Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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She gestured higher. ”...I don’t know. Somebody who looked older.”

Marvin chuckled. ”I disappoint?”

”Nah.” Nicole grinned. ”You just don’t match the trailer.”

”And what trailer was that?”

”The one Paris’s brain has been playing twenty-four seven.”

Paris groaned loudly. ”Oh my God, Nicole!”

Marvin laughed. ”Fair enough.”

Nicole folded her arms. ”But your eyes...” she admitted. ”Those definitely don’t belong to a fourteen-year-old.”

”They’ve read too many books.”

”I can believe that.”

”And older than I look,” Marvin replied smoothly, not flinching from her examination.

”That’s deep,” Nicole said, her eyebrows rising. ”I like that.”

Before anyone else could jump in, Casey Johnson appeared beside him with effortless confidence.

She held out her champagne flute. ”Here.”

Bold and blonde and wearing a dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination—a slip of silk that looked like it might dissolve in the humidity. She thrust a champagne flute toward Marvin, her lipstick—a dark plum shade—still fresh on the rim, a perfect imprint of her mouth impossible to miss. ”Drink?” she purred, her voice thick with Texas money and New York parties. ”One sip.”

She smiled playfully. ”I promise I don’t bite.”

Nicole snorted. ”She absolutely bites.”

Casey laughed. ”Only if people ask nicely.”

A few girls burst into laughter.

”I promise I don’t have cooties. Or... do I?” She laughed, the sound throaty and suggestive.

Marvin looked at the glass, then at Casey, his expression never changing, warm but immovable. ”Ladies,” he said, his voice warm but firm, carrying that quality that made everyone lean in to listen. ”I am thankful, but I don’t drink.”

The silence that followed was microscopic but sharp, a needle scratch on a record.

Casey blinked. ”Ever?”

”Ever.”

She looked genuinely surprised. ”No alcohol? No champagne? Nothing?”

”Nothing.”

”Huh.” She leaned back, genuinely intrigued now.

”That’s... actually kind of impressive.” A dry laugh drifted across the room.

Bijou Phillips lounged on the velvet booth, one boot resting on the table, cigarette balanced lazily between her fingers. Her voice dripping with that particular brand of rock-and-roll cruelty that passed for wit. ”Or boring.”

Every head turned.

Bijou shrugged. ”What?”

She took another drag. ”So what’s the reason?”

She looked him over. ”You too young?” Another shrug. ”Or are you one of those good little mamas boys who never break the rules?”

The atmosphere evaporated like ether on hot pavement. Paris’s head whipped around, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure murderous rage. If Marvin hadn’t been there, if they hadn’t been in public, she would have crossed the room and slapped the girl with enough force to leave a handprint. Her fingers dug into Marvin’s arm hard enough to bruise, her body tensing like a cat about to spring.

Paris’s smile disappeared instantly. ”Bijou.”

Her tone carried a warning.

”What?”

”You know exactly what.” Paris’s grip tightened around Marvin’s arm. ”If you’re gonna start something—”

Marvin gently rested a hand over hers.

She looked at him.

He gave the smallest shake of his head.

’I’ve got this.’

Only then did Paris reluctantly relax.

Marvin turned back toward Bijou, his smile never wavering, and spread his hands in a gesture of gentle openness, of absolute confidence.

”No,” he said, his voice carrying that particular quality that made the room go quiet, that made everyone lean in to listen. ”It isn’t about rules.”

Bijou raised an eyebrow. ”No?”

”It’s nothing like that, my dear. It’s all about principles rather than laws. You see, if we do something only because of laws, then we are nothing more than savages who are afraid of prisons rather than in love with virtue. We’re just animals avoiding cages, not humans choosing wisdom.”

He paused, letting the words settle, his eyes traveling over each of them, holding Bijou’s gaze until she looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. ”I don’t drink not because I’m a mama’s boy, and not because of legal statutes, and certainly not because I’m afraid of getting caught. I don’t drink because I don’t want to. Because I prefer to keep my mind sharp, my words precise, and my judgment unclouded. I’ve never liked the idea of borrowing confidence from a bottle.”

Silence settled over the group.

Marvin continued casually. ”If I need alcohol to become interesting, then I probably wasn’t very interesting to begin with.”

Nicole’s eyebrows shot up.. ”...Okay.”

Casey smiled. ”I like that answer.”

Marvin slipped his hands into his pockets.

”I don’t stay sober because someone tells me to.”

He glanced around the room. ”I’ve never liked the idea of handing my judgment over to a bottle. If I’m going to make a bad decision, I’d rather have the satisfaction of knowing it was completely my own.”

A few girls laughed.

Marvin continued, still relaxed. ”I don’t stay sober because I’m scared of the law. If the only thing stopping someone from doing something stupid is getting caught, that’s not character—that’s fear.”

He glanced around the room. ”I stay sober because I like remembering my nights. I like waking up knowing exactly what I said, what I promised, who I laughed with, every conversation, every laugh, every beautiful face in this room.”

His eyes drifted to Paris beside him. ”And tonight seems worth remembering.”

Paris visibly melted. ”Aww...” she whispered, trying—and failing—not to smile.

Bijou watched him for another second before giving the faintest smirk. ”Not bad.”

Marvin smiled back. ”I’ve had time to think about it.”

He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out, disarming and genuine. ”And I’ve found that the designated driver is usually the one who has the most fun anyway—because he’s the only one who actually remembers it. And what good is a great night if you can’t remember it the next day? That’s just... wasted time. And I’m not about wasting time.”

He looked around the room again, his expression softening. ”And honestly...”

His eyes settled naturally on Paris beside him. ”...someone should probably stay sober tonight.”

Paris looked up at him. ”Why?”

”So I can make sure you get home.”

Her cheeks turned pink almost immediately. ”Aww...”

Nicole made an exaggerated gagging sound. ”Oh, that’s disgusting.”

Nicky laughed. ”It’s actually kind of sweet.”

Casey lifted her glass. ”I’ll drink to that.”

”I have to make sure Miss Hilton actually gets home instead of deciding at three in the morning that it’d be fun to adopt a monkey or buy another pink convertible.”

Nicole Richie burst out laughing. ”Okay, that’s actually believable.”

Nicky covered her mouth, laughing. ”Oh my God, she would.”

Paris gasped dramatically. ”I would not!”

Nicole pointed at her. ”You absolutely would.”

”I would maybe adopt the monkey,” Paris admitted with a giggle. ”But it’d be, like... a really cute monkey.”

The room erupted into laughter.

Even Bijou let out a reluctant chuckle, shaking her head. ”All right,” she admitted. ”Fair enough.”

Marvin gave her an easy nod. ”No hard feelings.”

Bijou flicked a little ash into the tray. ”You’re weird.”

”I’ve been told.”

”Yeah...” she smirked. ”I can see why people like you.”

Kim Kardashian, who had been quietly observing everything with folded arms, exchanged an amused glance with Kourtney.

Without missing a beat, Kourtney smiled faintly. ”So...”

She looked at Paris. ”He’s exactly how you’ve been describing him.”

Paris couldn’t stop smiling. ”I told you.”

Kim looked between the two of them before shaking her head.. ”No...”

She pointed at Marvin. ”I totally get it now.”

Then she looked at Paris with mock betrayal.

”...You’re in trouble.”

Nicole let out a laugh, nearly spilling her drink as she clapped once.

”Oh my God,” she said, pushing her sunglasses back up with one finger. ”He’s good.” She looked around at the others, grinning. ”Like... really good.”

”I told you,” Paris said, her pride radiating like heat, her grip on Marvin’s arm possessive and triumphant. She hadn’t let go of him, not once, her body pressed against his side like she was trying to merge with him. ”He’s the best. He’s, like, the most amazing person ever.”

Nicole rolled her eyes dramatically. ”Okay, don’t make it weird.”

”I’m not!”

”You totally are.”

The girls laughed.

”Smooth,” Kimberly Stewart said, who had been quietly watching from the edge of the group with an amused smile, finally spoke up. Her soft British accent naturally drew everyone’s attention. ”I’ll give you this,” she said, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. ”You’ve got charms. And you have a way with words.”

She nodded toward the untouched champagne. ”And saying no without making anyone feel silly? That’s harder than saying yes.”

Marvin inclined his head politely. ”Thank you.”

Kimberly smiled. ”My dad would probably like you.”

Marvin raised an eyebrow.. ”Would he?”

”Yeah.” She laughed quietly. ”He always says you can tell more about someone by what they don’t do than what they do.”

She glanced at his empty hands. ”I think he’d appreciate someone who can walk into a room full of alcohol and never feel like they’re missing out.”

Marvin smiled. ”I suppose we might get along, then.”

Kimberly lifted her glass with an amused smile. ”I’ve got a feeling you and my dad would get along.”

There was just enough emphasis in her voice to make it sound like she meant more than she actually said.

Marvin caught it. ”I think we probably would,” he replied with an easy nod.

Kimberly smiled to herself before taking another sip.

The evening settled into an easy rhythm.

Without ever trying to dominate the room, Marvin somehow became its center.

He sat on the velvet banquette with Paris tucked close against his side. She practically refused to let go of him, one hand resting possessively over his, their fingers intertwined while her knee stayed pressed against his as though she needed the constant reassurance that he was really there.

The conversation drifted effortlessly from one story to another.

He talked about filming *The Sixth Sense*—about long nights on set, about him somehow staying cheerful between emotionally exhausting scenes, and about a fog machine malfunction that briefly convinced half the crew there was an actual fire.

Even the bartender found himself listening.

Then Marvin shifted to music.

He described writing lyrics alone in hotel rooms after midnight, how melodies sometimes appeared in minutes and other times refused to come for weeks, and how the hardest songs usually ended up being the most honest.

The girls hung on every word.

Whenever Hollywood gossip came up, Marvin always seemed to know exactly where the line was.

He’d tell an amusing story about an eccentric director or an actor’s strange habit on set, but never anything genuinely cruel. Nobody was humiliated. Everyone remained human.

Nicole laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her drink twice. ”Okay... okay...” she wheezed, wiping at her eyes. ”That Bruce Willis story is staying with me forever.”

Paris practically glowed beside him.

”See?” she mouthed proudly to the others.

Casey, meanwhile, hadn’t given up.

She wandered back over carrying another champagne flute. ”Final offer.”

She held it toward him. ”One sip.”

Marvin smiled. ”No.”

She leaned closer.. ”Half a sip?”

”No.”

She rested a hand lightly against his forearm. ”Tiny sip?”

He looked at her with amused patience. ”Still no.”

Casey narrowed her eyes theatrically. ”You are impossible.”

”So I’ve been told.”

She laughed before lowering her voice.

”You know... there are much more interesting parties after this one.”

”I’ve heard.”

”You should come.”

”I probably shouldn’t.”

”Oh, come on.”

She bumped his shoulder. ”We’d corrupt you.”

Marvin chuckled. ”I think I’d survive.”

”You really aren’t curious?”

”About people?”

”A little.”

”About alcohol?”

He shook his head. ”Not even slightly.”

Casey stared at him for a long second before throwing herself dramatically back onto the sofa.

”Oh, this is unbelievable.”

Nicole burst out laughing. ”You got rejected again.”

”I know!” Casey pointed accusingly at Marvin.

”He’s ruining my confidence.”

Marvin smiled. ”I think it’ll recover.”

She sighed dramatically. ”I swear, tomorrow the tabloids are gonna say, ’Heiress Dies of Romantic Humiliation.’”

”That sounds expensive.”

”It’ll be front-page news.”

Marvin laughed.. ”I think you’ll make it.”

She folded her arms with exaggerated annoyance. ”Hmph.”

He nodded toward the untouched champagne still in her hand. ”And tomorrow you’ll remember every embarrassing thing you said tonight.”

Casey looked at the glass.

Then back at him. ”...Okay.”

A reluctant smile spread across her face.

”I hate that that’s actually a pretty good point.”

The table erupted into another round of laughter. Even Bijou, who’d spent most of the evening acting unimpressed, let a small smirk escape before hiding it behind her cigarette.

Kim Kardashian watched the entire exchange without saying much. She simply observed.

Her arms stayed folded as her gaze moved from Casey to Marvin and back again.

She’d spent enough time around wealthy businessmen, athletes, producers, and ambitious young men to recognize the usual patterns. Most either tried too hard to impress women or became dismissive the moment they weren’t interested.

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