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

by Ngontang Mba, Danielle-Claude

  “I just plain missed you, my yeppeun [17]Lulu.” He’s caressing my cheek and making me blush.

  Making me blush? “Please! You’re the handsome, perfect specimen,” I tell him.

  “That sounds like I’m irresistible,” he says softly and it’s making me feel warm inside.

  Making me feel warm inside? “Duh…since the academy, no woman has ever been able to resist you,” I say.

  “There has been at least one woman immune all this time,” he murmurs before kissing me. I know this type of kiss; I gave one for the first time on Noor’s wedding day. But this is the first time that anyone’s given one to me.

  “Greg…” I manage to mumble when he finally releases my lips. I didn’t ask you to stop!

  “Not that immune after all, Lulu,” he says against my mouth.

  No one could be immune after a kiss like that given by a man who looks like Greg. When he starts kissing me again, I kiss him back. I’m not leading him on; I really want to explore this. I’m not leading him on…

  The naked policy rules… I rest my head on Greg’s beautiful, smooth, naked chest and run my finger along his lean naked abs. “hullyunghabnida! [18]“ I mumble.

  “Indeed,” he mumbles back, kissing my hair. He pulls me closer, almost on top of him. “Much better.” He checks his drawer and lighting a cigarette.

  “Smoking? Really? So not good for a dancer.” I’m taking a drag. I’m still waiting for the awkwardness to kick in. Here we are, sitting on his king-size bed, completely naked, our clothes and bed sheets spread across the room. Oh well! When in Rome…

  “Smoking is bad for everyone, Lulu, but post-coital smoking is a must.” he takes his cigarette back. My mistake; we’re in the middle of a seventies French movie. “And in black and white,” he adds and gives me the cigarette. “Forget Technicolor! French movie parody, right?” he says, caressing my thigh.

  “How did you know?” I put the cigarette down.

  “I’ve known you for ten years, Lulu. I know how your beautiful mind works,” he smirks, untying my hair. “You’re so lovely,” he says and straightens it out. It’s getting so long; even curly, it covers part of my breasts. “From the first time I saw you in that hallway –”

  “Nope; the dance class not the hallway,” I lazily tell him.

  “The hallway.” He’s rolling me over on my back. “You were with Noor and in your grey glasses phase. You had a high ponytail, a pair of shorts and a Willy –”

  “Wonka tank top! You were there?” I put my arms around his neck. “It was a good month before we officially met.”

  “I begged our teacher to pair us up. I stood there for half an hour staring at you when you didn’t even realize that I was there,” he says as he’s coming down for a kiss. I arc myself toward him. “I just fell in love with you that day and I haven’t stopped falling even since.”

  I kiss him. I’ve been waiting to hear those words for months and now they’re here. Does it really matter who say them to me? “Oh…Greg,” I let out between kisses. Right now, no it doesn’t.

  “I will never miss your birthday again, ever!” he says with a chuckle, slowly stroking and placing my legs around his hips. “These are the smoothest legs I have ever touched.” He’s trailing his soft, thin but sexy lips across my neck before taking my face in his hands and staring back at me. “Saranghae[19], saranghae, saranghae, and I’ve been waiting for a very long time to say it to you, Lucia.”

  I love you… I can’t top that, not yet anyway. “Saranghabnida[20],” I say back. It’s the best I can say right now without lying to him or myself because I do love him too and I really wish it was the same way he does. Best friends’ love will have to do for now. “Saranghabnida, saranghabnida, saranghabnida, Gregory McMullen,” I say again and I’m bringing him even closer to me.

  “I’ll take this one for now, Jagiya[21], and I should really take you…again,” he teases before slowly, very slowly to the point of begging slowly, entering me. “You’re my heaven on earth,” he groans.

  I’m literally melting, my defenses, my fears, my body, my will… “And you’re wonderful… Please, please start moving before I completely lose it,” I moan.

  “I don’t wanna,” his mouth says but his body won’t hold the pose for that long. “Where are we now?”

  I can’t think; I’m feeling too much… “Stupid, romantic movie of the week but with the most handsome man with the sexiest butt… But if you don’t start moving it, you will be a castrato in the sequel!” I blurt out.

  Finally, he’s listening and starts thrusting, slow strokes each better and deeper than the last one. We both finish at the same time and it’s not even dinnertime yet… Still no awkwardness. Third round, anyone?

  “Greg, are you home?” we hear through the door. Kathie is home. I shoot him a questioning look and of course, he laughs.

  “I’m here,” he says out loud, kissing my shoulders. “What? Round three, right?” he whispers back to me.

  “Okay! How was rehearsal?” she asks.

  “Perfect!” He’s stroking my breasts without a care in world, “Luscious perfection,” he whispers. I try to push him off but he doesn’t let me and playfully blocks me on the bed. “What time is your date?” he shouts.

  “I’m meeting Michael in a couple of hours,” she says.

  “Okay, have fun!” he tells her through the walls then kisses me. Sweet, soft, tasty, loving kisses… I must have moaned louder than I intended to because...

  “Hi, Luce!” she calls.

  Hey, Kathie,” I say, burying my head in Greg’s chest. There is the awkwardness.

  Greg pours me my second refill. “Thanks, Jagiya,” I say and I almost empty it. That wine is delicious! “You look good enough to eat,” I tell him across the table. He’s wearing a shirt matching his hazel eyes, and tight-fitted, black pants. “Good enough to eat,” I add.

  “Okay, I’m cutting you off, Lulu,” he says, trying to take my glass away but catching my hand instead. “You look fantastic.” He’s kissing the palm of my hand. “But no more drinking for you.”

  “But it’s your birthday’s dinner. Can a girl just lust in peace?” I pout. We deliberately arrived at the restaurant early so we could chill out before the rest of the guests arrived. Among the guests are his parents, Kathie, Michael, the Andersons and the Burtons…his parents. “You better like the dress on me; you gave it to me as a present to you.” I like the dress. I would have bought it if I knew where he found it; it’s a long, dark-red, strapless, empire dress with a slit in the front. “I think having a birthday a week before Christmas is totally cheating,” I say, leaning forward and giving a private view of my cleavage. “But thank you for my early Christmas present.” I finish my drink.

  “I’ll be personally unwrapping it later,” he says, coming closer. “Should I be worried about the drinking?” He stares at my empty glass.

  “Says the McMullen Irish boy,” I tell him.

  “Lulu, you’ve met my parents before, hundreds of times.”

  “I know.”

  “You saw them last month at the Passion and Dance premiere,” he says, coming closer.

  “I know.”

  “My dad has a crush on you and Axelle,” he adds then sit next to me.

  “I know!”

  “Michael is the one meeting them for the first time.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  “It’s me, Lulu. I know you. You’re not at your most comfortable with other people’s parents.” He gives me small kiss.

  “You do know me, Greg.” I give him a real big loving kiss. “We have to stay right?” I ask, completely out of breath.

  “Yes, please; I didn’t do so much grooming for nothing,” Noor says over our heads.

  “Hi, Noor,” Greg says, getting up to kiss her. Her latest hairstyle is the most extreme she has had in…forever? Bleach-blonde, short – très short, Tabatha Coffey short and even shorter. With our big, grey eyes, she looks like a vampire, a sexy vampir
e but still a vampire, especially with that bright-red lipstick. “I’m still trying to get used to your new hair. It’s…different,” he says before turning to Andrew. “Hey, man!”

  “There is no confusing them anymore, that’s for sure. Hey Greg! How’s the show going? I keep hearing good news.” He’s sitting across from Noor, who is now next to me.

  “Wow, invisible me! Hi, Andrew. I’m the one who doesn’t drink blood,” I joke but get up to give him a peck across the table. After that he and Greg continue their deep conversation and I turn to Noor. “Hi, scary thing! Why are we being ignored?”

  “You have to lay off on my hairdo, bitch!” she gives me a quick air kiss. “Welcome to the life of being with a dancer/choreographer,” she teases and hails our waitress. “It’s about them most of the time.” She orders a double bloody Mary and I, under Greg’s careful gaze, a glass of water.

  “What have you been up to?” I ask her. The other guests haven’t arrived yet but should be here shortly. They’re fighting for a downtown parking spot unlike Noor and her husband who just took a cab.

  “If you called me once in a while you’d know,” she says. Who’s the bitch now? She does look lovely in her silver, tube, mini dress. She just doesn’t look like Axelle and me anymore.

  “I’ve been busy, Noor, and I have been calling you, just not as much as I used to,” I tell her. Things are almost back to normal between us. We talked after Papa’s death anniversary service last month. So many things have happened to the both of us this year, it can’t really be like it was before but we could always build anew from that.

  “I can see that. Look at you; you’re so radiant and so damn fit!” She gently takes my arm.

  “I know right! I train with Greg, just like old times,” I tell her. The last time I was in a dance studio that often was in my teen years. But it feels good to sweat with Greg, to eat with Greg, to laugh with Greg, to make love to Greg…Greg, Greg, Greg… “He got me the dress,” I tell her.

  She looks at me. “I married the wrong dancer. Yours is definitely straighter than mine,” she teases but is obviously drooling over my dress. “The school is keeping me extremely occupied and we’re selling the condo.”

  “Suburbia? Congratulations!” A busy Noor is a happy Noor and we all want a happy Noor. “And Andrew?” I ask as I see the few other guests coming toward us. We booked the private section of the restaurant for about twenty guests and half of them are finally here.

  “He might be working on John Wilson’s next musical. It’s big and they’ll be touring, not recasting from one city to another,” she says, all excited.

  “And when would that be? Aren’t you guys moving?” I ask. Good old Johnny; he finally finished that musical. But why is this all on her shoulders again?

  “A John Wilson production, Luce; I know you’re new to the musical theatre world but that’s huge,” she snaps.

  “Forgive me for caring. Of course you guys will work it out,” I tell her calmly and then get up. “Now, excuse me. I can see Greg’s parents and a frightened Michael coming this way,” I say before walking away. The definition of denial: probably the best-known defense mechanisms. I catch Greg looking at me and smile to him. Denial: the refusal to acknowledge the existence of internal thoughts and feelings. Denial, denial, denial, denial…

  I can feel Greg’s steady breathing on my cheek and his ribcage’s movements on my back. I thought I was the only person who could sleep so soundly but when he’s finally out, he’s really out. Nothing is waking him up until the first morning light for his daily five-mile run and that’s when I fake being asleep. I slowly get up and leave his bedroom with one of his sweaters on.

  “Kathie?” I softly say. No response; she must have gone home with Michael after the restaurant. I’ll be smoking all by myself tonight. I sit on the large balcony and finish my cigarette as soon as it is humanly possible; it’s below zero and I only have a sweater and socks on. Denial; I’m not a smoker but I haven’t stopped smoking since London, no more than four a day. I go back inside, closing the doors so we don’t lose heat. I could go in the kitchen and start baking until I feel like myself again but who am I kidding? I haven’t felt like myself in months and no amount of cooking will change that.

  I lay on the sinfully comfortable couch for a minute to catch my breath. Denial; it has become a real player in my life lately. However, I didn’t reinstate the Marcus gag order; I’ve just been acting like it hasn’t happened. Our entire relationship, my summer, London, all of this is just a vivid dream. And I’m completely over it…denial, denial. Alright, I’m getting there! The anger is gone and that’s something. I don’t dream about him anymore; I also spend entire days without thinking about him unless I speak with Patrick about his divorce, the kids and his parents. But it’s not about Marcus! Denial…maybe a little. At least I’m not sad anymore. I’m not denying myself this type of happiness any longer, unresolved feelings or not.

  I look at Greg’s bedroom door. Why have we waited so long to do this? Our friendship was too important. Denial, but on my part; friendship couldn’t have been the only reason. He’s without a doubt the most beautiful man I ever met, inside and out. And he loves me. Broken, full of trust issues and still partially hung up on her ex, me. I need to be on the other side of that door.

  I go back to the bedroom as quietly as possible and slip next to Greg after removing his sweater. He puts his arm across my waist and brings me closer to him.

  “Hey, you went smoking alone? You should have woken me up,” he whispers in a hoarse voice.

  “Aw, you would have gone with me? You only smoke after sex,” I tell him, putting my arms around his soft neck. No, it wasn’t the friendship. Screw the friendship; this is making me so much happier.

  “Well, if you insist. I’ll gladly take another look at my present,” he says, now fully awake. “I believe I missed a few ribbons.”

  “Greg, saranghae,” I tell him for the first time before kissing him.

  “Saranghae, Lulu,” he responds before unwrapping his gift again. Then, just like that, I’m starting to feel like myself again and there’s no denying it this time.

  Greg, Marcus – From The Collision To The Outro

  Marcus

  I’m here in Glasgow. Matt is turning thirty tomorrow, so this time I can’t wiggle my way out of it. I decided to stay away after Lucia’s dramatic exit in Paris. I thought it would be the best solution for us, some time away to cool off. She was so cross the last time we spoke and I didn’t handle it well at all. Finishing the album took me longer than anticipated but gave more time to think about her and surprisingly, about myself, where I am and where I want to be. Then Patrick came back to town and couldn’t wait to share the smashing news. He just got back from Sydney after almost two months there visiting the girls.

  “Hey, Marcus,” he said, sitting across from me for breakfast. “I’m so jetlagged and I have an interview at St Thomas’ Hospital today,” he said and started to eat his omelet. “Have you heard from Lucia?”

  I stopped eating. “What, no easing into it? You’ve been back for less than eight hours, Patrick, and already you’re asking me about that?”

  “After the interview, I have to see a real estate agent then… Have you heard from her?” he asked again.

  “No, Patrick, I haven’t heard from Lucia. She made it pretty clear in Paris that I wouldn’t,” I told him. “Have you?”

  “Yes, I have.” That completely took me by surprise. “And about her as well,” he added. He pushed a magazine my way. “Page sixty.”

  I took the magazine and turned to the page in question. It was an article about Greg McMullan’s show premiere in Toronto three weeks before. There was a picture of him with Lucia on his arm. She looked radiant in a dark-blue dress. “So, she went to his premiere. Why wouldn’t she go?”

  “He made his move, mate, and he’s winning her over,” Patrick said, finishing his plate.

  “Says who? It’s just a bloody picture. Of cou
rse she was at the premiere; she’s his friend,” I snapped back. It just couldn’t be that easy.

  But apparently it was. He threw another magazine on the table. What? Was he just collecting them to torture me? “Page fifteen. What can I say? They fancy the guy Down Under and the Riddells are known there too,” he added and cleared his plate off the table.

  Lucia and Greg were in many pictures together. They called her his “new leading lady”. They were running together, walking downtown, getting coffee, at restaurants… They really had a paparazzo on their hands. I checked the date. The magazine was from this week.

  “And she told me, Marcus.” He took the Aussie magazines back.

  “Lucia?” Why was I not surprised those two were in contact.

  “Yes. We’ve talked a few times in the last two months. Did you really think she was going to wait for you to grow a pair?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s none of your business anyway,” I told him before leaving the room.

  “Oh, that’s mature, Marcus. Run away from the conversation! No wonder she chose the guy who kept showing up!” I heard him shout before I slammed the music room door. “So, what are you going to do about it?” he said after opening the door. “Besides sulking.”

  “What do you want me to do? It looks like she’s moved on. So I should do the same,” I said then started to play my piano.

  “Marcus, it’s not too late to fight for her.” But my response was to play even louder.

  “Suit yourself, mate,” he told me and left the room.

  My caring brother didn’t stop there; he made sure I knew what an idiot I really was. He got me that blasted magazine every week after that, even when he wasn’t in town. They really fancied the couple there. I had no idea if Lucia knew what I was up to but with that paper, I was aware of her every move:

  Michael Holland’s first single, “Once in My Lifetime”, from his upcoming album is number one in the charts. The album was written and composed by Lucia Mpobo-Riddell, girlfriend of famous choreographer Gregory McMullan.