Heartless Few Box Set

by MV Ellis

  “There’s not that much to tell. They’re a really cute couple—still smitten by each other, all these years down the track. Dad is half-Trinidadian, half-English, and Mom is from the Philippines—well, her parents are, she grew up in the US—hence this.” I motion to my face.

  “It’s definitely a winning combination.” While it’s nice to think that Arlo is interested in more than just what’s in my underwear, I wish his timing was better. However, it’s becoming abundantly obvious that he truly makes the rules up to suit himself, and nobody else, so I decide to just roll with it.

  “One thing I’ve been wanting to ask is why they called you London. It’s such an unusual name.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, that. Yeah, I get asked about it a lot, and I wish it was a cooler story, like it was where I was conceived, or something, but unfortunately not. The truth is that Mom and Dad wanted to name me after my grandmothers on both sides, Nora and Odelle, but couldn’t agree on which would be my first name and which would be my middle name. So instead, they came up with London, as kind of an anagram of both names—with some extra letters, and some missing.

  “It’s fucking weird, but about a thousand times better than either of those two names, or Norelle, which was the other anagram name they had in mind, so I can’t complain. I prefer sounding like a pretentious hipster than a little old lady.”

  As I talk, I take in his reactions, not wanting to bore him, considering his short attention span. Strangely, he looks genuinely interested in what I have to say, which really confuses me. I mean why would he be interested in this stuff. What’s his angle? He’s following my every word with a cute little smile on his face. God, I love his lips—so lush and full….

  “What do your parents do?”

  Shit! Got to focus on our conversation, and not on Arlo’s irresistibility. “Dad’s an engineer, and Mom is a teacher. They moved to Sydney about three years ago for Dad’s work.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  “Yeah. We FaceTime, but obviously it’s not like being able to just drive around there and give them a hug, or pig out on Mom’s cooking. I really miss her cooking. Being so far away was especially hard on them after the accident. They still feel guilty for not being able to be with me as soon as it happened. They jumped on the first flight they could, but it’s not the same as arriving within minutes, if we all still lived in the same city.

  “They were in pieces by the time they did get here, poor things. I keep telling them that they did their best, and that’s all anyone could do. Plus, I had Gloria, Marko, and Nic, so it wasn’t like I was alone. I was in a coma at that stage anyway—it could have been Jabba the Hutt there with me, and I wouldn’t have known.

  “I think that they felt guilty when they went back to Australia too, which is silly. They were with me through my rehab, supporting me in any way I needed, and waited until I’d fully recovered before going back. I couldn’t have asked for more than that.”

  Arlo is staring at me intently, brows furrowed. I can’t quite read his expression, but instinctively, I reach out and smooth the creases in his brow with my thumb. He catches me off guard, taking my hand in his, and slowly pulling it down his check toward his mouth. He turns his head slightly closing his eyes, and places tiny gentle kisses across my palm. It’s as though he’s savoring the contact with me. I carry on talking, thinking it might lessen the sexual tension building between us. Arlo doesn’t release my hand. Oh.

  “I completely understand that they had to go back. Dad’s work was fantastic, letting him take as much compassionate leave as he did, but he couldn’t stay away forever and still have a job to go back to. He was ready to quit and move back, but I insisted he didn’t need to. That job was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him, and a great move for both of them. Apart from the distance from home, I could tell they were both loving it. It would have been terrible if he’d had to give it up on account of me.” I take a deep breath, starting to feel self-conscious again.

  “Anyway, if they’d stayed, they’d just be annoying the shit out of me—fussing and worrying all the time, treating me like a child. This way, I get to live my life without the weight of their angst around my neck, and we love each other more for it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that shit.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Arlo chimes in. “But I know that with you, presence definitely makes my dick grow harder.” His gaze flicks down to his rapidly expanding erection.

  “Trust you to always bring things back to sex, Arlo!”

  He mistakes my silence for reticence.

  “Don’t get all coy with me, Miss Llwellyn. What are we going to do about my little problem?” He motions to his hard-on.

  That is not a “little” problem, and with the impropriety clause in the contract, I have no intention of helping him solve it. Instead, I have a brainwave.

  “Enough about boring old me, tell me about you and Luke growing up.”

  That’s bound to act like a bucket of ice water on his libido.

  Arlo groans and drops my hand like a hot potato.

  “Not much to tell there either, sweets. Imagine us, but smaller and scrawnier, with bad haircuts, bad teeth, bad clothes, and no tatts, and you’ve pretty much got us four brothers as kids.”

  “Wow, four boys, that’s full-on.”

  His mother must be a saint.

  “Yep. To be honest, I don’t know how Mom did it. She and Dad divorced when my younger brother Justin was a toddler, and she raised us pretty much by herself after that.”

  “That would have been a handful, and then some!”

  I can’t even begin to imagine. If Arlo is hard work now, I dread to think what he would have been like as a kid!

  He grins, and my insides melt. That genuine, warm smile is pretty rare—but when it happens, it lights up his whole face. He’s beautiful at the best of times, but like this, he’s heart-stopping. I try to steady my breathing, so that he doesn’t notice how much he’s affecting me.

  “It was pretty hectic. Four headstrong boys under one roof definitely made for some interesting times. Did you miss having siblings? Weren’t you lonely?”

  It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s way more comfortable talking about me than himself. For someone who comes alive on stage, and lives under the constant glare of celebrity, he seems to shy away from the limelight in one-on-one situations. He’s nothing if not a paradox, and I’m slowly seeing that there’s way more to him than the bad-boy reputation would suggest. Despite my exhaustion, I’m actually enjoying learning more about the man behind the myth, straight from the horse’s mouth.

  “I didn’t know any different, so I just got on with it. I was always happy in my own company and could amuse myself just reading books or playing alone. I often felt like I was third-wheeling my parents though—they were so loved up, and still are. I did also sometimes look at my friends who had siblings and think how cool it would be to have automatic friends, and someone to always have your back. And to this day, I’ve never played a game of Monopoly, because there was never anyone to play with.”

  “Aww… that’s sad. I feel kind of bad for you.”

  I hear the concern in his voice.

  “Don’t. I did just fine. And when I was very little, I had Pilar to keep me company 24/7, so that helped.”

  “Who’s Pilar? Your nanny, or puppy, or something?”

  “Nope. She was my imaginary best friend. She was Spanish, for some reason, I’ve got no idea why. She was my partner in crime—we got up to plenty of mischief together.”

  “That’s too sweet. I bet you were the cutest little kid. All clean and well behaved. Not like my heathen brothers and me. We were feral little assholes. Always covered in dirt, and ruining our clothes and shoes climbing trees and shit.”

  “Boys will be boys,” I say, chuckling. I’m sure he was a supercute little boy, too, even when he was up to no good. Things haven’t changed so much.

  “Exactly. I think we wrote the boo
k on being boys—always collecting snails, throwing rocks, annoying our neighbors, getting into fights, running away from home. You name it, we did it. Times four. We weren’t very popular in the neighborhood as a result. We were the kids other people didn’t want their kids ‘tainted’ by hanging out with. It’s ironic, really. Most of those kids haven’t come to much, but look at where we’ve ended up. Those dicks who thought we weren’t good enough can eat shit and die.”

  “That’s a little harsh, Arlo,” I scold, inwardly wincing at how matronly I sound.

  “You know what’s harsh? Being the kid other kids aren’t allowed to play with. So is watching a single mom struggle to bring up four energetic boys, and never offering a helping hand, but still judging her, and them. Mom was working full-time and juggling us and all our shit, and nobody gave a fuck. Well, the joke’s on them, now.”

  I guess he has a point. That must have been tough for all of them.

  “In the books I read as a kid, twins were always the best of friends, having amazing adventures and defeating bad guys. Did you and Luke get along back then?”

  Arlo throws his head back in raucous laughter. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read, Tog, you know that. We fought like cat and dog, and back then it was physical as well as verbal more often than not.” Thank God that’s not the case now—other than their earlier altercation, I haven’t seen them get physical with each other, despite their almost daily disagreements.

  “Puberty hit us pretty hard, and with all that testosterone flying around, we couldn’t be in the same space without wanting to punch each other’s lights out. In the end, Mom got sick of trying—and failing—to keep the peace, so one day, after I smashed a hole in the kitchen wall, she packed me off to stay with Dad for a while. The two of us rotated between parents every four to six months for a couple of years after that.”

  “Jeez, that’s heavy,” I remark.

  “Yeah, kind of, but actually, it was the best thing for us. I think we just needed space. I mean, when you spend your entire life pretty much joined to another person, it can go one of two ways. Some twins can’t get enough of each other, but even though we look so alike, Luke and I are such fundamentally different people that being shoved together all the time was shit. It was great for us to be able to do things by ourselves, and have different experiences.”

  So different to me growing up—I had nothing but alone time and space. When I wasn’t training, of course.

  “The fact that we also got one-on-one time with Dad was a huge bonus, given that we didn’t spend much time with him after the divorce.” He pauses, swallowing heavily. I can see that he’s finding it hard to talk about his father. “It was a good idea for other reasons too. When Dad died, we were lucky to have had that quality time with him that our brothers never had.”

  I guess that’s a glimmer of a silver lining to what was otherwise a very dark cloud in his life.

  “Not long after Dad passed, that phase did too, and while we still want to strangle each other sometimes, we’re pretty good together in general these days, especially when you consider that after craving time apart when we were younger, we more or less live in each other’s pockets again now. I mean today I wanted to kill that motherfucker, but that’s because you make me feel and act completely fucking irrational.” I’ve noticed.

  “What about the rest of the band, how do they fit into the picture?” Now that I have him talking, I want to find out as much as I can before he clams up again.

  “We met them on the first day of high school, and the five of us hit it off right away, which is funny because we’re all really different. We’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since. They were like three extra brothers, and used to hang at our house a lot, along with Brad and Justin’s buddies. The place was overrun with teenage boys.”

  His mother must be a fucking saint.

  “We were all obsessed with music and played instruments—the other boys had been having lessons and were in the school band, whereas Luke and me were mostly self-taught with a little help from Dad and Grandad. We set up in the garage and started jamming—the clichéd garage band. We always knew we loved it, but once we started rehearsing and taking it seriously, we also realized that we could actually be good at it. We started spending every spare minute practicing out there in the cold, much to the delight of our neighbors.

  “Not that we gave a shit. It was just another thing for them to hate us for. Mom loved it, as between that, gymnastics, and martial arts, we were gainfully occupied. We dropped the other stuff as soon she would let us, but we kept with the music, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “It is. You guys are nailing it.”

  They really are. Whatever differences they may have, when they’re on stage together, or even just jamming in a hotel room, magic happens. You can see, feel, and hear the bond between them, and it’s amazing to witness. I guess that’s the reason they’ve been so successful for so long, and are still cranking out music that the world wants to hear. It’s their differences that keep them together as friends, too. Everyone brings something different to the group, so everyone has their place.

  “Yeah. As much as we have our ups and downs—and uppers and downers—I love those assholes, and I couldn’t imagine living this crazy life with anyone but them. That saying ‘Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life’ definitely applies to us. I get to wake up every day, hang with those dickwads, make music and share it with the world. And I get paid and laid, too. Sometimes I still can’t believe it, even after all these years. I mostly still feel like that kid thrashing around in the garage.

  And as much as I needed space from Luke growing up, I’m actually not a big fan of being by myself, so it’s ideal that I have my bros with me as much as I do.”

  “Hmmm… well that explains a lot.”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “The revolving door that is your bedroom. A different woman or couple of women every night. It makes complete sense now. You don’t like being alone, so you make sure your bed is never empty, guaranteeing that you don’t have to be.”

  “Here we go with the Freud routine again.” He rolls his eyes. “For your information, I have loads of women in my bed because I fucking love pussy. Simple as that,” he snaps.

  “Oh, okay great, well thanks for clearing that up for me. My bad,” I snap right back at him.

  He sighs heavily. “Look, I’m sorry, Tog. I—”

  I narrow my eyes at him and start talking, cutting him off. “Sorry for loving pussy? Don’t be. It’s totally your prerogative, and absolutely none of my business.”

  “I meant I’m sorry for saying that. It was a dick move,” he explains.

  “I disagree. It’s the truth, and at least you’re honest.”

  Arlo’s face drops.

  “I guess I walked straight into that one.”

  “Yeah, you did. Listen, I know I’ve said this before, but wanted to reiterate that I think we need to keep things 100 percent professional between us for the rest of the tour. I want to focus on doing a good job, and given what went down with the guys tonight, you don’t need me complicating your work any more than I need you derailing mine.” I keep my tone even and calm. I don’t want a fight, I just want to establish some ground rules, and stick to them.

  “The guys can suck a dead dog’s dick, for all I care. Fuck, man, a little tension here and there is nothing. In fact, it’s pretty much the status quo for us. I told you, we’re brothers—nobody will even give a shit in the morning.”

  “I will. You guys have your established dynamic, and I’m an interloper. I’ve got a lot to lose here. Can we just stick to the terms of the contract? Please, Arlo?”

  “Only if you agree to my terms. You have to stay where I can see you during the gigs. If you can’t agree to that, then I can’t promise not to try to get inside your pants at every possible opportunity.”

  He winks, and I can tell that he’s trying to win me over after
the pussy comment.

  “Sorry, Arlo. You’re going to have to find someone else to keep your bed warm—which we both know won’t be difficult. From now on, this camera-wielding pussy is off-limits to you. So yeah, I’ll stay where you can see me, if that’s what you really want.”

  “Yeah, it is, and I’m a man who likes to get what he wants, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  Fourteen

  Many of the cities we pass through on the tour aren’t new to me, as I’ve visited them with this production or that. Those trips were generally brief, and even on the few longer stints or holidays, my exploration was pretty much limited to the tourist traps and usual landmarks. Eiffel Tower and a crepe in Paris? Check. The Colosseum and a gelato in Rome? Check. Big Ben and fish and chips in London? Check. All great fun at the time, but you could Photoshop someone else into my photos, and not notice the difference.

  Travelling with Arlo, I get to see a different side to all these places. In fact, I feel like he has the keys to the city. Every city. I guess when you’ve been as shit-hot famous as he is for as long as he has, you get to see and do a lot that isn’t on the table for most people. He knows the most exclusive eateries, bars, and shops at one end of the scale, while at the other he’s welcomed like the prodigal son at the places you’ll never read about in any tourist guide. Those unassuming holes in the wall where you’ll find the best food made to secret family recipes, or bespoke shoes and tailoring to rival the world’s top brands—Arlo knows them all.

  I notice that when he chooses to, he has an easy rapport with people that sees them eating from the palm of his hands. Totally different to the rude, surly version of himself he so often presents to the world. Arlo in full charm mode is a thing of beauty. I can see how he could so easily have parted scores of women from their underwear. Although by all accounts, the majority are putty in his hands even when he’s at his most obnoxious—I get the impression that he hasn’t received as many slaps as his behavior deserves.

  Although Arlo has unrivaled access to everything any city has to offer, we’re unfortunately never far from baying crowds or telephoto lenses. It’s a frenetic lifestyle of rushing to and from cars, hotels, music venues, media outlets, airports, restaurants, nightclubs, bars, and beaches, while trying to maintain some semblance of a private life. I realize early on that privacy and time are big currency in celebrity circles, and though Arlo is undeniably cash and experience rich, he’s definitely privacy and time poor.