Chapter 18 Rachel
Currently Playing: You Really Got a Hold On Me by Percy Sledge
***
There was nothing that a bacon cheese scone and Elton John couldn’t fix.
Specifically, ‘Tiny Dancer.’ It fit in perfectly with the rain dripping outside the store’s floor-to-ceiling windows and the fact that my boss was still considering shutting the place down.
Arthur and his wife, Cheryl, had owned Sip ’n’ Spin for as long as I could remember. When I was eight years old, Dad pulled me into the store and showed me the prettiest covers, going into grave detail about how the grooves in each vinyl caused vibrations, like how our throats do. How music was a real, physical, tangible thing. Not just Bluetooth and speakers or something you can pull up on a touch screen. But how it started here, how each record held its own story. A past, a memory.
He told me that each microscopic groove, left or right, was imperative to music. They each held a purpose, they added value to the entire experience. He bent down to my level and said I was the exact same way. I, as small and young as I was, held incredible value to this giant floating rock in space.
Life hadn’t been the same since.
Now, that same store was looking at possibly closing down this year. And I was supposed to idly sit by and watch it happen without a word? No. I was a groove. I was small but mighty, not some insignificant employee who kept her mouth shut, and Arthur knew it.
“Rachel, honey. I know it’s hard.”
“Hard? Crocheting is hard, making dinner without burning something is hard. This?” I waved my hands at the front of the store. “This is impossible. You can’t let this go.” My voice was wavering, but I forced down any inkling of tears that were building up in my eyes. I wasn’t going to pathetically cry over this. Not in front of him, anyway. I was going down with a fight.
Arthur sighed, took a spare cloth, and wiped his brow as he sat in the old white leather chair behind him. “This was always Cheryl’s thing. I loved it because she did. But she’s gone, and I need to rest. I need stability, this place”—he waved his hand around the store—“doesn’t give that.”
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Sip ’n’ Spin was anything but standard. It wasn’t some new, cool place that people came into because of flashing neon signs or because of its trending accent walls. And sure, there were a few leaks, maybe some asbestos in the walls, but that was all part of the beauty of it.
It could use updates, absolutely, but if they sold it to some investor, I could guarantee they would slap white paint everywhere and turn it into a trendy coffee shop with new light fixtures. Maybe they’d have one stack of records in the far back used for photo ops.
And unless some new owner was willing to keep the girl who was belovedly attached to a physical building and was going to scream if they dared to take down our original Abbey Road art and throw up some kind of Live, Laugh, Love sign in its wake, then I was jobless.
Or unless I could convince Art that there was enormous value here. That with the right updates and some expert social media coverage, this place could be packed full every day like it had been during Layla’s book signing.
Lightbulbs began to flash in my mind at the thought of renovating it. No, not renovating. Rebranding. Keeping the good, getting rid of the bad, and tying it up in this pretty bow that wouldn’t kick out the authenticity of what this place was and what it meant to people like me.
I leaned against the clear counter in front of Arthur, both of my hands pressed into the glass, and a smile broke out on my face. “What if we could make it like how Cheryl did?”
Art made a point of looking around the store with a grimace. “It’s hardly been touched since Cheryl did it.”
I shook my head, fully prepared to figure out how to make him see. “No, I mean what if we could make it feel the way Cheryl made it feel?”
He didn’t scowl at me or brush me off, but he didn’t show any satisfaction at the idea either.
I continued. “Remember what it was like at its peak? People lining down the street to come in? How everyone felt like this place was so classic but yet still keeping up with the times? I mean we could do that.”
Art grumbled with his wrinkled hand waving around. “Bah. I don’t have the budget for something like that. I redid the place once, and I don’t want to do it again.”
My fingers tapped on the glass as I reached my tiptoes. “No, no. No redoing or ripping out floors. Nothing like that. I’m talking about changing logos, rearranging storage. Maybe moving this to the far wall where the coffee stuff is.” I turned to the front of the store, pointing around like this was The Sims and I was rearranging my virtual bedroom. “Bring the bookshelves closer and maybe find a cool accent chair here. Oh and—”
“Listen, doll. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I know you and your dad loved this place like it was your own. But I don’t have the time or energy for this—”
“But I do!” I butt in, lifting my hands to my chest. “I could do it. You could give me a budget, and I could pull numbers, and oh! Charts. I’ll make charts and pull pictures from Pinterest and make some mood boards.”
“Mood what?” He squinted.
I rounded the corner of the checkout area over to our chairs, taking a seat in mine and leaning toward him. “Oh Art, come on. It could be incredible. And then you wouldn’t have to sell, and I could keep my job.”
He took his glasses off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance before looking up at me. “I’m not saying no—”
I bit my lip in a smile and shook my body from side to side.
“But I’m not saying yes.”
Who was he kidding? Of course he was saying yes. And why wouldn’t he? Art knew I adored this place, and I refused to let it go.
I stood up and clasped my hands. “Thank you, thank you. You’re going to love it, old fart.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times to stop calling me that.”
Ignoring him, I squealed with excitement and reached for my keys. We’d closed down about an hour before, when Arthur had sat me down and said he was prepared to list the place by the end of the year. That timeline meant I had almost ten months to get to work on convincing him, and I knew exactly how I could do it.
Running out of the back door and through the gravel parking lot, I reached for my phone and immediately texted Calla, considering she was the marketing guru of the Wells family.
On a scale of one to ten, how difficult would it be to have you help me rebrand the record store?
Her response came in a moment later.
Calla: ARE WE WORKING ON SIP ’N’ SPIN??
Calla: A 3. Possibly a 2 if we can get Philly cheesesteaks on the job.
A smile broke out on my face as I tapped my feet in excitement. I knew she would be excited, since she was in the middle of getting her marketing degree. Calla was known to sign up for any projects involving branding or social media.
I climbed into my car, getting out of the light drizzle tapping against the door. Settling into the driver’s seat, I began to reply, but I was interrupted when my phone rang.
Adam.
Crap. I forgot to tell him I was running late.
We’d begun a sort of tradition. Well, I had, mostly. It consisted of me calling him every time I worked nights. He’d gone on some rant weeks ago about how many women go missing every year and the number of unsolved cases involving people who work late at night in big cities. My solution was to call him as I walked to my car and drove home. He refused to hang up until I got into my apartment. But that being said, it usually led to us talking for far longer than we meant to. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night on my couch, clutching and drooling on my phone.
“Hey,” I answered.
“You didn’t call,” Adam rasped out with panting breaths, like he was running.
“Sorry, my boss and I were talking for a while and, well, it’s kind of a long story.”
I couldn’t see him, of course, but I could feel him nodding across the line.
“Is he going to sell?”
That question was hard to answer. Convincing Arthur not to sell wasn’t going to be easy. It was borderline impossible, but it would be worth it. It wasn’t that I wanted the poor guy to work forever. I really wanted to show him the possibilities this place had. If he kept me as manager and truly let me take charge of rebranding and setting up this place so it practically ran itself by just implementing a few new systems, he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life. And he would keep his wife’s most valued treasure.
“I…don’t know.” A tiny piece of hope flickered at the thought of a yes. That hope was tiny but mighty, like I was. It was enough to push me through and inspire me to do the next right thing. That was all there was to do.
I lifted my shoulders. “But it’s possible. I’m going to work on an entire new branding shift. Calla is going to help, and between the two of us, I feel like we could convince him.”
The silence from Adam didn’t feel like his usual quiet nature. It felt daunting, like he was holding back. Each beat of stillness made me more uneasy about my plan until I broke the tension.
“Is that not a good idea?”
“No,” he supplied without hesitation. “It’s a great idea.”
“But?” I added, knowing there had to be a contradiction in there somewhere.
“But what happens if you spend all this time and energy, and he still says no?”
Truthfully, I hadn’t let myself get that far. It was more of a coping mechanism. A we’ll cross that bridge when we get there mindset to save me from dying out like a flickering flame. Right now, that was what I was in control of. That was all I could process, so that was what I was sticking to.
“Then…I’ll have done my best. But I can’t do that if I don’t try my all.”
Adam cleared his throat, his breathing picking up again. “Sounds like a plan.”
I started my car and peeled out of the parking lot. “Are you running right now or something?”
“Yes,” he firmly replied with this puff of air behind it.
“Is someone chasing you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you running?” I sneered.
“It’s relaxing. Calms your mind.”
I wondered what kind of things ran through a mind like Adam’s. Other than the basic necessities in life. Did he dream? Think of future goals in work, family, maybe even marriage? Did he think of his siblings, his parents? Maybe even me?
“I prefer a sudoku for things like that.”
I turned on my right signal, heading toward the area of town where my apartment was.
“I remember that.” His throat cleared again. “The time I came to the record store.”
A smile painted over my lips. That was a cute little memory. Stuttering Adam, back when I didn’t even know his name, much less his relation to my best friend and former roommate. A slither of hope had rested in me at the thought of him asking me out. But disappointment settled in the second I saw him and Layla talking. Luke’s brother. Off limits as anything casual. And casual was all I could ever do. But still, I figured he would be a nice guy to look at. Great kisser. I never pictured an actual friendship blossoming out of it.
“Yes, you gave me a heart attack and made me drop it.”
A sarcastic snort came from my phone speaker, widening my smile. “Why did you have it with you at work?”
I shrugged. “I make sure to do two a day. One in the morning and one at night. Keeps your brain young.”
I would be lying if I didn’t admit it was partially because I was terrified of ending up like my dad. Something that was probably not going to happen, considering his doctors traced it back to his military days, taking too many hits at such a young age. But it felt like a comfort to tell myself it was somewhat avoidable either way.
“Hmm.”
A comfortable, familiar silence fell between us. The kind of silence that settled in when I kept him on the phone while running errands or eating dinner. Where neither of us was speaking, but neither had to, either. It was enough to just be living our lives with each other in the background.
As I pulled into the parking garage connected to my complex and parked, I settled into my seat and leaned back. “So, now that we’re besties—”
“No.”
“Amigos, then. Does this mean you’ll look over what Calla and I come up with before I present it to Arthur?”
He fell quiet for a moment, his breathing leveling out and his fast-paced jog seeming to slow into a gentle walk.
“Of course,” he confirmed with his deep, slow, molasses-like voice that gave me goose bumps all over.
Adam didn’t say much, but when he did, he had all the right words. Even if it was a flat out no.