“Want me to let her know about the gig tonight?
“Um, yeah, sure,” I said, trying my best to sound casual.
I was pure jelly on the inside, quivering with both terror and anticipation at the potential of seeing Stephanie again. Not only was it sooner than I ever dreamed, but at a show, nowhere to hide there. I wasn’t going to ignore her if we happened to cross-paths, but there was no way to know what damage it might do to my reputation, not only with Stig and Varg but our fans.
We hadn’t been in America long but were still averaging 500 fans per show we played. There were local Seattle bands opening for us. It didn’t make us too popular with other bands who had been working the area for years, but we did our best to do something different.
One of the critics back home actually accused us of using black magic or something to attract crowds to our gigs. Like 21st century Pied Pipers. We made sure to send him an invite to every show we played, so he might have a clue what he was talking about. He never came, so at least he was immune to our alleged charms.
“Do you think your girlfriend will be at the gig?” Varg teased, as we went to the van.
“There is no girl.”
“Is it a guy? You’re clearly hung up on someone, and I’m guessing it’s that girl Stig saw you with. There was the way you disappeared from the wedding, not to mention nearly being late.”
“I wasn’t, though.”
“No, you weren’t, all thanks to daddy Seth. Whoever it was must have been really hot.”
Yes, she was, though I wasn’t about to say so, maintaining denial and aversion as my primary tactic.
The recording session has gone long enough that there wouldn’t be any down time. It was sound-check and then on, giving Varg less of a chance to get smashed beforehand. That could only be a good thing because there were no openers that night. It was all us. We owned the stage.
The bartender and bouncers came out to meet us as. Never a good sign. I tried to read their faces but got nowhere. Their expressions might as well have been carved out of rock, as well as their bodies. Even the bartender was built. It was clear if they were out for trouble, we were in for a real fight. We didn’t look like much, which was one of our main advantages.
“I’ll do the talking, cover me,” I said, Varg and Stig looking as concerned as I felt.
“What’s up guys?”
“We’d just thought we’d help you in with your gear,” the bartender said, taking the lead.
“Oh, cool thanks.”
True to his word, the bartender and the bouncers hauled all our gear into the venue. Most places had their own PA system, so at least they were spared that, but Varg had bought himself a pretty gnarly Marshall stack, and the amps had to be distributed between two of the bouncers.
“Do you think Seth called ahead?” Varg asked.
“Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“I could get used to this,” Stig said, with a goofy grin.
The stage was set in no time, the bar crew really knowing what they were doing. Within minutes of getting into the club, we ready to go through sound-check, not a moment too soon.
Every time the door opened; I would look to see if it was Stephanie. The first two arrivals were Seth and then Sven, with regular patrons after that. I wondered for a second where Jonna was, but she was likely home with Casey. Seth wasn’t nearly irresponsible enough to bring an infant to a metal show. The decibels alone could be traumatizing. Suddenly reminded, I put my earplugs in, and gestured for Stig to do the same.
I kept watching, waiting hoping, feeling like a lovesick idiot, until it was clear, Stephanie wasn’t there. It was showtime, and I had to get my mind on the job. With a deep breath, I counted us in for “Northern Winds.”
It all came out on the kit. Everything I was feeling, creating a raw, primal sound unlike anything I’d done before. Stig and Varg actually had a bit of trouble keeping up, darting back confused glances as I channeled the pain.
It shouldn’t have hurt. I’d only met her once. We’d had sex twice. If only that was all of it. I might have been able to handle things better, but she and I both knew it wasn’t. Whatever force had brought us together and made the spark of connection, was being channeled through me, and wrought on my unsuspecting drum kit.
“Fuck man, did you eat your spinach or what?” Varg asked when “Ragnarök” had come to its conclusion.
“What?” I asked, taking out my earplugs.
“What the fuck was that?’ Stig clarified.
“I don’t know what you mean.”