17. The Mixer
The Mixer
MARY
“Jaw off the floor, darling,” Alicia said. “You look desperate.”
“I blame the dress,” I grumbled, turning away from where I could see Betty sitting with the weird but lovable Norwegian band.
“That right there is a revenge dress if I ever saw one,” Bea sighed. “Girl, she is torturing you!”
“And she brought that guy,” I groaned.
“They aren’t together,” Barry confirmed.
Clarice asked, “How do you know?”
“Because he’s been largely ignoring her,” Barry explained. “If I brought a woman who was in that dress and looked that good, I wouldn’t leave her alone in a room full of musicians.”
“That’s why you don’t bring Eliza on the road then?” Alicia joked.
“Nah. She’d never wear anything that… intense. It’s more that the twins have school.”
Revenge dress or not, Betty looked like sex on two legs.
Her sparkly green dress was everything I would have hated to wear—short, low cut, and as subtle as a mirrorball.
She shone like the sun. She texted that she was coming, but hadn’t said anything to me since her arrival—not even made eye contact.
“Go over there, act normal, imply you’d like to chat, and leave. She wouldn’t have shown up looking like that if she didn’t want to provoke a reaction, darling,” Bea said. “I mean, I am sure if I had her tight little arse, I’d wear all manner of things, but—”
“Maybe you should pick your jaw off the floor,” Alicia giggled. “Look at you.”
“Please go over there or I will yeet you out of this place,” Clarice pushed me.
I climbed to my feet which now felt leaden as I approached Betty.
She was laughing heartily about something when I reached the couch where she sat, legs politely crossed at the ankle.
I opened my mouth, but as I did, the lead singer of Giftehode started speaking my mother tongue in a very strong accent.
“Oh my God! I love you! Can I say that? I love you!”
I blushed. “You can say it, but I will never believe you.”
“Oh your work with Mark Johansson is amazing!” She continued. “Hi, I’m Kiersten. And this is Ole, Ivan, and Mikkel.”
Three blonde men raised their hands and said in the creepiest unison, “Nice to meet you.”
“You all… look similar,” I said.
“Kiersten is our cousin. We’re brothers,” Ivan explained.
“Oh, cool.”
Not at all weird.
I turned to Betty. Our eyes met and I sensed a defiance in her that wouldn’t let up. She had the upper hand. I hated it. Still, all I wanted was to pull her aside and tell her how I fucked up and it wouldn’t happen again.
“Do you know who Marit is?” Kiersten asked in excited English.
“Yes, we’ve met,” Betty was sweet as pie. “She’s very talented.”
Betty uncrossed, then recrossed her legs, never dropping my gaze. I couldn’t read if she was nervous or trying to throw me off.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Betty said. “Excuse me.”
She walked to the bar. I debated whether to follow, but realized this was my only in. I chased her like a puppy, finally catching up a few strides in.
“You know, I don’t understand how you can walk so fast in those things.” I caught my breath.
Betty turned, looking unamused. “We’re born wearing them.”
I furrowed my brow, confused.
“It was a joke, you can laugh,” Betty said flatly.
“Look, I know this is awkward and you showed up here to make me feel bad, but I really am sorry, Betty. As I said—”
She crossed her arms, pushing her cleavage even further towards the sky. Don’t look down! Don’t look down!
“I didn’t come here to torture you. I came here because this was my obligation—my job—and I am doing what I do.”
“Which is why you look like this?” I asked.
“Like what?”
“Like… this!” I gestured.
She shifted, pushing her hip out.
“You really want me to say, don’t you?” I sighed.
Betty flared her nostrils. “Preferably in your mother tongue yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it means more.”
I groaned and did the thing not because it made sense and not because it was half English cognates anyhow. I just knew she wanted it, so I did it.
“You’re hot,” I said. “You look amazing. It’s unfair.”
She relaxed. “Tusen takk. That’s a start. Now, order me a drink and we can talk.”
I led the way to the bar now. She settled in by me.
“What do you want, Your Royal Highness?” I asked, annoyed that I even had to question what to call her.
“I’m honestly good with a—”
Suddenly, the Norwegians arrived, accompanied by the Danish brethren. They sang an old drinking song and demanded a bottle of aquavit.
“Shot glasses for all!” Ivan declared. “Go on.”
“I really have to be on a plane at the ass crack of dawn,” I protested.
“I have to ride tomorrow before the sun is up,” Betty added.
“Nonsense,” the tallest Dane—some very flamboyant man in a pair of painted on red pants—said. “Come on! Don’t be fun sucks.”
The bartender made eye contact with Betty as if she alone held the power to allow this nonsense.
Please say no, Betty! Please!
Betty gave the slightest of nods and he lined them up.
Well, fuck!
Now, we were forced to take a shot of the cursed liquor, hazed by a thing I still believe no one wanted to drink.
“Mer! Mer! Mer!” Kiersten pounded on the bar in a frighteningly guttural way. The death metal poured out of her.
Once more, the barkeep lined them up.
Betty made eye contact with me as she raised her shot. The adorably pained look on her face melted me.
“We will get through it together,” I snickered.
I threw my shot back, but she held hers.
“It is the worst.”
“You can do it,” I promised.
Everyone stared. Succumbing to peer pressure, Betty threw the shot back.
The bar erupted in a song once more, but Betty was clearly over it.
I nodded in the direction of a quiet hallway off the speakeasy we set up in.
Slowly, we made our way over, the Danes and Norwegians distracted with drink and ridiculously inappropriate sea shanties.
Betty kept her voice low. “Why did you ghost me?”
I breathed deeply and rubbed my temples. “Betty, I googled the address you gave the driver. I went down an Internet rabbit hole, found out who your brother was, then realized who you were, and decided this could not be a thing.”
“Why? I mean, right now, I’ll grant you the timing isn’t great, but I’m still the same person—”
“This has got to be some sort of experiment, right? You torture me, take me home, and then we hook up with homeboy out there?”
Betty’s face pulled in a pained way, making me immediately regret my words. She turned to step away, but her heel got caught on a cracked tile, and she went down. I stepped in, catching Betty as she was about to fall. Slowly, I put her back on her feet.
“I’m sorry. I keep saying the wrong things in hopes you will go the fuck away.”
“Well, thanks. I’m glad you feel that way!” Her tears welled.
“No. I… I don’t want that. I’m just bad at being open and shit at dating, Betty. And I like you. That scares me. My last relationship ended badly.”
“That’s a you thing! Don’t take it out on me. I like you, too. But you didn’t really care about how I felt. You made that choice for the both of us. For the record, Hank is just here as moral support. He’s my coach.”
“Oh.” I looked at her ruby-red shoes, feeling stupid.
Betty put her hand on my arm reassuringly.
“You aren’t someone I want to toy with. I don’t even know what to do about you.
I like you a lot. I am drawn to you. Your voice sends shivers down my spine.
I wish I could get away with kissing you right now—despite how much I really want to torture you—but I know I shouldn’t. ”
“The dress did the job, so no more torture, please,” I joked.
“I want to talk and explain a few things,” Betty said, “but not here.”
“You could come up to my room?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t mean it like that. I’m sharing with Clarice. It’s just to talk—”
“No, I cannot be caught in your room. We gotta be totally above board.” She looked around. “If you weren’t famous, I wouldn’t worry, but every queer woman in Trondheim wants to fuck you and everyone else just thinks you’re ‘super cool’ so that’s not a great idea.”
“You really think more of me than I do—”
She spoke with huskiness, “I think about you too much, yes.”
“What if we went back to yours? I could like hide in a trunk. But you’d have to bring me back here super early. I must fly out of here back to the UK at ten. So, I have to be there by eight.”
“My place is like 15 minutes from the airport,” Betty said. “I could drop you tomorrow. But like… you don’t have to hide in a trunk. My people can get us out of here no problem. Is that cool? What about your stuff?”
“I will have Clarice wrangle the roadies and my luggage,” I said. “Just give me a minute.”
I had no clue if things were fixed, but it was a shot. I would take it if she gave me the time of day.