Rising up, she took him by the hand and led him down the two remaining concrete stairs into a 120’ by 60’ enclosed garden, which included a winding brick walkway, tropical foliage and a fountain. Several blue throat Hummingbirds buzzed about.
“I didn’t think you could find Hummingbirds this early in spring,” she said.
“You usually don’t,” he replied, then pointed his finger. “See those black wooden boxes behind the foliage, with the lamps inside? Those heat lamps are for the Hummingbirds.”
“Oh, I see,” Margo smiled. “This way they can have them buzzing around year round.”
“Exactly,” he answered.
Halfway through their stroll the two paused. “Hey, you’re getting thoughtful on me again,” she almost sang. “Please… tell me what’s really bothering you.”
Gazing down into her sparkling eyes, he revealed his inner thoughts. “It’s tomorrow, baby. That’s what’s bothering me. It’s not going to be the same without you here at my side.”
Touching her hand to the side of his face she smiled, saying, “I’ll be here, if only in your thoughts and dreams.”
“But you won’t be here for me to hold in my arms.”
“Then you’ll have to hold me in your heart, as well as in your dreams, my love.”
With a musing expression, he said, “Since you put it that way, I guess I have little other choice.”
Embracing her, he lowered his face into her fragrant soft hair and inhaled. Giving into her emotion, she simply closed her eyes, and enjoyed the contact. This was as close as she could get to heaven.
Closing his eyes, he murmured, “God, I’m going to miss you.” Feeling lightheaded she barely had time to feel choked up as his mouth came crushing down on hers. It was one of those poignant moments for her. When she should have been pushing him away, her arms instead took on a life of their own and entwined around his neck, pulling him closer, needing and wanting him with an urgency that she had not experience in years.
Withdrawing his moist lips, he gazed fixedly into her sparkling eyes, then kissed her long and hard for a second time. When their lips parted, the two smiled. Turning, they walked lazily back to the verandah to retrieve her laptop
At her room, she thanked him for a wonderful time, and to his delight, invited him to return within the hour. She told him she wanted to give him something that would keep her fresh on his mind until they met again in Florida. A going away present of sorts. Feeling as though he had just hit the lottery, his heart raced with excitement.
Al and Johnny Woo were watching an A&E special upon Ma’Kentu’s entrance into the room. It was a cool jazz festival taped in Monterey a few months earlier. Jazz great Billy Taylor was on piano. Ma’Kentu sat down, then stretched out across the bed to briefly watch the special too.
“Old Billy still has it, man,” Johnny quipped.
“I’m telling you,” Al added, “The brother can throw down!” He then gave Johnny a high five on the hand.
“So can Victor and Bobby,” Ma’Kentu joined in, referring to the rest of the trio playing contra-bass and drums, respectively.
“What’s the name of this tune, Bassman?” a restless Al asked, repositioning his pillow under his chin.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “But I’ve heard this song before.”
“It’s a Clare Fisher tune called Morning,” quipped Johnny, matter-of-factly.
“I’ve heard of her before,” Al added, stretching his arms. “She’s a damn good song writer.”
“I played this piece in a New York concert a few years ago,” Johnny said. “It’s a gem of a song, if you want to ask me.”
“I love the bass line,” Ma’Kentu said, as he simultaneously yawned and stretched.
The A&E special ended ten minutes later. Seconds later, Johnny bid goodnight to his comrades and departed.
“Well, how did it go tonight with you and Margo?” Al finally asked, standing up.
“Great! Just great,” Ma’Kentu exclaimed, then more soberly, “Hell, it isn’t easy being on the road with someone you’ve fallen for. Especially the night before she’s leaving.”
“Umm,” Al mused. “Bassman, if ever there was a case for love, it is the one you two have for each other. But I understand your plight. I remember the first time I had to leave Yvette behind while I took off on a four-month cross-country tour. It was a real challenge at the time. I mean, we had just gotten married less than two months earlier and then I was gone. As a matter-of-fact, we were still practically newlyweds.”
“Hell, you were,” Ma’Kentu chuckled.
Al paused to smile.
“Tell me. How are things between you two now? I mean, dealing with the separation.”
“Yvette’s accustomed to it now, for the most part. Still, that doesn’t make going on tour any easier for our marriage. You know, it’ll be eight years in August.”
“That’s great, Al. I’m happy for you two.”
“Thanks,” he said, reaching down and pulling the covers back. It was getting warm. “Speaking of anniversaries, are you and Margo at that intensity level, yet?”
“I know I love her, Al. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to make that sort of commitment. You know, being on the road and all.”
“Hold that thought, please,” Al politely interrupted. “You don’t mind if I turn the AC on, do you? It’s getting a little warm in here.”
“Go for it,” Ma’Kentu quipped. “The whole month of March has been rather warm, I must say.”
Al turned the AC on.
“So you say you don’t think you’re ready for the marriage thing.”
“That body of water might be just a little too deep for me, right now.” Ma’Kentu replied, sitting up on the full size bed. “Besides, I’ve only known her for a little over a week. And we’re on the road a lot. You and Yvette have done a fantastic job in keeping the love real, in spite of the long separations. I’m not so sure I can do as good a job as you two. ”
“Well, marriage is something you want to seriously think about before you make the plunge. Oh, before I forget. You received a piece of mail back in DC while we were staying at the hotel. I meant to give it to you before we left. Somehow I forgot about it. Sorry ‘bout that.”
Reaching into his travel bag, which he had placed on the chair, Al shuffled through it until he found what he was looking for. Handing Ma’Kentu the large envelope, he crawled onto the bed and covered himself.
Ma’Kentu had no clue who would leave him mail in the DC area. Drawing it closer, he glanced at the official looking envelope, which was from the District of Columbia Child Support Office, and figured it had something to do with Little Maceo. He tossed it on the dresser without opening it. It could wait until later, he decided. Rising up, he headed into the tiled bathroom to take a warm refreshing shower. With each passing minute, time was ticking away and he had a lovely woman awaiting his arrival.
Turning on both faucets, nearly full blast, he entered the warm gushing water. His first thoughts were about his anticipated encounter-of-the-first-kind with Margo. Such wonderful thoughts slowly began to be replaced by that ominous envelope. The address on it had been an old address in Indiana and had been stamped Return to Sender/Address Unknown. This definitely got the best of his curiosity. Besides, the return address had a Washington DC address at that. But no name. However, there was only one person he knew from the DC area. No, it couldn’t be from her, he thought.
After drying off, he slipped into his briefs, then his bathrobe and headed out of the bathroom and straight for the envelope he had left on the dresser. Anxiously he sat down and opened it and read the contents. With shock and disbelief registering on his face, he slumped back into the chair.
“What’s wrong, Bassman?” Al asked, sitting up.
“This is a damn child-support notice,” he began, adding, “It says that I have been named as the possible paternal father of a child named Charlene Chase. It’s Charlotte. Why that sneaky, low-down, connivi
ng, feline! She never mentioned anything about a child to me when we talked. I didn’t even know she had one. Now I see what she meant when I asked her if she was through with me, to which her response was, ‘for now.’ ”
“Don’t put much into this,” Al warned his friend. “Besides, you’re probably not the only man she passed time with. No offense meant”
“None taken, Al. I’ve already considered that possibility. But what if the child is mine?”
“Hey, I think a responsible man like you already have the answer to that one.”
“I meant about my relationship with Margo.”
“I don’t know. But your point is well taken,” Al said soberly.
What was taking him so long? Margo pondered, lying impatiently across the wide bed in her quilted robe. For the past hour she had been consumed by the very thought of them consummating their love for each other. By now she was certain of her feelings for him and was now as eager and anxious as he to open this new chapter of their budding love. So where in Hell’s name was he? Being an embrace away from intimacy, she felt herself experiencing the full range of emotions - nervousness, desire, self-doubt, anticipation, uncertainty, excitement and love.
Then there was a knock at the door. Leaping up, she nervously patted her hair in place then anxiously approached the door. She recognized the soothing baritone voice immediately. Opening the door she squinted, then shield her eyes from the rays of a bright full moon. Focusing on his dark penetrating eyes, she took Ma’Kentu by the hand and escorted his silent form inside. Seeing his face with greater clarity, she was surprised to find it without expression. Something was out of kilter, she sensed. Giving him an inquisitive gaze she asked him what was wrong.
He had not planned on telling her at first but after gazing into her concerned eyes, he could do no less than to be truthful with her. “What the hell!” he sighed, looking into her curious gaze. “Look, a letter was dropped off in Washington, at the hotel, which I finally got around to reading a few minutes ago,” he said, adding, “It’s from the Child Support Office in DC.”
“Little Maceo again?”
“No, this time it’s for me. Look, Charlotte’s claiming that I am the father of a child I did not even know existed until a few minutes ago. I just thought you ought to know.”
The self-centered emotions she had grappled with just seconds earlier suddenly dissipated and were now replaced by an emotion called compassion. “Oh, Ma’Kentu,” she sighed. Taking his hand, she led him over to the sofa where the two sat down, still gripping hands.
“I just don’t know what to think, or to do, Margo,” he uttered with obvious tension in his voice. “Sure, I want to do what is right. But at the same time, I have no desire to have Charlotte in my life in any shape, form or fashion. I mean that.”
“Look, the first thing you need to do is take a DNA test to see if you are indeed the father of this child. It’ll probably take several weeks for the results. But it’s a start. But you still have to continue on with your life, honey.” She then nestled her head on his shoulder.
Thoughtfully, tenderly, he stroked her face with his hand, then planted a kiss on her forehead. “Look, I can understand if you’re having second thoughts about getting involved with me –”
“– Hush, just hush,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. “I’m already involved. I admit I am disturbed by this woman’s sudden reemergence into your life and this child-support matter, but none of these things change the way I feel about you. I want you to understand this.”
“I thought for sure I was going to lose you over this,” he replied, just above a whisper, happy to know he had not lost her.
“No, it’ll take more than this to come between you and my feelings for you.”
“You don’t know how much that means to me,” he returned, pulling her closer into his embrace.
Though the passion was great between them, the desire to consummate it had long gone. The mood had changed the moment he walked into the suite. Content just to hold each other in a shared embrace, they talked quietly until he departed.
A gaily audience of baggy pants clad high school kids broke loose from a thin perimeter line of teachers and assistants and rushed to the front of the stage. Ma’Kentu had just announced that he and the band were about to play a few contemporary pop/jazz tunes, after having completed a well-received set of traditional jazz tunes. As the yelling and screaming intensified to the level of rock concert, the jovial maestro turned to his band and smiled. Setting aside his string bass, he strapped on his electric bass guitar, Shaka, made a slight adjustment, then faced the audience. “Thank you! Thank you, very much,” he shouted into the mike. We would now like to do a jazzy interpretation of a soulful ‘90’s pop tune entitled Spread Your Wings by a group some of you may remember as Troop.”
With that announcement came another round of thunderous applause. Facing his ensemble he gave a short two count, then pointed to percussionist Ray ‘Dr. Cream’ Rollins, who kicked the song off with a funky drum roll. The other band members joined in, right on cue, to harmonize behind lead saxophonist Jamal ‘BlowFly’ Warner and pianist Johnny Woo, both who carried most of the melody. By now the audience was clapping along and dancing in place. Somewhere out there in that colorful sea of revelers, Ma’Kentu knew Margo was smiling.
Arriving at the hotel he exited the van and thought he saw a familiar face emerge from behind the glass doors. Though his surprise was genuine, he wasn’t sure whether to be happy or concerned. And he had his reasons. If it was who he thought it might be he probably was about to hear a hard luck story. Before he could set his bass guitar case down the approaching man gestured to him and with outstretched arms, embraced him joyously. From behind, Margo looked on silently, though with great curiosity. There was a family resemblance.
“Ma’Kentu!” the robust man chuckled.
“Baba’la,” Ma’Kentu replied.
Baba’la, Margo mouthed, barely above a whisper.
“Well, well! What brings you here to Norfolk, my brother?” Ma’Kentu queried. “The last I heard, you were in Richmond. Matter-of-fact, that’s where I mailed my most recent letter to you.”
“Yeah, I got your letter yesterday. Man, you’re looking great! The band and I have a three-day gig over in Hampton, starting tomorrow. Anyway, when I read your letter saying that you and the boys were going to play Norfolk, I decided I had to stop by to check you guys out.”
“And I’m glad you did,” Ma’Kentu said, releasing his grip from his brother’s shoulders.
“And who is this angel?” Baba’la asked…his gaze fixed on Margo. Turning with a broad smile, Ma’Kentu introduced his younger brother to Margo.
“Unlike the casual observer, I can see it in your eyes, both of your eyes, that there’s something more here than what meets the eye,” Baba’la teased.
Margo blushed, saying, “You are very perceptive, I must say.”
Playfully taking her soft hand in his for inspection, Baba’la smiled. “You’re not sporting a ring, yet, so I guess I’ve got time to get to know the woman whom I may someday call sister-in-law.”
“Now, there you go, jumping to conclusions, as always,” Ma’Kentu chided playfully. Margo blushed. The threesome then entered the hotel lobby where they greeted the band members.
“Bee!” Al said, using Baba’la’s nickname. The two embraced. “Man, how are you doing? Hey, you’re playing with us tonight, right?”
“Hey, it’s Bee!” Someone in the background cried out.
“Naw, just visiting,” Baba’la replied. “I’ve got a three-day gig over in Hampton starting tomorrow night, though I wouldn’t mind swinging with you cats at the Scope.”
“Come on, play with us Bee,” Johnny Woo pleaded, giving Baba’la a low-five. “Yah know yah da man on guitar, baby!”
“Well, it’s up to my big brother,” Baba’la replied, looking over at Ma’Kentu intently.
“Oh, I would love to hear you play guitar,” Margo blurted ou
t.
“We’ll see,” Ma’Kentu answered. “We’ll see…”
Though she did not let on what she felt, Margo sensed that things were not all that warm and cozy between the two brothers.
Chapter 8
Ma’Kentu sat at the table in the hotel dining room drumming his fingers on his knee. He loved his brother and enjoyed having him around but wondered if Baba’la had kicked the habit. It had been five months since his brother had been released from a drug rehab center in Richmond. He had an addiction to heroin and cocaine over the years and had sunk low enough to realize he needed to seek treatment. And as joyful as Ma’Kentu was to see his brother get help, he knew that most hard-core drug abusers experience an occasional relapse. He was hopeful that his brother hadn’t.
Looking up he saw his brother enter the area. He had gone to make a phone call. His eyes widen even more when he spied Margo coming around the corner, sensuous looking with eyes only for him. The two joined him, ordered sodas, and sat back to talk leisurely. After a warm conversation and a few good laughs the threesome dispersed.
“I’ll see you in an hour, honey,” Margo said, after planting a wet kiss on his lips, a kiss meant to stay with him long after she left his side.
“Okay, my love,” Ma’Kentu replied, watching her walk away with a springy bounce.
“Hope I get a chance to hear you play tonight, Baba’la,” she said before disappearing around the corner.
“That’s some woman, bro,” Baba’la chuckled breaking into a wide grin.
“Yes, she is,” Ma’Kentu sighed, as the two walked along slowly.
“So, she’s leaving in the morning to return to Florida, uh?”
“Unfortunately,” Ma’Kentu acknowledged, his expression becoming almost somber.
“You know, I haven’t seen you this way since –“
“– I know. Since Jasmine died.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up,” Baba’la replied, with a pensive gaze.
Bassment Deep Page 13