Because Ray and Grant could not get in their usual morning workout, Grant was not home when Barbara came back from her early afternoon luncheon. Later, when Grant arrived, he rushed to take a shower and head out for the arts commission meeting that, to Grant’s way of thinking, began much too early: six o’clock.
The meeting took place at the senior center, located on the lower level of city hall. It had just started when Grant entered and quickly took a seat. The members of the commission sat at a long, narrow conference table facing five rows of chairs, seven seats across, nearly all of which were empty. In fact, there was one more commissioner (five) than attendees (four).
With such a small gathering, the commission’s elderly chairperson, Arthur Bingham, stopped to introduce himself and the other members of the committee to this first-time attendee. Ethel proudly exclaimed to her fellow commissioners, “Grant has an impressive background in fine arts, and I hope he will be a regular attendee at future meetings.”
“Please stay for refreshments after the meeting, so we can all get to know you better,” Bingham said to Grant. “We have a mixed fruit cobbler generously prepared by Sausalito’s gracious gourmet, Warren Bradley.”
Grant turned to his right to find the outstretched hand of that frumpish man with the unruly mustache. Grant smiled, nodded, and shook Warren’s hand. With pleasant smiles exchanged, both men turned back toward the commission, who all nodded politely in return.
The two other guests were there to present proposed agreements for tent rentals and catering services for the annual art gala. By the meeting’s conclusion, only Warren and Grant remained as guests.
Ethel took Grant aside. In a soft murmur, she divulged, “Sadly, Arthur Bingham wishes to leave the commission after his term expires. Please consider getting involved! We need some young blood in the mix, and you’ve got the credentials to make a marvelous addition to the commission.”
Warren did not appreciate what he heard from a discreet distance.
With all the cobblers I’ve prepared for this group, I should be the next commission member! Regardless of hurt feelings, Warren reminded himself to smile as he suggested to Grant that he help himself to some cobbler. Grant’s refusal, patting his flat abs and saying that he had not yet had dinner, was one more mark against this apparent social climber.
Back home, as Grant and Barbara talked over cocktails, they quickly realized that they had both come away from their social interactions with differing points of view.
“After seeing the Sausalito Women’s League in action, it’s just too silly for me,” Barbara sighed.
Grant shrugged. His meeting had left him considering the commission’s future potential. “The commission is well-intentioned, and they have an idea of what they want to do. They need a little help getting there.”
“What are they hoping to accomplish?”
“They see their mission as bringing greater attention to the fine arts that are already here in Sausalito and Southern Marin. They have a history that runs pretty deep. There’s an old marine warehouse at the north end of town that provides studio space to twenty plus local artists. I've heard about it, but never gave it much thought until tonight.”
“I’m surprised your radar for emerging talent didn’t lead you there before now.”
“I think I switched it off, at least as it pertains to the marketing and sale of fine art.”
“Well, I think it’s grand that you would like to get involved,” Barbara said, with what he thought sounded like a hint of disappointment in her voice.
“We could get involved together. There’s certainly a lot to be done.”
“I’ll think about it, Grant. Your favorite part of the business was always cultivation of emerging artists. What I enjoyed was client cultivation—bringing art lovers and artists together. And even better, introducing people of means to the world of collecting fine art.”
“Sweetheart, any time you want to look at some of the galleries in San Francisco, to either work at or to be an independent rep for, I’m entirely supportive of you doing that.”
Barbara smiled, kissed Grant on the cheek, and then passed her hand over his chest. “Wow, these pecs of yours are getting harder by the week!” She moved her index finger around his shoulders and down his increasingly powerful arms. “All of this fresh air must agree with you. You’re turning into a beast.”
“I don’t think it’s the fresh air. It’s Ray, kicking my butt every time I try to slack off on my workouts.”
“Well, I like the results.” Barbara pulled Grant closer and kissed him deeply. “A girl could get carried away by a guy like you.”
Inspired by her admiration, Grant bent down wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground.
Barbara, in jest, slapped his back and said, “Put me down, you brute.”
“Tarzan like Jane. Take Jane to tree house.”
“Alright, but remember, be gentle…well, not too gentle.”
Chapter Seven
One month after he attended his first meeting, Grant was formally invited to apply for Arthur Bingham’s seat on the arts commission.
After hearing that Ethel had reached out to Grant, Warren chose not to apply.
Grant, unopposed, was selected with little discussion. The other commissioners suggested that Ethel reclaim her previous role as the commission’s chair.
To the surprise of everyone, Ethel said, “I’d like to nominate Grant Randolph as our chair. I think he’s superbly qualified and would bring a new level of energy to all our efforts.”
The other three commissioners, who had long grown weary of the demands of serving on the commission, happily deferred to Ethel’s suggestion.
To the surprise of everyone in the room, Grant suddenly found himself the new chair of the Sausalito Fine Arts Commission.
It was an all but unheard of ascension, considering that he was a relative newcomer to Sausalito and had
