43. The Balcony
The Balcony
BETTY
“Stop being a party pooper, Bets!” Ingrid said. “It will be fun.”
My entire family was in town to support me with UniVox—minus Lars and Rose who dealt with the impact of late-pregnancy and two young kids at home.
As such, they’d drug me to some sort of street fair hosted by a youth organization.
I agreed only because Ingrid wouldn’t shut up and I was tired of arguing after a day spent in a dressage clinic.
“What is this?” Mamma asked.
“I heard it was some sort of unsanctioned thing to raise money for a youth music charity,” I said.
“Yes! Some of the UniVox acts are going,” Ingrid said.
“The teen collective organized it. So, they like… choose a song for each act who shows up. They didn’t confirm any ahead of time, so it’s anyone’s guess who is coming.
Then, they tell the bands live on stage which of their songs they will perform.
People donate based on whose performance they liked most. The band who raises the most money wins. ”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t realize UniVox bands were involved. I just thought it was a concert with a fundraiser. Feet leaden, I followed Ingrid, cursing her all the while. Somehow, I suspected she knew what she was doing. She wanted me to see Mary perform.
An organizer greeted us with a surprised bow. “Your Royal Highnesses… we didn’t expect… all of you.”
Ingrid threw her arm around my shoulder. “It’s Princess Elisabeth’s birthday tomorrow. She’d love to share it with everyone.”
I glared as they handed out the lanyards. She did it because she knew I hated when she made a big deal out of birthdays. I forgave her, though. She grew up in a fucked-up regency without any presents, so every gift-giving holiday was obscenely exciting.
Graced with lanyards, the organizers led us to VIP seats high in the stands.
“So, are you going to tell Mum and Dad?” Keir whispered as I sat between him and my middle brother, Nate.
“Not here!” I said. “I want to. I figured I would at dinner after the semis.”
Keir nodded. “So, is your girlfriend performing?”
I glared, subconsciously pleading with him to keep his voice down. The fact that he’d brought it up so freely worried me. I prayed he didn’t just slip it into a conversation. In truth, though, it meant he cared about Mary enough to ask. He accepted her as my partner. In his way, Keir showed up.
“I dunno. I should text her.”
ME
So, I got dragged to this charity thing. I’m up in the stands. Plz ignore me if you’re here.
No response. She was either out with her band, or she was here and already had her phone off in the warmup.
Sometimes, she might forget to turn it on.
Unlike me, she wasn’t perpetually connected to the world outside.
She said it killed her buzz. I felt the same way before blazing onto a cross-country course.
I prayed it was the former, not the latter, though.
If she was far, far away, this moment would feel less awkward.
My brother Nate stood.
“Are you getting beers?” I asked.
Nate rolled his eyes. “Why, Betty? You have legs.”
“You know what tomorrow is,” I pouted. “Have pity on me.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
“An IPA,” I said. “The weirder the better.”
“Fine, fine.”
He left in a huff as I saw Ingrid and Keir bonding over pictures of their son.
“You all are in a place with booze, and you have no booze,” I said, annoyed. “Keir, buy your wife a damn beer.”
“Fine,” Keir groaned. “I will. Stout?”
“Or a lambic,” she answered.
He traipsed off, and Ingrid spent the next ten minutes gushing about her son’s achievements in finger painting. I adored my nephew, but couldn’t imagine a life where such a thing amounted to seconds—let alone minutes of conversation.
“Are you zoning out?” Ingrid asked.
“A little,” I admitted. “I don’t… I don’t have kids, Ingy. You gotta forgive me.”
Ingrid picked up and moved into Keir’s seat to be closer. “Someday you will, though. Wait. Does she not want kids? Because that’s a deal breaker—”
I didn’t have time to respond to her rather heavy question about my love life and future family plans because my mother overheard. Thankfully, she only caught the tail end of Ingrid's statement.
“What is a deal breaker?” Mum passed with a beer in each hand.
She handed one to Pappa as the boys divvied ours.
“Here you are, princess,” Nate grumbled.
“Thank you, sweet brother,” I said, flatly.
And with that, the whole thing kicked off. A young woman with dark Mahogany skin and braided hair entered the stage to brightly greet us.
“Thank you all for coming to the Voices Across Europe acoustic challenge. This year, we have an amazing lineup of artists. But, before I get to this, I am told we have some special guests.”
Oh, here it goes!
A mild panic bubbled within me. I prayed that Mary was not listening to any of this.
If she were backstage, I worried she’d hear I was there and freak out.
This little competition didn’t mean anything, but if confidence in riding was anything like onstage confidence, it only took one bad fall to shake you.
“In the audience with us are Prince Peder, Princess Sanne, and their daughter and our host here for UniVox, Princess Elisabeth. Alongside them, straight from the UK, The Duke and Duchess of Inverness and Prince Nate!”
The crowd turned in the direction of her outstretched hand and cheered mightily. I loathed this bit. I just wanted to drink a beer and hide.
“And given that it Princess Elisabeth’s birthday tomorrow, we must appreciate that she has chosen to spend the time with us.”
Photographers turned, surprised by our presence, snapping away. The entirety of the stands waited. I smiled and nodded even as I died inside.
Please don’t let Mary see this!
Knowing we were on the Jumbotron, I covered my mouth and said to Ingrid, “Fuck my life and fuck you, babes.”
“Drink more,” she countered. “It helps.”
The girl with the braids continued to explain the rules as I looked to my brothers for support. Nate wasn’t sure what was happening, but shot a sympathetic look. Keir patted my back. I rested my head on his shoulder playfully, resigned to my fate.
“It’s going to be fine, woman,” he whispered.
Unfortunately, neither of us knew how much worse it would get. As things kicked off, Iceland went first with something I could only describe as yowling accompanied by guitar.
“That ain’t it,” Nate whispered.
I tried not to laugh.
“Up next,” the emcee announced, “is a group of programmers from Ireland. Inspired by the musical STOMP!, who banded together to create BASH!. And the song they will play tonight is…”
She nodded in the direction of a young blonde boy who stood and announced, “Control+U.”
By now, the Irish pot and pan band assembled. If Nate hated the Icelandic bit, he’d loathe this.
“Brace yourself,” I whispered.
The Irish band played their hit—a rhythmic, upbeat song about God only knew what. Nate hated it. Keir thought it was fine. Ingrid was all about it in a way I found slightly embarrassing.
“It is amazing they can do that!” Pappa declared as one band exited and the next entered.
“It is… something, Peder,” Keir agreed.
I spotted Mary emerging with her band. While she arrived with a guitar, she soon changed her strategy.
“Up next is a supergroup from the UK combining the songwriting chops of the legendary Marit Jensson and the members of Playground. Combined, they are the Zamboneys. Tonight, they are tasked to perform…”
An older teen with short black hair hopped up. “Balcony.”
I shook inside, nervous.
“Uh… should they be asking for that?” Ingrid asked. “It’s like really inappropriate.”
I wanted to die. I prayed Ingrid and my family only saw it for the banger it was rather than for the ode to Mary’s beautiful ability to make me come. I didn’t want to get into it.
“How bad could it be?” Keir snickered.
Mary tossed her guitar aside and settled at the piano on the side stage. She picked up the intro and spoke into the mic.
“So, this is… not what we planned for… but that is the fun of live. I wrote this on a piano, so I’m going to do it that way.”
If she knew I was in the stands with my parents, Mary didn’t show it.
She played beautifully. I realized I’d never seen her play piano onstage, nor had it dawned on me this was how she wrote songs.
She’d given me a new portal into her process which I found captivating.
It was almost so beguiling that I forgot what the song was building towards.
I braced for the chorus and looked around.
My father sat with his chin propped on his arm. Mamma leaned on his shoulder, watching Mary play. Ingrid was nearly dancing, mouthing every word in a way I found mortifying. Keir side-eyed me, the first sign of concern. As per usual, Nate was slow on a reaction.
The chorus hit and it was all over. When “in between your thighs” rang out, the place erupted characteristically.
The line always slayed even if it made me cringe internally.
I failed to fight the resulting mortification.
I looked at my family. Neither of my parents seemed bothered.
Nate did a double take, probably scandalized by a woman singing such dirty things publicly.
Ingrid turned, jaw slack because she’d just put it all together, “Holy shit, that’s you.”
It was me. I was the girl Mary made paint new colors.
I was the girl quite literally in the balcony watching this beautiful woman play her heart out about me.
And as I sat there, I still hadn’t told my entire family the truth yet.
Now, I felt I couldn’t. The shock that I was the girl in the song would be too much.
Keir’s reaction further confirmed my assumptions, for he was now hiding behind his own hands, peeking out between his fingers, as if unable to function any longer with the knowledge that I had inspired a song he’d reduced in his mind down to cunnilingus and rage.
Fuck my life.