Excerpt: "Happiness Is..." (working title)

Chapter One:
Adrienne

“You’re missing out, Ade.”

Dean fanned out a wad of dollar bills and slapped them against the palm of his left hand. He smiled widely and tucked the bunch into the back pocket of his black pants.

“You sure you want to stay cooped up in that kitchen for the rest of your life? All the good tips are at the bar,” he continued.

Adrienne untied the back of her white apron and tossed it into a laundry basket by the kitchen’s exit door. She pulled her dark, curly hair out of the bun it had been in all night, shook it out, and put it up back up in a ponytail in a one deft movement.

Dean propped open the door and motioned for Adrienne to walk through. She paused briefly under his arm, and she could smell the faint scent of his cologne. That man always smelled good, even after an eight-hour tending bar at a bustling Los Angeles restaurant, Felice.

“You can keep your cash. I’ll take the satisfaction of knowing that I’m keeping the hungry people of L.A. satisfied on a nightly basis,” Adrienne replied, staring up into Dean’s coal grey eyes. They always seemed to light up when he talked to her, and the heat of his gaze made her heart thump so loud she was sure he could hear it.

They stumbled out into the restaurant’s nearly empty dining area, where only a few of the night staff remained, vacuuming the floor and cleaning off tables.

In the VIP corner of Felice, up a small set of stairs and behind a set of maroon velvet ropes, a couple employees sat in a booth, drinking a bottle of wine.

“Hey, Ade! Dean! Come try this new cabernet we cracked open!” Adrienne’s boss, Adam, called out.

Adrienne and Dean exchanged a glance and shrugged.

“Ah yes, more perks of working here,” Dean said, grabbing Adrienne’s hand and leading her up to the booth where Adam sat with Mason and Kimberly, the two hosts who were on shift that night.

Mason stood up to greet the newcomers and launched himself against Adrienne in a big hug.

“Girl, I haven’t seen you all night!” Mason squealed. “I hate that you’re stuck in the back all the time now. It was so much more fun when we could make fun of customers together!”

Mason was Adrienne’s best friend in the world. She’d gotten him the hosting job a few months ago. He’d shown up to work on the first day wearing the required black pants and a black dress shirt, but in typical Mason fashion, he’d spiced things up with one hot pink sock and one neon orange one. Adrienne had been used to seeing Mason outside of work, where he loved to dress in the wildest colors he could find.

Mason was gay, and flamboyantly so. His hair color matched his flamboyance – today it was shaved, but colored bright traffic-cone orange. Adrienne loved his attitude about it all – he figured life is short, so he should be and act the way that made him happiest. And screw everyone who didn’t like it.

“Making fun of the customers, Mason? Come on, I’m sitting right here,” Adam said jovially, pouring a small glass of wine for Adrienne and Dean as they slid into the booth.
Adam was the coolest boss ever. He was pushing 40, but it was understandable why a lot of the female customers would find him attractive. He was tall and athletic, and his dark brown hair had just a few flecks of gray at his temples, which mostly served to make him look mature. But when he smiled, with two childish dimples appearing, he could pass for at least 10 years younger.

Adrienne had been working with him for the past three years, and she pretty much considered him a friend at this point.

Especially because he had finally given her the promotion she’d been working for forever. When she was first hired, she started by working in the bar. She’d had experience from her days in college, and it was a good fit.

Over time, Adrienne had become obsessed with the food that Felice served. She’d sometimes sit and watch the chefs in the kitchen, chopping, sautéing, boiling, drizzling – it seemed so magical the way their fingers danced across everything in such fluid motions. And in the end, voila, a meal was made.

On her days off, she started to take some cooking classes offered by Santa Monica College, and it all concluded with a two-week seminar at the Culinary Institute of America in San Francisco, where she was only recently just certified as a sous chef.
The day Adam promoted Adrienne and gave her a crisp white apron and chef’s coat with her name on it was the best. She’d been on the job now for about three months, and she loved every minute of it.

Casting a shy glance in Dean’s direction, watching him take a deep gulp of wine, she realized she did miss working more directly with him – and Mason. But it wasn’t as if she never saw them, and nights like these ones were what made her sure she would never want to leave Felice.

“Sorry, boss, I didn’t mean it. You know that I would never, ever in a million years make fun of Ryan Seacrest,” Mason said solemnly.

“Ryan Seacrest?” Adrienne questioned, with an eyebrow raised. “Seriously? He was here tonight?”

Adam beamed. “Yup. Looks like word’s getting out. He ate your mushroom risotto, by the way.”

Adrienne’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?! Was it good, did he hate it, am I fired?”

Adam chuckled. “And that is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Ade, you have to make each meal as if it were for Ryan Seacrest. But telling you that it actually is will just get you flustered and screw it up. Trust me, it’s for the best you remain unaware.”

Adrienne shrugged, and drank some more wine. “I suppose that is actually a good plan.” She smacked her lips. “And this is some good wine. I’d order it.”

“You would not. The only thing you ever drink here are the martinis. You and your little Martini Monday club. It’s astonishing how much booze four small girls can put away during Happy Hour on a Monday night,” Dean teased.

“We can’t help it; our bartender is so cute, we just want to sit there and order from him all night,” Adrienne replied, in what she hoped was an equally teasing tone. Inwardly, her heart was beating a mile a minute.

Jesus, this man could do strange things to her. This was a typical conversation, one she’d had with him for as long as she’d known him, and yet, he still gave her butterflies every time he so much as looked at her.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome, even though he was. He had sandy-colored hair that usually hung just a little too long, as if he was permanently in need of a haircut. He had a kind, sweet face that met in the center by a bright, charming smile, and a dimple in his left cheek. When he stared at Adrienne, she got lost in his coal-grey eyes that were both penetrating and soft.

He was gorgeous, but he was the kind of guy who didn’t know how gorgeous he was, of course making him that much more irresistible.

During their time as co-workers, Adrienne and Dean had become quite close, and she now considered him one of her closest friends. But that was the problem – she was firmly stuck in the “Land of Friendship,” and there may have been no getting out of it.
Several times she had almost resorted to asking Mason to question Dean about his feelings for her, but she always talked herself out of it when she thought about what a gossip Mason could be. And working in a restaurant, there was no lack of gossip to go around. The staff at Felice was basically one big incestuous, dysfunctional family. Everyone had dated everyone, everyone was sleeping with everyone.

Everyone except Adrienne, that is.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive, or boring, or shy. On the contrary, everyone loved her. Well, the guys did. The girls were possibly threatened by Adrienne because she had such good friendships with so many of the guys. Surely they thought she had hooked up with all of them, but the reality was she was just a guy’s guy.

She appreciated video games and sports, and she was even the defending champion in the restaurant’s fantasy football league. Perhaps it was these interests that kept men from thinking about her in a romantic way, but she was who she was.

Sure, she could make the effort to look more girly. Her hair was always thrown up in a messy ponytail or bun, and she seldom wore much more makeup than foundation and mascara. And her apron certainly didn’t do her petite figure any favors. But she worked in a kitchen. A smelly, hot, frantic kitchen. Any hair product or eye shadow she used would melt away within 10 minutes next to the broiler.

Up until now, she had seen no reason to change. But she wasn’t getting any younger, and it wouldn’t be long before Dean would find someone. He had women throwing themselves at him every night. Some even waited outside for him to get off work to try and take him home with him. Whether he ever did or not, Adrienne didn’t know, nor did she care to.

“Well, this bartender likes making drinks for you guys. Allows me to hone my martini making skills,” Dean said, lifting his arm up to the top of the booth and setting it down so he was practically sitting with his arm around Adrienne.

Adrienne could feel herself blushing.

“You OK, Ade? Your face is all red,” Mason called out from across the table.
Great, Adrienne thought. I can always count on Mason to state the embarrassingly obvious.

“It’s hot in here,” Adrienne said petulantly, wiping her hands across her face, feeling some beads of sweat build on her forehead.

Mason just winked and threw his head back in laughter. “Sure, hon.”

He, of course, knew of Adrienne’s lusty feelings for Dean, despite Adrienne doing her best to keep it from him.

Adam, however, was oblivious to the dramatic goings-on at his restaurant, and Adrienne thought he probably preferred it that way.

“You girls are still on for this Monday, right?” Adam asked. “I know Bree was sick last week, so you guys canceled. Is she feeling better?”

Adrienne nodded. “Much. She swore she had swine flu, but it just turned out to be averse reaction to Steven’s jambalaya.”

“Well, good, the best table in the house is all yours then,” Adam replied.

Not that giving them the best table by the bar was really so generous of him. Monday nights were notoriously slow, which is why they happened to be one of the only nights Adrienne had off. One of the drawbacks to working in an up-and-coming Los Angeles nightlife hotspot was that her weekends were no longer hers. They belonged to Felice and the upper middle class clientele it drew in.

“Thanks, Adam.”

Adrienne suddenly noticed a pile of papers covering Adam’s side of the booth.

“What’s all that stuff about?” she asked, nodding in the his direction.

Adam ran his fingers over the pile and sighed.

“Just the mockups for the new menus I’m having printed this weekend. They should be ready to go out on the tables by Monday.” He took another look at the stack. “Fingers crossed, anyway. I’m still finalizing some stuff. You wouldn’t believe what a pain in the ass it is to run a restaurant.”

The group found it hard to keep their laughter in. That was one of Adam’s most notorious lines. He was always talking about the stress of the restaurant business, but anyone who knew him knew that he absolutely loved every second of it anyway.

“Can I see?” Adrienne asked, craning her neck to get a look.

“Actually, there is one page you might be interested in seeing,” Adam said, shuffling some things around. “Ah, yes. Here.”

He handed her a sheet, and she scanned it quickly.

“Oh my God!” she cried out. “That’s me, that’s my name!” I shoved the paper in Dean’s face. “Look!”

Dean smiled and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Way to go, Ade!”

“I can’t believe you put that in there, Adam,” Adrienne said, still admiring her name in black and white.

Adrienne Palmer – sous chef. A native of Los Angeles, Palmer recently graduated from the Culinary Institute of America.

“Well, all the chefs get one. I like the people to know who’s making their food,” Adam said, taking the paper back from Adrienne.

“Well, it’s pretty freaking cool,” Adrienne said, happily sitting back into the booth. “What else about the menu is changing?”

“Nothing major. Updating some dishes, changing some fonts and colors around. Writing a new credo for the place,” Adam shrugged.

“Awesome,” Dean said.

“Yes, totally fascinating. But will this wine be on the new menu?” Mason broke in. He poured himself another glass, and looked around sheepishly when he realized he had finished the bottle.

“Should I grab another one?” Adam asked the group.

Adrienne felt Dean move next to her. He was grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket, checking his messages.

“Aw, man, I’d love to, but I gotta leave soon,” he answered, still scrolling through his phone.

Adrienne frowned. She was hoping he would stick around and walk her home, like he usually did. She lived in an apartment complex only four blocks away, and his duplex was only a few streets over from that. Neither of them enjoyed trying to drive in L.A. traffic, so walking to and from work had sort of become routine for them. Now she’d have to bum a ride from Mason and hope that he hadn’t consumed too much wine.
Dean must have sensed Adrienne’s displeasure.

“Actually, Ade, if you don’t want to stay too much longer, I can still walk you home. I’m actually headed to your complex anyway,” Dean said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Really? What’s going on? Huge party at my complex that I wasn’t invited to? Is Fiona hosting another Passion Party that you want to crash?” Adrienne joked. Her roommate was always doing crazy things while Adrienne was at work.

“Ha, I wish,” Dean replied. “Nah, I’m just going to meet up with someone who lives there. I doubt you know her.”

Her? Adrienne thought, dejected.

There was any number of pretty actresses and models living in that complex. She hated to think about him meeting up with any one of them.

Every part of her wanted to ask for a name, but she bit her tongue and swallowed the rest of her wine.

“Sure, let’s go,” she said. “I’m beat anyway. Thanks for the wine, Adam. You should definitely stock some.” She stood and grabbed her purse from off the ground.
Dean slid out of the booth next and lifted a hand in a wave gesture.

“See you guys in about … oh, eight hours,” Dean called out, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It was just past 2 a.m. He was working the opening shift the following day, which on a Saturday was the most coveted shift available. While bartenders never see as much tip money during the day as at night, he would still be able to get off with plenty of time hit the clubs, and when you’re 28, sometimes that’s really the most important thing.

Outside, Adrienne welcomed the cool night air. It was early March, and even though L.A. never dropped below 55 degrees at night, she would appreciate the coming spring and warm weather that Southern California was famous for.

Adrienne slipped on her black cardigan and smoothed out her black chef pants, which were covered in food stains, as always.

Why do I always have to look like such a mess? she groaned inwardly.

She fiddled with the curls in her ponytail nervously as they began to walk. It was stupid to get so antsy around him still. They were friends. They saw movies together. They went grocery shopping together on occasion. Hell, they had been beer pong partners at Mason’s last birthday party. But would the feeling that she wasn’t good enough for him ever really go away?

They continued walking in comfortable conversation. Dean checked his phone a lot, but offered no other information about who he was meeting.

As always, their time together was cut too short for Adrienne’s taste. She almost wished she lived further away – a 10-minute walk was never enough.

Dean walked her all the way to her front door – apartment 5A. They could hear some hip-hop music from inside, and the sound of male laughter.

Adrienne raised her eyebrows. “Guess Fiona has found a companion for the evening.”
Dean paused to listen. “How do you deal with that? It seems like she has a new guy every other weekend. How do you keep them all straight?”

“I don’t,” Adrienne confessed. “My rule us, never learn names. They’re never around long enough for names to matter.”

Dean pulled Adrienne in for a hug. She pressed against him, enjoying the rumble coming from his chest as he laughed.

“Well, don’t let them keep you up too late.” Dean let go and kissed the top of Adrienne’s forehead, her most favorite form of affection ever. “I better get going.”

“Hey, do you know where you’re going? This complex is kind of big.” It was a lame attempt at finding out what apartment he was going to, but Adrienne was suddenly desperate to know.

“Eh, I think I can manage,” Dean said pointing upward. “Apartment 5B. Right above you.”

Adrienne’s smile faltered. She followed his gaze up and realized with disgust who his date for the evening would be.

“Claire?” She could barely get the word out.

Claire Jennings was everything Adrienne wasn’t. Impossibly tall, impossibly thin, impossibly blonde – and impossibly fake. Claire was a model, and it didn’t matter what kind of guy you were – a model was a model, and who didn’t want to date one?

“You know her?” Dean asked.

“Vaguely,” Adrienne managed to respond. “You know, just from around the laundry room and stuff. Where did you guys meet?”

“Here, actually. I bumped into her after walking you home one night. Crazy, huh?” Dean said.

“Yeah. Crazy.”

Swell, Adrienne thought. So it’s my fault that he met her.

It was true, Adrienne only knew Claire a little bit, but the bit she did know about her was enough. Dean was way too good for her. He needed someone fun and caring and goofy. Claire was absolutely none of those things. She seemed fairly stuck up every time they passed by each other, and as her downstairs neighbor, Adrienne had heard her petulant whining and fighting with her ex-boyfriend.

She’d also heard the part where they would make up afterward. Adrienne’s stomach lurched.

Oh God. If she … if they … oh fuck, I’m going to be able to hear them … Adrienne thought. The image was almost too much to bear.

“You OK, Ade?” Dean asked, reaching out his hand to steady a suddenly shaky Adrienne.

She did her best to smile and stood up straight.

“Sure. Just tired. Go on. You two have fun!” she called out brightly.

“Alright. ‘Night, Ade. See you tomorrow?”

Adrienne nodded and slumped against her door frame, watching him slip around the corner. Seconds later, she heard him clomp up the stairs and knock on the door above her.

She listened and heard the soft, cooing voice of Claire as she trilled, “Hey, baby!”
Adrienne wasn’t sure, but she could almost swear she heard the smacking of lips.
Claire must have pulled him inside, as the door closed, and Adrienne could hear the faint sound of a lock clicking. She fumbled for her own keys, and pushed open her front door.

Inside, she fell to the floor, back to the door. She stuffed her head into her hands. If she was truly pathetic, she would have started crying.

But instead, all she could do was mumble into her hands.

“I am going to be single forever.”