“Does he know you’re shagging the client’s son?” Celia asked. God, she hated using these words against her best friend. She didn’t like being the one fighting against Vivian. But something inside her told her it was the right thing to do. Now was not the time to sit down and just shut up.
Vivian stood up from the couch, the silk from deep crimson robe touching the floor. She looked just as livid as Celia, but a lot less guilty over what she was about to say. “Ben knows our arrangement is strictly casual, and no, he doesn’t know about Henry,” she said in a tone so icy that Celia wanted to cry. “Now if you’re finished moralizing me, St. Celia, I suggest you pick up that roast beef off the floor and go out to dinner with us.”
That night, they went out to dinner. Henry told Celia how relieved he was that they had it all sorted out. He told her that he and Vivian had been taking turns trying to tell her, each time failing for one reason or the other. Vivian had even ordered a round of coconut cake to make things better. But somehow Celia couldn’t completely scrub out the hurt and guilt in her chest.
Like a mature adult, Celia chose to dive into work when her personal life was going haywire. When she wasn't spending her days poring over verisimilitudes and soliloquies in school, she was spending her time at the Cafe Royal with Henry near Piccadilly Circus.
Celia loved the idea of Cafe Royal. From the 1800s to the 1970s, it was the bohemian hangout of great writers like Oscar Wilde and Virginia Woolf. Later it was filled with artists like Mick Jagger, then Princess Diana. Sadly the original Cafe was no longer there, but the Cafe Royal Hotel had more than enough mojo left in it to get their creative juices flowing. Henry had ordered tea, and Celia was so focused on work that she barely looked up at the gold sienna marble and Regent Street right outside. It was a Tuesday afternoon anyway, that golden time where people were in between getting out of work and getting into pubs, sneaking a cuppa in between. Not enough subjects for a decent round of people watching.
“I’m nearly done with this bit,” Celia read as she typed. Henry just kept nodding behind her. “Do you think we should still make some commentary about Duke Orsino? I think we have some related commentary from our interview with the staff at the Globe Theatre.”
“Not really, we discussed it a lot in the earlier portion,” Henry said, sipping from his cup. He enjoyed Cafe Royal as much as Celia did. He loved the idea of old romance, the way it stood the test of time. He loved the thought of relationships formed in the walls of the cafe. Henry was sweet that way. A romantic, through and through.
They were at the conclusion of their graduate paper, and Celia was actually dreading the end. Finishing meant she would no longer have any excuse to hide from Ben, and she had been doing it so well this last week. Shaking her head at the thought of Ben, Celia pulled her fingers away from the keyboard. She had to admit that she wasn’t exactly doing a good job of keeping her thoughts of Ben at bay. Ever since that night, that kiss…
This was why she preferred tea to beer.
“Henry,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “I need you to rationalize something for me.”
“Sure darling,” he answered, crossing one leg over the other and grinning. She was sure he was trying to make ‘rationalize’ a euphemism for something, but she wasn’t in the mood to play along. Sensing that immediately, Henry cleared his throat and looked directly at his friend. “What can I rationalize for you?”
“Why am I so mad at Vivian for what she did?” Celia asked, because of course Henry already knew about her unresolved feelings for Ben. He knew about the kiss, and he had sworn not to tell Vivian (which made him Celia’s best-est best friend again). If Henry claimed to know Celia before, he certainly had the proper proof now. She didn’t know if she found that comforting or slightly terrifying. “She’s done worse, and I’ve forgiven her faster than you can say ‘alas.’ This particular thing she didn’t even do to me. So why do I still feel upset?”
Henry stared at her like he couldn’t believe those words just came out of her mouth. He frowned and studied Celia’s otherwise clueless face. It was already eight in the evening and the sun was just beginning its slow descent. Henry watched the foggy light of dusk dance around Celia and smiled.
“What suffering, what torment caused the deep sadness that lurks behind those eyes?” He quoted, making Celia roll her eyes. Henry laughed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Because you have a kind heart,” he said simply. “And you, my friend, know yourself less than everyone in this room.”
“Don’t be cryptic Henry, please,” Celia begged, putting down her work glasses. People were starting to crowd on Regent Street, scurrying off to go out for the night. “I need to figure out what’s going on.”
Henry glanced over at the door and sighed. He squeezed Celia’s hand, and she frowned at him. She knew that he knew something, but since he was being a great friend, he wasn’t going to tell her.
“I am so sorry,” he said sadly, looking behind her as the doors to Cafe Royal opened. “The course of true love never did run smooth.” Celia glared at him, about to reproach him for not taking her seriously when Vivian appeared behind their seats, clapping them both on the shoulder and making Celia jump and squeal.
“Hello book dorks,” she said, giggling.
“I resent that,” Celia answered, smiling as she turned towards Vivian. “If we were book dorks, our paper would have been done ages ago. Alas, no such luck on Henry’s part.”
“Oh, I resent that,” Henry snapped back, poking Celia’s side with his pen. “Contrary to popular belief, I enjoy Shakespeare as much as the next Grad student. If music be the food of love, play on! Vivian, tell this heathen that she is wrong! Viv?”
The girl in question seemed to be distracted, her eyes trained on the door like she was waiting for someone to come in. It took her a moment to smile down at Henry.
“Hm?” she asked distractedly, smiling brightly before bending forward and kissing him like it was their last day on earth. Celia pretended to be disgusted, rolling her eyes. She was just about to make a joke when she saw why Vivian had waited for the cafe doors to open.
Ben was there. It made him sick to the stomach, the way the three of them looked like everything was fine, and bright and happy. Like they hadn’t hurt anyone by lying. He found some satisfaction in the shock on Celia’s face.
The look on his face was enough to break Celia’s heart. Vivian and Henry smiled like they had just done the most natural thing in the world, their hands clasped together like they belonged. How could Celia have forgotten? They were all supposed to meet here for a cuppa before celebrating the now finished paper. Her head spun and Ben stumbled backwards.
“Is this seriously happening,” Ben said, in a tone Celia had never heard from him before. It seemed so dark and angry, and so unlike him. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Henry turned and saw the look on Ben's face.
"Everything tickety-boo there, mate?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow. Vivian, who still liked to pretend that she was completely in control of this situation, turned to Ben.
“Henry and I have been seeing each other for a while, Benedict.”
“And it just so happened that he’s the son of our biggest client?” Ben spat, shaking his head. “You invited me here! You set this up. Oh my god. Viv, I knew you weren’t beneath this, but I didn’t think you would actually go through with it.”
The words were sharp, and Celia was more surprised that she felt the words were directed at her than at Vivian. Ben turned and walked away from the gold sienna marble of the Cafe Royal, and Celia jogged right after him, not after kicking Henry’s leg for being such an idiot and looking at Vivian like she didn’t know her at all.
Ben walked up Regent Street, narrowly dodging people that were walking down the road, occasionally being yelled at by passers-by. Celia chased after him in her cardie and ballet flats, the cold whipping at her as she realized she forgot her coat in the cafe.
“Ben!”
She exclaimed as she was jostled forward by a large man in a hurry. He was walking so fast, but she could still catch the glow of the shops against his dark hair. She finally reached him as he stood in front of a Topshop, shoppers streaming around them and wondering who the idiots blocking the way were.
“What,” Ben said icily, turning to her, much to the ire of the people moving around him.
Knowing that this was no place to make a scene (there never really was a place to make a scene), Celia pulled his arm and dragged him into a nearby telephone booth, her back squashed uncomfortably against the phone.
“Please don’t be so mad, I hate to see you upset,” she said, wanting to knead that furrow right out of his brow. “Henry was always a bit of a berk, and Vivian can be a bitch sometimes—“
“Vivian?” Benedict asked in disbelief. “Do you really think this is about Vivian?”
“What else could it be about?” Celia asked in exasperation. “I know you’re in love with her—“
“Wait, wait,” Ben interrupted, stepping forward so she had even less personal space now. People would pass by and think they were just two drunks in a phone booth. “This isn’t about Vivian. What she did was…horrid and, and wrong but no. I’m not angry at her, our arrangement was always clear. I’m angry at you.”
“Me?” Celia exclaimed a little too loudly, making Ben jump back. “What are you mad at me for, then?”
“You knew about this, but you didn’t say anything to me,” Ben said darkly. His shoulders were squared, his face turning as red as his cold-torn cheeks. She knew he was trying to hold all of his anger in for lack of space, but his fists were clenched. Each word out of his mouth felt like a knife to her heart. He said it all like talking made him feel violently ill. “You and I are supposed to be friends, Celia. I thought at least that warranted you telling me the truth. She lied, but so did you. That’s just pants, that is.”
The phrase sounded so alien on his tongue, but the message still came across.
“I didn’t want to be the one that hurt you,” Celia said in a quiet, shaky voice. I didn’t want to be hurt by you either, she thought.
“Too late,” Ben said, turning around and jamming the heel of his hand against the red frame door of the booth, making it slam back and nearly hit a few pedestrians. Then he walked away to the lower end of Regent Street, disappearing into the crowd. Celia turned and walked to the other end. She didn’t feel much like having dinner with Henry and Vivian tonight.
Ben continued to walk down the streets of London. Finally the sky was dark, and people were going about their merry way. To their homes, to the pubs, to wherever it was that Londoners go to on a Friday night. Ben felt a bit of homesickness tug at his heart, like it did whenever it felt too cold. He was still angry, to be sure. But right now, after seeing the dejected look on Celia’s face, he wasn’t quite sure why.
He somehow managed to walk back into Oxford Street, and he stopped by Liberty before hailing a cab. For some reason, walking around a Tudor house that was converted into a high-end mall was comforting to him. How sad was it that malls reminded him of home?
Ben walked through the perfumery, making his way up to the haberdashery and home furniture department to sit. Nobody would disturb him there. Whipping off his scarf to help it dry after the mild rain, he sat and absorbed his own thoughts.
Why was he so mad at Celia? Of course she didn’t say anything to him about Vivian’s affair. It wasn’t for her to say, was it? They never even mentioned that kiss in the pub that may or may not have happened. For all her sarcasm and wit, Celia was sweet and kind. She took care of him without thinking, and was lovely when she wasn’t trying so hard. Ben had to love that about her.
Hang on.
He had to love that about her.
He…he loved her?
A couple of days later, Ben and Vivian were in Borough Market to film the telly commercial for Springfield foods. Despite the slight awkwardness of their personal lives, both owners of Tattooine Communications knew that they had to be British and ‘carry on.’ Vivian was with the board of directors, showing them the execution of Ben’s “farm to table” concept. He had originally wanted something a bit younger, perhaps featuring a talking cow, but the company had eschewed that for the more traditional idea (which he thought was typical, and hated to do it).
Borough Market was partially hidden underneath a bridge in Southwark, not too far from the Shard. It was every foodie’s favorite spot to buy chocolates, scotch eggs, fish, rare spices, and vegetables from farmers outside London. While it was also a popular tourist spot, it was a great food hub. Ben swallowed down the memory of Celia bringing him here, not knowing why it stung him. A small crowd had gathered behind the faux food table they set up. Ben could see the actual farmers of Borough Market muttering amongst themselves, looking at the plastic tomatoes, glossy apples and painted lettuce artfully arranged. Their looks brought that odd, sour taste back in Ben’s mouth. But the show had to go on.
Ben was with the director of the commercial shoot, discussing the vision with him. With all the work going around, Ben and Vivian barely had time to exchange two words with each other—until the shoot actually began.
They stood far back from the staging area, the board was only too eager to have front row seats to seeing how their new products were going to be shown to the masses. Usually these kinds of things excited Ben, but like the strange after taste yogurt left him, this left a bitter taste at the mouth. Was this what they were going to be, him and Vivian? Her controlling everything while his vision was compromised? He wanted to believe that she really loved Henry. But this, everything else…could he do that again?
“I can’t do this,” Ben said suddenly, making Vivian blink from her watching the shoot. She turned to him, her eyes observing to see if she could divine what he was talking about. He hated it when she did that.
“Can’t do what?” She asked him.
“Vivan, if this is the way you want to run Tattooine, then I want out,” Ben explained, nudging his head towards the shoot. “We started this company to help small startups get the exposure and the proper visual representation they needed. I did it so we didn’t have to jump through hoops and into beds like you…we did for this company. If I wanted that, I would have stayed in Manila.”
“Be realistic, Ben.” Vivian said in a dismissive voice, turning her eyes back to the shoot. “Startups don’t pay even half what these companies do. We started Tattoine to make a profit, as all businesses are supposed to do. I need you here.”
“No you don’t,” Ben argued. Honestly, it made him sad, what he was doing. For all its twists and turns, he had loved working with Vivian. Not like this, though. Beside him, Vivian looked incredibly frustrated, her face flushing red, her jaw clenched. She even had her hands on her hips to control herself. “I can’t trust you to make the right choices anymore.”
“Don’t go,” she commanded him. There was a weakness to her voice, one that he had never heard before. Even when they were together, she had never sounded so vulnerable. He steeled himself not to back out of his decision.
“Goodbye Vivian,” Ben said, kissing her cheek and turning to leave the scene. He knew she was never going to let him see her squirm. So he never turned back.
“Where are the trunks?” Vivian asked, storming into their North Gower Street flat two hours later. Celia was sitting on the couch, writing music with her guitar. It was raining outside, and Vivian (who always had a brolly with her) was soaking wet. Her eyeliner and mascara had started to run over her foundation, and her favorite slim cut trousers were ruined with mud. Celia vaguely wondered who this stranger was, and how on earth she managed to get into a cab like that.
“…Viv?”
“Yes, Viv, the same Viv you’ve known for ages. Now where are the trunks?” Vivian repeated, opening their storage closet and finding one of their few travel trunks lodged inside with the winter coats and boots. Without another breath, she pulled it out of the closet and
left it in the middle of the flat. She opened it and began tossing things inside.
“Where are you going?” Celia asked, sitting up from the couch as Vivian disappeared into her room. She reemerged with an armful of clothing and her favorite booties, dumping them into the trunk. Knowing that this was not a good sign, Celia hopped off the couch and closed the trunk, sitting on it in defiance of her flatmate’s actions. Vivian actually snarled at her, which scared Celia more than she thought it would. She was making puddles all over their flooring.
“I convinced Henry to go on a holiday with me,” she said, wiping off her makeup with her arm. Now the shirt was ruined too. “Just about time, don’t you think? We’re taking the train to Paris at King’s Cross in two hours. We’ve yet to decide when we’re coming back.”
“What about Tattooine? Can Ben really handle it on his own?” Celia asked delicately, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear crossing her feet over the trunk. Like the friend that she was, Celia knew there was more going on than a quick jaunt to Paris. Vivian had never done a spontaneous thing in her life. Spontaneity was her way of spiraling out of control, and Celia feared the worst. She put aside her guitar, pen and paper, turning her body towards Vivian’s trunk, haphazardly filled with clothes, boots and hats.
“Ben quit Tattoine,” Vivian said nonchalantly, another armful of clothes leaving her bedroom. She purposefully avoided Celia’s gaze, like she couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing her.
“What?” Celia exclaimed, falling backwards onto the floor as her eyes popped wide in surprise. “Did he…I mean…I’m sure he had his reasons.”
“Don’t you bloody dare defend him!” Vivian suddenly seethed, shaking a pair of Topshop jeans at her face. Her face was lit with rage and fury, so strong that it scared Celia a little. She had never seen her best friend lose her control, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. “He abandoned me, Celia! Chucked me aside, like I didn’t matter! We had an agreement about how we were supposed to run the company, and suddenly, he can’t trust me?” She shook her head, pushing Celia aside with one hand and stuffing her pants into the trunk with the other. “Is it so hard to believe that I’m actually in love with Henry? Madly and passionately so, and so much that I can’t even believe he looks at me like I deserve his him. Am I that cold-hearted that Ben can just…leave me like that?”
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