Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

'Upstairs, by the computer,' Hans replied.

After she looked for a movie theater, Annika thought she might as well look up Roger Sundstrom. Why not? There were two, one whose wife was called Britt-Inger. They lived on Solandergatan.

'Djupviken,' Anne told her. 'Other side of town.'

'Do you want to go for a walk?' Annika said.

***

The sun was going down behind the pulp mill. They walked through Stromnas and crossed over the Nolia area behind the People's Palace. The Sundstrom family lived in a sixties yellow-brick bungalow with a basement. Annika could hear children singing.

'Do whatever you want,' Anne said. 'I'm just coming along for the ride.'

Annika rang the doorbell; Roger Sundstrom was in. The man was surprised when Annika introduced herself, and then he became suspicious.

'I couldn't stop thinking about what you told me,' Annika said. 'Now I'm here in Pitea, visiting my friend Anne, and I thought I'd just drop by.'

The children, a boy and a girl, came rushing into the hallway and hid behind their father's legs, filled with curiosity.

'You go and put on your pajamas,' the man said, and tried to shoo them into a room on the left.

'Are we going to sing later, Dad?'

'Yeah, yeah, and brush your teeth.'

'Can we come in for a minute?'

The man hesitated but then showed them into the living room: corner couch, glass coffee table, china ornaments in the bookcase. 'Britt-Inger is at her evening class.'

'Nice house you've got here,' Anne said in much broader Norrland accent than she usually spoke in.

'So what do you want?' Roger sat down in a plush armchair.

Annika sat down on the edge of the couch. 'I'm sorry to intrude like this. I'm just wondering if I remember correctly. Did you fly from Arlanda with Transwede?'

The man scratched his stubble. 'Yes. That's right. Would you like a cup of coffee?'

The question was tentative- he knew he should offer.

'No thanks,' Anne said. 'We won't stay long.'

'So then you departed from Terminal Two, didn't you?' Annika said. 'The small one?'

'Which one?' the man asked.

'Not the big domestic departure terminal, but one that's a bit farther away.'

Roger nodded circumspectly. 'That's right. We had to take a transfer bus, and we had to carry our luggage all the way, because it had to go through customs in Stockholm.'

Annika nodded. 'Exactly! And it was there, at that small terminal, that you and Britt-Inger saw the minister?'

Roger thought about it. 'Yes, it must have been there. Because we were checking in.'

Annika swallowed. 'I know this may be difficult, but do you remember which gate you left from?'

He shook his head. 'No idea.'

Annika sighed inwardly. Oh, well, it was a long shot.

'Although,' the man said, 'we let the kids ride on top of the baggage trolley and that was a sight. I think Britt- Inger filmed it. Maybe you can see it on the videotape.'

Annika opened her eyes wide. 'For real?'

'Let's have a look.' The man went over to the bookcase. He opened the doors to the cocktail cabinet and started looking through the tapes.

'Majorca, here we are.' He pushed the tape into a VCR and started the video. The picture flickered- the kids playing by a pool. The sun must have been high as the shadows were short. Two hairy legs, probably Roger's, appeared on the left. The text in the corner read July 24, 2:27 P.M.

'Is that clock right?' Annika wondered.

'I think so. I'll fast-forward it a bit.'

A blond, sleeping woman on an airplane, her chin slack. The date had jumped forward to July 27, 4:53 P.M. 'My wife.'

And then a tanned, smiling Roger was pushing a trolley fully loaded with both luggage and children, July 27, 7:43 P.M. The boy was standing up, holding on to the handle of the trolley; the girl sat on top of the suitcases. Both were waving at their mother behind the camera. The picture wobbled a bit as the camera swept across the hall.

'There!' Annika yelled. 'Did you see? Sixty-four!'

'What?' Roger said.

'Rewind a bit,' Annika said. 'Have you got freeze-frame?'

Roger pressed on the remote control buttons.

'Too much,' Anne said. 'How did you manage to see that?'

'I was there today, and I was thinking about this,' Annika said. 'Go on, maybe there's more.'

A bunch of people were suddenly jostling in front of the camera. Someone knocked the camera and then Roger was back in the picture.

'Christer!' he called out on-screen, lifting his hand and waving.

On-screen Roger stood on tiptoe, looked to his left, toward his wife, and talked into the living room. 'Did you see him? It was Anna-Lena's Christer! He must be on our flight.'

'Why don't you go over and say hello?' an invisible woman's voice said.

Roger turned around, and Annika saw people moving to the side, and in the distance, albeit out of focus, she saw Christer Lundgren running toward a gate. It was the former minister for foreign trade, without a doubt.

'Do you see?' Annika yelled out. 'He's holding a ticket! He is boarding a plane.'

On-screen Roger lost the minister in the crowd, looked in another direction, and called out, 'Christer!' and then the screen went black. The picture jumped as the tape was beginning to rewind.

Annika felt a violent wave of adrenaline sweeping through her. 'No wonder you didn't see him on the plane. Christer Lundgren took the flight from gate sixty-five, not sixty-four.'

'Where was it going?' a confused Anne asked.

'That's what we're going to find out,' Annika said. 'Thank you so much for letting us disturb you, Roger.'

She gave his hand a quick squeeze and hurried outside.

'What did I tell you?' she shouted with joy once they were outside. 'I'll be damned! He did go somewhere that night. But he can't say where!' She performed a short war dance in the street.

'We know where he was,' Anne said wryly. 'He was at a sex club.'

'No, he wasn't. He made a trip somewhere and the destination is top secret.' Annika did a pirouette. 'It's so damn secret that he'd rather be accused of murder and resign.'

'Rather than what?'

Annika stopped. 'Tell the truth.'

Nineteen Years, Four Months, and Seven Days

I have to decide what's important. I have to arrive at a conclusion about what I am. Do I exist, other than through him? Do I breathe, except through his mouth? Do I think, outside of his world?

I have tried talking to him about it. His logic is plain and lucid.

Do I exist, he asks, other than through you? Do I live- without you? he asks. Can I love without