It Never Rains in Colombia

by W. H. Benjamin

  “I have to go out there.”

  Through the large glass walls of the lobby, past the lawn, a large group of men were pressing against the wrought-iron gates. Two slid back down after having failed to scale the walls. In the distance, she heard the dull echo of sirens filtering into the lobby.

  “If I don't go now he'll be back and he might hurt other people,” Christian explained calmly.

  Christian moved toward the door, Harlow grabbed his shirt, making him stop. “I know you're doing this to save face.”

  Christian laughed, “What?” He glanced down at her hand.

  She let go.

  “Your reputation. Look, it's not worth getting injured.”

  “I'll be fine,” Christian insisted smoothly.

  “You're going to get hurt. Why are you smiling?” she asked. “This is serious.”

  “I know,” Christian replied looking at her thoughtfully.

  There was a moment in which Harlow took in the extraordinary length of his eyelashes, the way his eyes were a deep shade of brown that seemed to lighten in colour the more you looked. His brown eyes. The bump in his nose that showed it had once been broken. She wondered what he would look like afterwards and couldn't bear the thought. For a moment, she forgot everything except for the waves in his short dark hair.

  Christian was confused by her sudden silence. “Are you okay?”

  “Mr Ribeiro,” the headmaster barked, clearing a path through the students, like salt on snow. “The police are on their way. You will not engage with these hooligans.”

  Christian found the headmaster a few feet away from him with a gang of teachers behind him. “Sir, if I don't deal with this now, it will never end,” he insisted.

  “You do not have permission to leave the premises,” the headmaster boomed, “as long as you are under my authority, do you understand? You did an admirable thing. Now, please leave the rest to me.”

  Christian was silent.

  The crowd bristled waiting for action. There was a hollow silence, like that in a tunnel, in which only the sound of the wind could be heard.

  “Sir, if I could just talk.”

  “It's out of the question,” the headmaster replied flatly. “If you leave now, do not come back.”

  Harlow's eyes were attracted to the lawn by the flicker of flashing blue lights. The wail of sirens burst through the air. She saw the crowd of men at the gates disperse, each running in a different direction. There came an obnoxious sound of engines grunting into life, a squeal of tyres. She exhaled as if she had just surfaced from underwater, looking at Christian quickly before disappearing into the crowd. The headmaster took it upon himself to escort Christian back to class.

  That afternoon, Patrick paced the group study room, thoughtfully walking past Christian, then said simply, “Harlow’s a chaser. The more she feels she can't have you, the more she wants you. If you come to her too quickly, you will spook her.”

  Christian laughed. “She's a girl, not Black Beauty.”

  “Black Beauty,” Patrick said, “a popular book targeted at girls and what's it about? The relationship between a girl and her horse.”

  “But it's not a comparison of the two,” Christian explained.

  “Isn't it?” Patrick replied slyly.

  Christian asked, “Have you read it.”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said, “right after I read Brokeback Mountain.”

  Christian laughed.

  Patrick went on, “Girls are horses.”

  “You're an idiot,” Christian replied.

  “Hear me out. Some girls are friendly and happy to do what you want to do. Some are wild and like a fast-paced life; they're headstrong, and no matter how much you try to change them, they will never bend to your will. Free spirits.” Patrick continued, “Other girls are docile and prefer a slower pace in life.”

  Christian considered: Harlow, the punch, her untameable passion that had flared up as a hot temper when she was upset. But he didn't want Patrick to know that he might agree with the theory.

  “She's a wild one,” Patrick said, completing his thought.

  “She's a person,” Christian said, “she doesn't need taming. You don't know much about girls or horses, do you?”

  Patrick shrugged, “Harlow's an animal just like you and me. It's the law of the jungle, dude. It rules.”

  “Do horses live in the jungle?” Mei asked, coming into the room.

  When Harlow walked into the study room, a few minutes later, Christian looked up at her then down again, trying to appear relaxed. Patrick's eyes followed her until she sat down next to Christian.

  “Hey, guys,” Harlow said unpacking her books. “Sorry I'm late.”

  Patrick shrugged, “Make yourself at home.”

  Christian smiled faintly.

  “What you doing?” Harlow asked curiously.

  “Maths, just practising some stuff.” She leaned over Christian to see what he was writing. The scent of her perfume danced past his face. He took in her slender neck, looking at the silver necklace that swung forward from under her shirt.

  “I didn't know we had maths homework,” she remarked.

  “We don't, I'm just trying to keep the equations fresh in my head.”

  “Okay,” she replied, leaning back.

  Mei cleared her throat.

  “Sorry,” Harlow said.

  Patrick picked up his bag, “I'll leave you to it.”

  “Where are you going?” Harlow asked.

  He was already halfway to the door, “Remember, Christian, you scratch my back, I scratch yours,” Patrick said as he left.

  The door clicked shut behind him. Christian sighed.

  “What does he mean?” Harlow asked with interest.

  Mei sighed in irritation.

  “Nothing,” Christian replied. “Harlow,” he said tentatively a few minutes later.

  She was already busy scribbling away in her notebook. “Yup?” she looked up.

  “There's something,” he paused. “I need your advice on something.”

  Harlow lowered her pen.

  “Guys, the exams are just around the corner,” Mei interrupted.

  “They're in two months' time,” Harlow reminded her.

  Mei ran a hand through her hair, muttering, “This is why I hate study groups.”

  Harlow turned to Christian with interest, “You need my help? Ha, since when?” she asked, smiling. “It doesn't matter,” she continued eagerly, “I'm your agony aunt, go, shoot.”

  “Okay, calm down,” Christian said. “I have this friend...”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “Sure.”

  “No, seriously,” Christian insisted. “Anyway, my friend likes this girl who is completely wrong for him.”

  Harlow frowned, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, they are complete opposites.”

  “Opposites attract,” Mei said.

  “No, but my friend is—well, he's a bit of a player.”

  “I see,” Harlow said, leaning back into the chair and crossing her arms.

  Christian laughed. “Relax, it's not me.”

  “Why would I care if it were?” Harlow asked.

  Mei coughed.

  Christian studied his orange maths book carefully and said, “I'm joking. Never mind.”

  “No, no, you're not,” Harlow complained. “I can tell when you're lying.”

  “Can you?” he asked sceptically.

  “Is it Patrick?”

  Christian gave her an embarrassed smile, “How did you guess?”

  “You only have one friend,” Mei pointed out.

  “That's not true,” he said laughingly.

  “Well, maybe not, but he's the sleaziest,” Harlow added, covering her mouth as the words slipped out.

  Christian laughed, “So you wouldn't go for him then?”

  “No way,” she insisted.

  Mei added, “He's been everywhere.”

  Christian shook his head mockingly. “I'm going
to tell him you said that.”

  “No, don't,” Harlow insisted.

  Christian shrugged, “It's my duty. Bros before...”

  She pushed him playfully, “I dare you to continue.”

  “I'm just playing,” he said, smiling at her. “So, how are things?” he asked.

  “Mmmm,” she shrugged, “same old, same old.”

  “It feels like we haven't talked in a while.”

  “Yeah, I know. It's weird, I thought,” she looked at his maths book then at his face. She felt her eyes begin to linger on his face and cleared her throat surreptitiously. “I thought you—it seemed like you were avoiding me.”

  “No, no, I wasn't. I just, well, you and Sophia are always rushing off somewhere. You seemed kind of busy.”

  At the sound of her name, Harlow began to paw through her bag, distractedly pulling out textbooks and placing them on the table. “Not anymore,” she muttered.

  “I thought something was up.”

  They spoke simultaneously.

  She said, “It doesn't matter.”

  He asked, “What happened?”

  “I don't know, ever since that party she's completely changed toward me, like I'm not good enough to hang out with her and her followers.”

  “That doesn't sound like Sophia,” Christian said thoughtfully.

  “I'm sure she prefers you to those yes men,” Mei said.

  “How do you know?” Harlow asked, fishing for answers.

  Christian said, “That's what I would prefer: Somebody who likes me for who I am, not what I can give them,” he shrugged. “Look, I think she's probably just angry because you humiliated Roberto.”

  Harlow nodded slowly, saying, “But he's over it.”

  “Is he?” Christian asked, wanting to know more. He explained, “Maybe he is, but he's the only family she has left and she's bound to be protective of him, as long as you're Roberto's enemy, you'll be Sophia's.”

  “What, why? We're not enemies,” Harlow rushed to explain.

  Christian looked unconvinced, “You turned half the school against him,” he pointed out adroitly.

  “Aaaargh!” Harlow exclaimed in frustration, “I'm the victim here. He turned the school against himself.”

  Christian chuckled, “You're the victim. Okay, anyway, I'm not taking sides. I'm just trying to give you some perspective.”

  “The wrong perspective,” she said.

  He looked at her seriously, “Would you side with someone else against your brother?”

  “Yes, if he were in the wrong.”

  Christian tipped his head. “Oh really?”

  “No,” she admitted looking around the room, “hmm.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “It's nothing,” she smiled. “I've missed our little chats, you guys are the best friends I've ever had.”

  Christian looked down, frowning at his watch, then waited until Harlow was totally immersed in studying before getting up and saying, “I have to go,” starting to pack up slowly. “I'll see you later, okay?”

  Christian left without another word.

  Chapter 10 - Thursday Night

  Harlow walked toward the VIP section of the club and peeked behind the stocky bouncer to look for Sophia. She was harder to find now that her hair was back to its lush dark brown colouring. The room was speckled with random faces all of them new to her eyes. She saw Sophia, a dazzling beauty surrounded by jewel-coloured cushions—rose, green, purple—in the midst of a large entourage. She looked happy, perfect. Christian was seated very close to her, he was whispering into her ear with his hand on her knee. The music was loud. They looked so comfortable together. Harlow wondered whether she had imagined the animosity she had seen between them. The bouncer was looking at her strangely. She smiled at him, “My friend’s in there,” she said. He didn't budge.

  “Are you on the list?”

  “I'm friends with Sophia,” she shook her head, “Sorry, Monica Valdes.”

  He raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Yeah, me too. Sometimes, I Skype with Kanye West and all three of us have a catch-up. Look, if you're not on the list, I can't let you in.”

  “Harlow Beauvoir,” she said, waiting as he inspected the clipboard. “Under B.”

  After a short time, the bouncer shook his head. “Nope.”

  “It must be there,” she said in irritation, grabbing the clipboard.

  “It's not,” he said, snatching the clipboard back.

  Then she saw Amy coming up to her with a group of girls. “Amy,” she called, “Amy.” Harlow watched as Amy passed by her nonchalantly and the bouncer raised the red rope cordoning off the VIP room to let her through to the other room.

  She looked at Harlow with disinterest then sighed, “What?”

  “They won't let me in.”

  “So?” Amy said.

  Sarah's laugh came out like the tinkle of bells.

  “Are you surprised?” Amy asked coldly.

  The red and blue strobe lights bounced off the bouncer’s large bald head making it look like a disco ball. Harlow walked away, submerging into the crowd. She pushed her way through the crowd angrily. She felt hands pushing back against her. What's wrong with her? Harlow thought as she lost herself amongst the dancing, writhing bodies. “What's wrong with me?” she asked aloud, then realised how crazy she must seem quietly talking to herself in the middle of the dance floor. She headed up the stairs to the roof and felt a hand on her wrist.

  “Where are you going?” Christian asked, releasing his grip on her wrist as she turned toward him.

  “I need some air.” When Harlow saw Christian, she felt her heart leap, the pressure of his hand on her arm made her heart beat faster.

  He moved past her up the stairs and said, “Let’s get some air, then.”

  They made their way upstairs to the roof garden. Twinkling, gold, fairy lights were twined around the vines on lattice frames that hung above the dance floor. There were people scattered all around the large area talking, laughing, drinking, on a lawn of green grass. She walked in front of him feeling the icy breeze against her cheeks. Without turning to look at him she wandered amongst the revellers then stopped at the edge of the roof and gazed out across the city looking out at the lights of Big Ben shimmering over the river like a ghostly golden tower on the water.

  “What's going on with you and Sophia?” Harlow asked quietly.

  “Nothing,” Christian came to stand beside her, then looked quickly away, guiltily, or so she thought.

  The thing about Christian was that his eyes were always earnest. Now for the first time she heard Sophia's voice echoing in her head, “I don't trust him.”

  “We go way back,” he said, “I worked in her dad's bookshop for a while before coming to Rutherfords. She's always had a princess complex.” He paused. “I was looking for you,” Christian said, and that soft expression returned to his face, the one that made Harlow think she was being silly.

  The breeze swept her hair back from her shoulders and she shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “Yes, a little bit.”

  “We can go back down if you want.”

  “No, I like it up here. It's peaceful.”

  “I left my coat downstairs,” he explained.

  “It's fine.”

  Christian drew her into a hug and she found her face against his neck, his arms holding her softly but firmly. She leaned in a bit and every time the thumping of the music paused she swore she could hear his heart. It wasn't racing like hers. “Why do you worry so much about her?” she asked. The question came out of the calm and pounced on him.

  He sighed, “If you knew where she came from, you would worry too. She's like a sister to me,” he explained. “She helped me to get the scholarship at Rutherfords.”

  “She's a good friend,” Harlow admitted, “but sometimes...” She looked at his face. “Sometimes she's out of control. I feel like I don't know her. One day she's happy, the next…” Harlow w
ent quiet. “Maybe it's just my imagination.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, looking at her for a long time, and for a moment she wanted to kiss him. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. He leaned in and she pressed her fingertips against his chest as she leaned up to meet his lips, tilting her head to the side. The silence was shattered by a loud scream.

  “Oh my God! Monica, Monica,” Harlow heard as she turned around in irritation to look at the disturbance.

  Sophia was walking on the ledge with her arms spanning the air above the three-storey drop, tightrope walking in the darkness. The music stopped and the crowd surged toward her.

  “Monica, Monica.” “It's her,” came the awed voices. People took out their phones taking photos of her.

  Christian pushed Harlow away with an urgency she had never seen. In that moment she hated Sophia, balancing like a lunatic, her hair whipped back by the wind, her full lips laughing, still in the short, sparkling, costume she had worn onstage. Beautifully crazy, drunk. She stumbled. There was a loud gasp. Christian was pushing his way through the crowd toward her. “Stop this,” Harlow heard Christian shout as she followed in his wake.

  “Why? It's fun, come and try,” Sophia called to them both, “I can fly,” she laughed. “Shall I fly?” she asked the crowd with a mischievous smile.

  “Monica, don't joke,” Christian said in Spanish. “Come on, come down.” He reached out for her and Harlow stopped him.

  “Don't, she might fall.”

  He stopped. His hands fell, his face pleading. “Get down,” Christian asked Sophia quietly. They weren't far from each other. He was afraid. Fear was etched in the lines of his face.

  Sophia jumped down with a little flourish, landing lightly beside Christian. “I was just playing,” she said, looking at him innocently.

  It could have been a game the way the watching bystanders went back to talking, whispering, comparing photos. The music came back on but Harlow's shoulders were knotted with stress. Tension was still trapping the muscles in Christian's face. He could neither smile nor frown. His eyes were dark with anger and something else. He looked perturbed, as if he had seen a ghost.

  Amy came running up to Sophia, drink in hand, and all eyes followed Sophia. Harlow felt so insignificant that she could have been blown away by the wind at any time like a discarded crisps packet and nobody would have noticed. Invisible, that feeling she hadn't had for years now kept coming back. Amy was talking animatedly with Sophia a short distance away. Sophia nodded at Amy then went up to Harlow, linking arms with her, began to pull her through the crowd. “Shall we go downstairs? It’s boring up here.”