The deputy editor made a gesture of resignation. "Sorry, but she's stone dead here right now. The editor in chief gets a rash at the mere mention of her name. I argued pretty strongly in favor of her when Carl Wennergren's contract was up for grabs, and that nearly cost me my job. Jansson was on my side, but the rest of the senior editors wanted to throw her out on her ear."
"And so you did," Berit said a bit tartly.
Schyman shrugged. "Sure, but it's not going to kill her. I talked to her just before she left. She was pissed off, all right, but she was in control."
Berit stood up. "I met Annika last night. She's got something going, something to do with the IB affair, I'm not quite sure what."
"I'm happy for her to write freelance."
Berit smiled. "I'll tell her that if I see her."
Patricia knocked on Annika's bedroom door.
"I'm sorry, but the kitchen's empty and it's your turn to do the shopping."
Annika put down her book and looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm broke."
Patricia crossed her arms. "Why don't you get a job then?"
Annika got up and they went out into the kitchen. The fridge was empty except for a tin of sardines.
"Shit. I phoned the Cherry Company but they had nothing until the spring."
"Have you checked at the unemployment office?" Patricia asked.
"That horror show? Nope."
"Maybe there's some journalist gigs out there."
"I'm not a journalist anymore," Annika replied curtly, pouring herself a glass of water. She sat down at the table.
"Well, why don't you come and work at the club?" Patricia sat down opposite her. "We need a croupier."
"I'm not working in a strip club!" Annika exclaimed, and emptied the glass.
Patricia raised her eyebrows and gave Annika a contemptuous look. "You're that superior to Josefin and me, are you? It's not good enough for you?"
Annika felt her cheeks blush. "I didn't mean it like that."
Patricia leaned forward. "We're not whores, you know. We're not even naked. I wear a red bikini- it's really nice. You've got big enough tits, you could have Josefin's. It's blue."
Annika's cheeks deepened a shade. "Are you serious?"
Patricia snorted. "It's not that big a deal. But I've got to talk to Joachim first. Do you want me to?"
Annika hesitated. I'll get a chance to see where she worked, she thought. I'll get to know her boyfriend and boss. I'll be wearing her bra and panties.
The last thought made her crotch tingle, a feeling that filled her with both excitement and shame.
She nodded.
"Okay," Patricia said. "I'll put a note on the table if you're asleep when I get back."
Then she left to go to work.
Annika sat at the kitchen table for a long time.
Nineteen Years, Five Months, and Two Days There are no cheap insights. Experience is never sold short. When you buy it, the price always seems too high, impossible to pay. Yet we stand there with our credit cards, running our peace of mind into debt for years to come.
Eventually, when the accounts have been settled and the payments are behind us, we always think it was worth it. That's my comfort now, because I made up my mind today. I've understood what I have to do. I've fished out my plastic and cashed in my soul.
It came close yesterday. I can barely remember the reason; something he couldn't find and claimed I'd thrown away. It wasn't true, of course, and he knew it.
I know what I have to do. My back against the wall.
I have to confront him and I know it's going to come at a high price.
Because he says he will never let me go.
Thursday 6 September The folded note lay on the kitchen table, the text consisted of two letters: OK.
Annika shuddered and swallowed, quickly throwing the note away. Sven entered the kitchen, naked and with tousled hair.
Annika had to smile. "You look like a little boy."
He kissed her softly. "Are there any good places to run around here?"
"No tracks that are illuminated, but there are footpaths all around Kungsholmen where you can run."
"Last man out is a monkey!" Sven rushed out into the hallway and into his jogging suit.
They raced each other the whole way. Sven won, of course, but Annika wasn't far behind. Then they made love in the basement shower, fervently but quietly so the whole backyard wouldn't hear.
Back up in the flat, Annika made coffee.
"My training starts next week," Sven said.
Annika poured coffee into mugs and sat down opposite him at the table. "I'll be staying here a while longer."
Sven fidgeted.
"I've been thinking about something. It's silly for us to have one apartment each in Halleforsnas. We could rent a bigger one together, or buy a house."
Annika got up and opened the fridge. It was as empty as it had been the night before. "Do you think you could do some shopping? There's a market down on the square."
"You're not listening to me."
She sat down with a sigh. "I am. But you're not listening to me. I'm going to stay here."
Sven stared into his coffee mug. "How long?"
Annika breathed for a few seconds. "I don't know. At least a few more weeks."
"What about your job?"
"I told you, I'm on leave."
Sven leaned across the table and put his hand across hers. "I miss you."
She gave his fingers a quick squeeze, then got up and picked out the recycling from the cupboard under the sink. "If you can't do the shopping, I'll do it."
He got to his feet. "You're not listening, damn it! I want us to move in together. I want to get married. I want us to have children."
Annika felt her hands drop. She stared down at the cans. "Sven, I'm not ready for any of that."
He threw his hands out. "What are you waiting for?"
She looked up at him, fighting to keep her cool. "All I'm saying is that I want to finish off a project first. And it may take a while."
He took a step closer to her. "And I'm saying that I want you to come home. Now. Today."
She put the last Coke can in the bag, the last drops splashing onto the floor. "You're the one who's not listening now." She left the kitchen. She got dressed and went down to the shop in Kungsholms Square. She didn't really like this place; it was cramped, confusing, and pretentious. The shelves were full of fancy little jars with umpteen different kinds of marinated garlic cloves. The staff frowned at her as she lugged the bags with cans and bottles to the deposit machines. She didn't care. She got enough deposit money to buy a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs.
The apartment was quiet and empty when she returned. Sven had taken off.
She found a bottle of cooking oil and a can of mushrooms in the kitchen cupboard, fried them up with three eggs, and made a big omelette. She sat staring out at the building opposite while she ate, then she lay down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Patricia opened the door to Studio 69 with a key and by punching in a code on a code lock.
"You'll get your own key eventually," she said over her shoulder.
Annika swallowed and felt her heartbeat. She was regretting this so badly her whole body was screaming.
The darkness inside the door had a red shimmer to it. A spiral staircase led down toward the red light.
"Be careful on these stairs," Patricia said. "We've had customers nearly break their necks here."
Annika desperately hung on to the banister while she slowly glided into the underworld.
The underworld of porn, she thought. This is what it looks like. She felt shame and anticipation, curiosity and revulsion.
Straight ahead in the foyer was the roulette table, the sight of which filled her with some sense of calm and self-confidence. There were a couple of black leather armchairs and a round table; to the right, a small, high reception desk with a phone and a cash register.
"This is the entrance," Patricia said. "That's Sanna's responsibility."
Annika looked at the grubby white plaster walls. The parquet floor was covered with cheap IKEA copies of Oriental carpets. A lowwattage lamp was in the ceiling, the dim light barely penetrating the lampshade.
Behind the reception desk were two doors.
"These are the locker room and the office," Patricia said, nodding at the doors. "We'll start by getting changed. I've washed Jossie's bikini for you."
Annika took a deep breath and forced down the feeling of morbid excitement. Patricia stepped inside the locker room, turned a switch, and the cold, bluish light from strip lights in the ceiling filled the room.
"This is my locker. You can have number fourteen."
Annika put her bag in the metal locker she'd been allotted. "There's no lock." She thanked God she had emptied her bag of anything that could point to her identity.
"Joachim says we don't need them. Here, I think they'll fit you." Patricia held out a bra with sky-blue sequins and a minimal G-string. Annika took them, the material burning her hands, turned around, and undressed.
"We've got exotic dancing, a bar, and private shows." Patricia took out a plastic bag with makeup from her locker. "I do the bar and hardly ever do any shows. Jossie mostly danced, Joachim wouldn't let her work the booths. It made him too jealous."
Patricia did up her bra at the back. Annika saw that she rolled up her socks and put them in the cups.
"Joachim thinks they're too small," Patricia explained, and closed her locker. "Here, take these shoes."
Annika put on her bra. "Does everybody wear these?"
"No." Patricia started to put on makeup. "Most of the girls are completely naked, except when they dance. Then they have to wear a G-string. Dancing naked is illegal in Sweden."
Annika swallowed, then bent forward and did up the ridiculously high stilettos. "What kinds of men come here?"
Patricia brushed her eyelashes upward. "All kinds. But they all have money. I check out the credit cards, for fun mostly. They're lawyers, car dealers, company directors, politicians, police officers, guys that work in the laundry business, real estate, advertising, the media..."
Annika stiffened. Jesus, what if someone she knew turned up? She licked her lips. "A lot of celebrities?"
Patricia handed her the bag with makeup. "Here. Put lots on. Yes, some celebrities. We've got one TV guy who's a regular. He's always dressed in women's clothes and pays for two girls to come into a private room. Joachim checked last week- so far the guy had spent two hundred sixty thousand kronor over twenty or so visits this year."
Annika raised her eyebrows, recalling Creepy Calls. "How can he afford it?"
"Do you think he's paying for it himself?"
Patricia picked up a bunch of keys from the vanity table. "Joachim will come in later. Hurry up and I'll show you around and explain the prices before the other girls arrive. You'll have to talk to Joachim about the roulette."
Patricia waited for Annika in the doorway, a commanding air about her. Annika quickly put on a thick layer of dark green eye shadow, blush, and eyeliner. On her way out of the locker room, she caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror. She looked like a Las Vegas hooker.
"Admission is six hundred kronor." Patricia patted the reception desk. "The customer can pay for a private room straightaway; that costs twelve thousand kronor and then we waive the admission. He can choose any girl he wants in the bar."
"Do you mean this is a brothel?"
Patricia gave a laugh. "Course not! The girls can touch the customer, massage him and stuff, but they must never touch his dick. The guys can satisfy themselves while the girl has to stay at least six feet away."
"Why the hell would somebody shell out twelve thousand to jerk off?" Annika said in disbelief.
Patricia shrugged. "Don't ask me. I don't care. I've got my hands full at the bar. Here's the office."