Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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He made it his mission to separate Lindsay the girl from Lindsay the star. Hollywood constantly demanded that child actors become whatever sold tickets, pleased directors, or satisfied ambitious parents. Marvin refused to let that become her identity. To him, her worth had nothing to do with box office numbers, magazine covers, or how much money she earned.

Surrounded by his unwavering support, the desperate need to seek love through success slowly disappeared. She no longer felt compelled to destroy herself chasing approval that would never come.

The other girls reinforced that change. Unlike the toxic homes Lindsay had grown up around, they offered simple, genuine friendship. Around them, she wasn’t a celebrity or a paycheck.

She was just Lindsay.

By the time filming settled into its rhythm, she was one of the most grounded people on set. The emptiness that so often pushed child stars toward alcohol, drugs, and self-destruction had been filled long before it could consume her. Marvin intended to keep it that way.

She simply felt like Lindsay.

Even Nicole noticed the difference.

One afternoon, after Lindsay had finished an emotionally draining scene, Nicole watched the girl immediately burst into laughter with the crew over some ridiculous joke involving a prop umbrella.

Nicole smiled to herself.

”She’s different,” she quietly remarked.

Marvin looked up from the script in his lap.

”In what way?”

Nicole watched Lindsay for another moment.

”I’ve worked with child actors who carried the weight of the entire production on their shoulders. They never really relaxed.” A gentle smile crossed her face. ”Lindsay does the work, then somehow... she lets it go.”

Marvin closed his script.

”She’s learning there’s a difference between what she does and who she is.”

Nicole turned toward him.

”Not many adults figure that out.”

”No.”

”They’re lucky to have you.”

Marvin simply smiled. ”They’re lucky we have each other.”

As filming continued, his own relation with Nicole deepened just as naturally.

Because the island sat far from the mainland, Nancy and Alejandro had converted one of the unused stone buildings into a small lounge where the cast and crew gathered after filming. After spending entire days immersed in the grief and isolation of *The Others*, the little bar became everyone’s refuge. Someone always found a guitar, someone else inevitably started telling embarrassing stories from previous productions, and laughter gradually replaced the emotional heaviness that lingered after shooting.

More often than not, Marvin and Nicole ended up talking long after everyone else drifted away.

They spoke about films they admired, novels they’d recently read, directors they hoped to work with, and the strange contradictions of Hollywood. Sometimes they debated a single page of dialogue for half an hour. Other nights they wandered into conversations about family, fame, or the peculiar loneliness that often accompanied success.

Nicole found herself looking forward to those evenings more than she expected.

Marvin was unlike anyone she’d met in the industry. There was no posturing, no desperate need to impress, no endless talk about box-office numbers or awards. He listened as carefully as he spoke, challenged her opinions without dismissing them, and possessed a dry wit and overconfidence that surfaced at exactly the right moment.

By the time Marvin’s role entered its final stretch, the guarded professionalism that had marked their first days together had quietly disappeared.

Trust had taken its place.

It showed the moment the cameras rolled.

The complicated relationship between Grace and Nicholas no longer felt like two actors performing opposite each other.

It felt lived in.

---

The night air carried the salt-tang of the Channel and the distant whisper of waves against Jersey’s rugged coastline. Inside the stone lounge, the evening had dissolved into the usual comfortable chaos—guitar chords fading, laughter tapering into yawns, the crew gradually surrendering to tomorrow’s early call.

Marvin slipped his Motorola into his pocket with a frustrated shake of his head. Another call, another day of silence. Diana had been ignoring him completely — from early mornings to late nights — ever since that intense encounter in the back of the town car.

The elegant People’s Princess was clearly drowning in deep guilt, the weight of her motherly conscience and royal image crashing down on her after she had let herself be used so filthily by someone so young the same age as her sons. She had retreated into her guarded world, probably replaying every moan, every thrust, and every drop of her own arousal and pull in her mind with burning shame.

Even Mary, her loyal head maid, had been instructed to politely deflect or outright ignore his calls. The once passionate, trembling royal who had spread her legs so eagerly for him was now hiding behind walls of regret and propriety.

He had to give her time to process everything and make up her mind. Considering her strict upbringing and the pure, almost saintly nature of her soul, Marvin knew pushing any further right now could shatter her completely. He had to hold himself back from rushing to her side, from comforting her with his touch, his voice, or his presence. It would be too much for her fragile state of mind right now — the guilt-ridden People’s Princess who was still reeling from how shamelessly she had spread her royal legs and cum for the boy.

So he waited, even though every instinct screamed at him to claim her again—morning and night, silently keeping his presence known in a gentle manner...

Glancing toward the corner where Lindsay had curled into one of the worn settees, her chest rising and falling in the deep, untroubled rhythm of adolescent sleep.

He circled the room once, twice, scanning the faces still lingering over half-empty pints and scattered script pages. Nicole wasn’t among them.

He poured two glasses of pineapple juice from the bar—her preference, he’d learned, for something sweet and sharp when the nights grew long—and pushed through the oak door into the courtyard. The island darkness enveloped him immediately, broken only by the silver spill of moonlight across the ground.

He found her sitting alone on a weathered iron chair near the garden’s edge, an empty tumbler dangling from her fingers, her gaze fixed on the swollen moon hanging low over the sea.

She’d changed into something simple—a slip of white cotton that caught the lunar glow and transformed her into something ethereal, as though Selene herself had descended from her chariot to sit among the hydrangeas. The light painted her pale skin with pearlescent luminescence, turning her into a sculpture of jade and alabaster, too perfect for the earth.

Marvin paused in the shadows, allowing himself the theft of watching her unobserved. The way the moonlight threaded through her vibrant, coppery red natural curly hair—still pinned up in loose, careless twists from the day’s shoot—created a halo that made the actual moon look like a dim reflection, a pale counterfeit of her radiance.

”You’re staring,” she said, not turning around, her Australian accent lilting softly across the stone.

”Only because I’m trying to decide,” Marvin said, stepping forward and settling into the adjacent chair without asking— they’d passed that threshold weeks ago, the polite formalities of early acquaintance burned away by shared drinks and midnight confidences, ”whether the moon is jealous of you tonight, or merely embarrassed.”

Nicole turned, one eyebrow arched in amused skepticism, though her lips betrayed the beginning of a smile. ”That’s atrocious. Truly terrible.”

”Is it?” He handed her the fresh juice, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange, lingering perhaps a fraction too long. ”Because from where I’m sitting, that celestial body up there is doing its best imitation of your complexion, and failing miserably. It’s got the color wrong, the luminosity is off, and frankly, it hangs there static and dull while you...” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the way the breeze stirred the hem of her dress, the alert intelligence in her eyes, the life that pulsed through her. ”You move. You breathe. You exist in three dimensions while the moon is just a flat disc playing dress-up.”

She laughed—a genuine, surprised sound that broke across the garden like crystal—and the faint blush that rose to her cheeks outshone any lunar glow. ”God, you are dangerous,” she said, cradling the glass. ”You say these things with such conviction, I almost believe you haven’t practiced them on a dozen other women in a dozen other ports.”

”Only the most beautiful ones,” Marvin said, his voice dropping to that register of sincerity that made her breath catch. ”Which means, in a few years of living, I’ve said it exactly once.”

Nicole looked away, hiding behind her drink, but he saw the way her throat worked, the way her fingers tightened around the crystal. ”You’re a terrible liar, Marvin Meyers.”

”I’m not lying,” he said softly. ”I’m casting. And you’re the only leading lady I see.”

”You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

”I’ve found stopping usually ruins perfectly good conversations.”

She studied him over. ”You always sound as though you’ve rehearsed these lines.”

”I haven’t.”

”No?”

”No. I simply report what I see.”

She smiled despite herself. ”And what exactly do you see?”

Marvin looked at her for a long moment—not dramatically, not theatrically, simply honestly. ”I see someone who spends far too much energy convincing everyone she’s fine.”

Nicole’s smile faded.

The silence lingered between them.

Finally, she let out a slow breath. ”That’s a rather unfair observation.”

”Because it isn’t true?”

”...Because it is.”

She rested both hands around the glass, letting its coolness settle against her palms. ”I’ve become very good at smiling when people expect me to.”

”I noticed.”

”You noticed too much.”

”I tend to.”

Nicole laughed quietly. ”I suppose that’s why people keep telling me you’re dangerous.”

”I’m only dangerous to people who prefer pretending.”

She looked back toward the ocean. ”You know...” she said softly, ”there are days when I can’t remember what my own opinion sounds like anymore.”

Marvin remained silent.

She appreciated that about him.

He never rushed to fill uncomfortable pauses.

”So many people have ideas about my career.” She smiled without humor. ”Managers. Publicists. Studios. Agents. Friends.” Her expression grew more distant. ”My husband.”

She rolled the word around her tongue before letting it disappear into the night.

”They all have plans.”

”And yours?”

Nicole laughed again. ”I honestly don’t remember.”

The admission surprised even her. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Marvin leaned back in his chair. ”I think you do.”

She looked at him.

”I think you’ve simply spent so long compromising that your own voice sounds unfamiliar.”

The breeze lifted a loose curl from her hair. She tucked it behind her ear.

”You make everything sound so simple.”

”No.”

He smiled faintly. ”I just dislike unnecessary complications.”

Nicole studied him for several seconds. ”How old are you really?”

He laughed. ”I’ve been asked that rather often.”

”I can imagine.”

”Does the answer matter?”

She thought about it. ”...Less than it should.”

That answer startled both of them.

Nicole looked down into her drink. ”I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

”I’m glad you did.”

The quiet stretched comfortably between them again.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the night wrapping around them like velvet. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale offered its song into the darkness.

”How’s Tom?” Marvin asked the question casually but his eyes were sharp, as if he knew something.

The smile vanished. Nicole’s jaw tightened, her grip on the glass becoming white-knuckled. ”Not much better,” she said quietly. ”He’s... deeper now. Into all of it. The auditing, the purification rundowns. They want him for the Sea Org levels, and he’s not saying no.” She turned to face him, her blue eyes—those famous, crystalline eyes—dark with worry. ”It’s not just a hobby anymore, Marvin. It’s becoming his infrastructure. They’re starting to interfere with my work, my contacts, my way of life. They have opinions about which projects are ’worthy’ of my time.”

”Where is he now?”

”Los Angeles,” she said, the word tasting bitter. ”Little promotion Warner is doing for *Eyes Wide Shut*.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. ”Though ’promotion’ is generous. They’re burying it. You were right, you know. About all of it.”

Marvin said nothing, letting her unfold.

”Stanley screened the final cut on March first,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. ”Six days later, he was gone. Heart attack. Sixty years old and they tell us it was natural causes, but...” She shook her head, red strands escaping their pins. ”Two months dead now, and Warner Brothers is treating his final film like a contagious disease. They cut the orgy sequence to pieces, they’re releasing it with minimal fanfare, and Tom—” She stopped, her voice breaking slightly.

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