Cities

by Carla de Guzman

  After the morning's tea with her best friend's lover (whenever she used that term it made Ben laugh and Vivian even more uncomfortable), Celia walked briskly towards The Wellington Arch. The sky had not let up, and everything had turned into a shade of grey that made her pull her coat closer around her. London could be so depressing at times. The Wellington Arch, aside from being of great historical importance to Britain, was her shortcut from Hyde Park Corner Station. She was actually walking to the Belgravia branch of Ottolenghi, Celia’s favorite deli chain in the city. Not only did they have good food, their presentation was always so appetizing and fantastic, she and Henry usually ended up eating more than working.

  She was still walking when she called Vivian’s mobile. Celia’s thoughts of her flatmate’s new bedfellow perturbed her. Boys who didn’t wear shirts knew where they stood. They knew they were temporary, that it didn’t matter if the flatmate saw them disrobed. Ben, however, seemed to actually want to be friends with Celia, which was unsettling to say the least. A warning for Vivian would be appropriate.

  “Relax, Celia,” Vivian said breezily, like she was in complete control of the situation. “He and I know the parameters of our agreement. I would have put it in writing, but Ben insists he understands.”

  Of course Vivian would want their agreement in writing. But if she believed she had control, Celia had to believe that she really did. Celia turned a corner and made it to Ottolenghi a little early, but Henry was already there, waiting for her.

  "Hen, I love you but we are never going to finish our grad paper if we keep meeting like this,” she sighed as she settled across him. Already she was thinking of ordering the white chocolate cheesecake with raspberry compote—and she hadn’t even had lunch yet.

  Henry seemed to ignore her as he politely called a waiter. Apparently, finishing their thesis was not a huge priority for her friend. To Celia, grad school was something to take seriously if she wanted to be a real writer someday (which she did). To Henry, this was a side project, his last hurrah before he took over the family business, which was not as exciting as it sounded.

  “Hen, are you listening?” Celia asked, slightly concerned. She knew the signs when Henry’s mood turned foul. She should have known something was up—he usually didn’t volunteer to go to Ottolenghi, much less volunteer to pay for it all.

  "I know, I know, I'm sorry love," He said apologetically, not sounding sorry at all. “Bad day, is all. Did you talk to Vivian today? I asked her out to dinner last night. Again.”

  “What is it with you and your obsession with my flatmate?” Celia laughed, shaking her head. Henry blinked, like she had said something surprising, but quickly joined in the laugh like he hadn’t missed a beat. Celia was sure something was going on with him, but if he didn’t feel like sharing, she didn’t mind. “And dinner? Is that a euphemism for a bang?”

  Henry nearly spluttered over his water. “Celia,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “When you know, you know. And no, it is definitely not.”

  So lunch continued as smoothly as it always did between the two friends. Henry encouraged her to order anything that caught her eye, since it was his treat. Celia told him it was horribly wasteful and indulgent, but Henry was quick to remind her that Ottolenghi was a great advocate of takeaway.

  “You have to have some decent food in that ridiculous flat of yours,” Henry said, rolling his eyes like the thought of her and Vivian’s space was completely uncool. To even be in the presence of anything remotely beneath him was not an option, which, he said, was why he didn’t go to the music festival the other night.

  "If you think my flat is so ridiculous, why do you keep meeting me there?" Celia asked, giggling over her spinach and mushroom quiche. She couldn’t even be mad at the guy since he was paying for lunch. “Plus, shut up. Vivi and I are completely in love with our flat. Speedy’s is literally keeping us alive and it’s why we became so close.”

  When Celia first moved from Chiswick to central London, she and Vivian barely spoke a word to each other. Sure they knew each other from school, but it was different when you were sharing a tiny flat. But one day, when they least expected it, camera crews and security crowded in front of their North Gower Street door and filmed exterior shots for the TV series Sherlock. Celia mentioned she was a fan of the show, and Vivian had exclaimed that she was too. That was when their close friendship started. Celia still couldn’t watch the Reichenbach Fall without Vivian holding her hand. Their group photo with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman held a place of honor in their living room, much to Henry’s chagrin.

  “Your flat keeps me humble,” Henry laughed, biting into his pan au chocolat.

  By the time Henry and Celia finished lunch, they managed to hammer out the division of work for the next week. Their paper was slow-going, a study and literary analysis on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but Celia was confident they would do well. They stood outside the shop, Celia holding on to her takeaway bag like Henry had given her a very precious gift. He smiled at her very obvious glee and kissed her cheek before heading off in the opposite direction from her.

  “Try not to finish it all in one go," Henry called as they were five steps away from each other. “Cheers, love!”

  “Don’t walk too fast, you’ll get sick,” Celia warned, and Henry rolled his eyes.

  “Can’t you say goodbye like a regular person?” He asked, walking back to her before the other people started staring.

  “Toodle pip!” Celia giggled, kissing his cheek again before she started to walk back towards the Tube station. With any luck, she should get to Euston Square Station in half an hour, do some work on her paper before going to Camden for band rehearsal. She turned the corner to the station, expecting to walk right in when she noticed the station gates were closed, making her stop.

  "What the—“

  "Tube strike started an hour ago, ma’am,” the man peddling newspapers by the station chuckled at her.

  Obviously, Celia was the only person in London who seemed to not know that the Tube was going on strike. Just her luck. No way was she getting a taxi here at this hour. Celia considered her options. She could do her work later. But that would delay the schedule she had so meticulously planned. She could skip band practice, but that just seemed like a silly notion to her. Plus, her Ottolenghi goods needed to be packed away. Her bandmates would flock to her takeaway like flies to honey. Her aunt always told her that anything in London was walkable in fifteen minutes, but Celia did not feel like now was a good time to test that theory. The sky above her looked angry and ready to pour rain at any moment.

  Sighing, she knew that she would have to take the bus. The option was not exactly thrilling. Given the tube strike, the buses were sure to be full of people, tourists, and news reporters covering the strike itself. It was just so ridiculous that it made her laugh, but only a little.

  She was just about to take the ten steps to the bus station when a car pulled up in front of her. Celia jumped back, about to yell at the driver for nearly mauling a pedestrian when the window rolled down to reveal...her best friend's lover.

  "You almost killed me, you barmy git!” She yelled angrily. Much like any pedestrian, she did not appreciate a near-mauling.

  "Tit for tat, darling," Ben shrugged, grinning like a kid who finally exacted his revenge on a bully. The little twist of fate at their situation endlessly amused him, and he sipped his iced Americano to express his satisfaction. Celia couldn't deny his logic, but continued to frown at him. "Need a ride?"

  "Normally I don't accept rides from strangers in mid-life crisis sports cars," Celia dismissed, shaking her head. She did know that taking his offer was her best option in the circumstances. But there was just something about Ben that she couldn't put her finger on, like she couldn't read him. "But the Tube is closed, the bus is late and it's about to rain, so fine. Open the door please, Jeeves."

  Ben smiled and opened the passenger door for her, and soon the car was speeding down the
busy London streets (well, as fast as it could go in the heavy traffic). He sipped his coffee as the car pulled to a stop at the crossing. Celia watched him drink, realizing that until now, she had never seen him drink anything but her tea.

  "So...you like Americano?" She asked tentatively. Small talk was Vivian's forte, not hers. But it shouldn't be difficult, given she had sat through this kind of uncomfortable situation with Ben several times a week.

  "Uh...yeah," Ben said distractedly. "I prefer it more than tea, actually. I’ve never really had tea before until I was over at your flat. Filipinos aren’t big tea drinkers.”

  "Oh?" Celia asked, finding the fact surprising. In their flat, the coffee was right next to the tea. Ben could have easily seen it and made himself whatever devil brew he wanted with Vivian's roast. And yet, he consumed Celia's tea like it was his usual routine. She was about to ask him why he drank tea at her place when he reached over and turned on the radio, the question vanishing from her mind at the sounds of Vampire Weekend. Ben hummed along a little, finishing his drink.

  "I drink tea at your place because I know you drink it," he said, like he had read the question right off her head. "After bumping into you...I thought you and I could be friends, of some sort. Even if it’s just on Facebook. Vivian speaks so highly of you, and I really am a fan of your music. Cool, you seem."

  Celia chortled at the Yoda reference, but she had to admit, the statement surprised her. The gesture of the tea was sweet, kind, and something she didn't expect from someone who was enjoying being in Vivian's pants. "Thank you, padawan," she said to Ben, smiling. "And yes, to be your friend, I can be."

  It seemed that Ben really wanted to keep up the promise to be Celia’s friend. They made plans to spend an afternoon with each other, testing out the waters of their possible friendship. The notion was kind of silly for Celia, but she understood that their situation was kind of delicate. Ben said that he didn’t really make friends quickly, and that this kind of ‘beta testing’ was perfect. The following day, as Celia read through A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a Pret-a-Porter deli near Trafalgar Square, Ben decided it would be fun to tap the glass in front of her from outside. Naturally, Celia jumped and nearly screamed. “Blimey, are you stalking me?!” She asked him through the glass, which she realized was a ridiculous thing to do. Glancing apologetically at the other diners she disturbed by her outburst, she quickly shuffled out of her seat.

  Ben simply waited there, grinning until she came out with her tea in her hand and her book back in her bag. He seemed completely chuffed, like he had planned this particular surprise the whole day.

  “Friends don’t usually stalk their friends, you know” she told him, frowning slightly. He grinned and shrugged innocently and started to walk towards Trafalgar Square, with the National Gallery just up ahead. They stuffed their fingers in their coat pockets and walked towards the National Gallery, their destination for the day. It was a little touristy, but Celia wanted to catch a particular exhibit before they changed it again. Ben smiled and shrugged a little. Truth be told, this was his first trip to the National Gallery. It was one of those places that he had always wanted to visit (especially since it was free) but never really got around to.

  They wove expertly through the usual crowds in Trafalgar Square. Ben glanced briefly at the lions at the base of Nelson’s Column, briefly toying with the idea of drawing them coming to life and playing in the fountains. He asked Celia about the Blue Rooster statue across them, and she simply shrugged like she didn’t see why he was so enamored with it. They stood together at the entrance to the Gallery, Ben pulling her away from the door to the patio overlooking the whole square.

  Sometimes Ben found himself just swept up in the beauty of the city. There was something old and wonderful about the way London was spread out in front of him, everyone just going about their own way while he stood back and watched. He sighed contentedly. He really should come here more often.

  “Is it going to be like this with you?” Celia asked, her hands still in her pockets as she squinted at the landscape. She appreciated a good skyline as much as anyone, but to her, this was nothing new. She looked at the awestruck face on her companion, like a boy who had seen something wonderful for the first time. A small smile played on his lips and he turned his head to her.

  “What can I say, I like to surprise you,” Ben said without so much as a blink as they entered the museum. The National Gallery was full of locals and tourists alike, all crowding to catch a glimpse of the latest Van Gogh exhibit. Two of Van Gogh’s five Sunflower paintings were on view, brought together for the first time in 65 years, and Celia didn’t want to miss it.

  After a bit of a queue and a few more laughs between them, Benedict and Celia stood in front of the paintings, both of them quite at a loss for words. The two paintings, beautiful and bright as they were, were so similar and so different in their own ways. But the two of them together just seemed…right. Like the two pieces were meant to be viewed side by side. The darkness of one played with the light of the other, each stroke seemingly made in tandem with the other.

  “I never would have seen this if I stayed in Manila,” Ben remarked, his eyes fixated on the masterpieces in front of him. “I’m glad I came here with a friend.”

  Celia smiled, tearing her eyes away from the view to look at his expression. Then she understood. This was all par for the course for her, seeing Van Gogh after a subway ride, walking through Hyde Park and Regent Street. For Ben, this was completely different from what he knew. He was on an adventure, as far as he was concerned. She wondered if she had met anyone with that much joy in his eyes, that much passion for what he saw around him.

  Celia decided that he was going to be her friend from now on. Even if it was just on Facebook.

  They called each other laser-breath and continued along the other paintings for the rest of the afternoon. Apparently Celia was pretty into Doctor Who, and had gushed about the Van Gogh episode alongside Ben. Ben told her about his childhood in Manila, and how he was when he first came to London. He told her how he met Vivian, how they came to their little…arrangement. Their “mates with benefits” arrangement came after Vivian came to his flat after a bad date, apparently her fifth in a row.

  “Ah yes, we call that the Dark Ages,” Celia nodded in understanding. “Her friends were setting her up with these horrid blokes with no shirts and not even a quid to their name. Then one day she came home from work and was just…better. She told me later that it was you, that you made the arrangement with her. She came home so happy and relaxed. Like you magically made her better.”

  Ben snorted. There was a dirty joke there somewhere, he just felt Celia wasn’t ready for it yet. He could see that while Celia knew all of Vivian’s quirks and blemishes, she loved her friend all the more for it. Vivian regarded Celia just as highly, if the pink hair streaks were any indication. No matter how many admirers would come knocking on Vivian’s door, Celia was always going to be her number one priority.

  He told her how they set up Tattooine Communications. He and Vivian were friends since their senior year in university, and had set up the company to help start-ups and one-of-a-kind businesses with PR, design and marketing needs. “A start-up for start-ups,” he said with a chuckle.

  “You know, there’s something about the Springfield account that just leaves a sour taste in my mouth,” Ben said, stuffing chips into his face with one hand while he held out the box to Celia with the other. After the National Gallery, Celia dragged him to Kensington Palace, Celia’s favorite place in the city. She claimed it had nothing to do with Lady Di, but Ben swore he saw her eyes glisten with tears each time they walked up to that golden gate. “Like I’m eating lies.”

  “There’s your pitch right there,” Celia said sarcastically, pointing at him with a chip. “So why are you doing this pitch, if you loathe them? For Vivian?”

  “Call me a romantic, but strong and independent women respond to guys who do whatever they want,�
�� he said, although she saw his eye twitch in that way it did when someone was saying something very involuntary. “But she did also say that this was what Tattooine needed.”

  “You really like saying that, don’t you,” Celia pointed out, pulling open the brolly she picked up from the floor of the museum that afternoon. Tourists. Ben chuckled again, and she knew that he really did.

  Lucky that she did, the skies turned a shade of grey that was not at all friendly, and rain started to drizzle in that way it always did in London. Celia pulled at Ben’s hand so he would step into the safety of the brolly, their shoulders bumping into each other so much he just pulled her towards him, his arm wrapped securely aorund her shoulders.

  “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?” She asked, looking up at Ben. It was so strange, asking him about how he felt for her friend when here they were, sharing warmth under an umbrella in Kensington. Ben seemed to miss the irony of the situation.

  “And lose my nighttime privileges? You know her, Celia. Do you really think she would…like me that way back?” Ben asked, tossing aside the rest of the fish and chips as they reached the Underground station on Kensington High Street. They had decided to cap off their fantastic friend test day with the Doctor Who marathon that was airing that evening, so it was up to North Gower they went. They were quiet throughout the whole commute, lost in their own, different thoughts. But as soon as the telly was on, neither Ben nor Celia could hold in their excitement.

  “Ooooeeoooo,” they sang along, Ben tapping the beat on his lap as Celia sang the theme song’s bass line. They were back.

  That was how Vivian found them three episodes later, having a shouting match over which Doctor was the best (Celia claimed Ben’s point was invalid since he hadn’t heard of Doctor Who until last year) and the several other ways they could have gotten rid of the Daleks (giant magnet was the clear winner). Vivian wasn’t quite sure why, but the sight of her shag buddy and best friend, on the couch, laughing over a sci-fi show on the telly didn’t sit well with her. Now it was her turn to be perturbed.