by MV Ellis
I totally got that she was a grown woman and absolutely capable of making her own informed decisions, but in reality, the “arrangement” between the two of them was the legacy of a bunch of choices she’d made at a very vulnerable time in her life when she was too young to know any better. No matter which way I looked at it, something seemed off about the whole thing.
If nothing else, I knew she deserved better than being one of my brother’s playthings. She claimed the situation suited them both—no strings, no complications, no feelings involved—the ultimate friends with benefits, but I always suspected that there were more feelings on her part than she cared to admit. Why else would she have returned to the arrangement time and time again when she was single for any period of time? Why hadn’t any of the “relationships” she’d gotten into over the years developed to become more than just a passing fling?
Full disclosure: I was biased as fuck when it came to Marnie and always would be. I’d loved her since the beginning, when she’d come scowling into my life. I’d thought about that day a lot over the years and was firmly convinced that the principal had nominated me as new student buddy as a way to try to coax me out of my shell. At the time, I saw it as her throwing me under the bus, but I later came to think she was trying to throw me a bone—which in reality translated to throwing me a boner. A fifteen-year boner, and counting, in fact. Not that she knew that. Whatever her intention, I guess I had Principal Campbell to thank for fifteen bittersweet years of friendship.
As usual, my dick stiffened painfully at the thought of Marnie, another legacy of high school Luke. She’d starred in more jerk-off sessions than I’d ever be able to count. Other women had come and gone—pun intended—but Marnie had been a constant in my fantasies and in my heart since day one. I took my hard-on in my hand, weighing up my options. I could scratch the itch, or just ignore it and wait it out. I decided to go ahead and make myself feel good.
After I came and cleaned up my mess, I sighed and grabbed my notebook again. I decided to try to make good use of the rest of the day, rather than waste it, and headed to our studio to play around with some sounds to go with the words I’d written over the last few weeks. I wasn’t calling them songs at this point, more like stream of consciousness poetic rants. That said, over the past few days, melodies had started to creep into my mind to accompany some of the lyrics, so I guessed when I put the two together, I had to admit they were essentially songs. Why I was writing them or what I would do with them when they were finished were questions I didn’t know the answers to at that point. It just felt like something I needed to do.
Six
Marnie
I knew as soon as he opened the door that something was different. Arlo was different. Having spent so long as a kid watching him, waiting for him to notice me, I was pretty good at reading his body language. He could often be morose, surly, and downright rude, but today was not one of those days. He was giving off strangely upbeat and positive vibes.
I shook the thought from my mind and greeted him in our normal way, gliding toward him, allowing my purse to drop to the floor with a satisfying clunk. I pressed my lips to his, kissing him firmly. Unusually, he hesitated. It was momentary, but nevertheless there and definitely out of the ordinary. I knew it wasn’t my imagination. Something was off. When he did start to kiss me, it wasn’t with his normal hunger.
I pulled back, eyeing him cautiously.
“Is something wrong, babe?”
He said nothing, just returned my stare. This was interesting. Kind of like a game of visual chicken. I had seen Arlo and Luke faceoff like this many times, but the two of us never had. Who would look away or say something first? I for one had all the time in the world to watch and wait—a small privilege of the newly unemployed.
While we stood locked in our Mexican standoff, I took the time to drink in Arlo’s appearance. He was sublime. So hard-edged and wild and masculine and… broken. And so wholeheartedly different from his twin brother. After all these years, I still marveled at how two people who were on the face of it identical could be so fundamentally dissimilar as soon as you scratched the surface and moved beyond the physical.
It was Arlo who eventually broke the stalemate, walking further into the house. As he headed down the hall in front of me, I could’ve sworn he’d even had a spring in his step, but I shook the thought from my mind. That kind of glee just wasn’t his MO. Mean and moody was far more his shtick than positive and perky.
I followed, deciding not to pay too much attention to the change in his demeanor. Instead, I stripped off my clothes as we went. I wasn’t there on a social visit; I wanted to get straight down to business, as per usual. Pretty much the only time I felt like a whole person was when Arlo and I were fucking. It was sad but true. The post-coital high was even better, and I had just wanted him inside me as quickly as possible, so I could feel good again. Much to my surprise, instead of heading toward the bedroom as normal, he moved in the opposite direction through the house. Huh?
I stopped in my tracks, perplexed about the bizarre situation unfolding before me.
“Hey, AJ, are you hungry or something? ’Cause last time I knew, the bedroom was that way.” I jerked my finger toward the elevator. “Or are you so sideways, you can’t even remember the layout of your own pad?”
This shit was starting to freak me out. Normally we’d be fucking by now, no questions asked, no conversation, and definitely no snacking. What this dance we were now doing was, I had no idea.
“Put your clothes on, Marns. It’s not happening tonight.”
“What’s not happening?” I remained clueless.
“You know what I mean. You and me. We’re not doing this right now. Or ever again.”
“Arlo, are you high? I was joking before, but now I’m asking you for real. I mean, you don’t look or sound it, but you have to be. What did you take? Damn, it must be good—you look normal but are clearly tripping hard. Maybe I need some of that too. It would be perfect for surviving boring shoots. Nobody would even need to know.” I laughed a little, but it sounded fake even to my ears. It was more of a nervous reaction than anything. This situation was funny weird, not funny haha. It was over almost before it began.
I was seriously starting to worry about his sanity, like maybe he was having some kind of episode or something. I guess that due to my history with my parents, I was super sensitive to these things. I didn’t think I’d ever get over the guilt of not seeing the signs in them, not getting help, or trying to do something to prevent them from doing what they’d done. If I could nominate a superpower, even just for a couple of hours, it would be the ability to time travel. I’d go back to the night they died and do something to stop it.
“No, I’m not high. Far from it. I just need to talk to you is all.” Weird.
“Riiiight…?” What the actual hell was going on? I frowned briefly, quickly catching myself and schooling my features back into a look somewhere between neutrality and complete indifference, a skill I’d learned early on in life—how to carefully project the image I wanted. Always happy and confident. Never needy. Never concerned. Never weak. Being a professional clotheshorse, I’d made plenty of use of this ability—very quickly learning how to use it to override my own thoughts and feelings in order to portray the image needed for the job.
“Let’s go in here. And… maybe put your shirt back on.” He nodded toward the garment in question as though I may have trouble remembering what and where it was. I followed him into a rarely used formal sitting room that I had always hated. It was so devoid of soul and character, and almost completely surplus to requirements. I clutched the shirt, not bothering to put it on. Whatever he had to say to me, he could say to my bare tits, also.
“What are we doing in here? Did somebody die?” Oh God, why the hell had I said that? What if somebody had died? Exactly how much of a dick would I look?
“No. Everyone’s alive and doing just fine.”
Thank God. Both because I didn�
��t want anyone to have died, and also because I didn’t want to seem like a callous bitch.
“Even Gramps?”
“Especially Gramps. He sends his love, by the way.”
Arlo took a seat on the largest couch in the room—of course—indicating that I should join him. I did, turning slightly so that I could look at him properly.
“So, tell me…?” I was the image of cool, calm neutrality, while Arlo seemed to be struggling a little. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was nervous about something, but I pushed that thought away instantly. Since he could swagger, this guy had been confidence personified. He didn’t do self-doubt, second-guessing, or nerves like the rest of us. I surely must have imagined it. I waited, eager to see how this was going to pan out.
“I’ve met someone.”
I listened to him talk about the woman in question, but more than that, I watched him. I could read him like a book, and I could tell this was game-changing. I actually couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. Since my parents had killed themselves, there had been very few certainties in my life, but one thing I thought I’d known was that Arlo would always be there. If I had thought I was messed up, Arlo was always there to remind me that there were bigger screwups than me, and he was a case in point. Under the word commitment-phobe in the dictionary, there was a picture of a scowling Arlo giving two middle fingers to the world.
But because life was a bitch, today of all days, that was changing. Just when I needed to be picked up the most, Arlo was letting me down. Fucked up doesn’t even begin to cover it. I thought I’d see Mickey Mouse running the country before I’d hear Arlo telling me he had someone special in his life. I gulped around the lump forming in my throat and willed the tears threatening to fall to stay where they were, forcing myself to nod and smile in the appropriate places as he filled me in on this latest development.
I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do now. I mean, in all the time we’d spent together over the years, we didn’t really have a friendship in the traditional sense of the word. We hadn’t hung out properly since high school. And even then, in truth, he hadn’t hung out. I’d hung around him and the rest of the band. Although the other boys hadn’t ever objected to my presence, I strongly suspected they tolerated me to avoid causing drama with Arlo, rather than because they really wanted me around.
Not that I could blame them. Apart from Stevie with Kris, the two of whom had been inseparable from day one, nobody else had random girls hanging around. That said, the only person who seemed to actively value my presence rather than merely tolerate it was Luke. He was always there with a shy, goofy smile or an awkward hug. He was also really the only one who would say anything more than a tight hi or basic pleasantries. He actually seemed to give a shit about me. He laughed when I said something even moderately funny. He asked me questions and remembered the answers. He cared. He considered me worthy of his time and attention. He liked me. It was pathetic really how little it took for someone to stand out in comparison to how the vast majority of the world treated me.
“…I think it’s best if we wind this up now before it gets complicated.” This really was the most bizarre turn of events, and I still felt like it might all be some kind of hyperrealistic dream.
“How can it get complicated? It’s never been complicated. Isn’t that the whole point? We’re friends who like to get each other off. It doesn’t get simpler than that.” That was the point of what we had. Unlike 99.99 percent of relationships, it was beautiful in its simplicity—we’d both known where we stood from day one.
Arlo sighed heavily. “In theory, yes. In practice, I think it’s about run its course, so it’s time to quit while we’re ahead.”
Whatever. I’d given up trying to make sense of a nonsensical situation.
“Fair enough. Can’t argue with that. Mind if I crash with you tonight, though? I’ve just stepped off a plane after weeks of shooting, and I don’t feel like being home alone. It can be like old times. We’ll watch movies, eat popcorn, and sleep—just sleep—together, like we did when we were kids.”
It was mostly true. Well, it was partially true. I had just stepped off a plane, but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted company, even the faulty, inattentive company of Arlo Jones, because being dropped by the agency had hit me hard. I didn’t want to sit at home with only my thoughts and a bottle of something strong to keep me company. Chilling and watching movies would help keep my mind quiet, not as well as sex would have, but I’d learned early on in life that beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Arlo hesitated again, seeming to weigh the available options before deciding it was easier to cave in to my demands than to deal with the fallout if he didn’t.
“Sure, I guess, but I get to choose the movie.” He had to be kidding. Ummm… no.
“What? No way! It was my suggestion, ergo I choose.” I tried to sound serious, but failed.
“You’re not in a very good bargaining position here. My house. My rules.”
I guess he had a point.
“Ha! Okay, you got me. We have a deal.”
Seven
Marnie
Through the evening I mentally congratulated myself for coming up with the idea. It was just what I needed it to be—a sweet distraction. We lazed around, flicking through Netflix, taking turns to choose the movie—I always had known how to get my own way with Arlo, regardless of his badass behavior with the rest of the world. We ate popcorn, ordered takeout, and drank beers in bed. It was just like how it was when we were kids, except then Luke had been there. My heart twinged a little when thinking of those days. Luke.
As the night and the drinks wore on, Arlo let down his guard a little and revealed some small details of his new “situation.”
“So I guess I met someone I want to get to know better.” His voice even sounded different when he spoke about her.
“‘Get to know?’ Is that a euphemism for something horrifically kinky, Arlo?”
“Nope. It’s exactly as it sounds. She’s the first woman ever to have me thinking about being with her, not just wanting to fuck her. No offense.”
“None taken. I’ve always known the score with you. No biggie.” I had known that Arlo was all about the physical, not about the emotional. In fact, it was what had drawn me to him in the first place. I didn’t want feelings. In fact, I had been actively seeking to drown them out all those years ago, and was still striving to do so now.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but if I showed too much interest, he’d probably shut the whole thing down and not say another word. If there was one thing I knew about Arlo—of course, there wasn’t just one thing, there were many—it was that he was just about the most hardheaded person on the planet. If a plan involving him was going to have any chance of working out, he had to think it was his idea. I waited.
“She infuriates me and intrigues me at the same time. It’s fucking weird, especially as this is the longest I’ve gone between meeting a chick and sealing the deal, present company excluded—not that it really counts, given that we were kids at the time.”
“You haven’t slept with this woman yet?”
“Nope. Not even close. In fact, I think she kind of hates me.” He went on to recount the story of meeting her—London, his cleaner—and how their whole thing had been bungled from the first moment. It was like something out of a movie but not in a good way. More Dumb and Dumber than The Notebook. He had done pretty much everything wrong, and this woman wanted almost nothing to do with him. From what he told me, I could totally see why.
When he came to the end of his tale, I stifled the laughter bubbling in my throat. The situation was all kinds of weird, and so out of character for just about the smoothest guy on the planet, but I didn’t want Arlo to think I didn’t take his predicament seriously, or that I didn’t appreciate his honesty. I did.
I knew it was totally perplexing for him, but for the rest of us, it was just real life. People m
ostly didn’t lay themselves out on a platter for other people like they did for Arlo, and always had. Hell, like I had back then and still did today in many ways. Arlo was having to work for someone’s interest for the first time in his entire life, and it was a curveball. There was a delicious irony in the whole situation.
He seemed to have run out of steam for talking, so I turned back to the TV, using his lapse in concentration to choose another rom-com when it wasn’t even my turn. Arlo didn’t say a word. Winning.
I didn’t remember falling asleep or deliberately deciding to catch some Zs, but I must have done one or the other because before I knew it, I was waking up wrapped in Arlo’s arms. My eyes snapped open, and I mentally panicked about snoring, morning breath, and bed hair. I guessed never spending the night with a guy had its perks, like not waking up next to him with yesterday’s makeup giving you panda eyes and the smell of stale beer emanating from every pore.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.” I was still half asleep, and I knew it was obvious. “You know that’s the first night I’ve spent with you since we were still in high school?” Out loud it sounded way more like an accusation than it had in my head.
“Ha! Yeah, right, we’ve spent thousands of nights together.”
Nope. He really did live on his own planet sometimes. I knew this, but every so often he would do something that demonstrated just how warped his take on reality was.
“No, Arlo, we’ve fucked countless times, but spending the night was always a frontier you never wanted to cross. A hard limit. No matter what went down between us”—I winked—“you always had me behaving like some kind of reverse Cinderella, slipping out in the middle of the night before one of us turned into a pumpkin.”
