Chapter 37
Mrs. Gidley once offered the suggestion to Theo that he simply buy all the portraits at once, schedule a public gala at the Chalice, call in the television cameras, and make a grand presentation. Get it over with in one fell swoop.
“It would certainly save both of us a lot of work, wouldn’t it?” Theo replied. “But the giving is part of the gift. And think of all the stories I would miss if we did them all at once.”
If Theo had followed her suggestion, he would never have met Cleave Torber.
But he didn’t, and so he did.
The gift was meant for a young woman named Clarise.
Her portrait showed a beautifully proportioned face with sensuous lips and serious, half-sleepy, intelligent eyes.
Her expression seemed cautious and hesitant, perhaps even afraid.
Whatever it was, there was a mystique about her.
Her straight dark hair was pulled back with loose strands at the temples.
She had prominent cheekbones and a slender neck that tilted slightly to her right so that she looked at the camera from the left corner of her eyes.
She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties.
Hers was a face worthy of a magazine cover.
It was also a face that, in addition to being colorful or interesting in some indefinable way, had suffered loss. Theo saw sadness in her features.
For some reason, he had doubts that she would accept his invitation. Still, he arrived at the Fedder half an hour early and took his place on the bench. The Promenade was quieter than usual for a Thursday evening in June.
At seven o’clock, no Clarise.
At seven-oh-five, one Cleave Torber.
His steps were hurried and insistent. His eyes were locked on Theo as he approached the fountain.
He was clearly a man on a mission.
Under different circumstances, Theo might have noted the young man’s striking good looks. He was as handsome as Clarise was beautiful and just as worthy of a magazine cover. They had obviously chosen each other with their eyes.
But the slender, muscular Cleave Torber who descended on Theo like a dark cloud was disfigured with anger.
Everything attractive about him was twisted with contempt and jealousy.
And everything about him as he approached the Fedder — his stride, his facial expression, and eventually his tone of voice — advertised forthcoming violence.
He stepped close to the bench, set his feet like a gunfighter, arms slightly away from his sides, and looked down imperiously at the old man. He wasted no time on courtesies as he spit a question at Theo.
“Are you the one who wrote this to my girlfriend?”
He held out the letter Theo had sent to the young woman. Theo recognized it immediately. “Yes, I wrote it. But is Clarise going to —”
“I don’t know who you think you are, old man, and I don’t appreciate that prissy ass artist doing a portrait of her and hanging it in that coffee shop without my permission. If you weren’t so old, I’d kick your ass across the river.”
Torber hovered over Theo, so close to the bench that Theo could not have stood if he’d wanted to. The old man looked into the anger-filled eyes peering down at him and tried to cobble a sentence together. He was less afraid than confused. Surely he could convince the man to see reason.
“Please, sir,” Theo said, “you don’t understand. I only wanted —”
“Oh, I understand. Believe me, I understand. Some sick old man is trying to hit on my girlfriend. You pervert. You’re the one who don’t understand.”
Theo held up a hand, palm out, as if trying to hush a crowd.
“Hey, Cleave, is something wrong?” a voice asked.
Torber turned.
The question had come from Derrick Prentiss. He had been in court that day and was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and burgundy necktie. He and Torber were acquaintances. Both had grown up in Golden.
“Yeah, there’s something wrong. I’m glad you’re here. This old man is a predator or something, and he was trying to meet with Clarise behind my back. I ought to have him arrested. Can I have him arrested?”
Derrick waved off the suggestion. “Cleave, I know this gentleman and I can assure you, he’s not doing anything wrong. Just cool down. Go on home. You know you can’t afford to get in any more trouble.”
Torber stepped back from the bench and turned to Derrick. “You need to warn him to mind his own business!”
Derrick nodded. Years in the DA’s office had taught him that silence was often the best response to anger.
Theo rose from the bench and addressed his accuser with remarkable composure. “Please, sir.” He held out the portrait as a peace offering. It was still wrapped in brown paper. “Sir, I’m very sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Would you please give this to Ms. Clarise for me?”
Torber snatched the picture. “Here’s what I’ll do for Ms. Clarise.”
He took the portrait and slammed it to the ground at his feet. Glass broke inside the brown paper. Torber stomped the portrait twice and then ground it beneath the heel of his boot, his eyes fixed on Theo. “You and yo’ damn picture.”
Passersby slowed down and gawked at the argument in process.
Derrick considered calling the police but refrained.
He was about to speak when Theo, horror-stricken at the sacrilege he had just witnessed, straightened up to his full stature and stepped toward Torber.
The old man’s lips went bloodless with rage, and his eyes matched the ferocity in Torber’s face, measure for measure.
Derrick thrust himself between the two men and put a hand on Theo’s shoulder to hold him in place. Then he turned to Torber. “Leave. Now! Go!”
Theo spit his own words at Torber, leaning around Derrick to do so. “You are a disgrace. You are a pig of a human, a disgrace. Idiota! Babaca! Filho da puta! How dare you? How dare you? How dare you? Damn you, filho da puta!”
The desecration of the portrait had awakened and infuriated a sleeping bear.
Cleave Torber was across Broadway before Theo’s bilingual outburst subsided.
“He’s gone, Mr. Theo. You gonna be OK?” Derrick took his hand off Theo’s shoulder.
Trembling, the old man took a deep breath. Then another. “Yes, I’m fine. But what a shame. What a disgrace. Just look.” His words were hurried and clipped as he stared at the ground.
Derrick bent down and picked up the remains of the portrait. Broken glass rattled like coins inside the wrapping paper. Theo received it as if it were the corpse of a small animal. He shook his head and clenched his jaw in disgust.
Another deep breath, in and out. And then, clearly befuddled, Theo turned and looked intently at Derrick. “Forgive me, sir, but… do I know you?”
“Well, sort of. My name is Derrick Prentiss. A few weeks ago, you gave a portrait to my wife, Minnette. I was sitting right over there the whole time y’all talked.
” He pointed to the bench on the far side of the fountain.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I’ve been hoping I might get to thank you someday.
You made quite an impression on my wife. She still talks about you.”
Theo groaned. “I will be terribly embarrassed if you tell her about the impression I just made on you. My ugly, angry self. Forgive me, please.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’d say you had good reason to be angry.
Minnette and I both grew up knowing that guy.
His name is Cleave Torber. He’s always been a hothead and a bully.
His temper and jealousy have gotten him in lots of trouble before.
Our DA’s office is real familiar with Mr. Torber.
I don’t know why on earth any woman would put up with him. ”
Derrick looked at the crumpled mess in Theo’s hands. “I’m afraid he’s ruined the portrait.” Theo shook his head and tsked.
“Uncle Asher could do another one of her, but it might be better for Clarise if her picture’s not on the wall.”
Theo agreed.
“Mr. Theo, you be careful. I know your intentions are good, but some folks might not understand your kindness.”
Theo nodded but made no comment.
Derrick looked at his watch. “I hate to hurry off but Minnette is waiting for me, and I need to run. Would you like me to walk you home?”
“No, thank you. I am OK. I am just upset. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sort of pale, Mr. Theo. I could call an officer and have them take you home. I’ll be happy to.”
“No, no. Really, I’m fine. But thank you. And please give my love to Minnette.”
Derrick agreed and said goodbye. After he crossed Broadway, he turned to look back at the fountain. Theo was on his bench, eyes downcast, fixed on the mangled work of Asher Glissen.
As he walked home, still rattled by the confrontation, Theo questioned the wisdom of doing further bestowals. Should he stop? Might he be putting himself in harm’s way? Or worse, might he be putting others in harm’s way?
In short order, he dismissed those concerns. After all, he had known, and had been warned by Mr. Ponder, that his generosity might be misunderstood. One bad bestowal was no reason to derail the project. Theo concluded that he should, he must, continue the bestowals.
He would consult with Mr. Ponder and Mrs. Gidley about how to move forward. But move forward he would.
Later that night, he stood in his kitchen and removed the torn brown paper that still enshrouded the portrait. Shards of glass fell onto the countertop. The frame was broken in multiple places, and the drawing itself was torn, creased, and punctured.
On the cheek of the beautiful, unsmiling, cautious face, a boot print was visible, like a fresh bruise.
Theo took the drawing out of the frame and threw away the broken hardware, holding the face before him. Desecration. It is a desecration, he thought. He opened a drawer and laid the portrait down with the solemnity of a burial. Then he closed the drawer.
I have now met a Southerner whom I do not like.