The Sourdough Wars

something I liked around the eyes, but I couldn’t put my finger on that, either. He was dressed in khaki pants, a sports shirt with no tie, and an old corduroy jacket. I didn’t much care for the outfit, as I felt it set a bad example for Kruzick, who tended to emulate Rob in his dress. Reporters, as you may know, always wear old corduroy jackets, and that’s fine for them, but I feel a law office deserves more dignity. Kruzick does not share my opinion.
    Despite his taste in clothes, Tosi had a warm handshake and a nice smile. He sat down, crossed his legs, and started chatting up Thompson.
    “This your first trip?”
    “Yes. It’s a beautiful city.”
    “You should take a side trip to the wine country—breathe some fresh air for a change.”
    Thompson looked a bit sheepish. “I’m afraid I don’t have much extra time.”
    “What have you seen so far?”
    Thompson flushed. “Ah—not much. Nob Hill, and that’s about it. I’m staying at the Stanford Court.” He appeared at a loss for words. It was odd; he had seemed so courtly and comfortable a few minutes before.
    But I thought Tosi’s presence might have thrown him a bit off his stride. The man seemed to fill up a room, somehow. He had a sort of overflowing confidence that wasn’t exactly intimidating—to me, anyway—but might have been off-putting to a man. Especially a man who was about to go up against him in a big business deal.
    I wondered how much money was about to change hands. Chris didn’t think half a million bucks was out of the question.
    Kruzick brought Sally Devereaux in. She had on a beige suit and a light blue silk blouse with a bow. Her shoes were silly T-straps with four-inch heels. Her color had returned; in fact, her cheeks were quite attractively pink.
    Tosi rose and stepped toward her, as if to kiss her. She stepped back and offered her hand.
    “Sally. You’re looking good.”
    She said, “Bob,” and nodded.
    He seemed to unhinge her a little, too. She turned quickly to Thompson and gave him a big smile.
    “I’ve heard good things about your bakery,” he said.
    “It’s only a couple of years old, but I’m hoping to expand. I think I really do have a good product.”
    “I’ll have to try it sometime,” said Tosi.
    “You mean you haven’t?” Sally sounded outraged.
    He looked confused, as if he couldn’t quite remember. “I really don’t think I—”
    “You don’t even remember?”
    He shrugged a pair of massive shoulders. “Sourdough tastes pretty much like sourdough.”
    Sally didn’t answer. She was fuming.
    Tony Tosi came in. He was big, like his brother, and they both had the same square jawline, but Tony’s hair was thinning faster and he seemed less substantial. I wasn’t sure what the difference was, but I figured maybe Bob worked out and Tony didn’t. They had different styles of dress as well. Tony was wearing a suit and every kind of Gucci accessory on the market.
    “Bob,” said Tony. “Sally.”
    He made no move to shake hands with either of the people he spoke to, and sat down quickly so he wouldn’t have to shake with Thompson either.
    Chris looked at her watch. It was ten after twelve. “I’m sure Mr. Martinelli will be here soon,” she said. “Would anyone like coffee?”
    They all said yes and not much else. It was true they were adversaries, but they were also experienced business people, and they were doing precious little to keep up minimum standards of politeness. At first I put it down to the feud between the brothers, but it wasn’t only that. Sally had snapped at Bob and generally seemed out of sorts. Thompson was uneasy about something. Perhaps they were thinking about the threatening phone calls. Maybe they were sitting there trying to figure out which of the other three had made them.
    “Excuse me,” said Chris, and went to my office. When she came back, she said, “I just called Mr. Martinelli and got no answer. So I’m sure he’s on his way.”
    “It’s twelve-twenty,” said Sally. “You’d think he could be on time for his own auction.”
    “Miss Nicholson,” said Tony, “I think if he isn’t here by twelve-thirty, we have to assume he isn’t serious about selling the starter.”
    Chris looked as if she might cry.
    “Mr. Tosi,” I said, “you may assume anything you want. When Mr. Martinelli arrives, the auction will take place.” Rob gave me an “atta-girl” look. I could tell he was feeling sorry for Chris.
    We gave them more coffee