My Rockstar's Secret Baby

I’d never heard of Asgard Fine Jewelry, which was a surprise, my sponsored results tending to throw up anything even vaguely Scandinavian. From the Iceland Foods supermarket chain in Britain to Viking River Cruises. But when I searched Stephanie’s full name, it was the first thing that came up.

How many Olga Stephanie Morrises could there be in the greater Seattle area?

It was almost a dead certainty that it was her.

The photo on the staff pages only confirmed it. She looked so serious in the snap. Formal clothes, no smile, looking into the distance like she was looking through the camera.

I couldn’t fault her for it. I kind of hated having my picture taken, truthfully, which could be a bit of a bummer when it came to promoting the band, even before we signed with Suspicious Activity.

A lot of the stuff on the site was really nice, which was mostly down to Stephanie, who had been the artistic director for the past six years. On an impulse I bought a bunch of it. Partly through genuine appreciation, but also in a crazy attempt to connect with her.

“Hey, man.”

“Oh, hey,” I said, shoving the phone hastily into my pocket.

Seth probably thought I was watching porn or something, but that would be less embarrassing than my actual secret.

“I think we’re done for the day. Sven’s going to mix the tracks and put them with the others. We’re getting near the end. One of the advantages of recording live, off the floor, yeah?”

“Nice to know the practice didn’t go to waste.”

“Not at all, this may well be the fastest album we’ve ever recorded, which is in no way a bad thing. You guys are impressive as fuck.”

I tried not to blush, there was a hardcore reputation to keep up after all, but I couldn’t help but feel flattered. It really was high praise coming from him. I was only glad we could live up to his standards. From the beginning, we did the best we could to be as good as we could.

Our first gig was at a local dance in a barn for 300 Krone. 100 each, it seemed like a fortune at the time, after so long of playing in basements and garages, trying to get our sound down. The partygoers didn’t know quite what to make of us, but no one threw anything, and we still got paid, so we called it a win.

“I heard you were chatting with Stephanie, at the wedding.”

“Um, yeah.”

He knew, of course he did. He was Stephanie’s brother-in-law. Jonna probably saw us together and told him. Or maybe he saw us and was keeping it quiet until it came up. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt I could trust him not to tell the others.

“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.