This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (10 page)

“
Matt, are you always on?” John asks.

I smile to John, eating my
pizza. Matt laughs and shrugs.

“
What can I say? It’s part of the job,” he grins. He takes a sip of his drink. “This brings me to some awesome news.”

I stop eating. I knew it. What
’s he up to now? “What have you done now?”

He actually looks hurt.
“What did I do? I’m only fighting for a bit of creative control.”

“
I thought you hired Marcus for that?” John says.

“
Thanks, John. Anyway, what have you done now?” I ask him again.

“
Nothing…yet,” he says with a smile. “I’m going to be in the next Alex Cross movie.” He leans forward. “They’re shooting in Vancouver as we speak and Linda –”

“
Linda Hamilton!” John and I shout at the same time.

“
Yes
that
Linda, got me an audition last week. Long story short, I’m part of the top billing actors and will be there for at least three weeks. Isn’t it great?”

“
Fantastic,” John says sarcastically.

“
Splendid,” I mock.

“
Right. Things are finally looking up for me,” he adds. He turns around and signals the waiter. “Let’s toast to that!”

I look at John. He
’s about to laugh at my expense I’m sure. “Make it a double please,” I tell the waiter.

Back at the office after a very revealing lunch, we decide to hunt down the last remaining muffins in the kitchen. Lloyd and Callia have made their communal rooms very inviting for their employees. The already spacious kitchen leads to a lounge/lunch room with a huge television, a few sofas, more tables and CD jukebox. As we reach the lounge we can hear music and a lot of chatter.

“
What’s all the commotion about?” John asks as we walk in.

“
Not sure,” I say looking around. Sitting at one of the tables are Lucia, Beesly and Kathie, completely unaware of our presence. I point it out to John and whisper, ‘Trouble, that is.”

“
Look at this Gaga kid: so original, so different,” I hear Beesly say. “Do you think I should do something like that?”

“
Why, B? Don’t get me wrong, she’s great in
her
own way,” Lucia answers. “But we can’t have too many Gaga-like artists,” she adds smiling to Beesly. “Then there would be no more original different artists.”

“
I guess,” Beesly says. She doesn’t sound too sure.

Lucia leans towards Beesly and winks.
“Hey, what’s wrong with being simply classy,” she says lower. With a nice hands gesture she adds, “It’s timeless. Class is timeless, sweetie.”

Beesly blushes.
Nicely played, Lucia. I check on Matt. He’s smiling too. Lucia goes to the jukebox then comes back. Please don’t play “Head to Toe”. The music starts and John turns to me.

“
Seal’s version, a fantastic choice,” he says.

Lucia is sitting across Beesly. She
’s starting to dance and mouth the lyrics; Beesly is laughing, Kathie is background singing, John is humming and Matt is…searching for hidden camera?

“
Wow! Bloody hell! She’s fantastic!” John tells me.

“
I know.” I look at Matt. He shrugs. He can’t even admit it.

“
I have to be part of this,” John tells us. And in a flash he walks towards their table.

“
Johnny?” Matt and I say.

“
What the bloody hell is going on here?” Matt asks.

John kneels down in front of Lucia and sings the middle eight. Lucia, first surprised, is now totally playing the game. They sing the rest of the song together. By now they
’ve realized that we’re here.

“
No really, Marcus. What’s the bloody hell is going on here?” Matt says again.

“
Give it a rest, mate! They’re having a little bit of fun,” I say before heading toward our new duo.

“
Lucia, Lucia, you double threat you!” John tells her with a big hug. “You were smashing, love!”

“
Thanks, honey. Always a pleasure to perform with you, John,” she answers back, laughing.

Of course John is not the bad guy of the story. I am. I notice the takeout boxes on their table.

“You ate here?” I ask Beesly.

“
Yes, we got this very good pout…pat…? Poutine with Montreal smoked meat,” she says. She turns to Lucia. “Luce, I remembered this time!” She adds, laughing, then gets up and kisses her husband. “Fries, cheese, gravy, meat, ummm…so delicious.”

Lucia and Kathie are picking up the boxes on the table and Beesly joins them.

“So…Lucia,” John starts. “I’ve heard of your muffins quite a bit.”

“
My muffins?” she looks at me inquisitively. “Oh, from this morning! Sorry, John, they’re all gone.” Back to me, “Marcus, let me know next time. I’ll put some aside.”

Once again John is not the bad guy of the story. I am.

“Right.” I really want to change the subject. “Nice choice of song, Lucia,” I try.

“
Thanks.” She puts the boxes in the bin. “It’s from Seal’s last Album, Soul, the one I was talking about, Beesly.”

I can see where this is going.

“You liked it?” she continues.             

“
Yes, so Sinatra-like but more modern,” Beesly says.

“
Well it was composed and written by the great Curtis Mayfield in 1963,” she says.

That was very smart and sneaky. Well done, Luce.

“It’s that old?” Beesly asks, looking at Matt.

“
And yet, forty-five years later, Seal gives it a modern spin without losing its classy jazz cache,” Lucia adds, staring straight at Matt and I. She smiles to Beesly. “Timeless isn’t it, B? Just something to think about.”

She
’s a piece of work this one, a real piece of work.

We are actually making progress today. Back at the studio, Lucia unveiled all her top choices, according to Matt’s liking. She had notes, voices samples, even mini bios. We needed three; she gave us ten and it was up to Beesly and Matt to pick them out from this pool. And, to my amazement, Matt didn’t put up a fight. He and Beesly made the decisions on their own, without too much of my input. It only took them four whole hours. During that time, when not asked to voice my opinion, I silently rewrote a few of my songs and I’m assuming Lucia was doing the same thing. Tomorrow we will either be recording demos with our new backups or we’ll finally have a decent, complete, productive recording session. Either way, it’s progress.

I check my watch
– already 6.15 p.m. I’m exhausted. Beesly and Matt are on their way back to their hotel suite. Matt didn’t mention his new acting job at all. I’m hoping it’s because he wants to discuss it with his wife first. Fine by me; I’ll stay out of it for as long as I can. Tomorrow, during our recording session, we can sort this entire thing out.

I spent the entire day in a recording studio, but back at the penthouse, John
’s is the first place I find myself going after a nice shower. A pint of beer in my hand, I sit at the piano and begin to play. “Letter to Elise” first; it helps me to calm my nerves. Beethoven has always had that effect on me. Then I continue with some Chopin to kick things up a notch. I’m a bit rusty but I can still play most of his preludes very well. As usual, No. 16 is making me work for it. I can still hear Mrs Pills, my first piano teacher; No. 16 was my graduation and entry piece nearly fifteen years ago. Back then, all I ever wanted to become was a virtuoso. I was playing the guitar, drums and piano instead of reading medical books like the rest of the family. My older brother, Patrick, on the other hand, followed the Grant and Wicker tradition and became a pediatrician. He even works with Mom and Dad in their family practice. Instead of all that, I went to Royal Academy of Music. Even so, I had a great childhood, growing up with Doctor and Mrs Grant (or Doctor and Mr Grant, depending who was wearing the pants that day).  Patrick and I were lucky and still are. We were not the easiest or quietest of boys but Mum and Dad stayed patient, loving and firm through all of it, even when we burnt Miss Maggie’s shed. Thirty-five years later, they’re still in love and still married. I miss my family, all alone here in Toronto.

I can
’t remember when and how, but I’m playing some Elton John right now: “Benny and the Jetts”. That’s a fantastic song and one of my parents’ favorite songs. It’s also one of the reasons I traded my beloved classical training for European pop, as Lucia calls it. And let’s not forget entertainment, fun, fame and fortune of course.

I check my watch again; it
’s almost 11.00 p.m. I’ve been playing for almost three hours and I have to be at the studio before 9.00 a.m. tomorrow. Maybe one more song: something timeless, a classic, a contemporary one – Ray Charles’ “Georgia” as another ode to my parents; this one is really their song. And then to bed I’ll go. It has been a long day. As I start to play, another one comes to my mind. It’s a softer and more current melody, an original piece but a future classic. I take some music sheets and start writing as I play the notes in my mind and on the keyboard. I’ve got to get to the lyrics at some point; I’ll be pulling another all-nighter. It will be light and beautiful, like Lucia, even when she’s not smiling at me. I’m thinking of a piano solo in the middle to keep the jazzy feel going. The ideas are flowing in my mind but in the mist of all, it’s a pair of gorgeous, expressive, grey eyes that is my sole inspiration.

“Thanks for the invitation,” John tells me all excited. He comfortably sits next to me in one of the auditorium chair. “I can’t believe we’re going to see Lucita performs, mate.”

I can
’t believe it either. Lucita was an urban legend when we were kids at The RAM. Beautiful, Latin, teenage musician, adopted by the notorious G Band. I had always wanted to meet her, so did Matt and Johnny. Little did I know we already had nearly six weeks ago.

The G Band surprised us yesterday morning with an early a
rrival. I was just about to show the song I wrote the night before when they stormed into our studio like they owned the place. They tend to do that; Tonio Carlos Jr, the new leader of the band and three more members.

“
Nice to meet you, Tonio.” I shook his hand. “It’s a real honor to finally meet you.”

Matt and Beesly shared the same sentiment. It was just the three of us; Lee and Lucia were upstairs with Callia and Lloyd.

“Where’s my girl?” he finally asked and checked around. “I haven’t seen her in almost three years.”

“
Who’s his girl?” Matt asked me.

“
I have no idea.” Maybe one of the employees here; nobody has ever mentioned being part of the band before. “Who’s your girl?”

“
Lucita of course,” he laughed and looked around again. “Now where is she?”

“
Lucita is here?” Matt and I asked. “
The
Lucita?” I asked again.

“
The one and only, Marcus,” Beesly told me. She laughed, took her phone out and started to text. Something was definitely going on and I was completely out of the loop. If Lucita was here I think I would have known. Wouldn’t I?

Lucita arrived shortly after Beesly sent her a message. She was wearing her black, strapless sundress down to her thighs, golden wedges, her curls were high in a loose bun and she was wearing my charm bracelet.

“Tonio, you control freak; you’re a week early,” Lucia said, hugging him.

Tonio backed away, looking at her with real disbelief, the same way Matt and I were looking at her.
“Who are you and what have you done with my Lucita?”

“
Tito
, I haven’t toured with you in six years. Give me a break!” Lucia told him. “I can still mop the floor with ya…” she says with a Scottish accent. Why?

We were still getting over the shock that Lucia was indeed Lucita when Tonio decided that Lucia would need to show that she had got it.

“Who should I bring, Tito?” Lucia asked, rising up to the challenge. “Evelyn?”

“
Who’s Evelyn?” I asked.

“
My electro-classic Ramirez. My guitar,” she answered still looking at Tonio. I knew this one; she had brought it in a few times. Tonio was still silent. “Not Belinda! She’s not leaving my place.” She turned to me. “Raimundo 1492 Spanish guitar,” she clarified with a wink.

“
How many do you have?” Matt asked.

“
Three. How many do you have?” she asked.

“
Bring Lucita,” Tonio finally told her. “We’ll be doing pop rock. One of your favorite – ‘I was born to be free and you to be with me’ –
Alex Sanders.”

“
You’re on! I’ll bring the old girl. And after I wipe the floor with you, you will show me some respect and
I
will be in charge,” she said on her way out of the room.