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

by Ngontang Mba, Danielle-Claude

  “I beg your pardon!” I tell him. Who does he think he is?

  “This is why we signed Mary, Marcus. She needs a new direction, getting to the next phase,” he says in a thick French accent.

  “Right… So why the return of the eighties then?” I ask them both.

  “Mary’s idea!” they both say.

  “Exactly! I think we’re done here. Where’s Mary? I can settle that with her directly.” I start to walk toward the main recording studio. It’s not completely sound-proof, so I’m able to hear singing voices. I can recognize Mary’s but the other one, even though it’s familiar, I can’t quite put my finger on yet. I can definitely recognize the song, “Don’t Stop Believin’”, or at least a version of it; we’re doing remakes now? I wasn’t aware.

  I get in the studio with Jean-Michel and Cally just behind me and I come face to face with…Lucia! Or should I say Lucita? She’s playing the guitar and is right in the middle of one of the many guitar solos in that song. Her hair is back to its curly self but still light brown and is partially covering her face. Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes completely closed. She’s wearing a mini jeans skirt with high-heel, black boots. I stand corrected; I will never forget that expression on her face as long as I live.

  “Our new direction,” Jean-Michel proudly says. “Et une vraie canon,” he adds with lust.

  I’m speechless. Lucia and Mary finish the song, still unaware of my presence on the other side of the glass.

  “She’s quite extraordinary.” Cally staring at me. “But I’m guessing you already knew that,” she adds with a wicked smile.

  Lucia – It’s Middle Eight Time!

  And just like that, everyone in the studio freezes, mentally. I feel like Neo when he realizes that he is indeed the one. Morpheus is cheering in the background and Trinity is whispering loving words in my ears. I can move…but they can’t. But the truth of the matter is, I’m not the one and frozen Marcus looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.

  “What…are…you…doing…here?” I see his lips very, very slowly forming those words. This Matrix thing is pretty neat. I’m already behind him and he’s not even done saying it.

  First of all, this wasn’t a setup. I didn’t plan to be in this studio let alone Paris. They say life is stranger than fiction; just take a look at my past week for proof. Let’s rewind to meeting Mary Gillis by “accident”, so she’s been saying, at a private fashion show. We can even go further to Noor’s call in the middle of the night, urging me to come to Paris. What was she doing there? But why don’t we just push deeper to that Sunday morning in Manchester and Marcus leaving me at my doorstep like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. “Thank you for the week.” Neo would never have taken all that crap! I’m really not the one.

  I woke up in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Alfie had been thrown on the floor and replaced by Marcus, and I’m not sure who did it. I decided to cook breakfast for the whole house as a thank you for the day before. Marcus’ parents had been so nice and welcoming. I almost forgot how good it felt to call someone Mum or Dad. Not that Axelle did a bad job, but she wasn’t our mum.

  The Grants’ pantry had everything; her mother-in-law had done a real number on her. I started on the pastries, chocolate croissants, chaussons aux pommes, butter croissants and pains aux raisins. I was prepping for my eggs Florentine frittata, when Doddy entered the kitchen.

  “It smells divine in here! Morning, Luce,” she said with a warm smile before heading straight to the coffee pot. “You are spoiling us.”

  “Thank you, Doddy.” I had a small crush on her; I was pretty sure I was blushing right now. Marcus looked so much like her. She was wearing her morning robe and pajama shorts. “The pastries are almost ready; I’ll take them out then go get dressed.”

  “Thank you, Luce. You’re a real gem,” she said while sipping her coffee. She took out a couple of albums and gave them to me. “I think you should have them.” I opened the albums. They were full of pictures of Papa and Mum up until their wedding day. “My sister Sue took those.”

  I didn’t even realize that I’d started crying. “Mum destroyed most of these pictures after Papa’s death.” That woman was amazing; why couldn’t Eleanor Riddell have been this way? “Thank you so much.” I hugged her.

  “You’re welcome, love. Eleanor is missing out on some incredible lives,” she said before checking her watch. “I better get ready too. My boys will be up soon.” She was heading toward the door but stopped “Lucia.”

  “Yes,” I answered, wiping off my tears.

  “Good luck with Marcus.” She left her kitchen and leaving me even more confused than before.

  That statement stayed with me for the rest of the day and the next morning. Good luck with Marcus; I sure needed it when he dropped me off. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes and couldn’t get away from me fast enough. But I clearly remembered him mumbling that he would call me while I was packing. So, like a lovesick puppy, I stayed close to the phones, laptop and emails until Axelle came back from Greece and started knocking me in the head again.

  “She really said that? Good luck with Marcus?” Axelle asked me for the millionth times. “And I thought Paul’s mum was odd,” she said, eating her third loukoumades. They were fresh from one of the Ionan Islands.

  “Doddy is amazing. She loves her sons so much,” I said, defending her. Marcus’ behavior wasn’t her making or fault. “Please stop eating! You’ve been stuffing your face for the past three days!”

  “Those treats are bloody delicious!” she said then watched her hands. “Luce, you should go back home.”

  “Home is where you and Noor are and right now, you in London and Noor in Bangui. I can’t go back alone; you’re my family,” I told her with a small voice…and Marcus might change his mind and finally said I love you back. Right?

  “I know, baby,” she agreed and gave me a warm, long hug. “I don’t think he’s going to make up his mind anytime soon.” She released me. She read my mind! “But mark my word, Lucia Cassidy Ann…he will,” she smirked and caressed my cheek. “So what are you going to do in the meantime?”

  “Not mope around?” I weakly said.

  “That would be a good start,” Axelle nodded.

  “Get my sexy curly hair back!” I added with more confidence.

  “You’re getting warmer!” she said, eating her fourth loukoumades.

  “Put Alfie back in the attic and organize a few movie marathons,” I said with a small smile. I could totally do this.

  “Now we’re talking!” she said, eating her eighth loukoumades or was it her twentieth? “Could we do a Disney movie one with Annie and Mitch? Annie needs a break from home school,” she said, all excited.

  “Should we pick up a pregnancy test before that, Piggy?” I teased.

  “No need; I took one this morning,” she admitted with a sad face. “Maybe next time.”

  “Did I mention that Marcus’ dad’s name is Stanford, Stanford Grant: an older, better-looking version of Patrick. I told you it was a great name!” I told her. I didn’t know she wanted another baby.

  “If you’re born in the bloody fifties,” she said before leaving me on my own.

  We were right in the middle of The Lion King when my phone rang. It was Noor and from Paris, no less! In the middle of her honeymoon? She was crying hysterically on the phone. But one thing was very clear through all that sobbing: don’t tell Axelle. So I did what she said, except the part about not telling Axelle.

  “The ink hasn’t even dried yet!” Axelle said, kissing me at St Pancras Station.

  I didn’t tell her everything. I didn’t tell her that Noor might be pregnant. “She’s just having a small freak-out session, nothing much,” I lied. It wasn’t my news to share. I kissed her and got on the train. I found Noor three hours later, on her own, in Uncle Alphonse’s Trocadéro apartment. Andrew went South with new friends and left her behind because she wasn’t feeling well. “Why didn’t he stay with you? Wh
at about all that ‘in sickness and in health’ stuff? I remembered hearing him say yes,” I told her, bringing my homemade soup in bed.

  “It’s our honeymoon; I didn’t want to spoil it for the both of us,” she weakly answered. She looked so pale. “I haven’t been able to keep my food down,” she added and tried a sip of my tomato soup. “This is good,” she whispered between sips.

  I kissed her warm cheek. “I’ve missed you, Noora-Noora. We should really go see the doctor; could all just be a bad case food poisoning –”

  “I’m pregnant, Luce,” she told me, looking at me straight in the eyes. She didn’t wait for me to take the test the after all.

  “So you’re sure then. How? I mean, we’ve been on the pill since we were fifteen,” I told her. “What did Andrew say?” And why wasn’t he there? “Nooradine, why am I here?” She sat up slowly on the bed and tears started to roll down her cheeks. “What’s going on?”

  “He doesn’t know and he never needs to,” she declared, so calmly it gave me goose bumps.

  “Noor?”

  “We’re not ready, Lucia! Look at us! I was left behind because I had a fever. And for new friends – people we don’t even know!” she said. She looked so tired, two weeks ago was her wedding day and now we were sitting in bed talking about an abortion. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not as strong as you.” She’s wiping my tears. I didn’t even realize that I was crying.

  “Strong? I love a man who may not love me back, so I’ve started sleeping with my giant teddy bear again. But that’s beside the point.” I cleaned my face up. “I own up to my actions; why can’t you?”

  “Maybe Axelle would have been better –”

  “Yes, maybe! And you could have told her about your plans while she told you that she’s been trying for number three,” I snapped back. She shuddered at the revelation. “Don’t expect non-judgment from me, Noor. I’ll go with you, stay afterwards and I’ll even keep your secret from your husband but –”

  “I get it; you’re disappointed in me. Well, so am I,” she said.

  We went to the hospital shortly after; Noor told Andrew that the doctor advised her to stay in bed for at least a week. To my amazement, Andrew decided to stay away, not wanting to catch anything. What about me? In sickness and in health? He couldn’t even make it through the honeymoon!

  After a few days in bed, I got her out of the house for a private fashion show; after all, it was fashion week. Our cousin, Hélène Mpobo, was having her first show in Paris and I wanted to show her my full support, even buy a piece or two straight off the runway before heading back to London. Now, how did Mary Gillis got in? I would never know. She wasn’t supposed to a guest. But there she was with her charming madame à tout faire of a sister, Cally.

  “You’re much prettier, Luce,” Noor whispered as they both walked in. “Don’t even get me started on that hair.”

  “Do you think Marcus is here?” I asked her. That would have just been the cherry on my Paris cake.

  “No. Mary Gillis is a star; she can sneak in, but him? Please,” she said and took my hand.

  And she didn’t waste any time after the show either. She came backstage on her own to congratulate Hélène. It was a real success and Noor and I already ordered a few models.

  “Miss Mpobo, your show was splendid,” she told her with a sincere smile.

  “Miss Gillis,” Hélène said before looking at me. I shrugged. “What a surprise and thank you,” she responded with a smile.

  “What a nice accent you have. It’s –” Mary said.

  “Italian,” I told her. What was that entire charade about? Noor looked as skeptical as I was but for once, let me run the show. “Hélène was raised in Rome where she and her sister have a prêt à porter. It was listed in the handout,” I told her.

  “You must be Lucia Riddell and you Noor Riddell. Congratulation on your wedding!”

  “News travels fast,” Noor said. “Thank you,” she added before looking at me with a “should-I-take-this-or...” look. I gave her an “I-got-this” look.

  “A few acquaintances of mine were present. It was the event of the summer! A Riddell wedding!” she laughed.

  “It was the event alright.” I offered my hand. “Lucia Cassidy Ann Mpobo-Riddell, nice to finally meet you,” I told her. Noor took Hélène away from us and to mingle with her guests.

  “Mary Gillis. Lucita in the flesh; the honor is all mine,” she said. I never said it was an honor to meet her. It’s actually quite disconcerting. “I’ve heard so much about you over the years. We thought you were an urban legend. But then you worked with Beesly & Matt.” She firmly shook my hand. “I want you to work for me too.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought Marcus was doing your album.” What this his idea? He’s not about teamwork.

  “He’s not into it as much as he used to be and he’s not a fan of my new direction,” she said uneasily.

  “Patrick and Doddy say that he can get lost sometimes, but always finds his way back. Give him time,” I told her.

  Her face turned white. “Doddy?”

  “Yes. Marcus’ mum, Doranda.” I grabbed a flute from one of the trays. Looked like a perfect time to start drinking.

  “I know who that is. You met her?”

  “Yes. She’s a long-time family friend, being from the Miller family,” I explained to her. Did I say something?

  “Of course the Riddells are very well connected,” she whispered then her sister arrived and joined us. “Lucia, this is my sister, Cally O’Connell, my manager,” she absently said.

  They looked nothing alike. Are the Mpobo-Riddell sisters the only ones forged from the same mold? Cally had a good inch over Mary and her light blonde to orange-looking hair color was natural. Like me, she opted for small, rectangular glasses but her frame was matching her hair. She was also much more voluptuous than Mary ever was. Mary was more of a size zero figure: no breast, a tiny ass and even smaller waist. Let’s put aside the fact that she couldn’t tan if her life depended on it; they were that type of Irish. And it would have been totally fine with me if we were not so different. Marcus didn’t have a type, did he?

  “Mary, stop wandering like that. We’re here for some French exposure, so please go mingle and let me do my job,” she told her. Big sister talk. I couldn’t help smiling as Mary walked away and joined the crowd for the small after party.

  “I’ll be short. Our new production company wants to try a new approach and I think you’re it,” Cally said with a small smile. I liked her instantly; she reminded of Axelle: always straight to the point.

  “And Marcus?” I asked her.

  “He’s the heart of this album, but not its soul, not this time. He…changed.” She looked at her sister, “She doesn’t inspire him anymore, at least not the way she used to.” I really didn’t want to hear about Marcus and Mary but that didn’t stop her. “We have a few songs ready. You can take a second look at them. It will just be for a few days. I already called your lawyer and negotiated a rate.”

  “I don’t want to work with Marcus. I’ve been there and I’ve done that,” I told her.

  “Think about it. Next year you will have two major artists’ albums out with your name on them. You can’t buy better publicity than that,” she said.

  And she was right. I’m on my own now; I need the exposure. “I would need to speak to Marcus first. I was on my way back to London.”

  “That could be arranged,” I heard Mary saying behind me. “Why does that…girl have to have the best album out anyway?” she said with a smile. “American bitch!”

  “Beesly?” I asked her and she nodded. “I see. The answer is no then.” I started walking away.

  “Seriously, Mary, fuck off!” Cally yelled at her sister. She followed me, “Those two don’t like each other.”

  “And Beesly is my friend, therefore I’m on her side,” I told her.

  “I respect that. There will be no Beesly trash talk as they call it,” she said.”
Do we have a deal?”

  I would get to see Marcus and kick him in the…chin. He still hadn’t called me. “We have a deal.” I shook her hand. “You came here for me?”

  “Not really; we came for the show and you just happened to be here,” she said. Right… and it has nothing to do with “Pazza” being number one in the European charts. “Beesly & Matt’s single is this fall’s revelation.”

  I knew it! “Marcus wrote that one, not me,” I advised her.

  “I know, featuring Lucita and the G Band,” she added. Mary was walking toward us. “We know about you and Marcus.”

  I was doubtful. How could they know when I myself didn’t. “Not sure what you mean,” I told her.

  “What happened in Toronto and here. You think you would be able to work together?”

  I didn’t respond, because I honestly had no idea and thankfully, Mary and Noor joined us at that moment.

  “So what’s going on?” Noor asked.

  “I’m going to work on Mary’s upcoming album,” I told both of them. It seemed to satisfy Mary.

  “You’re hijacking Marcus’ album? Oh, I’m liking that twist!” Noor gloated before pushing me aside. “Are you going to be okay?” she whispered.

  We were still among strangers and family; I didn’t want to talk about it there. I nodded back.

  “Okay, because you’ve had a bad case of anger for the past few days and I don’t want you to sabotage her album,” she said.

  “That’s not my style, Noor,” I said more defensively than I wanted to. “It’s just for a few days. It will give the opportunity to get to know her,” I said more comfortably.

  “She’s a stick!” Noor laughed.

  “I know right! Thanks for worrying about me, Noora-Noora.”

  “I’m still your big sister, Lucia,” she said. “Let’s go back to Hélène and her party. You can deal with them tomorrow,” she said, taking me further away from the O’Connell sisters and toward the rest of the guests.

  And that’s what I have been doing for past four days, dealing with the O’Connell sisters. It turned out that Eclipse Records wanted Mary to go retro for her next album – eighties retro. They landed me a small office and I had been working on mixing original songs with a few classics. No more than three songs; it would be enough to spice up the album. No trace of Marcus during that time; apparently he had been in some kind of the weird funk since he got to Paris. Guilt maybe? He can’t be missing me all that much because, as I mentioned many, many times before, he hasn’t called me!