Bassment Deep

by Curtis Bennett

  After flagging down a cab the two arrived at her hotel. Laying an additional ten on the driver to wait, he escorted her inside. As they walked he admired her curvaceous body, right up until the moment they arrived at the elevator.

  “Well, thank you. I really had a wonderful time,” she said, observing him from lowered lashes. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had completely captured her interest like this.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, as he broke into a wide, open smile.

  There was a nervous pause.

  “Well, I imagine I’ll see you first thing tomorrow,” she said, her eyes averted slightly.

  Trying for a home run, he shrugged, “Why not first thing tonight?”

  “Excuse me!” she chuckled nervously.

  He took a deep breath and replied, “I said, why not first thing tonight?”

  Fixing a nervous gaze on him, she said, “And what about our professional image, Mr. Eu’Tabee? We wouldn’t want to jeopardize that, now would we?”

  Undaunted, he shot back, “The way I figure it, we have nothing to lose, but everything to gain.”

  “And what about my objectivity as a reporter and writer?”

  “The hell with objectivity,” he answered, as he tried to catch her evasive eyes to communicate with her. Reaching out he gently turned her head so that she was looking directly at him. “Listen, Margo. For the past two days I’ve been on a natural high and it’s because of you. Hell, I actually found myself whistling in the shower early this morning. I haven’t done that in years! Need I say anything more?”

  “Now you listen,” she started in, “I’ve had a wonderful time hanging out with you and the guys. A great time! Matter-of-fact, it’s the best assignment I’ve had in a long while. But the fact is, we hardly know each other.” There was a pause. “Look, I just think we, I mean you, may be rushing things. You know, being caught up in the moment. That sort of thing,” she said, as her heart raced wildly.

  With his face just inches from her quivering lips, he retorted, “Look, if all I had was just a moment to be caught up with someone, I’d want that someone to be you.”

  “That’s what you say now, but what about tomorrow morning? Do you think you’d say the same thing then? Would you feel the same way, about me?”

  “Believe me, I would feel better. And I think you would too. Now, would you like to add anything to that?”

  “Sure. I think I ought to tell you your cab is about to pull off,” she chuckled, glancing over his shoulder.

  “What!” he said as he immediately spun around and saw that his cab was pulling off. As he quickly back peddled, he told her he’d see her first thing in the morning.

  Margo nodded her head, her arms folded.

  Turning, he dashed out into the night to catch his ride.

  Once in the safety of her room, she collapsed onto her bed, her head spinning from the excitement he had aroused within her. That was definitely one close call, she realized. Like candy, she found him irresistible. And since she’d met him, he’s all the candy she’s had on her mind.

  Margo awakened early the following morning. For a twenty nine year old, she was feeling a sense of liveliness, youthfulness and sensuality she hadn’t felt in years. During the morning news, she stretched, did a short series of calisthenics, then showered and dressed. Breakfast came next. She was scheduled to meet Ma’Kentu at the local community college for a musical workshop by 11:00 that morning. That gave her an hour or more to continue work on her article.

  As her gaze raced quickly over what she’d written, she winced as she read and reread the last paragraph. God was he drop-dead gorgeous, she mused, finding it hard to focus. She just could not get him off of her mind. Closing her eyes, she composed her thoughts, opened them, then continued writing. No more distractions, she promised herself.

  Later, she walked over to her wardrobe to select an outfit to wear. Feeling energetic and daring she decided to wear something she knew was certain to make him take notice of her finer attributes. She didn’t want to hurt him, just make him suffer a little. Her choice for the occasion, a modestly short, low cut Lycra tank dress, which managed to stay on the good side of respectability. It was candy-apple red. Beneath this she wore a black silk camisole. Around her diminutive neck hung a gold etched heart locket necklace. Gold heart shaped earrings hung from her ears. A conservative dresser by nature, she had been raised to have a great regard for decency and fine taste. Today was different, though. She realized that it would be pointless to dress any other way than the way she was feeling...sexy.

  After a lively appraisal, which included a spin on one nylon-clad foot, before the full length mirror, she smiled, adding, “Baby, this is as sexy as sexy comes…tastefully.” After slipping into her red high-heeled shoes, she caught a cab and headed over to the community college.

  Though there were well over three hundred students and staffers in attendance, Ma’Kentu’s eyes easily caught Margo’s late entrance into the high school auditorium. As she walked gracefully towards the front of the auditorium she could feel his gaze on her. As ladylike as possible, she eased herself down into the cushioned chair, which was just two isles from the front of the stage.

  The two locked eyes then traded smiles. Along with three of his fellow musicians, he played like there was no tomorrow. Trumpeter Al Newman and Jamal ‘BlowFly’ Warner were giving a jazz workshop at a local neighborhood high school.

  As Ma’Kentu played and scanned the vast audience appreciatively, over and over again, he found his gaze being repeatedly captivated by Margo’s own sultry gaze. As their eyes locked, she felt a warm tingly sensation inside of her that made her want to leap onto the stage and into his arms and hungry kiss. The man was larger than life. And so was her desire for him.

  After the set ended, Ma’Kentu took questions from the students. One bespectacled young male student named Melvin, promptly stood up and asked, “Sir, why is the string bass sometimes referred to as a contrabass?” With mike in hand, he repeated the student’s question for all to hear. “Let me guess, you’re a music major, right?”

  “Yes, freshmen year!” the student shouted back.

  “Good question,” Ma’Kentu began, pacing the stage. “First, let me say that the string bass is known by several names: contrabass, string bass and double bass. Personally, I prefer string bass. Now, you may wonder why it is called a double bass. It’s quite simple. When playing a bass line with a double bass, the sound from the double bass will always be an octave lower. It’s like a deep voice coming from someone’s basement. I hope that answers your question, Melvin. Next!”

  A female student took to the mike next, saying, “You guys are really great. The Bomb! I was just wondering if you ever get into urban music or are you all dedicated to jazz, which I truly love? Thank you.”

  Repeating the young woman’s question, he responded with the following statement, “Yes, we are all dedicated jazz musicians. And I think I can speak for all of the band members, even the two who are not here with us. Jazz is not just an art form…it’s a way of life. In my business, you have to live jazz in order to play jazz. Some say the same thing about the Blues. Now, does that mean we do not enjoy other types of music? Not at all! Matter-of-fact, I’m glad you brought this up because we have a very special contemporary number we would like to play for you that will display our versatility as musicians,” he said, picking up his bass guitar Shaka and strapping it on.

  “We call it Lite Jazz. Lite Jazz is a blending of traditional jazz and urban funk with an occasional hip-hop flavor. So along with Mr. Johnny Woo on vibes and Ray ‘Dr. Smooth Cream’ Rollins on percussion and Little Maceo Parks on vocals, we’d like to do a jazzy version of a rap song we know you all probably heard of before. We’ve changed the lyrics because of the positive message we want to bring to you via our music. So without further delay, everyone in the house give it up for the Eu’Tabee Jazz Ensemble and our version of Snoop Doggy Dog’s megahit Gin & Juice! We cal
l our version Gin & Juice - Reality Check.”

  After a short count, the three musicians quickly got the auditorium rocking with their rich urban rhythm sound on the jazz tip. A minute into the foot thumping song it seemed as though everyone in the auditorium was either standing or dancing in place. A huge thunderous applause ripped throughout the place when Little Maceo spun around, taking center-stage, and began his rap line…

  “I’m taking it up to the mountain top, so all you young ladies watch Little Maceo rock!

  I’m the ultimate, the jazziest grand master G, gonna lay some truth and knowledge, you’ll see.

  Don’t need no drugs, wine or gin, to expand your horizon, do you get my spin?

  My brothers out there wasting your time, your life, don’t disc what’s promising and ooh so bright.

  Be the man your ole man wasn’t, and let’s end the slaughter by the dozen - and make that contribution - do what’s right.

  Remember Brothers and Sisters knowledge is power and knowledge is might! I’m hot, you’re hot, we’re all hot, hot, hot!

  Like buttered popcorn we can all go pop, pop, pop! Keep the faith and flip onto success…let’s all take it to the man, to the top, top, top! ”

  As she accompanied the band back to their hotel in a community college van, Margo turned to Ma’Kentu and said, beaming, “You know that was quite some show back there.”

  “Simply, awesome,” he quipped proudly.

  “I mean, the more I see you guys perform, the more impressed I am,” she added, leaning back into her chair, relaxing and basking in the moment.

  “You know, the more I see of you Margo, the more impressed I am with you,” he replied, as his eyes bathed her softly in admiration.

  Caught slightly off guard by the honesty and directness of his words she was touched by his words. When she dared to look him in the eye, she felt unexpected warmth surged through her but managed to conceal it with a casual “Thank you!”

  “So, are you guys ready to play tonight?” she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Most certainly! And it’s sold out from what I hear,” he said, unable to resist another look at her angelic face.

  “Do you think you’ll have time to resume our interview before then?” she asked, pushing back a wayward strand of dark hair.

  Pretending to give it serious thought, he chuckled, saying, “I might be able to work some’n out, Margo. When we return to the hotel, give me about an hour. I have to take care of a few things. We could meet in the lobby, okay?”

  Resting across his bed, with sheet music in hand, Ma’Kentu looked up at Al, who had just returned. “How’d it go with you and BlowFly at the high school?”

  “Righteous man!” Al replied, setting his trumpet case down. “Just righteous. Everyone got off when we played a few tunes along with their high school jazz band.”

  “We had a good time, too,” Ma’Kentu injected. “Of course, they liked our jazzy Snoop Doggy Dog special mix.”

  “I’m not surprise. Hell, it’s more contemporary and that’s what young people are exposed to, anymore,” Al reflected. “So, how’s the interview coming along with Margo?”

  “No complaints. Matter-of-fact, I’m supposed to meet her in the lobby in a few minutes,” he said, rising up into a sitting position.

  Unbuttoning his shirt, Al said warmly, “I’ve noticed that you two seem to be in the mix, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, I’m not sure if I’m in the mix, yet. I’m definitely somewhere in the zone,” Ma’Kentu answered, tying his shoes. “Problem is, Margo’s doing her damned best to keep her professional distance. I can sense it.”

  Stretching across his bed on his back, his head propped up by his pillow; Al looked thoughtfully at his maestro, then said, “Think she feels the same way, about you?”

  Without hesitating, Ma’Kentu gave a nod, “Yes, there’s definitely an interest on her part.”

  Rubbing his forehead, Al said, “This one is different, isn’t she?”

  Turning to his trusted friend, Ma’Kentu professed, “Yes, this one is different, Al.”

  Wearing a gentle smile, Al murmured, “I can tell.”

  With the soft running sound of a large indoor fountain in the background Margo’s face beamed the moment she saw Ma’Kentu’s handsome frame walk into the tropical plant-filled lobby. The two exchanged greetings then he sat down in the Queen Anne styled wing chair beside her. With her portable laptop resting on her lap she began her interview.

  “Okay, let me begin by asking you about your name. You were born Walter McRae.”

  “That’s correct,” he answered, while studying her profile.

  She continued. “Also, there’s a major mayoral race going on in Jacksonville, Florida. Are you planning to do any public relations plugs for the challenger, Mark ‘Little’ Richardson, a former Republican, who recently switched to the Democratic Party?”

  Ma’Kentu tugged at his goatee, then rubbed his nose lightly. The subject of politics was a potential minefield. One he did not want to walk into. “Let me say, if I’ve ever learned anything in life, the two things I rarely discuss in public, especially with journalists, is matters of religion and politics. Both can be explosive and are often taken personally. So, are you sure you want to go there with me?”

  “I’m sure,” she answered confidently.

  “Okaay!” he sang.

  “Before we venture there, I want to return to your name. Has it something to do with religion?” She was curious. Besides, it was something Abdullah would want to know.

  “No, it’s more cultural. You see…mother changed our names during the radical sixties. It had something to do with our growing awareness of our Pan-African cultural past. It was also an affirmation of our ties to the motherland. Though I no longer subscribe to mother’s political views, I kept the name. Besides, I liked it. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I see,” she murmured, as her voice dropped. Looking up, she continued. “Is it safe to say you are conservative in your political views? Republican, perhaps?”

  “Just conservative. I am not affiliated with any political party,” he answered.

  “That’s rather unique, I must say.” She could not help sounding slightly sardonic.

  “And burdensome,” he replied, having anticipated her near incredulous response.

  “How’s that?” she asked, with a softer gaze and a gentle tugging of her earlobe.

  “Hell, almost from the word go, Black conservatives are ostracized by those affiliated with the Black liberal movement. And I am really baffled by it since Blacks are known to be conservative in their viewpoints on family, religion, and economic. At one point in history many considered themselves Lincoln Republicans. Hell, one of the most revered black men in modern times was a conservative.”

  “And who was that?”

  “Frederick Douglass. But you never hear about our cultural political roots today. Matter-of-fact, Mr. Douglass was a representative of the Republican Convention of Rochester, New York back in 1866. Hell, Jackie Robinson was a conservative, you know, the first Black major league baseball player. And so was Martin Luther King.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Margo said, as she lowered her thick, black lashes.

  Ma’Kentu continued, “These are known and documented facts, everything I’ve said. Check it out sometime.”

  “I think I will,” she replied.

  There was a noticeable pause.

  “So, you’re all right with being associated with the Republican Party?”

  “Why not? It was the Republican Party who came into existence for the sole purpose of freeing our ancestors, commonly known as slaves. And it was a very conservative Republican Party who championed the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendment which freed slaves and gave us the right to vote. At the least, I feel we owe conservatism and that party a chance to tell their side of the story and what they truly represent, not be told by the party who once enslaved us what conservatism is all about.�
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  “I definitely did not know that part of our history,” Margo uttered as she sat amazed and enlightened.

  “Do not feel alone. There’s a lot of Americans who do not know this fact and much more.”

  “I take it you won’t be putting in any plugs for Mark ‘Little’ Richardson to help in his race for mayor of Jacksonville, though he has positioned himself to become the first Black mayor in Jacksonville history.”

  Leveling his eyes on her, Ma’Kentu said, “Please, understand that what I’m going to plug in Florida, and promote on this tour, is my music and the history and importance of jazz to all Americans. Yes, I’ve read about the mayoral race in Jacksonville and I wish the brother well. I really do. And if he doesn’t win, I have no doubt that within ten to twelve years there will be a Black mayor in Jacksonville. But that is not why we are going to Jacksonville.”

  “Believe me, I appreciate your patience with me and my questions but could you answer one more question for me?” she asked. “Should not people turn to government for solutions to our daily problems?”

  Politics was not what Ma’Kentu wanted to discuss. But since the subject was on the table, he would respond in the manner he knew best...factual, short and to the point. Perhaps then, they could return to the subject of Jazz. “Sure, government should play a role when it comes to providing for our infrastructure, defending our country, and overseeing public health related concerns.

  “Having said that, understand that my conservative views do not lessen my concerns for my minority brothers and sisters. It’s just that my philosophy on how to achieve my goals in America is different from theirs.”

  “Anything else you want to add?” she asked, as she paused from her typing.

  Ma’Kentu cast a guarded glance around the lobby, before he said. “This may sound a little cliché; nevertheless, our people have got to get off of their asses and stop waiting on whoever to come in and save the day for them. They have to take control of their lives, get better educated, start talking like they’re educated, and take back their neighborhoods from the slum lords and drug lords and gang-bangers. In short, we need to get our priorities in order as a people. That’s the only way we’re going to succeed in America.”