This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (42 page)

Somebody else came out of the room that day holding Baby Burton. She was tired, her hair was a total mess, she had a d
elayed hangover and her newly upgraded 20/20 vision was blurry, but most of all she was absolutely terrified. Well, Altogether Women Society, we had a good run.

“Are you going to let me hold her or what?” Axelle asked me for the third time. She looked much better compared to the day before. The circles around her eyes were almost gone and she wasn’t radiating pure anger anymore…yet.

“Okay, but be careful; she’s very small,” I said then gave her the baby. I had been admiring that little thing for the past two hours while Noor was resting. You would think that she would sleep a little, but no; she stared back at me the whole time.

“I’ve done it before, Luce, being a mother of three and all.” She took her out of the blanket, leaving her in her light-grey pajamas. “She’s so precious. She reminds me of you and Noor.” She kissed her tiny, bouncy cheek. “Hello, my love, I’m your aunty Axelle. What an alert newborn you are.” Baby Burton let out a little squeak and Axelle looked at me, shocked. “Does this cute little spitfire have a name yet?”

“Cassiopée Eleanor Riddell Burton,” we heard Noor say. We both turned around to face her. “Has my husband arrived yet?” she asked us. Our silence spoke volumes. “I see.” She straigh
tened herself on the bed. “Mum named me after her mother; I thought I should return the favor: Cassiopée Eleanor Riddell Burton.”

“The arrogant, vain queen Cassiopée or Cassiopeia,” I said.
Kiddo, you’re doomed!

“The beyond-beautiful queen Cassiopée,” Noor corrected.

Axelle handed her little queen Cassiopée. “Riddell as a middle name? I like it. How come I never thought of doing that?”

“Because you didn’t want the name Eleanor around your kids,” she said, smiling at her baby.
“Feeding time. Could you please get a nurse for her bottle?” She looked at Axelle. “Please! I won’t be breastfeeding.”

Axelle left the room, bumping into Greg at the door.

“Watch it, Lelly!”

But she was already gone. “What’s with her?” he asked us. I hadn’t seen him in almost two days, but it felt more like a lif
etime. I missed his loving gaze and just ran into his very busy arms. “I’ve missed you too,
Jagiya.
[25]
”

“Not nearly as much as I’ve missed you.”
I buried my head in his chest, inhaling his sexy, musky scent. “That whole experience was intense. And now the new mother has chosen bottles over boobs.”

“Thanks for the visual, Lulu. I came bearing gifts!” he said and dropped a bag on the floor. “I brought you a change of clothes and a few personal things,” he said, pointing the bag. I loved this man. “Flowers for the new mother and the gift we bought last weekend for…?”
             

I reluctantly broke away from him. “Cassiopée Eleanor Ri
ddell Burton.” I picked up the bag as the nurse was coming back
alone
with a bottle.

“
Gesundheit!
[26]
” he joked back.

“Where’s my sister?” Noor asked the nurse before taking the bottle from her. “Thank you.”

“She mumbled something about Dublin,” the nurse said. That didn’t sound good at all.

Cassiopée eagerly started to suck on her bottle; she was such a little treat. I caught Greg staring at me with a very perplex look. “What?” I whispered.

“Just tell me that we will not be getting
her
?” he whispered back.

I opened the door of the private bathroom and cast one last look toward Noor and Cassiopée. “Don’t be silly! Look at them.”

“I am Lulu. Are
you
looking at them?” he whispered back. “
Nag-won-ui geunsimgeoli.
[27]
”

I shrugged it off and closed the door.

Today…

It’s the week before Christmas: people happy everywhere while I slowly wonder why I still even care. Weather outside is frightful, but in my lobby is so delightful. Sadly, I have an important meeting I cannot blow off so... I need to stop with the Christmas carol way of thinking; it's getting creepier by the minute. But it’s the only thing that has been successfully working on Cassiopée these days. So I have to ‘Jingle Bell’ my way through it! Bottom line is I need sleep. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reception mirror. Correction: I need beauty sleep. It’s not bad, but it ain’t okay either. My face is a bit puffy, my nose is a bit runny, and my eyes are a bit glossy. Why am I rhyming? At least my hair looks great, very short, very black, very curly, just like our Cassiopée or
Cassie
. Her complexion is a little lighter than Axelle’s and she has that perfect natural-tan look going for her. I’m still the darkest one in our little clan.

Cassie and I made a bet three months ago that she would be crawling by that time she’s six months. She started to crawl a week too late. Obviously, she won the bet so I shaved my then-almost-down-to-my-lower-back, Brazilian, blow-dried, light-brown hair off to its natural, black, soft-curl roots. It's growing back nicely. Now this dress is a bold choice. I call it Santa red – bright-red, tea-length dress with dark-grey jacket, boots and belt – ho ho ho!
Something about reindeers and headlights.

"Morning, boss," Shannon, our receptionist, says.

I smile back. “Any news on you-know-who for you-know-what?” I ask her. We’re supposed to have a meeting with Tallie Simpson, the iconic female singer.

“Her plane hasn’t landed yet. But you should see this,” Sh
aron adds with a bright smile and hands me
The Sun
newspaper.

“Fuck! No freaking way!” I read and reread the article about Matthew Marsh. “Please call Beesly Marsh and put her through to me,” I tell her, running to my office. My own assi
stant is away on holiday until the New Year; Sharon has to fill in for her. I pass a few empty desks before quickly closing my door. Where is everyone? Aside from François, my assistant and trusted right hand who decided to go back to Montreal for the holiday, we should all be here at ten sharp. I’m not closing the office for another week. If I have to suffer through sleepless nights and still make it on time so should they. Who’s the boss here? That’s right, it’s me! I’m Scrooge  –
I really really need some sleep.
My phone finally rings. What took her so long? Beesly is in London right now, not the US. She should be awake. “Lucia Mpobo-Riddell.”

“Beesly Marsh,” she replies, mimicking my voice.

“I just read the news!” I tell her, suddenly more excited than I thought I would have been. “Matt Marsh is nominated for a Golden Globe! Please tell me I’m
your
plus-one for the ceremony.” I sit down and look at the pictures all over my office. There is a gorgeous one of Matt, Beesly and me taking in Glasgow almost two years ago on his thirtieth birthday: the day I got engaged to Greg.

“Matt is over the moon, Luce. He’s been giving interviews all day. Who knew his acting career would take off so quickly and so well?” she says.

Who knew, indeed? Matthew Marsh was until last year just a pop singer. Famous? Extremely. Talented? Not as much as his wonderful wife. But a great actor? Maybe he’s not such a dick; he just plays one on screen. “Of course he’s giving interviews. What else is there to do until the other nomination campaigns officially start in January?”

“Sure…” she mumbles. “I heard Tallie Simpson is flying to Toronto to see you,” she adds after a quick break. I can hear her hesitation. “Are you going to sign her
too
?”

“If she lets me woo her, it’s a big fat yes! I need a singer of her caliber in my ‘stable’.” I look at another picture on my desk – my stable: all the artists who have signed with us. All six of them were at the first anniversary party of my label in Septe
mber. “It’s not like my best friend wants to be my lucky number seven in my small but effective label,” I guilt her. We had had that conversation many times within the last year. With Matt going all Hollywood on her, their band, Beesly & Matt, hasn’t had a single performance since their world tour ended well over a year ago. What has she been doing during all this free time? “But what do I know?”

“Gosh, Luce, you’re so cranky these days!” she says, laug
hing. “It’s Christmas! Matt needs me right now. We can always talk about a solo career next year. I’ll be your lucky number eight. How does that sound?”

I pick up one of my favorite pictures: Beesly and me on my twenty-seventh’s birthday last year. We were still on the Se
cond Coming World Tour, but took a couple of days off to chill out in the Fiji Islands away from our men, the press, the fame, our problems…just away from it all.

“You’re my lucky everything, B. I just want what’s best for you,” I tell her. I put the picture down. “Soul sister, you swept into my life nearly three years ago and I finally gained a female best friend who isn’t related to me. A real first,” I continue.

“Luce, are you alright? I’m usually the mushy one in our relationship,” she asks.

“I’m fine… Cassie is teething! So she doesn’t sleep. When
she
doesn’t sleep,
I
don’t sleep,” I moan, picking up another picture, definitely my favorite one: Cassie and I last week while we were Christmas shopping. Our almost-identical-looking grey eyes and mouths have the exact same expression.
Why was Greg taking a picture of us while we were eating our French fries?
Priceless… It’s also my Facebook profile picture. “Taking care of a baby is one tough gig, B,” I say but with a big smile.

Beesly laughs. “I know you’re smiling, inside and out, sleep deprived or not. When are Noor and Andrew done touring?”

“Last month it was next spring, but I heard they have added dates for next summer. I really don’t know.” Cassie never even made it to their home. Greg drove Noor and Cassie straight to my apartment, now
our
apartment, when they left the hospital.

“Hang in there, Luce; you’re such a great aunt and –”

“What the fudge!” I scream back, closely looking at my dress. “Cassie spit her milk on my dress this morning…again!” Yes, this is happening. I’ve been walking around with baby spit and baby powder on my clothes every other day for the last few months. “Gotta go clean myself up before Tallie arrives.” Taking care of Cassiopée Eleanor Riddell Burton is indeed the toughest gig I’ve ever undertaken in my life, sleep deprived or not…

Lucia Cassidy Ann, I’m ordering you stay awake!
This is your first night off baby duty in weeks and your fiancé’s thirtieth birthday. Go grab a coffee, watch a movie, do something, anything, but do not fall asleep!
I’ve been waiting for Greg to come home from New York for the past three hours; he’s taken the flight home. Why is he so late? They didn’t announce a storm for this evening. And here I am, on the living-room sofa, in my brand new, sexy negligée, freezing by sweet ass off. 

Did you just yawn?
Lulu, pull yourself together!
You haven’t seen Greg in a week; your apartment felt empty without him, but was still very noisy with Cassie gabbing away at all hours of the day and night.
It’s all gibberish, but it hasn’t stopped her. I especially dread the little squeak she makes to wake me up when she’s sleeping with me, which is every night when Greg is not home. Or the one she makes when she doesn’t want to be touched; this one can draw a crowd. But the one I dread the most is when she sees me entering a room, when I arrive home after being away for the day or even a few hours. It’s a long, high-pitch cry followed by a few shorter ones, then her eyes get all watery as she starts to weep and babble her complains (I’m assuming) while holding up her arms to me so I can pick her up. A real eight-month-old drama queen! Her big, beautiful eyes keep looking at me saying, “Where have you been? Why didn’t I come with you?” And I fall for it every time, almost crying, taking her in my arms, big kisses like we haven’t seen each other in weeks. I’m as bad as she is.

Axelle witnessed our little ‘spectacle’ earlier today and was mortified. She arrived home before I did to pick up Cassie for the night. “What on earth is going on here?” she asked.

“What?” I said, caressing Cassie’s hair, her head buried in my cashmere sweater, still sniffling. “She has abandonment issues. I can relate. Can’t you?” Our mum abandoned us when I was just twelve; hers went on tour when she was just four months.

“Maybe I should keep her with us for a few more days. Fr
aser will like the company,” she said.

“I give it two days before you bring her back here. Be my guest, take her. We’ll pick her up on Christmas day,” I told her with a very wicked smile.

Yes, the apartment feels empty without any of them here with me. I’m just going to rest my eyes a little while I wait for Greg to come home. I will not fall asleep…

“Lulu,” Greg whispers in my ear. “Lulu,” he says again and kisses my neck. “Was all this for me?” I can feel his hands running down my neck, his mouth on my shoulders. “Open your eyes,
Jagiya.
”