Warren would seed a conversation the way farmers pay to seed a cloud—drop enough random thoughts, and you may be delighted to find that it’s raining down information.
Most of his prodding would go nowhere. But there were those unexpected moments when a small investment in time led to an unanticipated reward.
“I don’t know if I much care for Barbara Randolph,” Marilyn Williams said. “We invited her to a lovely luncheon at the league, but then she turned down our offer of membership.”
“That wasn’t very nice of her,” Warren said sympathetically. “Did she tell you why she wasn’t interested in membership?”
“Something about starting a new job in the city at a place called the Moss Gallery.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of it. Anna Ruth Moss is the owner. She’s one of the grand dames of San Francisco’s Presidio Heights.”
Few things raised the ire of the Ladies of Liberty more than the mention of a Bay Area neighborhood with even more expensive real estate than that of Sausalito.
Warren was a walking directory of the Bay Area’s wealthiest and most influential citizens.
“Well, she won’t be getting a second invitation to join the league anytime soon! I can tell you that, Warren!”
“I should say.”
Bradley begged off Marilyn’s invitation for tea. In a few moments, he was on his way. He knew that their exchange might have appeared meaningless, but to an astute observer, it was clear that Barbara was not far from being regarded as a social outcast. That would most likely be a great disappointment to a woman who had hopes of fitting into Sausalito’s social circle.
Warren could exploit the tone of these conversations with the highly trained ear of a noted symphony’s first violist. It wasn’t long before the first small rock he tossed in the water began to ripple back towards him.
Bea confided to Warren: “I’ve heard some discouraging comments about Barbara Randolph. Frankly, I don’t know if that New York gal fits in well with the rest of the community.”
Even Alma joined the chorus, telling Warren, “I have my doubts that Barbara Randolph is one of us.”
Before writing his “Heard About Town” column the next morning, Warren sat in his small kitchen sipping a cappuccino and wondering how he could stir up trouble for the Grants. Barbara was standing on a social precipice. Surely, there must be some way to give her a little push!
Of course, he reasoned, his column would once again have to serve as his most valuable asset.
He reached Barbara by phone at the gallery. Warren introduced himself and explained, “I want to do a small piece for my column in The Sausalito Standard about your new position at the Moss Gallery.”
Barbara was pleased to have something in the local paper alerting wealthy collectors that she was affiliated with one of San Francisco’s premier galleries.
Near the end of the conversation, she was somewhat surprised when Warren said, “I understand that you recently turned down an invitation to join the league.”
“Oh, yes,” she responded cautiously. “I’d love to have the time to do it all, but at my age, I have to place my career above social engagements.”
Hearing the comment he was looking for, Warren graciously expressed his deepest thanks, wished her the best of luck in her new job, and hurried off the phone. Barbara was equally pleased to have had the opportunity to tell potential clients that she was a dedicated professional.
When Barbara pulled The Standard from her mailbox two days later, she turned quickly to Warren’s column and found this small item:
"Barbara Randolph, who recently declined an invitation to join the Sausalito Women's League, has accepted a position with the Moss Gallery in San Francisco as a new sales associate. She describes herself as excited to be a part of the gallery’s team. As for the league, Mrs. Grant explained, 'At my age, I have to place my career above social engagements.'”
Warren then quoted Marilyn Williams, the Women’s League membership chair, about the nature of the league’s efforts at community outreach: “I’m sorry to hear that Barbara Randolph considers the league to be little more than a ‘social engagement.’ In our annual student scholarship drive, and in so many other ways, the league is an essential part of what makes Sausalito, Sausalito!”
Barbara was stunned by the way the piece read. She toyed with the thought that Warren had set her up. Certainly, the article cast her in a negative light. But, after further thought, she was determined to disregard the entire matter. It was merely the small-minded behavior of a person who eats, lives, and breathes small town priorities.
Warren relished his handiwork. Using a light and supposedly innocent touch, he had dealt Barbara Randolph’s social standing a terrible blow. As many of Warren’s cookbooks instructed, "Spiced properly, it should leave a distinct flavor without creating an overwhelming presence."
That same afternoon Rob sat at his desk and read the entire edition of The Sausalito Standard—something, he realized, he did not do often enough. After reading the “Heard About Town” column, Rob barked to Holly to come into his office.
“Do you think this guy Warren Bradley is being a bit of an ass about this woman Barbara Randolph? He pretty much pushes her overboard in his column!”
“What planet have you been living on?” Holly asked with a curious smile and a slight shake of her head. “That’s always been Warren’s style. Some of the people in this town act like the ‘cool kids in school.’ They can never feel good about themselves unless they know they have caused someone else to feel bad. Rob, I’m telling ya, if I were you, I’d dump his ass.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Rob admitted. “But then Alma and her gang would be organizing another advertiser
