Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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”That was the brief.”

”From who?”

”Me.”

Marvin kept his eyes on the monitor.

”The song already does the work. The video just gives people something to look at while they’re listening. Give them the boys, make them look good, don’t get in the way.”

Max glanced at him. ”You’ve thought about this.”

”I’ve thought about everything.”

He said it so plainly that Max couldn’t tell if it was a joke.

On the floor, Cassidy finished talking and stepped back toward the monitors.

”Places!”

The crew moved.

The five boys took their positions almost without looking at one another. Years of rehearsals had taken the awkwardness out of it. They knew where to stand. They knew when to move. They knew where the camera was.

The stage fell quiet.

Then the opening notes of ”*Larger Than Life*” came through the speakers.

Max watched the monitor.

The camera began its move.

AJ delivered the first line.

Neither man said a word until the take was over.

....

...

..

.

When Cassidy called cut, the stage came alive again.

Crew members moved in around the cameras. Someone checked the playback. Another assistant carried a stand across the floor while Cassidy spoke with the lighting crew about the next setup.

Max and Marvin stepped away from the monitors, leaving them room to work.

”Amy,” Max said.

Marvin looked over.

”Winehouse. I wanted to tell you myself rather than over the phone.”

There was a short pause.

”We signed her last month. Maratone.”

”How’d it go?”

Max gave a quiet laugh. ”The family meeting?”

”Yeah.”

”Better than I expected.” He shook his head. ”Her father had questions. A lot of them. Sat across from me for two hours and went through everything—development, recording, money, who she’d be working with, all of it.”

”And?”

”He shook my hand at the end and told me to take care of her.”

Marvin smiled faintly. ”Reasonable request.”

”I thought so.”

Max glanced back toward the set before continuing. ”She’s sixteen. She’s also...” He searched for the word. ”Difficult.”

Marvin raised an eyebrow.

”Not in a bad way. She just doesn’t do what she’s told because somebody older told her to. If she doesn’t understand why she’s doing something, she’ll question it.”

”That’s usually better than the alternative.”

”Exactly.”

A camera rolled past them.

”She’s spending time with Tom’s team in London,” Max continued. ”Not recording yet. Just learning. Watching sessions, sitting in the room, getting used to the equipment and how everything works. She’s picking it up fast.”

”The songwriting?”

”Still writing all the time.”

”How much?”

”Three songs the first week she was there.”

Marvin looked at him. ”Finished?”

”Not one.” Max smiled. ”But that’s not the point. They’re good. Rough, but good.”

He hesitated. ”There’s one in particular. She played it for Tom on guitar. He called me afterward.”

”And?”

”He’d been thinking about it for three days.”

That got Marvin’s attention. ”Tom said that?”

”Tom said that.”

Max shook his head.

”He’s usually the first person to tell you when something isn’t working.”

”Don’t rush her.”

”I’m not.”

”No deadlines?”

”No release date. No pressure to finish anything because somebody in an office wants a song.”

Max looked back at the stage. ”She knows that. I think that’s why she trusts us.”

”And the family?”

”Her mother stays involved. She talks to the London team regularly. I encouraged it.”

”Good.”

”If the family is comfortable, Amy’s comfortable. If she’s comfortable, she’ll write.”

Marvin nodded.

Across the stage, Cassidy was already preparing the next setup. He was pointing toward one of the cameras while an assistant moved a stand into place.

Max watched him for a few seconds.

Then he looked back at Marvin.

”There’s something else.”

Marvin waited.

”MTV called the office again.”

Marvin looked at him. ”This time it wasn’t the usual request.” Max kept his voice even, but he’d clearly been thinking about the conversation before bringing it up. ”Someone senior in programming called. Very polite. Very careful.”

”What did he want?”

”The VMAs are coming up. They’re already working through the early selections.”

Max paused. ”You’re going to be nominated. I’d be surprised if you weren’t. Probably for more than one.”

Marvin said nothing.

”And that’s where their problem starts.”

”What problem?”

”They don’t know what to do with an artist who doesn’t have anything to show.”

Marvin’s expression didn’t change.

Max continued. ”He never said they wouldn’t invite you. He was too careful for that. But the message was pretty clear. If you’re going to be part of the show, they need something visual. A video. Performance footage. Something they can put on television.”

”And if I don’t have it?”

”Their people have to figure out how to work around it.”

Marvin looked toward the stage.

Max let the silence sit for a moment before continuing. ”That’s MTV. There’s more.”

Marvin looked back at him. ”VH1’s been running that ’Invisible Pop Star’ piece.”

”I’ve seen it.”

”Right. They present it like it’s some great mystery. Who is this singer? Why doesn’t anybody ever see him? It’s entertaining, but they’re getting a lot of mileage out of the fact that you won’t give them anything.”

Marvin nodded once.

”Channel V has been using the name and the songs in their Asian programming. They don’t have a video either, so they’re putting graphics over the music.”

”Charming.”

”It looks like 1983.”

That almost got a smile out of Marvin.

”MuchMusic’s done three specials on *That Girl*.”

”I know.”

”Same problem. Interviews, radio clips, fans talking about the song. Forty minutes of television with no visuals to put on the screen.”

”I’m aware.”

”I know you are.”

Max wasn’t being sarcastic. He simply moved on.

”And then there’s Tommy.”

Marvin’s eyes returned to him.

That name had a different weight.

”How often?”

”Don’s office calls us about twice a week now.”

”About what?”

”Marvin.”

A beat.

”At first it was just checking in. Then it became questions about the album. Recording dates. When you’re planning to start shooting. Now...” Max exhaled quietly. ”Now they’re pressing.”

”How badly?”

”Badly enough that Don’s starting to sound tired.”

Marvin waited.

”It’s been over two years,” Max said. ”You’ve had three singles chart. All went to number one. One of them is probably the biggest song of the year.”

He glanced toward the stage.

”And from Tommy’s side, they’ve got one of the biggest artists on their roster who doesn’t have an album, doesn’t have a video, doesn’t have a recording date and hasn’t told them when any of that is going to change.”

”They’re still getting the numbers.”

”They are.”

”So what’s the complaint?”

”That’s the problem. They don’t have one.”

Max looked at him.

”Everything you’ve released has worked. Better than worked, actually. They can’t point at a single and say you’re hurting the label. But they’re looking at the relationship, and from their side you’re practically invisible.”

Marvin was quiet.

”They don’t know what’s coming next,” Max said. ”And Tommy doesn’t like not knowing.”

On Stage Two, the next take had started.

The opening notes of the song rolled across the stage. Cassidy’s camera began its slow move, and the five members of the Backstreet Boys fell into position as if they’d done it a hundred times.

Marvin watched the monitor.

Max waited beside him.

”The fan letters,” Marvin said.

Max nodded. ”Yeah. Those.”

”How many?”

”Enough that Don brought them up himself.”

Marvin looked at him.

”Columbia’s getting letters every day asking when the next album is coming. Mostly from people who like the music. They’re not angry. They’re just waiting.”

Marvin turned toward the nearest monitor.

The Boys were still shooting. The camera pulled back, catching all five of them in the frame.

”I’m busy,” he said.

”I know.”

Marvin glanced at him.

Max shrugged. ”I’m not telling you to stop being busy. I’m telling you that people are starting to ask how long they’re supposed to wait.”

”The video question.”

”That’s the first one.”

”And the second?”

”The album.”

Marvin said nothing.

”And Columbia,” Max added.

Marvin watched the monitor for another few seconds.

”You’ve got the facility now,” Max said. ”You’ve got the crew. Six months ago, none of this existed. You built it so you wouldn’t have to depend on somebody else’s schedule every time you wanted to shoot something.”

”I’ll do the videos.”

Max looked at him.

”Not yet,” Marvin said. ”Soon.”

He turned away from the monitor.

”And when I do them, we shoot them here. We control the production. We control the creative. Nobody who wasn’t there when the songs were made gets to tell us what the videos should be.”

Max nodded slowly.

”Tell MTV the videos are coming.”

”How soon?”

”Soon enough.”

”And Don?”

”Tell him the same.”

Max gave him a look.

”Tommy won’t be happy.”

”Tommy doesn’t have to be happy.”

”He’s going to keep calling.”

”Then he can keep calling.”

Marvin put his hands into his jacket pockets.

”How much time is left on the Columbia deal?”

Max paused. ”About a few months.”

”That’s it?”

”Give or take. Depends on the clauses.”

”And the album obligation?”

”One album.”

Marvin nodded.

”The next one?”

”Yes.”

”That fulfills the deal?”

”It does.”

Marvin looked back at the stage.

”So when I make it, I’m done.”

Max didn’t answer immediately.

Cassidy had just called cut. The crew immediately moved around the cameras, checking the playback while the five members gathered around the monitor. AJ said something that made Brian laugh. Kevin leaned closer to the screen. Nick was talking with Howie.

After a moment, Max said, ”That’s what you’re thinking.”

Marvin didn’t answer. He only watched him, waiting to see if Max would say it himself.

”Why do you think I’m here?” Marvin said.

Max turned toward him.

”With you,” Marvin added. ”Today. In this building. Why didn’t I just have you come to the office?”

Max studied him for a moment. ”Because this isn’t just about Columbia.”

”No.”

”You’re starting something.”

Marvin gave him a small nod. ”The next album.”

Max waited. ”I want to talk about it before we start making it.”

”You have the songs?”

”I always have songs.”

”Then what are we talking about?”

”What the album is.”

Max frowned slightly.

”Not the music. The place it puts us in.”

Marvin glanced around the stage. ”The next album is the last one I owe Columbia. After that, whatever I do is ours.”

Max nodded slowly. ”That’s why you’re bringing this up nowhere.”

”We’ve got about a month before the European launch. Then *Let the Right One In* gets busy. Once that starts, I won’t have much room for this.”

Max thought about it. ”If this is the album that ends Columbia, it can’t just do well.”

”I know.”

”It has to make leaving them look like the next step.”

”Exactly.”

Max leaned against the edge of the table beside them.

”Then we need to make sure nobody can say Columbia was the reason the last three worked.”

”They won’t be.”

”How?”

Marvin looked at him. ”We make it ourselves.”

Max was quiet. ”Distribution through Patricia?”

”She’s been building it for months.”

”And the label?”

”No label.”

”Marketing?”

”Ours.”

”Promotion?”

”Ours.”

Max gave a short nod. ”And you expect it to perform like Marvin.”

”Better.”

Max smiled faintly. ”That’s ambitious.”

”It’s the point.”

He looked back toward the stage. ”I don’t want to prove we can leave Columbia. I want to prove we never needed them.”

For a moment, Max said nothing.

Behind them, Cassidy called for another setup. The crew moved the cameras. Someone dragged a cable across the floor. The five members of the Backstreet Boys gathered around the monitor, watching the last take.

Max looked around the building.

A month old, and already working.

”All right,” he said.

Marvin looked at him.

”Let’s talk.”

”Let’s talk.”

They moved away from the stage as the crew reset.

They passed the edit rooms upstairs, where four projects were being cut at once. Two editors were arguing over a shot through an open door. Farther down, someone had left a stack of storyboards on the floor beside a wall.

They found an empty room at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t finished yet. There was a table, two chairs and a window overlooking the street.

It would do.

Max sat down and opened his notebook.

”Tell me about the album.”

Marvin pulled out the other chair.

And they talked.

For the next two hours, the rest of VIVO carried on around them. Cameras rolled downstairs. The song started and stopped. Crew came and went through the corridor. Somewhere nearby, a phone rang and kept ringing until somebody finally answered it.

None of it interrupted them.

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