‘I should probably go home now,’ Edith says, looking at the time on her phone.
‘Do you have time to taste my chocolate mousse before you go?’ he asks, filling his glass again.
‘That sounds dangerous,’ she laughs.
He wobbles slightly when he stands up and leads her into the large kitchen. He takes the mousse out of the fridge, puts the bowl on the white table and hands her a spoon. She leans forward and he finds himself staring at her low-cut top. The lace on her bra has some of her foundation on it, and her breasts push together as she sinks the spoon into the mousse.
Rex puts his reading glasses on, then plays Corelli’s Concerto Grosso on the speaker system.
He feels giddy as the alcohol courses through his system and the melodic baroque music fills the room. It occurs to him that he’ll have to take a taxi to pick Sammy up from his party.
‘Since you’re a journalist,’ he says. ‘Have you heard anything about an assault out in Axelsberg?’
‘No,’ she replies curiously.
‘Some drunk who got into a fight,’ he says, and realises that he’s saying too much.
‘Why are you wondering about that?’
‘Oh, I don’t know … a friend of mine saw something, but … forget it.’
Rex gets a bottle of Pol Roger from the champagne cooler and sees that it’s the exclusive Winston Churchill blend.
‘I should go,’ Edith mutters.
‘Shall I call a taxi?’
He tries to tuck his glasses in his pocket but misses, and he hears them fall to the floor and break.
‘I can get the bus from Odenplan. It’s not a problem.’
He opens the bottle, tensing as the cork pops, then gets out two glasses for them and starts to pour, waiting for the bubbles to subside before half-filling them. He sees the hesitant look in her eyes.
‘I won tonight,’ he says.
‘Do you want me to stay?’
She strokes his cheek and a tiny frown appears between her pale eyebrows.
‘I have a boyfriend,’ she whispers, taking the glass.
‘I understand.’
They drink and she leans forward to kiss his closed mouth, very softly, then looks at him seriously.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ he says, refilling their glasses.
He tries to see what the time is, but has trouble focusing on his wristwatch.
‘I like kissing,’ she says quietly.
‘Me too.’
He touches her cheek, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, returns her smile, then leans over and kisses her. She parts her lips and he feels her warm tongue. He caresses her back and buttocks as they kiss. She starts to pull at his belt before they both stop.
‘Just so you know, I don’t track down celebrities in order to sleep with them.’
‘Me neither,’ he smiles.
‘But I like you.’
‘That’s where the similarities between us end – I can’t pretend to be very fond of myself,’ he says, looking away and pouring more champagne.
He drinks as Edith adjusts her clothes, takes her phone out of her bag, dials a number and inserts her earpiece.
‘Hi Morris, it’s me. I know, sorry, but I haven’t been able to call … Yes, well, ?sa doesn’t seem to think I have a life. That’s what I was about to say: I need to be at work early tomorrow, so I’m going to stay over at hers. There’s no point getting mad … I know, but … OK, bye, then. Big kiss.’
They don’t look at each other as Edith ends the call. With downcast eyes she slips the phone back into her bag, then raises her glass to her lips with a trembling hand.
Rex picks up the champagne and walks towards the bedroom, swaying and hitting his shoulder on the doorframe. A little cloud of foam spills from the neck of the bottle, dripping down his hand and onto the floor.
Edith has a serious look on her face as she follows him to the bedroom. The dark sky is visible through one of the skylights, and from the foot of the bed you can see the whole of Stockholm, all the way to the white curve of the Globe.
Edith stands beside Rex and strokes his face, tracing the deep scar across the bridge of his nose with one finger.
‘Are you drunk?’ she asks.
‘Not badly,’ he says, and hears himself slur his words.
She starts to unbutton her dress and Rex pulls the covers off the bed. The combination of sudden movement and his unexpected intoxication makes him stagger as if he were negotiating the deck of a ship in rough seas.
Edith lays her dress over a chair, turns her back to him and quickly slips her tights off.
With a sigh Rex sits down on the edge of the bed, manages to pull his T-shirt off, and drinks some more champagne straight from the bottle. He knows he’s fairly muscular, but far too broad around the waist. A line of hair leads from his chest to his navel.
Edith slips off her pink panties and folds them to hide the pad, then puts them on the chair and lays her bra on top of them. Her bra straps have left red marks across her shoulders, and she’s plumper than he had imagined. Her pubic hair is blonde, with an almost tobacco-coloured tint, and her skin is unblemished.
Rex stands up and pushes his trousers and underpants down, trampling his way out of them, then he turns aside and tugs at his limp penis so it doesn’t look so small.
‘The men who leave me usually regret it,’ she says.
‘I believe you.’
‘Good,’ she mutters, with a stern look on her face.
‘My hands are cold,’ he whispers as he puts his hands on her hips.
She pushes him back playfully onto the bed, and he lands on his back, shoves an uncomfortable pillow out of the way and closes his weary eyes for a moment. The room spins as if someone were tugging at the sheet beneath him.
Edith’s phone starts to ring out in the kitchen, sounding muffled inside her bag. Rex looks at the two champagne glasses on the bedside table, the pink lipstick on one of them, the tiny bubbles clinging to them. He leans his head back and remembers what he said about Sammy at the award ceremony. On the ceiling he discovers two pale circles that must somehow be reflections from the glasses.
He realises he must have nodded off when he feels Edith’s unbelievably soft lips close around his penis. She raises her head and looks at him anxiously, then continues.
He sees the bed and his own pale form reflected in the skylight. He can’t understand why he ends up in the same situation every time he drinks. It’s a script that he sets in motion yet is powerless to prevent.
She crawls up the bed and straddles him, guiding his half-erect cock inside her. She kisses him. He thrusts tentatively so as not to slip out of her. She looks into his eyes and lifts his right hand to one of her breasts. He stiffens inside her and she leans forward and moans into his mouth.
‘Your phone rang,’ he says groggily.
‘I know.’
‘Don’t you want to know who it was?’
‘Don’t talk so much,’ she smiles.
The gentle waves of her hair are sticking to her forehead. Her lipstick is gone, and her mascara has run beneath her eyes like a black shadow.
She breathes harder and puts her hands on his chest, so that almost her whole weight is resting on him, then leans back and sighs.
Rex caresses her breasts and watches them press together again and again. She’s gasping and moving faster. Her thighs start to tremble and she closes her eyes.
‘Keep going,’ she groans.
He comes without having time to react, ejaculates right inside her. There’s no point pulling out now, it’s too late, and he just lets it happen, feeling the contractions and the slow comedown.
Edith’s cheeks, neck and breasts are flushed. She opens her eyes, flashes him a wide smile, and slowly begins to move her hips again. A shimmering trickle of sweat has run from her armpit down to her hip.
60
Rex wakes up naked in bed, gasping for breath as if he’s been underwater. His heart is pounding anxiously. He looks at the time and sees that it’s half past two.
Edith is gone.