FADE IN TO BLACK A chyron of the title fades in as a narrator establishes the show’s dual premise. NARRATOR (V.O.) In the food services system, the customer is served by two separate but equally important groups: The chefs who cook the food and the wait staff that serve it. These are their stories. The double-tap DING DING of a diner’s “order up!” bell creates an audio tag that signifies a change of venue. CUT TO: INT - PENE LUPO - EVENING A fine dining restaurant in the epicenter of Manhattan's courthouse district. It favors simple, modern design, dim lighting, and a clientele doing their best to look Saks in the TJ Maxx their ADA paychecks allow. NEAR THE BACK DOOR Two BUSBOYS put on their jackets for a smoke break. BUSBOY 1 How was I supposed to know that she was your cousin? BUSBOY 2 You shoulda asked me. I ain't trying to be-- BUSBOY 1 Yo! Wait a sec. Hold up. You see what I see? Busboy 2 is confused momentarily, then BUSBOY 2 Uh oh. We better let JOHNNY know. CUT TO: AUDIO TAG: DING DING INT - PENE LUPO - KITCHEN Chyron: PENE LUPO, KITCHEN, 7:20 PM Johnny (32, slovenly handsome), a very busy chef navigating a very busy kitchen, questions the two busboys as he works. He wears the toque blanche customary to his position, but the rest of his ensemble is splattered and marred by the day's work. JOHNNY Well are you sure or not sure? I don't have time for guesses. BUSBOY 1 I'm pretty sure, Chef. Johnny ladles a reduction over broasted duck before passing the plate to an underling. JOHNNY So you have no idea. BUSBOY 1 I'm like... 90%. Johnny looks at the other idiot, who shrugs a BUSBOY 2 85-ish%. It’s been almost ten years since she worked here, Chef. Johnny takes off his hat and coat and slips on his favorite micro-brew hoodie before walking toward the entry way to the main dining area. JOHNNY You two are about as useful as Kim Kardashian's library card. BUSBOY 2 Aww, thanks, Chef! Busboy 1 slaps his partner with a dish towel. CUT TO: AUDIO TAG: DING DING INT - PENE LUPO - DINING AREA Chyron: PENE LUPO, DINING ROOM, 7:23 PM TRAHN (32, button-down beautiful) sits alone at a table near the door. Her phone screen blips to life. When she looks at the alert it is clear it’s one of many unanswered texts. It’s from her mother and it reads: HOW ARE YOU? PLEASE CALL ME ASAP! Trahn puts the phone on the table, face down. A WAITER approaches with a menu. TRAHN I don't need it. I know what I want. WAITER Okay, awesome. What can I-- TRAHN Hanger steak. Medium rare. Poached pears. WAITER Great. Can I get you-- TRAHN Lagavulin. 16. Neat. WAITER Will there be-- TRAHN No. JOHNNY (O.S.) This'll be on the house, Mark. WAITER Very well. Trahn is unsurprised. JOHNNY May I? She motions consent and Johnny sits across from her. JOHNNY Lagavulin? Rough day, or you just like the taste of liquid campfire? TRAHN Little of both. JOHNNY Yeah. I heard. That was quite a case. Trahn picks up a small loaf of bread on a hipster-wood cutting board and mindlessly starts tearing it into pieces, not eating any of it. TRAHN And now that asshole gets to walk. The system is broken, Johnny. She looks at him for the first time. TRAHN And you were the only one of us smart enough to see it. To get out early. Johnny picks up one of the discarded bread bits and pops it in his mouth. JOHNNY Not sure how smart I am. TRAHN Smart enough. The waiter brings the drink. Trahn immediately downs it. JOHNNY Bring the bottle. (to Trahn) So, what's next? She fights off tears, looking away again. TRAHN I don't know. I think I'm done. I don't think I want to practice law anymore. JOHNNY That's a pretty big change. You sure about that? She looks at him again. TRAHN I don't think I have a choice. That life destroys you from the inside out. I want to get away from it while I still have something of me left. Besides. They’ll probably fire me anyway. The waiter sets the bottle on the table, along with a glass for Johnny. Johnny pours two fingers in each. He picks his up JOHNNY Cheers. She wordlessly does likewise, the smallest clink of glass on glass. JOHNNY Maybe ease into this one. They both take sips. Trahn is placid, unmoved. Johnny's face sours at the smoke-filled taste of the Scottish whiskey. JOHNNY You could always work here. Trahn eyes him, uneasy. TRAHN Johnny… He pops another piece of bread into his mouth. JOHNNY What? It won’t be weird. That was a long time ago. We’ve both moved on. CUT TO COMMERCIAL