1 страница

Part I

Riley

I probably don't have to tell you this, but answering the question "Why are you with me?" with "Because you have beautiful tits and a delicious pussy" is a sure way to end any kind of relationship. If you're lucky she won't throw something at you in the process.

Thanking myself for having the sense and quick reflexes to dodge, I stared down at the pile of broken beer bottle glass around me. The source of the flying bottle got into her car and drove off down the alley. I turned and looked at the spot on the brick wall where amber colored liquid that was once my beer had met its untimely demise. Today was definitely not my day.

The back door opened up and Lenny, the general manager of the restaurant came out, her pack of cigarettes in her hand. "Lenny, can you grab me a broom and dust pan?" I asked her and she took in the glass shards that were at my feet.

She nodded wordlessly and disappeared for a minute and returned with broom in hand. She came down the steps from the door to the back alley.

"Just get one of the guys inside to do it. They're already in cleaning mode in there anyway," she suggested.

I slipped my cigarette in between my lips and grabbed the broom handle from her and started to sweep up the glass. "It should get cleaned up before someone gets hurt," I muttered and swept up the glass. Lenny sat down on a milk crate and lit up a cigarette. She held out the dust pan and I swept the pile of glass into it and she tossed it into the garbage bin on the other side of the staircase.

We both sat down onto a couple of milk crates and Lenny shared her beer with me. The kitchen was closed for the night and the staff were inside cleaning up. It was routine for Lenny, myself, and Jason, the sous chef, to regroup over a drink and cigarettes before we returned inside to finish closing the place. "The hell happened?" Lenny asked after taking a drag on her cigarette.

"Let's just say that Rachelle and I weren't exactly on the same page in terms of the status of our relationship," I answered vaguely.

"The discrepancy being that you don't do relationships?" Lenny asked, smirking. Lenny was my oldest and most trusted friend, as well as my housemate. We had met in junior high and remained friends while she went off to San Francisco and got her bachelors and masters degrees in business administration and hospitality management while I went to New York to study at the Culinary Institute of America. We had both moved back to L.A. six years ago and by the time I was ready to open my own restaurant, Lenny already had the success of saving three restaurants from going bankrupt under her belt. She was my first and only choice to co-own and manage my first restaurant, Claire de Lune.

"Lesbians are too needy, present company excluded," I commented with a wave in her direction and she gave me a raised eyebrow.

"And you're not a lesbian?" she asked rhetorically.

"I'm a dyke. I'm all about the 'Wham, bam, I don't wanna meet the fam'," I answered and stepped on my cigarette butt. "I don't process, I don't over-analyze, and I don't U-haul. I don't have time for that kind of shit. I put enough time and energy into this place every day, so when I'm with a girl, I don't wanna have to think or deal with drama."

"So then why do you keep sleeping with them if you know they're so needy? Aren't there 'un-needy dykes' you can sleep with?" she asked.

I took a drink of her beer. "There's only so many of us around. I think I've slept with them all. Not to mention that it's getting boring. I don't even have to ask them out to dinner anymore. Just offer to buy 'em a drink and their panties come off."

She shook her head. "You're such a whore."

"What can I say, the old man's genes are strong in this one," I retorted.

"Yeah, but your old man's Rod Carson, a rock god," Lenny pointed out. "You're not."

"What? I never knew that's what my dad did for a living. I just always thought he was a queer and liked to wear makeup," I teased. "But fuck you, I'm a fucking God in my kitchen."

"You mean legend in your own mind?" she teased back.

The back door opened again and Jason came out and pulled a milk crate off the stack of crates by the back door.

"All you chefs, y'all got that God complex," Lenny continued.

"It ain't a complex," Jason answered after taking a drag on his smoke. "We are God."

We sat around, smoking and drinking and discussed the events of the evening shift, the highlights and the lowlights, what the guests had enjoyed and what hadn't wowed them as much. We specialized in offering a prix-fixe tasting menu which gave all our guests a chance to try out many different dishes. These pow-wow sessions helped us adjust our future menus accordingly. After about half an hour, we headed back into the restaurant to clean up. It had been a crazy Saturday night service as usual and we had a lot of cleaning to do.

After we closed up, all ten of us, five from the kitchen and five from the front including the bartender, headed up onto the rooftop patio with a couple of bottles of wine and a case of beer to reminisce about the day's dinner service and relax. Like usual, a magical bag of ganja happened to appear from seemingly out of nowhere, and like usual, I passed on the fatties that made the rounds. We always took whatever time we could to unwind at the end of each day and settled any differences that may have cropped up during it. Given that we all spent six days a week working together, sometimes up to twelve hours a day, we understood the importance of resolving conflicts as soon as possible. Jason and I often lost our tempers and would start yelling when the cooks were in the weeds, but it was a necessity to keep things running in the kitchen.

About an hour later, half of us headed out to our favorite after hours bar nearby. By about two in the morning, I was leaving the bar with a redhead who had been giving me not so subtle come hither looks from the moment I had planted my ass down in the booth I shared with my crew. We ended up at her place, a studio apartment in West Hollywood. After she poured a couple of glasses of white wine for us, I proceeded to strip her naked and laid her out on the kitchen table like Sunday dinner. And like Sunday dinner, I ate and drank like I had been fasting for a week.

When the cab arrived in front of her place a couple of hours later, I finished getting dressed and grabbed my jacket.

"I don't even know your full name," she said, lying naked on her bed, her hair tousled and her cheeks flush from her last orgasm.

"I don't know yours either," I told her and gave her a wink. "It's better that way." And with that, I high tailed it out of her apartment and hopped into the cab. I finally made it home, fell onto the couch in the living room and slipped effortlessly into a nocturnal coma.

In my deep slumber, I felt someone nudging me and calling my name relentlessly. Slowly coming to, I could sense the light seeping through my closed eyelids. I vaguely registered that the voice belonged to Lenny.

"Rye bread, it's your mom," she repeated as I slowly willed my eyes to open.

"Five more minutes!" I mumbled and slammed my eyes shut again.

"Fine, if you don't wanna talk to her, I will," she said nonchalantly. "You know I love talkin' to your mom. Hey, Ms. Stark..sorry, Sarah. Riley's, ah...had a late night. How are you?"

Despite protests in my head, I opened my eyes again. "Gimme the phone," I mumbled.

"Ah, the beast has awaken," she commented and I slapped her thigh. Lenny has, on more than one occasion in our eighteen year friendship, mentioned how she's always thought of my mom as a MILF, before the term ever became popular. It shouldn't bother me, because after all, my mother used to be a model and still had her looks and figure, even after having had two kids. But it did bother me knowing that my best friend has probably masturbated at least once in her life while thinking of my mom.

She handed me the phone. "Hello," I managed to croak into the receiver.

"Good morning, sunshine," my mother's way too happy voice singsonged into my ear. "Did I wake you from your beauty rest?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Did you get my message yesterday?" she asked.

"No," I replied.

"Did you sleep in your own bed last night?" she asked facetiously.

"No sleepovers," I reminded my mother.

"Wow, short answers. Are you drunk?" she asked and I could hear the edge in her voice.

"What. Do. You. Want?" I asked, one word at a time as each word's vibration caused a new migraine in my head.

"Aunt Grace and her girls, and her sister are coming over this morning," my mom began, ignoring the fact that I had ignored her question about my sobriety. "Your sister's coming over as well with Claire-bear. They've all asked for your famous Dutch Baby for brunch."

I knew exactly who it was who was craving the pancake. "Tell Aunt Grace that if I wanted to make breakfast, I would've opened a restaurant that served breakfast," I answered belligerently.

"She's your Godmother," she reminded me.

"Doesn't mean I'm her personal chef," I answered.

"Do it for Claire-bear," my Mom said, aiming for my weak spot.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "You're pure evil. Fine. For Claire-bear," I told her. "Tell me you have everything I need."

"I have everything you need," she informed me.

"Alright, I'll be over in a couple of hours," I told her and hung up the phone.

Alex

It had taken about a week for me to get settled and over the jet lag. Since my sister's divorce was finalized last year, she had been harassing me to come out to visit her in Los Angeles. I missed my sister and nieces, but my work had kept me too busy to take a holiday. Then my relationship of five years ended and I kicked my ex-boyfriend out. After months of restless nights I decided that I needed a fresh start, a new beginning. So I sold the flat in London and packed up my belongings and bought a one-way ticket to America. Grace was thrilled that I was moving in with her as she was feeling like she could use a hand with her two daughters, one of whom was in university and the other in high school. The divorce had been hard on both of them and Grace had been having a rough time dealing with it all.

Things had been going well my first week here as I started making contacts with local newspapers and magazines that were affiliated with news outlets I had worked with in London. I had continued writing on my news blog as well as personal blog throughout the move, just to keep my absence from the freelance journalism arena to a minimum. At the house, the girls seemed to be doing well and it may have just been the novelty of having their aunt around after not having seen me for a couple of years, but then things became slightly dramatic when the weekend came round. The girls were supposed to spend the weekend with their father, but instead, he called on Friday afternoon to say that he was stuck in New York for the weekend and would not be able to make it back to see the girls. They were quite disappointed and spent most of Saturday brooding in their rooms. In an effort to lift their spirits, Grace had arranged for a girls day with her best friend, Sarah Starks, and her girls.

Grace and Sarah had met decades ago when they were both modeling. After they retired from the modeling industry, they formed a fashion design company. I, unlike my sister, did not get the long shapely legs and five foot eleven height and our father's dazzling smile. Instead, I got the five foot seven height, which by average standards was not too shabby, but compared to Grace, I was the runt. I also inherited our mother's literary creativity. There was a ten year gap between us and so by the time I hit puberty, Grace had already moved to Hollywood and was dating actors and musicians. After a few years, she married Salvatore Dimaio, a rock musician and band mate of Sarah's long time partner. I was never envious of her as I knew how uncomfortable it was to live under a microscope and spotlight. Our father was a film director and producer and our mother was an accomplished author. Despite my efforts to disappear into the shadows as I grew older, I had my own sort of spotlight in the journalism community and though the light that shone on my life was but a fraction of the one that shone on the rest of my family, I had grown tired of living most of my life in the public eye, so I completely sympathized with my sister.

We pulled up to Sarah's estate and were buzzed through the gate. We parked the vehicle in the circular drive way in front of the excessively large and opulent house and were greeted by Sarah in the doorway. We were ushered into the house and I was introduced to Sarah's youngest daughter, Samantha, and her daughter, Claire. The last time I had seen Sarah's daughters were at Grace's wedding. I was an awkward and self absorbed teenager and Sarah's girls would've been very little, so it felt like we were being introduced for the first time. Sam was practically a spitting image of Sarah, long wavy brown hair, blue eyes and a slight figure. Claire, had straw blond hair and big hazel eyes with green flecks and a brilliant smile with full pouty lips. I figured she must have taken after her father, or even her rock star legend grandfather. Either way, when this one grows up, she was going to be one hell of a heart breaker.

My nieces, Madison and Kristen went off and played with Claire while Sarah got coffee for the rest of us. "Riley's coming over in a bit to make us brunch," Sarah said pouring coffee into our cups.

"Riley is Sarah's oldest and my goddaughter," Grace told me and I did recall the name. I just didn't know anything about her, other than that she was Sarah's oldest and Grace's goddaughter.

We went outside to sit on the patio and watched the girls play while sipping our coffee and catching up with one another. A short while later, we heard the doorbell. Sarah went to the intercom and answered it.

"I forgot my key," a low and husky, yet feminine voice came through the speaker.

"Auntie Riley!" Claire screeched when she heard the voice and started running for the house from the yard. Sarah followed her and the rest of us got up and made our way into the house.

When we got to the foyer of the house, I saw a figure with black shaggy hair, wearing an untucked blue button up shirt, jeans and a pair of aviator sunglasses. This was obviously Auntie Riley as I saw Claire clinging onto her hips while she was trying hard to lift two brown grocery bags up and away from the little girl's head.

"Little help here, Mom," she said to Sarah and leaned in to give her mom a kiss and then handed the bags to her. With her hands free, she reached down and picked up her niece. "How's my Claire-bear?" she asked and kissed her on the cheek and the back of her neck, making Claire giggle uncontrollably. Walking towards us, she shifted Claire onto her hip and put an arm around Sam's shoulder. She greeted Madison and Kristen with a flash of a smile.

"Get a haircut, you look like a Muppet," Grace playfully scolded her as she came up to us. "And get a real job, will ya?"

"A real job, like what, modeling? Or maybe fashion design?" she quipped and released her sister. She leaned in and gave Grace a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Besides, if I got a real job, I wouldn't be available to be at your beck and call to be your personal chef."

"True," Grace conceded. "Riley, this is my sister, Alex. Alex, this is Riley. Alex just moved here last week and she's staying with us."

I reached out to shake her hand. She took my hand in a firm grasp and gave an equally firm shake. She smiled a brilliant grin and I looked over at Claire and saw the same grin on the little girl. "It's nice to meet you," she said, her low voice surprisingly alluring.

"Keep it in your pants, Casanova, she's straight," Grace said, much to my confusion.

Releasing my hand, her smile turned shy. "Well, that's just a little awkward," she said. Then she reached up and covered Claire's ear with her hand and pulled the little girls head against her neck and shoulder. "You're just full of piss and vinegar this morning, aren't you, beautiful?"

"Have a little respect and take your sunglasses off. D'you think you're a rock star or something?" Grace continued to chide her, playfully, I hoped.

"She's hangover," Sarah's voice called out from behind us and I was certain there was a sharp edge to it.

"What's hangover mean?" Claire asked having been released from Riley's makeshift earmuffs. "Can I wear your sunglasses?"

Riley nodded. "Just grab them by the sides and be careful."

Claire carefully pulled the sunglasses off of Riley's face and slowly put them over her own eyes and grinned. "What's hangover mean?" the little girl repeated her question. Claire reached up and played with Riley's hair, and to my surprise, Riley didn't even look bothered by it.

"It means I stayed up way past my bedtime and now I'm exhausted," Riley answered her. "But not too exhausted to make brunch for a house full of demanding women, apparently." She turned to look at us, and then at Sarah and gave her mother the evil eye. Although her hair hung over her eyes, I could tell they were slightly bloodshot, but were a sparkling hazel/green. Her dark eye makeup gave off the intense "smokey eyes" look quite effectively. Looking back at Claire, aside from the different hair color, it was obvious who the little girl took after and it wouldn't have surprise me if Riley spoiled the girl senseless.

"Good, God, are you high?" Grace asked, her hand on Riley's chin, forcing the young woman to look her in the eyes.

Lowering Claire to the ground, Riley leaned down and told her to scoot off to the kitchen to get ready to help her make breakfast. She straightened up and put her sunglasses back on after having retrieved them from the little girl.

She opened her mouth to answer as we made our way into the spacious kitchen and seemed to pause briefly. "I'm running on four hours of sleep...and I may have had a drink last night."

"Or two, or three, or ten?" Sam asked snarkily. "Was she worth it?"

"Oh yeah," Riley answered in a deep husky voice and a lopsided smile and I felt goosebumps on my arms. I mentally shook my head and took a breath. First I thought her voice was alluring and her eyes intense and now she was giving me goosebumps? What the hell was going on?

"What was her name?" Sarah asked while Riley started to unload the contents of the grocery bags onto the counter.

"Kate...Kara...Kira...I don't know. I think it started with a K," she answered and shrugged off the momentary thought. So that's what Grace was referring to earlier with the Casanova comment. Apparently Riley was gay and fond of women whom she didn't care to get to know on a first name basis but certainly had a good time with.

"I told you I have everything you need," Sarah said indignantly, looking at the groceries on her counter.

Riley slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked at her mom. She picked up a round red fruit with what looked like prickly hairs on it and held it up.

"No, I don't have those," Sarah admitted.

Riley put down the red fruit and picked up a glass tube containing two vanilla beans.

"I don't have those either," Sarah said and rolled her eyes. "You chefs are so hard done by."

She rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands and Claire's hands. "Now, if you ladies don't mind, please remove yourselves from the kitchen and you'll be fetched when brunch is ready."

We did as we were told and retreated to the patio. The sun was already blistering hot so Madison and Kristen decided to cool off in the pool. We talked about how I was settling into L.A. and then discussed what Sarah and Grace had planned for us this afternoon, which included a home spa treatment for all of us, then some shopping and then dinner at Riley's restaurant.

"Should I go and see if she needs help?" I asked and got an immediate response of head shakes and snickers.

"When it comes to the kitchen, no one is allowed in there with the God almighty Riley," Sam answered. "The only person she ever lets in there is Claire-bear."

"The girl's a control freak," Sarah added, shaking her head.

"I wonder who she got that from?" Grace asked, grinning at Sarah.

From where I was sitting, I could see straight into the kitchen where Riley and Claire were both cutting up fruits and then Riley let Claire taste something off of a spoon. Whatever it was, it was good enough to earn lots of nods from the little girl. They seemed to be happily chatting away, with Claire doing most of the talking and Riley interjecting every so often. Clair de Lune, the name of Riley's restaurant; I wondered if she named it after the little girl or after the DeBussy piece.

Claire was sent out to let us know that we were ten minutes away from brunch and so we got busy setting the table out on the patio to eat. By the time we were done, the food was ready and we all helped bring it outside. The fruit salad and vanilla syrup looked amazingly refreshing and delicious, the Dutch Baby pancakes were puffy and smelled wonderful, and there was also a plate of lean turkey sausages. Finally, Riley brought out a pitcher of what looked like orange juice but we were told was Mimosa, made with champagne and fresh squeezed orange juice, and poured us each a glass. We sat down and started to feast while the girls had a picnic by the pool.

I noticed that none of the food had touched the plate in front of our chef. "Are you not eating?" I asked.

She took a drink from a bottle of water and shook her head. "I don't usually eat before noon," she answered and then looked over at Sarah and added, "because I'm normally still sleeping until then."

She took another drink from her bottle and then sat back and laced her fingers behind her head. I noticed she had tattoos on the inside of her wrists - a black and white nautical star on the right wrist and a lion with its tailed curled into the Leo sign on the left wrist.

"Sausage?" Sam asked, passing me the plate.

I took it and passed it on to Grace. "No thanks, actually. I'm a vegetarian."

"Are you serious?" Riley asked, her sunglasses shielding her eyes so I couldn't tell if she was just curious or annoyed that someone wasn't going to eat her cooking.

"Yes, I'm serious," I answered.

"Why?" she asked, her face not giving anything away.

"Well, for nutritional and healthy eating reasons for one," I began and paused and then shrugged. "And I guess I can't bring myself to eat cute animals."

She seemed to ponder my reply for a moment and then said, "Me neither. That's why I like to eat chickens. They're ugly bastards. So are tuna. Turkeys aren't that pretty either. And don't get me started on pigs. Those snouts and that tough skin? They don't have that saying about a sow's ear for nothing, you know?" And then I saw the slight smirk.

"Are you mocking me?" I asked, unable to hide the smile that was surfacing.

She gave me a wide grin and nodded. "Yes, yes I am."

"Ahem," I heard Grace clearing her throat from beside Riley.

"What?" Riley asked, turning to look at her. Grace merely raised an eyebrow at her.

"As a chef and meatatarian, I'm allowed to question why people don't eat certain things," Riley said and I thought I caught a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "I guess I just don't understand how people can pass up on pork fat or foie gras."

"Because not everyone can eat all that and stay thin like you," Grace answered. "Besides, that wasn't my point."

"Oh, so do tell, what was your point?" Riley challenged with amusement in her voice.

Grace simply fixed her a look and Riley grinned widely.

"Am I missing something?" I leaned over and asked Sam.

"Grace is not so subtly trying to tell Riley to not flirt with you," Sam replied smiling. I felt myself blushing and averted my eyes from Riley's smile which was now directed my way.

"I suppose I need to come up with a vegetarian menu for you tonight, do I?" she asked, still smiling.

"I do eat dairy and eggs," I confessed. "Besides, I'm sure I can find something to order on the menu tonight."

"Don't worry about that," Sarah told me. "Riley was making us a Chef's special dinner tonight anyway. She's just giving you a hard time."

I looked back at Riley who was still grinning like the Cheshire cat at me. She picked up her water bottle and took another drink, and despite the sunglasses shielding her eyes, I knew she was looking at me.

"Anyone want more coffee?" Sarah asked.

"I don't suppose you have any decaf?" I asked and Sarah nodded while Riley choked on her water. Grace reached over and patted her on her back until her coughing subsided.

"Decaf?" she asked, still slightly gasping for air.

"I've already had a cup of the regular stuff," I explained feeling slightly defensive and unsure as to whether or not I should even say anything more as it seemed that I was constantly offending the chef sitting across from me. "If I have anymore caffeine, I'll be shaking for the rest of the day."

"But decaf?" she asked again. I shrugged.

"That's just bitter dirty water," she said, grimacing and then gave a shudder as Sarah returned with my coffee.

"Well, let's just say that I know my limitations," I conceded.

"Unlike some people," Grace chimed in and looked over at Riley who pointedly ignored her.

"Well, ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do for your dinner tonight," she said standing up. She extended her hand towards me. "It was nice meeting you, Alex."

I took her hand and shook it and returned the sentiment and thanked her for the delicious brunch she had made for us. Grace stood up and offered to walk Riley out, although it didn't seem like Riley had a choice in the matter.

"I do apologize for my daughter," Sarah told me as I sat back in my chair. "She takes after her father."

Riley

"So the restaurant keeping you busy?" Grace asked me while she walked me out to my car.

"Busy enough," I answered. When we got to my car, I stopped and turned to look at her and took off my sunglasses. I looked her in the eyes and asked, "How are you doing?"

"Some days are good, some, not so much," she answered quietly and honestly. "I won't lie. It's been rough, especially on weekends like this when the girls were supposed to spend time with him and he cancels on them. I hate it when he disappoints them like this."

"I'm sure he had a good reason," I said and she cut me off.

"Riley, to you he may be Uncle Sal who can do no wrong, and I hate to break it to you but he's no angel," Grace interrupted me and I could tell she was getting upset.

I put an hand on her shoulder to try to soothe her. "Aunt Grace, I know that. I'm not a kid anymore. I know Uncle Sal's not an angel, in fact I know he was a cheating bastard, but I also know that he loves Madison and Kristen more than anything in the world and he'd do his best to not hurt them anyway he could."

Grace reluctantly but finally nodded. "Speaking of hurting," she said, her voice taking on a note of warning, "Keep your hands off my sister."

I held my hands up in mock surrender. "Hands off," I agreed.

"I'm serious, Riley," Grace continued. "First of all, she's straight. Secondly, she's just gotten out of a five year relationship after she found out that the wanker had cheated on her with practically everything that moved. I know you've got a good heart, kiddo. Just don't mess around with Alex's."

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16