His voice almost cheerful, he readily replied, “My brother Baba’la is a very talented jazz and flamingo guitar player. He studied music at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. Of my sisters, one is a music teacher, the other works in the music business as a promoter.”
“Sounds like the music bug runs in your family.”
“I guess you can say that.”
“Out of curiosity, who’s the most accomplished musician, between you and your brother? Or is it even a competitive thing between you?”
“My brother and I are both accomplished musicians. If there is any advantage one of us has over the other, I’m probably the most driven. Sure, there’s some competitiveness between us. But it’s all good.”
There was a brief pause.
“Look, off the record, my brother, well… he’s struggled with inner demons over the years. I know you folks in the media have a way of getting inside info like this. I just want to set things straight beforehand. I love my brother very much. But I’m afraid he’s going to end up like Charlie Parker if he doesn’t get a grip on his problem.”
“I see…” Margo’s voice trailed. “Listen, drugs are everywhere. But rest assured. I’ll keep this between us since it has nothing to do with your music.”
“I’d appreciate that Margo.”
Whatever there was about him, she had come to the conclusion that there was more to this man than met the eye. And there was so much more she wanted to learn about him. She was certainly intrigued.
A minute later a conductor appeared announcing that the train was fifteen minutes away from their Baltimore stop. With this announcement, she reluctantly brought the interview to a close. Dammit! I forgot to ask about the NAACP comment, she chided herself minutes later. She had been so absorbed in his tragic story that it slipped her mind. The next time, she would not commit such a blatant oversight.
Satisfied that Margo was comfortably checked into her hotel suite, Ma’Kentu flagged down a passing cab and rode off to rejoin his fellow musicians at the hotel. An agreeable day it had been for him. The earlier train ride with her was the breath of fresh air he had been in short supply of lately. Not that he was interested in getting involved with anyone. It was just refreshing being in the company of a very lovely, intelligent and articulate woman. And down-to-earth, too.
A group of band members cheerfully greeted Ma’Kentu inside the huge ornamented hotel lobby.
“Hey, fellahs!” Ma’Kentu returned with a large grin. Setting his guitar case down, he removed his overcoat and draped it over his left arm. Several members swarmed him to assist with his luggage.
“How was the ride down?” Ray asked, extending his hand to receive Ma’Kentu’s hand.
“Yeah, Bassman, how did it go with you and the lovely lady?” Little Maceo added with his trademark smile.
“Terrific, guys! Just terrific,” Ma’Kentu answered. “I enjoyed the train ride and the interview. And yes, the lady, too!” Everyone laughed. “Now, when are we scheduled to head over to the center of the performing arts to set up and rehearse?”
“Ne-Kay Parker’s crew is setting up to rehearse at two,” Al announced. “We’re scheduled for a light and sound check at three. Jazz Tyme is over there now doing sound checks.”
“Great!” Ma’Kentu bellowed. “Now, where is the conference room we reserved?”
“Just down this corridor and to the left,” Jamal said, pointing a finger.
“Good! Good! Well, are we all settled in and ready to take on Baltimore?”
There was a resounding yes. “Great!” Ma’Kentu replied.
“You eat lunch yet, Bassman?” Al asked, reaching for his road worn trumpet case.
“On the train,” Ma’Kentu answered. “Not bad either!”
“What, the food or the company you kept?” Al chuckled.
“Both!” he answered with a mischievous grin. Clearing his throat, he addressed the group for the second time. “Okay, guys. Let’s meet in the conference room in twenty minutes!” With his bass guitar case in hand he followed Al, who led him to their suite. The meeting followed.
The gathering ended with a quick going over their itinerary. Ma’Kentu began, “Okay, we’re to meet with the organizers of the concert first, do a light and sound check at three, eat dinner around five, then go out on the town and have fun.” Continuing, he added, “Tomorrow we’ll split up to conduct workshops at two local schools. The host schools will provide lunch. Afterwards, we meet at the performing arts center to rehearse. After an early dinner, we return to our suites to shower and dress. Then it’s over to the center by six. Curtains will rise at seven o’clock.” As always, he reminded everyone to be professional, perform professionally and be the best gig in town!
It wasn’t easy being the leader of a traveling band, Ma’Kentu reflected silently, while enjoying a rare break. One had to be an administrator, a promoter, a travel agent, a bookkeeper, a public speaker, a counselor, a pizza deliveryman, a public relations person, a director of music, a showman, a disbursing clerk and CEO. Nevertheless, Ma’Kentu had always greeted the challenge with enthusiasm but there were times, at the end of his day, he would feel that something was missing in his personal life. Often he would think of his departed Jasmine and the memory of the full life they had planned to share. For the first time in a while, in the solitude of his room, it was not thoughts of Jasmine, he found himself retreating to. A new image flooded his mind…Margo.
A sensuous warmth enveloped Margo as she wrapped up her editing session, her thoughts of Ma’Kentu’s muscular frame holding her protectively in his embrace being far too much of a distraction for her to continue. He was that appealing and seductive a personality. Quickly, she banished the thought. Surely, such a relationship would be perilous. He was a traveling musician, a man of the world. And in that world there had to be worldly women. He was a man with few commitments, other than his music, she a freelance writer. No way could it work! Besides, she did not even know him.
Snapping her laptop computer shut, she rose and headed for the shower. It was getting close to three o’clock and she wanted to meet up with the band before they headed out.
The atmosphere backstage at the performing arts center was delightfully festive. For Ma’Kentu, there was the usual organized chaos that preceded every opening show rehearsal in addition to numerous stagehands, in dark blue coveralls, who hurried about checking lighting and sound equipment. Musicians stood either alone, tuning up their instruments, or in small groups talking. Amidst the hustle and bustle of activity, which overrode all conversation, stood a much focused man, lightly strumming his string bass. From a short distance he spied Margo’s approach. She was definitely an eye catcher. And he couldn’t help but notice that she was beginning to have a profound effect on him. Her presence brought with it a sense of newness and excitement. For once, he was feeling things he had not felt for a long while. Feelings he thought he’d never revisit.
Clad in a marvelous beige-colored pantsuit, her lips painted in an earthy red, Margo brought her sensuous frame to a subtle standstill, just inches from where Ma’Kentu stood smiling.
“Why, hello Margo!” he greeted her, that warm feeling inside returning to the forefront.
“Hello!” she almost sang as her mouth parted into a soft smile.
Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he stepped back and absorbed her beauty in its entirety, saying, “My, my, my! Like I’ve said before, heaven must be missing an angel.”
“Definitely!” an anonymous voice echoed.
“Thank you,” Margo countered graciously, trying to hold back a blush. Just being near him made her senses spin.
Withdrawing his hands, he asked her to join him at a nearby table. More willing than she wanted to appear, she accepted his offer.
“Get any rest at the hotel?” he asked her, leveling his dark eyes on hers. Green was the color of her eyes, he noted. Beautiful hazel green eyes.
“A little,” she replied, aware of his dee
p gaze. “And you?”
“Naah! Too much to do.”
“Perhaps tonight you’ll rest.”
He laughed. “Perhaps!”
Reaching down into her purse she withdrew a small digital camera and offered to take pictures of the band. Ma’Kentu moved his chair closer and smiled, and said, “Sure, go ahead. Take all the pictures you want. Matter-of-fact, you can start right here with me.”
This time it was Margo who laughed. “Hey, I would but you’re much too close.”
“Not as close as I want to be,” he answered calmly, flashing another smile.
His words made her heart race wildly. His wanton gaze made her body ripple with desire. He was certainly working his charm on her like some kind of New Orleans spell. A spell she found herself falling willfully under. Perhaps, just perhaps, this impromptu photo shoot would put her mind back on the professional track, she thought.
Rising up, she backed away a little and snapped the first photo, then another. She then gathered all of the band members and had them all line up for a group photo. Handing her camera to an altruistic stagehand, she joined the guys in the next two pics. Afterwards, the smiling group broke off and headed out, one by one, onto the stage for their sound check.
For Margo, the night was still young and everything seemed so wonderful. So much that she felt that if she blinked, she would surely miss something that was of importance. It did not take long either.
Moments later, she noticed that something was amidst, but what? With great curiosity she watched as Ma’Kentu approached several of the band members with a puzzled look on his face. The others in turn gave one another an equally puzzling look. Setting his string bass down, he walked in the direction Margo was standing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he neared her.
“Little Maceo is missing,” he paused to say, then continued on.
Margo stuffed her camera in her purse as she followed a short distance behind him.
With Ray ‘Dr. Smooth Cream’ Rollins alongside him, who was Little Maceo’s traveling roommate, the two stopped at the dressing room door and entered. Margo watched but did not venture any further.
Suddenly, there was a slight commotion which ended when a woman wearing a startled look, rushed from the room, her short black skirt half zipped, one hand gripping her shoes and the other her blouse and in a manner that shielded her ample boobs.
“Maceo!” Ma’Kentu cried out inside the darken room, his stare transfixed on his short comrade and friend. And what a sight to see, as he stood off in the distance, clad in black silk boxer shorts and a black T-shirt, which sported the words The Original Rock in bright red, and squinting as though he just got caught with his hands in the cookie jar.
“Look man, we’re here to do a gig. Not mess around with the hired help,” he hammered. “And don’t forget we have a journalist in our mist. We don’t need any bad press.”
“I’m sorry Bassman,” Little Maceo replied, with a remorseful expression. “I swear, I was back here minding my own business, getting ready when this honey comes onto me. You know, talking real sexy and stuff and parading that torque bode. Hell, she practically put it in my face. I mean, the honey was brick house fine! You saw her. One thing’s for sure, that hoochie mamma gonna walk out of here knowing that James Brown ain’t the only one who can get up on the good foot.” Maceo added, along with a few dance steps to accentuate his point.
Ma’Kentu was not amused. “Did you use any protection?”
“Damn, I meant to Bassman. Honestly!” He stammered. “But things just happened so fast.”
“Please, Maceo. Just get dress and join us on stage, okay?” Ma’Kentu half-ordered, half-pleaded with his overly sexed saxophone player.
“I’m on it, Bassman!” Little Maceo replied.
Ma’Kentu had been leaning across the table, staring into the distance thoughtfully. Sitting back in his chair he folded his hands over his lap. Margo sat detached across from him as he pondered his thoughts. The sound check was over and he had not said a word since then. What could be on his mind, she pondered. After a while, she leaned towards him and murmured, “Hel-looo!”
“Huh?” he replied, slowly coming out of his fog.
Margo looked at his solemn, but handsome profile, as he placed his hands back on the tabletop. “How ‘bout another cup of Cappuccino?”
“Sure,” he said, with a trace of a smile.
Margo pushed herself to her feet, with his empty cup in hand, and went off to pour him more Cappuccino. Afterwards, she returned to the table and placed the hot drink gently before him. “Thank-you, Margo!” he said, as a toothy smile bloomed on his face. Shortly after this, he found himself apologizing to her for his sudden distance.
“That’s alright,” she replied, noticing that his eyes were still a myriad of flickering emotions.
His voice was strained. “Margo, this is not the first time Little Maceo has jeopardized this ensemble as a result of bad judgment. Right now, we are so close to taking off, and at the national level, and we cannot afford any bad press.”
Though she was supposed to remain an unbiased observer, Margo found herself suddenly caught between compromising her own objectivity, as a reporter, and helping her new found interest in preserving his group’s integrity. How unprofessional of her, she thought. But after a moment’s pondering, Margo assured him that she would not put any of this in print. Only then did Ma’Kentu seem more at ease.
“You know, it’s not all fun and glamour behind the scenes,” he began, taking a sip from his cup. “I’ve got Little Maceo, who has an over-active sex drive, along with five different court ordered cases for child-support from five different women. I’ve got Jamal, who is a recovering alcoholic, which I’m proud of, but I have to arrange local AA meetings for him in advance of any city we are to travel to. And I’ve got Johnny Woo, my pianist, who occasionally wants to return to his homeland Japan because he misses his parents. Then there’s me, a man who has to try to hold this group together, through thick and thin. Margo, I’ve got some of the best jazz musicians ever assembled together and I want take them to the top. And I believe we are almost there. But they are still human with human frailties and as such, we have to be very careful with what we do and what we do with our professional reputation.”
Silence enveloped them as the two exchanged wide-eyed gazes.
“Well, I think you’ve done a magnificent job,” she assured him. “I would not have suspected any of these things had you not brought them up. From what I have seen, you are truly involved with your band. And I can see that your responsibilities are many. But apparently you manage to stay on top of it all.”
“I try very hard to,” he replied, with another toothy smile. “Hell, they’re like family to me.”
The two stood up. Nearby stood a table loaded with refreshments. With coffee cups in hand, they walked over to the table and grabbed a few finger sandwiches and some chips. With spoils and their drinks in hand, they retreated to the far side of the room.
Margo contemplated her next thought. Raising her beautiful round eyes she found him watching her and was smitten. She could feel his brown eyes quietly devouring every inch of her sumptuous body and to the point she actually felt bare in his gaze. She was also certain he could see right through her; right to her pulsating heart. To make matters worse, she wanted to resist his charming and manly gaze but was not sure if she should even try.
Finally, he leaned forward and said, almost in a whisper, “Hey, how ‘bout us catching a cab and heading over to a supper club I know? Besides, I need a change of scenery. What about you?”
“Sounds like a wonderful idea to me,” she said, her eyes still searching his. Even though she was having a great time, she realized that her interest in this man was coming way too easily. It was as if he had within his soft gaze and soft, but assuring, voice some exotic form of persuasion that pulled her to him whether she wanted to go or not.
“Good!” Ma’Kentu said, his h
eart hammering about wildly. “I’m going to tell the fellahs. I’ll be right back!”
The scent of his distinctive aftershave lingered long after he left her side. It was mild, exotic and hypnotic. Much like the man. As she sipped from her coffee cup and waited for his return, she could not help but wonder what wonderful time the night and Ma’Kentu had in stored for her.
Chapter 3
Soft ceiling lights and soft mellow jazz set the perfect mood and promised a perfect ending to a perfect dinner outing. Club Cool Blue Jazz was a spot Ma’Kentu had visited before on a prior visit to Baltimore. And like before, the crowd was lively and full of cheer. Several couples had already taken to the dance floor, which was a ten by twelve wood tiled section in the center of the club enclosed by several rows of cloth-covered dining tables, all candlelit. When he turned to Margo, his eyes bright, he asked her to dance with him.
Taking a deep breath, with a sensuous look about her eyes, she nodded in the affirmative. Taking the hand he offered her, she rose and followed him. The two inched their way onto the dance floor and embraced as they moved slowly to a mellow Duke Ellington tune. Inhaling the fragrance of her perfume he was moved to tell her how wonderful, how sensuous, how unique, how pulchritudinous a woman he found her to be. Margo thanked him politely but said little else, though she did ask him what pulchritudinous meant.
After they returned to their table, the two quietly sat down but said very little outwardly, though their eyes revealed something very special going on inside…something warm and vibrant, something breathless and exciting, something that had been brought even closer to the surface out there on the dance floor. But neither one of them wanted to face certain truths, certain realities. Both feared succumbing to forces they had little control over. After all, the two of them had lived their adult lives exerting a certain amount of control and stability over it. Neither one of them ever felt comfortable co-existing with anything less than guarded optimism.
Bassment Deep Page 4