Larousse: Hey, boss, look who it is! Alfredo Linguini! Renata's little boy! All grown up, eh? You remember Renata. Gusteau's old flame?
Skinner: Ah, yes. How are you, uh...
Larousse: Linguini.
Skinner: Yes, Linguini, so nice of you to visit. How is, uh...?
Linguini: My mother?
Skinner: Yes...
Larousse: Renata.
Skinner: Yes, Renata. How is she?
Linguini: Good... well, not... good... She's been better. She's, uh... she...
Horst: She died.
Skinner: [attempting to care] Oh, uh, I'm sorry.
Linguini: Well, don't be. She believed in Heaven, so she's covered... you know, afterlife-wise? Uh...
[clumsily gives Skinner a letter]
Skinner: What is this?
Linguini: She left it for you. I think she hoped it would help... me. You know, get a job... Here?