Bassment Deep

by Curtis Bennett

  “No, I decided to stay behind.”

  “So, how are things between you two?”

  “To be honest, not good. I think he’s a little upset with me.”

  “Don’t tell me, it’s the lingerie thing, isn’t it?”

  Kicking at the sand lightly, Margo replied, “Uh-hum. I told him about it. And what’s bad about it is that I made wearing lingerie sound so dirty, so in the gutter and myself so pious. Since then, he’s been pretty quiet around me.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get into my professional mindset and ask you something quite personal. What is it with you and the wearing of lingerie, anyway? Why do you find it so appalling? I know everyone has a hang-up, darling, but this is rather unique, even to me. I enjoy wearing lingerie, myself.”

  Leaning towards her friend, as if to share a confidence, Margo said, “Look, I couldn’t bring myself to share this with Ma’Kentu but I can with you. It stems from my early childhood days. As you already know, my parents divorced when I was ten. What I didn’t tell you was that after the divorce my mother began drinking heavily and hanging out at the local tavern. It wasn’t unusual for her to return home with some strange guy and allow him to stay the night over.”

  “I see.”

  “Even before the divorce, mother was a manipulator of men. It was all a game to her. During my parent’s separation, she got involved which the church, but for only a short while. It was a short while because she eventually seduced the minister, who was a married man. Right in our home!”

  “I see.”

  “Though young, I was not naive. I knew what was going on. The nights she brought a lover home she would always put me to bed early. One night, I was unable to sleep. There was loud whispering going on in the hallway.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Naturally, I was curious. So I walked quietly over to my bedroom door and eased it open. Stunned, I saw my mother prance by in a skimpy lingerie outfit. The eager stranger was in tow, groping at her, fondling her. His filthy hands were all over her. The sight made me sick to the stomach. To think she once preached to me about such behavior. Add to that, the wearing of such attire was bad and unlady-like, according to her.”

  Moving her head up and down, slowly, thoughtfully, D’Sandra replied, “You need not go any further, my friend. It makes all the sense in the world to me now. Your dislike of lingerie stems from what we call a negative association. You obviously have a lot of resentment stored up inside you towards your mother. But listen to me, honey. Hear me loud and clear. This is not about lingerie, believe me. Your problem stems from your relationship with your estranged mother and what you perceive as reproachful behavior, and her lack of discretion.”

  Wiping a tear from her eye, Margo said, “I think you’ve hit it right on the nail. I never understood how mother could be so sweet, so proper, so lady-like one moment, but when it came to men, act so damn whorish.”

  Reaching over, D’Sandra gave her friend a warm hug and a tissue to wipe the tears away. She had no prior knowledge of Margo’s deep psychological scar until now. “Honey, sometimes that’s exactly what most men are looking for…a lady by day, out of bed…a whore by night, in bed. That doesn’t make a person bad.”

  “I suppose. It’s just that mother personified the latter. Though she preached against such items, I eventually discovered that she kept a closet full of lingerie. I’ll tell you this much. Her bed was never without a strange man in it. That’s for sure.”

  Listen, there’s nothing wrong with wearing lingerie. But I understand that’s a hurdle you must get over. And your mother, she probably just did not want you to become like her.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Margo smiled. “I was always afraid of growing up and becoming like my mother.”

  “And that’s understandable. Our parents are very impressionable forces in our lives. But you must live your life now. You owe it to yourself to try.”

  After she tempered her emotions, Margo said, “I suppose you’re right. I am going to make a serious effort to try. I just don’t know how. Or where to begin.”

  “This is a beginning. Just talking about it. Now you have to give it a try.”

  “I will,” Margo said, placing the crumbled tissue aside. “Look, there’s another thing I could not let him in on. I have a professional friend named Chuck who has connections in the DC area. He’s one of the newspaper’s top journalists. When he told me that he was heading up to DC for a couple of weeks, I couldn’t resist asking him to look into this Charlotte Chase woman, the one who’s fixated with Ma’Kentu.

  “When I saw Chuck at the concert in Jacksonville, he took me aside and told me something revealing. Charlotte is a successful businesswoman, as Ma’Kentu had said. She runs several aerobic centers in the DC area. But Chuck also told me that Charlotte was once very popular topless nightclub dancer. Ma’Kentu never told me this. But if you saw her you could see why she was so popular with Ma’Kentu, and I’m sure a few others. He had to know this, though.”

  “She sounds like an obviously knockout,” D’Sandra said, removing her shades to spy a flock of seagulls, as they executed a low-level fly by.

  “Knockout is not the word,” Margo injected. “The woman oozes sexuality. If she wore anything less revealing than what she’s use to wearing she’d get arrested for indecent exposure.”

  “I get your drift,” D’Sandra murmured, squinting from the brief appearance of the sun. “So you still think she’s carrying a torch for Ma’Kentu.”

  “I know she is. She definitely wants him back. But what should I do? Especially, now that I know he prefers women who come on like whores in the bedroom.”

  “Margo, your man just enjoys lingerie-clad women,” D’Sandra corrected her friend. “Please don’t continue to confuse the two. Look, I have an aunt who has a closet full of lingerie. And she’s married to a man twelve years her senior, to boot.”

  “And that’s to say?” Margo murmured.

  “Well, my aunt’s husband is a preacher man.”

  The two burst into laughter.

  “Look, on the serious side. If you love him and want to keep him, Margo, you might consider being as much of a woman as the one trying to lure him away from you. Go ahead, wear the sexy attire at the next opportunity you get and make your man happy. And keep him satisfied. If you keep him satisfied, especially in the bedroom, it’s going to be very hard for another woman to take him away.”

  “You’re right. Thanks, D’Sandra. I knew I could always count on your support and understanding.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” D’Sandra replied, wearing a bright smile.

  Sitting on the floor, his mood solemn, Ma’Kentu strummed a few chords on his new acoustical guitar. He hoped it just might ease some of the apprehension he felt growing inside him. He had not gotten over Margo’s stance on nightwear. However, he realized if he was going to advance a relationship with her, he would have to get over it

  “Honey,” Margo called out from the bedroom but he appeared not to hear her as he continued playing his guitar.

  “Honey!” she repeated, walking into the area where he sat on the soft-carpeted floor.

  Setting his guitar down, he turned and faced her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  “Would you like something for dessert? Angel cake? Bread pudding made with rum? Ice cream, perhaps?”

  With a broad smile, he answered, “Not right now. But thanks!” With that he resumed his guitar playing.

  Returning to her bedroom, she paused, then glanced at the once wrapped gift box on the wicker chair. A thousand thoughts flowed through her mind during that pause. Wearing a pinched expression on her face, she slowly, almost cautiously, approached the box. One would have thought she was a prisoner embarking on a long walk to the gas chamber to die. Taking the lid off it, she moved the tissue-wrap aside and gazed at the sexy lingerie inside. Picking the nightwear up to inspect, she turned her attention to the door and listened to th
e music that was being strummed on the guitar. It was a romantic piece. The moment seemed right.

  After a second, she returned her gaze to the lingerie, now draped over her hands. Drawing it close to her body, she struggled with the decision to put it on. Though the moment seemed right she searched her soul for a response. “Naah,” she finally murmured, shaking her head. Once again, she decided this just was not for her. Walking over to the wall mirror, she gazed numbly into it. As her eyes blinked rapidly, she pondered who she really was, and whether or not she would ever be the complete woman she had envisioned herself to be.

  Walking into the den, she crossed her legs and sat down beside him. As he played his guitar, he gazed into her sparkling green eyes and offered her a warm inviting smile. In a short while his musical serenade came to a halt.

  “Look, I’m going to call it a night, Margo,” he said, rising up. “I’ve got that early morning flight to catch, remember?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, dryly, rising up too. She then walked across the room. “I really wished you could stay longer, honey.”

  “So do I,” he murmured in a low husky voice. “Look, I’ll return the lingerie since you have no obvious use for them.” She was lowering the wooden blinds when she heard this. Pausing, she turned to face him. “No. Please, that won’t be necessary. I will hold onto them, for now.”

  “For now,” he echoed softly. “That’s fine with me. If that’s what you want to do.”

  There was a pause.

  “Well, I guess we ought to be heading off to bed,” she suggested more than stating. Taking his large hand into her hand, the thought was to lead him into the bedroom but he did not budge. Surprised, she said, “I thought you said you were going to call it a day?”

  “I am. I just want to lie on the sofa, for a short while, and listen as the waves splashing across the beachfront. I just got some things on my mind, right now.”

  After a long thought, she said, “Okay, if that’s what you want to do. But you can hear the waves splashing from the bedroom, just as well.”

  “I’ll be there to join you in a while,” he promised, stretching out across the vast sofa, his hands clasped behind his head, his sock-clad feet protruding off the edge of the sofa.

  Feeling slightly rejected she headed off to bed. Patiently she waited for her lover to come join her. Thirty minutes later he had yet to enter into the bedroom. Going into the den, she found him in a deep sleep. Lowering her lips to his, she kissed him lightly, then covered him with a blanket she had brought from the bedroom. Torn with guilt, and a sense of abandonment, she returned to her empty bedroom where she cried herself to sleep.

  Four o’clock in the morning came suddenly. Too suddenly for Ma’Kentu, who had been awakened by Margo seconds earlier. He rubbed his eyes then yawned. “Damn, it’s four already?”

  “Twelve minutes pass four, to be exact,” Margo answered, standing next to him wearing a long robe.

  “Oh, it’s far too early for this,” he grumbled.

  “Sleep well?” she asked, regarding him closely.

  “Not really. You know I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that,” he said apologetically.

  “That’s alright. Care for some espresso?”

  Rising up, he shrugged at first, then after giving it some thought, said, “Sure, why not?”

  “Okay,” she replied, adding, “By the way, I could have used your warmth last night.”

  This time it was Ma’Kentu whose face registered guilt.

  After a hot country breakfast of grilled sausage, hominy grits and scrambled eggs, along with hot buttermilk biscuits, the two loaded the car with his belongings and drove north on Interstate 95 to the airport in Jacksonville. It was a solemn ride. Neither seemed to have much to say to the other. Inside, both were hurting deeply.

  At the airport, the two collected his belongings from the trunk of the car. Both appeared oblivious to the sights and sounds of passing motorists and pedestrians entering and exiting the terminal, as they stood with their eyes glued to one another.

  “Well, I guess I ought to head inside now,” he said, with sadness in his tone.

  “If you must,” she quipped, with trembling lips.

  “Look, leaving you is not something I want to get used to doing, Margo,” he said, nearing her. Placing his hands on her shoulder, he gazed down into her serene face, as if he was about to kiss her.

  Tense from anticipation, and from his close proximity, she felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting. His gaze was so intense and passionate that it caused her rapid breathing to become more pronounced. Inside, she longed to touch her tender lips to his. She was certain her eagerness was evident to Ma’Kentu. But she knew she had to remain unmoved. She wanted him to make the first move. After several long seconds passed without him making a move on her, she pulled away. Bending down she retrieved one of his carry-on bags. “Look, you don’t want to miss your flight.”

  “Yeah, I guess oughta get going,” he replied, flatly.

  Still, no heartwarming, show-stopping, Hollywood romantic kiss. Obviously dishearten, she turned and began to walk towards the glass doors of the vast terminal.

  Reaching down, a sullen Ma’Kentu took two small tote bags in hand, and his guitar case, and looked out over the car at her, and wondered if he was making the mistake of his life. This was the woman he loved, and was about to leave for a few weeks and he had not held her in his arms since early the day before. This was not how he had envisioned their final moments together.

  Solemnly, he studied her as she walked away, her head low. Dammit Ma’Kentu! He thought. With a heavy heart he sprung to life and started behind her. “Wait! Margo!” Quickening his pace he caught up to her. When she turned and faced him he could see that her eyes were moist with tears.

  Dropping his luggage, he rushed into her arms and pressed her open lips to his. For a moment the two stood locked in their embrace, savoring the heady sensation their kiss brought them. Coming up for air, and with supplication in his voice, he said, “Look, I know yesterday was not as spectacular as it could have been. And I know I’ve been distant with you. But I felt rejected. And I apologize.”

  “No, it’s entirely my fault, honey,” she murmured, kissing him repeatedly about the face. “I was such a prune for not fully appreciating the lovely gift you bought me.”

  “That’s alright,” he said, kissing her back. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I love you. That’s all that matters.” The look of love in her eyes, along with her spicy scent, combined to intoxicate him. Too bad they had not discussed this back at her place, both thought. They could take things but so far here, at the airport.

  “Look, I just need to accept certain realities about my past. That’s all,” she uttered. “I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying. God, I’m going to miss you.”

  “I miss you already,” he said, rocking her in his gentle embrace. “Well, I have to go. Like you said, I don’t want to miss my flight. I’ll call you when I get to Indiana. Okay!”

  “Alright, darling,” she tossed back, softly. “I want you to finish that CD, okay! I’m already looking forward to this year’s Grammy Awards. I got a feeling your Bassment Deep CD will make it to the top.”

  “Baby, I’m counting on it.”

  Crushing her lips with his, one final time, he tore his gaze away and headed into the airport terminal. For one undistracted second he wondered what she meant when she mumbled something about accepting certain realities about her past. But before he could toss it around in his head there was a final call for passengers on his flight to board the plane.

  Chapter 13

  A scruffy looking stray dog eyeballed Ma’Kentu as he neared the studio entrance. And though he did not care for stray dogs, especially stray dogs that eyeballed him, this mix-breed appeared non-threatening. Besides, he was in a good mood today. With a warm smile, he sat his bass guitar case down, crouched low on one knee, then called out to the dog, inviting him to come closer. Hesitant, at first, the
dog eventually lowered its head then approached him with blind trust, his tail wagging wildly. “Good girl! Good girl,” he said to the animal.

  Rising up, he withdrew a pack of cheese-filled crackers from his overcoat pocket and opened it. Holding the cracker in hand, he extended it downward and watched as the canine grabbed it in its jaw and devoured it. He offered the hungry animal another cracker, then petted him on the head lightly. At that very moment an attractive woman, who was dressed provocatively, walked by him. Tossing an inquisitive stare his way, though only briefly, she took it back from him and continued her walk. He could not help but notice her. She had a shapely pair of legs and a body to die for. She was definitely the type of woman who was into sexy lingerie, he believed. If only Margo was.

  Turning, he entered the recording studio.

  Closing the door behind him he heard the sound of instruments tuning up for the recording session that was about to take place. Once inside the sound room, he was bombarded with spirited greetings from his band members, most who had not seen him for nearly a week. It was great to be back in the studio with the guys and he told them so.

  Setting his guitar case down, he headed back outside to his van to retrieve his string bass. Passing the stray, for the second time, he rubbed her ears lightly, retrieved his instrument, and then headed back into the building. Dogs. Still man’s best friend, he mused.

  Over the next six hours the band laid down tracks to three original songs and rehearsed Ma’Kentu’s newest composition, Bassment Deep, a jazzy love ballad featuring Johnny Woo on keyboard, Al on trumpet, and Little Maceo on alto sax. Before calling it a day, he briefed the members on their grueling tour schedule, a tour they were scheduled to leave on the following day. They would open there, in Indianapolis, then travel up to Chicago for a two-night show, then head down to St. Louis, for a one nighter. Memphis was next, for a two-night performance. The tour would end in the birthplace of jazz, New Orleans. A flight to Los Angeles would cap things off. There, they were scheduled to perform in the nationally televised Grammy Awards ceremony, with the chance to take home a Grammy or two themselves.