Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

So, up until today, I was planning to write 3,000–5,000 words per Chapter. But since the book isn’t gaining traction as quickly as I hoped, I’m adjusting the format.

Don’t worry—you’ll still be getting the same amount of content. From now on, Chapters will be split into two parts, which means two updates a day instead of one longer release.

The goal is to stay more active in ”latest updates” and help the story reach more readers.

Let’s see how this works—your support means everything.

****

Chapter 6 - The Parent Trap

So before toady I was planning to write 3 to 5 thousand words per Chapter but because this book is not gaining traction as fast as I hope. I will halved it Don worry you will get Chapters but from on split in two parts so yes two Chapters a day hoping it can gain collections fast with this popping in latest updates Tice hopefully it works.

The sleek black Cadillac sedan wound its way through the sun-dappled streets of San Marino, the engine purring with the same refined confidence as the man behind the wheel. Benjamin Georgia gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white not from tension, but from pure, unadulterated adrenaline. He kept glancing at the leather portfolio in the passenger seat as if he expected the Kung Fu Panda manuscripts to sprout wings and fly away.

”Unbelievable,” Benjamin exclaimed, the word escaping him for the tenth time since they had cleared the Meyers’ iron gates. ”Sheena, tell me I didn’t hallucinate that. I’ve spent twenty years in New York publishing. I’ve sat across from Nobel laureates and grizzled war correspondents who couldn’t negotiate their way out of a paper bag. But that child... he was a paradox. You see the innocence of a ten-year-old in the way he drinks his milk, and then he opens his mouth and you see the cunning of a Machiavellian shark.”

He shook his head, a breathless laugh escaping him. ”He even caught our Asian market expansion plan. No, scratch that—he didn’t just catch it; he anticipated it. Even before any of us thought of it.. He wrote those localized versions because he knew we wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of the Asian market. He didn’t just give us a book, Sheena. He gave us a strategic blueprint for the next decade of Random House’s international growth. Can you actually believe it? An eleven-year-old?”

Sheena, sitting in the passenger seat, wasn’t looking at the notes in her lap. She was staring out the window, her eyes unfocused, a faint, lingering flush on her cheeks.

”Benjamin, the business side was shocking, yes. But did you see him? Really see him? Oh my God, that boy was... magnetic. It’s not just that he’s so cute and handsome, though he’s easily the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen. It’s those eyes. They’re so bright, so clear—looking into them felt like staring into the center of a Nebula. There’s a depth there that shouldn’t exist in someone who still goes to junior high.”

Her tone was thick with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm. As a professional assistant, she was used to being unimpressed by celebrities, but Marvin Meyers had bypassed her defenses entirely.

”Star quality,” Benjamin murmured, his editor’s mind already pivoting toward the publicity campaign. ”The kid has a level of ’presence’ that you can’t teach. He was born to be in the spotlight. I’m not just excited to publish this book, Sheena. I’m terrified and thrilled to see what he does next. If this is what he’s producing at ten, what does he look like at twenty?”

---

Back at the Meyers estate, the atmosphere was significantly less professional and far more chaotic. The heavy mahogany dining table had been transformed into a celebratory altar.

POP!

The crisp sound of a champagne cork hitting the ceiling echoed through the room. Grant Meyers, his face flushed with the kind of victory usually reserved for hundreds of million-dollar mergers, poured two glasses of vintage Krug for himself and Linda.

”To the little author!” Grant roared, lifting his glass. ”Wishing our little Marvin a gargantuan, world-shaking success with his debut! To the first of many!”

Linda didn’t wait to drink. She let out a squeal of pure maternal delight and snatched Marvin into a crushing embrace of her blossom. ”My genius! My little visionary!” She peppered his face with kisses, eventually pulling his head into the crook of her neck, pressing him against her shoulder as if she could physically absorb his brilliance.

”Hey! Mom! You’re crushing the talent!” Marvin protested, his voice muffled by her silk blouse. He feigned a struggle, dodging left and right, but Linda was a woman possessed by pride. He eventually managed to slip under her arm, his hair a mess, his face slightly red.

”No, no, darling! You’re the one who scared me!” Linda chuckled, her eyes welling with tears of joy. ”I knew you were smart, Marvin. I knew you were special. But a 15% royalty on a 200,000-copy run? I’ve seen veteran directors at USC beg for that kind of backend! I never imagined my son would be a literary mogul before he hit puberty!”

”Alright, alright, can you two separate for a bit?” Grant laughed, though his eyes were sharp. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the champagne in his flute. ”Marvin, come here. I have something I need to ask you.”

Taking advantage of the gap, Marvin scrambled away from his mother’s affectionate ”attack” and sat next to his father, breathing a mock sigh of relief. ”Dad, save me. What’s the question? More tax structures? Off-shore holdings?”

Grant chuckled, but his expression grew inquisitive. ”You said earlier today—and to the ’Book Men’—that you sent ’some’ works out. Plural. Now, I know about the Panda. And I saw those sketches for the ’Note’ story. But I know that look in your eyes, Marvin. You’ve been busy.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping into that serious, father-to-son tone. ”Tell me, what else have you been doing behind our backs lately?”

Marvin lowered his head, a masterclass in feigned embarrassment. He looked at his fingernails, then back at his father, whispering just loud enough for Linda to hear. ”Well... I might have sent a script to Aunt Nancy.”

The room went silent. Linda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Nancy Meyers—Grant’s younger sister and Marvin’s doting aunt—wasn’t just ”family.” She was a Hollywood institution. She was the queen of the high-end romantic comedy, a writer-director-producer whose films were synonymous with golden-hour lighting, impeccable kitchens, and the kind of aspirational escapism that turned every project into a box-office hit.

Marvin felt an involuntary grin bloom on his face as he watched his parents process the news.

’Ah, yes,’ he thought, the inner soul of the ”Incubus” basking in the sheer, unbridled convenience of his new life. ’The unmistakable aroma of old-money polish. A silver spoon so deeply lodged it’s practically part of my skeletal structure. A generous dash of classic Hollywood nepotism, and that proud Jewish-Meyers heritage flowing through my veins. It really is a joke.’

Let’s be real: with little talent, even a single one of them could breeze through the gates and launch careers for half the town without breaking a sweat.

In his previous world, people spent decades grinding just to get a script read by a junior assistant’s intern. But here? Marvin’s life was basically on Ultra Easy Mode™.

Born into the Industry? Check.

Family name that acts as a universal skeleton key? Double check.

Jewish-Hollywood connections that turn ”networking” into a Sunday brunch? Triple check.

He had spawned into the game of life with god-mode activated, infinite mana in his veins, and the cheat codes already entered at birth. If he wanted to talk to a studio head, he just had to wait for Thanksgiving dinner. If he wanted a distribution deal, he just had to ask his aunt to pass a folder over the brisket. He wasn’t complaining—in fact, he intended to exploit every single pixel of this ”Easy Mode” reality.

”Marvin!” Linda finally found her voice, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and professional terror. ”You sent a script to Nancy? Nancy is... she’s incredibly particular! She’s in the middle of pre-production for her new project! Which one did you send her? Please tell me it wasn’t the dark one about the death notebook!”

”No, Mom, I’m not crazy,” Marvin said, his voice returning to that eerie, calm authority. He leaned back, the ”child” mask slipping just enough to show the ”Recycler” beneath. ”I sent her something that fits her ’Cozy Aspirational’ brand perfectly. A story about identity, family, and a very clever bit of twins-switching-places. I call it... The Parent Trap.”

Grant choked on his champagne. ”The... what?”

”Wait,” Linda said, her film-professor brain firing at a thousand miles an hour. ”The old Disney film? From the 60s?”

”A much better remake, Mom,” Marvin said, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. ”But updated. Modernized. With a lead role that requires a child actor with... let’s say... a very specific kind of ’Star Quality.’ I wrote the screenplay with a dual-performance in mind. I think Aunt Nancy will find the ’Idea’ very, very hard to resist.”

Grant stared at his son, the realization dawning on him. Marvin wasn’t just writing books; he was positioning himself as a multi-hyphenate before he was even tall enough to ride most rollercoasters.

”You little shark,” Grant whispered, a grin of pure, prideful disbelief spreading across his face. ”You didn’t just send her a script. You sent her a job offer.”

Marvin winked. ”She’s family, Dad. Why should I give a hit movie to a stranger? And Dad, judging by the time, she should have received it by now, and she might be reading it right now.”

*****

Join my Patreon

GodofPleasure