Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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****

Marvin raised an eyebrow. ”Something else?”

Michael laughed softly. ”That’s the best way I can explain it.”

He pointed toward the microphone. ”When you were singing, I forgot how old you are.”

Max glanced at Marvin. ”So did I.”

Marvin shot him a look.

Max shrugged. ”What? It’s true.”

Michael smiled. ”There’s power in your voice. But it’s not just the power.”

He tapped his chest lightly. ”You make people feel the truest of emotions.”

Marvin’s expression became thoughtful.

Michael continued. ”That’s rare.” He paused. ”I know what it feels like when people listen to you because they want something. They want a record. A number. A hit. A piece of your life.”

His smile faded slightly. ”But when someone sings and you can hear that they mean every word...”

He shook his head. ”That’s different.”

Marvin understood more from that than Michael probably realized. ”You don’t have to convince me,” Marvin said.

Michael smiled. ”I’m not trying to.”

”Then what are you trying to do?”

”Invite you.” Michael’s answer came so simply that Marvin almost laughed. ”For Munich.”

”Yes.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Michael seemed to gather himself, then looked up again. He pushed his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

”So, Marvin,” he said, ”after everything I just told you... would you come to Germany?”

Marvin smiled. ”For the children? Of course.”

Michael’s face lit up. ”You would?”

”I’d be honored.”

”That’s wonderful.” Michael gave a small, delighted laugh. ”Thank you. Thank you very much.”

”I’ll clear my schedule.”

Michael nodded, visibly pleased. ”Good. We’ll take care of everything. Your flight, your hotel, rehearsals, the stage... whatever you need.”

”That sounds easy enough.”

”It should be.” Michael glanced around the studio. ”You have a lot going on here.”

Marvin smiled. ”A little.”

Michael laughed. ”A little?” He looked back at the console. ”I know what it takes to make records. This isn’t a little.”

Marvin shrugged. ”I like keeping busy.”

”I can see that.” Michael offered his hand again.

Marvin took it.

Michael held the handshake for a moment before giving his hand a gentle squeeze. ”Thank you for doing this.”

”You don’t have to thank me.”

”I do.” Michael released him and turned toward the others. ”And I’m sorry. I really did interrupt your session.”

Max shook his head. ”Don’t worry about it.”

Michael smiled. ”I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

”You just walked into the room,” Max said. ”I think we’ll survive.”

Michael laughed softly. ”That’s good.” He turned back to Marvin. ”We’ll have my people send everything over.”

”Okay.”

Michael reached the doorway, then stopped. ”Oh—and don’t let them change your songs too much.”

Marvin raised an eyebrow. ”My songs?”

”Yes.” Michael pointed at him with a playful seriousness. ”I’m serious.”

Marvin laughed. ”I wasn’t planning to.”

”Good.” Michael looked genuinely relieved. ”I like them the way they are.”

He hesitated, then turned around again. ”Actually...”

Marvin waited.

Michael walked back toward him. ”Could you do ’*Unstoppable*’?”

Marvin smiled. ”In Munich?”

”Yes.”

”You like that one?”

”I love it.”

Michael’s voice became more animated. ”The chorus. The way you stack the vocals. It just—” He snapped his fingers, searching for the word. ”It lifts. You know?”

”I know what you mean.”

”I hear something different every time.”

That caught Marvin’s attention.

Michael continued, ”And ’*That Girl*.’ I really like that one too. It’s very simple, but it stays with you.”

”Thank you.”

”No, really.” Michael looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. ”Who helped you with those arrangements?”

”I did most of it.”

Michael blinked. ”Most?”

”All of it, really.”

Michael smiled slowly. ”I thought so.”

There was something almost boyish in the way his curiosity returned. ”How did you get that sound on the chorus?”

Marvin glanced toward the console. ”You mean the vocal layers?”

”Yeah.”

”I recorded the main vocal first. Then I built the harmonies around it instead of trying to make the harmonies fit afterward.”

Michael nodded. ”That’s what I thought.”

He stepped closer to the console. ”You used your voice almost like instruments.”

”Pretty much.”

Michael’s eyes moved over the board. ”And the little changes in pitch?”

”On purpose.”

Michael laughed. ”I knew it.”

Marvin grinned. ”You’ve been listening closely.”

”I have.” Michael rested one hand on the back of a chair. ”I listen when I like something.” He paused. ”Sometimes I’ll play a song over and over just to figure out why it makes me feel a certain way.”

Marvin nodded. ”That’s usually the interesting part.”

Michael smiled at that. ”Exactly.”

His gaze drifted toward the speakers. ”And that other song on the EP...”

”The one with the softer synth *I Need Your Happiness* and *Hometown*?”

”Yes.”

”What about them?” Michael took a moment before answering.

”They reminds me of being home.”

Marvin’s expression softened. ”Gary?”

Michael nodded. ”Yeah.”

He looked down briefly. ”Not everything from when I was little was happy. But there are certain moments...” He smiled faintly. ”A house. A room. Music playing somewhere. My brothers making noise. My mother...”

His voice trailed off. ”Sometimes your song can take you right back there.”

Marvin nodded. ”That was the idea.”

Michael looked at him. ”You meant to do that?”

”Yeah.”

”How?”

Marvin considered his answer. ”I wanted the tracks to feel familiar before you understood why. So I kept the arrangement simple and let the texture carry the emotion. The synth isn’t supposed to sound nostalgic by itself. It’s supposed to leave enough space for the listener to fill in the memory.”

Michael stared at him for a second.

Then he smiled. ”That’s beautiful.”

”Thank you.”

”I wish I’d thought of that.”

Marvin laughed. ”You’ve made enough records. You can steal one idea from me.”

Michael laughed with him. ”I might.”

He looked toward the SSL again. ”Do you mind if I ask you something else?”

”Go ahead.”

”How do you get that much control out of your voice?”

Marvin smiled. ”Practice.”

Michael shook his head. ”No. There’s something else.”

Marvin raised an eyebrow. ”You hear things differently.”

Michael tapped one finger lightly against the console. ”Most singers hear their voice. You seem to hear the whole record at once.”

Marvin didn’t answer immediately.

Michael smiled. ”Am I wrong?”

”No.”

”I knew it.” Michael laughed again. ”That’s a gift.”

Marvin gave a small shrug. ”Maybe.”

Michael studied him for another moment. ”Would you show me sometime?”

”Sure.”

”Really?”

”Of course.”

Michael’s smile widened. ”Maybe when we’re in Germany.”

”Deal.”

Michael nodded, satisfied. ”Good.”

Marvin smiled. ”Good?”

For a moment, he seemed content to leave it there, but his curiosity quickly got the better of him. He had always been fascinated by unusual approaches to music, and Marvin’s explanation had clearly caught his attention.

”How did you capture that specific, nostalgic feeling in a digital track?” Michael pointed toward the console. ”I want to hear you explain that again later.”

Marvin laughed. ”You really want to know?”

”I do.”

Michael had already turned his attention back to the equipment.

”What did you call it?”

”Micro-pitching.”

”Right.”

He repeated the word quietly, as if committing it to memory.

”So you’re moving the pitch just enough that the ear doesn’t quite notice it.”

”Exactly.”

”And you’re using your voice to fill the space where an instrument would normally sit.”

”Sometimes.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. ”That is clever.”

”It saves money.”

Michael laughed. ”That too.”

Marvin leaned against the edge of the console. ”The trick is knowing when to stop. If you push it too far, people hear the technique instead of the emotion.”

Michael nodded slowly. ”That’s important.”

He looked at Marvin. ”The emotion has to come first.”

”Always.” Michael smiled. ”I like that.”

”Well, Michael, it’s mostly about utilizing advanced micro-pitching. I use my own layered voice to mimic and convey subtle instrumental frequencies—like cellos and woodwinds—while still expressing raw, human emotion on the top track. It tricks the brain.”

Michael’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He was fascinated by the explanation. ”You mean... like advanced vocal ventriloquism mixed with digital sampling? You’re amazing, Marvin! Could you possibly teach me how to isolate frequencies like that?”

”Sure, I can teach you some of my vocal techniques, it’s like...” Marvin spoke with a charming grin.

The two of them stood in the center of the control room, deep in a rapid-fire conversation about vocal engineering, mixing boards, and acoustic resonance, chatting away like old friends.

Meanwhile, over on the plush leather couches, the initial shock and blinding excitement of the four girls meeting their idol began to slowly fade into mild boredom.

Jessica had been listening for several minutes.

She looked from Marvin to Michael, then at the enormous mixing console. ”I understand maybe three words out of every twenty.”

Lindsay snorted. ”Three? You’re doing better than me.”

Dorothy leaned toward Beyoncé. ”Are musicians always like this?”

Beyoncé smiled. ”I think Marvin found somebody who talks his language.”

Jessica glanced at the clock. ”They’ve been talking about pitch for, like, forever.”

”It’s been ten minutes,” Beyoncé said.

”Exactly.”

Lindsay stretched her legs out in front of her. ”I thought Michael Jackson was coming in here.”

”He did.”

”I know. But he’s supposed to be talking to us.”

Dorothy immediately nodded. ”Thank you.”

Beyoncé gave them both an amused look. ”You two have absolutely no patience.”

”I have patience,” Lindsay said.

Jessica looked at her. ”You complained about waiting five minutes for your soda.”

”That was different.”

”How?”

”It was a soda.”

Jessica laughed. Dorothy covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loudly.

Lindsay pointed at her. ”Don’t start.”

”I didn’t say anything.”

”You were laughing.”

”Because you’re funny.”

”I wasn’t trying to be.”

”That makes it better.”

Beyoncé shook her head, smiling. ”Can we please let them finish?”

Jessica looked back toward Marvin and Michael. ”They’re not going to finish.”

”No,” Lindsay agreed. ”They’re not.”

Michael suddenly laughed from across the room.

The girls looked over.

He had moved closer to the console and was pointing at one of the controls while Marvin explained something.

Jessica lowered her voice. ”Okay. That’s actually kind of cute.”

Lindsay raised an eyebrow. ”What is?”

”The way he’s listening.”

Beyoncé glanced over.

Michael was completely absorbed. Every few seconds he asked another question, and Marvin answered without rushing him.

”Yeah,” Beyoncé said quietly. ”He really wants to understand it.”

Dorothy looked at the table beside the couch.

”I’m hungry.”

Jessica laughed. ”You’re always hungry.”

”I’ve been sitting here forever.”

”It’s been ten minutes.”

”Ten very long minutes.”

Lindsay stood. ”Let’s go downstairs.”

Beyoncé looked at her. ”Where?”

”Anywhere with food.”

Jessica grabbed her purse. ”There’s a little café in the lobby.”

”Dessert?” Dorothy asked.

”Obviously.”

Dorothy immediately stood. ”I’m coming.”

Beyoncé hesitated, then looked toward Marvin. He was still talking to Michael. ”Should we tell him?”

Jessica looked at Marvin. ”He’ll survive.”

Lindsay grinned. ”He’s the one who invited us here.”

Beyoncé laughed. ”Fine. But don’t disappear.”

”We won’t.”

Dorothy was already heading toward the door. ”Come on.”

Jessica followed her. ”Slow down.”

”I am walking slowly.”

”You’re practically running.”

”I’m hungry.” Lindsay laughed and hurried after them just then she slowed down. ”I didn’t bring my wallet,” Lindsay sighed, looking down at her empty hands. ”My mom has my money.”

”No worries, Linds. I just got my syndication check for the new movie. I’ll treat all of you,” Jessica replied with a bright, generous smile.

”Oh, Jess, you’re amazing! I love you so much!” Dorothy exclaimed, jumping up.

Beyoncé was the last to leave.

Before stepping through the door, she glanced back once. Marvin caught her eye. He raised one eyebrow.

She pointed toward the hallway, then mouthed, Food. Marvin gave her a small nod. Beyoncé smiled and left. The door swung shut behind them.

Michael didn’t notice. He was still staring at the console with wide eyes as learning something profound. ”So if you record the harmony slightly sharp...”

Marvin’s eyes flicked toward the closed door for half a second. ”...then bring it back down in the mix.”

Michael nodded. ”Right.”

Marvin smiled. ”Exactly.”

Neither of them mentioned the girls.

There was no need.

Michael’s silent bodyguard, Paul, standing like a gargoyle near the exit, certainly noticed the girls leave. But he remained silent and immobile—it wasn’t his job to interfere with the comings and goings of teenage girls.

Gordon had already seen them leave. He rose from his stool near the hallway and followed a few moments later, keeping enough distance that the girls wouldn’t notice him.

Marvin returned his attention to Michael. ”And that’s where the texture comes from.”

Michael leaned closer. ”Show me.”

Marvin’s concern for Michael was real. It just wasn’t the whole reason he’d been so interested in him.

Michael Jackson owned something Marvin wanted.

Not his records. The songs.

****

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