Page 38 of Playing the Backbeat
“First of all, that’s gross. I’m making us dinner,” he deadpans.
“What are we having?”
“Not soup. Thank God,” he mutters.
“I’m serious, Dylan.”
“Me too. I’d probably have to start over if that was the plan.”
I pause, waiting for him to give in.
“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ve been biding my time. The owner has been considering selling the Bridge and retiring, on and off, for about two years.”
“And you…what? You want to buy it? Shit,are youmy sugar daddy?”
He laughs then, dropping his head low before meeting my eyes. “I could be.”
“Go on, Daddy D,” I say with a wink.
He laughs, relaxing and returning to cutting vegetables. “There are so many incredible local bands, smaller artists just finding their feet. Our current owner won’t put any effort into finding new voices. He’s looking for the easiest, most surefire way to make a buck off the shows we host. But if we really want to be a part of the community, we need to invest in the community.”
“Like with the kid’s drum lessons.”
His eyes flicker to mine with warmth. “Like the drum lessons,” he confirms with a smile.
“Well, can’t you make those decisions as the GM?”
“You’d think, but given that he’s planning to sell, he’s trying to invest as little in the venue as possible while still making a profit. He won’t allow for any flexibility in the budget.”
“And you’d handle it differently?”
“I’d take more risks. He’s playing it safe.” His tone is careful, measured, like he’s talked himself down with these same words countless times before. “Not sure I can completely blame him. He wants to retire and feel financially secure.”
“But if you were the owner…”
“If it were up to me, we’d branch out beyond our typical concerts. A wider variety of musicians, taking a chance on lesser-known groups. Even expanding the type of events we take on. Several groups have reached out, asking if they can reserveour building for more than concerts. Conventions, weddings, you name it. There’s demand for it. The building is historic. Mostly original brickwork. Beautiful. But it would require a lot of planning. Restoring a few areas that need it. Building up our staffing. All investments needed to build up even bigger in the future.”
He’s lighting up, like he’s forgotten where he is, his gaze is focused on the counter in front of him, but his mind is running a mile a minute. He’s talking with his hands. He’s thought this through probably a thousand times, argued with himself over the validity of the risk…and the potential rewards.
“What do you get out of this?” I ask, intrigued by this version of him.
“Everything,” he says on an exhale. “Sure, we might not bring in a profit again for a few years. The rest of our usual business would probably tide us over. But the relationship with the community? It has the potential to be something special. A place for people to count on. A place for people to connect. I would have killed to perform in a venue like the Bridge when I was in high school. We could have high school band nights, supporting young artists, giving them that experience. And weddings in that venue?”
I can picture it perfectly. A ceremony on that stage would be incredible.
“Well.” He shrugs it off. “It’s all a pipe dream until he finally decides to sell.”
“I like seeing this side of you,” I admit, catching both him and myself off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I guess I always seem to get sarcastic, smart-ass Dylan.”
“I’m still a sarcastic smart-ass.”
“Yeah, but one with passion,” I say sincerely. “Looks good on you, Daddy D.”
He laughs rich and deep, a burning in my belly forming as I watch his jaw work. Yeah, it shouldn’t look that good on him…but it does. And I find my mind turning over, ideas loosely taking shape, inspiration swirling low, building into something that feels a lot like the passion Dylan speaks with.
