The Gossiping Gourmet

by Martin Brown

  “That’s wonderful. Let’s start by talking about how you and Fran met at Berkeley Law.”

  “We were friends from the outset. We both came from middle-class families. Coincidentally Fran’s parents were medical researchers, and my parents were chemists. In fact, my maternal grandfather was a rather well-known chemist in San Francisco. Both of us grew up with parents who worked hard and instilled that work ethic in us. In that sense, we were well suited for each other.”

  “As I understand, you knew each other for many years before deciding to marry.”

  William smiled, thinking back to an earlier time. “Fran and I would meet just about every Saturday for dinner or Sunday for a little free time and talk about our private lives, which were far less successful than our business lives. We were three years out of Berkeley when we made a pact.”

  “What pact?”

  “If I failed to meet my soulmate over the next eight years, and she did as well, we would marry each other. Sounds like something out of a romantic comedy, doesn’t it?”

  “But you two must have been terrific friends to strike a bargain like that.”

  “We were! We had a great deal of respect and admiration for one another.”

  “Well, I’m guessing you both went without meeting your soulmate.”

  “More or less. A fling for me, a time or two of being smitten for her, but for both of us we knew no greater love than the drive for building our law practice, which in time became more of a venture capital practice. Those were exciting times both in San Francisco and Silicon Valley. There were bumps in the road like the time when the tech bubble burst in 2000, but through the years, with the right steps, our gains kept moving steadily upward.”

  “So after the eight years you had given each other, you got married?”

  “We joked it was more like a merger.”

  “And you were married for twenty years.”

  “Twenty years and four months. That place we bought up near Heavenly was our twentieth wedding anniversary gift to one another. That didn’t work out very well, did it?”

  Sylvia looked down for a moment then said, “No, I suppose it didn’t. But none of us know the future. And you did have a very successful, as you said, merger.”

  “Wildly successful,” William said wistfully with a smile that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “But Sylvia, what I’d like you to write about Fran was the great joy she found in philanthropy. She was so brilliant, and so hard working, that she could not fund one project or another without our net value rising to replace whatever wealth we gave away.”

  “How did you get started in philanthropy?”

  “After you reach that tipping point and realize that you cannot spend the money you have accrued over a lifetime, perhaps several lifetimes, additional wealth is simply a way of keeping score. So while we worked hard, we wanted to see our money create new successes.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “We began with the ancient wisdom that charity begins at home. Fran and I knew that our parents were beyond retirement age, but all four of them continued working. So I went to my parents and casually asked, ‘What's your dream house?’

  “They adored this stone mansion with a small adjacent vineyard less than a mile off the Silverado Trail up in Napa County. My mom and dad were speechless when Fran and I took them to lunch one day in St. Helena and then drove them to their new home.

  “It took a few minutes for them to stop saying, ‘You’re teasing us.’ But then they started to believe that this two-million-dollar home was theirs. They cried, then we cried, it was a fantastic experience.”

  “I guess you did the same for Fran’s parents?”

  “Absolutely. The very next weekend we took Eileen and Sandy and drove down to Carmel-by-the-Sea. For many years they had enjoyed an annual two-week getaway at this cottage they rented. Fran and I knew where it was because we had driven down a couple of times to have dinner with them and then spent the night near Pebble Beach. We found the owner of the cottage, made them an offer they could not refuse, and we gave two wonderful people a surprise they’ll never forget.”

  “I can’t imagine how overwhelmed your parents and Fran’s parents must have been.”

  “No amount of money could have brought us greater joy than to make four such terrific people so happy. But let me add one more story. While Fran and I never took the time to start a family, we have several sweet, wonderful nephews and nieces. Our gifts to our parents happened at a time that the oldest one of these children was about to start applying to colleges. We brought our brothers and sisters together and explained our desire to underwrite the education of all their children, tuition, along with campus housing and expenses. All totaled these gifts represented a fraction of one percent of our net worth. I don’t say that to be prideful. I’m amazed that many people with great wealth ignore the opportunities to give financial gifts that mean little to them monetarily, but mean something beyond words to others.”

  “And this is when you started to think about charity in a larger sense?”

  “Absolutely. If you’re blessed to earn a fabulous amount of money, it is an even greater blessing to see the joy that money can bring to the lives of others. Our giving in a bigger way started close to home, but it spread from Marin County to other parts of California, to America, and causes around the globe. No matter what your fortune you’ll never be able to do all you’d like to do. But to see how your money can change lives, improve lives, and actually save countless lives, is a feeling I could never adequately describe.”

  “William, that’s just fantastic.”

  “I’ll send you over some information on the charitable work Fran was involved in for background if you need it.”

  “Of course, that would be very helpful. Thank you so much for sharing all this.”

  “No, Sylvia, thank you for being here and listening. It's raised my spirits to talk to a friend about a woman I so admired.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Two days after Sylvia’s story appeared in The Peninsula Standard under the headline, “The Enduring Legacy of Fran Adams,” William felt his spirits lift, and he returned to his San Francisco office.

  He avoided the gentle requests of family, friends, and associates to join them for lunch, dinner, or cocktails. Instead, William did what both he and Fran were most accustomed to doing in the years they shared: starting work early and finishing late.

  He remained utterly disinterested in hearing further words of sympathy or responding to inquiries regarding how he was getting along. Neither he nor Fran believed in sugarcoating reality. The simple truth was that Fran was gone. All the kind words and best wishes would not bring her back.

  His work routine was his one relief from the emptiness that overwhelmed him. William focused on both the work of the law firm and the venture capital business. Two more bets that he and Fran had placed on emerging tech companies again exceeded expectations, but without Fran to share the news, keeping score of a billion here or a billion there was far less fun than it once was.

  In those quiet times when he sat in his favorite wingback chair in front of his home study's ornate fireplace, he wondered if the pain of losing Fran would have been even greater if they had experienced a strong romantic attraction to each other.

  That was one truth William chose to keep private.

  It was not until Fran was gone nearly a year that William’s partner, James Finch, began his campaign to draw William back into San Francisco's vibrant social world.

  There was no better place to start than the San Francisco Symphony’s annual gala, the Black & White Ball. What James did not mention when he encouraged William to join him and his wife, Jade, was that he secretly hoped to introduce William to his fashion model superstar client, Willow Wisp.

  The night of the gala, James looked through the massive gathering and saw William suddenly approaching from his left. Then, as though a sixth sense had moved him, he
turned to his right and saw the alluring and statuesque Willow approaching.

  James thought Willow had never looked more dazzling. He was only too happy to introduce the two of them.

  Willow stepped closer to William and stretched out her hand for him to take as she flashed both a smile and her cornflower blue eyes.

  William’s heart paused and then leaped forward with lustful anticipation that sent a shudder down his spine. Her slender, beautifully shaped hand felt surprisingly natural in his. His eyes drank all of her in, and he instantly approved of what he saw. Willow’s black and white gown had been designed specifically for her. It wrapped over her right shoulder, leaving her left shoulder exposed.

  To William, she was a living work of art. The dazzling diamond and emerald pendant that went around her neck only enhanced her beauty.

  There was an awkward, electric moment between the two of them, in which they both laughed like children delighted to be meeting for the first time. The thought of her wearing nothing but that beautiful pendant flashed across William’s mind. The idea embarrassed and thrilled him in equal measure.

  As William was catching his breath, one of the several fashion designers in attendance squealed when he discovered Willow standing just a few feet from him.

  He was very young and very thin. He wore a black and white puffy-sleeved pirate shirt, open almost to his navel.

  Willow pulled her hand away from William’s, but only after a small tug that made them both laugh awkwardly.

  Noting their bashful exchange, the pirate cocked a brow and said, “I only want to borrow her for ten minutes. I promise to bring her right back.”

  William’s eyes followed Willow until she vanished into the crowd. Then he turned to James and asked, “Who is she again? I’m certain I recognize her.” How could he forget that striking face and those almond-shaped eyes? He asked himself.

  “You pass her on your way in and out of the office every day.”

  “What do you mean I pass her every day?”

  “Well, you pass her billboard,” Finch reminded him.

  “Good God! You mean she’s that Willow girl—that client of yours who’s become her own brand?”

  “That’s the one,” James said approvingly. “She’s done very well for herself.”

  “Well, she’s certainly a stunner.”

  “I’ve wanted to introduce the two of you for months.”

  “You’re not thinking of us as a couple?”

  His studied silence provided William’s answer.

  “Are you insane?”

  “Hold on, William. You’re both, bright, intelligent, charming, successful—”

  “But…I’ve got to be twenty years her senior!”

  “A little more than that.”

  “God, she’s young enough to be my daughter!”

  “Who cares about your age difference?”

  William frowned. “Apparently, I do!”

  “You could use a little female companionship, and you could stand to have some fun for a change.”

  “That’s one hell of a companion,” William murmured, as his mind toyed with unimaginable possibilities.

  “Why don’t you go rescue her from that pirate who just stole her away? She might be needing a little adult companionship right now.”

  Just then Jade brushed past. After kissing William on the cheek, she dragged her husband off to meet mutual friends who had just arrived.

  The large gala tent, which sat diagonally across from San Francisco’s iconic city hall on Van Ness Avenue, had filled with hundreds of attendees. Willow was just one of many celebrities to cause a stir, none of whom were meant to eclipse the great maestro himself, Michael Tilson Thomas, who strolled triumphantly through the crowd, greeting celebrants and thanking them for their support of the orchestra’s educational programs.

  William was left in the middle of the noisy gathering to contemplate what he considered to be ridiculous, but wildly exciting thoughts.

  Perhaps I'm a fool.

  There was no denying the leap he felt in his heart when he touched Willow’s hand. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. Why should he have the least regard for what others might think? Should that sudden burst of excitement he felt go unexplored?

  Willow was something that Fran had never been. Fran was reliable, brilliant, and substantial. Willow was a work of art sheathed in sparkling jewels wrapped in a stunning gown. What harm was there in following his instincts? William craved intimacy. Admittedly, he knew nothing about her, but when would he meet a more beautiful woman? Finally, he went off in search of her.

  Willow was given her first name at birth, but her last name, Bukowski, cried out for reinvention.

  From the early days of her modeling career, which began in earnest just weeks after she completed four years at the private high school, Marin Academy, she was known only as Willow.

  The work was nonstop, and the grueling schedule of modeling commitments was endless. Willow’s visibility in the profession kept rising. Soon she caught the eye of French fashion designer Henri LeBon. It was then, at the age of twenty, that Willow’s universe opened dramatically.

  “She is my muse,” LeBon declared imperiously whenever another model was suggested.

  Soon Willow’s slender, perfectly proportioned frame graced the pages of Vogue, InStyle, Paris Match, and Glamour. When she and her small circle found Willow looking fabulous on the back cover of Vanity Fair clothed in a soft, creamy fabric that clung perfectly to her, everyone knew she had arrived.

  LeBon was so pleased with the sensation he had created that he busied himself in a new marketing venture, creating a signature scent for his muse. The ridiculously expensive perfume became an overnight sensation.

  “Willow Wisp Will Haunt Your Every Dream,” was the headline that adorned print ads, billboards, and window displays from Rodeo Drive to Piccadilly Circus, from Broadway to the Champs-Elysees, and back home to San Francisco’s Union Square.

  Willow now belonged to the ages. The child Bukowski was subsumed by the carefully crafted marketing image of Willow Wisp.

  Willow Bukowski, the Marin County girl who was often accused of seducing the boyfriend of every girl she disliked at Marin Academy, and taking other valuables that did not belong to her as well, was now an internationally recognized celebrity. Her name was often attached to a list of famous men in gossip magazines read around the globe. Leonardo DiCaprio was seen kissing her cheek at Cannes, Orlando Bloom casually had his arms wrapped around her waist as they played and shopped in London’s Chelsea district. And through the watchful eye of a telephoto lens, she was seen tanned and gorgeous, in a two-piece swimsuit, lying serenely with her head resting on the lap of James Franco aboard a yacht off the island of Catalina.

  Willow had her star athlete phase when she was frequently caught by ESPN’s cameras blowing a kiss to her latest man of the hour, who had just helped his team, the Portland Trailblazers, secure a place in the NBA playoffs. But she quickly grew bored with basketball and traded her NBA power forward for a top-rated NFL quarterback.

  After a series of passing flings with several of Hollywood’s most sought-after leading men, and professional sports’ highest-paid athletes, Willow was suddenly smitten with love for classical music. She settled upon the brilliant young conductor of the Vienna Philharmonic. Unfortunately for Willow, the Viennese maestro was more interested in Viktor Kozlov, the gifted Russian violinist who, to the conductor’s disappointment, was far more interested in the intoxicating Ms. Wisp.

  So began Willow’s most passionate affair. She explained to her friends with an innocent smile, “He plays the violin, and I am undone.”

  Renowned for his sensitive yet forceful finger work, both on stage and off, the tempestuous soloist, known to classical music lovers as the “Magician of Moscow,” began spending more of his time in San Francisco. There, he explained to a local music critic in his typically fractured English, “This most beautiful place. I enjoy much often staying here
.”

  Kozlov’s favorite view was from Willow’s bedroom in a luxury high-rise condominium perched atop San Francisco’s Nob Hill. While Kozlov looked out of windows offering incomparable vistas, Willow lovingly massaged his tired shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers that, in just the past month, had endeavored to please audiences from Sao Paulo to San Moritz.

  James had come to know Willow while working as her attorney. As a thriving corporate entity, Willow quickly learned that expert legal representation was a necessity. James and his wife, a native of Hong Kong, invited Willow and Viktor to be their guests at the San Francisco Symphony’s gala night. But, moments before their limousine was scheduled to pick them up, Kozlov got into a furious long-distance exchange with his agent over a contract for three appearances with the New York Philharmonic. Afterward, he announced, “I am too much upset for making party! Please forgive.”

  Already dressed and bejeweled, Willow was not keen on the idea of spending one more night at home with her dramatically dark lover. Instead, she headed out and was soon on her way to the gala.

  A few days earlier, James mentioned to Willow that he would like her to meet his law partner.

  “Why should I want to meet William Adams?” Willow asked coquettishly.

  “Because he’s unattached, and he’s an incredibly wealthy man whose wife died last year.”

  “He doesn’t look like the Monopoly Man, by any chance?” Willow asked suspiciously.

  “Hardly! He’s my age—mid-fifties—in splendid shape. Plays racquetball like he’s going off to war.”

  “Sounds intriguing. And how wealthy is wealthy?”

  “Billions—with a B.”

  Willow could feel her knees weaken at just the thought of such tremendous wealth.