Free The Secret Ingredient by Stewart Lewis Page A

movie at Paramount, and it looks like she’s going to sign Tom Hanks as the lead.
    This morning is a casting day, so after rounding up a file of head shots for a 7UP commercial, I send the files to Janice electronically even though she’s on the other side of the door. I’m getting pretty adept at navigating the casting software and the J. Tucker email server. I look out the window at another clear blue sky, with only one wisp of a cloud barely noticeable.
    Janice opens the door and brings me some fancy chocolate.
    “A client gave me these. Unlike me, you are young enough that they won’t immediately become love handles.”
    “Oh, c’mon. You have, like, no body fat.”
    She smiles, checking herself out in the mirror behind me, then says, “I’m keeping you in the act.”
    Janice is one of those people who will remain happy if you constantly praise her.
    “Have you ever been to Paris?”
    She laughs. “Are you kidding? Of course. The only problem is there are too many French people.”
    “I want to go to Le Cordon Bleu, you know, the cooking school?”
    “Ah, yes. Well, from the taste of that eggplant lasagna you brought in the other day, I would safely say you hardly need much training.”
    “Couldn’t hurt, though, right?”
    She examines a piece of the chocolate, sniffs it a little, and then puts it back in the box.
    “No, it couldn’t. But are you telling me you’re ready to throw away your budding casting career for the culinary arts?”
    I take a small bite, letting the chocolate melt a little on my tongue.
    “Yes.”
    She pretends I’ve stabbed her in the heart and then retreats to her office. I retrieve my cookbook and set it on my lap. I think about Hank leading me into that alley and through that green door with the peeling paint. I can almost smell the scent of the psychic woman. Be aware of your choices .
    I open to a recipe for RIGHTEOUS RATATOUILLE . Rose’s note in the margin reads:
3/7/66
Made this for Kurt .
After, we danced .
For the first time, I spilled wine on my blouse and didn’t care .
What is getting into me?
    A flourish swells inside my chest. Why do I feel like I know this woman? I touch the handwritten part with my finger, and I can feel my face turn red. It wasn’treally about the ratatouille. The food was just the beginning.
    I call the secretary at Paramount for Janice, and it isn’t until after I hang up that I realize my fingers are still clutching the book, marking the page. After they had the ratatouille, she must have made love to Kurt. This is dated earlier. Is that when she conceived the little boy, Matthew?
    On my way home I pick up the ingredients for the ratatouille. While I’m in the kitchen preparing, no one is around, and I’m able to go to that other place—as Bell would say, I’m in the zone.
    In the end, I add a little honey to counteract the garlic. Bell and Enrique come home and must smell the dish because they sit down as though this dinner were planned. They don’t say much, but I can tell they like it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Bell, it’s how to forgive. I don’t really know what’s wrong between them, and he’s not ready to run through the fields with Enrique, who disappeared again for a few days this week, but I can tell by their body language that Bell’s starting to let him back in. I picture Rose spilling the wine, something inside her giving way, loosening.
    After we’re done, Bell grabs me for a dance while Enrique hums an old Spanish tune. Once again, food hasbrought us together. I try to send a secret message out into the universe to Rose: You are good enough .
    When everything is washed and put away and there’s no one but me in the kitchen, I open the cookbook to the inside cover and stare again at the curvy letters: Rose Lane
    What a beautiful name.

CHAPTER 11
    Now that I’m a working girl, the laundry has piled up, but I have some time before I have to go to FOOD to make my Saturday special. I can barely