Brand New Day: Book 1 - Falling Apart

By Wren Rogers

Intended for an adult audience, The Brand New Day series is a seemingly true romantic adventure tale of greed, lust, loss, love, misery, success, setback and plain old bad luck. Set in the backdrop of the downtown streets and back alleys of Cincinnati Ohio & Newport Kentucky, the story begins on The Good Ship Cincinnati, the hottest floating dining destination on the riverfront.

Twenty six year old Ellen Addison is a hard working, lonely server longing in sad silence for the Good Ship's handsome Chef Rob Anderson. Rob is a seriously talented carefree chef, newly transplanted to Cincinnati from New York. Hard twelve hour line shifts followed by hard drinking at the bar fills most all of his time. When a mysterious stranger enters their lives aboard The Good Ship, life takes an unexpected turn. Along with their crew mates, Ellen and Rob's fate becomes forever changed while working at the popular riverboat restaurant. Sex, lies, tragedy and true love tangles their futures and twists their fortunes in ways no one could have imagined.

Graphic, blunt, brutally honest, and occasionally offensive, the series is an uncensored 'Rated - R' fictional biography of hard living service workers and the crazy career they have either chosen, or somehow become stuck in.

Written with factual geography, businesses, street names and locations, the series stays true to certain facts from beginning to end. The realistic backbone of the story is intended to transport the reader deep into the bowels and belly of the beastly reality of cooking, serving and struggling to earn a living in the public service life. A tale often told, but not commonly presented as it really is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wren Rogers
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310076978

Wren Rogers

I write, cook, wrench, cycle, study, paint, sing, pet, smoke, philosophize, shoot, savor, think and drink. I have many regrets and few accomplishments. My never-ending passion for becoming closer connected to the souls I love fuels my vigor for life even though my failing physique frequently falters my efforts and endeavors. I claim allegiance to nothing aside from family & friends and forgo all political affiliations in favor of true freedom. I never judge another and forgive when judged by others. At 46, I have begun to understand the world around me and realize we will never achieve uniform peace. I am not under the influence of illusions, fantasies, false hopes or illogical faiths. I wish the people who do good well and the people who don't Hell. I never kill or consume any slain souls to feed. I respect every form of life and wish the rest of the world would understand that all souls have beauty and should never be treated as food. I hope the bottom rises to the top and the separation of classes would crash. I don't believe in anything more complicated than positive and negative, with positive being the superior force. I strive to live by own moral code based on choice rather than fear and hope to die by my own choosing.

Book preview

Brand New Day – Part One: Falling Apart

Copyright © 2015 by Wren Rogers

Published and distributed by Eastside Publications

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief (cited) quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN # 978-0-9972795-0-4

website – www.wrenrogersbooks.com

email – [e-mail]

The Brand New Day series is a work of fiction based certain facts. With some exceptions, the businesses, streets, buildings, bridges and other historical and geographical details are factual.

In some examples, characters may use foul language; engage in explicit sexual acts, violence and other illegal activities. Characters may abuse drugs and alcohol, use racial stereotyping, bigotry, and make offensive racial remarks and or actions. The viewpoint of these characters is not in any way related to the personal viewpoints of the author.

None of the content in this book, or any in the series, was intended to offend, anger, profile or otherwise cause any gender, race, color, creed or doctrine harm or distress.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Author Bio

More Books in the Brand New Day Series

Chapter 1

For five solid hours the busy restaurant’s kitchen slammed and banged. Cooks rushed and shoved, sweated and strained themselves to pull off the perfect service. The dining room tables, just moments ago squeezed to capacity, were now vacant. The sounds of the lively dinner crowd were gone, only the whir of an annoying vacuum pierced the quiet as the bus boy swept.

Tired servers sat together at a far corner table, chatting as they polished silverware and folded clean linens for tomorrow. Moments ago they were deep in a high-pressure cardio workout, dashing and sprinting from the pass line to the tables, toting heavy plates with a strong outstretched arm without pause. The kitchen crew slid and slipped across the wet floor, scrambling to sort out the mess and clock out in time to cut loose at the local pub. The show was over, but the night wasn’t.

Back in the dish room, Armando was loading the last of the dirty pans into the washer. Hey Micha… You feel anything yet? I’m feelin’ kinda’ funny. I think this stuff is comin’ on too soon, the Mexican dishwasher called out to the hippie line cook passing by.

Shh… Don’t say that shit out loud Armando! Chef will hear… and catch on. Then what? You wanna’ work at Burger King? Micah replied angrily, waving him quite with a scowl.

A voice boomed across the kitchen, stealing their attention.

Let’s wrap it up! It’s almost over, just a few chores left and we can get the hell out of here. Get this trash out Armando, Chef Rob yelled to the dish room.

Miguel, the Mexican lead cook, nodded to him with a smile. We gonna’ make eet just in time amigo!

Chef Rob heard his words, but didn’t quite understand what he meant. Nevertheless, he wasn’t concerned. In less than an hour, they would all be clocking out, making a mad dash to the bar.

The riverboat restaurant, The Good Ship Cincinnati had been running smooth all through the dinner rush. Now, all that was left was to clean up the mess and count the money. Behind the line, the cooks broke down the stations. Luckily, most of their work was already done. An hour ago, as he noticed the full on rush slow down, Miguel insisted that the kitchen crew begin the closing duties, anticipating a fast escape just after the restaurant closed. He had very special plans with the crew tonight and wanted out as soon as possible.

Unexpectedly, a half-drunk wedding party stumbled into the lobby, no reservations, no warning whatsoever. Ralph, the Ship’s owner greeted them as he passed by. Seating the rowdy group, the hostess waved the manager over.

Sandra, these people just piled into the lobby. I told them we are closed, but Ralph insisted I seat them anyway. I didn’t know what to do so I had to…

The sultry manager looked at the boisterous table with a sigh.

Are you kidding me Amy? Damn him! Ralph owns the place but he doesn’t know how to run it. Nevertheless, I guess we all have to bend to his wishes. Rob is going to be livid, she said, throwing her hands up in frustration as she walked off in a trot.

Sandra knew the kitchen would be infuriated. No doubt they already had the line broken down and cleaned. An unexpected twelve top this late would send them over the edge.

Greeting the party, Sandra realized they were all quite intoxicated. Taking their drink orders, she jogged over to her best server.

Ellen, you are the only server whose side work is done. I’m gonna’ need you to take this party that just stumbled in here.

Ellen’s face turned to a scowl. Geez’ Sandra, we are closed already. Everything is put away. I just dumped the tea and…

Sandra cut her off. I know, dumb ass Ralph allowed them to come in. Please Elle’ I really need your help here if we are ever going to get out of this place tonight.

Knowing there was really no alternative, Ellen shrugged, feigning a smile. I will get their orders and try to speed them along. Maybe we can get them fed and out the door by the time the servers are finished with their side work, but I don’t think so.

Sandra knew she chose correctly. If any server could handle the last second set back, it was Ellen.

Behind the line, the cooks were wiping the stainless to a gleaming shine. Armando was carrying the last load of pans back to his dish room. The crew was pleased with their speedy progress. They were certain they would make it to their favorite pub in plenty of time tonight.

As Chef Rob was wrapping up his last remaining task, he heard a familiar but strikingly odd sound. Suddenly, the kitchen printer began spewing out an endless ribbon of orders. Every cook in the kitchen instantly stopped still. They stood with mouths open, staring at the yellow paper spitting out of the machine, watching in dismay.

Looking at his watch, Rob couldn’t understand what was happening. What the hell? he yelled, running over to the printer.

Lead cook Miguel walked in from the dish room. Seeing the slew of tickets, he threw his towel across the room. What da’ hell ees dees? he asked in angry wonder. Dees ees bull sheet!

Under normal circumstances, the crew of The Good Ship Cincinnati could handle the sudden last minute onslaught of orders, but on this particular night, Miguel had just got his hands on some psychedelic mushrooms. Unknown to Chef Rob, Miguel had secretly shared them with Micah and Armando just as the shift slowed to a crawl. Their powerful psilocybin effects were beginning to take hold earlier than anticipated.

Tearing tickets off the ribbon draped to the floor, Rob began calling the orders out. Two half racks, one cod, one porterhouse, one half rack, one burger medium, one burger bloody, one lamb, one rib eye burnt, one cod, two lamb. Listen up, that’s two cod, two burgers, three lamb and three half racks all day! Micah, grab the meat from the walk-in. I will get the fish ready. Miguel crank that grill back up, it’s still pretty hot maybe we can get this stuff out pronto. I need to see what the hell is going on here.

Instead of hearing the orders called back as usual, Chef Rob heard only silence, then… snickering.

What the hell… he said to himself, as he heard no ‘call back’ from neither Miguel nor Micah.

Turning to the cooks, he watched as they stood still, holding their mouths, slightly slumped over. They were nearly in tears, holding back laughter. Rob couldn’t imagine what was so funny as he stared at their contorted faces.

Miguel broke first, busting out hard and loud. He laughed so deeply and debilitating it doubled him over. The other lineman quickly followed suit. Even over the racket of the dishwasher, Armando heard the laughing. Coming to the corner, he leaned on the wall as he broke down in tears at the sight of his crewmates. Chef Rob’s entire line was now leaning with watering eyes, choking as they laughed through tears. Staring, helpless and hopeless, Chef Rob watched in despair as his entire crew disintegrated into a slobbering mess. 

Sandra! What is this giant string of orders about? Rob cried out as the sultry manager appeared at the pass looking anxious.

I know, I know we’re closed, Sandra replied as she walked to the line. I would have sent them away but Ralph insisted they could stay. Ellen is…

As he sat out sauté pans to heat on the burners, Rob cut her off. That’s awesome… Maybe he would like to stay until midnight by himself and clean up the kitchen we just finished wiping down.

It’s some drunk wedding party, just throw it together as fast as you can, she said again in her defense.

Rob began working the first order, shaking his head in aggravation. Great. We were three minutes from leaving. Now just look at this string of tickets, the biggest order of the night.

Sandra felt terrible. Yet there was nothing she could do.

At least the crew isn’t taking it hard. They seem to think it’s pretty funny, Sandra said as she noticed the laughter.

Rob didn’t smile. Yeah, I’m not sure what that is all about. But I assure you, they don’t think this is funny. I think something else has them in hysterics.

As Sandra looked over at the line cooks, they laughed uncontrollably again.

Rob shot Sandra a worried look. I think my line, just crossed over the line. I don't know what they're smoking now, but I'm getting the feeling we are going to be really screwed here trying to get these orders out. Just look at them, they’re on something more than usual. That’s not pot cracking them up that hard, Rob said as he rolled his eyes towards the crew, now hushing their laughs with their hands. 

The look in their dilated eyes told Sandra all she needed to see. They were useless now. It became clear with their complete disregard as Rob called out the orders a second time. Calling the orders out louder, he watched for them to react, but even that did not set them into action. They paid the tickets no mind. Leaning on equipment, doubling over weak in the knees, they continued with their choking laughter.

Sandra stood staring. Looking up at her with a fast glance, Miguel blurted out a laugh with everything he had. Within a split second the others did the same. Miguel could no longer even stand, his knees bent sharply, hovering inches off the floor, a slight drool dribbling from his lip.

Holy shit! I hope you can get them going and get that food out soon, otherwise we will be here until morning, Sandra said as she shot Rob an ill glare. After a torrid stare and a dismayed scowl, she darted back out into the dining room.

Walking briskly towards Ellen, Sandra whispered beside her. Get the wedding party drinks, salads, bread whatever you can find, keep them busy, their food is going to take forever, if it even comes at all.

Why? Did the crew leave already? Ellen asked curiously.

Sandra shot back quickly. No, they are all back there, but they’re on acid or something. Everyone except Rob is just a worthless heap, laughing themselves to tears.

Oh my god! Really, they're on acid? This party is drunk and difficult. If they drag the orders, we'll be here until two in the morning. I have to get home to my dad, he usually waits up for me, Ellen said with concern.

I know, sighed Sandra. But I know you can pull this off Elle', if any server here can handle it, it's you.

Unconvinced, Ellen sprinted to the bar to get the drinks.

Realizing the crew could not be relied on to cook, Rob felt a nervous tingling deep in the pit of his stomach. Not allowing panic to set in, he instinctively acted immediately. Life as a head chef had softened him up to the hard work, but in his soul, he knew he still had rock star production in him. He was not about to fold under pressure on this late night. This is what he had trained so hard to do in the tough New York kitchens he came up in. He had to make it happen. No matter what, the unexpected party’s orders would come out, even if he had to cook each and every order alone. He wasn't about to let the cooks neither slow him down, nor ‘throw it together’ either.

Jogging behind the line, Rob ignored the laughing madness around him. Tearing off the tickets one by one, he began cooking each order with such speed, precision and efficiency the cooks suddenly stopped laughing and just stared, riveted to the scene as it unfolded.

Working the grill with one hand, while sautéing with the other, he got the orders working instantly. Seeing the crew staring at him, he yelled out. C'mon you worthless bastards! I need two cods down now!"

Micah, reacted with a jolt, quickly ducking to the under counter cooler and springing back up with the plastic wrapped filets. One by one, Rob called out his needs and the tripping team reacted. They were engrossed at the sight of Rob's sudden effort behind their line. Gracefully, he moved from one station to the next, organizing the items for the orders. Manning the grill, sauté and garnish stations simultaneously. Weaving between the team, he mesmerized the cooks with his swift smooth motions. Quickly, Rob finished the first few dishes, stacking plates at the pass. He was out cooking every cook on the line… all by himself. Maybe it was the mushrooms, maybe it was Rob's amazing speed, but either way, it was magic to the crew. They had never seen the food look better.

Sandra came rushing into the kitchen looking tearful. Rob they're getting drunker and more belligerent out there! Ellen is buying us time with salad, bread and a whole lot of charm but I gotta’ have some food now, something, anything!

No worries little lady, he replied. I got it all but one right here. How long on that last dish Miguel? Rob asked.

Sí, sí eets coming now, Miguel replied as he placed ribs on a plate. 

Wow, how the hell did you pull that off Rob? Sandra asked in disbelief. 

I can still cook you know, I could do it in my sleep, Rob shot back.

I wonder what else you’re so good at Mr. Amazing? Sandra asked, smiling as she eyed Rob teasingly.

Ellen rushed in beside her.

Ellen! Grab those six and I will grab these, Sandra said.

Stacking their arms with plates, they dashed out the swinging kitchen doors. 

Whoa amigo! Sandra likes your machismo! Miguel said with a giggle.

Stop with the fucking laughing! I want to get out of here before who knows what else happens, Rob snapped.

The kitchen instantly went silent. Then… in the distant dish room, they heard another gut wrenching laugh. It was Armando, losing control, sliding slowly to the wet tile with debilitating laughter.

Jesus Christ, Rob mumbled, tossing his towel at Miguel. Get this place cleaned up again, I want to get out of here before last call.

Last call? Miguel repeated with a tone of shock. Sheet! I almost forgot. We have to hurry!

That was all it took. Miguel yelled out in Spanish to Armando and the crew snapped into action. Slipping and sliding about the kitchen, like ants swarming on a melting sidewalk candy bar, they began a rush to close out quickly. If they were to hit up their local pub in time for a few stiff drinks, they had to act faster than ever before.

Chapter 2

The mushroom high had settled into a mind-bending buzz by the time The Good Ship's line crew walked into their favorite Newport Kentucky bar, ‘The Pub’. 

Damn Miguel, Rob said. I know you guys smoke pot all the time, but mushrooms… during dinner service? That's fucking crazy.

Miguel's dilated eyes looked sorrowful. We thought it was over for the night amigo. We can close on mushrooms man; it's just cleaning and taking out the trash. Besides, I didn't think they would come on so soon. Dees are fresh shrooms, the guy I got them from told me an hour. We took them a half-hour before closing. I wanted them to be coming on when we hit the bar. 

Well, we're at the bar now so how do you feel? Rob asked.

Miguel smiled slyly with his huge black pupils. Like firing up this Jelly Bean spliff and getting some shots into that little blonde right there! Miguel replied, laughing as he pointed to a seriously hot blonde twenty-something server dancing drunkenly.

Rob glanced over at the blonde. Nearly falling as she tried to spin to the music, she caught herself with one hand, spilling her drink in the process. Rob smiled as he watched. The girl’s skirt hiked up around her waist like a belt, showing her tanned bottom and pink lace panties unknowingly to the whole bar as she bent over to pick up the glass.

I see what you mean. Looks like she’s gonna’ need another drink now, Rob said with a smile.

Hey man, that’s my cue! Miguel said quickly.

After buying the tipsy server another drink, Miguel took her in hand, waving the other cooks along as he headed to the back alley for a smoke. The crew filed out behind him. The drunken blonde had her arm around Miguel’s waist now, happily sucking on her new ten-dollar Long Island.

Sighing with a shake of his head, Rob looked back at his double bourbon on the bar top. As he savored the amber liquid, he remembered those days fondly. Sitting alone, with the crowd roaring around him, he thought back about coming up as a young chef in New York. Cooking long hours in restaurants he couldn't even afford to eat at. Dashing out the back door after service, drinking until daylight around the city haphazardly. Party hopping with other service industry madcaps until dawn, finally crashing on some stranger’s futon.

Miguel’s antics brought back hazy memories of one-night stands with New York's finest bar sluts, bored martini drunk housewives and hot young power drinking college girls. Rob and his New York culinary cohorts had their share of the wild nightlife, but tonight, that seemed a lifetime ago. Now, sitting alone at the bar on this depressing night in Newport, the only thing that looked good to Rob was the bourbon in front of him. 

Out of the blue, a warm hand slid seductively across his back. He felt long fingernails lightly drag across his shirt as he turned to see whom they belonged to.

What's up my sexy savior? Sandra asked as she slid into the seat next to him.

Just lost in thought there for a minute, Rob replied, tipping back his bourbon in one smooth swallow. 

Watcha' thinking about? she asked as she rubbed his shoulders.

My youth, life in New York, being broke and bicycling to work seven days a week. Stone broke and nearly starving, I never had it better but didn't even realize it, he replied sorrowfully.

"C'mon Rob, you're a head chef now, at Cincinnati’s hottest riverfront restaurant no less. You don't slave on hot stoves, getting burns and blisters. You don't come in at dawn to prep or stay