Bassment Deep Read online

  “Now, if you truly care for this man, you’re gonna have to stop resisting and surrender to love’s flow. That is, if you don’t want to lose him forever.”

  “You’re right, D’Sandra,” she was compelled to acknowledge. “I am in love with him. If only I was more certain about his feelings for me.”

  “The next time you see him reach out to him, Margo,” her friend advised, looking her squarely in the eyes. Reaching into her pocketbook, she pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her, saying, “Here, take this. It’s a list of questions I compiled for you to ask yourself. Your honest response to these questions is advised. This will give you more clarity and insight on whether or not you both are compatible and truly in love.”

  “May I?’ Margo asked, taking the folded paper in hand, to which D’Sandra said, “Be my guest.” Opening the paper Margo read aloud some of the questions. Question number one: “Do we enjoy doing things together, and on a regular basis?” Question three: “If given an opportunity to be on an island alone with Taye Diggs, Denzel Washington, and The Rock, would you accept such an invitation, or would you opt to spend quality time at home with the one man who truly loves you?” Question number two: “Do you care about his overall welfare and personal safety?” Question five: “Is it easy to ignore his faults?” Number eleven: “Would you dine from the same plate as he, even going as far as comfortably sharing the same utensils?” Number sixteen: “Can you confide in him about almost anything?” Question nine: “Does the image of another woman making passionate love to him bother you?” Question number twelve: “Do you enjoy doing special things for him?” After glossing over three other questions silently a slightly embarrassed Margo decided not to read them aloud. Most were of an explicit adult nature. “Wow!” She exclaimed.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “By what I’ve read, so far, I can practically answer yes to all of these questions. The last few are rather explicit. I’ll read them later at home.”

  “Remember, if you answer at least twelve out of the twenty questions in the affirmative, you see this man as marriage material. If you answer sixteen or more in the affirmative, it’s far too late, sugga…you are already in love and marriage will probably follow. So let me know.”

  “I will,” Margo murmured as her thoughts filtered back to the day she’d met Ma’Kentu.

  Chapter 10

  Standing alone by the large tinted window of his elegant suite, a subdue Ma’Kentu took in the panoramic view of a revitalized downtown Jacksonville, which included a sleek skyway Monorail train passing by. The magnificent blue colored Main Street Bridge was in full view, too. Picturesque was the only way to describe it. But as beautiful a scene, he knew something was missing…his beloved Margo. It had been nearly a week since he last laid eyes on her. And he wondered why she hadn’t looked him up, since his arrival to the city. The pain and suffering he’s felt since her departure had been almost unbearable, her sudden absence, indescribable. It bothered him knowing that she was somewhere out there beyond that huge tinted window, perhaps nearby, but not beside him. Now, that he was in her neck of the woods, he wondered if she would bother to make her presence known to him.

  “Hey, Bassman,” Al cheerfully greeted, entering the room. “Thinking about Margo, I see.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, turning away from the window. “I thought perhaps, just perhaps, she might have met us at the airport. But I was wrong.”

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Al assured his friend that it was all one big misunderstanding and that it would work itself out. He said it was even possible he would see Margo before the day was out. “I hope you’re right, Al,” he said, sounding hopeful.

  “By the way, I bought you this to read!” Al added, tossing the Jacksonville Times-Union newspaper in Ma’Kentu’s direction. “There’s an article in there about the band and one about you, Mr. Conservative.”

  After a guarded look, Ma’Kentu took a seat on the edge of the recliner and unfolded the daily to find the article that Margo wrote. Locating it, he sat back in the chair to review it. The first article, about the band, was great. It covered the ensemble, its members, its dynamic leader and its mercurial climb up the jazz charts. But the second article had political tones that did not bode well with Ma’Kentu. This article should have been more about his music than his politics, he felt. Not angry, but not pleased, he placed the paper on the coffee table next to him. “Why would Margo’s focus be on my politics and to such a degree it warranted a second article? What is the purpose? Why would she do that, Al?” he asked.

  Al shrugged defensively. He didn’t have an answer for his friend this time.

  The warm evening weather promised a good crowd. It did not disappoint the musicians. As Ma’Kentu and his ensemble tuned up their instruments and went through their sound checks, the crowd slowly collected themselves before the stage. They were there to hear the band perform a four-song set at Jacksonville Landing’s open-air pavilion on the St. Johns River, right in the heart of downtown Jacksonville. It was sort of a teaser performance to hype their upcoming performance two nights later at the Times-Union Auditorium. Ma’Kentu had decided earlier to keep the jazz set traditional in content. Looking out over the large and enthusiastic crowd, he only wished Margo was there.

  After introducing the members, he gave a four count and the ensemble led off with a very popular and jazzy Vince Guaraldi tune entitled Charlie Brown, featuring Johnny Woo at piano, Ray ‘Dr. Cream’ Rollins on percussion, and Ma’Kentu, himself, on contra-bass. As the ensemble played, the cheering crowd increased three folds. Just behind the stage, another type of crowd tuned in. There were nearly twelve yachts and sailboats moored at the pier, with more arriving each minute. On stage the ensemble prepared to perform another Vince Guaraldi tune entitled Little Birdie, featuring Adrienne Monk on vocals, who was on loan from the University of North Florida’s Jazz Ensemble. Also present from the local university’s renowned Jazz Ensemble was Miles Middlebrook, a very talented up and coming jazz trombonist. Following that well received tune the band performed one of Ma’Kentu’s original compositions.

  Under the starry Florida sky the band’s soulful tunes rose forth, mingled with the appreciative cheers of a very spirited jazz orientated crowd. Near the end of the set came persistent chants of encore. After some urging, the band took to the stage with their instruments for one final curtain call to play a Wynton Marsalis tune entitled Snoopy & Woodstock, keeping to the Charlie Brown theme they started the set with. This song featured Al Newman on trumpet and Johnny Woo on piano.

  Before departing the stage, Ma’Kentu thanked the two University of North Florida musicians, and then reminded the audience to come see them perform in concert Friday night at the Florida Times-Union Auditorium. The crowd responded with an outburst of cheering. Right then, he knew he loved Jacksonville. If only the woman he loved had been there, he wished. Unbeknownst to him, Margo was there under the stars, along with her best friend. Both extremely impressed with the music, as well as with the man behind the music.

  The band had breakfast together but Ma’Kentu had no appetite. He wanted to fit in but he wanted to see Margo even more. Then a thought crossed his mind. Dammit, he chided himself, trying to recall where he had placed her phone number. Excusing himself from the table, he headed towards his suite in an attempt to find it. After a frantic and intensive search, he found the folded piece of paper in the pocket of one of his blazers.

  Dialing the number on it, he waited anxiously for the phone to ring. He grew even more anxious when it did begin to ring. He got her voice mail. Though short of being live, hearing her voice for the first time in a week was like hearing classic Louie Armstrong live in concert for the very first time. So thrilled to hear her voice, he dialed the number a second time. This time he left a brief message. Hanging up the receiver he felt a little better. At least he had made contact with her. Well, sort of.

  The jazz clinic at two local schools went off without
a hitch. The highly regarded ensemble left quite an impression on the students. They were certain they had converted a couple of students into the jazz fold. However, the interview at the local radio station was a little more problematic. The short and burly host was a local Black activist icon who was known for his militant and liberal stances. He was one of those for-the-people, down-with-the-system types whose real interest was probably along the lines of promoting and advancing his own selfish cause.

  The interview was not outright hostile but it wasn’t exactly cordial, either. The host insisted on putting him on the defensive about his political views instead of focusing on his music. Ma’Kentu was able to get through it with his dignity still intact. And he actually scored several points on the political side of the interview. But not to his surprise, the moment he sat down and played a mellow jazz tune on the studio piano, the charged atmosphere seemed to magically disperse, replaced by the accolades and show of respect he felt he should have been offered from the onset of the interview. Still, it was the most intensive interview he had ever given in his career. It was apparent to him that although Jacksonville was in awe of his music, some were not with his political views.

  Back at the hotel, he tried to relax, having rejoiced over the fax he had just received from his record company granting him permission to do an arrangement on a classic Faith Evans tune entitled All Night Long. It was one of the few bright moments of the tour since Margo left it.

  Later, the phone rang. It was the front desk. Ma’Kentu had a visitor in the lobby area. Slipping into his shoes, he told Al, who was reading a magazine, he’d be back. It was probably one of the local sponsors from the Florida Times-Union, he reasoned. Probably a last minute change in their rehearsal time.

  Entering the huge floral laden lobby, he unsuspectingly froze in his tracks. It was Margo! All the while, he believed she had abandoned him, stopped caring for him. And here she was, standing here in the flesh.

  “Hello Margo,” he said, almost cooed. “Wow, this is quite a pleasant surprise. It’s good seeing you again.”

  “Hello Ma’Kentu,” she responded, her voice faltering momentarily, while looking at him with uncertain eyes. Her gaze finally steadied on his eyes.

  Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I thought I’d never see you again. I mean your sudden departure, and without a word. Look, whatever I did to precipitate this, I apologize.”

  Closing her eyes momentarily, she inhaled, then refocused them on his handsome face, saying, “Please. Allow me to apologize for leaving the way I did. It was unprofessional of me and I can understand it if you are upset with me. I want to also apologize for not meeting you and the band at the airport. I should have been there.”

  After a thoughtful moment, he closed the gap between them and gazed upon her averted eyes more intensely. Slowly her gaze swept up, searching his eyes with obvious strain. A single tear rolled downward, branching off into narrow streams upon reaching her cheek. Gripping her loosely by the shoulder, he said, softly, and tenderly, “Look, I never meant to cause you any pain. But apparently, I have. And I’m sorry. Please, can we just go back to the way things were before?”

  “I don’t know if we can,” she uttered, feeling the unexpected tightness of a lump in her throat. And for a moment, she was tempted to tell him that yes, everything was going to be fine, just as they were before, just like he wanted. Down inside, she hated herself because in her heart she desperately wanted the same thing he wanted. Instead, she uttered, “I still need time to think about this.”

  Tilting his face towards her, he replied, in a soft and caring tone, “Like I said before, I’ll give you as much time as you need, Margo. You’re worth the wait.”

  There was a pause.

  “Did you think about me much?” she asked, turning up her smile a notch.

  He eyed her with a bemused expression. “Several times a minute, baby.”

  “That’s all?” she teased.

  “I had to come up for air once in a while,” he replied.

  That pleased her.

  “I thought about you too,” she replied, as their eyes held.

  “All the time, huh?”

  “Only twice,” she came back with a mischievous smile.

  Ma’Kentu gave a warm chuckle. “Only twice?”

  She eyed him with a playful smile. “Yes. I thought about you whenever I was alone and whenever I was with someone else,” she answered.

  Ma’Kentu met her wanton gaze with a sigh of relief. Her crafty response was just what the doctor ordered. “Well, I must say I think that about covers it!” he beamed.

  “I thought you would think so,” she said, her eyes riveted to his face.

  Drawing her into his arms, his lips reclaimed her lips. As they kissed hungrily, her lids slipped down over her eyes.

  “Ooh, I missed you so,” she murmured, as she refocused on his handsome face.

  “Words cannot express how much I missed you,” he replied. He could see that her want and need for him was there in her eyes and their expression for him to plainly see. But this wasn’t the place to get real. Not the kind of real he saw in her eyes. Not the kind of real he had in mind. So he clutched her hand with both of his, and said, “Hey, how about showing your man around town? I mean, I feel like I’m your guest, or something like that.”

  Margo nodded, her face forming a trace of a smile.

  “Look, if you’re not up to it, I’ll understand,” he replied in an assuring tone.

  Beaming now, she said, “There’s nothing more I’d love to do, at this moment, than to show you around.”

  “Just give me ten minutes. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Sure,” she smiled, studying his profile. Then as an afterthought, he said with stark irony, his hands thrashing about. “Oh hell! I can’t go Margo. I just remembered I have a musical arrangement I have to wrap up by tomorrow morning. It’s a tune I’d like the ensemble to play at the concert. I just got the go ahead to do it. If only I could find a quiet place where I could focus on my writing. But that’s not all. I’ll need a piano, too. You know where I can find both?”

  Smiling, Margo offered a suggestion. “Look, why don’t you come visit with me. It’s quiet there and you can work on your arrangement uninterrupted. And yes, I have a piano at home.”

  Ma’Kentu returned his gaze to her. “You know, that just might work,” he replied, breaking into a warm smile. “Hey, I didn’t know you were a pianist.”

  “I’m not,” she returned, now blissfully happy, fully alive. “My favorite aunt willed it to me.”

  “I see,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes.

  “Well, are you coming with me or not?” she chuckled.

  “I’ll be right back,” he beamed. “I just have to grab a few things, okay?”

  “Take your time, darling,” she answered.

  Al gave him a toothy smile and a manly high five, saying, “Hey, didn’t I tell you!” He then proceeded to tell Al about his plans to go over to Margo’s place to finish the arrangement on the Faith Evans tune.

  “I guess you won’t be returning tonight?” Al said, with a wide grin.

  “Hey, you never know how these things will turn out,” Ma’Kentu jested.

  “Just leave me a number where I can reach you,” Al said, closing the magazine. “Better yet, why don’t you carry your cell phone? It’s fixed now.”

  Ma’Kentu grimaced. “You know I don’t care for those things. They’re too intrusive. But I’ll carry mine, just because you asked.”

  The drive to Margo’s St. Augustine beach bungalow lasted a little over an hour; long enough for Ma’Kentu to find out that she had attended the Jacksonville Landing concert the night before, which pleased him. The two then talked extensively about her best friend D’Sandra and their unique and close friendship. “We’re almost as close as sisters,” as Margo put it.

  As the countryside rushed by them, she brought up the controversial newspaper article and offered an apology to
him. She explained the woeful events which led to her article being edited and printed without her having final approval, which was not the norm. With an understanding she had come to admire from him, he told her not to worry about it. “Look, it is public knowledge, my political views,” he explained. “I have nothing to regret, nothing to hide. I am who I am and what I believe. I make no apologies for that. Furthermore, I harbor no bad feelings towards you.” With that issue out the way, the two returned to a much lighter topic of discussion.

  Pulling up into the driveway, she shut the car off and led him through her tall wooden fenced in tropical garden, and along a wide cobblestone walkway to her front door. Nearing the house, he caught a glimpse of the vast ocean over the top of the rear fence. He could hear the splashing of the evening tide against the beach. To his right, in her lush garden, was a large screened in swimming pool. Overhead a flock of white pelicans soared by singled-filed. This was definitely not Indiana.

  Pausing outside the door, she reached for the knob at the same time she reached into her pocket for the key. But the knob turned and the door gave slightly. For heaven’s sake, she thought, pondering how she had left the security door unlocked. “I’ve not been myself lately. I thought I had locked the door when I left but apparently I didn’t,” she explained, as the two entered the dwelling cautiously. After a quick looking over, she said, matter-of-factly, “We’re fortunate to have very little crime in this area and even fewer burglaries.”

  At Margo’s instruction, he set his travel bag and bass guitar on the floor next to the aquarium, which was enclosed in a custom-built oak cabinet. Glazing into it he marveled at how effortlessly eight beautiful silver dollar Angelfish glided through the water as if it they were falcons gliding through the open sky. She also had a school of Tiger Barbs. There must have been at least eleven of them darting back and forth.