Allegra Goodman - The Cookbook Collector: A Novel

ALSO BY ALLEGRA GOODMAN

The Other Side of the Island

Intuition

Paradise Park

Kaaterskill Falls

The Family Markowitz

Total Immersion

To Irene Skolnick and Susan Kamil
colleagues, friends, believers

I can live no longer by thinking.

AS YOU LIKE IT, V.ii.50

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT

Fall 1999

R ain at last. Much-needed rain, the weathermen called it. Rain drummed the little houses skyrocketing in value in Cupertino and Sunnyvale. Much-needed rain darkened the red tile roofs of Stanford, and puddled Palo Altos leafy streets. On the coast, the waves were molten silver, rising and melting in the September storm. Bridges levitated, and San Francisco floated like a hidden fortress in the mist. Rain flattened the impatiens edging corporate lawns, and Silicon Valley shimmered. The world was bountiful, the markets buoyant. Reflecting pools brimmed to overflowing, and already the tawny hills looked greener. Like money, the rain came in a rush, enveloping the Bay, delighting forecasters, exceeding expectations, charging the air.

Two sisters met for dinner in the downpour. Emily had driven up from Mountain View to Berkeley in rush-hour traffic. Jess just biked over from her apartment. Emily carried an umbrella. Jess hadnt bothered.

Look at you, said Emily.

Mmm. Jess brushed the raindrops from her face. I like it. University Avenues stucco and glass storefronts were streaming. Runoff whooshed into the storm drains at her feet.

Youre getting soaked.

Jess swung her bike helmet by the straps. Im hydrating.

Like a frog?

You dont have to be amphibian to hydrate through your skin.

Get under the umbrella!

Jess had a theory about everything, but her ideas changed from day to day. It was hard for Emily to remember whether her sister was primarily feminist or environmentalist, vegan or vegetarian. Did she eat fish, or nothing with a face? Uncertain, Emily let Jess choose the restaurant when they went out to dinner.

The two of them nibbled samosas at Udupi Palace, and Emily said, Im sorry I kept rescheduling.

Thats okay. It was two weeks past Jesss twenty-third birthday, and the restaurant with its paper place mats looked small and plain for a palace, but Jess didnt mind.

Veritech has been insane, Emily explained, and Jonathan was here.

Oh, Jonathan was here, Jess echoed in a teasing voice. What did you do with Jonathan? She often took this tone about Emilys boyfriend. The longer the relationship went on, the more serious it seemed, the more she teased. Jess didnt like him.

He was just here very briefly on his way to L.A., Emily said. The last couple of weeks have been

Jess interrupted, Ive been insane too.

Really? Emily realized she sounded too surprised and added, Doing what?

Im taking the Berkeley, Locke, Hume seminar, and logic, and philosophy of language. Jess paused to sip her mango lassi. And working and leafleting.

Again?

For Save the Trees. And Im also taking Latin. I think I might be as busy as you.

Emily laughed. No. She was five years older and five times busier. While Jess studied philosophy at Cal, Emily was CEO of a major data-storage start-up.

Were filing, Emily explained.

I know, Jess said in a long-suffering voice.

Jess was the only person in the world bored by the IPO, and Emily loved that about her. I got you a present.

Really? Where is it?

Youll see. Its in the car. I thought we could take it back to your place so you can try it on.

Oh, Jess said cheerfully, which meant, I dont mind that you got me clothes again.

You wanted something else, Emily fretted.

No, I didnt.

You did.

No! Nothing specific. Maybe a horse. Or a houseboat. That would be nice. And a photographic memory for verb tables.

Why are you taking Latin, anyway?

Language requirement, Jess said.

But you know French.

I dont really know French, and I need an ancient language too.

Emily shook her head. That program seems like such a long haul.

Compared to going public after two and a half years? Its true.

The sisters voices were almost identical, laughing mezzos tuned in childhood to the same pitch and timbre. To the ear, they were twins; to the eye, nothing alike. Emily was tall and slender with her hair cropped short. She wore a pinstriped shirt, elegant slacks, tiny, expensive glasses. She was an MBA, not a programmer, and it showed. Magnified by her glasses, her hazel eyes were clever, guarded, and also extremely beautiful. Her features were delicate, her fingers long and tapered. She scarcely allowed her back to touch her chair, while Jess curled up with her legs tucked under her. Jess was small and whimsical. Her face and mouth were wider than Emilys, her cheeks rounder, her eyes greener and more generous. She had more of the sun and sea in her, more freckles, more gold in her brown hair. She would smile at anyone, and laugh and joke and sing. She wore jeans and sweaters from Mars Mercantile, and her hair who knew when shed cut it last? She just pushed the long curls off her face.

Jess leaned forward, elbow on the table, and rested her head on her hand. So, Emily, she said. Whats it like being rich?

Emily began to speak and then caught herself. I dont know, she answered truthfully. I havent tried it yet.

They hoisted Jesss bike into Emilys car and drove to Durant with the hatchback open. Look at that, Emily said. Shed lucked into a legal parking space.

Jess lived at the edge of campus, where fraternities sprang up in every style, from Tudor to painted gingerbread. To the north, the university rose into the hills. John Galen Howards elegant bell tower overlooked eucalyptus groves and rushing streams, the faculty club built like a timbered hunting lodge, the painted warnings to cyclists on the cement steps: DISMOUNT. To the south, Jesss neighborhood boasted the best burrito in the city and the best hot dog in the known universe, Pegasus Books with its used fantasy and science fiction novels, Peoples Park, where bearded sojourners held congress at the picnic tables. Amoeba Music, Moes, Shakespeare & Co. Buskers playing tom-toms, sidewalk vendors selling incense and tie-dyed socks. Students, tourists, dealers, greasy spoons of many nations.

Jesss building was Old Hollywoodhacienda style: stucco, red tile, and wrought iron. Sconces lit the entryway, where the mailboxes were set into the wall. Jess paused, looking for her mail key. Oh, well, she said.

An elderly neighbor climbed the steps. Hey, Mrs. Gibbs, how are you? said Jess, unlocking and holding the door open. Do you remember my sister, Emily?

We have not had the pleasure. Mrs. Gibbs was a petite black woman with freckles on her nose, and she wore a white nurses uniform under her black raincoat. White dress, white stockings, green rubber boots. Mrs. Gibbs placed her hand on Emilys head. May you always be a blessing.