This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (34 page)

“This is great, Pat!” I said. The lawyer firm he had been u
sing had an office in Sydney, so they were able to handle the case there. “I miss my nieces. Please bring them back for Christmas,” I told him.

“I will. I miss my little angels; they would have loved mee
ting Lucia,” he sincerely told us.

“My three lovely princesses, Gemma, Donna and Patty; your soon to be ex-wife is heartless to have done that to us. I’d take sleeping with a giant teddy to deal with deep abandonment i
ssues any day. Arthur Riddell must have consulted a professional about that,” she told Patrick. That sounded like that something he would have done.

Patrick kissed Mum goodbye shortly after and went back to bed. I was about to leave too and go back to Luce when she stopped me.

“I’m always on your side. You and Patrick are my best accomplishments,” she choked up a little. “After a couple of miscarriages, I realized that I would only have boys and you too made this…‘punishment’ so much worth it,” she continued.

“Mum…” She was almost five months’ pregnant before lo
sing one of them; it was a baby girl.

“Well, your evil of a Puddy always reminded me how much less of the woman I was. She had seven successful pregna
ncies!”

“Wow! You really didn’t like Grandma!”

“No, I didn’t. She was a vile woman, like Sally, Suzanne and Eleanor Riddell,” she said very seriously. Too seriously. “But vile people tend to have wonderful children: your dad, my granddaughters, Lucia. She’s the bee’s knees, Cushion.”

“You really think so?” I asked her. I
really
asked her; I just needed someone else’s opinion.

“Like I said, I’m always on your side. You and your brother always brought self-centered divas in my home and because you loved them, I accepted them. Look where we are now,” she said.

“A divorce,” I said.

“And two emotionally bruised men.” She’s caressing my cheeks. “She reminds me of you. Your beautiful artistic soul, your heart on your sleeve – at least you used to carry it there – your sensitivity.”

“Beesly said the same thing; she’s the female me,” I said, completely taken aback.

“Because it’s true, parental issues aside,” she said with a small laugh. “And if she’s half as bruised as
you, and something tells me she is, Alfie won’t be any help. Be careful, Cushion,” She said and stood up. “You both deserve the best, together or apart, as long as you’re both sure and happy.” She kissed my forehead.

“She loves me, Mum,” I told her as she was leaving the room. “She told me so.”

“I know, you idiot; I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I also see the way you look at her. Do you love her?” she asked me.

When I turned around I was alone in the kitchen.

On Monday morning, when I drove Lucia back to her West End townhouse, at her request, she didn’t say a word in the car, just looked out the window. Axelle and Paul were still in Greece so the place was empty. We stood outside with Alfie, her bag and Belinda; she gave me the sweetest, deepest, loving kiss.

“Here’s looking at you, Marcus,” she softly said. I said not
hing; she looked me in the eyes, waiting for me to say something, to say anything.

“Thank you for this week,” I finally managed to say and push her hair away from her face. “Thank you.” I cowardly walked back to my car and drove away. I would never forget
the expression on her face as long as I live. As for now, I’m bloody, fucking missing her…

After almost five days hiding away in my hotel room and all over the city, I finally decide to go back to the studio. And I’m not coming back empty handed; I have three songs I’m almost one hundred percent sure Mary will like. For reasons I’m not paid enough to comprehend, she decided that her next album should be a tribute to the eighties and I’m done fighting against it. This break away from her and the studio made me realized that. If she wants cheese, I’ll give her the best, cheesiest album I’ve ever written and produced, and it will be a smashing hit.

I arrive at Éclipse around 10.00 a.m.; it’s a couple of stops up from my hotel when I take line six. Cally is not far behind me.

“Ciggie break?”

“Second one today,” she says. She’s joining me in front of the elevator. “Where the bloody hell have you been, Marcus?”

“Nowhere, everywhere; I just didn’t want to deal with any of Mary’s requests,” I tell her. I take out my phone and send her the songs I’ve done. “I’ve written a few great one. You should check them out,” I say.

The elevator arrives and we both get in. Cally presses four when the studio is on the seventh floor.

“Let’s check this out,” she says with a smile. “Jean-Michel has a few versions of our previous recordings he wants you to listen to.”

Mary’s “tribute” will be a two-disc album; one will be a co
llection of my best work with her but completely re-mastered. I still don’t know how they got Hollander Records to agree to that. The other disc will have eight to ten 1980s-inspired songs. In the past two weeks we already recorded two; this is much easier than with Beesly & Matt. I press the seventh floor.

“Okay, but I need to drop by the studio first. I sent the songs to Charles earlier today and need to check in with him,” I tell her.

“Okay…” She wasn’t very convincing.

“Cally, what’s going on?” I ask. The door opens to the se
venth floor.

“Don’t be cross, Marcus,” she pleads, which of course makes me cross. “Mary thought it would be a great idea to have some ‘help’ for you.”

“Help!” I have a bad feeling about this one.

“More like a new perspective, Marcus. We know you’re the best –”

“I don’t do partnerships, Cally,” I tell her before walking away. “This is not bloody news!” Wait a minute… “What do you mean by new perspective?” I say and stop walking halfway down the hall.

Jean-Michel appears in the hall, “It means
,we need
du sang frais
.”

“Fresh blood?
Am I doing a bad job, Jean-Michel? I never had any complaints before,” I tell him. And why am I only hearing about it now?

“Marcus, it’s not that…” Cally starts to say, but Jean-Michel is apparently not done with me.

“It’s exactly that. Four albums and they all almost sound the same,” he says.

“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.

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 si
pping 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 reme
mbered 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, L
ucia 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 conf
idence.

“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 louko
umades 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.