Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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*****

It wasn’t hard to find teenage relationships in the Western Hemisphere. Around this time, nearly one in two American high school students—about 46–50%—had engaged in sexual intercourse by the time they were sixteen, most of it with someone close in age within a romantic relationship. Among older teens, the figure often reached 60–65%. This kind of experience was common enough that it didn’t stand out as risky in the eyes of peers or the legal system.

And if the boy was Marvin Meyers... her daughter would not be at a loss at all.

Even if the teenagers only talked and dated for a short while, public association with Marvin’s god-like popularity would push her daughter’s fame to an unprecedented level that indie movies can’t even imagine.

This was what the Hollywood machine craved: *Popularity*. No one, living or dead, eclipsed Marvin Meyers in current Hollywood.

He commanded the peak of the ”Elvis Presley fever” treatment, only hotter. The shadow of the elite Meyers banking name kept the tabloids at a safe distance. His reclusive nature helped. Photographers rarely caught him outside his gated estate or a closed movie set.

But still, the global media and especially Hollywood media was actively keeping him boiling hot. The fanatic fans who were obsessively watching and reading everything about him kept the media going even hotter. A capitalist snake eating its own tail. The magnitude of his fame had exploded after his live piano performance at the Oscars. The entire planet witnessed his raw talent broadcast into their living rooms.

Melanie felt optimistic. Her daughter approached fourteen and high school. In their world, hormones didn’t wait for high school—they hit early amid the swirl of sets, parties, and adult conversations. Melanie refused to treat this like a suburban rite of passage with an awkward ’birds and the bees’ sit-down. Ordinary parents tried that. The entertainment industry operated differently. Her daughter already understood more about sex than most adults—the thrill, the transactions, the predators lurking around young talent.

If her daughter fell in love with a protective titan like Marvin Meyers, Melanie welcomed the romantic result.

Scarlett buried her face in her hands. ”Mom! What are you talking about? We are just friends. We just met!”

Melanie laughed, patting her daughter’s knee. ”Okay, okay. Friends. Just friends. After all, *only* platonic friends keep three glossy posters of their ’friends’ taped above their bed.” She winked. ”Boyfriends and girlfriends... it doesn’t matter to me, as long as my baby girl is happy and safe.”

Scarlett went quiet, a flush creeping up her neck. She chewed her bottom lip, her green eyes darting toward the subway window.

Melanie studied her daughter’s flushed cheeks. Maternal intuition confirmed the truth: the girl was romantically thrilled.

---

May 15th, 1998.

The AMC Lincoln Square Cinemas in New York City.

The red carpet premiere of *The Horse Whisperer* drew crowds to the street.

The sweeping film marked the return of director Robert Redford, backed by Touchstone Pictures. The studio’s deep connections guaranteed a star-studded premiere.

But Marvin Meyers’ unannounced arrival stunned the media, the paparazzi, and the gathered crowds.

The boy reigned as the most famous child in America, a household name in global pop culture. He broke through with flawless box office predictions for *Titanic*, cementing his legend when those numbers proved true.

Combined with his multi-platinum music awards and his world-stopping Oscar performance, his name graced every media outlet daily.

Marvin strolled the red carpet with his arm elegantly interlocked with Scarlett Johansson, the unknown young supporting actress in *The Horse Whisperer*.

Scarlett wore a beautiful dress, her blonde hair styled in loose waves. She pressed her side against Marvin’s dark tuxedo arm, smiling radiantly for the cameras. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, drawing a smirk from the boy.

”What is going on with these two?” the paparazzi whispered over the clicking of camera shutters.

Marvin Meyers kept to himself. Reporters never caught him with a girl in public, save for his red-headed assistant, Amy.

The reporters surged forward. A high-res photograph of this moment would sell for millions to the tabloids.

After all, devoted young women and teenage girls made up nearly sixty percent of Marvin’s global fan base.

His demographic boosted after the Oscar performance made the world weep. His magical vocals reached deep into their hearts.

So flashbulbs erupted like lightning. This story would break the fragile hearts of millions of teenage girls around the globe who viewed him as their pure, solitary idol.

The intensity of ”Marvin Fever” vastly eclipsed the future hysteria of Justin Bieber. It was infinitely more intense, primarily because of his impossible, aristocratic looks, his mature demeanor, and the haunting magical voice that literally physically affected people’s emotional systems.

Scarlett walked beside him in the flashing lights, secretly proud of the chaos she caused.

She had begged on the phone the night before to get Marvin to walk the red carpet with her.

Marvin warned her about the toxic wave of hate mail and jealousy she would receive from his obsessive fans once their intimate photos hit the newsstands and magazines. Scarlett didn’t care. She stubbornly locked her arm with his.

She wanted the world to know he was *her* *friend.*

The PR strategy worked flawlessly. As a minor supporting actress, she wouldn’t have drawn screams from the A-list media on her own.

Perhaps a few polite flashes for studio formality. But with the Boy Wonder on her arm, she became the center of the universe.

---

Far away, bathed in the sunny warmth of Los Angeles, seventeen-year-old Jessica sat on her living room couch, eating cereal and watching *E! News*.

She looked up to see the live broadcast. A blonde girl named Scarlett held Marvin’s arm in New York, whispering in his ear.

Jessica gritted her teeth. Venom flashed in her dark brown eyes. The plastic cereal spoon snapped in her grip.

’Another pathetic bitch, and this time it’s a blonde bimbo!’ Her blood boiled.

She hurled the bowl across the room. Milk and flakes splattered against the wall and dripped onto the hardwood floor. The world crashed down around her.

She snatched up the heavy landline phone. Her fingers jabbed the numbers on the dial. Each beep echoed through the quiet house. She dialed her contacts, initiating the phone tree.

Her voice trembled with urgency. Breakfast dripped from the wall, a messy contrast to the tactical precision of her thoughts.

”Lindsay? Dorothy? Beyonce?” Jessica barked into the receiver the second the conference call connected. ”Turn on E! right now. Look at this thirsty rat clinging to our Marvin.”

The four young girls—the founders of Marvin’s inner circle—started plotting on the phone. They analyzed the blonde threat with the precision of a military war room.

---

Back at the premiere in New York.

Marvin stood on the red carpet, fielding questions from a sweating *Entertainment Tonight* host.

”Marvin! Marvin! Are you two dating?!” the host shouted over the noise, thrusting the microphone forward.

”No, we both are too young for that,” Marvin smiled, his voice a calm shield. ”I am a good friend of Scarlett’s, and I am here tonight to support my friend’s premiere.”

”What about the movie, Marvin? Can you predict the box office of this Robert Redford movie like you did for *Titanic*?” the reporter asked, trying to bait the genius into a soundbite.

Marvin searched his memory for a fraction of a second. He knew what it would gross, and it wasn’t spectacular.

He diplomatically changed the topic. ”The raw box office is not important for a prestige picture like this. This is a sweeping film aiming for artistic merit and Academy Awards, not just popcorn sales. I believe in the cinematic ability of director Robert Redford. He is a master director and a brilliant actor.”

The reporter noted on the broadcast that *The Horse Whisperer* was written, directed, acted, and produced by Redford.

After countless inquiries about their blossoming relationship, the reports posed a series of challenging questions to Scarlett.

As an aspiring actress still waiting for her big break, she hadn’t yet developed that famous disdain for journalists; instead, she welcomed their gaze with open arms. Yearning for the spotlight and the sweet attention of reporters, she radiated joy. Her smile was infectious as she answered their questions, sometimes leaning in to him closer to his ear with a conspiratorial whisper as they laughed, making Scarlett and Marvin lean closer for those perfect shots.

Marvin, with a heart full of warmth, embraced the moment as the girl leaned in closer, her breath a soft caress against his ear. He couldn’t help but smile, allowing her to indulge in the playful delight of the shining evening.

Entering the crowded theater lobby, Touchstone Pictures President George Brown was surprised to see Marvin Meyers near the concession stand. The executive abandoned his entourage and pulled the Wonder Boy over for a private chat.

”Marvin! My god, why are you in New York?” George asked, bewildered. ”Aren’t you supposed to be locked on a freezing set filming that ghost picture in Philadelphia?”

”I am efficient, George,” Marvin smiled, shaking the executive’s hand. ”We finished principal filming a week early. I came to New York to produce the orchestral soundtrack at my studio. Scarlett and I are friends, and she invited me to the premiere, so I came to support Disney.”

George finally looked down and saw Scarlett, nervously following half a step behind Marvin’s shadow.

For a struggling young actress like Scarlett, a studio President like George Brown stood as terrifying and immovable as a mountain. He held the keys to her career.

”Hello, Scarlett,” George said politely, offering a brief nod.

”H-Hello, Mr. Brown,” Scarlett stammered, her voice trembling.

George’s corporate attention was not on her. He barely registered her presence. He turned back, thanked Marvin for attending and boosting their press coverage, and quickly left to schmooze with the investors.

Another old acquaintance walked over through the crowded lobby.

”Hey there, our little genius. I didn’t expect to see you crashing a Robert Redford party tonight,” Bruce Willis said, walking over with his signature smirk. He was dressed sharply in a grey suit.

Scarlett’s green eyes lit up in shock. ’Does Marvin actually know Bruce Willis so well?’

”We share the screen for my new movie,” Marvin explained, leaning in to whisper context into Scarlett’s ear, making her shiver. Marvin pulled the star-struck girl forward to greet the action star. ”Hey, Bruce. Long time no see, my friend.”

”It didn’t seem like it took that long, kid,” Bruce joked, offering his hand to Marvin.

Scarlett watched the casual interaction with envy. She wanted the power to communicate freely, arrogantly, and equally with A-list actors. Looking at Marvin, she realized that power isn’t given. It is taken.

---

The sweeping movie *The Horse Whisperer* had a punishing runtime of one hundred and seventy minutes.

As Marvin predicted on the red carpet, this was a prestige film, engineered for Academy voters with zero expectation of recovering production costs from the opening weekend. Generally, physical VHS tapes and DVD releases of Oscar-bait movies sell well over a long tail.

Millions buy them for their home collection, even if they never sit down to watch a slow, three-hour drama about a horse.

It mirrors the psychological phenomenon of modern consumerism. A casual reader walks into Barnes & Noble and sees displays of books praised by *The New York Times* or Oprah Winfrey. They buy a hardcover copy at full retail price, only to take it home and let it gather dust in a dark corner of their living room.

It was a transparent effort to appear sophisticated and intellectual to their houseguests.

Herd mentality.

Marvin knew this human flaw intimately. He only had to look at the staggering sales of his own works. People bought his *Marvin 1* EP, the physical CD single of *’My Heart Will Go On,’* the hardcovers of *Ready Player One*, and the VHS tapes of *The Parent Trap*, not just because they were fans. Fans were only the *second* largest group of buyers.

The primary group was the ”herd.” The millions of ordinary people whose behavior and purchasing habits conformed to the group they belonged to. If everyone at the office watercooler was talking about the boy’s new album, you *had* to buy it to participate in society. Marvin didn’t just sell art; he sold cultural currency. And he charged a fortune for it.

Therefore, it was generally not a financial problem for these slow films to eventually recover their bloated costs, often making a quiet profit in the background over the next decade.

Occasionally, with cultural luck, they made a staggering amount of money—such as *The Shawshank Redemption*, the undisputed record holder for North American video tape rentals and sales.

*”I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they’re gone. I guess I just miss my friend.”*

That quote from *The Shawshank Redemption* moved Marvin’s soul.

*****

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