Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

Chapter 385: CH : 374 It’s... Kind of Scary

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****

As long as Marvin Meyers remained the most talked-about young celebrity on the planet, every camera pointed in his direction would inevitably drift toward the girls standing beside him.

Within seventy-two hours, Marvin’s phone had turned into a switchboard of overlapping voices.

Scarlett was the first to call.

The moment he answered, her familiar raspy voice burst through the speaker. "Marvin!"

She didn’t even bother saying hello. "What did you do?"

Marvin smiled to himself. "Good afternoon to you too, Scarlett."

"I’m serious!"

"I know."

"My agency just dumped this huge box of mail on me." She let out an exaggerated groan. "Half of it’s fan mail asking for my autograph..."

"...and the other half is from girls who apparently want to murder me because they think I’m stealing you."

Marvin laughed quietly.

"One letter had black glitter all over it," Scarlett continued. "Who mails black glitter? It got everywhere. My manager’s still complaining."

"So that’s what this is about."

"What do you mean, that’s what this is about?" she huffed.

"They’re all saying the song’s about them."

She lowered her voice.

"It isn’t."

"It is about me."

Marvin leaned back in his chair.

"I seem to remember making that promise to you."

"You did."

"So why are you worried?"

Scarlett went quiet for a second. "I’m not worried. ...I’m annoyed."

"They keep acting like they know you better than I do." There was a tiny pause before she muttered, "They don’t."

Marvin’s smile deepened. "No. They don’t."

Her irritation softened immediately. "So..."

"...can I tell people?"

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"Not even one person?"

"No." She groaned dramatically. "You’re impossible."

"I’m careful."

"They can keep guessing," Marvin said. "Mystery lasts longer than an answer."

She sighed. "I know. ...I still don’t like sharing."

"I know."

There was another brief silence.

Then his voice softened. "I’ll make it up to you."

That got her attention instantly. "Oh?"

"The next time we go out... ...I’m stealing you for an evening."

Scarlett grinned. "Just me?"

"Just you."

"I’ll reserve the top floor at Le Bernardino. No cameras. No interviews. No studio people. Just dinner."

"And wear that sapphire necklace."

Her breath caught. "You remembered."

"I bought it. Of course I remembered."

She tried to sound composed, but the excitement kept leaking into her voice. "...Fine."

"But I’m ordering the most expensive thing they’ve got."

Marvin laughed. "I expected nothing less."

"And dessert."

"Naturally."

"And if they have caviar—"

"You’ll order that too."

"Damn right I will." She giggled. "You created this monster."

"I certainly helped."

Another comfortable silence settled between them.

Then Scarlett spoke again, much quieter this time. "...You really did think of me when you sang it?"

Marvin didn’t hesitate. "I did."

She smiled so brightly her cheeks began to ache.

"I knew it."

"...I just wanted to hear you say it again."

Their conversation drifted on from there, moving from scripts to school, from wardrobe fittings to the ridiculous rumors spreading across Hollywood, until neither of them remembered who had called whom first.

About an hour later, Miranda called from Sydney.

The moment Marvin answered, he heard her sigh.

"...Marvin?" Her soft Australian accent sounded tired.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"You busy?"

"I’ve got time for you."

She laughed quietly. "I was hoping you’d say that."

There was another sigh. "It’s gone completely bonkers over here."

"What’s happened?"

"They found my hotel."

Marvin frowned. "They’re outside?"

"Mhm."

"They’ve been hanging around the lobby since breakfast."

"I can’t even go downstairs without someone trying to stick a camera in my face."

She let out an embarrassed little laugh.

"And they keep asking the strangest questions."

"What kind of questions?"

Miranda groaned.

"They wanted to know if I was the girl who broke your heart."

Marvin blinked. "...What?"

"I know!"

"They kept asking if That Girl was about me... then one reporter asked if we’d had some secret romance that ended badly."

She covered the phone for a moment, laughing in disbelief. "I don’t even know where they come up with this stuff."

Marvin smiled. "They’re looking for a story."

"I know..."

"But it’s still scary." Her voice became quieter. "I’ve never had people waiting outside for me before."

Marvin’s tone softened immediately. "Miranda."

"Yeah?"

"Look at me." She laughed. "I can’t."

"You know what I mean."

"...I know."

"Take a slow breath." He waited.

She obeyed.

"Good. Now another."

After a few seconds, her breathing steadied.

"Better?"

"...Much."

"They’re only making noise because they noticed you."

"They’ll chase the next headline soon enough."

"You don’t have to prove anything to them."

"I know..." She hesitated. "...I just don’t want to embarrass you."

"You couldn’t."

"Not even if you tried." That earned him the small, shy giggle he had been waiting for. "You always know what to say."

"I’ve had practice."

She smiled to herself. "I miss you."

"I know. I miss you too."

The words came so naturally between them that neither lingered on them.

After a comfortable silence, Marvin spoke again.

"When all this settles down..."

"I’ve got something waiting for you."

Miranda’s curiosity immediately returned.

"A present?"

"Another late birthday present."

"You’ve already spoiled me."

"I haven’t even started."

"Oh dear..." She laughed softly. "Should I be worried?"

"You should be excited."

"Can you give me one hint?"

"No."

"One tiny hint?"

"No."

"Marvin..." She stretched his name into a playful whine. "You’re impossible."

"So I’ve been told."

She giggled again.

"I hate surprises."

"No, you don’t."

"...No."

"I really don’t."

She hugged one of the hotel pillows against her chest, smiling so brightly that the anxiety she’d been carrying all afternoon seemed to disappear.

"I can’t wait to see you."

"It won’t be long."

"I’ll hold you to that."

"You always do."

"I do."

Their conversation wandered on after that—from the modeling jobs she’d picked up in Australia, to the photographers waiting downstairs, to family gossip and the people back in Gunnedah—until neither of them noticed how much time had slipped away.

Beyoncé called next. She didn’t even pretend to ease into the conversation.

"So..." she said, her voice dripping with playful confidence. "When somebody asks you about That Girl... you gonna mention that little R&B flavor in there?"

Marvin smiled. "Should I?"

"You should. It’ll help people figure it out."

"I thought the whole point was that nobody figures it out."

Beyoncé laughed. "Not nobody. Just... everybody except me."

"You are competitive."

"Darn right I am."

A chorus of laughter erupted in the background.

"Girl, stop lying!" Kelly shouted from somewhere across the room.

"He’s talking to all of us!" LeToya called out.

"LaTavia says she’s stealing the song anyway!" another voice teased.

Beyoncé rolled her eyes. "Ignore them. I’m trying to win here."

"I noticed."

"So..."

"...just one little hint?"

"I’ll think about it."

"You always say that."

"And?"

"...It usually means no."

"It usually does."

She laughed.

"I still love you."

"I know."

...

Not long afterward, Lindsay called during a break between takes.

"Marvin, this is your fault."

"My fault?"

"I’ve got people mailing me poems."

She groaned dramatically.

"One girl wrote six pages explaining why she deserves you more than I do."

Marvin laughed.

"Only six?"

"Don’t encourage them!"

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth despite herself.

"...You really know how to make my life interesting."

"I try."

...

Jessica’s call came later that afternoon. She sounded amused more than anything else. "I got another bag of letters today."

"Any marriage proposals?"

"...Three."

"So business as usual."

She laughed. "One girl actually sent me a map explaining how I could ’return Marvin to his rightful owner.’"

"I hope it was a detailed map."

"It was color-coded."

Marvin chuckled. "You attract very dedicated people."

"I think you attract them."

Jessica smiled. "...Just checking."

"Checking what?"

"That you haven’t forgotten me while everybody’s fighting over one song."

"I haven’t."

"I know."

She sounded relieved anyway.

...

Dorothy called...

Unlike the others, she whispered from the privacy of her bedroom. "Marvin..."

"You there?"

"I’m here."

"...I saw a magazine today."

"I know."

"My name wasn’t printed... ...but they described me."

Her voice trembled between excitement and disbelief. "They actually know I exist now."

Marvin could hear her nervous laugh. "It’s... kind of scary."

"Are you alright?"

"I think so."

"...Mostly."

A pause. "...Can I tell you something silly?"

"You can tell me anything." She smiled to herself before speaking. "I kept reading that paragraph over and over."

"I don’t know why."

"It just made me... happy."

Marvin’s voice softened. "Then keep smiling."

"You’ve earned it."

A tiny giggle escaped her. "...You’re going to make me cry again."

"I’d rather make you smile."

"You always do."

Their conversation continued long after that, drifting away from magazines and rumors and back into the familiar rhythm only the two of them shared.

...

Then came the call Marvin had been expecting—the one that didn’t start with a greeting, but with the sharp, rhythmic click of a lighter and a deliberate, sultry exhale.

"Oh my God, Marvin," Paris breathed, her voice that particular register of breathy and nasal that came from growing up with money and never being told to use your inside voice. "​You’re a very bad boy, Marvin,"

Marvin leaned back, already smiling. "That bad?"

"Um, yes?" She dragged the word out, half-giggle, half-exasperation. "I had, like, twelve photographers outside my parents’ house this morning. Twelve. My mom almost died. She literally almost died, Marvin. And they’re all ’Paris, Paris, who’s the mystery man, Paris’—like, shut up already. I had to climb over the gate at the Mercer just to get to brunch without them seeing me."

"Sounds traumatic."

"Whatever, it was actually kind of fun," she admitted, and he could hear the smile in her voice, the way she dropped the indignation for something more genuine. "But Nicky won’t stop teasing me. She keeps doing this voice like, ’Ooh, Paris and her spiritual awakening.’ I want to kill her."

Marvin’s eyes darkened with that playful, predatory glint. "You could’ve shut it down. Called your publicist. Had them print a denial. You let the photographers get that perfect profile shot of you ’looking pensive’ in the backseat of your Range Rover. You’re enjoying the fire, Paris."

There was a pause, the soft rustle of what sounded like her shifting on silk sheets. "And miss being on Page Six three days in a row? Please. I’m not stupid."

"No," Marvin murmured, his voice dropping to that velvet rasp. "You’re not."

"A girl needs a little mystery to stay relevant, darling. But being linked to a ’prodigy’... it’s a heavy crown to wear. People are saying I’m corrupting the youth of America. I mean, grandfather is *pissed*," she continued, the words tumbling out faster now, all pretense of the cool socialite slipping. "He keeps making these phone calls about ’the Hilton name’ and ’dignity’ and I’m like, whatever, it’s not like I’m doing anything worse than he did in the seventies. But he’s all red in the face. It’s actually kind of scary."

"Barron Hilton’s scary?"

"When he does that vein thing? Totally." She giggled, then caught herself, lowering her voice to something more deliberate. "But, like... I don’t know. Everyone’s talking about me now. Not just ’the Hilton’ or ’Hilton Family.’ Me. It’s kind of..."

"Addictive?"

Another exhale, slower this time. "Maybe."

"You played the media perfectly, Paris. You used my name to turn yourself into the most talked-about woman in the zip code. That kind of ambition deserves a reward."

​Paris paused, her practiced "dumb blonde" persona slipping for a fraction of a second, replaced by a genuine, visceral heat. "And what kind of reward does a bad boy give a girl who’s making all the wrong headlines?"

​"The kind you can’t buy at a boutique," Marvin murmured. Marvin let the silence stretch, let her feel the weight of it. "I’m free next weekend. No cameras. No plus-ones. Just the circle, out at the house."

"The house?" Her voice jumped, that breathy register breaking. "Like, your house?"

"If you can lose your tail. Think you can manage that?"

"I’ll manage," she said, and the mask was gone completely now, just an eighteen-year-old girl trying to sound older than she was, trying to sound like she belonged in rooms she was still learning how to navigate. "Should I wear something... I don’t know. Less obvious?"

"Wear whatever makes you feel dangerous."

"Then I’ll wear the black dress," she whispered. "The one I wore to the premiere that got me on that worst-dressed list. The one my mom hid from me."

"Good girl."

"Don’t call me that." But she was laughing, soft and young and hungry. "So, like... what do I need to bring? Or is this one of those ’just bring yourself’ things? Because I can do that. I’m very good at showing up places. It’s basically my job."

****

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