This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad by Danielle-Claude Ngontang Mba Page A

sexy mess, covering her face on and off, and she hasn’t even bothered to put makeup on, which is kind of refreshing really, to see her face like that.
    “ Marcus!”
    “ You’re freaking me out, okay,” I finally tell her. I give her back her lyrics with my notes on them. “What’s with the accent? Even when you say my name.”
    She moves her hair away from her face and sits back in her office chair. This is going to be a long meeting. But at least things have changed since the last time I was in here six weeks ago.
    “I tend to slip back to my London accent during hangovers,” she says. She drinks part of her…I really don’t know what this mixture is supposed to be. “You should hear Noor. She sounds like a Notting Hill fishmonger. Didn’t you notice it that morning? It was brutal!”
    “ Right…” I’m not sure what to say about that. I read the rest of the file she emailed me. We have recorded seven songs and even the G band have recorded their tracks. It has been a very productive week. We should be ready for more in a couple of weeks; just in time for Matt to come and save the day – or just make it worst. I look up again and Lucia is playing with her locket.
    “ Seriously! Cut it out!” she shouts  when she catches me staring again. “I don’t look that horrible.”
    She ’s just too cute and funny. And of course I just have to laugh, which makes it worse. I think she’s about to murder me now. “Horrible! Please don’t fish for compliments. You could never even be close to that word.”
    She pushes the plate full of delicious macaroons towards me. “You earned yourself another cookie.” She takes one as well. “Don’t flirt with hangover women, Marcus. That’s just desperate.”
    I laugh while taking a cookie. “Right. I’ll try to control myself. I’ll just knock on their door in the morning and…” I eat a mint flavor one. It just melts in my mouth and all the flavors explode in my head. How is she able to bake like that?
    “ Do I need to leave you and the macaroon alone?” she says, bursting out laughing. But then she stops and grimaces. “It’s hurt to laugh. No more wine-tasting Sundays. Smashed is not a great color on me.”
    “ Getting shit-faced on a Sunday? I thought you would be a good influence on Beesly,” I say. I keep reading her lyrics; they’re good. This ballad sounds more a song for Beesly, only no room for Matt there. He could play his guitar during the song. I’ll write him a nice solo or Lucita will.
    “ Hey…It wasn’t my fault…this time. Noor came by –”
    “ Do all your stories start this way?” I say with a small laugh. Noor – always the one to blame.
    “ As I was saying,” she continues, ignoring my comment. “ Nooradine came by with fabric samples for her bridesmaids.”
    “ And they will be wearing different type of wines. Therefore, you tasted a few?”
    “ Hush! We just opened a couple of bottles as we were talking about them. Beesly’s personal assistant sent her a couple of cases of vintage sauvignon blanc,” she adds. Her phone buzzes. “So one thing led to another… It’s really B’s fault.” She winks at me. Her phone buzzes again. She takes it out and responds while drinking the awful-looking mixture again.
    “ Everything alright?”
    She puts down the phone and smiles. “Just Beesly. She’s upstairs with a few journalists and has a photo shoot later today. The thing about B is –”
    “ She can drink like a fish but it doesn’t affect her,” I laugh. “Yes, I knew that. How did you think an American got herself a wild British boy like Matt?”
    “ Bad Karma? She’s so tiny. Where does it all go?” she asks me and she looks like she’s expecting an answer. “I have to drink my detox shake just to make it through the day. It’s not fair,” she adds, looking at her sheets. “We did get a little trashed on Saturday while watching a few romantic comedies,” she finally murmurs.
    “ Let me guess: Noor