Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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It could finance movies, hire crews and develop projects, but it didn’t possess decades of relationships with theater chains, exhibitors, television networks, advertisers, foreign distributors and the enormous machinery required to move a picture through Hollywood and into every major market.

Disney did. Warner Bros. did too.

That infrastructure was worth more to Marvin than five additional percentage points.

He could spend years trying to reproduce it, or he could use it while buying his own.

He chose the latter. The political value was even greater.

Warner Bros. was already dealing with Marvin. Now Disney was publicly committing itself to him as well.

That changed how the rest of Hollywood looked at Meyers Pictures.

Paramount would notice. Sony would notice. Universal would notice.

Agents would notice. Financiers would notice even faster. A young independent studio could be ignored.

A young independent studio with Warner Bros. and Disney both competing for relationships with it was much harder to ignore.

Marvin understood that.

The majors didn’t have to like each other. They only had to dislike the idea of somebody else getting exclusive access to Marvin.

That was leverage. And Marvin already knew how to use it.

It was the compromise Marvin was willing to make.

The partnership would give Disney a meaningful economic interest in the picture while leaving Meyers Pictures as the majority partner. Disney would bring its distribution machinery, marketing reach and studio infrastructure to the project, while Marvin retained the larger share and substantial creative authority.

Only after they had reached that understanding did Disney ask the obvious question.

What movie?

Marvin had been thinking about it. For several minutes, he said nothing. Then he began describing something that had recently appeared in his head.

He didn’t give them a title. He didn’t have a finished screenplay. He simply laid out the premise.

A teenage girl living an ordinary, somewhat awkward life discovers that the father she barely knew had been connected to a European royal family. Suddenly she is being told that she is part of that world herself. There would be etiquette lessons, clothes she wasn’t comfortable wearing, adults trying to teach her how to behave, unwanted attention and the uncomfortable comedy of someone who still felt like an ordinary teenager being forced into a life where everyone expected her to behave like royalty.

Marvin emphasized that he didn’t want the story to become some grand royal drama. The comedy would come from the girl herself—someone completely unprepared for the rules, expectations and ridiculous situations surrounding her new position.

It would be lighter than most of his other material. A coming-of-age comedy wrapped around a wish-fulfillment fantasy.

Disney understood the appeal almost immediately.

They liked the image of it, the simplicity of the premise and the fact that it could be made on a considerably smaller scale than Marvin’s more ambitious projects. A teenage girl suddenly discovering that she belonged to a European royal family was the sort of fantasy that could appeal to teenagers and families without requiring a massive production budget.

But Michael Eisner wasn’t approving a movie from a few paragraphs spoken across a table.

He had been around Hollywood long enough to know the difference between a good premise and a good screenplay.

Marvin had already proven that he could write. That wasn’t really in question anymore. The problem was that Disney had no intention of committing millions of dollars to a picture simply because Marvin could describe an interesting idea over dinner.

Eisner wanted the script.

So did everyone else who would eventually have to put their name behind the production.

Marvin understood that.

He promised to deliver the completed screenplay by early 2000. Disney would read it, the development executives would evaluate it, and only after the script had passed through that process would the picture receive its formal approval and move toward production.

The target was late 2000 for principal photography, assuming the screenplay arrived on schedule and Disney was satisfied with what it saw.

The title still wasn’t spoken.

It didn’t need to be.

For the moment, it was simply the second picture they had agreed to discuss under the new relationship.

The paperwork was slightly more complicated.

The contract being prepared around *Legally Blonde* was still fundamentally a one-picture agreement. It covered Disney’s distribution of *Legally Blonde* and the specific financial and creative terms attached to that film.

The 55/45 partnership for the proposed second picture was not sitting inside that contract as though Disney had already legally committed itself to an unnamed movie.

Instead, the agreement guaranteed Disney the opportunity to participate in one additional Meyers Pictures production during the following two years. The provision was tied to the specific project Marvin submitted for Disney’s consideration: if Disney approved that screenplay, the picture would proceed under the agreed partnership terms; if Disney rejected it, Marvin could take that particular project elsewhere, while the commitment would remain available for one other screenplay he submitted within the two-year period..

The understanding was clear: if Marvin delivered the screenplay they had just discussed and Disney approved it, the next picture would be structured as the agreed 55 percent Meyers Pictures / 45 percent Disney partnership.

But until the script existed and Disney approved it, neither side was pretending the second movie was already greenlit.

That distinction mattered.

Hollywood had a habit of treating conversations as deals the moment enough important people heard them, but lawyers couldn’t finance a movie with a handshake.

There would eventually be another set of documents.

A full picture agreement.

There would eventually be pages covering ownership, financing, distribution, approvals, accounting, territories, marketing commitments and every other detail that Hollywood lawyers considered necessary before anyone was allowed to call something a completed deal.

For now, however, the most important thing had already happened.

Marvin had agreed to give Disney the opportunity they wanted and even agreed to write the screenplay.

And everyone in the room understood what would happen next.

He would go away, turn the idea into an actual script, bring it back to Disney and let them decide whether the movie was good enough to make.

There was no guarantee that a few pages of dialogue and a clever premise would survive the process.

Marvin had to prove it. And he intended to.

The lawyers would come later.

Marvin wanted Disney and WB badly enough to accept the compromise.

Not because he needed them to save him. Because he understood something more important.

He didn’t need to own every piece of every deal.

He needed to make sure that every deal increased the power of Meyers Pictures.

*Legally Blonde* gave him Disney’s distribution machinery without surrendering ownership.

The next picture gave Disney a 45-percent economic stake while leaving Meyers Pictures as the larger partner.

Warner Bros. had already signed multiple contracts with Meyers Studios and was building a relationship that went well beyond a single picture.

For a studio barely months into existence, that was an extraordinary position.

Marvin wasn’t standing outside Hollywood’s walls anymore, asking to be let in.

He was beginning to make the people inside those walls compete over who got to stand beside him.

And that was the part Marvin found more interesting than any of the attention itself. He didn’t need every studio to stand in front of him. He only needed enough of them to know that the others were willing to deal.

Meanwhile, Paramount was making plenty of noise.

Marvin took another sip of his drink and watched the room.

Noise was easy. A good deal was harder.

Sherry Lansing had yet to sit down with him herself. Paramount’s interest had mostly come through executives and intermediaries, all of them eager to make it clear that the studio wanted him. But there had been no personal meeting, no serious conversation about what Marvin actually wanted.

That told him enough.

Tom Cruise had probably said something.

Not enough to stop Paramount from circling, but enough to make Lansing cautious about bringing the two men into the same room before she knew exactly where the balance of power would fall.

Marvin wasn’t offended. If anything, he found it amusing.

He turned back toward Tom.

”Anyway, Tommy, let me know when you’ve got the premiere date locked down. I’ll definitely come if I can.”

Tom’s smile returned. ”I’d like that.”

”Of course. It’s not every day you get to see Mission: Impossible 2.”

Tom gave a short laugh. ”Still got a while to go.”

”Then you’ve got time.”

Marvin’s attention stayed on him for another moment before he turned back toward Nicole. ”And how are you?”

The question was simple. His tone wasn’t.

”I’m very well.” She smiled. ”Better than well, actually.”

”I can tell.”

Her cheeks warmed. Tom noticed that, too.

He looked between them for half a second, then gave Nicole a knowing little glance before turning away.

”Excuse me.” He walked off toward the bar, apparently in search of another drink.

Nicole watched him go. She waited until he was far enough away, then leaned slightly closer to Marvin. ”You knew.”

Marvin glanced at her. ”Knew what?”

”That he was uncomfortable.”

”I noticed.”

She gave him a look. ”That’s all?”

”What else am I supposed to say?”

Nicole suppressed a laugh. ”I honestly don’t know what to do with you.”

Marvin smiled. ”You seem to be managing.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Before she could answer, another group of executives began moving toward Marvin. Three men were already waiting a few yards away, drinks in hand and smiles carefully arranged.

Nicole followed his gaze. ”Oh, God.”

”What?”

”They really are chasing you.”

Marvin looked at the men approaching. ”That’s Hollywood.”

”I thought you were supposed to be the difficult one.”

”I am.” He lifted his glass. ”They’re just more persistent.”

Nicole laughed softly. ”That’s a terrible thing to admit.”

”It’s an honest one.”

The executives reached them before she could respond.

”Marvin,” one of them said warmly, extending a hand. ”We’ve been trying to catch you all evening.”

”So I’ve noticed.”

The man laughed, unsure whether Marvin was joking.

Nicole stepped back to give them room, watching the exchange with quiet amusement. Marvin handled each question without ever appearing rushed. He listened, gave short answers, asked one or two questions of his own, and never once sounded impressed simply because someone represented a major studio.

That, more than anything, fascinated her.

He wasn’t desperate for Hollywood.

Hollywood was desperate for him.

Tom returned a few minutes later, wearing the same easy smile he’d carried all evening, only now there was a softer looseness to him, as though whatever had been bothering him had finally slipped away.

”Sorry about that,” he said. ”Got pulled into another conversation.”

”No problem.” Tom glanced toward the executives around Marvin. ”Looks like you’ve got plenty keeping you busy.”

”They’re making sure I don’t get bored.”

Tom laughed. ”That’s one way of putting it.”

The exchange remained pleasant enough, but Nicole could feel the tension underneath it.

Tom placed a hand against the small of her back. ”We should go say hello to Harvey.”

Nicole nodded. ”All right.”

They started to move.

After a few steps, she looked back.

Marvin was already watching her.

She gave him a small smile—nothing that could be called improper from across a crowded room, but intimate enough that he understood exactly what she meant.

”Take care, darling,” she murmured, too softly for Tom to hear. ”I’ll see you soon,” she said.

”Oh, I will, Nicole.” Her smile lingered. Then Tom guided her farther into the crowd.

Tom Cruise didn’t seem to care, or perhaps his ego wouldn’t allow him to process it. Maybe Marvin’s age made the whole thing seem harmless to him. Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to see what was happening between his wife and another man right in front of him. His wife was openly flirting with another man right in front of him.

’Poor, blind Tom...’ Marvin thought.

Marvin’s eyes stayed fixed on Nicole as she walked away on Tom’s arm. He tracked every deliberate sway of her hips, the way her ass rolled and flexed beneath the elegant fabric of her dress—movements she was putting on just for him. He could still feel the phantom give of that soft flesh under his hand from the stolen squeeze moments earlier, still remember how wet and open she’d been for him that night. She knew exactly what she was doing, putting on that little show while her husband guided her through the crowd.

Only when the pair disappeared between the glittering guests did Marvin finally turn back to the waiting executives.

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