INT. CARYN’S APARTMENT–NIGHT
WINNIE, bubbling with Vietnamese enthusiasm, and her boyfriend, VIC, a burly softy, lounge on the floor around a coffee table that once was covered with a delicious spread. Caryn removes the plate that holds the remnants of tender chicken breasts, still dripping with golden sauce.
What are you gonna make him first?
She stops and looks at Vic. Winnie looks too.
Honey, she’s serving what you just ate!
Chicken piccata? You’re going to make chicken piccata on your first day?
What’s wrong with chicken piccata?
Nothing, except, probably not the best thing to serve to one of Hollywood’s hottest actors!
Caryn sits back down and leans forward towards Vic.
Look, I’m not even remotely qualified for this job. And–
They don’t know that. I told them you have lots of experience. No one asked any questions.
Don’t worry. They’ll figure it out on the first day that I’ve never even worked in a restaurant, let alone been someone’s personal chef.
Winnie laughs and starts clearing the rest of the dishes from the table.
I think you’re gonna be great!
I think it’s gonna be a disaster.
She fiddles with her fork.
This is the last time I ask you to help me get a job.
Vic grins at her, a big toothy one.
Where’s the chocolate cake?