The Secret Ingredient by Stewart Lewis Read Free Book Online

“I really want to get into the biz, you know? Behind the scenes.”
    “It’s me” is all I say, which is a really weird response.
    “What?”
    They say sounds are one of the strongest sense memories, like how a song can take you immediately back to a scene in your past. In this case, I hear someone clear his throat, in a soft, polite way, and I’m instantly transported back in time.
    He’s standing behind the bleached-hair woman. It takes a second before I can see his face, but I already know it’s him. Something in my chest tightens, as if I suddenly realize I’m on the edge of a cliff.
    Theo.
    Miraculously, the woman realizes Theo is upstaging her, and hurries off, muttering, “I’ll stop by later.”
    I look at Theo and smile, but it feels forced. Smiling is the most natural thing you can do, but faking a smile may be the most awkward. He still looks like he’s hiding something I want to know. His black hair is longer, spiky in a way that is either perfectly planned or completely random. Bedhead in real life, or Bedhead the product? Either way, when his green eyes go soft and he opens his arms, I am drawn into them by a magnetic force that takes me over. Now my smile is real. I look up at him and say, “What are you doing here?”
    He backs away a little and hands me a head shot. “Long story. What are you doing here?”
    “I work here. What happened to you last year? We were supposed to meet at the ninety-nine-cent store. Then you never came back to work.” I suddenly have this horrible fear that he might not even remember, but he does.
    “I can explain. Can you—can we—can I see you later?”
    For what seems like the next few minutes, we just stare at each other. His acne has cleared, and he seems a little taller.
    “I guess so,” I say finally. “This is just …”
    “Weird, I know,” he says.
    I lean against the bookcase and realize that his presence has somehow relaxed me. My body has gone languid.
    “Do you remember my brother, Timothy?” Theo asks.
    “No, not really.”
    “Well, he has mental disabilities, major. That day, when we were supposed to meet, they said he was being sent away, to Oregon. Some special institution. I had to take him … ’cause my mom … Like I said, this is a long story.” His phone buzzes. “Can we do this later? I’ll come back to read, too. I should really go.…”
    I can see a cloud of emotion come over his face, so I just nod.
    Then he says, “Maybe we could go somewhere, finish talking?”
    “I’d like that.” And I really would.
    “What about the Griffith Park? Tomorrow? I haven’t been since I was a kid.”
    “That sounds nice.”
    The phone rings, and I take another message for Janice. I hang up and look down at the photo he handed me. It looks a little retouched, but his gaze covers me slowly, like sheets falling from a clothesline.
    “What?” he says.
    I realize I am smiling.
    “Nothing,” I say.
    But it’s definitely not nothing.

CHAPTER 7
    On my way out, instead of pressing 1 for the lobby, I press 12, the floor the psychic was on. Was Theo’s walking into J. Tucker merely a coincidence? I search the doors on the floor. Insurance? Not likely. Lawyers? Nope. Just when I’m about to give up and turn around, I see one more office door at the end of the hallway. It says: TREE OF LIFE: MASSAGE, PILATES, ACUPUNCTURE . Now, that makes sense. As I raise my hand to knock, the psychic comes out, with that same confident look on her face, as if she had prepared for the scene. But she looks different. Her hair is pulled back tight, and her face is flushed.
    “You returned,” she says, with a smile so penetrating I have to glance away for a second. She walks toward the elevator, and I follow her inside. Now the two of us areback where we met, except this time the elevator’s moving and I only have twelve floors to pick her brain.
    “Listen, I know I was skeptical, but I think you’re right. Something happened today—”
    “I am