Business over dinner
Two men sat alone together at a table in a western-style restaurant. Live country music twanged from the stage. People chattered loudly at their tables. Servers dashed about serving people. Peanut shells crunched underfoot.
The two men seemed to be on the opposite ends of almost every spectrum imaginable. One was a younger, shorter man with glasses, blond hair and a dark beard. The other was taller and had sun-baked and calloused hands. The younger man wore a black t-shirt, gray baggy pants, and Chuck Yeager knock-off tennis shoes. A heavy chain hung from a belt loop to the large wallet in his back pocket.
The other man wore tight, faded, boot-cut blue jeans and a red, long-sleeved, button-up shirt. His 10-gallon Stetson hat was in the seat beside him.
The young man spoke first. "Nice choice of restaurant, David."
"Sorry, Matt. I figured that you would probably have preferred Thai," the cowboy replied.
"No, I was being serious, man. I am all about the steak and potatoes," replied the younger man as he browsed the menu.
"Matt, you know that Becky wanted us to go somewhere and sort out our . . . problem." David was tearing up a napkin into little pieces as he spoke.
Matt folded his menu, laid it on the table, slid it to the side, and looked up at David. "It's pretty simple, I reckon," Matt began as he sat back. "You took over our top promotion spot on the label and we can like it or lump it. Take our circus to another tent."
David looked around a bit and scratched his head. He looked back to Matt and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.
"You boys ready to order?" squeaked the excited, smiling, college waitress.
Each man ordered a 16 oz. New York Strip and the house side special: bloomin' onion.
The men sat silently, alternating restroom trips once, until their food arrived. As the men ate, they resumed their conversation. "I think that you are looking at this all wrong. We are looking to move on in a year. We need this year to show what we've got. Earl says we need one year in the spotlight to get some bigger, better country labels, to pick us up. He has had calls from Sony, Capitol Nashville, and Freespin."
"Salt," began Matt, picking up the appropriate shaker. "That is just what my wound needed."
"Matt, I know that this seems like a slap in the face, but it ain't. You can go a lot farther on this label than we can. It don't matter if you are position one or two. You guys belong here, we just don't." David looked hard at Matt as he spoke.
Matt digested David's words, along with a nice bite of juicy steak. "We sell more, and draw more than you."
"Exactly my point. On this label, we've got to work hard to get the good numbers that come natural to you guys. Your numbers won't change. Becky and Sheila don't have the connections or the pull in country that they have in the other kinds of music," David explained.
Again, Matt was pensive as he chewed his tender steak: "This is my chance to be a big man, I guess." He dropped his fork and knife, rubbing his hands together.
"Just tough it out," began David, pausing to finish swallowing his mouthful of steak. "You guys are young. You are the future of this label. The boys and me are just mercenaries. We came on to mix things up and make the label some money. Next year, we will be gone and you guys rule the roost again."
"We're gonna do the right thing." Matt wiped the A-1 steak sauce from his mustache and beard. "Thanks for all of this. You didn't have to come here and try to make our getting screwed over seem not so bad."
David smiled and took one last bite, shaking his head. "You are a piece of work Matt. You'll be alright."