Play It Forward

“Candy gram for June Bug! Candy Gram for June Bug!” Seer Corbett growls as the doorbell rings.

Bassist June Cynthari sighs thumbing through the bills. “Candy Gram?!?” She pauses as Seer repeats himself. “I hate candy.” What is he up to now?

Seer Corbett smiles as June appears, her trademark scowl intact. “Woman of the Hour, I have a feeling some of our worries will fade away today.”

“Seer, you know I hate-whoa what is that?” She gawks at the package almost as tall as herself.

“It’s for you.”

“I didn’t order anything, Seer.”

A wry grin peeks beneath his beard.

“Seer.” June lifts the box. Awkward but not too heavy.

Seer Corbett whistles. “Little birdie told me it’s a Candy gram.”

“Candy gram my ass…” Seer knows I need a new bass after the neck on my Epiphone cracked. He must have seen the site with the mint vintage Gibson four string I bookmarked.

She places the box before their leather couch. “You ordered me a new bass? We talked about this Seer. “

He whistles again. “Right. You haven’t stopped talking about it, June Bug.”

They flop onto the couch, ignoring its protests.

Seer inches closer to her. Closing his eyes, he drinks in her scent: a slight hit of Honeysuckle. It betrays her metalhead look and demeanor. It was sweet. Like June who doesn’t like candy.

She stares at the box. Her long fingers find Seer’s beard, pulling him close. “It’s not my birthday…why?”

“You know why June Bug. How else will you lay down the bass on our long overdue debut album?” He grins, sharing her glee as she opens the package.

“Yes, I do need a bass.” June makes quick work of the shipping box revealing the treasure inside. The faded Gibson logo embossed on the case lid broadens her smile. Taking the bass case into her lap, June flicks the case latches open.

Their clack mirrors her squeal.

She studies the white Gibson SG, fingers running the length of the rosewood fretboard. The bass looks new: The mahogany body, neck and metal hardware gleam. This was not the used model listed on Vinstage Instruments site. Then June’s Horus styled gaze spots a small black notebook tucked underneath the neck of the bass.

“Seer…this bass seems new, but the case and this notebook…what gives?”

“Notebook. What notebook?”

She plucks the notebook from the case. A tiny dreamcatcher dangles from the elastic closure. She waves the notebook in the air before them.

A strong perfume elicits a cough. “Holy Hippy Caravan Batman!” Seer smirks.

June sneezes. “Patchouli!” The notebook falls back into the case, closure undone. Loose pages scatter about the hard-shell case’s faux velvet interior.

“Bless you, June Bug.”

Seer plucks a torn ivory page from the sleeve inside the notebook’s cover. He passes the note to June.

“Ladies first.”

Slapping Seer, June reads it:

“Hello friend,

In this black book you will find,

A key to release your creative mind,

A gift to make your dreams come true,

Like the young lion who passed on his dream in the time of my need

Now I share his kindness with you.”

The couple pause as they find another message. “June.”

She takes the second note from him, reading in a low purr.

‘Hello again my groovy friend.

If you bought this SG bass, it replaces the same model a young four-string slinger gave to me during an emergency. My beautiful bass babies stolen out of the gear truck. So, this denim clad youth -eager to dive into the low-end grooves- gave me his white bass without pause. He gave me his dream.

It was a very cosmic thing to do…sacrificing the music for a complete stranger. Read between the basslines in this book. Look deeper and you will find a way forward with your songs.”

Seer whistles. “The handwriting is very neat. This person practiced a lot. They are patient.”

June laughs. “Okay, Inspector Corbett.”

They continue to pour through the little book. Counting the basslines, tabs, dollar signs, stars and moons throughout like a song verse. In flowing script, a page teases: “You’re getting closer to the chorus beautiful… “

June frowns as she studies the seller's musical notations. She won't admit the basslines are beyond her musical skill. In frustration, June yanks the notebook from Seer’s grip, shaking it. “Is this a jo…”

A cashier’s check falls into her lap. “Whoa…Seer…”

Seer Corbett leans in, looking at the amount embossed on the check. “Twenty Thousand?!? Bless my beard, June Bug.”

“Seer…” she whispers. “You said…some of our worries will fade away today. You knew…you knew.” She shuts the notebook, fumbling with the closure.

Their bandmates call Seer Corbett the Wizard. He had a way of invoking good outcomes. Also know as his spells of influence. It was uncanny how often Seer manifested good luck.

June’s picking hand trembles. She wipes her fingers on her jeans, staining them.

“Seer…” June dabs her hand with a discarded notebook page. The page fell limp to the floor, damp with sweat. She nudges him. “Seer.”

His hand skis through long, graying hair. “Ordered what I thought was a vintage white SG Bass with dual SG pickups and acrylic inlays. The Gibson you bookmarked on Vinstage Instruments. That’s all I did June Bug.”

“All you did. We have to pay for studio time, our rent and other bills.” She smacks the third eye tattoo his left hand. “Tell me you didn’t consult- “

He shudders at her glare, holding up both hands. “Nope. Didn’t consult the ink, June. No divination. Donated a little bit of money to the cat shelter, paid some toward our rent, and bought you a used bass.”

“We have to contact the seller. Can’t accept the twenty thousand too, Seer.”

June notes Seer is already on his cell, scrolling through the emails and the Vinstage site. “June Bug. The seller’s contact info is no longer listed.”

“No longer listed?” Her voice cracks. “Oh and here’s a third note from the seller.”

“Hello cubed, my friends. The new bass and the money order are my gift to the awesome musician who purchases this instrument. I never forgot you Seer Corbett. The generosity you shared with me 29 years ago. I only hope you can make good on your dream of going professional with your metal musings.”

“Seer the seller knew you. What aren’t you telling me?”

Oh man…Candy gram! He tugs his beard. Could this be from Candy Chantal?

“Seer?”

He squints. “In 1992, I had four string aspirations myself. You remember The Electric Fuzz bucket on 45th and 6th? It happened there. I liked that music shop because it didn’t smell like cheap cigars, booze or piss. I liked it because a kid like me could mingle with professional musicians and not get hassled. I saved my allowance for that white SG bass. I finally paid it off when a limo pulled up.”

June nudges him. “Then what?”

“This gorgeous woman enters the shop. The staff and other customers stop short, gawking at her. She looked like Pam Grier and Grace Jones: Pure class. This woman was a pro, striding toward the bass guitars. Yet she was sad, her strong fingers clenched. Her plea sounded like a Top Ten pop song: “Please, I need a white bass now. Gibson SG if you stock them.”

The owner apologized. “Sorry, Miss Chantal. We sold our last white SG a half an hour ago. “

June gulps. “Wait…Seer stop. Candy Chantal? The multiplatinum soul music sensation Chantal? The Stiletto to Bootsy Collin’s awesome Boots, Chantal? The Queen of Low-End Chantal?”

He nods. “I looked down at my bass and then at Miss Chantal. The lady had the blues. So, I gave the bass to her.”

“Wow.” She tilts her head. “I am not surprised. you’d do that, but why didn’t you tell me?” She pokes him. He was about to respond when her scowl returns. “Hold on, Candy gram!?! You knew she was the seller, didn’t you Seer?”

He shrugs. “No consciously, no. I was joking about the Candy gram because I knew that would bring you out here.”

June rolls her eyes. Typical. “Oh, C’mon Seer.”

“Swear it.” He shrugs.

“Do you recognize her handwriting?” June traces the neat script in the notebook.

Seer pauses. “No. The lyrical phrasing is definitely Chantal though. She talked like that. Melodious.”

So, Candy Chantal kept tabs on you.”

“And not guitar tabs either,” he grins.

She chuckles. “Now we go forward with our music. Debut album here we come.”

“And?”

“And we'll make Miss Chantal proud. She’d want that.” June hoists the bass into her lap. “Thanks for the Candy gram babe. Sweetest gift ever.”

“Candy is dandy, June Bug.”

June looks the cashier’s check and the notebook. “She sure is. Candy Chantal playing it forward.”

“And backwards too.”