“Hi Beesly. I’m great. My time off was amazing. Thank you for the hook-ups in Miami. I shopped until I dropped…then shopped some more,” I say.
“I can see that. You look wonderful and well rested.” She gives me a quick hug and backs away. “That dress…is it?
Michael Kors fall/winter collection? You betcha! “Yes!” I say, laughing, “Thank you again.” I take the demos out of my bag. “I have a couple of songs for you guys.”
Beesly takes my hand and sits me down. “Listen, Lucia, I wanted to see you before the meeting.” She lowers her eyes. “About Marcus…” She looks back. “I’m sorry. I should have said no to Matt. But you know how it is.”
I can’t believe she just did that. “Beesly, it’s okay, but thank you,” I sincerely tell her. “This means a lot.” I squeeze her hand. “Soul Sister,” I add. We both laugh then I play the demos for her. She’s moving her head with the music, smiling and even singing a little. I have to say I’m very nervous and I’m happy she’s the first one hearing them. She adjusts her dress (no hidden bandage. I guess it’s just a particular fashion statement).
“So?” I ask when the songs end. “Bear in mind that I’m not a singer like you, it’s just a rough arrangement.”
“That was you?” Beesly asks surprised. “I like them! And I’m known to be the picky one.” Don’t I know it! “The guys from the band did mention your voice. But you have an amazing one. I would love to use you as backup.”
“Thank you but no. My sisters are the ones on stage not me.” I check at the time.
“Not anymore anyway,” she teases.
I grin back. Sometimes Beesly acts like she knows more than she lets on.
“B – can I call you B? What do you know about my life? Apart from Belinda, the G Band and a few singers’ crushes.”
“I like B,” she chuckles. “From now on I’m B.” She looks at me with great intensity and totally freaks me out. “You can pretty much play any string instrument, but guitar and violin are your favorite. Violin for your mom and guitar for your dad; your father passed away when you were eight from an explosion in the lab he was working at. And I’m sorry about that. I’m also sorry about your mother, skipping out on you four years later,” she says without catching a breath.
“You do know things about me. Do Matt and Marcus know?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. All in due time. I know your sister, Axelle, raised you and was the reason why you were on tour with all those musicians over the years. I know you’re an amazing artist and an even greater person. I know you won’t let my husband bully you and you won’t let Marcus take over.”
I gaze back at her. She’s much smarter and sweeter that I initially thought. A potential soul sister indeed.
Axelle used to tour with Callia (once Charisma) before settling down in Toronto. And Noor was part of the best North American dance troop before opening her own dance school. But I’m the one our mother abandoned before I even hit puberty, before I even knew if I wanted to become a dancer or a musician.
“But still,” I tell her with a sincere and happy smile. “No more spotlight for me. My teen years cured me of any craving.”
It turned out that Beesly had actually gone rogue. She came on her own from Soho Hotel to talk to me. Marcus and Matt arrive a little later and we all end up in fifth floor’s meeting room.
“Hi, Lucia,” Marcus cordially says. Is he actually looking at me this way? Smug smile and a bit of flirtatious look.
I take a seat, holding my demo CD. Matt kisses Beesly on the cheek and waves at me. What a class act!
“Good morning, Marcus, Matt. Always a pleasure.” I smile back to both of them.
Callia and Lloyd join us soon after. Let the party begin!
“Anybody want something to drink?” Kathie asks.
“I’ll have a tea with one of those delicious pastries…that I did not bake,” I answer. The rest of the room declines the offer.
Kathie comes to me with my tea and an apple Danish. “Manyeo[4],” she murmurs to me with a smile, in Korean.
Her brother Greg taught me Korean when we were dance partners – fine, I’m a witch!
“Manyeo yourself,” I murmur back.
“You’re welcome.” she looks back and heads to the door. “Jeulgeoun sigan doeseyo[5]!!!”
“What did she say?” Matt and Beesly ask at the same time.
“Have fun,” Marcus and I respond at the same time. Interesting!
I take a bite of my Danish, ready to enjoy the show and I can feel Marcus’ eyes on me. Yes, Mr Grant, I’m nervous no more, but I still don’t want to stare into your deep-green eyes.
“Thank you all for being here.” Callia says. “This shouldn’t take too long. We have a lot to do and not such a long time.” She points out Marcus and me. “Now that our creative team has been assembled, we can lay out the terms.”
I take a quick peek at Marcus and he looks surprise. Poor Grant the Grand; he hasn’t heard the best part yet. I sip my tea. It’s chamomile tea; good for your nerves. Somebody is going to need it.
Lloyd takes over, “Matt and I have been discussing this and we think it’s a great concept.”
I look at Beesly sitting next to Matt and wonder if she knows about that new concept.
“Twenty songs,” Lloyd announces. “For the entire album.”
And there it was. I look at Beesly again. Who’s the witch now? That sneaky B knew. And Marcus? He’s livid. I keep eating my Danish.
“And only original songs,” Matt announces, all exited. “No remake. It will be the album of the year!” He actually looks at Marcus and I while saying it. And his mate; he looks like he’s about to punch him. “We’re thinking an early fall release. Too late for next year’s Grammy nominations, but it gives us a whole year to drop single after single.”
Marcus looks my way with complete disbelief.
I raise up my tea cup. “hwan-yeonghabnida[6],” I mouth. I almost fell off my chair when Kathie told me the news yesterday. I should really get him a cup of tea.
“What?” he mouths back, and then, “This wasn’t the agreement. Ten to twelve songs. And the album was for next spring.” He turns to Matt. “Mate?” he asks him.
I get up for another Danish. Poor Marcus; why can’t he just get out of this? That’s right, he signed a contract. Welcome to show business!
“Six months to write, compose and produce twenty original songs. That means we have to write about a hundred of them! I have an engagement in Dublin, Matt, and you knew that!”
“I’m sure we can make this work. October first is still far away. Lucia is still the lead and has been pulled off any other projects for the time being,” Callia says.
They all turn to me as I’m pouring myself more tea. Time to razzle dazzle them. I put a reassuring smile on and sit. Who got played now, Just Marcus? Matt is a dickhead and screwed us both. Deal with it!
“I listened to two demos this morning. Lucia did a great job.” Beesly smiles like a proud mother. She walks over to them with my CD.
“Thank you, Beesly,” I say, finishing my second Danish.
“I thought you lost your voice,” Marcus tells me.
“I just had nothing to say,” I tell him.
He gently grabs my arm and takes me away from the group. “How long have you known?” he whispers then lets go of my arms.
“You mean that that friend of yours didn’t share his own concept?” I whisper back, caressing my arm. “It sucks doesn’t it? But don’t worry; this is far from over,” I smirk and quickly walk away from him.
“Really, Lucia? This is how you’re going to play this one out?” he asks.
“I guess so.” Yes, Marcus. Eat your humble pie. I ate a whole bakery worth yesterday. “Callia, is that my gift I see in the corner?”
“Yes, honey. Come and get it.”
I pick up my huge gift box and glance at Marcus one last time. I feel almost bad for him – almost.
Marcus – The Cho
rus
I check my watch for the fourth time. Lucia is late. We were supposed to be auditioning for backup singers an hour ago but she never showed. Not that she hasn’t been acting like a total professional, if I’m not including today, but we don’t really talk. Correction: Lucia is not talking to me – like today. Where the bloody hell is she? She could at least have left me a message or returned all the ones I’ve left her. So, I find myself alone in the recording studio and so far only one singer has come for the audition. We were expecting at least twenty for today alone.
These four past weeks have been, for lack of a better word, hell. I’ve tried to convince Matt to lower the amount of tracks for their album but had no success. We need to record at least three songs each month to meet the deadline of 1st October . We’re four weeks in and already behind schedule with only two confirmed songs. And neither of them were mine. The title song Lucia wrote was chosen right away by the band. After I completely changed the melody with Lee and rearranged orders of the vocals, we all agreed that it would be a great first single. We were off to a great start! Matt was beaming with pride because he got me here, Beesly was happy because Matt was happy and Lucia was hurt because, and I quote, “I changed her song to make it a gimmicky European pop ballad”. I didn’t care; all I could think was that it would be a quick job after all. One week, one song down. And what a hypocrite – she loves Georges Michael! But it all went ape shit after that.
It started with Lucia, who apparently took a vow of silence, in my presence only I might add. She was more than vocal when it came to anyone else. She has been telling Matt to go to hell more times that I can count, and negotiated the deal with the famous G band’s musicians to come and record with album with us. I still can’t believe she booked them; I’ve tried for years but they’re always too busy. But G band comes with a price at least for me. Lucia wanted to make some sort of acoustic album. I didn’t – one of many reasons I don’t pair up when I work; I don’t like to consult with anyone, especially another producer. Lucia didn’t want to do my style of music at all. She would show up on time to our brainstorming sessions with one of her guitars. Yes, she plays the guitar and she plays it beautifully. She would always show up with a basket of freshly baked foods, from lemon meringues to chocolate éclairs. I don’t think there’s a dessert she cannot bake. How do people in this building stay thin? She would bring a plate in the room with us and all I could hear was her typing, the music she was listening to or sometimes her playing some notes on her guitar. She called it “research”, European pop research. I called it avoidance and a not very mature attitude. We haven’t been able to clear the air since the meeting and with the G band arriving early next week, we would really need to get our act together. At the end of the sessions, she would actually give me her notes or lyrics. Two weeks of that led to five complete songs, when it could have been ten. But at least we were getting somewhere. That was when Matt got involved and ruined it for all of us. He hated the demos and refused to even try to record them. After a solid week of fighting and skimming in the studio, Lucia got Beesly to record one of her song as a solo. Then it was back to the drawing board but this time on our own; we just sent each other our work when we were ready to meet Lee. Another week and six more songs; Matt came back with the same attitude and intimidated Beesly enough for her not to even consider recording without him again. They (meaning “he”) would consider the songs if the demos were recorded with a better voice. Lucia has been kind enough to do the demos, take after take, change after change, so we can be ready when those two come to town every other week. I had got to give Lucia some credit; she took the abuse and washed it off. Besides, she has an amazing voice. And it fits her acoustic approach, which had been growing on me. Just like her, even with the silent treatment, which has been getting harder and harder to keep up on her side, I’ve been killing with kindness, or at least I thought it was.
So here I am today, auditioning for backup singers that we will also use for demos. An extra cost that would be added to the band’s bill not the Noël-Sarrow’s. Matt wasn’t happy about it, but Lucia was very pleased with herself.
She’s still not here. I check my phone for messages again – nothing. No, wait, my email inbox has something. An email from Lucia sent about an hour ago.
Subject: Today’s audition
Dear Marcus,
I apologize for the late notice but I moved the auditions to this afternoon at three thirty pm and tomorrow. Matt called me out of the blue last night to say that he wanted to be present. They’re flying from LA this morning.
Kind regards,
Lucia Mpobo-Riddell
.
Right. Once again, Matt gets involved. I write back:
Dear Lucia,
I just saw your email. Don’t you think ringing me would have been easier? But I guess it would have involved you actually chatting with me. See you this afternoon.
Are you bringing anything today? I suddenly feel like eating one of your famous apple strudels.
Marcus.
I need a drink and not a cup of tea. It’s our second day of interviewing backup singers and Matt has been driving us mad. None of them are good enough for him and so far we have heard over thirty auditions and have chosen none. Lucia silently keeps putting notes in her laptop. She came with a lemon, poppy-seed muffin basket this morning; not apple strudels, but delicious nonetheless. She’s completely concentrated on her writing from what I can see, her profile. Her hair looks very…youthful today. Two cornrow braids, one of each side, and she’s wearing a simple, black tank top and dark-blue jeans. I can’t help smiling; she’s still wearing my charm bracelet.
The four of us in the studio for the past three hours is starting to take a toll on all of us, except Lucia. Matt’s pretty much stopped listening to the singers; Beesly, so dedicated a couple of hours ago, is now just following Matt’s lead before saying anything. I’m no better; I can’t remember how good or bad the five we heard were.
Lucia presses the button to speak to our thirty-something audition. “Thank you, Mira. We’ll let you know our decision soon,” she tells her. She writes more notes. “I think we need a break,” she adds as the singer lets herself out of booth. “So, Matt, what did you think?” She turns to me. “Marcus?” Then Beesly. “Beesly?”
“Off key, like the others,” Matt says.
“I agree. We need a break,” Beesly, the peacemaker, answers.
“Not sure. Her voice was fine,” I tell Matt. I turn to Lucia. “A break would be fantastic. I don’t think she fits for what we’re working on right now.”
“Yes, I agree,” she tells me with a small smile. That’s a surprise! First smile in a month. She gets up and closes her laptop. “I think we’re done here.”
I spoke too quickly. We can’t be done; we haven’t decided on anyone yet. Matt looks at me. I know this look; it’s the do-something-now look. Beesly looks at Lucia, waiting for the next bomb to drop I’m sure.
“The hell we are!” Matt yells. Not what I would have done. “I haven’t decided on anyone yet,” he adds. Again, not what I would have done.
“Lucia, what’s going on?” I ask her. I know we still have about a dozen singers to see. I come closer. “Are you trying to make our lives even more hellish?” I add, lower.
“That’s yours and Matt’s job not mine,” she whispers. She faces the couple. “Let’s meet in two hours and discuss it further.” She turns to me one last time. “Things always look better on a full stomach.” She opens the door and turns back. “Beesly, you’re coming? I know this great place not far from here,” she says with a bright smile. Beesly happily leaves the room with her. Nicely played Lucia, leaving me with grumpy.
“Okay, Matt, I need a drink and I’m sure you need one as well. So, let’s go.”
“How about two, mate!” he laughs and heads to the exit. “My treat.”
I stop in my tracks. Matt’s generosity is never a good sign. What’s he up to now? We walk to the elevator
together. Matt is texting. Again, he has been doing that quite a bit this morning. He smiles and turns to me as we get inside. “The car is waiting for us downstairs,” he says.
I press the lobby button. “Already?”
“They have been waiting for about twenty minutes,” he says.
They? Who the blood hell are they? “Who’s they?” I ask.
“The car.” He reaches for his ciggies. “And Johnny.”
The elevator opens to the lobby. As soon as we get outside, he lights up. We get in the car and John is right there on his phone.
“Carosa restaurant please,” I tell the driver. “Hi, Johnny.”
“About time you showed up,” John says. He puts the phone in his pocket. “I have a life too.”
“Lucia’s fault, mate! She kept us there for three long hours,” Matt whines. I was wondering how long it would take before we hit that sour subject. I look at Matt; he of course looks very happy with his statement.
“How’s the Cold War going?” John asks me.
“Easier to handle if Matt wasn’t always trying to undercut us,” I tell John.
“Oh, it’s my fault now?” Matt protests.
“Let’s just put it this way, mate. Every time you pull a fast one on Lucia, you’re doing it to me too,” I tell him. “And that’s not right.”
“Not right, mate. Not right at all,” John adds.
Matt doesn’t say another word until we arrive at the restaurant and ask for a table in a private section. We order our food and drink without talking to each other. I’m still a little full from the muffins, but they have the best margarita pizza here. Matt and John share a pitcher of beer; I just need a glass of wine to relax a little. I still have a lot of work waiting for me back at the office.
A woman comes to our table, all smiles and blushing. I know where this is going.
“Hi, Matt. Could I please have your autograph?”
This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad Page 6