Free The Secret Ingredient by Stewart Lewis Page B

lift the bag on my way down our street. Two cars slow and offer me a ride. The drivers are both older guys, so I immediately decline, wishing I’d asked Lola to pick me up at my house when we spoke last night, rather than meet me at the Laundromat.
    Lola is already there when I arrive and helps me sort the colors from the whites. She notices that I’m still wearing my necklace.
    “Are you going to see him again?” she asks coyly.
    “Yes.” I smile sheepishly. “He called me this morning to say he’s back from Oregon. We’re going out tomorrow.”
    “Well, well, wasting no time, I see. You’re glowing, by the way.”
    First Jeremy, now her. Why is everyone saying that?
    “Well, I know it’s been a year and I hardly know him, but I do feel a connection with Theo.”
    “That’s so great, Livie.”
    Lola points to a pair of Enrique’s tightie-whities and says, “Aren’t these a bit boyish?”
    “That’s Enrique for you.”
    I show her a pair of Bell’s boxers, and she says, “Now, those are classy.”
    I realize she’s just described my dads by their underwear. As we get the loads into the washers, I imagine Rose doing laundry for Kurt. I like having Rose all to myself, but I can’t hold her world in any longer. I decide to tell Lola everything. I tell her about Rose’s book, and the note about Matthew. Then I tell her about seeing Julie Andrews on the TV in the gallery, and the key, how it all seems like some sort of sign, or a bunch of little signs leading to something bigger.
    “Wow! This psychic woman must have been the real thing.”
    “It’s weird, Hank led me to the bookstore. I’ve never even taken him on that route before. I also was forced to cross the street on the gallery side because the sidewalk was closed. And I found the key, like, twenty minutes after she told me there would be a sign.”
    “What do you think it all means?”
    “Not sure, but I do know one thing. I want to find my mother. And I want you to help me.”
    “Of course, Livie. But come, let’s go next door, this place stinks.”
    I look around. There’s just a goth-looking girl and an old lady folding her sheets. “Okay.”
    As we walk outside I hear this strange sound, like a dying music box. I look across the street and see the ice cream truck.
    “Oh my God, it’s Jeremy!”
    “No. Don’t tell me.…”
    Lola is skeptical but follows me as I jaywalk the boulevard. There are four kids crouched around and Jeremy is handing them treats. He has a funny hat on and is oversmiling like a maniac.
    After the kids leave, he sees me and yells, “Ol! Check it!”
    I look inside the truck. It’s pretty barren save for an old silver cooler. He hands me and Lola each an ice cream sandwich, and Lola hands him a five-dollar bill, saying, “Keep the change, babe.”
    “I only have ice cream sandwiches and MoonPies, but ladies, they are moving fast. I’ve sold a hundred in three hours!”
    Lola and I look at each other.
    “I know what you’re thinking. I applied for a license. It takes six weeks. So right now I’m on the down-low.”
    “On Sunset and Western?” I ask.
    “You’re right. I am headed over to Los Feliz. Apparently it’s untapped territory.”
    I allow myself a smile. As crazy as he is, Jeremy does make stuff happen. The remixed jingle stops and starts again. He looks around for any more potential customers, then starts to shut the side counter.
    “Well, ladies, it’s been real. I’ve got to go spread some more ice cream love.”
    After he pulls away, Lola and I sit on a bench and eat our ice cream sandwiches.
    “I hope there’s not, like, razor blades in these or something,” Lola says.
    “No, just cyanide,” I reply.
    We cross the street and switch the laundry to the dryers. The goth girl is painting her fingernails black and the old lady is talking to herself. While the clothes dry we walk to the farmers’ market and I try to figure out what to buy for my Saturday-night special. The yellow