I’d gotten the feeling that he actually enjoyed helping us.
“The next important thing is communication.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by communication, but I also didn’t want to ask. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I was glad when Mr. Mason, probably interpreting our blank stares, elaborated.
“Did any of these guys seem hard to get ahold of or take a while to respond to email or voicemail?”
We nodded, and I realized that if the guy was tough to get in contact with while he was trying to get the job, he’d probably be tougher to talk to once he actually had it, along with some of our money. I doubted that any of them would be there working every day. Most of them seemed to have a few employees they sent to the smaller jobs like the bar would be.
“That leaves two,” Brody pointed out.
“It does,” Mr. Mason said.
“So what now?”
“You trust your gut. You take a risk and hope it works out the way you want it to.”
It sounded so simple, and it probably was to someone who was used to making these kinds of decisions. But for Brody and me, it was akin to putting all our money on black and spinning a roulette wheel. Not that it actually was our money.
“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do here. You have to make your own decisions and your own mistakes. Lord knows, Brody’s made enough of them for the both of you.”
I laughed again, and even Brody seemed to find it amusing. Though Mr. Mason was taking shots at him, they seemed to be in jest this time.
“I’d like to see you both succeed, and I’d like to be a part of that success, but you guys need to find your own way here. I’m happy to give my opinion from time to time or answer questions, but the bulk of the decisions need to be yours.”
I could see Brody’s anxiety beginning to manifest itself on his face—a furrowed brow that revealed how deep in thought he was, the occasional twisting of his lips when Mr. Mason would give a bit of help and then pull back, like a father teaching his son to ride a bike. And in some ways that was what this was. I just hoped when Mr. Mason let go, Brody and I didn’t veer off down a hill and forget how to brake.
“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Brody said, but he didn’t sound like he completely agreed.
Because as much experience as Brody had being a fuckup, this was different. This was something that Brody wanted, not something his parents wanted for him.
And for me, it was my chance to make something out of almost nothing. It was true the bar had its regular customers, but nowhere near as many as it should for its location.
“We got this,” said Brody. “It’ll all come together.”
Mr. Mason didn’t look so sure. “Nothing just ‘comes together,’ Brody. You have to plan for it, have to put the pieces into place. This isn’t something that’ll work itself out. You have to do the work this time.”
“Yeah. Right, I know that. I’ll do the work. We’ll do the work,” Brody corrected himself. “We have a plan. A good one.”
“The deck isn’t that big. I assume you thought about how to maximize the space?”
“Definitely,” Brody said. “We have it drawn up right here.” He leaned over to show the paper to his dad and pointed out where we planned to have high-top seating along one railing and some other tables around that could be pushed together if needed.
“I meant maximize the space in terms of bringing in customers. You need to think about who your target demographic is, how you plan to market to them, what’ll make this place stand out. Those sorts of things.”
If left to Sean, the deck would probably sit nearly unused except for a few tables for customers who wanted outdoor seating or people who went outside to smoke, so Mr. Mason’s point was a valid one. Sean might have given us this task because he wanted it off his plate, but we needed to prove he’d given it to the right people.
Brody and I were getting pretty good at our nonverbal communication, but I didn’t even need to look at him to know what he was thinking this time. We hadn’t thought about any of that stuff, let alone discussed it, but we sure as hell weren’t going to tell Mr. Mason that.
Clearing