You know, just general disaster and ruin.
"But Max," someone like my brother might say, "Max, why don't you just keep things casual? There's no need to get attached to someone just because you're having sex with them."
Yes, yes. It sounds like a good idea, doesn't it?
And then you meet her.
You meet the one who changes everything. Instantly, you're addicted. You're either screaming at each other or she's screaming your name, but either way it gratifies something in you, and you just can't give it up. It's like a drug.
Until everything inevitably comes crashing down.
Who has the time for that? Who has the energy? I'm trying to open a damn restaurant.
***
"Look, I understand it's got to be a special order - I get it - you've told me a thousand times, my point is, I don't care. Find a way to get it done. I'm not slapping that hideous knockoff color on the walls, so figure it the fuck out."
The designer was shooting daggers with her eyes, but I was already halfway to the kitchen.
I simply refused to cut corners. If every aspect of this restaurant wasn't exactly perfect, exactly the way I wanted it, what was the point?
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" came a deep, booming voice from somewhere in my kitchen. I rounded the corner, a grin spreading across my face.
"Jimmy," I exclaimed, as the massive, rotund man pulled me into a crushing hug. I hadn't seen Chef Jimmy Shaw in years, not since the last time I was in New England. His schedule running the Ritz was punishing, so he rarely got away anymore. But he'd managed to find the time to sneak his way in here.
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"Look at them," said Jimmy, clapping me on the back and gesturing at the pair of massive, stainless steel ranges that had just been installed. "There's nothing more gorgeous in the world, is there?" His accent made it sound like gawgeous, and my smile just grew bigger.
"We live very different lives, if you really think that," I said. "What have you got for me, Chef?"
He waved a sheaf of papers. "Where's your office? There's a few I think you'll be interested to go over."
Staffing, for me, was always a struggle. Every time I opened a new place, I swore I saw my assistant Lydia close her eyes and do the sign of the cross before she started looking over applications. And she wasn't even Catholic. I'm picky, I admit - but look where it's gotten me.
Anyway, Jimmy was doing me a favor by letting me look over the best of his reject pile. In fairness, his reject pile is better than most restaurant's entire payroll. He has a terribly low turnover and everybody wants to work for him. I was prepared for disappointment, but if I was being perfectly honest with myself, I was also a little excited about the possibilities.
I headed towards the back, gesturing for him to follow me. My desk was still piled with boxes, but it wasn't quite as bad as my apartment. The desk, at least, was empty.
"All right," said Jimmy, settling down in a folding chair. He spread the papers out on my desk. "I weeded through them personally - I mean, my HR girl throws away anything that's filled out in crayon, but I figured you'd appreciate some more rigorous quality control."
"I do," I said, picking up one of the small piles at random and flipping through it. "Have any of these been interviewed?"
Jimmy shook his head. "No time. But they look good on paper, eh?"
Scanning over the resumes quickly, I looked for key words that would stand out. Most of these people would probably jump at the chance to work for me. A few of them would probably rather die, but would do it anyway. I could have my pick of them. Andrew. Gavin. Akira. Lana. Jillian. Muhammed. Troy -
Wait. Wait.
Jillian. Jillian Brown.
It couldn't be. It was too much of a coincidence.
I scanned down her job history. And there it was.
Line Cook - Giovanni's.
As I made my way back from that item to the top of her resume, I couldn't help but notice the improbably long list for three years' worth of work experience.
"Found one you like?" Jimmy peered over the desk.
"Hmm." I was trying to keep things noncommittal. "Jillian Brown seems a bit unstable with the career history in the past few years, don't you think?"
"All those places closed." He shrugged, a big gesture that nearly dislodged some of the boxes nearby. "This economy, Max, what are you gonna do?"
"I suppose," I replied, slowly - trying to downplay my interest for no logical reason whatsoever. "Have you ever met her?"
"Once or twice," he said. "She seems like a very nice girl."
"Woman," I said, absently, my eyes running down the page again. "You wouldn't call me a boy, would you?"