“That’s true,” she added, brushing a strand of hair aside. “Still, why is it that Black conservatives feel persecuted by other Blacks?”
His grin turned into a more serious expression. “This is just my opinion, Margo. But when an African-American is born, there are two things that qualify him as being Black in the eyes of other Blacks. Skin color and to a large degree, one’s political leaning. Skin color can never change, that’s obvious. But let your political leaning be anything other than democratic and suddenly, you’re no longer Black. You figure it out.”
“Anything else you care to comment on?” she said, typing away on her laptop.
“No, not really, at least not on this subject matter.”
“Good!” Margo said, resting her hand on her leg. “Well, that about wraps up the political aspects of this interview.”
“Woman, I thought I’d never hear you say that,” he sighed.
Once again, Margo’s cell phone rang.
Rising up, she excused herself, withdrew the unit from her purse, and took several steps away and placed the receiver to her ear. After a quick chat, she placed the unit in her purse and rejoined him.”
“My apologies,” she said as she positioned herself on the park bench. “So, I understand you are working on a new song,” she began, gazing up into his thought-filled eyes.
Somewhat unresponsive, he shook his head in the affirmative, as he rubbed the back of his neck lightly with his hand.
“You expect to have it completed anytime soon?”
Rather solemnly he replied, “Perhaps by August.”
Tilting her head she searched his face until she caught his eyes. It had not escaped her that he had become increasingly aloof since they sat down. “Hey, you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” she asked tenderly. “You seem rather thoughtful. Are you not feeling well?”
Leaning forward, his gaze lowered, as did his voice. “It’s nothing, Margo,” he said unconvincingly. She was not buying it, though, and her expression told him so. Then a light bulb lid up in her head. The phone calls! It must be the phone calls!
“God, how could I have been so absorbed?” she chided herself, aloud.
“What?” he murmured.
Touching her hand to his, she said, “I’m so sorry, Ma’Kentu. That was so rude of me. I should have told you that call was from my best friend D’Sandra. She’s on her way to Florida but has a short layover here at the airport. She told me she would call me once her flight flew in. Again, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t thinking. And to think I did it twice.”
With a gentle and very understanding gaze he smiled, with obvious relief, saying, “I have to admit. For a moment I thought perhaps you were holding back something, or someone, from me. I mean, not that it‘s any of my business.”
“Oh no, it’s nothing like that,” she shot back. “Believe me, that particular nightmare has been out of my life for some time now. Besides, I’m not sure if I’m ready for a serious relationship anytime soon,” she said, hoping to convince herself, too. “As for that phone call, I only walked away because I thought my friend might say something, or ask me something, to make me feel embarrassed. You know how girl talk can get.”
“I can imagine,” he replied, flashing his trademark smile. “But thanks for sharing that with me. It explains everything.”
“I hope so,” she said gingerly. “I was beginning to think you had taken ill.”
“No. Was just wondering what was up, that’s all,” he explained, as he chased away a pesky moth with his hand. And like most people who are relieved about something that never was, he continued to elaborate on the subject. “I mean, there you are one minute, all wrapped up in a deep conversation with me. Then, a minute later, you’re walking off to have a private chat on your cell phone. But it wasn’t no big deal.””
“I promise, I’ll never do that again,” she said, with a broad smile.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he replied as he brushed back a strand of hair from where it had been caught in the corner of her eye.
There was a pause.
“What?” she asked, with a wide grin.
“Just looking, that’s all,” he answered with a tenderness that made her blush.
She felt uncomfortable asking him this but she felt the time was right. “Ma’Kentu, this may sound odd, but may I ask whether or not you sleep on your stomach, your back or on your side?”
With an arched eyebrow indicating his surprise, he said, “I sleep on my side, why?”
“Well, borrowing your terminology, it’s no big deal. Just another old wives’ tale I’ve heard growing up. It goes like this. If a man sleeps on his stomach, he’s said to be carefree, secure, and is good with children. And if a man sleeps on his back, he is a workaholic, a man who is driven by success and often achieves it, though he rarely knows true happiness. Now, a man who sleeps on his side, he is said to be deeply passionate, a great lover, a dreamer and devoted family man.”
“I never heard this particular wives’ tale before,” he said, tugging at his chin.
“Like I said, it’s something I heard growing up.”
“So, I’m passionate and a great lover, huh?”
“Are you?” she shot back with a radiant smile.
“I would like to believe I am,” he replied. Sensing that this was as good a time to begin his own interview, as Al suggested, he drew closer to her. With a gentle, understanding gaze, he said, “Please excuse my French, but I was just wondering. Who’s the sorry asshole that broke your heart?”
Margo raised her head, then with an introspective look about her eyes, she decided to tell him. “Allen was his name. He was my fiancé, at the time. It’s been over four years, now. And to think I once worshipped the ground that man walked on.”
“So what happened?”
“Allen was the jealous and possessive type. After a while I began to feel emotionally smothered. Three frustrating years later, I had had enough! So I broke it off. In all honesty, I did not want to find myself married to him when the right man came along. Anyway, I thought I was through with him.”
“You thought?” Ma’Kentu said.
“Well, I started seeing another man about three months later. Somehow Allen found out about it and suddenly developed a renewed interest in me. He started calling and reminding me how much he loved me and cared for me…you know, how much we were meant for one another. That kind of stuff. Soon to follow were flowers, constant calls to my job, showing up at my house with gifts, that sort of thing. I am not proud to say this but I let him back into my life. I was fool-hearted to think he had changed his ways. Boy was I ever wrong.”
“So you found yourself kicking his ass to the curb a second time, huh?”
“And I did…proudly.”
Ma’Kentu squinted against the late rising morning sun. A contrast to the once overcast sky. “But why give him another chance?”
“I imagine I was still in love with him, Ma’Kentu. And I thought he still loved me. But I discovered he just did not want anyone else getting too close to me.”
“Now that’s low, if you want to ask me. But he’s history, right?”
“Yesterday’s old news. But would you know, that-that…”
“I’m listening…”
“That he had the nerve to call me a month ago, saying that he was lonely and wanting to know if I would come over and take a shower with him. That’s when I went off on him.” Then with a chuckle, she said, “You know, I haven’t heard from him since then.”
“Good for you.”
There was a pause.
With eyes glittering, he looked down into her nervous gaze and gave her a smile that was as intimate as a kiss.
“Please… don’t look at me that way,” she protested mildly.
“I can’t help myself, Margo. I find your eyes quite enchanting. Surely, you should know that I am crazy about you.”
That revelation touched a nerve in her, causing her lips to tremble nervou
sly. The attraction between them was that prevalent.
There was another brief moment of contemplation as the two stared at each other, both feeling a wide range of emotions brewing beneath the surface, their breathing coming quick and in unison. What a wonderful sensation, she thought, as wave after wave of excitement caused her head to spin. It was a struggle as she fought to resist her longing for his touch.
Without warning, he brought his hot lips crushing down on hers, as both of their hearts pounded heavily. His kiss was intoxicating, but was short lived. As if awaken from an age-old gypsy spell, she reluctantly pulled her lips from his probing kiss and with averted eyes, pleaded, “Please, I need more time, Ma’Kentu.”
Without protest, he eased back then turned his gaze towards the huge freighter passing by slowly in the harbor. Nothing was said during that poignant moment as both struggled with their emotions. Finally he returned his gaze to her. It wasn’t long before an infectious smile spread across his face. Unable to resist, and not wanting to, a smile widened across her face, too.
“Okay,” he said rising up. Then reaching down, he assisted her up. Bringing her into his embrace he kissed her forehead, saying, “I’ll give you all the time you need, Margo. Believe me, you’re worth the wait.”
With a content smile, she collected her laptop and the two resumed their stroll.
The second show went without a hitch and though Margo had seen the band performed before, she was still intrigue with their talent. As she silently watched their performance she began to think about the many reasons she found him so attractive. Maybe it was his deep and penetrating dark brown eyes, eyes that could be intense one moment and benevolent the next…. Or maybe it was his boyish smile…one, which made her feel like a sixteen-year-old in love for the very first time…. Or maybe it was his muscular body that held the promise of great things to come, a body she longed to touch and embrace, more and more with each passing day…. Or was it his calm and deep sexy voice, which seemed to have a way of melting all her inhibitions and fears away like butter on a hot grill…
Whatever it was about him, and against all of her professional wisdom, she had to admit to herself that she had fallen for him, and big time! She realized she needed him in her life in some capacity. Her only debate was on what level. He was a dedicated musician and performer but she had heard that musicians were only in love with one thing, their music. No way could she compete with his love for music, she thought. But she held out hope that he was different from other musicians. And then there was the not-so-small issue of his not-so-mainstream political beliefs. He was a conservative and she a moderate liberal. What kind of union would this make for, she pondered? An impossible one, she told herself.
Though she initially turned down his offer, Margo realized that Ma’Kentu was not going to take no for an answer. So when he invited her to ride along with the band to Washington, DC, on their tour bus, she caved in after her politely spoken, ‘Thank you but it’s really not necessary’ speech. Ma’Kentu was not about to let her go it alone when she could be there riding alongside of him.
Stepping onto the asphalt street, he flagged down a cab for Margo and asked her to call him once she got settled in at her hotel. He would fill her in on their itinerary later.
After a meeting with their local contact person from the Kennedy Center of The Performing Arts, he and several band members headed into the busy hotel restaurant to grab a bite to eat. It had been a long day. And everyone was hungry.
Ma’Kentu stared at the menu. “I think I’m going to get their broiled seafood combo special.”
“What’s that?” Al asked, as he propped himself on an elbow and stared down at his menu.
“Number six, the broiled shrimp, fish, and scallop meal.”
“I think I’ll go with a Reuben Rye sandwich, with curly fries and a toss salad.”
“That sounds righteous,” Ma’Kentu said. “I haven’t had corned beef in a while.”
“I’ll cut you a small slice when it comes. Just remember me when you get that broiled shrimp combo.”
“Not a problem, Al. Not at all. And what are you ordering, Maceo?” Ma’Kentu asked his saxophonist.”
“Think I’m going with the baked Italian lasagna dish, with a Greek salad and red wine,” he answered.
“Sounds copasetic to me,” Ma’Kentu said with a smile.
“Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in a while… copasetic,” Al mused.
“I think Paul Roberson came up with that word,” Ma’Kentu tossed in.
“I think you’re right,” Little Maceo added. “Means everything’s cool.”
A diminutive waiter appeared, took their orders, then whirled off.
“Who are we up against, for the Grammy?” Al asked, turning to Ma’Kentu.
Ma’Kentu set his drink down. “Our main competition is the Lester Burke Trio and the Derek Hass Quartet, both newcomers like ourselves.”
“Yeah, Lester started out with the acclaimed Kent-Marshall Jazz Ensemble, playing trombone. He’s been around for a while.”
“Yes, he has, Al,” Ma’Kentu replied. “The man’s baaad, too!”
“Look, they’ve got nothing on us, Bassman,” Little Maceo chimed in. “We’re the lotion with the motion!” With that, he made a wavy motion with his arms.
“You’re right, Maceo.” Al injected. “They can’t touch us.”
Into his meal Ma’Kentu was paged unexpectantly via the intercom. There was a call for him at the front desk. Must be Margo, he thought. She must have settled in.
Rising up, he handed Al a twenty, in the event he did not return to complete his meal, then took off.
“Hello Margo!” he blurted out anxiously into the phone’s receiver, after turning away in an effort to shield himself from any eavesdropping check-in clerk.
“I’m not sure who this Margo person is, but my mother named me Charlotte, dear,” the familiar voice answered back.
Damn! Ma’Kentu cringed, finally recognizing the voice on the other end of the phone.
“Hellooo! You still have a heartbeat, I’m guessing?” she almost sang, though quite sarcastic in tone.
“Charlotte. It’s been a while,” he replied, his tone now cool. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Since you can’t seem to write or call I decided to track you down through the media. This was meant to be a surprise. But I guess I’m the one who’s surprised.”
“That’s what happens when people invite themselves into other people’s affairs.”
“Whatever,” she snarled back. “So who is this Margo? Your new boy toy?”
Charlotte ‘Passion’ Chase was the last person in the world he wanted to run into now. A former nightclub dancer and swimming instructor turned successful aerobic guru; she was a nightmare waiting to happen. The two had met a year earlier. They had a romantic dinner, enjoyed one another’s company and conversation, knowing from the onset they were incredibly hot for one another.
Thinking back to that night, he remembered finding themselves sprawled across a cozy sofa at her cozy luxury condo kissing. Uncertain of the level of her emotional involvement, he initially rebuffed her advances. But Charlotte was prepared to use all of her natural charm and beauty to get him into her bed. When she felt rebuffed, she decided to play her trump card, a card that promised to give her the upper hand.
Excusing herself, she quietly disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned she stood before him wearing the shortest and most enticing black see-through negligee in her wardrobe. She was an orgasm ready to happen and she wanted to make this clear to him. Looking every bit like her former club personage, Passion, she was ready to put the move on him.
Dazzled by her stunning beauty and fragrant scented body, and moved suddenly by his own innate desire to have her, he found himself easy prey for the web she was spinning. Easily seduced, they made wild and passionate love throughout the night. As hot and sensuous as they come, she was the sort of one night stand a man fan
tasizes a lifetime about but later regrets afterwards.
The following night he made the mistake of returning to her place to clarify their relationship and succumbed again to her charming ways and scantily clad body a second time. What was it about this earthy woman and the skimpy clothes she wore that left him weak with desire, he pondered? Had he not told her that he was not interested in a serious relationship? And had she not also say that she was not interested in one either? That’s why when he departed the Washington DC area; he deliberately put great distance between him and her. Or so he thought.
“Margo is a freelance journalist traveling with the group,” he explained, finally acknowledging her question. “She’s doing an article on the band.”
“You sure that’s all she’s doing, Ma’Kentu?” she snapped, again with a trance of sarcasm.
“Look, Charlotte,” he exhaled, slightly perturbed. “What I do and who I do it with is my business. You understand that! Listen, I’m quite busy now. So I’m going to politely hang up. Goodbye!”
Handing the phone over to the slightly plump clerk, he turned and began to walk away. Again, the phone rang. The clerk answered it, looked in the direction of Ma’Kentu, and immediately beckoned him back. “It’s for you, sir,” she said, extending the phone for him to take.
“Hello!” the voice said uneasily, as he drummed the countertop with his fingers. “You didn’t have to come off like that, Ma’Kentu. Why can’t we still be friends?”
“Charlotte, you don’t know how to be a friend,” he answered, mildly agitated. Anxious to avoid a public scene, he replied in a low voice, “Okay, Charlotte. I’ll tell you what. Consider us friends, if it pleases you. But understand what’s in our past is just that…in the past. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” she finally murmured. “Look, I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Charlotte, like I said, leave it in the past. Goodbye.”
Bassment Deep Page 7