50. Will it blow over?
Will it blow over?
MARY
The minute I saw the video, I knew it was over.
I put two and two together so fast, even if my entire band tried talking me off the ledge.
I told myself the only reason they did so was to continue celebrating and stop me from being a sad sack.
But as we milled in the green room post-announcement, I was gutted.
She was gone—again—and all because I had a mental breakdown.
“Where do we want to go?” Clarice asked.
“Don’t ask me,” I answered, scrolling social media where a gif played over in infamy.
“That won’t help. And you are coming out because this will totally blow over,” Alicia said, confused. “Why are you freaking out? The whole day was a shit show, but she’ll text you soon. It will all be better.”
“Will it? They are describing the kiss as a ‘make out sesh’ and using alliteration in a way that makes me very uncomfortable. I can only imagine her family is going to lock her away and I’ll never see her again.”
“It will be okay.” Barry’s face didn’t match his words, but mirrored my own feelings.
Alicia rubbed my back. “It will work out.”
I pulled at my sweaty hair, as if it might help me grasp the words to convey my inner turmoil.
“We don’t know anything so let’s not panic.”
“We don’t know anything?” I demanded. “I had an argument with Max, then Barry almost died—”
“But I didn’t,” Barry insisted. “I have fallen off stages before. I broke my leg that one time with Playground.”
I rolled my eyes. “Barry, that’s not what this was.”
“We survived, though. It will be okay,” Clarice assured.
“Yes, but it’s not. Because Betty isn’t here. She just left.” I fought the urge to collapse into a puddle of tears before these people.
Clarice approached, sympathetic. “Oh, darling. It’s okay. You will find her and this will work out. It has to. I believe it will.”
That made one of us. Clarice was so young and glass-half-full that I wanted to scream at her, but I fought the impulse. She meant well.
“She’s gone. She’s not responded to my texts. Everything is fucked and… I’m the common denominator.”
My lip quivered and I spun away, wanting to crawl into a corner.
Alicia gripped my arm and pulled me around, grabbing my chin. “Marit Jensson, this doesn’t end here. Don’t go there, damn it! Break that cycle!”
“You don’t understand—”
“I fucking do, bitch. I have seen the shit in this business, too. I fought tooth and nail to get here and you’re not about to crack and take us all out, Marit.”
“Don’t you see that I already have?”
“You haven’t. You’ve finally chosen yourself. You stood up to Max, and he had a fucking temper tantrum—”
“That could have been disastrous!”
“I used to play metal shows. I’ve seen a wall of death, Mary!” Barry insisted.
“Did someone say wall of death?” A Giftehode member called. “Wacken?”
“Nei!” I groaned, not needing more metal-headed chaos.
“The point is, he’s okay. Mary, Betty will ring you soon. I am sure they are just following a protocol or something.”
“They? A protocol?”
“The royals, bitch! They have lists and rules and all this other faff,” Alicia gestured.
“If they do, it’s because they never want me to see her again.”
“Is Miss Jensson here?” A loud voice rang over the chatter.
I turned to the door. There stood a man in a suit.
“See, it’s the secret service,” Clarice snickered.
He looked like the fuzz. What if they were about to arrest me? Was kissing a royal an offense? Or what if Max told people that I had caused the catastrophe? I wouldn’t put it past him.
I swallowed hard and answered, “Yes?”
Everyone watched as I crossed to see what this was about. The band followed, either out of solidarity or curiosity.
“Miss, we need to take you somewhere now.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know who you are. Are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping?” Clarice puffed her chest.
The man pulled out a badge. “We’re the Norwegian Police Protection Service, ladies.”
I went white as a sheet and lost it momentarily.
Alicia caught it and wrapped her arm around me. “Don’t be a noob and lock your knees!”
I stammered and asked in nervous Swedish, “Are… you arresting me?”
“Arresting you?” He tilted his head, confused.
“Yes. Did Max tell you—”
Another man appeared, “Ma’am this is an order from the crown. There is no Max that I know of.”
“Well, you show up here and we have to ask,” Clarice’s words slurred from the champagne we consumed either in celebration or commiseration.
The first man said firmly, “Miss Jensson is requested at Stiftsg?rden imminently.”
“What’s a Stiftsg?rden?” Clarice whispered.
“It’s where the royals live,” I sighed, sensing these men had no time for jokes. “Fine. Take me with you.”
I began to leave, but Clarice demanded, “And if they are really kidnapping creeps?”
“We’ll avenge you!” Barry called.
“Miss Jensson, His Majesty requests you himself. No one is trying to kidnap or harm you,” the second man assured. “Why do you think that?”
“I kissed a royal and it’s all over the Internet.”
“We are aware of this situation. That is why we are here.”
“To arrest me?” I asked, still worried. “Because if so, I want someone from the embassy—”
“We’re here as protection officers.” The first man spoke Swedish as if he thought my English was too poor for good comprehension.
I quieted. “Oh. So you aren’t the Stagedoor Mafia sent to spirit me away to be tortured in a warehouse because I kissed a royal?”
We piled into a waiting car. The driver stared, confused.
Number one answered in Swedish, “No, Miss Jensson. Our concern is your safety.”
I soon discovered why as we traversed the streets of Trondheim in a vehicle flagged in the King’s crest. They teemed with people.
In the couple of hours since the tape released, somehow young people gathered in pride gear.
Techno pulsed through the streets like an impromptu pride parade.
People waved at the car, as if in on the joke.
I worried this only made it worse. Me being here was tabloid fodder, wasn’t it?
“Should I worry that people see me in here?” I asked as the vehicle parted through the seas of those gathered.
“There isn’t much use in that, is there?” Number Two joked. “Cat’s out of the bag. The crowd has only tripled.”
People weren’t cross. People were excited!? I wasn’t too drunk for reality. They were having a party. While it unnerved me a bit, it flew in the face of all I assumed. There wasn’t a public panic. No one cried foul. As Alicia would say, they shipped us.
Since Trondheim was the size of a pin, we soon reached Stiftsg?rden, a beautiful wooden fortress in the middle of the city.
It looked unimposing compared to something like Buckingham Palace, but upon entry, my heart beat out of my chest. Hands sweaty, I followed another unnamed man in a suit toward a big pair of white and gold doors. A man in uniform opened them.
In Norwegian, he proclaimed, “Your Majesty, Miss Jensson has arrived.”
With military precision, he left me there, awkward and nervous in front of the Norwegian royals.
Betty sat on the couch next to Ingrid, but immediately spotted me.
I braced for a look of fear or disgust. I’d even have settled for a look of uncertainty.
Instead, all I got was a tearful smile. Before I could bow, she rushed me for a hug.
I threw my arms around Betty, so relieved to have her.
Alicia was right. She never left. But as Betty pulled back to take me in, I realized there were a dozen or more other people who could still make this hurt.
The scene was odd. There were the royals I didn’t know—all dressed casually compared to Betty’s incredible getup. That included King Olav who I only knew from cyberstalking Betty. His neutral face worried me. Was it a typical Norwegian expression or was it judgement?
“I’m supposed to bow,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
I performed a terrible bow. “Your Majesties, I am really sorry, but any abilities I possess were learned watching The Princess Diaries a million years ago.”
Princess Ingrid snickered.
“Come and sit, please,” King Olav said. “We have… refreshments, but should be eating dinner shortly.”
Confused, I looked to the table which had three types of liquor.
“I’m plenty sloshed, thanks,” I said. “I apologize, but… we were stuck backstage for so long and—” I sat and looked at Betty. “Well, I suppose you had blocked me.”
Betty squeezed my knee. “No. Never.” Then, she glared at her cousin. “Someone had them take my phone.”
Her words—salty and not at all polite—delighted me. I stifled inappropriate laughter.
“I am so sorry you worried about that for even a minute,” Betty said. “You didn’t need to. Never do that.”
I fought tears and nodded. “I see that. I do now.”
She squeezed my hands. “You are stuck with me. In a big way.”
I squeezed her hands back. “I won’t complain.”
“Now, Miss Jensson,” The King began.
“Oh, please just call me by my first name. That sounds so awful.”
“Marit,” he corrected, blissfully using my given name. “I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced. However, I want you to know that you are welcome here and safe.”
“I… I do now,” I blushed. “But I must apologize because your protection officers got an earful from my band and… well, I assumed they were here to deport me or arrest me.”
“What?” Betty snickered. “Sorry, but what?”
“They showed up out of nowhere like MI-6,” I explained. “What was I to think?”
“I am sorry for all this chaos,” King Olav said. “But you needn’t fear that, as no one wants to start a war with the Swedes and Brits.”
“The call would be coming from inside the house,” Betty’s brother Keir chuckled.
The King continued, concerned. “But, that settled, I was told you were in danger early from stage lighting?”
“Well, our drummer more than me, but yes. We’re all okay. The Swedes were DQ’ed.”
“What? Oh my God!” Betty said.
“You telling them to search the tapes did the trick, ?lskling.” I agreed. “Thank you for believing me.”
She stuck her neck out, potentially bringing more attention to a relationship that had been under wraps two hours ago. I suspected without her demands, Max would have once more gotten away with his shit.
“Of course. Fuck Max! And you made it, right?”
“We did. I wasn’t worried.”
“I wasn’t either, but I am proud of you.”
I could have hated the hubbub or cursed everything, but I only thought about the love in her voice and this sweet look on her face. She was downright adorable.
“So, everyone knows,” Cici said. “Not just us now.”
“And despite Betty’s insistence that we’d lose our minds, we haven’t,” Betty’s mother confirmed.
So, they’re not upset?
“Mamma, you can calm down!” Betty shot back in Norwegian before switching to English. “She thinks I’m hiding something. I explained it wasn’t that I worried she’d disown me but the optics for the competition weren’t good and… I’m rather private about these things.”
“I’m glad you all are chill,” I said. “But can I make a suggestion?”
“Sure, go on,” Queen Kiersten said.
“I’d just love for us to stick to English if we could. Because the back and forth is doing my head in.”
“They do that,” Ingrid said. “It’s exhausting.”
“We forget. I used to get whiplash, too,” Betty’s mother agreed. “We’ll do our best.”
“We forget,” Keir said. “Blended family and all.”
I realized he had a kid on his lap—a toddler with a cheeky grin.
“And who is this then?” I asked.
“This is Paulie,” Ingrid said. “He is a tiny terror somedays and sweet as pie the others.”
“He’s been both today,” Keir said, “but he’s overtired and excited to be in a new place.”
“Hei!” He waved.
“Well, that is heart-melting,” I said. “I love kids. Don’t feel bad pawning him off on me. Contrary to what everyone I know who has kids—which is everyone—I really do love them.”
“She isn’t much for animals, though,” Betty added.
“Bets, that’s not true. I tolerated your horse!”
“Tolerating isn’t loving.”
“They are huge beasts,” Keir agreed. “How do you feel about dogs?”
“I’ve never had a dog,” I admitted.
“Betty wants one and won’t shut up about it,” Ingrid laughed. “That’s why he asks.”
“Really? You want to be those people?” I joked.
“Would it be so bad” Betty asked. “I need to settle down first, but yeah, I want a dog.”
“I could tolerate a dog,” I said. “Even love one… someday.”
Betty’s face lit up in a way that made me weak-kneed. I’d take it. A house. A dog. A life with Betty. I could play it off as a joke, but the truth was, I was dying to have it—with her. Hearing her say it made it real.
I squeezed her hand, grounding myself.
“It’s really okay,” she whispered, sensing I was in my head. “I promise.”
For once, I believed someone. We’d been through the worst few hours in a long time.
We’d been outed. My career could have ended.
All my worst fears converged at once, but it didn’t end.
Instead, I was here with Betty and her family.
Though still otherworldly and odd, I didn’t feel like an outcast. I was here with Betty. That was enough.
“Your Majesties,” another uniformed man appeared. “Dinner is served.”
“Well, fine,” The King said. “To dinner!”