Chapter 99: The Money Ghost and the Blues Club part 3

Sambo's business acumen was extraordinary. As soon as Geon began his practice, Sambo immediately hung a banner at the very front of the club's rolling marquee, emblazoning "Kay & A Decade of Soul" and even added a picture of Kay. It was only a matter of moments before many passersby saw it and word of mouth spread rapidly. Unaware of this, Geon returned to the zoo, cuddling Pye and Ricky, who were vying for his affection, and sat on the couch, purchasing and watching "12 Years a Slave" online as William had mentioned.

"Ah... Just as I expected. The protagonist, a free man from the North, is kidnapped and sold into a harrowing life of slavery in the South for 12 years because he is black. Field hollers are featured, but there's more of a gospel feel than the blues."

After watching the over two-hour movie, Geon shut his laptop. Ricky and Pye, who had been lying on the couch with him, fell asleep there, and after putting the sleeping animals back in their enclosure at the zookeepers' quarters, Geon trudged back to his own lodging.

It wasn't too late at night, so it wasn't time to sing to the animals yet. Lying on the grass on his way back to his quarters and gazing at the sky, Geon thought,

"I need to practice properly to avoid embarrassing myself at the performance this Saturday."

Geon was scheduled to join the Saturday performance as an acoustic guitar player. With the tight schedule and not having met all the band members yet, Geon couldn't help but feel anxious. He remembered Sambo's smiling face behind sunglasses.

"I'm in no position to demand, but isn't it a bit much to use my name for 'A Decade of Soul' without any guarantee negotiation? Tsk."

Sambo didn't negotiate any guarantees for 'A Decade of Soul.' The guarantee would increase with the number of customers, and having Geon would surely attract more, thus increasing their earnings. It was a clever manipulation by Sambo, exploiting both Geon's position as a learner who couldn't demand a formal contract and the band's gain from increased customer attendance.

Jumping up from the grass, Geon thought,

"No time to lay around. I have five songs to practice. Better start memorizing the scores now."

He ran back to his quarters, grabbed his J 200, and sat on the bed to begin his practice. Since Geon wouldn't be singing at this performance, he only needed to practice the guitar, but to avoid being a nuisance to the band, which had been playing together for a long time, he needed to memorize the scores accurately.

"'Knock on Wood', 'Soul Man' are the band's original songs... 'Crossroad', 'Me and the Devil Blues', 'Preachin' Blues' are arrangements of Robert Johnson's songs."

Geon's practice went on until late into the night. With only a few days left for practice and needing to sync with the band members, he had to memorize all the scores that night. Lost in practice, he didn't even think to sing to the animals and eventually fell asleep on the bed.

Waking up just before noon the next day, Geon hurriedly prepared and headed to the rehearsal space. As he descended the stairs to the basement, he could already hear the music from the ongoing band practice. Hesitating at the rehearsal room door for a moment, he seized the opportunity when the music stopped to enter.

"Sorry I'm late!"

All members inside turned to look at him. A black woman in her late thirties approached Geon, grabbed his arm with a warm smile, and said,

"Oh my! Kay! You're here?"

Geon smiled awkwardly at the warmly welcoming black woman.

"Hi, are you Tease? I'm Kay."

Tease hooked her arm around Geon's and pulled him towards the center of the room.

"We've been waiting, come on."

Geon followed Tease to the middle of the rehearsal space, took off his hat, and greeted,

"Hi, I'm Kay. I'm really sorry for being late today. I stayed up late memorizing the scores and overslept, my apologies."

William, raising an eyebrow at Geon's words, asked,

"Oh? So you've memorized all the scores in just one day?"

Geon quickly took out his J 200 from its case.

"Yes, I've memorized the basics."

As Geon sat down and connected the jack to his guitar, William, with his hands on his hips, announced,

"Let's see your skills then. Hey drummer, let's start with 'Knock on Wood'."

Geon's performance captivated the band members before the first song was even over. Having seamlessly blended into the band with just one day's practice, the band's three black vocalists smiled

 throughout their singing. Reece and Lettie, playing the bass and electric guitar, were simply amazed and couldn't take their eyes off Geon's playing.

After the first song's practice concluded, William burst into laughter,

"Ha! We've got ourselves a killer acoustic player! I thought we were here to help the student, but it turns out the band is the one getting help."

Tease, holding onto the microphone stand, added,

"See, I told you. This guy is Kay, Kay!"

Lettie, mouth agape, exclaimed,

"How can you achieve this level of perfection in just one day? I thought it was just a regular band practice. There was no disruption at all."

Reece nodded in agreement, plucking his bass guitar strings,

"Right, it's like he's been with us for years."

William adjusted his sunglasses and smiled,

"Good, I was a bit worried about this performance, ha. Since the show is the day after tomorrow, let's practice a bit longer today!"

With William's words, the musicians readied themselves again, and the practice session lasted for an extensive four hours. After practice, William and Tease took Geon out for dinner at a quiet restaurant nearby. Despite being tired from rushing to practice and playing for four hours, Geon decided it was a good opportunity to bond with the key band members and joined them for the meal. William scooped a spoonful of tomato soup and asked,

"So, after practicing together, what do you think of our band?"

Geon, stirring his steaming mushroom soup, replied,

"Well... The band's original songs seem to lie somewhere between blues and gospel. And you've arranged Robert Johnson's songs into versions that are light enough to sway to, enriched with instruments."

Tease nodded, tearing a piece of bread and eating it,

"Right, William and I also sing in the church choir."

Geon nodded as if he had expected as much,

"I could sense that vibe when you sang."

William slurped his tomato soup and set down his plate,

"Chomp, chomp. What about Robert Johnson's songs?"

Geon looked a bit troubled and said,

"To be honest, I'm not sure. It was hard to keep up because I rushed to practice them today."

Tease scolded William,

"Don't ask such tough questions on his first day of practice, William. You're making Kay uncomfortable."

William, feigning innocence, retorted to Tease,

"Oh! Wasn't it Tease who grilled Reece with questions when he first joined the band? Why the special treatment for Kay? Ah, women, lose their minds over good-looking guys."

Tease rolled her eyes,

"Oh please, do men do any different? William's over 70 and still winking at pretty girls on stage."

"Ahem! That's purely stage manners, fan service, you know?"

"I know all about you going out for drinks with those tourists from Georgia after the show, no use pretending."

"That, that was just me explaining blues in depth to students who wanted to know more..."

"Enough, William. Reece told me everything. You should've seen how much he laughed."

"Ah! That Reece, always so loose-lipped!"

Geon laughed as he watched the two, who seemed more like old friends than bandmates, bicker. Tease, who had been teasing William, paused and stared at Geon, forgetting to chew the bread in her mouth.

"Pay attention. You're married with kids."

Tease, startled, glared at William,

"Is there a law that says a married woman can't be a fan?"

William raised his hands in surrender,

"Alright, alright. I can't win an argument with you. Anyway, Kay. Now that you're part of our band, we're counting on you. Make sure you keep up."

That day, the three of them decided to abandon the idea of just having a meal and enjoyed wine late into the night, getting to know each other. With only two days left, the band members intensified their practice efforts, and finally, the day of the first performance, Saturday, arrived. B.B KING's Club was always crowded, but today, there were unusually many teenagers sitting outside, waiting to see Kay's performance. Unable to enter the club because it sold alcohol, they hoped at least to catch a glimpse of him. As Geon and the band members headed to the club after their last practice session, the teenage fans surged forward.

"Screams!!!!!"

"Kay! Kay! Look at me!"

While the band members were taken aback by the scene, Geon, accustomed to such situations, waved at them and quickly hid behind the closest security guard. Protected by the security staff, he entered the club and took the stage. The club was packed, and when Geon appeared on stage, the crowd erupted in cheers.

William quickly greeted the audience and started the first song, with everyone eating and swaying to the

 music. Geon sat on a chair and added his guitar to the band's sound.

"Crash!!!!!!"

Suddenly, the sound of a breaking bottle silenced everyone. The band stopped playing and looked towards the source of the noise.

"It's Eric Clapton!"

"Really? Eric Clapton is here?"

Geon, startled by the crowd's reaction, stood up from his chair to see Eric glaring at him with fierce eyes. From his twisted mouth, a slightly hoarse voice emerged.

"Sambo!!! Sambo Cuff!! Where are you? Come out right now!"

As Eric's stern voice echoed, the murmurs among the guests grew louder.

"What's happening? Is there some kind of problem?"

"Yeah, who's Sambo Cuff?"

"He's the general manager here, been around since B.B. King was alive."

"Eric Clapton looks really angry, doesn't he?"

The performance halted and the bewildered guests watched as the staff quickly informed Sambo. Sambo, rushing out, made his way to Eric's table with an awkward smile, scanning the room.

"Oh! Eric Clapton! Thank you always for visiting our establishment! Is there something wrong?"

Eric glared at Sambo with fiery eyes. Sambo, noticing the guests' stares, whispered to Eric.

"Let's not do this here, it's disturbing the business. Let's go to my office."

Eric glanced around before staring back at Sambo, who then put a friendly arm around Eric's shoulder and helped him up.

"Let's go to my room, Mr. Clapton. What are you waiting for? Band, start playing again!"

As Sambo escorted Eric away, an uneasy silence filled the club. William, regaining his composure, grabbed the microphone.

"Ah... Apologies for the interruption. Let's get the show going again, hey drummer, give us the beat!"

Music started flowing again, reviving the atmosphere, but Geon still looked towards Sambo's office with concern.

'Eric, why are you here in such a condition...'

Just like Geon worried, Eric was not in a normal state. Supported by Sambo, he coughed as he settled into the sofa in Sambo's office.

"Cough, cough."

After seating Eric, Sambo stood with his hands on his hips.

"Now, Eric, why disrupt someone else's establishment when you're not well?"

Eric, covering his mouth and coughing for a while, gasped for air.

"Gasping. I asked you to help Kay with blues, not to put him on some stage like that. Gasping."

Sambo, looking frustrated, patted his chest.

"Look, Eric. I have to make a living too, don't I? Do I look like a charity worker to you? This is a club, my club."

Struggling to sit up, Eric said,

"I don't need to hear more. I'll take Kay and leave."

Sambo, removing his sunglasses, said,

"Ads have been running for days. If you take Kay, you'll have to compensate for the damages to the club."

Eric, half-rising, glared at Sambo.

"Are you underestimating me? I've been in the music business for decades. Did you even sign a contract? Did you offer Kay a guarantee?"

Sambo stuttered, flustered.

"Well, that... I intended to share Kay's part of the band's guarantee..."

Eric fully stood up.

"No contract then. Thought as much. Why have you changed like this, Sambo? You weren't like this when B.B. King was alive. You've become all about money!"

Sambo grabbed Eric's arm, trying to appear friendly.

"Now, don't be like that. What about the club? Just sit down for a moment!"

Eric shook off Sambo's hand.

"Let go! We'll finish today's performance. But cancel next week's."

Sambo, sweating, said,

"I've advertised on our website that Kay will be performing regularly on Saturdays. Let's sit down and negotiate. Talking it out is the only way to solve this."

Eric coughed again and weakly sat down.

"Cough! Cough!"

Sambo urgently called to a staff member,

"Bring some hot coffee here!"

After hanging up, Sambo spoke to Eric, now half-lying on the sofa.

"Let's have a cup of coffee and talk, Eric."

Eric, silently gasping for breath, gave Sambo a stern look. When the staff member brought in the steaming coffee and left, Sambo started,

"What's the issue? Kay gets to practice and perform, gaining experience, and I make money. Isn't everyone happy?"

Eric looked at Sambo with a mix of sadness and disappointment.

"Sambo. How did you end up like this?"

"What do you mean 'end up'? Am I wrong? This is a club, a business. We need to make money to keep going! And keeping going means keeping B.B. King's name alive!"

Eric quietly observed Sambo raising his voice. Sambo, seeing Eric's silence, hesitated before lighting a cigar, then put it down after seeing Eric's pallid face. Calming down a bit, Sambo spoke more softly,

"Eric. If I pull Kay now, what about the guests who've come expecting to see him? There are people coming from far away because of the ads. Please, see our side too."

Eric's gaze shifted to a photo of B.B. King on the wall

 beside them. In the photo, King appeared joyful, playing his guitar against the backdrop of the club. It felt like you could almost hear his soulful playing from the image alone. Eric, after a moment of looking at the photo, turned back to Sambo.

"Keeping going... you mentioned maintaining the club. Is there a problem?"

Sambo sighed and shook his head.

"No, there isn't."

"Why do you think we've suddenly started selling brunch? It used to be a practice space for musicians during the day. Now, bands without their own practice rooms are renting nearby spaces with their own money to practice because of financial difficulties."

"Why are there financial difficulties? The place seems to have plenty of customers."

Sambo hesitated for a moment, then sighed deeply.

"It was to honor B.B. King's will."

Eric frowned.

"A will? B.B. King left a will?"

"Yes, I was there at his deathbed."

Sambo stood up and, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, began to wipe a picture of B.B. King.

"Did you know that B.B. King provided scholarships for underprivileged black children all his life?"

Eric nodded.

"Yes, I knew that. He started when he was about thirty-five, continued for over forty years, and everyone respected him for it."

Sambo, not taking his eyes off the photo of B.B. King, continued.

"It's been over three years since he passed."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that."

"The scholarships are still continuing in B.B. King's name."

"What? Is his family continuing it?"

"No, it's being maintained with the income from this club."

Eric, looking side-long at Sambo, was momentarily at a loss for words. After a silence, Eric finally spoke.

"Is that why? The reason you became a money-grubber."

Sambo bowed his head and admitted,

"Yes. When he first passed away, I thought we could easily maintain the scholarship. But I was foolish to think the club would remain the same without him. No matter how many famous blues musicians we invited, the customers kept dwindling. Old fans who came for B.B. King's performances don't come here anymore. It's turned into a place where fleeting tourists come to take pictures against the backdrop of performances and brag on social media."

Seeing Eric's surprised look, Sambo sat next to him and met his eyes.

"There's no club filled with music like when he was here anymore. It's all my fault. I was inadequate and shortsighted. I wanted to honor his will at least. To be a light for suffering black children, just as he had been. If it weren't for his grace, I would probably be selling drugs in some alley and now rotting in a moldy cell, full of regrets and bitterness towards someone."

Eric looked at Sambo with deepened eyes.

"The person I remember... used to watch B.B. King's performances with a face full of reverence and longing, knowing the joy blues could bring. Seeing how you've changed, I just thought money had corrupted you. But now I feel sorry. As someone who was quite close to B.B. King during his lifetime, I should have looked out for you more."

Eric spoke gently to the dejected Sambo.

"Shall I help you out?"

Sambo chuckled wryly and sighed.

"Sigh, Eric, with your wealth, helping wouldn't be difficult. But do you think that's what he would have wanted? I'm no longer the Sambo who scraped by on handouts as a child. He didn't leave this club to me, someone with no blood relation, just so I could rely on others to carry out his will. I don't want to disappoint him, watching over us from heaven."

Realizing his faux pas, Eric fell silent. Sambo took a sip of his now-cold coffee and said,

"I'm sorry about Kay. He's a rising star with quite the reputation, so I saw it as a good opportunity and pushed too hard. But really, can't we make it work, Eric?"

Eric closed his eyes, pondering deeply. After a long wait, he opened his eyes.

"Let's do this."

Sambo brightened up.

"Tell me. If you'll just allow Kay to perform, I'll agree to any condition."

Eric leaned forward, getting closer to Sambo.

"You have a sub-band that only plays instrumentals, right? Not currently performing. Hand that band over to Kay."

"Yes? Those guys aren't on stage right now. They're just musicians who play during downtime, not contracted, and they don't even have a band name. You want me to hand them over to Kay? They're a no-name band."

"Yes, that's why I'm suggesting it. I wanted to show Kay the joy of blues. It wasn't about joining an already complete band."

After checking the performance schedule, Sambo asked,

"When could they possibly perform? Wouldn't they need time? The ads are out, and we need to perform next week."

Eric relaxed back into the sofa.

"Leave it to him. If it's that kid, he'll bring you an answer in time."

Sambo looked intently at Eric for a long while. Seeing the hate-filled gaze turn into the warm look of their younger days, Sambo couldn't help but smile. He then became serious again, looked down, and after a moment, lifted his head.

"Alright. Let's try."