Bet you all thought that Not Exactly An Indefinite Goodbye was over right?

well... it is... sorry, if that upsets you just a little. But i know i kept saying that i was going to do a kind of sequel dealing with Sam's brother Brett... well here it is.

and just in case you're tool lazy to read the footnote at the end: this is only chapter one of this story. It's much longer than the other and i got a few people telling me it was difficult to read it all at once so i'm separating this one.

so this is a side story from Not Exactly An Indefinite Goodbye, although you don't have to read NEAIG to understand this one and you don't have to read this to understand NEAIG. But you should read them both because they are amazing... well... i suppose as the writer my opinion is a bit biased.... oh well. Hope you like it.

Delia Riley smiled widely at the man and woman sitting in front of her although her patience was wearing thin. The two had been bickering since they entered the restaurant and god only knows how long before that. Now they seemed to be fighting over what wine to get.

"How about I come back in a few minutes and see how things are fairing?" she asked, her pristine smile in place.

"Never mind, I'll just have a diet Pepsi," the woman griped, "no sense in arguing with this man any longer. He's obviously too bull headed to—"

"And I will have a glass of red wine," Her husband answered smugly, glad that he would be getting his way.

"Alright, sounds good, I'll be right back to get your orders." Delia walked to the back room ad began pouring the wine and filling the woman's cup mechanically. She had been working at Spago, a fancy Italian restaurant in the heart of Manhattan, for the past year and a half and had witnessed at least twenty breakups, three divorces, and only two proposals.

Perhaps this had something to do with her newly found cynical attitude. Her mother, God bless her, worried so much from the family's farm in New Jersey. She hadn't wanted her youngest daughter to leave the nest, much less leave to New York city where the crime rates alone were enough to give her father a heart attack.

"Here you are," she set the two glasses on the table to their respective owners, "Are you ready to order?"

The false smile on her lips was nearly as painful as having to listen to the two fight, but years of practice had taught her how to smile in some of the hardest situations. Delia took the orders and walked back to the kitchen, eager to get away from the couple.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a guy walk in with two girls. They hung onto him as if their fingertips were sewn to his chest. It looked as if he made some kind of joke and the two burst into high-pitched laughter. Delia didn't miss the slight look of disgust on the guy's face as he got one of the peals of laughter right in his ear.

"Hello, my name is Delia, I'll be your server tonight. Would you like a booth or a table?"


She watched as the guy gave the two girls each a look that set her face on fire. The girls each gave another trill. Delia turned quickly and led them to a table next to the still arguing woman and man. She took their drink orders, placed menus in front of them, and walked away.

"I cannot believe how lucky you are," a young new employee, Sara, breathed from behind the door that led to the kitchen.

"You know I have no idea what you're talking about, right?" Delia mused as she filled three glasses with soda.

"That walking piece of hunk-a-licious-ness is Brett Adams, bassist for the band Firestarters, and he is 100% man." Delia tried to smile at Sara, she managed to lift the corners of her mouth up, but it felt more like a grimace.

"Jeeze, Delia, you really need to get a life out of books. College is about partying, not actually caring about grades!" Sara tsk-ed a few times and went off to bring her customers their orders, her eyes never leaving Brett Adams.

Delia sighed. Just what she needed, stuck up celebrities. She grabbed the three glasses and walked over to the booth gathering so much attention. She placed one of the cups on the table.

"Here you—" She didn't manage to finish her sentence before a shocked gasp escaped her mouth and the two remaining sodas flew from her grip and soaked the two girls in the booth.

A plate of spaghetti soared over her shoulder and landed square on one of the girls' chests. She felt tomato sauce splatter her face.

She didn't bother turning around to see the guilty server who had bumped into her, no doubt too busy drooling over the latest celeb to watch where they were going.

"I'm so, so sorry," She tried to say over the screaming girls. How did anyone's voice get so high?

"You clumsy pig! How dare you! Do you have any idea how much this dress cost?" The blonde squealed, standing up and motioning to her white dress.

"I-I'm sorry. It was an acci—"

"Candy, chill." The guy was standing up now, trying to get out of the booth. Delia was standing just in his way trying to mop up the damage with her cloth. She grimaced again; of course a bimbo like her would have some food name.

Delia turned to where Brett was trying to escape from the scene.

"I'm so sorry." She looked up and saw he was smiling. The idiot was smiling. Here she was making a fool of herself and he was near laughing now.

He placed a twenty in her hand, four times the amount he owed, grabbed her shoulders, and moved her over an inch so he could get out of the booth. He nodded once at the two girls and left nearly everyone in the restaurant with their mouths hanging open.


"What am I going to do now?" Delia spoke to herself as she walked home from work — at least, where she used to work. Mr. Pitts had taken one look at the disaster and called her into his office in which he so ineloquently fired her.

She had to pay the rent next week and was relying on her next paycheck. She had to make the next payment for college. She needed that money so badly. And now thanks to that stupid Brett Adams and his band of bimbos she was fired.

She sat down on the bench by the metro stop. Especially on a night like tonight, where bad luck seemed to follow her every footstep, there was no way she would take the subway and give some other bad luck the chance to follow or steal her purse (not that there was anything worth stealing in it).

So instead she waited on the cold cement bench knowing it would be at least another twenty minutes before the next bus would come. And finally she let the tears fall because there was no way she would be able to hold them until she reached the confines of her small matchbox apartment.


"Hello," a slightly familiar voice called to her. She was reluctant to answer incase the tears in her voice gave her away. She was counting on the fact that it was dark for who ever it was not to see her red stained face.

She swallowed and gave a muffled 'hello' back.

"You don't look so good." Delia heard the smile in the man's voice and looked up, suddenly not caring if he saw the tearstains, maybe he'd run away like most men at the sight of tears. They were the universal male code cue for "start running".

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." She tried running her fingers through her hair but was stopped by what she assumed was dried tomato sauce she had failed to notice when she had quickly washed her face in the restaurant's bathroom.

"Whoa, no need to get all wound up," He continued as he sat down next to her, "Just thought I'd come see how you were, I saw you storm out of the restaurant back there and didn't want you throwing yourself into the Hudson Bay." He grinned at what she supposed was some secret joke she was missing.

"I'm upset, not suicidal," She managed through gritted teeth and finally looked up at the stranger.

"What are you doing here?" She felt her eyes get wide. There, next to her sat Brett Adams, bassist of some band called Firestarters.

"Did you disappear for the last minute without me knowing? I though I had already explained that, honey."

"Don't ever call me honey again." Delia threatened, "And no I didn't 'disappear'" She scowled, "I was shocked. Didn't you leave the restaurant before me?"

"I did but I was waiting outside for a cab when I saw you walking off. New York isn't a safe place for girls walking alone at night. So I followed you."

"You do know how creepy that sounds right?" He didn't answer aloud but mumbled something that sounded like 'it must run in the family'.

"So what has you all upset? Why the tears?" He asked casually.

"I was fired." She heard him let out a long whistle.

"That sucks."

"Yeah," she breathed.

"So, do you have any plans tonight?" Brett asked.

She stared at him, baffled. Here she was, crying her eyes out and he wanted to know if she was busy. Delia didn't know what to say. On one hand she really wanted to go out, it had been a stressful day and she needed time to unwind. On the other hand, Brett Adams is exactly the type of guy she shouldn't be unwinding with. Her mind flashed her an image of the two girls clinging onto Brett, and him eating it all up. No, he was exactly the type of guy she should stay away from.

Thankfully, for the first time tonight, fate decided to be nice. Before she had time to answer she saw the metro turning the corner and heading to the stop.

"Sorry, but I've got to go. Besides, my boyfriend probably wouldn't appreciate it," she added not looking at him, she was a horrible liar but he didn't reply and she thought that maybe he believed her.

She picked up her bag and stepped onto the bus.


When Delia woke up the next morning, her eyes stung and her head pounded. Delia had fallen asleep crying the night before. She walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, her eyes were puffy and she had a pink imprint of her blanket on her face.

Beautiful, she thought wryly. Then she shrugged and walked into the kitchen. She didn't need to go to work today so she resigned to not having to impress anyone either.

She was pouring herself a cup of cold coffee when she noticed the red flashing number on her answering machine. She placed the coffee cup in the microwave to warm it up. When it started heating she walked over to the answering machine and pressed the play button.

"Hello, Delia, this is your mother calling. Just wanted to talk to you and see if you were ready to come home yet. But you're probably at work so I'll call you later. Love you. Bye." Delia shook her head her mother's voice, Stella Riley would give anything to get her daughter to come home.

"Ms Riley, this is Roger Pitts from Spago. I was calling to apologize for my over reaction yesterday. Anyways, this is me giving you your job back. The first time I've ever had to do this, thanks to that punk celebrity. So you're back on the time slot. Don't be late. Otherwise, I may have to rethink this sudden change of heart."

Though she was shocked beyond belief she snorted at the last line, "change of heart" right. Pitts didn't have a heart. But that didn't matter; she had her job back!

Delia did a little jig in the middle of her small kitchen and suddenly stopped.

She rushed over to the machine and replayed the last message.

"…thanks to that punk celebrity…"

What the...?

so there is chapter one... unlike Not Exactly An Indefinite Goodbye this one is a bit longer... so far i have about 20-something more pages and i still have quite a few scenes to write... so it's not obscenely long but it is a bit longer than the preceding story. but the good thing is i have most of it written so i should be able to update pretty regularly. i'm hoping to put out chapter two next weekend i think i need to add another scene first.

so how about that? guess she got her job back... bet that makes you so happy you just want to review, right, right??