Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

Tuesday 31 July

The draft woke her up. She stayed in bed, eyes closed. The sharp light from the open window penetrated her eyelids. It was morning. Not so late that she would feel depressed about having slept through the whole day, but enough for her to feel rested.

Annika pulled on her dressing gown and walked out into the stairwell. The cracked mosaic floor sent a welcome chill through her body. The toilet was a half-floor down; she shared it with the other tenants on the top floor.

The curtains flapped like big sails in the breeze when she came back into the apartment. She had bought thirty yards of light-colored voile and draped it over the old curtain rails- with striking effect. The walls all through the apartment were painted white. The previous tenant had rolled on a coat of primer and then given up. The matte walls reflected and absorbed the light at one and the same time, making the rooms seem transparent.

She walked slowly through the living room and into the kitchen. The floor space was clear as she had hardly any furniture. The floorboards shimmered in gray and the ceiling floated like a white sky high above her. She boiled some water on the gas stove, put three spoonfuls of coffee in a glass Bodum cafetiere, poured the water, and pushed down the filter after a couple of minutes. The fridge was empty; she'd have a sandwich on the train.

A torn morning paper lay on the floor inside her front door. The mail drop was too narrow for it. She picked it up and sat down on the kitchen floor with her back to the cupboard.

The usual: the Middle East, the election campaign, the record heat. Not a line about Josefin. She was history already, a figure in the statistics. There was another op-ed article on the IB affair. This time she read it. A professor in Gothenburg demanded the formation of a truth commission. Right on! Annika thought.

She didn't bother going down to the basement to have a shower but washed her face and armpits in the kitchen sink. The water didn't get icy cold now, so she didn't need to heat any.

The first editions of the evening papers were just out, and she bought both from the newsdealer on Scheelegatan. Kvallspressen led with the IB story. Annika smiled. Berit was the best. Her own pieces were in a good place, pages eight, nine, ten, and center spread. She read her own text about the police theory. It was quite good, she thought. The police had a lead that pointed to a person close to Josefin, she'd written. It appeared that Josefin had felt under threat and had been scared. There were signs that she'd been physically abused before. Annika smiled again. Without writing a word about Joachim, the police theory was there. Then came the stage-managed orgy of grief in Taby. She was glad she'd kept it concise and to the point. The photo was okay. It showed a few girls next to some candles, not crying. She felt good about it. The Rival had nothing special, apart from the sequel to the piece 'Life After the Holidays.' She would read that on the train.

A hot wind was rising. She bought an ice cream on Bergsgatan and walked down Kaplansbacken to Centralen, the railway station. She was in luck, the Intercity train to Malmo was leaving in five minutes. She sat down in the buffet car and was first in line to buy a sandwich when it opened. She bought her ticket from the conductor.

Only she and three Arab men got off the train in Flen. The bus for Halleforsnas left in fifteen minutes and she sat down on a bench opposite the municipal offices and studied a sculpture called Vertical Tendency. It really was terrible. She ate a bag of jelly cars on the bus and got off outside the co-op.

'Congratulations!' Ulla, one of her mother's workmates, shouted. The woman stood over by a flowerbed in her green work coat, smoking a cigarette.

'For what?' Annika smiled at her.

'Front page and everything. We're proud of you,' Ulla yelled.

Annika laughed and made a deprecating gesture with her hand. She walked past the church and toward her house. The place looked deserted and dead, the red rows of forties houses steaming in the heat.

I hope Sven isn't here, she thought.

The apartment was empty and all the plants were dead. A horrendous stench came from a forgotten garbage bag in the kitchen. She threw it in the garbage chute and opened all windows wide. She left the dead plants to their fate. She couldn't be bothered just now.

***

When she went home, her mother was genuinely happy to see her. She gave her an awkward hug, her hands cold and clammy.

'Have you had dinner? I've got elk casserole cooking.'

Her mother's latest boyfriend was a hunter.

They sat down at the kitchen table, her mother lighting a cigarette. The window was ajar and Annika could hear some kids fighting over a bicycle in the street. She looked out toward the works and the dreary gray tin roofs that stretched out as far as the eye could see.

'Now tell me, how did you do it?' Her mother smiled expectantly.

'How do you mean?' Annika said, returning the smile.

'All that success, of course! Everybody's seen it. They come up to me at the checkout and congratulate me. Great articles. You've been on the front page and everything!'

Annika bowed her head. 'It wasn't that difficult. I got a good tip-off. How's things here?'

Her mother's face lit up. 'Oh, I have to show you!' She got to her feet. The cigarette smoke eddied in the air as she moved over to the counter. Annika followed it with her gaze as her mother returned to the table. She spread a bunch of photocopies in front of Annika.

'I like this one,' she said, rapping her knuckle on the tabletop. She sat down and took a deep drag on the cigarette.

Sighing lightly, Annika looked at her mother's papers. They were prospectuses from various real estate agents in Eskilstuna. On the one that her mother had indicated with her knuckle she read, Exclusive splitlevel house w/ high standard, sunken bathtub in a tiled bathroom, L-shaped living room, den w/ fireplace.

'Why do they abbreviate with?' Annika wondered.

'What?'

'They've abbreviated about the shortest word of the sentence. It doesn't make sense.'

Annoyed, her mother waved aside the smoke between them. 'What do you think?'

Annika hesitated. 'It seems a bit on the expensive side.'

'Expensive?' Her mother snatched the Xerox copy from the table. ' 'Marbled hallway floor, tiled kitchen floor, and a basement bar'- it's perfect!'

Annika heaved another silent sigh. 'Sure, I was just wondering if you can afford it. One point three million is quite a lot of money.'

'Look at the others.'

Annika leafed through the sheets. They were all monstrosities on the outskirts of Eskilstuna, situated in districts with names like Skiftinge, Stenkvista, Grundby, Skogstorp. All with more than six rooms and a big garden.

'You don't like gardening,' Annika remarked.

'Leif is a nature person.' Her mother put out the half-smoked cigarette. 'We're thinking of buying something together.'

Annika pretended not to hear. 'How's Birgitta?' she asked instead.

'She's okay. She gets on really well with Leif. I think you would like him too, if you met him.' A tone of accusation and injury was in her mother' voice.

'Will she get to keep her job at Right Price?'

'Don't change the subject.' Her mother straightened up. 'Why don't you want to meet Leif?'

Annika got up and walked over to the fridge, opened it, and had a look inside. The shelves were clean but almost empty.

'I don't mind meeting him if it makes you happy. But I've been so busy this summer, as you can imagine.'