Milk(7)

            —He sounds like a loony.

            —Yeah, he was. At least in a way. But what about you? Don’t you ever imagine something along those lines?

            —Um.

            Claudia left the room to get her cigarettes. She had a sly grin on her face when she returned.

            Sophus poured them each more wine.

            —Sometimes I pretend I’m being interviewed on TV.

            They laughed.

            —How?

            —Usually it’s when I’m standing in front of the mirror getting dressed. It varies, the type of program. Often it’s something like This is Your Life. The host asks me how I like my job or my parents, or you. Could be anything.

            —And how do you answer?

            —It varies.

            —How?

            —It depends on the question. And how I feel that day.

            Claudia smiled, but there was an almost imperceptible flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

            —But you’re still you. You don’t pretend you’re someone else?

            —No, I don’t think so. Not as far as I can recall. Well, wait a sec. Sometimes I do imagine, actually, that I’m a famous actress or television star, something like that. They show clips from all the things I’ve been in. I talk about my marriages, my children. Whether it’s me, I can’t really say. But what about you? Do you ever pretend such things?

            —No. Sophus shook his head.

            —You’re sure?

            —Yeah.

            —Not even when you were a teenager?

            He shook his head.

            —Maybe you’ve just forgotten.

            —I don’t think so.

            Sophus poured more wine, and Claudia went to the bathroom. In a moment she returned and sat down.

            They drank in silence.

            Then she said:

            —I thought of something.

            —Yes?

            —I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone.

            —Go on, Sophus said. He’d run out of cigarettes, so he cadged one of Claudia’s.

            —This is back when I lived with Jens. You know, he wasn’t very big and we fit into each other’s clothes. He had a really expensive suit that he wore in court.

            She pulled another cigarette from her pack. It was bent, and she straightened it out between two thin fingers.

            —Every now and then, on some afternoon when I was bored, or if I missed him, I put the suit on. Sometimes I also put on his shirt, socks, and shoes. Even his aftershave. Then I walked around the apartment smoking cigarettes. Maybe opened a bottle of wine, too. It was like falling in love all over again. It gave me that same tingling and restless feeling. It was really odd.

            Claudia sat with her cigarette still in her hand.

            —And then what? Sophus asked.

            —I would fantasize that I would keep the suit on until he came home, and then push him into the bedroom and tear off his clothes. You know, swap roles. I even went so far as to imagine putting a dress on him, and sexy underwear. But it was mostly a joke, of course.