Business Is Business

Song Ya had also been short on sleep these past few days, and he soon started snoring along with Eric.

He had no idea how much time had passed. He was sleeping soundly when the heated argument outside suddenly woke him. Still groggy, he heard a string of swear words starting with F.

"What's going on?"

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Eric had opened the recording studio door and was leaning against the frame, watching the commotion. No wonder Song Ya had been woken up.

Eric glanced back, put a finger to his lips, and gestured for him to stay quiet, then tossed him a piece of colored paper.

It turned out to be the cassette cover for Little Lowry's debut album. There was nothing particularly striking about the design: Little Lowry was dressed in hip-hop style, holding a microphone in one hand and pointing coolly ahead with the other. The title below was Little Lowry's full name, "Lowry II."

It took Song Ya a moment to understand the message hidden in the cover: "Al has nothing to do with the new album anymore." After all, the promotional posters in the lobby of Old Joe Music had always featured Lowry and Al. Lowry was the main attraction, sure, but Al couldn't be overlooked either. But now...

He strained to listen. Sure enough, Al was the one cursing up a storm outside.

He went over to Eric. The hallway was littered with new album covers and included lyric sheets. He had no idea who'd tossed them all over the place.

Song Ya picked up a lyric sheet. He remembered that the new album had originally had fifteen songs, and his Thrift Shop made sixteen. But this lyric sheet only had lyrics for thirteen songs. In other words, Old Joe had quietly cut three songs, and those three songs...

He thought hard for a moment. That was right: the songs they'd cut were the three that featured Al most prominently.

Just then, Carl ran past the doorway. Three seconds later, Al's shouting abruptly stopped.

"Whoa..." Eric followed him.

Song Ya stayed behind him.

In Old Joe's office, the furnishings lay smashed and scattered across the floor. Carl had Al, his eyes bloodshot, locked tightly by the arms and was covering his mouth with one hand. But Al still wouldn't give up. He kept twisting and struggling to break free, his feet reaching desperately toward Old Joe.

Old Joe, Pablo, Little Lowry, Tony, and the others were there. Several clear shoe prints marked Old Joe's pink suit. Little Lowry, standing behind Tony, who was shielding him, wore an expressionless face. No one could tell what he was thinking.

"Calm down, Al!" Pablo kept trying to talk him down. "We made this decision after careful thought. It's for the best! You want the new album to sell well, don't you? If it does well, that'll be good for you, too. It's only three songs. You're still on the other tracks..."

A few minutes passed. Perhaps Al had gained a deeper appreciation of Carl's strength, because he finally stopped struggling and gradually calmed down.

"Let him go," Pablo said, waving a hand.

Carl let go.

"BullSHXT!" Al had indeed calmed down. He straightened his rumpled clothes. "If I hadn't happened to see the sample the factory sent over, you would've kept this from me until the album came out. Don't give me all that nice talk. You're all liars! I was blind to trust you."

"Hey! This isn't about lying or not lying. Business is business," Pablo said.

"Yeah, yeah..."

Al pushed past Carl and headed out. "I see right through you now. You rich and powerful NGer types call us 'family' and 'brother' every other word, but when push comes to shove, all you can do is parrot that white-man line: 'Business is business.'"

"Hey!" Pablo tried to stop him. "Where are you going? The new album's promotion is about to start!"

"Don't count on me for the promotion!"

Pablo lost his temper, too. "Quit fooling around, you idiot! I'm your manager. You have to do what I say!"

"You're fired."

Al walked away without looking back, leaving everyone staring at one another.

"That idiot!" Pablo cursed.

Old Joe took off his pink suit and sat back down behind his desk. "You need to handle him. We can't let him go out there and run his mouth."

"How am I supposed to handle him? This mess is all because of your stupid idea!" Pablo undid two buttons at his collar and paced around in circles. "You!" He snapped his fingers at Tony. "Go talk him into coming back. If you can't, at least keep him calm for now!"

"What am I supposed to do..." Tony muttered. Seeing that Pablo was about to blow up at him again, he had no choice but to run after Al.

"Nobody's buying hip-hop beatboxing anymore. Even without APLUS's new song, I was already planning to reduce Al's share of the album," Old Joe admitted. "Lowry's target audience is young women. Al's looks are just a distraction."

"So ugly people don't have rights!"

Song Ya grumbled to himself. After this little incident, his life ought to get back on track. He wasn't involved in promoting the new album; in fact, Pablo and Little Lowry would need to downplay his contribution to Thrift Shop. That meant his credit plan could get back underway!

Unfortunately, things didn't go as he'd hoped. When he got home, he saw Al again. He and Tony were playing a game in the room: Super Mario.

The two guys kept playing until midnight and still showed no sign of stopping. Al gradually got over what had happened. He talked more and more, and he and Tony yelled at the screen together.

Song Ya lay in bed, close to tears. The Nintendo and little TV were both things he'd just bought at the thrift market, and he was already regretting it.

He couldn't sleep. He felt like the game's coin-collecting chime was brainwashing him.

He'd earned $4,500. He'd spent $2,500 on a car and other secondhand goods, and given Aunt Susie $500. He'd deposited the remaining $1,500 in the bank and received a checkbook in return. He hadn't decided how to spend the money yet. He'd also specifically asked about taxes: his income from January through April of that year would be paid during the tax season the following April, so there was no need to rush too much. (Thanks to the book friend who goes by Fire-Breathing Black Dragon for pointing that out.)

He had no idea when the next apocalypse would come. According to his agent, Hayden, he couldn't count on collecting his record royalties anytime soon. Delays of a year or more were common. After what had happened with Al, Song Ya had gained a deeper understanding of Old Joe and Pablo's integrity. He'd told Hayden to keep a close eye on the royalties and make sure they didn't pull any tricks. Hayden had a stake in it, too, and told Song Ya not to worry. After all, they were backed by one of the top talent agencies in the USA. William Morris wasn't one to mess with. That was the advantage of signing with a big agency.

At two in the morning, the two guys in front of the TV still showed no sign of stopping.

"Hey, Al."

Song Ya decided he couldn't let them carry on any longer, or his academic ambitions would be in jeopardy. "What are you planning to do next?" he asked.

"I haven't figured it out yet."

Al set down the controller. "I'll keep working at the restaurant, keep drifting along. I don't have a gang backing me, and there's nothing I can do to them. I'll just treat it like I had a dream of being a star."

WTF, he's really taking this in stride? Song Ya thought. But as long as Al didn't cause trouble or go blabbing to the media, that was in his own interest, too. After all, negative press was the last thing they needed during the album's promotional period. And with fewer songs on Little Lowry's album, Song Ya's share of the royalties would be higher.

"You're a good friend. It'll be fine. I'll talk to Little Lowry later. We're all family," Tony said, oblivious as ever. "Go back and apologize to Pablo. Tell him you were just angry earlier..."

"Don't you get it?" Al understood people better than Tony did. "I made a scene earlier, and Little Lowry didn't say a word. Don't you know what that tells you? The album went from being ours to being his alone. He's the one who benefits most. Business is business. Pablo's clearly given up on me."

"Uh..." Tony didn't know what to say. "It'll be fine, brother. Just take a couple of days to rest and think things over." Then he turned to Song Ya. "Al doesn't want to stay at Little Lowry's anymore, so he'll sleep in my bed for the next few days. I'll stay at Little Lowry's."

"What!?"

Song Ya made a black-man-confused face. He looked at Al, who had picked up the controller and gone back to "battle," then helplessly pulled the blanket over his head.