This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad

by Ngontang Mba, Danielle-Claude

  “When was the last time you guys spent a night apart?”

  I’m drawing a blank, but I’m sure we had. It’s not like we’re having sex every day. I shrug.

  “Was he here last night?”

  I nod and smile. I’m so guilty. Marcus thought it would be romantic to serenade me with Belinda, my guitar. Cat Steven’s “Wild World” never sounded so good.

  “So, what? He sneaked out this morning to go who-knows-where before we got here?”

  “No. He left after having breakfast with B and me. He’s with John watching football at their favorite pub,” I giggle back.

  She excitedly points her fingers at me. “Ah ha! You have a boyfriend,” she giggles.

  “You think? He sang to me last night with Belinda,” I say, giggling again. I can’t shake the smile off my face. We’re fifteen year old teenagers all over again and we’re stuck in Giggletown – population 2.

  “You let him touch and play your precious guitar? Oh, sweetie, you have a boyfriend and you’re in love.” She hugs me, “I’m obviously the first to know. Things are right the world again!” she giggle in triumph. That’s right she’s still in Giggletown.

  I left. “Yes you are,” I let out in complete shock. What the hell, Noor!

  Noor’s revelation stayed with me during the luncheon. Am I really in love? That was not the plan. We didn’t have a plan. Maybe we should have had a plan. Nobody has been allowed to play Belinda other than Papa eighteen years ago. It was his last birthday’s gift. He thought the guitar would suit my personality better than the violin. As well-bred English girls, we had all learnt how to play an instrument. Axelle chose the violin, Noor wanted to be like her older sister and I wanted to be like mine. But Papa was right; the guitar was much better and really started my love story with music. And so the legend of Lucita and Belinda was born.

  In two days, Monday 3rd August, this civil holiday would have been his fifty-fifth birthday. We’re having our annual birthday celebration at Axelle’s. Beesly, John and Marcus have been invited. The usual guests will be here: Lloyd, Callia, Kathie, but Greg won’t be present this year; he has already left for his big world tour. But our Tata Céline, Papa’s younger sister, has already arrived in Toronto and is staying with Axelle.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, I join Beesly in the living room. She has cleaned up the balcony. Noor conveniently left with her instructors and friends for some wedding emergencies, leaving Beesly and I alone to do the dirty work. So typical of her! Beesly didn’t complain; she just started cleaning up, sweeping and dusting as soon as Noor left. One of many things I like about Beesly is that she doesn’t complain; her husband is a British dick but she loves him anyway. Her obsession with Lady Gaga is a close second on my list. They’re both from Italian backgrounds. Beesly March was once Elizabetta Fiori, born and raised in Chicago in a strict Catholic family. I also love our shared appreciation for theme movie marathons; since I moved out from Axelle’s house I haven’t been able to have a real decent movie night marathon. But “My Favorite Thing”, if I may quote one of Beesly’s treasured movies, is her kindness.

  I sit next to her on the sofa. “I see you’ve started our Jane Austen marathon without me,” I tell her, seeing the opening credits of Sense and Sensibility playing.

  “It’s my favorite,” she says, pausing the movie. “Kate Winslet is so adorable in it. I’m a sucker for happy ending.” She looks at me and laughs. “We will watch Pride and Prejudice after. Promise.”

  “The Keira Knightley one or the Colin Firth one?”

  “Keira’s. And we still have Emma and Mansfield Park to watch.” She starts the movie again.

  I cut us a piece of my raspberry tart to go with our coffee.

  “B? Are Marcus and I a couple?” I ask her as casually as I can.

  “What do you mean? He’s your boyfriend isn’t he?” She takes a bite and hums.

  “That’s what Noor said but Marcus and I have never had that discussion. It has only been two months. it’s too early. Right?”

  “Don’t look at me; I married Matt four months after meeting him. Six years later, I’m still in love,” she says, batting her eyelashes at me.

  “You guys were kids. Marcus and I are not. But I like him, I really, really do,” I tell her. I still need to work on the “in love” part.

  “I know you do and the two of you are so good together. When you’re working, dancing at parties or just smooching on the couch.” She smiles at me and drinks some coffee, “Even when you decide to play the guitar around midnight. The first months; I miss that,” she adds.

  “But what happens next?” I ask, more to myself than Beesly.

  “First of all, it all started on your birthday four months ago, not two. Don’t you forget that or let him forget. Also, he keeps coming back to you; when was the last time you had a night off, so to speak?” she asks, knowing the answer, being my roommate and all.

  Why do they keep asking that? Do I even want a night away from him? Once again I shrug.

  “There you go! You’re beaming, Luce, and you stopped stress-baking. My first month here, I really thought that you were moonlighting as a baker somewhere.”

  “I know…and I know,” I say, laughing with her.

  “And I’ve known Marcus for six years and I’ve never seen him so smitten, relaxed and happy. I’m so psyched for you guys!”

  “Really?” I feel much better now. I’ll talk to Marcus.

  “Yes, really. Especially since the end of his engagement with Mary Gillis,” she tells me with a smile. A big innocent smile…

  Marcus was engaged? To The famous singer? “What?”

  “Yes, his old muse. They were all at RAM together, but I’m sure he told you all about it,” she continues with a comforting smile. A big comforting innocent smile…

  “Sure. When was the breakup?” I lie and probe.

  “Which one? The engagement or the off-and-on madness?”

  How about the one that would devastate me the least, Beesly? The one thing I don’t like about her is her way of announcing bad news like it’s good news. I turn my attention back to the movie. Marianne Dashwood and I have a lot in common right now. But unlike her, for the first time in weeks, I’m in need of a night off.

  Marcus – The Second Verse

  “All I want to do now is take a warm shower,” Lucia says before heading to my en suite. She could have just taken hers with me ten minutes ago, but I didn’t say anything.

  Today has been a long one for all of us, especially the Mpobo-Riddells. Lucia was already there when we arrived around 1.00 p.m. with Beesly. She rung me on Saturday night to ask me to pick her up…Monday afternoon. I did wonder why this couldn’t wait until Sunday but didn’t press the matter. I also didn’t come by that night, something in her voice…and she sort of told me not to – too many things to do before the celebration. I wasn’t sure what to expect and as usual, the ladies didn’t disappoint. Axelle and Paul’s house, or should I call it a mansion, was simply gorgeous. They entertained us outside, under the gazebo, next the gigantic pool. Lucia was at the barbecue, in a sport bikini and holding a red-headed toddler. Mitch was the spitting image of Paul and very protecting of his Atalu. There was enough food to feed one hundred people; Axelle and Noor don’t really cook so only Lucia and their aunt contributed; the others catered.

  It was a very moving day. I caught Lucia’s sad eyes a few times, but the moment was always followed by a reassuring smile. Anecdotes were shared, like the one explaining the origin of Lucia and Noor’s names. Axel Mpobo’s favorite folk band was Accaba, as in Lucia and Nooradine Accaba. They were convinced that Noor was going to be a boy, so they named her after the lead male singer. And Lucia was named after his wife; I thought it explained their borderline unhealthy co-dependency. There were a lot of laughs and a few cries. I got to meet Charisma and Lloyd’s three children. Their oldest, Bonnie, is almost twelve and a real flirt; her parents would have their hands full in a couple of years. And there was
little Annie Anderson with the Riddell trademark, big, grey eyes, and the nose just like her mother and aunts. Before we took off, Paul set me aside to have chat. He was the only one doing the talking; I was more worried about Lucia and the distance she had been emotionally and physically putting between us today.

  “It might be a bit premature, but after today I have to welcome you into our family,” Paul said to me with a reassuring smile.

  “Thank you,” I answered, not sure what else to tell him.

  “I’m not an idiot; I know you’re not there yet. I’ve been part of this peculiar clan for almost twenty years. The most rewarding thing in my life. It brought the most beautiful wife and two amazing children. But the thing is, with the sisters, they’re a package deal. You might be in love with one, but you will love all three of them. They will take over,” Paul continued.

  “Take over?”

  “Your life, your goals, your expectations, your priorities. They will become your whole world. But in the good way. Scary, right?”

  “Yes…” Not the thing to say.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get it…or not. They’re quite addictive those girls.” He gently patted me on the back. I believe I will, but will I accept it?

  Lucia comes in the room wearing only a towel, her hair still wet and those sad eyes. Addictive, he said… I try to softly kiss the pain away but she has another agenda. She drops the towel and pushes me on the bed. So much focus in her eyes, so much passion in her kisses.

  “I’ve missed you too, Luce –” I attempt to say but she doesn’t let me. Got it! No talking! She hops and positions herself on top of me. “I see where this is going.” I take my boxers off. I let her lead…this time. Her hands and mouth are all over my upper body. But there’s nothing tender about this; she’s scratching and biting me. Not that I’m not enjoying it because I am, but it seems so out of character. Are we having angry sex? I catch her face and get her to look at me. “Luce, are you alright?” No response. I kiss her gently, my poor Lucita. “I’ll take care of –” Again to talking, I surrender. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

  I pull her head back; if it’s angry that she wants then angry she will get. I quickly roll and put her on her back. I trail my tongue from her neck to down her breasts, her full, luscious breasts, and take one in my mouth – vanilla and cocoa butter. I taste the second one. Lucia is moaning something but my brain is now completely shut off. I need to be inside her. As if she is listening my thoughts, she brings me even closer and spreads her legs even wider.

  “Marcus…” she clearly moans this time.

  “I’m here, Luce,” I say, putting a rubber on as fast as I possibly can before entering her. God, I’m in heaven. I really need to get used to this feeling, this addictive warmth and heat I feel every time I’m inside her. I know that at some point I may also have to give it up, but not right now.

  Lucia closes her eyes when I start moving. Her hands are running, scratching along my torso to my hair and she brings me down for a kiss: one of those steamy Lucia’s kisses that nearly makes me come and she knows it, that wicked sexy…

  “Luce, what are you doing to me?” I completely lose control.

  “Marcus…Marcus...Mar…” she screams, her body clenching to mine.

  “Luce!” I scream back, doing a couple of thrusts before lowering my face down to hers for a kiss. “Luce!” I scream again, trembling, feeling my release all through my body.

  I quietly lie on top of her, my head resting between her neck and shoulder, our bodies still locked together. “You’re incredible…so incredible,” I whisper in her ear. She kisses my sweaty forehead and starts to move me inside her again. Once again, I surrender. When was I ever able to resist her?

  Where is she? I sit up on my bed. “Luce?” I’m looking at the bathroom door. No response. I check the time. It’s 4.00 a.m. Maybe she’s not feeling better; I should check up on her. I get up and knock on the door. Still no response. I open the door. “Luce, are you in there?” The light is on but there is no one. I notice my reflection in the mirror. I have scratches on my back and chest. They’re itching me. She did a real number on me. Three times. I put a shirt on before leaving my room. Maybe she’s in the kitchen, stress-baking again. Nella and John should be so lucky.

  I find her in the living room, sitting on one of the sofa. I think she’s reading a book. But why this late or early in the morning? Also, she’s fully clothed and has French bread. The last time I saw her her hair was all over her face and she was sound asleep.

  “Honey, what are you doing?” I ask her.

  “John was nice enough to tell me where he keeps his photo albums.” Lucia’s so calm, it’s almost spooky. She’s not even raising her head. “Marcus, you’ve been in need of a haircut for more than a decade.”

  “Lucia, you’re freaking me out,” I tells and get closer. She finally looks up. There are those sad eyes again. Poor honey. I lean down in front of her. “Let’s go back to bed,” I say.

  “Mary hasn’t changed at all since The RAM,” she says, looking at me. She points out a picture of Mary and me. “I particularly like this one. You didn’t cheap out on the engagement ring, I’ve got to give you that. But nothing was too good for your muse, right?”

  Fuck! How didn’t I see this one coming? “Luce. This is –”

  “Every song she has ever sung, you wrote. Wow, you must have been one hell of a couple,” she adds so calmly. No scene, no screaming, just plain sadness.

  “I was going to tell you about it, about her. That was years ago and –” I stop when I notice her overnight bag by the door. “You packed? Luce, did you come here to break up with me?”

  “Why? Are we even a couple, Marcus? Because, to tell you the truth, until two days ago I didn’t know what the heck we were.”

  Two days? Beesly! This was never about her dad.

  “I don’t know, Luce. This is new. Mary and I… It’s complicated. A lot of history.” I know I sound like daft prick and she knows it too.

  “You’re right. So let’s cut our losses then. I don’t do complicated. I prefer kicking my close friends out of my recording sessions to accommodate your jealousy. But that’s just me.” she gets up and put the albums back.

  It can’t just end like this. I grab her arm and kiss her hand. “Let’s just go back to bed, Luce. You’ve been waiting for me to come out and talk. We’ll talk…in the morning.”

  “About what? About the complications? The fact that you were engaged? The on-and-off relationship? Where do I fit in it?” She kisses me. “Obviously, I don’t. Otherwise you would have told me because we’ve pretty much shared everything else but that…but her.” She puts her shoes on and heads towards the door.

  I really want to say something or apologize but nothing is coming out. I’m just looking at her leaving me. “Don’t go…” Don’t go? Well done, mate!

  “Why?”

  “Don’t want you to. Luce, you just can’t…okay.”

  “How fast, Marcus?” she asks.

  “Don’t go there,” I warn her. Nothing good would come out of this.

  “Last year? A nice New Year shag? Valentine’s Day blues?” she asks again.

  “Does it matter?”

  She looks at me straight in the eyes and I spinelessly look away.

  “Marcus…no… Not the same week. What was it? A quickie before hopping on a plane to come here?”

  “Luce, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me!” she says, losing her cool for the first time. “And you knew it would… We’re not a couple… You and Mary are.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “But that’s not exactly wrong,” she bites back.

  How the bloody hell did we get here? A few hours ago we were in my bed having…wild, passionate, earth-shattering…break-up sex. I let her pass.

  “I’ll see you back at the studio,” she says before leaving.

  I’ve spent the past couple of days staring at my mobile and have almos
t rung her a thousand times. I even drove in front of her building several times. But what good would have come out of all this? Maybe she would have shown up to work today. We have been waiting for her for the past hour. Matt is back from New York and after three days away from Noël-Sarrow, we are all more than ready to finish Second Coming – except Lucia. Beesly keeps saying that she should be here soon; she had an important appointment today. What could be more important than this?

  “Hello, everyone! I’m sorry for being late,” she saying entering the small meeting room. She’s wearing her thin, green glasses. “The doctor said that until my eye is better I have to wear them,” she adds with a smile and sits next to Beesly.

  “And you look so cute with them on,” Beesly tells her.

  Lucia smiles back. Her hair is another big change; she traded her curls for small, sleek cornrows with silver beads.

  “What?” she asks me, noticing my look.

  “Nothing. Your hair looks…different,” I carefully say. She looks beautiful as usual. Even more so today.

  “Thanks. Beesly’s hair stylist experimented on me. I wake up with my hair already done. What a time saver!”

  “You look very ethnic and sexy-smart, Lucita,” Tonio says across the table. Lucia blushes and grins.

  I’m still waiting for this meeting to start. We have less than three weeks left and three songs to record before the big presentation. Everybody – Lee, Tonio, Beesly and even the always-vocal Matt – were strangely quiet before Lucia’s arrival.

  “So, shall we start? We have a lot to cover and hopefully we can come up with the three last songs.”

  “Done, done and done, Marcus!” She opens a file and slides a few sheets my way. She seems very excited.

  “What do you mean by ‘done’?” I ask. We’re the creative team. She can’t just make all the decisions. Or can she? I turn to Matt and he seems to be eating her words.

  “Check it out,” she says.