Heartless Few Box Set

by MV Ellis

  Sixteen

  Now that I have relocated back to NYC, I move fully into the office at the club, using that as my business base. Like the rest of the house, my office at Rosemond House never really felt like my space, and still doesn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever used it. Besides, as I’m now working very closely with Hunter on the running of the club, it makes sense for me to be there, and I can put the space at home to much better use.

  One morning after we have been working together this way for a little while, I call Hunter into my office for a meeting. He saunters in five minutes early with two coffees in hand, passing one to me. That’s so Hunter, always one step ahead of the game. Except today.

  As hands on as I try to be in my businesses, I can’t be everywhere. Between the club, the tattoo house, touring with the Heartless Few, and the fact that I lived in LA for so long, I need people on my team I can trust to run shit the way I would whether I’m there or not. Thankfully I have that in Hunter. Same goes for Zed at the tattoo house. On top of that, Hunter has put together a crack squad below him, headed up by the bar manager, his younger brother Hendrix. Fucking dream team.

  Between the three of us—Hunter, Hendrix and me—our shit is as tight as a gnat’s asshole. It’s one of the main reasons 12AM Mass has been consistently rated New York’s top nightspot for anyone who’s anyone and everyone who wants to be someone, every year in the five years since launch. Our membership list has been closed since a few weeks before we even opened the doors for the first time, and the waitlist continues to grow at a rate far beyond our capacity to ever accommodate even a tenth of the people on it.

  At this rate, someone literally has to die before a new member gets a bite at the cherry. It’s an enviable position for any venue to be in, and I’m thankful that my hard work in establishing the club has paid off. More than paid off, in fact; we’ve consistently smashed all sales and growth targets, and we don’t see that situation changing anytime soon.

  As I stand to greet him, Hunter grins and reaches out to grab me in a bro shake, his grasp as firm as ever. We have the natural ease of people who have known each other for years.

  “Mornin’, bro. You wanted to see me?” The grin is firmly in place, showing off his dimple.

  It’s the stuff of legends and can part women from their underwear faster than he can say “drop those drawers.” It’s ironic that his name is Hunter, as he’s never had to hunt for anything in his life, especially not pussy. He’s much more of a gatherer—gathering women in his wake wherever he goes. When they were giving out genetic good fortune, he got more than his fair share, and he’s a nice guy to boot. If I didn’t love him like a brother, I’d probably hate him.

  “Yeah, man, take a seat.” I motion to the chair on the other side of my desk, moving around to my own. He frowns then, clearly surprised at the formality of the gesture. Usually when we meet, if you can even call it that, it’s a pretty casual affair—a quick chat here and there, sometimes not even bothering to sit at all. He sits, looking at me expectantly.

  Anyone who takes Hunter’s good looks to mean he has nothing going on up top—and it happens all the time—will be proven wrong within a few moments of meeting him. The guy is seriously smart. Book smart and street smart. He knows his way around running a company like nobody else I’ve met. This a major reason that our working relationship has been so successful.

  While I’m an ideas guy, about reaching for the stars, Hunter is all over the detail, down to the last bottle top and roll of toilet tissue. With him in charge of the day-to-day, I’m free to think one step ahead of the curve in terms of the next big thing. It’s the perfect combination. Hendrix, on the other hand, isn’t quite as cerebrally blessed, but he’s a damn fine mixologist and a total showman. People love that shit.

  “Why do I get the impression that something bad is about to happen or has already happened? What’s going on?” Hunter is sharp as a tack. Nothing gets past him.

  “Listen, as you know, the club has been going from strength to strength since it opened. I couldn’t be happier with the way things have grown over the last five years and are continuing to grow. We’re smashing targets and far exceeding expectations in every aspect of the growth of the business.” He knows all this, of course; he pores over the books, memorizing the numbers as though they hold the answers to the survival of humanity.

  “Obviously I don’t need to tell you that a lot of that positive movement is due to your input and skilled leadership. No doubt you have a talent for business, for management, and for generally running a tight fucking ship. I’m under no illusion that I owe the fact that 12AM Mass is the hottest ticket in town in large part to you—”

  “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?” It’s probably the first time I’ve seen him look even vaguely perturbed. He’s one of those people who even when the shit really hits the fan shows little or no outward sign of worry—the definition of cool under pressure. It’s one of the things that makes him so incredibly good at what he does. Even now, his version of worried looks like everyone else’s mild confusion.

  “But as you have probably worked out by now, I’m making major changes in my life. One of which is that I’m relocating back here to be with my girl. Now that I’m going to be minutes rather than hours away, I’m also going to be taking a more hands-on role in the club. I’m sure you’ve noticed over the past few weeks that we’ve been tripping over each other, figuratively and literally, and the whole dynamic of us both being here 24/7 just isn’t working. An octopus only has one head, and at the moment, the two of us are like some kind of ugly two-headed monster. We’re not playing to either of our strengths.”

  “Hey, that’s a bit unfair. I’m not ugly!”

  Ha! That’s another point against him. He has a great sense of humor even when the sky is falling. I carry on, sighing.

  “Clearly the club isn’t big enough for both of us, so one of us has to go. It’s my club, so….”

  “Wait, what? Are you seriously letting me go after everything you just said about how I contributed to the success of the club? Man, that’s rough.”

  “You’ll be more than fairly compensated. I’ve been very generous with your compensation package, so I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry, but I am disappointed.” He frowns, and it’s as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him.

  “I mean, I really didn’t see this coming. I’m happy here, and I thought you were happy with me also. We’ve been getting on just fine, and you just said yourself that the club just goes from strength to strength, so I don’t know what to think. Has there been some kind of miscommunication, or is there anything I can do to change your mind? I—”

  I can tell he’s genuinely shocked, and rightly so.

  “No, man. I’m sorry if it comes as a surprise to you, but this is just the way it has to be. Someone needs to run The Confessional, and you’re the best man for the job.”

  “But I don’t understand. If there was a problem, why didn’t you talk to me about it before it got to this? I’m sure we could have worked it out. You know I’m a reasonable guy, and I thought we were tight. I’m not above taking constructive criticism and working on my… wait. What? The Confessional. What is that? What are you talking about?”

  I’m an evil bastard, but I’m really enjoying this.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” I raise an eyebrow as though in mild surprise.

  “Tell me what? You didn’t tell me shit except that I’m fired.”

  “Oh, I guess I should have started with that. My bad. The Confessional is the name of our new club. We have the building, but that’s pretty much it. I want you to be responsible for launching it—fitting it out, staffing, marketing, finding a permanent manager to run it once you’re back here, the full nine yards.”

  “So I’m not fired?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just working on a new project?” I can see that he wants to relax, wants to believe that everything is okay—
his features are in limbo, hanging somewhere between confusion and relief. He’s sitting poker straight in his seat, not daring to let his guard down until he has confirmation of the situation. His smarts have smarts.

  “Yep. That’s about the strength of it.”

  “Okay. So where is the new club?”

  I’m loving this a little too much. I rest my elbows on the edge of my desk, leaning forward and lowering my voice conspiratorially as though delivering the world’s best-kept secret.

  “LA.”

  Hunter chokes on his coffee, spraying it halfway across the desk. That’s been happening a lot lately. I guess I need to work on my timing if I don’t want to be constantly wearing other people’s drinks. I make a mental note not to drop any more bombshells if the person I’m talking to is midswig.

  He starts grabbing papers from my desk and shaking them in a futile attempt to remove the dark brown liquid. He’s as uncool and flustered as I’ve ever seen him.

  “You’re sending me to LA to set up your second club. Is that what you just said?”

  “Got it in one. That’s the package I was talking about. It’s a relocation payment. There will also be a big bonus for the work you’ve done here, and an increased salary for the LA gig, as this is basically a promotion.”

  He finally allows the relief to bloom on his face, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Man, I hate you. You’re a bastard, you know that, right?” He’s laughing heartily now.

  It’s a melodious, velvety smooth sound. Women eat that shit right up. When you look up “smooth” in the dictionary, there’s a picture of this cat, flashing his dimple and breaking hearts all over the world. Under “smoother” there’s a photo of his brother Hendrix. Then there’s the third Campbell brother, Harley. Throw him into the mix, and you’ve got the trifecta of panty-melting goodness. Third time’s the charm, as they say.

  “Well, I’ve been told so once or twice. A day.”

  “So…?” Hunter is hesitant, looking at me uncertainly.

  What?

  “Oh. So how the fuck am I going to run this place without you, is that what you’re trying to say?”

  He nods in agreement. “Not in so many words, but pretty much, yeah.”

  “Well, I’m going to up my game, and don’t worry, I’ve been learning from the master even when you didn’t realize you were teaching me. Why do you think I’ve been hanging around you like a bad smell lately? You won’t need to go right away, and in the next eight or so weeks, you’ll be training me fully, and also Hendrix.”

  “Hendrix?”

  “Yeah, the bar manager. You know the guy, about your height, your build, your complexion. Actually, he looks a lot like you. Some say you could even pass for brothers. Oh wait, that’s right… you are brothers.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But Hendrix can be a bit of a loose cannon, and you’re not sure if he’s up to the gig?” I finish for him again. He nods.

  “Well that’s a risk we’re going to have to take, but something tells me that he’s ready to rise to the challenge, if only to prove his big brother wrong. I think between the two of us and the new bookkeeper we’ll take on to deal with all the numbers shit you currently handle, we should be okay. Let me put it another way. We’re going to have to be okay, ’cause I sure as shit am not about to employ an unknown quantity to look after the new place. So…”

  “It is what it is?” he finishes for me this time.

  “That’s right. Better than that, I actually think it’s gonna be great. I’m pumped.”

  “Me too, I guess. It’s gonna be an interesting few weeks, that’s for sure.” He reaches over to shake my hand, a proper business handshake this time, to seal the deal.

  What I said is true. I’m confident in Hunter’s ability to set up the new club, and despite the less-than-ideal circumstances in the rest of my life, I’m also energized about this new role for me at 12AM Mass. I have the perfect idea to get my tenure as manager started memorably.

  That’s me, the big ideas guy.

  Seventeen

  Dear Squirt, I guess Daddy’s on his own trying to figure out how to make Mommy trust him again so the three of us can be a family.

  Busting balls for London is definitely nothing new to me. I worked so hard to get her touring the world with me as my official photographer. I knew that not only would she nail the gig, as she’s exceptionally talented, but it would also give me a chance to spend quality time with her, and as Jake had suggested, show her the real me. I figured I had three months where we were in each other’s pockets 24/7 to pull out all the stops. If she didn’t want me after that, she probably never would.

  Pushing for what I wanted, namely London, paid off for me when she and I first met. My dogged perseverance got us both what we needed in the end, so why can’t it be equally successful now? I worked it like a boss that time, although the honeymoon period was ridiculously short-lived before all this Marnie shit kicked off. At least now I know that handling my cards right and playing the waiting game with her can and does yield results. I just need to keep my head down and hold my nerve. Easier said than done for someone who was never blessed with patience, but if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get my girl and my baby back where they belong—right here with me. I’m chasing my happy ever after, and if I’m breathing, I’m gonna catch it.

  Even though all I have is one solitary ultrasound scan, I feel close to Squirt already, and I want to build on that, so I start speaking to him/her. Aloud sometimes if I’m alone, or in my head if there are others around. Just kind of narrating the things I’m doing. I don’t know why; I guess I have no other real way of connecting with him or her, so for now, this will have to be it.

  On a whim one day, I decide to take it one step further and send London a message for Squirt via Facebook, and then it becomes a regular thing every few days. She never replies, but I can see she reads the messages, and she hasn’t blocked me or asked me to stop. That’s enough of a response for me, and it gives me hope that if I continue to work toward my goals, I have a solid shot at convincing her to give us—the three of us—a second chance.

  Over the next few weeks, I put my plan into action, and I feel strangely optimistic. About some things anyway. Not everything. Definitely not about the whole Luke and Marnie situation. In fact, every time I think about that, I want to punch someone. Half the time that someone is Luke, the other half it’s me. I busy myself to keep from focusing on the betrayals—Luke, Marnie, me—and their impact on London and Squirt. There’s a real chance that I may lose them both. Dwelling on that is a fool’s game though, and I refuse to be a fool anymore. I need my mental energy for all of the plans I have if they’re going to become a reality.

  As well as my mental state of my mind, I also start paying more attention to my physical condition. As a family, we’re pretty blessed in that we all tend toward the leaner, more muscular physique without even really trying or having to be superstrict with our diet or anything, thank Christ. Even so, the pity parties I threw myself when this shit kicked off had started to take their toll—but not anymore.

  I hit the gym every day and work out like my life depends on it. The results are pretty much instant. I look and feel a whole lot better than I did just a few weeks ago, which feeds into my state of mind. Like my mom said, I need to be the best version of me I can be if I’m going to convince London that life with me is anything other than the living nightmare she currently thinks it is.

  I call Paul and fill him in on developments with the move back to the city and the fact that I’m taking on a larger role at the club—partly because he needs to know our whereabouts on any given day for bookings, personal appearances, interviews, and corporate gigs, but also because I have an idea that involves and affects the band, and I need his help to make it a reality.

  “Hey, Arlo. How are you holding up?”

  “Hey. Okay, I guess. I mean, I’m stuck in a fucking shit storm, but I’m managing to keep my head abo
ve it all. Just. I think that’s the best I can hope for at this point.”

  “I guess you’re right. So to what do I owe the pleasure? I hope everything’s okay. Apart from the obvious, of course.”

  “Yeah, all good. Listen, I need you to do something for me. Well for us, really, the whole band.”

  “Sure, okay. Shoot.”

  “I want to put on a Heartless Few gig at the club to preview the new album.”

  “What? When you say ‘the club,’ you mean 12AM Mass?”

  “Yeah, I want to debut the album there. Kind of like the usual listening party bullshit, but with real people in the audience, like fans and shit, instead of a bunch of clueless industry monkeys in hipster designer suits. One of those intimate and exclusive ‘secret’ gigs, only I don’t want it to be too secret. In fact, quite the opposite. I want it live-streamed globally, and that’s where you come in.”

  “Okaaaaay?”

  I guess he’s right to be confused.

  “Yeah. I need you to hook up a TV station to get behind it and broadcast it live, both on TV and online. I don’t think it will be a very hard sell, since as you keep telling me, we’re hot shit right now. From what I can see, the interest in me particularly and this whole Marnie/London thing isn’t going to slow down anytime soon.” In fact, if the hordes of paps outside the studio, house, and club are anything to go by, it’s actually ramping up.

  “Add the fact that this is all new and exclusive material, and it’ll be the biggest scoop of the year. You’ll have networks biting your hand off for the broadcast rights. We could do it as exclusive tickets to competition winners and superfans, and maybe a few available for purchase with the proceeds going to charity. It’ll be the gig of the year.”