“Vivian?” He asked, and she blinked her pretty brown eyes towards him. She hadn’t changed a bit. Well, sort of.
“Benedict!” She exclaimed, brushing past Art to give her friend a hug. Ben could swear he could see Art rolling his eyes. “Oh my god, it’s been so long! Why didn’t you tell me you moved to New York?”
“It just sort of happened?” Ben answered hesitantly, scratching the back of his head. Vivian was one of the
neighborhood kids he used to play with in California. She came to Cali with a Harry Potter book in her hand and sparkly, light up trainers from Divisoria on her feet. She taught the other kids to speak Tagalog, much to the delight of the parents, and she introduced Ben to the wonderful world of Harry Potter. After she had moved away for college, they had been nothing more but casual Facebook friends. But now, seeing her in the flesh…it felt like a good thing.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” she smiled, squeezing his arm. “I guess you and I will be working together on the Lucasfilm account?”
This time, Art wanted to remind everyone in the room that he was still there. “Yeah, I told them—“
“Perfect. Art, you can go be useless somewhere else,” Vivian said dismissively, waving a hand for Art to leave her office. Ben was pretty sure he heard Art mutter something more than almost racist. Vivian rolled her eyes and closed the door for him.
Ben looked at the closed door. He could still feel the heat of his new officemate’s rage from the other side. “Is he usually that—“
“Yes. He just needs a firm, womanly hand to get him to shut up,” Vivian giggled. She was obviously used to these kinds of things. Ben knew what it was. She always had an intimidating quality about her (now even more so), and men usually responded to that. Art was like a little boy who pushed kids around to get attention, and Vivian knew that perfectly well. Once they were alone in the office, Vivian grabbed both Ben’s arms and looked up at him.
“Now,” she said in a softer voice. “Shall we get to work?”
“Yeah, sure,” Ben answered with a grin.
“Good,” she answered, striding over to her desk. “Cancel your lunch plans. Tattoine is treating you to sushi.”
Ben actually smiled to himself. He didn’t know how much he had wanted to hear that sentence until Vivian said it to him.
When Celia and Ben first started telling people that they were moving to New York, their friends, titos titas and pinsans all had sound warnings for them. The city had a reputation for being too big, too scary and way too intimidating for a newlywed couple. Celia hadn’t really understood why until she first stepped into the subway station on West 79th. If you think about it, this was a station on the better side of town, God only knows what the subways were like in Brooklyn or Harlem (not that Celia actually knew where those places were).
The first thing she noted about the station was that it was tiny. The underground station could probably fit inside a floor of their apartment building. It was dark, musty and kind of old. There was a small kiosk on the side for dispensing tickets. A wall of cross-hatched metal and a turnstile were the only thing that separated you from the platform. She had to admit, she actually missed the decrepit MRT stations of Manila. At least those looked like they had interior lighting. But then again, New York was easy to navigate. Manhattan was separated into neatly laid out grids of streets, all you had to do was find the right one.
Since it was nearly lunch, the train was barely full. Just a few normal-looking people sitting with books, cellphones and tablets in their hands and earphones stuck in their ears. It was like everyone had their own little world, and Celia was not to disturb them. Celia had her map clutched tightly in her hand and her bag slung over her middle (some things never changed wherever you went, and theft was one of them). As the train lurched forward, Celia nearly fell over, like a true tourist.
Blowing her hair out of her face, she sighed and held on to the poles, preferring to stand and watch New York fly by from six feet under. They had just left the station when someone at the end of the car stood up, making his way towards the center of the car, swaying against the gentle shaking of the train. The man was clearly not in his right mind. He was wearing a tattered, old navy trench coat three sizes too big for him in the middle of the summer. His white beard was long, dirty and unkempt, his eyes nearly red from irritation. He was like a clown in the middle of a board room. Celia had a bad feeling about this.
“Anyone want to see something amazing?” He asked, and she could swear she could smell the tang of alcohol all the way over to where she was standing. “I’ve got it right here, ladies and gents! Step right up and hand me a dollar!”
Nothing like this had ever happened to Celia. As if paralyzed, she watched as the man paraded around the cart, asking for money and generally giving meaning to the term “disturbing the peace.” She could swear she saw people simply back off and move to the other cars at each station they stopped in, which was a bad sign. People in the car thought it best to ignore the man, throwing him warning glances whenever he got too close. Celia wished she had that kind of glare. She had tried her best to be surreptitious in her glances, but her small stature and bright, blue bag were too colorful to ignore. The drunk turned to her with a grin that made her feel sick to her stomach and wish that her husband was there.
“Hiya there girlie,” he said, tipping his dirty old beanie at her. Celia felt her insides go cold as his smell wafted over to her. “Not from here are ya? Why don’t I give you a little present as a welcome gift?”
She tried to look away, tried to pretend like she didn’t know that she was the man’s target. But there he was, making his way across the train car like he was the king of the world, the drunken swagger in his step unmistakable. This was a man determined to make a scene. She was frozen, standing against the pole, her eyes wide and her body stiff as she tried to find someone, anyone who would meet her gaze and help her out. She cast a glance towards the emergency stop button, not too far from where she was standing. Honestly, she didn’t want to cause a fuss, but when a drunk hobo comes at you, you have to do something.
“Here you go missy, made in the USA!” The man exclaimed, opening the flap of his trench coat, laughing like a madman at his success. Celia, however, saw nothing as someone stood in front of her and covered her eyes. She sighed in relief. Apparently she preferred darkness over seeing a dirty man’s naked frontals. Finally the crowd around her started to react, yelling at the man, making him laugh with glee at the attention. Exhibitionists.
“Sir, while that seems very impressive, I think you should put that away before you meet with the police at the next stop,” her rescuer’s voice said, a hint of amusement at his tone. “I just dialed 9-1-1 so…sorry buddy.”
Then Celia felt her arm being pulled in a certain direction. The only thing she could hear was a lot of talking, a lot of noise, gruff voices and some yelling. She nearly tripped over something, and when she finally opened her eyes, she was…at her subway stop on 52nd. What?
She turned her head, and saw herself face to face with the friendliest face she had seen in a while. There was something familiar about him, like she had seen him before. His eyes seemed kind, and given what he had done for her today, Celia could only blink at him in surprise. His hair was the epitome of style, a nest of black tied to a topknot on his head. He was wearing the skinniest pants she had ever seen on a man, folded up to above his ankles. He had on casual boat shoes and what looked like an inside-out Hawaiian shirt.
“Okay ka lang?” He asked without a pause or accent, and she kind of stumbled a bit. It seemed so bizarre (and kind of wonderful) to her, running into a Filipino in New York. But it wasn’t supposed to be that bizarre, was it?
“Mhm, yes, I’m—hmmm,” she said, feeling very insecure about her straight cut sleeveless dress and tennis shoes. His topknot even looked better than hers. But more than that, Celia still felt very slightly disoriented by everything “Thank you. I mean, what did—how did you�
�is that—guy…?”
“Don’t worry about the guy,” he reassured her in a perfect American accent, leading her up the steps and out to the street. “It’s a big city, you’ll probably never see him again. You look like a tourist, and you had Grand Central encircled on your little map there, so here we are. The hobo probably thought you were an easy target. Where are you from? Cebu? Quezon?”
“Manila,” she answered, trying to determine where she was, and where she had to go. “I just migrat—moved here.” Celia didn’t like to say ‘migrate’ or immigrate, or emmigrate. It just felt so permanent.
“Fresh off the boat, huh?” He asked, looking her up and down like he was trying to read everything off of her. He didn’t miss her wince at the term. “I’m Henry Cruz. New York native from Manila. Mabuhay and welcome to New York.”
“Celia Alix-Chua, and thank you,” she said, shaking his hand amicably. The crushing realization that she was alone for the day continued to haunt her. Now that she was outside, she realized that it was only getting worse. “For everything.”
Henry looked like he was about ready to leave, but he paused, studying her still. It was like he could see something in her that he couldn’t turn away from. He sighed, watching her as she checked her phone, as she sighed deeply to herself and ran a hand through her hair.
“You heading off somewhere?” He asked, taking the three steps towards her so he didn’t have to almost shout to have her hear him. There always seemed to be a crowd around Henry in New York, the city never ran out of people brushing past him. “I was on my way to work, and you seem like you need something to do.”
“I’m living out every tourist’s dream,” Celia smiled, even if it seemed like she was in no mood to. She had just received Ben’s text that he wasn’t going to make it to lunch. She held up her phone like it was a proper explanation. “Where do you work?”
Henry grinned and took three more steps towards her, grabbing her wrist and once again dragging her deeper into the heart of New York. Behind him, he heard Celia actually giggle.
“You do this to all your chicks?” She asked him two blocks later, twisting and turning through the grid like experts. Henry turned back to her, grinning at the amused smile on her face.
“Only the ones who get attacked by exhibitionists,” he said, turning briefly as he pointed out Rockefeller Center to her. She blinked at the massive esplanade of flags and the art deco facade of the building. She briefly saw tourists milling around it, seemingly confused at what they were looking at. “Don’t go there, it’s such a tourist trap.”
“But it’s one of the top sights in the city!” She exclaimed, craning her head to see as much of it as she could. Henry rolled his eyes and continued down the road. He pointed out St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the same dismissive manner, claiming that Manila Cathedral was better, had air conditioning, and was actually Catholic.
“But it’s cold in New York!” Celia exclaimed, holding in her laughter as they turned the corner at Uniqlo. She had a vague idea where Henry could be taking her, but she kind of didn’t want to believe it. But he still pulled her along, pausing right in the middle of West 53rd street.
“Ta-daaa,” he said without pomp or circumstance, holding a hand out to the building in front of them. “Welcome to the only place in New York worth a damn.”
“The Museum of Modern Art?” Celia asked, squinting her eyes a little. There was some construction going on, so the museum barely had a façade. It seemed a little empty, just a few tourists walking around inside. Henry put down his hand as if slightly disappointed in her. However, he wasn’t going to give up that quickly.
“No, the Museum of Modern Art,” Henry repeated in a more jovial tone, holding up his hands and demonstrating a rainbow to emphasize his point. “Nothing in Manila can come close to this place. I should know.”
Obviously having just met the guy, Celia had no idea how Henry should know this kind of thing, but decided to trust him for now. She had gone to a modern art museum once, many years ago in college. It wasn’t her favorite place in the world. Faced with the complexities, the wild mess, and the confusion of modern art, Celia felt instantly dwarfed by what was inside. She had felt unworthy to see it, and never came back.
But then, Henry seemed so sure of himself. He pulled her in with a kind, deft hand. They walked right past the ticket booth and up to the top floor. Celia barely blinked and they stopped in one of the massive galleries inside. Henry was brimming with excitement. It was hard to believe that moments ago, she lived a life without knowing him.
“Close your eyes,” he said, standing behind her. “I’m going to show you something amazing.”
So she did. She closed her eyes, and once again, with Henry’s gentle but firm hand, they walked into the gallery. She could hear people assessing the paintings around her, she could hear cameras clicking, and she could hear people whispering. The noises seemed to converge exactly to where Henry was taking her. They stopped, and she felt her fingers tingle with excitement at whatever was on the other side of her closed eyes.
“Now…open,” he said, and she did.
Celia’s heart leapt out of her chest, as her eyes were filled with warm orange and yellow hues. The painting looked so simple on the surface, but each stroke looked deliberately placed. The more she cast her eyes on the colors, the more they seemed to change and dance. The sunflowers in the vase looked so happy and friendly, like they wanted to leap out and fill the museum with their light. On the vase, written in a shaky hand was ‘Vincent.’ It wasn’t intimidating or scary at all. It was happy, friendly and so beautiful. Suddenly she didn’t feel so scared of the city outside. If it gave her new discoveries like these, how could she not love it?
“Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh,” Henry said, beaming with so much pride you would think he was the painter. “We have it on loan from Philadelphia for a couple of months. Now tell me that isn’t beautiful.”
“It…it is,” Celia said, smiling again. She resisted the urge to touch the painting. “Thank you, Henry. I…I needed this. I really needed this. You rescued me again.”
“I am always in the service of my friends,” he said.
“Oh, so we’re friends now?” Celia asked, her eyes still on the painting. She didn’t have to turn her head to know that he was grinning too. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sighed in contentment. Celia hoped she would have more wonderful days like these.
Several nights later, over a bowl of Celia’s first attempt at tinolang manok, Ben looked up from his usual spot on their four-seater dining table. She looked at him in anticipation over her vase of sunflowers, her hands poised over her soup. It was a little bland (make that really bland), but Ben said he loved it and kissed her over rice and the baked dory they had ordered in. It had been the perfect way to segue into her news for the night.
“You…got a job?” he asked her, blinking. Celia bit her lip and nodded.
“Yup,” she said, “One step for me, one giant leap for feminism! Plus, a little extra money for us. Yay?”
She spread her hands nervously over the linen tablecloth she had inherited from her grandmother. It was a little too big, but it had been hand-stitched with flowers and perfect for special occasions like this. They were celebrating their first month in New York, and things were crazier than ever. Benedict was spending most of all his time in the office with the Lucasfilm stuff—soon enough, he would be working on the merchandise art for MTV’s teenage werewolf show, which was cool. Plus he and Vivian worked really well together, which was a bonus. While he was full of crazy, messy ideas that usually involved massive amounts of work and little follow-through, Vivian knew exactly how to take his vision to the end. She had always been whip-smart, which complemented Benedict perfectly. He really seemed to be enjoying himself, and honestly, he didn’t mind spending long hours at the office or rushing into work on the weekend.
If only it didn’t mean leaving Celia at home by herself. Each time he realized he h
ad to go into work, he felt something stab at him, like a tiny dagger of guilt. It became even more intense every time he saw her dejected face at their broken plans—they had rebooked their tickets for Kinky Boots at least twice now. Every day, Ben hoped she would understand. He left a sunflower by her bed to wake up to every morning, if only to make her feel a lot less alone.
Meanwhile, Celia looked for ways to enjoy being in the city with Henry, who quickly rose up the ranks to become her best friend. Once Ben was out of the house, they were at the bagel shop across the street with coffee and tea. Then they would take the subway downtown together. She would go by herself to explore the city while Henry headed to work at the MoMA. Then they would meet at the 79th Station, discussing their day while buying sunflowers for Celia’s apartment. Talking came so naturally between them both. She loved to tease Henry about being a hipster, he loved to tease her about her lack of knowledge of New York. It was all wonderfully platonic and friendly. Ben had met Henry of course, as Celia had met Vivian. While he didn’t totally get his appeal, as long as Celia wasn’t so alone, he let it slide.
But now, she was talking about getting a job in the museum. A position, she had said, she got due to Henry’s high recommendation. Something about that didn’t settle well in Ben’s stomach.
“What’s the job again?” he asked.
“Content Marketing Manager for the Museum Store,” she said, thinking about it carefully. Sometimes the title felt like such a mouthful. “Basically I’d be doing something like your job, except I’ll be writing instead of drawing. Plus I get to choose which products are featured in which stores. Oh, and free entrance to the museum for both of us!”
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