Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

by Liza Marklund

  "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 Hälleforsnäs. 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."

  Patricia unlocked the door with one of the keys on the bunch. The room was the same size as the locker room, furnished with plain office furniture, a photocopier, and a safe.

  "I'll leave the door unlocked," Patricia said. "I've got to enter the bar takings for August. Joachim will only keep the books here until Saturday."

  They came into the main room, and in spite of herself Annika held her breath. The walls and the ceiling were black, and the floor had dark red, wall-to-wall carpeting. The furniture was black and chrome and smacked of cheap eighties styl
ing. All along the left wall was a long bar; on the right were black-painted doors leading to the private rooms. Straight ahead was a small stage with a chrome pole from floor to ceiling. The room had no windows, and the low ceiling was supported by black concrete pillars, which intensified the sensation that you were in a bunker.

  "What was this place originally? A parking garage?"

  "I think so." Patricia walked behind the bar. "Plus a car wash and repair shop. Joachim put a Jacuzzi in the inspection pit." She put some bottles on the bar. "Check this out. Nonalcoholic champagne at sixteen hundred a bottle. The girls get to keep twenty-five percent on the first two bottles they sell; the third one they get fifty."

  Annika blinked with her stiff eyelashes. "Unbelievable."

  Patricia looked at the stage. "Jossie was great at selling. She was the most beautiful of all the girls. She would drink with the johns all night but she never went into a private room. The guys would keep paying, she was so pretty." Patricia's eyes were moist with emotion. She quickly removed the bottles.

  "Josefin must have made a lot of money."

  "Not really. Joachim took her money to pay for the breast job. That's why she worked here. And she was only here on the weekends, she did her schoolwork during the week."

  "Does Joachim take the other girls' money as well?"

  "No. Everyone's here for the money. They make a packet, around ten thousand a night, tax free."

  Annika's eyes narrowed. "What do the authorities think of that?"

  Patricia let out a sigh. "No idea. Joachim and Sanna handle the accounts."

  "But if you're entering the bar takings in the accounts, you'll have to pay tax on it."

  Patricia got annoyed. "They keep two sets of books. Come on, let's go out to the roulette table."

  Annika hesitated. "What about me? How much will I get?"

  Patricia frowned and walked off into the foyer. "I don't know what Joachim has in mind."

  Annika turned her back on the horrible, dark room. She wobbled on her high heels, which sank dangerously into the carpet.

  The roulette table was worn, and the green baize was marked with cigarette burns and covered in ash. The table layout with its familiar figures and squares dispelled slightly her feelings of insecurity.

  "It needs a good brush," Annika said.

  While Patricia was finding the equipment, Annika let her hand slide along the edge of the table. She'd be all right, it wasn't so bad. She wouldn't be in a booth, and this foyer wasn't so different from the hotel lobby in Katrineholm.

  Patricia showed Annika where the equipment was kept. Then Annika brushed the table and took out the chips.

  "Why are there different colors?" Patricia asked.

  "To separate the players." Annika put the chips in stacks around the wheel, twenty in each pile. "Where's the ball?"

  "There are two, a small one and a big one." Patricia took out a box. "I don't know which one's the right one."

  Annika smiled and weighed the balls in her hand. It was a familiar feeling as well. "They have different spinning times. I prefer the big ones."

  She started the wheel spinning counterclockwise, took the big ball between her middle finger and thumb, held it against the inside rim of the wheel, and shot it off clockwise.

  Patricia was impressed. "How did you do that?"

  "It's in the wrist. The ball has to do at least seven turns around the wheel or the spin is invalid. I used to average eleven."

  The ball slowed down and fell into number 19. Annika leaned over the wheel. "Next time I spin the ball, I have to start on the number I last picked it up from."

  "Why?"

  "So you can't cheat."

  "How do you calculate the winnings?"

  Annika gave a brief account of what en plein, à cheval, transversale pleine, sixain, en carré, simple, and all the other bets stood for. All the different bets gave different payoffs.

  Patricia shook her head despairingly. "How on earth can you calculate all that?"

  "It's quite simple once you've figured it out. It helps at first if you're good at mental arithmetic, but you soon learn the different combinations."

  Annika demonstrated how she calculated the winnings- twenty chips in each stack, halve them and let your fingers slide along the edge so the rest of the chips followed.

  Patricia watched Annika's nimble movements with fascination. "That's so neat. Maybe roulette is for me after all."

  Annika laughed and spun the ball.

  At that moment the other girls turned up.

  ***

  Sanna, the hostess, was standing stark naked next to the reception desk when the men started arriving. She smiled and teased, flirted and coaxed, telling the guys what a good time they were going to have. Annika recognized Sanna's voice from the answering machine. When Sanna had got the men to part with their money, they would turn their gazes toward Annika. Their stares bore into her like steel arrows, making her feel as if the bra were shrinking, baring more of each of her breasts. She averted her eyes and stared at the burns on the table. She had to force herself not to cover herself with her hands. Nobody was interested in the roulette.

  "You've got to flirt with them," Sanna said coldly when a group of Italian businessmen had disappeared inside the strip bar. "Be sexy, girl."

  Annika swallowed self-consciously. "I'm not very good at it," she said in a far too high-pitched voice.

  "You've got to learn. There's no point in your being there if you don't bring in any money."

  Annika's eyes flashed. "The table's here," she said, raising her voice. "Does it hurt you if I'm standing here? Or do you want me to pay you for the air that I'm using?"

  A man's big burst of laughter emanating from the spiral staircase shut them up. "Sounds like we've got two wildcats in a cage down here."

  Annika knew immediately that this was the famous Joachim. He had long blond hair and expensive, fashionable clothes. A thick gold chain dangled on his chest. This was the guy Josefin had had her breasts done for.

  She walked up to him and introduced herself. "I'm Annika. It's nice to be here."

  Sanna pursed her lips.

  Joachim looked Annika up and down, giving an approving nod when he reached her chest. "You'd look good onstage. If you want, you can go on tonight."

  No one has asked for my surname, Annika thought, and tried hard to give him a natural smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll try the roulette first."

  "You know, Sanna is right. You have to bring in your share of dough, or you're gone."

  Annika's smile died. "I'll try." She looked down.

  "Maybe you should start in the bar with the other girls for a few nights, have them show you the ropes."

  The man stood a bit too close for comfort; Annika could feel his electricity. He was a looker, she had to admit that.

  She closed her eyes for a moment before looking up and meeting his gaze. "Yeah, that's a good idea. But I'd like to try and see if I can make some of the customers stay here on their way out."

  At that very moment, two half-drunk men in business suits staggered out of the strip bar. Their brows were damp and their clothes were rumpled.

  Annika walked up to them, pushed her tits in their faces, and put her arms around them. "Hi, guys. You've just fallen in love, right? But if the night's going to be really good, you need to try your luck with me."

  She smiled her most playful smile, her knees shaking. Joachim now had his thigh pressed against her behind, and she just wanted to scream out loud.

  "Nah," one of them said.

  Annika took a step forward to escape Joachim and gave the other guy a hug. "What about you? You look like a lucky guy, a real gentleman. Why don't you come and play with me?"

  The man grinned. "What do I win? You?"

  Annika managed a laugh. "Who knows? Maybe you'll win enough to buy any girl you want."

  "Okay," the man said, and pulled out his wallet. His friend reluctantly followed suit.

  The first man put a h
undred on the table.

  Annika smiled a troubled smile. The guy had just shelled out several thousand to drink sparkling apple juice and to look at naked girls, and now he was going to make her sweat for a hundred kronor.

  "That won't even spin the ball," she said sweetly. "We play for high stakes here, handsome. High stakes, high winnings. It's a thousand for twenty chips."

  The man was wavering, and Annika made a sweeping movement with her hand over the table. "A corner bet pays five thousand, a street, six thousand eight hundred. That's nearly seven thousand. Fifteen seconds, boys. You could win back all the money you've spent here tonight."

  A light came on simultaneously in both men's eyes. She was right…

  They bought chips for a thousand each on their credit cards and placed streets on numbers 11 and 16, their bets worth twelve hundred in all. Annika spun the wheel and launched the ball fast and hard. It rolled almost thirteen turns before it started slowing down.

  "No more bets," she said, remembering how it went.

  The ball dropped on slot number 3. With practiced movements she cleared the table and stacked the chips.

  "Place your bets," she said, glancing at the men's disappointed faces. They were more careful this time, only doing corner bets and changing to numbers 9 and 18. New spin, no more bets, number 16. One of the guys won ten chips.

  "Here you go." Annika pushed the small pile over to him. "Five hundred kronor. Didn't I say you were a lucky guy?"

  The man lit up like a sun, and Annika knew she had them right where she wanted them. Both men spent another three thousand each before they paid Sanna with their credit card and slunk away. Annika saw that Sanna wrote "food and drink" on the receipt.

  Joachim had been watching her from behind the reception desk.

  "You know what you're doing," he said, and came closer. "Where did you learn to spin the wheel?"

  "At the hotel in… Piteå." She smiled and swallowed hard.

  "Then you must know Peter Holmberg?" He flashed a smile.

  Annika felt her own smile quiver in the corners of her mouth. Shit, she thought, he'll catch me out before I even get started.