The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [97]
“No buts. I said I was going to treat you and that includes transportation.”
So her evening ended with her sitting alone in a taxicab chauffered by a chatty young man. Ann sat in the backseat and watched as the buildings and people swept past outside and she didn’t know what to think. What she felt very sure of, however, was what Görel would think.
When she entered the apartment there was just a lone lamp on in the living room. The soft sound from the loudspeakers sounded like whispers. Görel must be reading, Ann thought, and was suddenly upset about how the evening had ended. It would have been better if she had stayed home.
“Hello, I’m out here!” she heard Görel call out, and Ann heard a nuance to her voice that betrayed she thought Ann had company.
“It’s me,” Ann said.
Görel came out into the hall.
“Alone?”
Ann nodded.
“What kind of a man is he?”
“It feels fine this way, really,” Ann said.
“It feels fine?” Görel sniffed.
Ann turned around, hung up her jacket, and pulled off her boots. Görel waited silently behind her back. Ann wished her friend would keep talking.
“Has everything been calm here?”
“Here? Sure. He fell asleep like a little pig.”
“I think I . . .” Ann started, but she didn’t finish her sentence.
All at once she became very sad, not angry, just sad. She accepted the glass of wine that Görel had poured out and was now grateful for the silence and the low light in the apartment. Chet Baker’s voice almost made her cry. It was Edvard’s music.
She sank into the couch, exhausted. Görel sat down next to her and at first said nothing, letting Ann taste the wine and run through the evening in her mind. After a few minutes Ann told her that everything had felt good until they were standing in the street and she realized he had called her a cab.
“What I regret the most is I let him pay. It’s humiliating! As if I was a piece of luggage with no will of my own, that you can just send home.”
“Maybe he’s shy?”
“Shy,” Ann sputtered, becoming more angry. “He’s going to get his money back.”
“He said nothing about a next time, if you were going to see each other again, or . . .”
“Nothing! It was as if it was on his terms, as if I didn’t have any feelings. When he doesn’t want to go out alone to the movies or the pub then I’m supposed to come through as company for him. And then get sent home.”
“Has he had problems with women?”
“I don’t know. He said almost nothing about his life in Umeå.”
“He’s gay,” Görel pronounced in her incomparable way.
Ann tried to smile but couldn’t manage more than a wry grimace. She was ashamed, for herself and her own weakness and because of what she must look like in Görel’s eyes. She felt rejected. He hadn’t even asked her if he could go home with her.
She didn’t know herself what hopes she had had. Confused, sad, and angry, she drained her glass and immediately refilled it. She shouldn’t drink more. But what does it matter, she thought, the bitterness burning.
Görel moved closer, put her arm around her shoulders, and whispered something comforting that Ann didn’t hear.
“He didn’t even give me the chance to say no,” she sobbed.
She knew Görel needed to go home. She had to get up early. Leffe was probably wondering why she was so late. But at the same time it felt good to have Görel there. Her kindness made Ann feel somewhat less miserable and worthless.
She reached for her glass but Görel put her hand over Ann’s.
“Don’t drink any more,” Görel said. “Tomorrow is another day.”
Ann knew she was right but felt her anger return.
“You have to go home now,” she said. “Tomorrow is another day for you too.”
“It’s not a problem,” Görel said. “I have the night shift tomorrow.”
Ann put down her glass and looked at her.
“Am I . . .” Ann started but then hesitated.
“You are beautiful,” Görel said. “Don’t think anything else. That Charles,” and she made his name sound like an insult, “he’s a bad egg. Forget him. Yes, I know,” she said when she saw Ann’s expression, “it’s easy to say, but there are other men. Men who would give everything for