Page 9 of Patio Lanterns

Rick

Rick loaded up a tray with the steaks, salad, plates, and cutlery, before grabbing two more beers and returning to the deck. “It’s such a nice evening, I thought we could eat out here,” he said, placing the tray on the table beneath the pergola. “Unless you’d prefer to eat indoors.”

“Oh, no. This is perfect,” she said, getting up. “I’ll set the table.”

The slabs of beef sizzled the instant they touched the hot grate. That would ensure a fine sear, and it appeared the three-legged supervisor glued to his every movement agreed. “Don’t worry, buddy, there’s plenty here for us all.”

“You’re so good with him,” Robin said. “He really likes you.”

Rick smiled. “Oh, I’m pretty sure that it’s the steak he likes.”

“I don’t know about that. They say that dogs are a very good judge of character.”

“I’d love to have a dog around here for company,” he said, leaning over to scratch Mutt behind the ears. Rick then left Mutt in charge of manning the grill while he took his seat next to Robin again.

“So, how exactly does one become a merch queen?” he asked, lifting his beer.

“Oh, let me tell you, mine is a real rags-to-rags story,” she said with a laugh. “I was a fan of the Dawn Cherries back in uni when they were still playing in bars. I became a regular at their shows, and we started hanging out. I even designed their logo.”

He glanced at the front of her shirt. “That logo?”

She pulled back her shoulders, drawing him in to leer at her chest. If only she knew he’d been fighting a losing battle to keep from doing precisely that. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes again. “Impressive.”

“I had an on-again-off-again thing with the lead singer, who invited me out on the road with them,” she said. “Because I came up with the logo, Parker, that’s my ex, put me in charge of selling merch. It’s a very important job. Did you know that a lot of bands make more money selling merchandise than they do for the actual gig?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” he said. “So what do you do?”

“I design and order the inventory, set up the merch table, and handle the sales. After the show is over, I tear it down, pack it up, and drive it to the next show,” she said. “I also manage the band’s online store.”

“Wow, you do all that by yourself?”

She smiled. “I don’t like to brag or anything, but the band has never sold more merch.”

Rick had no doubt that Robin had what it took to be successful in sales. She was smart, personable and seemed quite savvy. It also didn’t hurt that a pretty young thing in a tight-fitting tee could sell snow to Winnipeggers in the middle of January. “Bet you’re really good at it.”

“I think I’ve found my calling,” she said. “Of course, my parents weren’t on board. They hit the roof when I quit art school to go on tour. I was four credits short of graduating.”

He could definitely see why that would’ve rattled her folks. At the same time, he also understood that when a rare opportunity comes along, you have to throw caution to the wind and just go for it.

“I don’t regret it. University wasn’t for me. Guess I’m one of those people who learn more through real-life experiences, know what I mean? When I think about everything I’ve been able to do and see with the band, it’s been an education and a half. Totally worth it,” she said. “Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” he asked, getting up to flip the steaks.

“Parker has a tendency to be, well… let’s call it chaotic. There’s constant fighting in the band. We go through drummers faster than dollar-store light bulbs. We’ve been permanently barred from two of the biggest budget hotel chains in North America. Last summer, Parker busted into the liquor cabinet on one of the headlining bands’ buses and invited some kids volunteering at the festival to party on board.”

“Oh shit.”

“Underage girls and tour buses are never a good mix,” she said, heaving a sigh. “Of course, I cleaned up that mess too, like I always do. But what happened at our last gig might’ve been the final straw.”

He tipped his head curiously. “I’d really like to know, but I also hate to ask.”

“We were in Orillia. The band thought it would be cool to end their set with a classic Gordon Lightfoot cover in tribute of being in his hometown. So they came up with their own arrangement of ‘Sundown.’”

“Great tune,” Rick said.

“Oh yeah, it’s a banger. So, the time comes to do the song, and the crowd goes wild from the first guitar strum. But Parker misses the cue, and the band is stuck repeating the same chords over and over, waiting for Parker to jump in and just fucking sing already,” she recounted. “But Parker was already in a pissy mood that night, not to mention pretty wasted, and decided nope, we’re not gonna do it. The crowd turned on them and started booing and throwing shit on stage. Parker lost it. Grabbed the mic and screamed, ‘Fuck you, Orillia! And fucking Gordon Lightfoot sucks donkey balls!’”

Rick frowned. “That man’s a national treasure.”

---