide-brimmed velvet hat.
It might have been elegant once upon a time and fashionable, but now it was a shapeless, vaudevillian relic, a wilted halo.
It appeared that some attempt might have been made to style her hair, possibly even curl it, before putting on the hat. The attempt was less than successful.
When Ellen saw the green hat walking her way, she sat up straight, patted the lap of her dress with both hands, and watched with riveted eyes as Theo approached. Before he could say anything, and while he was still several steps away, Ellen held up an envelope.
“No man has ever sent me a handwritten letter before.”
It was stated as a simple declaration, maybe even an appreciation, without hostility or ill will.
Theo stepped forward until he was close enough to touch her. He smiled warmly and tipped his hat. “Well, then, I’m happy to be the first.” He bowed slightly, as if addressing royalty. “Ellen, it’s very nice to meet you.”
She fidgeted and seemed to be on the verge of saying something but then hesitated, as if she’d forgotten lines in a script. Finally, she spoke.
“Oh, now I remember. Do you like my hat?”
Theo nodded approvingly. “It’s lovely. Blue is one of my favorite colors. There are so, so many shades of blue. I think the artists call this one cerulean blue.”
“How do you know me?” Ellen asked.
Theo discerned already that the ensuing conversation might well be a runaway train of non sequiturs. He was undaunted and pleased that Ellen had shown up at all. Apparently, she had attached some importance to the meeting.
“Ellen, I only know you because of your portrait. I saw it at the Chalice recently with all the others. Have you seen it before?”
Instead of answering, she tapped the envelope containing Theo’s letter with her index finger. She followed that gesture with a statement, pronouncing each word precisely, as if to make a point.
“ ‘Your portrait, with all its details, are quite beautiful.’ You said ‘are’ in your letter.”
She removed the single page from the envelope, unfolded it, and held it up to Theo. “Look. The subject and the verb in that sentence don’t agree. If you take out the dependent clause, it should read ‘The portrait is quite beautiful.’ I don’t mean to be rude, but we try to use correct grammar.”