Chapter 4

“I didn’t know that,” she took a step back, “if you like I can change into something else.”

“Don’t,” I replied a little too quickly, “it looks very nice.”

“You should see what I am wearing underneath.”

“Touché,” I stepped over the threshold.

“Do you want a drink before we go out?” Annie closed the door behind me, “I picked up some wine from the systemet on the way home.”

Systemet is the local name for Systembolaget, the government-owned liquor stores found here, it is universally praised and hated in almost equal measure because it is the only way to buy hard liquor to take home. The prices are extortionate but despite the controls we still have the usual problems of alcohol abuse. Foreigners are constantly bemused or annoyed by this unique Swedish institution as we’re known as hard drinkers in general.

“Okay,” I replied, “we will have a drink.”

Her reason for wanting a drink before we went out became clearer a few minutes later. She was as nervous as I was about this ‘date’ and she did look on it as a date in the traditional sense. Our small talk seemed even smaller and more mundane than usual, which had me wondering if I was even doing the right thing. Could this work or was her nervousness simply a red flag telling me to slow down or just stop?

It all seemed quite mysterious as we headed into town a little while later. The vouchers she had were for a restaurant in trendy Gamla Stan (the old town), I’ve eaten out there before and whilst the food was good I thought it overpriced but these places survive because they’re tourist traps. In fact all of Gamla Stan is a giant tourist magnet and because of the higher prices and the fact that the vouchers didn’t cover alcohol we limited our drinks to some boutique beers.

“We should do this more often,” I remarked.

“What, dining out? Or dining out here?”

“The first one,” I stirred the remains of my meal, “this place is a tourist trap.”

“What is the Swedish word for tourist trap?”

“Turistfälla,” I replied.

“This place brings back memories,” she stared out the window, “the restaurant two doors down is where my new Swedish boyfriend took me for our engagement dinner,” she glanced at me.

“What I didn’t know was that his buddy was part owner of the restaurant, so Gustav didn’t pay a single krona for the meal but it gave the impression he was rich.”

“Didn’t you suspect something when he didn’t pay?”

“No, because he put his Swish card on the tray and the waitress took it away. I only found out by chance when his buddy mentioned it in passing about six months later,” she took another mouthful of lager.

“At the time it seemed trivial, kind of like a white lie but I should have known there was something wrong then and there. I mean, why not just come out and tell me on the night? What was it with the big display of putting his card on the tray?”

“Pride,” I shrugged, “Swedish men are no different to American men like that and not just Swedish men,” I put my glass down, “Swedish women can be the same.”

“But you are different,” she studied me, “you don’t lie to me and you have no idea how much I admire that quality. You didn’t lie the other night when we went for our walk, you have always been truthful,” she propped on her palm.

“Do you still feel the same way?”

“I was nervous this afternoon,” I admitted, “we are friends and I don’t want to lose a friend for one night of pleasure, or even two nights but I am not willing to let a chance go by either. Mariette says that if you are a true friend then our friendship will survive but I think she is being a little,” my brow creased as I searched for the English word, “theatrical,” I finished.

“Perhaps,” Annie took another mouthful, “but she has a point. We are both adults, you are openly gay and I am still questioning, but marrying Gustav was my way of avoiding the issue. I felt things for Nina but I couldn’t come across when she made her move. It was awkward and so I went to California with every intention of addressing it when I got back, but then I met Gustav.”

Our eyes met once more and she smiled.

“So, there you have it, my pitiful excuse for avoiding Nina.”

“But something good came out of it,” I replied, “now you are here.”

“There is that and all,” she glanced out the window. The rain had started again and we both turned to look at it, each lost in our own thoughts. Presently she spoke again.

“I love it here, I used to hate the rain back home but here it seems different.”

“How is it different?” I nudged her leg with my foot, “less wet? More wet?”

“Cleaner,” she replied, “I love this country and maybe the novelty will wear off but after breaking up with my husband, which is usually a bad thing I’m still in love with this country. I’m planning on taking a trip up north to Kiruna next month, while it’s still covered in snow. That’s one thing about Gustav, scratch that, one more thing about Gustav that used to annoy me. He didn’t want to travel anywhere. We’re in a beautiful European country but he was quite content to just sit at home and watch tv or play on the X box.”

“I go travelling several times a year,” I replied, “it’s so easy when you’ve got rail and ferry links to Europe. I have been to Kiruna once but it was in the summer.”

“So,” she reached out and touched my cuff, “if I suggested a trip to Kiruna you would come too?”

“For sure,” I nodded.

“She’s right about you.”

“Who?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Laura,” she replied, “she said you were the person I should have married instead of Gustav, which is a circular argument because if I hadn’t married Gustav I wouldn’t have met you.”

“She said that about me? She hardly knows me.”

“Laura did a psychology course in college. She graduated in the top ten percent, she reads people the same way people read books. If she says you’re the real deal then I accept her diagnosis,” she nudged my leg with her foot, “just don’t get a big head about it okay?”

“Okay,” I glanced out the window again.

The rain was bouncing off the road and I found myself drawn to it at the expense of everything else around me. Her admission had startled me because I hadn’t thought I’d had that much of an impact on Laura. I was roused from my reverie by the touch of her hand against mine. She cradled my hand for a few moments and then I turned my hand slightly and she moved it forward slightly so that now her hand covered mine.

We sat like that for some ten minutes or more, I’m not even sure of the exact time but the rain was easing a little when I finally looked at her.

“I want you to know something,” her voice was low, “irrespective of how things pan out between us, I always want to be your friend even if we only see each other twice a year.”

“You would see me twice a year?”

“Christmas and your birthday,” she squeezed my hand, “the rain is not so heavy.”

“Do you think we can make it to the station before it gets heavy again?”

“Now that is the question of the moment,” she released my hand, “shall we?”

As it turned out, we were caught out some ten minutes later as we drew nearer the station at Gamla Stan but fortunately I had my umbrella. It’s one of those essentials you carry with you in Sweden at certain times of the year and because she’d forgotten hers, she had to snuggle up to me. It brought back happier memories of other girlfriends and even my ex husband before things went bad. We dawdled, pausing to look through shop windows and I felt something slipping away like an old grey blanket that had kept me safe and yet confined. Her eyes lit up at one shop that sold antiques, or so they claim, I think the only antique item was the old deep sea diving suit that is used to lure tourists into the store. When we eventually reached the station she slipped her hand into mine and rubbed the back of my hand absently. I was almost oblivious to the other people on the platform.

“Your place or mine?” Annie murmured.

“I have more alcohol at my place,” I replied, “along with other interesting things.”

My apartment is small but thanks to some careful rearranging, I’ve managed to create the illusion of space by keeping the middle of the main sitting room clear of furniture. The L-shaped couch takes up two walls with a desk and bookshelf taking up the opposite corner. Directly opposite the couch is a wall-mounted television set and the stereo I inherited from my mother. I don’t have a lot of vinyl records but it seemed a shame to waste it and she quite likes her own digital system.

This was the first time Annie had ever been to my place because we’d always met up at her place or at a café in town. She seemed almost transfixed by my black and white portraits of famous film stars from the golden age of Hollywood. I have the one of Marilyn Monroe in a white dress, a Judy Garland picture and two of Jane Russell, and smaller pictures of Jayne Mansfield, Diana Dors, Doris Day, Sophia Loren and Brigitte Bardot. She travelled the length of the wall, noticing the way I’d hung them in an elongated diamond pattern with the largest pictures at the points. In the centre was the only colour portrait, Julia Roberts and your eyes are naturally drawn to the colour. On the adjoining wall were a series of Swedish advertising posters. Absolut Vodka, Hälsa Highlights, (a hair conditioner), Pressbyran, (our version of 7-11), Husqvarna (cycles), and several others.

“Interesting choice of artwork,” she ran a hand through her hair, “I’ve been looking for decent pictures for my apartment,” she pulled the coat down her back, “it might make it feel less like a temporary place and more like home.”

“I like pop art,” I moved up behind her, “you would think someone who works in an art gallery would have modern art.”

“I hate modern art,” she smirked, “I always think it should come with arrows on the side, this way up. I look at modern art and all I see are triangles or circles and everyone thinks the painting is ground breaking. An architect or even a child can do the same thing.”

“It’s all in the eye of the beholder, so they say.”

“That’s just a cop out for someone who just can’t paint.”

“I agree, absolutely but I can’t say that in public because of my job,” I surveyed my ‘collection,’ “but here I have my own gallery.”

Annie turned to face me and for a moment we hesitated and then she leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. It was a light kiss that could arguably have been taken either way but it certainly had me aroused as we parted. I glanced at the couch and without saying a word, Annie took a step towards it as she hooked her fingers behind my belt. I was forced to follow her as she kissed me again and this time her kiss was overtly sexual.

“Don’t you want a drink?”

“I should say yes,” she stopped at the couch, “but then I would have the excuse that I was drunk,” she drew her fingers up the front of my blouse.

I blinked at that and she raised her other hand at the same time as the other. I felt her fingertips on my neck. She had an intense look on her face as she stared into me and then she tilted her head a little and moved closer for a long, lingering kiss that went on for far longer. When we finally pulled back I was definitely aroused and judging by her flushed face she was aroused as well.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she licked her lips, “soft. What is the Swedish word?”

“Mjuk or fin,” I replied.

She repeated the first word as I knelt on the couch and hooked my fingers behind her belt and rubbed the buckle slowly. She kissed me again and again, with each kiss I felt myself skating closer to the edge until finally I just let go and went for it with a series of slow passionate kisses. We made it to the corner of the couch over the next few minutes and yet even then we both could have pulled out because we were both fully dressed. I was just about to suggest we at least have a drink even if it was just coffee when her hand dropped to the hem of my skirt. She had an impish look on her face as she slid her hand up under my skirt, I just stayed in the same position and when she reached my panties there was a moment of hesitation as she danced her fingertips over my pussy.