As Rex understands it, Sammy will be referred to a psychologist, who will evaluate him for signs of substance abuse and suicidal tendencies.
The car turns and pulls up in front of the TV4 building. Rex pays, not bothering to wait for a receipt. He hurries in through the glass door.
Sylvia hurries over to him. Her face is neatly made-up, her hair blow-dried so that it curls in towards her neck and jawline.
You havent shaved, she says.
Havent I? I forgot, he lies, feeling his chin.
Let me look at you.
She studies his crumpled jacket, messy hair and bloodshot eyes.
Youre hungover, she says. This cant be happening.
Leave it, I can handle this, Rex says tersely.
Breathe on me, she snaps.
No, he says with a smile.
You may be having a hard time, but that wont make any difference... TV4 will walk away from their contract with you if you make a fool of yourself again.
Yes, so you said.
Im not letting you into that studio unless you breathe on me.
Rex blushes as he breathes into his bosss face, looks her in the eye and then walks away.
A young woman comes running over to hold the door open for Rex and Sylvia.
Weve still got time, she says breathlessly.
Rex starts walking towards the dressing rooms, but feels sick on the steep metal steps. He has to stop and cling onto the handrail before moving on.
He passes the green room where this weeks guests are waiting and quickly goes into his dressing room. He hurries over to the sink and rinses his face and mouth with cold water, spits and then wipes himself with a paper towel.
His hands shake as he changes into his pressed suit, then the chef apron.
The young woman is waiting in the hallway and follows him as he half-runs towards make-up.
He sits down on the chair in front of the mirror and tries to get a grip on his stress by watching the news. One make-up assistant shaves him and a second blends two types of foundation on a palette.
At regular intervals the presenters announce that superstar chef Rex will be here soon to share some of his best hangover tips.
I didnt get any sleep last night, he manages to say.
Thats OK, we can fix that, one of the make-up assistants assures him, holding a damp sponge to his swollen eyes.
He thinks about when Sammy was little and said his first words. It was a frosty autumn day, and his son was playing in the sandpit when he suddenly looked up, patted the ground beside him, and said Daddy sit.
He never wanted children. Veronicas pregnancy wasnt planned. All he wanted was to drink, cook and fuck.
The make-up artist runs her fingers through his hair one last time to get it to lie flat.
Why are people so crazy about chefs? she asks rhetorically.
He just laughs, thanks her for making him look human again, and hurries off to the studio.
21
The soundproof door closes behind Rex. He creeps into the studio and sees that the host, Mia Edwards, is sitting on the sofa talking to a writer with pink hair.
Rex steps carefully over the cables and takes his place in the kitchen on one side of the group of sofas. A sound technician fixes his microphone while he checks that all the ingredients for his pasta dish are in place, that the water is simmering and the butter is melted.
He watches the large monitor as the author being interviewed laughs and throws her hands up. The ticker along the bottom of the screen talks about growing criticism of the UN Security Council.
Are you hungry? Mia asks the author after getting a prompt through her earpiece. I hope so, because today Rex has prepared something extra special.
The lights come up and as the black lenses of the cameras swing towards him hes drizzling oil into the beaten-copper pan.
Rex increases the heat of the gas burner, starts picking basil leaves from a large pot, and smiles straight into the camera:
Some of you may be feeling a little worse for wear today... so this morning were focusing on the perfect hangover food. Tagliatelle with fried shrimp, melted butter and garlic, red peppers, olive oil and fresh herbs. Imagine a really lazy morning... waking up next to someone you hopefully recognise... and maybe you dont really want to remember what happened last night, because all you need right now is food.
Forget all about dieting, Mia says expectantly.
But only for this morning, Rex chuckles, and runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. Its worth it though, I promise.
We believe you, Rex.
Mia comes over and watches as he chops a chilli pepper and garlic with lightning-fast flicks of the knife.
Take extra care if youre feeling fragile...
I can do that just as fast, Mia jokes.
Lets see!
He throws the knife in the air, and it spins twice before he catches it again and puts it down next to the chopping board.
No, she laughs.
My ex always called me a schmuck... Im still not quite sure what she meant, he grins, and stirs the deep-rimmed frying pan.
So youve dried the shrimp on paper towels?
And because theyre not pre-cooked, you may need to add a little more salt than usual, Rex says as he lowers the fresh pasta into the simmering water.
Through the cloud of steam his eyes take in the latest news on the ticker at the bottom of the monitor: Swedish Foreign Minister William Fock has died after a short illness.
His stomach lurches with angst and his head suddenly goes empty. He forgets where he is and what hes supposed to be doing.
You can get organic shrimp these days, cant you? Mia asks.
He looks at her and nods, without actually understanding what shes saying. His hands are shaking as he picks up the tea-towel from the counter. He dabs slowly at his forehead so as not to spoil the make-up.
Its a live broadcast. Rex knows he has to get through this, but all he can think about is what he did three weeks ago.
This cant be true.
He holds onto the edge of the counter with one hand as he feels sweat trickling between his shoulder-blades.
In the past youve talked about saving some of the pasta water to pour on the cooked pasta afterwards if you want to cut down on the amount of oil, Mia says.
Yes, but...
But not today, eh? she says with a smile.
Rex looks down at his hands, sees that theyre still working. Theyve just turned up the heat beneath the frying pan, and are now squeezing lemon juice on the shrimp. As he squeezes the fruit, a few drops of juice end up on the edge of the pan. They look like a string of tiny glass pearls.
OK, he whispers. His brain keeps repeating the news: the Foreign Minister has died after a short illness.
He was sick, and nothing I did made any difference, Rex thinks as he picks up the bowl of shrimp.
The last thing you do is fry the shrimp, he says, watching as the hot oil swirls in dreamlike patterns. Are you ready? Um, dois, três...
The dolly-mounted camera films the big copper pan as he empties the bowl with a theatrical gesture and the shrimp tumble into the oil with a noisy hiss.
High heat! Keep watching the colour, and listen... you can hear the moisture evaporating, Rex says, turning the shrimp.
The pan sizzles as he sprinkles a pinch of salt over it. The second camera is filming him head-on.
Give it a few seconds. Your beloved can stay in bed because the foods all ready now, he smiles, lifting the pink shrimp from the pan.
It smells fantastic. I can feel myself going weak at the knees, Mia says, leaning over the dish.
Rex drains the pasta, quickly tips it into a bowl, stirs in the garlic butter and peppers, then adds the oiled shrimp, adds a splash of white wine and balsamic vinegar, then plenty of chopped parsley, marjoram and basil.
Then you can take the bowls back into the bedroom with you, Rex says directly to the camera. Open a bottle of wine if you want to stay under the covers, but otherwise water goes very well.
22
The Foreign Minister is dead, Rex repeats to himself as he leaves the studio where the guests are eating his pasta dish. He hears them praise the food as he pushes the soundproof door open.
Rex runs along the hallway to his dressing room, locks the door behind him, staggers into the bathroom and throws up in the toilet.
Exhausted, he rinses his mouth and face, lies down on the narrow bed and closes his eyes.
Fuck me, he whispers, releasing the hazy memories of that night three weeks ago.
He had been at a party at Matbaren, and he had a little too much to drink. He decided that he was in love with a woman who worked for some investment company with a stupid name.
Almost every time he got drunk, the night ended with him in bed with a woman. If he was lucky, she wasnt a production assistant at TV4 or the ex-wife of a colleague. On this occasion, she was a complete stranger.
They got a taxi back to her villa out in Djursholm. She was divorced and her only child was on an exchange trip to the USA. He kissed the back of her neck as she switched the alarm off and let them in. An old golden retriever came padding through the rooms.
They both knew what they wanted, and didnt talk much. He selected a bottle of wine from the large wine fridge, and remembers swaying as he tried to open it.
She got out some cheese and crackers which they never touched.
With an air of inevitability, he had followed her through the carpeted hallway towards the master bedroom.
She dimmed the wall lights and disappeared into the bathroom.
When she came back she was wearing a silver nightgown and kimono. She opened the drawer of the bedside table and handed him a condom.
He remembers that she wanted to be taken from behind, maybe because she didnt want to look at his face. She got on all fours, with her pale backside uncovered, the nightgown pulled up, bunched around her waist, and her mid-length hair hanging over her cheeks.
The antique bed creaked and a framed embroidered angel wobbled on the wall.
They were both too tired, too drunk. She didnt orgasm, didnt even pretend to, just muttered that she needed to sleep when he was finished, sank onto her stomach and fell asleep with her legs wide apart.
He had gone back to the kitchen, helped himself to a glass of cognac, and leafed through the morning paper, which had just been delivered. The Foreign Minister had made some stupid comment about how there were extreme feminist forces that wanted to destroy the age-old relationship between men and women.
Rex had swept the paper onto the floor and left the house.