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

by Ngontang Mba, Danielle-Claude

  “Marcus…” she whispers, staring at me, her eyes so full of love, our mouths so close to one another.

  “Luce…” I respond. That’s the only thing I can say every time I hear my name in that sexy, pleading tone. Temptress Lucia kisses me, softly at first, teasing me with her tongue, then she just goes for it. It’s deep, it’s wet, it’s messy, it’s just earthshattering. I kiss her chin, her neck goes back to her mouth, take her breasts in my hands. I can hardly breathe or think but I just can’t stop myself. But I do while pushing her hair away from her breasts so I can enjoy them fully.

  “Would you be a dear and take those off?” I ask her, pointing to her knickers.

  “No rest for the wicked I see. Where do you find this energy?” she answers, smiling at me.

  “I’m not sure,” I tease, still waiting for those damn knickers to be removed.

  “I can barely move.” She pushes me away, “Are you trying to break a record?”

  “It’s the last time I promise,” I tell her while kissing her neck. I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep this promise but she doesn’t have to know. “Now, please, the knickers.”

  “Baby, I’m so tired. I need a good shower,” she yawns and stretches her body against mine.

  “A shower would be nice,” I gloat. Forget it, I’ll remove them myself.

  She takes my hand and kisses it before pushing it away. “Alone! I’m starving. How about I cook us some breakfast as well?” she adds, sitting up and retrieving a nightgown.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask her.

  “In my bag.” She points it out. “I went downstairs to pick up my things, which included my infamous knickers.”

  “I see. It is mid-Sunday morning after all.” I look down at those damn panties. “So, are you going to do something about this?” I say.

  “Patrick was here and left for Manchester about ninety minutes ago. He said, he’d call… Do you think he’s going to call me, Marcus? Men always say that but most never do,” she tells me.

  “You’re too much, Luce! And he’d better not call you or –” I say, taking her in my arms.

  “Or what, Marcus?” she asks softly.

  I caress her soft, sweet cheeks while she’s kissing my hands along the way. How can such simple gestures feel so intimate and so natural between us? It keeps amazing me.

  “Or what, Marcus?” she asks again.

  “Oh…I will deal with him,” I tell her. I reach out for her face, her lovely face. “Come here,” I say before kissing her again. “Luce?”

  “What now?” she asks against my lips.

  “I have to be in Paris next Wednesday…in ten days. I can’t promise you anything but I would really like –”

  “I’ll stay with you.” She kisses the tip of my nose. She doesn’t add anything else but her eyes are doing all the talking, the yearning and the longing.

  I can’t promise you anything, Luce, I keep repeating to myself, but I don’t want you to go away. “Thank you for staying.”

  She removes her panties slowly, without breaking eye contact. She reaches for me, her arms and legs embracing me, placing me on top of her.

  “Last time, right? Then you’ll let me rest,” she asks me. Her hands are caressing my back and the back of my head; her feet are caressing my butt.

  “I really, really doubt it, love,” I groan, completely entering her without breaking eye contact and taking all her sweet, wonderful warmth inside of me.

  By the time we made it back to the main floor it was mid-afternoon. After mostly sleeping until 1.00 p.m., Lucia went to take a long shower, alone, in my bathroom, no less. When I tried to follow her she shut the door in my face screaming, “If you even move the handle, I’ll scream blooding rape and you will spend your Sunday afternoon in jail! I’m not battery operated, Marcus!” So I impatiently waited for my turn, which came about an hour later when a completely dressed Lucia emerged from the room brushing her long, straight, wet hair.

  “All yours!” she said with a big smile, wearing her glasses and charm bracelet, no makeup and no shoes.

  “Thanks, lost member of Salt N Pepa,” I told her, laughing. She was wearing baggy jean, short overalls with a fitted, Rolling Stones’ shirt; she looked simply adorable.

  “Bite me!” she said and sat on the bed.

  “So, you can call the coppers on me? Maybe later,” I answered before closing the door behind her. Unlike Luce, a fast, refreshing shower was all I needed, maybe a fast shave too. I just put a sweater on when my mobile rung.

  “Hi, Mum!” I recognized the number. “I was wondering when you would be ringing me.”

  “Hi, Cushion. How was the wedding?”

  “It was great. The bride looked beautiful and the groom and his groomsmen were…well-coordinated,” I laughed. “The ceremony was really moving. She was given away by her younger sister, Lucia.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she said. “About Lucia,” she continued after a small silence. “Patrick told me about her.”

  “And what did Patrick tell you? That weasel!” I asked her, leaving my bedroom for the living room downstairs. I could only imagine. Where did he sleep last night anyway?

  “That he and Sally are getting a divorce,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “That’s what my weasel of the son told me.”

  Who’s the weasel now? “I’m sorry, Mum. Yes, I know; she actually had the papers sent to my home in London.”

  “He’s staying with us. No point going home to an empty house.” I could hear the sadness in her voice and it broke my heart. I never liked Sally but still… “He’s in bad shape, love, and he’s missing the girls.”

  “I bet.” I looked around the main floor, “Luce?” I called as I covering my phone. Where is she? The telly was on and I could smell…food, very good food. She’s in my kitchen.

  “Yes Luce. He told me about her too; and showed me pictures. Are you bringing her this weekend? Your brother is quite taken with her,” she teased.

  “‘Your brother is quite taken with her’,” I mimicked. “Yes, Mum, they really hit it off during the reception. He’s supposed to ring her if I recall correctly.” Patrick! A real pain even though he’s miles away.

  “She looks so much like her mother; they all do. And so beautiful,” Mum adds.

  Didn’t I know! “Hey,” I whispered to Lucia cooking in the kitchen. There was a warm French apple tart cooling off on the counter and a whole chicken roasting in the oven. She did this in one hour? She turned around with a couple of coffee mugs in her hands and handed me one. “Right, Mum. I’ll ask her,” I told her, following her around while preparing…mini eggs benedict?

  “Ask me what?” Lucia was plating. “I can’t believe you had quail eggs in your fridge,” she added, bringing the plate full of delicious eggs benedict into the living-room.

  “About coming with me to Manchester this weekend,” I tell her.

  “Sure! Patrick met my family; I should really meet his. It’s only fair,” she teased and tasted an egg. “Um…orgasmic,” she whispered.

  “Right, Patrick’s family,” I said, tasting an egg as well. “Fantastic!”

  “What?” Mum said over the phone. Oops! I forgot about her for a second.

  “Lucia made mini eggs benedict… Oh and she will be coming this weekend too,” I told her.

  “So Pat was right?” she smirked.

  “Mum…” I warned.

  “Bye, Cushion. Say hi to Lucia,” she said then hung up.

  “My nesting brother redecorated the living room last week,” I explain to her. I sit next to her on the sofa and grab another egg. “He filled up the fridge with all the things you’ve seen in it.”

  “That’s sweet. A full pantry… One of my soft spots is tingling,” she moans and snuggles up to me. She’s watching a Dawson’s Creek marathon. Who am I kidding? We’re both watching it. Who doesn’t love the adventures of the Capeside residents? “How is he? He must be missing his daughters,” she asks, still watching the
telly.

  “He’s sad but with family,” I tell her. It’s nice of her to care. “Do you know where he slept last night?”

  “Yes…” she teases. She’s wearing my socks and is playing with my bare feet. Just a quiet Sunday afternoon, watching the telly and eating her wonderful cooking, just like we used to in Toronto. It still feels as natural now as it did then. “With one my cousins or Andrew’s groomsmen?”

  “Very funny. Patrick would have never done that. Not that your single cousins aren’t lovely,” I tell her.

  “Was that a compliment?” she laughs, “He woke up in the lounge around five or six this morning. Axelle tucked him up.”

  “He had a good time then! How many other people passed out there?” I ask, laughing.

  She gets up and goes to the kitchen. She’s purposely wearing her hair with two, low, long pigtails and is waiting for a reaction from me. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. She comes back with two pieces of pie with fresh, whipped cream.

  “Did I mention how much I love your kitchen? So functional.” She gives me my piece, “I baked this one in twenty minutes and my chicken is ready.”

  “I’m glad you like. I don’t use it much,” I tell her. I’m taking her back in my arms and successfully gain control of the remote, “Mostly Patrick when he’s in town.” There it is: round two of the Guinness Premiership, London Irish versus Gloucester and Newcastle Falcons versus Sale Sharks. “Do you mind?” I ask her. “Not everyone wants to watch the –”

  “English Premiership? Be my guest,” she says with a sincere smile.

  “Really? You like rugby?” I ask her. “If you’re not faking this, that’s the sexiest thing you’ve done to me today and you, my dear, have done a lot of sexy things to me,” I wink.

  “Guinness Premiership, right? It’s the end of the second round. I’ve been watching the games with Granddaddy,” she says and puts our empty plates on the tables. “We’re the thirteenth so…” She completely sits on my lap. “Gloucester won last week against Bath so they’re playing ” – she puts her arms around my neck – “London Irish, who last week lost against Saracens. And those good old Newcastle Falcons are playing too –”

  I shut her up with a kiss. “Please show me some mercy,” I tell her, completely aroused. I kiss her one more time before releasing her. She gets up and takes all the plates away. “You don’t have to do that,” I say, holding her hand. Mary would never clear plates up; she would wait for someone, anyone, else to do it. I can’t remember the last thing she ever cooked for me either. Can she even cook? I bet she hired a nice cook to do it for her great writer boyfriend in their Spanish villa.

  “I don’t mind. You have a dishwasher, Marcus.” She leaves for the kitchen again. I follow her; I know that I just fuck things up. “What do you think about potato terrine with apple and goat’s cheese to eat with the chicken for supper?”

  “That sounds delicious but you don’t have to go to all that trouble.” I stop talking when I catch her face’s expression.

  “I love cooking and I haven’t had the occasion to really do it since I’ve been in London. I’ve missed my kitchen…so I’ll go to ‘all that trouble’ if you don’t mind,” she says very seriously. “Besides, we can’t just live on water and sex,” she adds before going back to the living room.

  Splendid, you idiot; now you’ve done it. I find her on the loveseat, not the sofa, on the phone. Is she leaving me again? Now I sound like a very unsecure schoolboy.

  “What do you mean, Gloucester lost against the London Irish? Are you bloody joking, Granddaddy?” she says on the phone. She completely concentrates on the games and her conversation. “So how much did I lose…? That’s not too bad. Tell Magdalena that I’m still on. Gloucester could still make it to the semi-finals,” she tells him. He must have said something funny because she laughs. “I miss you guys too…I should be home sometime tomorrow.” Our eyes lock and she smiles. “Stop being so dense, Marcus. It’s exhausting,” she whispers to me, covering her phone. “I need to pick up my laptop and a few changes of clothes. Apparently, I look like a famous, nineties, female rapper… Yes, that one!” she tells her granddaddy.

  “I’m sorry,” I mime to her before turning my attention back to the telly. I’ll try my best not to be too much of a dense idiot for the next ten days.

  I lasted three!

  Monday was relatively quiet; we didn’t leave my place. Lucia helped me restore my main floor to its former glory, before Hurricane Patrick. We even moved my instruments back into the music room and I convinced her to leave Belinda there. It was like separating a mother from her offspring.

  “It will be fine, Luce,” I reassured for the fourth time.

  “Why can’t she stay in your room?” she asked me for the fifth time.

  “Because you humanized it; at least in Toronto it stayed in your walking-in closet with the other female-named guitars and violins,” I said more abruptly than I wanted to. “Luce, what I wanted to say –”

  “I’m not used to having her sleeping that far from me.” She’s still holding the case.

  But I just couldn’t let it go. “You never brought her with you when you were staying at John’s,” I said.

  “Wow! That didn’t take long!” she’s putting her guitar in the corner. “I also never let anyone play her. Ever,” she added before leaving the music room.

  Bugger! Why did I keep doing this? I followed her outside. “Are you mad? It’s bloody raining!” I shouted then took my sweater off to protect her. “Come back inside. Belinda can stay with us.”

  “Thanks. Fucking London!” she said with a small laugh. “How about Alfie?” she asked as we’re walking back into the house.

  “Your giant teddy bear? This is a no. I don’t want to share you with it, any of your it,” I told her, caressing her sweet face.

  “Alright then.” She’s quickly taking my hand and leading me toward the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. We were supposed to go pick up a few things for her in Hampstead, but not Alfie.

  “I’m going to take a nap. You said I couldn’t have Alfie with me so…” she teased, walking up the stairs.

  “Lead the way, temptress.” I’m taking her in my arms and carrying her into the bedroom. “No sharing,” I raspingly said and dropped softly on the bed. I took her wet dress off. “God, you’re gorgeous, Luce.” I’m sealing it with a kiss. This week she would be all mine, I kept thinking.

  “No more sharing,” she groaned against my mouth before responding to my kiss.

  We finally went to Hampstead on Tuesday. But not before stopping at a travel agency to change Lucia’s gateway ticket to Greece. She decided to give them to Axelle and Paul. I couldn’t believe she had such an elaborate plan in case Noor turned out to be a runaway bride. She was the one sobbing during the ceremony, the one who gave her away to Andrew, the one who prepared several routines for the reception and the one who cooked those amazing party favors.

  “So you would have been in Greece now if –” I asked her later that day at one of my favorite restaurant in London. I wanted to give her small break from my kitchen and show that I could be a gentleman.

  “If she’d had cold feet,” she said, drinking her wine. She looked simply beautiful in her cream dress. It showed off her smooth, long neck, her soft cleavage and her legs. “And she did,” she said, just like that.

  “Noor?” I saw her this afternoon. She and Andrew would be leaving for Bangui in a couple of days and they looked happy and in love.

  “She did.” She’s looking straight to my eyes. “But she wanted to marry him anyway. Despite the doubts and fears, she said she loved him enough to try,” she confessed. Her hands were shaking and I took one in mine and didn’t let it go. “She has the right to make her own mistakes,” she said with a small smile.

  “Right. I let Patrick make his,” I told her. “He wouldn’t have had his girls today and for that I know he’s grateful.”

  “Did he ha
ve cold feet? That doesn’t sound like Patrick,” she said as she started to eat her main course.

  “Not really; just a bit of fears. He was so young. But like you said, you just have to tough it up and go thought with it,” I told her. Patrick was a bit odd on his wedding day but after a couple of drinks he was ready to go.

  She looked at our hands together. This was supposed to be a romantic supper; we both got all dressed up. Lucia chose my outfit and I chose hers. She traded her overnight bag for a medium carry-on and Alfie. I caved and the teddy is adorable in one of the guestroom.

  “No, Marcus, that’s not what I meant. No one should go through anything they’re not ready to completely commit to. It’s just the rest of their damn life! Noor was ready to get married, no matter what the future may hold for her. I believe Patrick felt the same way.” She was still looking at our hands then bent over the table and gave me a quick kiss. “But I feel for his daughters; little girls searching for their daddy… Don’t I know this feeling.”

  “I know,” I told her. “Let’s talk about something more upbeat, like how you convinced me to bring Alfie back to my home,” I laughed.

  “You did look like a fool carrying it out of Granddaddy’s home this afternoon… Thank you,” she said.

  “Anytime.”

  That night I watched her sleeping in my arms. No-one should go through anything they’re not ready to completely commit to, she said. “I’m trying, love,” I whispered and move her hair away from her cheek. “And each second with you just makes it easier,” I added with a small kiss on her cheek.

  “Tell me about Mary Gillis,” Lucia says out of the blue while she was sponging my back, in the tub with me. “Or are you still trying to process this?” she adds and kisses the back of my neck.

  Three days…and today was such a good one. Tommy and Nigel came by to watch an old game rerun. We discussed it at the pub a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to cancel but Lucia didn’t let me. Instead, she prepared some snacks and shared some jokes with my mates. They were so infatuated with her, I had to kick them out of my home; Tommy back to Arlene, and Nigel to wherever he came from. I really didn’t care; that prick gave her his number!