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“Look at you. No offense, but you’re kind of a wreck. There’s remorse written all over your face. To me that means that, whatever misguided choices you made, deep down, there’s a real soul in there. No one without a soul can sell authenticity the way you did. That’s what made you a star. Not Meredith’s recipes or Ryan’s cheesy promos. And I’m betting we can sell that again.”
“You’re talking about a new show?”
She nodded. “I think there’s an opportunity to put you out there again. But to do it right. To do it honestly.”
She pulled her iPad out of her bag, pulled up an image.
Cooking from Scratch, in pretty blue lettering, over a picture of me photoshopped into a shabby-chic kitchen. The ocean in the distance.
“It’s rough, I just had Violet throw it together. It’s a catchy name, though, right? Even Louis thought it was a catchy name. We’ll shoot it on the beach. Do lots of clambakes and fun-in-the-sun-type pieces. Very down to earth. Include your actual childhood stories. Go to the local places you went to growing up. The fish shop, the general store. Local girl makes good.”
She smiled, clearly a little proud of herself.
“What do you think?”
I smiled, trying not to look too thrilled. This was what I had been hoping for—why I had been putting up with Chef Z’s abuse. A new show, a new chance to do it right.
I felt like it wasn’t really happening, which may be why I realized there were still several reasons that it might not.
“So, that’s all pretty great,” I said. “But there are things that make it complicated.”
“Okay. Like what?”
“I’m having a baby.”
Her eyes went wide, and she smiled. Totally sincere. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
She waved me off. “And that’s not complicated. Everyone loves a baby,” she said. “So you’re reconciling with your husband?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She nodded, not pressing it. “Still. It’s going to be great. And I know it’s scary to put yourself out there again, but people loved you. And they’ll want to see you doing well again. I mean, you’ve learned to cook, right?”
“Not really.”
“So we’ll get someone to teach you. Don’t worry, they’ll be the easiest recipes known to man. That’s what people want these days.” She paused, considering. “Maybe we even teach you how to cook on the show! I love that idea. It’s a good thing you’ve learned nothing.”
I laughed. I wasn’t sure she was right about that, but I did like what she was saying. I liked the idea of not pretending, of doing something legitimately. With the child on the way, I liked the idea of having a real way to support her. Or him. But I was getting stuck on what she was saying. Why would people invest in me again? Why, if everything I’d said before was a lie, would they have faith in me now?
Julie shook her head. “People have a very short memory. Look at Paula Deen. She came back from a lot worse.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. And I promise, we can figure out all the details. Anyone can follow a recipe. But you have that thing.”
That stopped me. It sounded like what Danny was talking about too. A thing. An idea. That’s what makes us us, isn’t it? But what if we give it away? Distort it? Hand it over to other people and let them tell us what to do with it.
Except Julie wasn’t asking me to distort anything. She was asking me to figure out a way to let people in, but honestly this time. If that was even possible—it had to be, right?
She stood up. “Think about it,” she said. “After all, what’s the alternative? Working as a line cook here?”
“I’m not. I’m on trash.”
“Gross,” she said.
Then she winked, squeezed my shoulder, and walked away.
