"Right, if you're not dead, I'm going to go ahead. I'll see you there maybe...not? Okay," she said quickly before she tottered off ahead of Ben to Hyde Park. He stood in that crossing for a moment, confused and dazed until a black cab honked at him to move.
"Get off the street, wanker!" The driver yelled, and Ben hurried over to the park, where the festival was just being set up. There was a crowd of people in their parkas, wellingtons and flower crowns already waiting to be let in, but he breezed past them without a wink from security. He approached one of the tents near the stage, and got to work. Festivals weren’t going to set up themselves.
About an hour later, he had just finished approving the lights and sound set-up when the tent flap opened, letting in a gust of cold wind. In stepped a gorgeous woman in a Burberry coat and dip-dyed hair, which he could have sworn wasn't like that the last time he saw her. She smiled at the staff as they greeted her, and she made a beeline towards him.
"Look who finally decided to come in," Vivian said dryly, breezing through the chaos around her to kiss Ben amicably on the cheek. He blinked a little. He realized he'd never seen her look so laid back. It was probably the pink streaks in her hair.
"I like to keep you all on your toes, of course," he said with a handsome grin as she threw off her scarf. "Nice hair."
"Temporary," she said with a shrug. "My flatmate said it would help me blend in. How are we getting on?" She asked him, rearranging the locations for the VIP passes and the press pass holders. Ben was used to Vivian redoing and revising his work. It came with the territory.
"They're about to start with the sound checks, and the booths are getting their last checks," Ben talked like he was describing the weather. Vivian wasn't even looking at him, rearranging little details in the press kits, nodding as she listened vaguely to him. "I'm about to do the final walk-around in a bit," he finished.
Vivian was Ben's partner and sort-of boss at Tattooine Communications, the advertising agency they started shortly after graduating from university. Ben was the ideas guy, always coming up with strategies, big gimmicks for clients and generally dazzling them with his natural charm. Vivian was “the boss” of the operation, using her immense brainpower for client negotiations, checking on Ben's work and making sure he didn't go too crazy with budgets and clients, generally keeping everything afloat. This show was arguably their biggest client event yet, and it was good to see the staff squirm, just a little.
They walked out of the tent together, talking about last minute changes, how the clients were and about other things. Ben and Vivian were friends much longer than they had been partners, ever since Ben moved to London with his Filipino accent, American expressions and rubber-soled shoes. Before big events like these, they liked to walk around and chat, just to keep the friendship alive.
"By the way," Ben said, watching the stage crew check on the equipment. They had patterned their stage after the ones in Glastonbury and Coachella, with elaborate graphic designs on the back, inflatable art structures and carts of food and water for the concert goers. Vivian lifted her head, her eyebrows raised in question. The pink streaks in her hair were shimmering in the lights they had set up. The skies had cleared, and the festival setup notwithstanding, they were just two friends standing in Hyde Park.
"I'm calling in a favor," he told her. "I know you said not to abuse the 'benefits' of our friendship. But it's Friday night, and after not getting drunk at the festival, I imagine we'll be very bored."
"My place this time," Vivian said immediately, giving him a saucy little wink as Ben grinned. Their little arrangement had happened exactly twice before (this was the first time they were going to do it at her flat), and had yet to hit any snags. So tonight, not only was Ben going to impress the hell out of his clients and watch a cool show, he was also getting some.
Not bad. He had to admit, there was something very posh and unlike him about this whole thing. He would imagine that had he stayed in Manila, he would never be the kind to engage in this kind of…arrangement with his friend. But here, it was so common that nobody bat an eyelash when they saw Vivian at his breakfast table in a dressing gown. Of course, the sex was fantastic. Ben was discovering muscles and angles that he never thought he had, and Vivian was pretty good too. It didn’t even affect their working relationship, not one tiny bit.
The sound checks had just begun, and the opening band was already setting up on stage, adjusting instruments, approving lighting and sounds. Vivian had marched over to the front of the stage, cheering and whooping by herself. Ben blinked. Vivian had always been the prim and proper control freak type. Bedroom acrobatics aside, he'd never seen her so uninhibited, and that was only for a second. He had to smile at himself, admitting that he rather liked this side of her.
"Who are you wearing, you look fabulous!" Vivian yelled to the lead singer, who looked down at her and laughed. Ben immediately recognized her as the girl on the street with the killer Strat. He didn’t recognize her at once, and only just noticed the pink streak on her hair matching Vivian’s. She had a different presence onstage, relaxed and oblivious to the crowds that were waiting for them outside. A gold halo formed around her black hair, making her look like she was glowing (but of course, Ben was probably just imagining that). What did she say her name was again?
"Always a pleasure to see my most devoted slave," She said, giggling at Vivian. "Hey, roomie. I told you the pink would look great."
Ben snapped his fingers as all the pieces fell into place in his mind. Celia. Celia Alix, lead singer of Summers and Vivian's roommate. She was apparently a klutz when handling her guitar, but managed to make amazing music with it—enough for Ben to hand pick them to open the festival. Vivian talked endlessly about Celia, about how she was taking grad studies in Literature, how Celia wrote all the band's songs, how she came to live with Vivian in their flat on North Gower Street. Ben looked up at Celia again.
"Alright, Ben and I have to finish our walk around," Vivian said, blowing her a kiss. "I'll see you later, alligator."
"In a while, crocodile!" Celia chirped back, and the band resumed their sound check. Ben nodded along to the music and Vivian ushered him towards the food booths to check on them.
Last night had turned out absolutely brilliant. The festival was a smash hit and Summers was asked to play an encore later into the night. Vivian had disappeared for the after party, but Celia knew that her roommate was just as ecstatic about the whole thing.
She woke up the next day properly hung over and a little bit late to class. Throwing off the sheets of the futon she was using as a bed in the tiny spare room, she threw on the same shirt she wore last night (it still smelled pretty clean), her charity shop cigarette pants, and a scarf she stole from her sister. She was on her way out the door, her stiff, army green jacket half-pulled around her when she dropped by the kitchen to grab some toast and Marmite.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, jumping slightly when she saw a stranger in her kitchen. He was reading her newspaper (because they still had that delivered) with his back to her, chewing her toast, and standing in her usual spot sans a shirt. It seemed almost unfair that said shirtless stranger was relaxing at 9am on a Monday while she was frantic and hungover. Celia squinted at the man's shaggy black hair and recognized him.
"Ben...was it?"
He didn't even seem at all surprised, turning around with toast still in his mouth. Celia swallowed down the lump in her throat, acknowledging that the front looked much better than the back. Muscles, muscles everywhere, so pale that she resisted the urge to hold out a hand and squeeze them. For a guy on the smaller, leaner side, Vivian’s bedroom buddy was…fit. Ben’s appeal was not lost on her.
"Right, Celia," he said, just as surprised and embarrassed as she felt. He tossed the paper to the kitchen table. "Viv said I could help myself....fancy a drop?"
He nudged his head towards the pot of tea on the counter, her favorite loose leaf tea tin still open. She frowned and shook her head. Vivian was a
lways welcome to bring home strangers, but not strangers who drank her favorite tea. Of course she had been privy to this little arrangement between them, but Celia had been promised it wouldn’t happen here. So much for that.
Already slightly annoyed with the bloke for sleeping with his business partner, Celia grabbed the pot and dumped the whole lot into a takeaway cup to bring with her to class.
"O-kay?" Ben said hesitantly, walking to the small table in the kitchen to take a seat. "I take it she didn't tell you I was coming over."
"Vivian is free to do who she wants," Celia shrugged, turning to him. "I just don't think it's a good idea. It's dangerous, she could get hurt."
"Dangerous? You were the one who nearly mauled me with a Stratocaster!" Ben exclaimed in disbelief, shaking his head. He wasn't used to people commenting about his personal business. But for some reason he thoroughly enjoyed it. "Nice tunes by the way. I really enjoyed your set."
“There’s no need to pander to me,” Celia snapped, shaking her head. Of course she couldn't just take the compliment from the nice man sitting in her flat without a shirt on. But for some reason, she resented him. She wasn't quite sure why.
"Right," Ben said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I'm going to grab my trousers and get out of your hair. I'm meeting my friend for lunch so...hang on. You don't care."
Celia was about to say something when Ben stood up, took her toast and Marmite and went into Viv's bedroom. She watched him leave, then became slightly confused when she saw the time and made a dash for the door without her takeaway tea.
“I swear, that was the most mortifying morning of my life,” Celia said, burying her hands in her face later that afternoon. After the rush of class was over, she was sitting in her usual bench with her usual bench buddy, Henry Cruz-Springfield. He was her partner for their graduate paper, but he served the greater purpose of being her other best friend. He was good for a laugh, he was playful, and loved to compliment her, he loved drinking tea, and he never objected or judged when Celia wanted another round of ice cream. It was like having a gay best friend, except Henry was as straight as boys could come. He flirted with, around and behind Celia enough times to confirm it. “That’s counting the time I saw Vivian reading The Naked Chef naked in our kitchen while she waited for one of her other boyfriends to finish using the loo.”
“Now that’s an image,” Henry said with a grin, sipping his tea. Celia rolled her eyes. For as long as she had known Henry, he had claimed to be profoundly, passionately and madly in love with Vivian Wilson. Although he never really did anything about it, saying that Vivian was like his Moby Dick (which was as gross as it was euphemistic). Meanwhile, Vivian liked to pretend that she actually enjoyed his affections. It was like a running joke between him and her flatmate, one that Celia couldn’t quite get.
“You are a pig, and you are completely useless,” Celia sighed, tugging at her scarf to ward off the cold. She grabbed her paper teacup and sipped. She pulled Henry’s scarf tighter around him so he didn’t catch a cold.
“Which is why you keep me around,” he said, handing back her copy of Much Ado About Nothing. It was tattered and the spine was cracked, her notes scribbled around the pages like she hadn’t run out of things to say about it. It was Henry’s key to passing this particular module, and for that he was eternally grateful.
“No, I keep you around because you have a really nice car,” Celia joked, shaking her head. “But seriously. Vivian’s new boytoy. He’s her business partner, isn’t that weird?”
“Are you sure you aren’t just jealous that she’s actually getting some?” Henry teased, smoothing his hands over his trousers and pulling his camel coat closer. Celia’s eyes couldn’t stop flickering towards the blue detail on the collar, which she figured was the point. Henry smiled and closed the top button of his floral shirt. His great pride in life was that he was once featured on the Sartorialist. He was a man of impeccable style, which sometimes made Celia question if she already had a gay best friend.
He knew she was simply goading him into admitting that Vivian was making a bad decision, and Henry knew the best way to go about it was to deflect Celia’s issues back to herself. She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her shabby military coat.
“I would rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loved me,” she quoted, sticking her tongue out a him and making Henry roll his eyes.
So the clients were extremely impressed with the outcome of the festival. Bringing in the local bands to play a song with the international acts was the kind of stuff that made history, and generated more interest in the client and their message, which Ben could barely remember now. Vivian was glowing with a job well done, perfectly calm in the face of the huge bonus they got. They retreated to her office after the debrief meeting, Ben already telling her how the team could use a break after the event.
"Ah-ah, friend. The siren call of bigger clients beckons our small firm," Vivian said, sipping her second coffee cup of the day. She always seemed to need more after a good shag. Like she had rested too much and now needed to jump start her faculties again. "I have it on good authority that Springfield Foods just fired their current agency."
"They should! Did you see that advert for their organic food? 'I'm not a nugget?' Bollocks," Ben tutted, shaking his head. When he first arrived in London, he could never manage to fit ‘bollocks’ into any sentence. Now he found himself saying it often. Vivian smiled slightly, like a cat that just got away with something particularly sinister.
"Exactly," She answered, placing her hands on her desk. She had a personality that exuded authority, which was why Ben liked working with her. "So you are going to give them the pitch of your life."
There was something very attractive about Vivian. Of course she was always beautiful to Ben, but it was the kind of beautiful you associated with someone you know you could never be with. With their recent arrangement, however, seeing her at his side wasn't as impossible as it used to be. There was something that glowed in her whenever she was completely pleased with herself, and now was one of those times. She wasn't afraid to give him a push in the right direction, not afraid to 'handle' him like most women did. With much effort, Ben shook himself out of his schoolboy crush.
"A pitch? Already?" Ben asked, slightly confused. Usually there was a certain amount of wooing and schmoozing before a pitch was even discussed. Although Ben left that to Vivian, she usually informed him of these things beforehand.
"Yes, a pitch by next Friday," Vivian said, going through the stack of papers on her desk like she was absolutely done with Ben. He however, didn't seem to want to leave. "The Springfield people are launching a new line of 'mass-produced artisan foods,' which is kind of an oxymoron in itself, don't you think?"
She blinked at him, those long sweeping eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes locked with his, and he did not want to look away. Ben realized at this moment that the careful balance of their “mates with benefits” idea had now been shattered. He could not stop looking at Vivian. He was in love. Wasn't he?
"Right. A pitch by Friday. Of course," he said, slightly confused by his realization. As a guy who claimed not to have the physical parts associated with falling in love, this was new. He stumbled out of the office and onto his desk, wondering what on earth to do next. The pitch would probably have to wait.
Since the morning after the festival, Celia had “encountered” Ben in their kitchen a grand total of five times. She didn't even want to ask how many times a week they were doing it in Ben's flat. But Vivian, bless her kind and gentle heart, was never too shy to share that kind of information with her. "It's the perfect plan," her best friend gushed over the phone the other day. "I get to relax and release a lot of my tension, and he gets a good shag. Plus he does this thing with his tongue that really—
Celia could only complain that she did not need to know any more. No need to tell her friend that yoga or any less tantric form of exercise could be just as adequate. It was difficult
to concentrate on Shakespeare’s work when there was moaning coming from the other room. These sessions, however, gave Celia a good opportunity to assess the behavior of Vivian's latest bedfellow.
It took quick work to determine that the chap was absolutely in love with Vivian. Celia had seen those looks on men before. Those infatuated with Vivian Wilson wore starry looks on their eyes, walking around in a daze like they couldn’t quite believe their luck. Suitors usually peppered Celia with questions on which things in the flat belonged to whom (subtly picking up clues on their bonny lady), advice on what Vivian liked—her favorite dessert, her idea of a perfect date and so on without ever bothering to put on a shirt. Celia had never complained about the view before, but sometimes it just felt a little…rude.
However, there was something different about Ben. Although his eyes remained as starry as a bloody asteroid belt, he seemed pensive, like there was always something that bothered him about the whole thing. His eyes didn't scan the room and asked for clues like the others. He actually seemed to know which item belonged to whom, and once asked Celia where she found her Kinky Boots poster.
After she first encountered his bare chest, Ben started putting on a shirt or Vivian’s dressing gown in the mornings, which was as funny as it was polite. Ben had taken to making a cup of tea for Celia in the mornings when she was rushing off. He made a point, at first, to hand it to her whenever she saw him disheveled in the kitchen. Now he just left it on the table, already made the way she liked it. They would sit in silence and sip, once even sharing some scones Vivian had left. Although that never really led to conversation, she had a feeling that Ben's questions were at the tip of his tongue. She wondered vaguely why he hesitated.
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