Small talk, at least, comes easily, and it helps that I’m fluent in Connor’s entire life. I know exactly where to lead the conversation: tennis, his family’s Wisconsin lake house, the gall of anyone who talks on the phone while riding the train.
He’s loosened up a bit by the time I talk business. “I’ve been drilling down on my options for The Disco Diner,” I tell him. “And I’d like to get your advice.”
Connor nods at me, rather impressed.Drill downis his favorite phrase.
“I’ve decided to make some changes, so I’ve gone over all the income statements, cash-flow statements, the balance sheet—”
“Oh.” Connor blinks at me in surprise. “Okay.”
“The numbers, as you must know, don’t paint a pretty picture. And I asked you about a business appraisal because Rollerworld came to me with an offer. It’s all in initial stages, but they want to team up with The Disco Diner. Work together.”
“That all sounds great,” he says.
“Does it?”
He shrugs. “The numbers aren’t there, like you said. Your current setup isn’t sustainable.”
Connor’s right, of course, but his flippant tone irks me. Maybe because, thanks to him, our relationship wasn’t sustainable, either.
“Well, every business needs time to find its footing, and almost three years in, we should be in a better spot,” I admit. “The earnings are dismal, and the electricity expense alone is indefensible. Nobody needs that many neon lights.”
Connor laughs. “True.”
“But I’m working on all that. I’ve reached out to a few vendors about renegotiating contracts, which will make a nice impact, and I’m reassessing staff hours.”
“Good. Staff cuts are smart, and efficient.”
“No. That’s not…” I stop, thorny discomfort prickling at my insides.
Efficiency has always been my North Star, and when I arrived, that was my first instinct, too: to go on a firing spree. But our newest server, Claire, is a college student with mounting loans. Jackson, a high school senior, is saving up for a new car. It isn’t their fault the business is flailing. It’s mine.
I want to win the game, but I can’t lose my integrity.
“My new…consultant—he has some ideas, too,” I add, blushing at how defensive I sound. “He’s working on an events calendar, a different menu, and creative ways to involve the community. To stay true to the heart of the place.”
That’s been Penn’s driving force from the get-go. And I’ve been pushing for quick fixes, like Connor, but I’m beginning to think Penn’s right—that staying true to my old imagination is important to the game. Maybe even the number-one rule.
“Hm.” Connor’s lips are a flat line. “Okay.”
Code for:You’re kidding yourself.
I don’t blame him. I’d have looked at my situation the same way last week. After all, Connor and I have been on the same page about everything for years. But now, even as my head tells me to listen to him, I can’t ignore the stirring in my gut. And I don’t want to.
I can’t remember the last time I listened to my gut.
Connor’s hands sit at a responsible ten and two on the steering wheel, and when he gives me a polite smile, my chest aches. I can only imagine what it must’ve taken for him to accept the job in New York. I bet it was hard for him, admitting that he wanted it—to me, but also to himself. He knew, though, that it was right. I bet he felt it in his gut.
We’re two exits from Lakeville when I blurt out, “Could we swing by Rollerworld?”
One of the locations is close, and I want to see it. I’ve been handling this decision the way I always handle work—with numbers, spreadsheets, and bottom lines. Maybe I need to try something different.
I apologize for taking up more of Connor’s time, but he agrees to the detour, either too professional or too confused by yet another one of my bonkers requests to object. And I’m grateful for the stop, because Penn’s assessment of the place rings true.
Rollerworld has zero personality.
While Connor waits in the car, I stand just inside the doors, taking in the drab carpet, the white walls, and one sad, single disco ball hanging over the rink. The faded sign outside is as dull and lifeless as the rink itself, which resembles a budget hotel lobby more than anything.
It’s lackluster, but it is bigger, like Penn said, with lower prices. And a bar. There isn’t a huge midday crowd, but a large group has pushed together two of the plain black tables, and I count more customers than I’ve yet to see at The Disco Diner on a weekday.
