45. The Semifinals
The Semifinals
MARY
My palms sweated as I waited backstage with the Norwegians.
The band was cool as a cucumber, but like the Norwegians about to go right before me, I was in a zone.
I paced in my headphones, listening to white noise.
I felt very little—no nerves and determined to stay calm.
This was just a semi. It was another day at the office to get us to the finals.
I focused on my headphones to avoid hearing any trace of Betty’s voice.
I loved her, but right now, I needed to work.
Ahead, the lead singer of Giftehode was busy doing step-ball-changes.
That felt surprisingly light and theater kid for a girl in an abundance of spikes, chains, and a neck tattoo.
I never met more interesting or kind people than the progressive set of metalheads I had the pleasure to work with.
They didn’t care that I was into girls or that I’d once been a ‘poser’.
If you were good and talented, they would throw down to protect you.
I’d take the weird and wonderful over expected and judgmental any day.
Then came the Swedes. I watched Max arrive and chum it up with a UniVox producer. His presence didn’t frighten me, though. He could charm those people with lies, but tonight was our night to perform. I refused to let anyone, or anything get in the way.
The documentary crew repositioned for a better view of myself and the door.
They were about to get a combined shot of the other bands as the Swedes entered.
Alia passed with Jason to take her place just before us.
As she passed, I smiled and gave a playful thumbs up.
She grinned adorably and bowed with her hands playfully.
The handlers led the Norwegians to their places and I waited.
I had to hand it to the kid. She grew on me.
I turned back, ignoring the camera that was only a few feet away.
“Don’t try to trip her up.”
I turned, taking my headphones off. It was Max.
Hold it together, Marit! You’re being filmed. My only escape was in a very-crowded green room. Max had no doubt bet on this.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t try to ruin this for her.”
“Why would I?” I asked. “I wished her good luck. Don’t worry, I’m not coming for your show pony, Max.”
“She gets easily shaken.”
“I wonder why,” I sighed. “No one is going to sabotage her. There is no bad blood. She’s talented. I’m protective of her if anything.”
If looks could have killed, I’d have been dead.
“You don’t need to run your mouth, Marit!”
I scoffed. He had no idea how many times I instinctively took the high road, knowing that if I ever spoke out, I’d be banished from the industry.
He’d beaten that into me from day one—he protected us from it.
We were “like his kids”, but everyone knew what happened if you outed his shitty behavior to your parents—retaliation and promises of a cancelled contract.
When your musical guardian was vengeful and all-powerful, you knew the score.
“I told you what I’d do and I still would. Don’t get above your station, Marit.”
Above your station. What was my station?
I was a bonafide producer and songwriter.
At this moment, I had three songs in the Euro top ten.
We wrangled a stadium tour and huge record deal.
I had a beautiful girlfriend who loved me.
My band had my back. He had no one and nothing if he didn’t keep exploiting young women for their talent.
I was above his station. I had been from the moment I returned to music and refused to play by his rules.
I shook my head, not caring how it looked. If they bothered to hire a translator for this, I didn’t give a fuck. He needed to be called out. I always avoided torching him, but if he wanted to tangle here just off stage, I would channel all that rage into my response and performance.
“I side-stepped and avoided questions my entire adult life—not to spare you, but to spare me—but now? Now, I think if I did something, I’d have the power to change something. I think that bothers you.”
“No one will listen to someone with an axe to grind over a UniVox snub. I will make it out to be that way. I have the power—”
“No, it’s much more than that. All my bandmates would know. Every woman you’ve ever worked with probably does know. Now, some won’t come out, but I guaranteed if many of us did, we’d have enough power to do it. I can take the hit at this point.”
“You’re just an angry lesbian who—”
“No, I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Max,” I roared. “And you’re trying to get in my head, but you won’t. You only give me fuel to knock it out of the park. And that? That is sweet. Thanks, by the way. It helps.”
“A little birdie told me you’ve been sneaking around with one of our hosts,” Max said. “That would be an awful thing to get out.”
Don’t react, Mary. There is no way anyone knows!
“That’s an interesting theory,” I said. “But you’re not going to threaten me out of knowing the truth or speaking it to power.”
I put my headphones back on, seething. “Good luck to you all. We’re done here.”
“You’re going to fucking regret it!” He shouted, getting an earful from a PA holding the stage doors closed.
Not as much as you will when I tell everyone what you’ve done!
“Fuck him,” Barry said. “I will break his fucking knees if you want me to.”
“No.” I took deep breaths. “No. It’s not worth it. What he wants is to ruin our performance.”
“So, we won’t let that happen, will we?” Alicia squeezed my hand. “He cannot take this from you.”
“He won’t. I am going to use this rage to get us to the finals. He’s only helping me.”
Alicia patted my back. “There’s my angry Viking. Come on!”
“Let’s just kill and ignore that cunt,” Clarice added.
We waited as Alia killed, belting and dancing her way to a place in the final. There, we’d compete against the top ten artists. I knew we would make it to the final. Deep in my bones, it was meant to be. We might not win, but we’d get further than this. That alone was a novelty for the Brits.
“We’ll slay,” Clarice promised. “It will be legendary.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath and not letting this get to me.
I thought about my father in the audience and how proud he must be.
I thought about all the good that would come from this.
And almost on cue as she spoke, I thought about Betty and how she was in my corner.
I thought of how she told me she was proud, even when my words made things a little awkward.
I wanted to step off stage, knowing I made them all swell with pride.
“Sweden, wow,” Betty said.
A Norwegian actress, Astrid Berg, replied, “It’s hard to admit, but I think they did a great job!”
Betty added, “The best part about this is we get to come together, and just enjoy the music.”
“Indeed. That’s what UniVox is all about. Now, our next act is a global supergroup known as the Zamboneys!” Astrid’s voice picked up, calling us in.
The stagehand cued us. Alia and Max passed us with nary a look, but Jason hung around, scrolling on his mobile. I felt that was odd. Was he here to intimidate us? If so, it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
I put my ear in and prepared, looking at my band for support. However, as soon as we took the stage, I knew something was wrong. I heard feedback. I struggled to think as Clarice played the opening to “Justice”. Without a second thought, I ripped out my ear and hoped for the best.
Years of going from perfect arena setups to shitty gigs had taught me one thing—you could only rely on yourself.
So, all things be damned, I began the song with strength.
But two bars in, I heard Barry’s voice shouting over the music.
Somehow, it was the IEM going out that saved me.
I lost my ear protection but heard him loud and clear.
I turned to survey the scene behind me. To my immediate right was Clarice.
Bea was to my left. Barry gesticulated on a platform a few feet back.
“Move! Move!” He screamed, pointing up with a drumstick.
I listened, as did the rest of the band.
My eyes followed his pointing to a purple par light rig dangling precariously about fifteen meters up above Barry’s cockpit.
It waved for what seemed like ten minutes—probably only seconds in real-time—before careening, landing hard on the stage with a massive, stage shaking thud.
I noted that it wasn’t loud. I somehow blocked out sound as I tried to rush off stage from the implosion.
I followed Alicia and Clarice, but tripped and fell hard.
I looked for everyone else and spied Barry, having leapt off the platform to safety.
He sat on the ground, checking on us three who were closer to the impact.
He picked me up with one hand, Alicia lifting me with the other.
They tried to pull me off stage, but I took one last look, surveying the chaos as the houselights came up.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t place Betty. That fact terrified me.
As we were pulled backstage, a man wearing a headset, likely the director, ran on stage and shouted in Norwegian, “Stop everything! Off stage. We’re breaking!”
Before I got to the wings, I heard an announcement. “We’re having technical difficulties. Please remain calm.”
I burst out, “Where are the hosts? Are they okay?”
The director nodded. “They got off first.”
Of course they did! Betty was a member of the royal family. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing all I loved was safe.
We shuffled offstage in disbelief. I played the carnage on repeat in my mind while they rushed us back to the green room, but one thing stood out.
Max’s accusations of sabotage suggested he considered it.
And Jason hanging around the wings was unusual.
Why was he still backstage without Max and Alia?
He didn’t care about our set. I figured he’d want to post up for the cameras with the rest of the Swedish delegation.
Where was his escort? Each act had handlers.
It was all too convenient.