Join my Patreon
GodofPleasure
(dot)com/GodofPleasure
*****
Grant shrugged, his expression softening into something genuinely paternal. "Which is exactly why I refuse to be a rigid, harsh father. I won't repeat his mistakes. And frankly, even Dad agreed to this venture. Did you know little Marvin actually called him? He spent an hour on the phone discussing the tax benefits of intellectual property depreciation. And something else. He buttered the old man up so thoroughly that Dad practically demanded we sign the Disney deal."
Grant chuckled, shaking his head at the memory of his son's sheer manipulative brilliance. "Since little Marvin likes the spotlight, let him have it. Let him try it. Besides, he's a boy. In that industry, he's safer than a girl would be."
Nancy's smile faded. She set her glass down, her eyes turning dead serious. "Grant, don't be naive. Hollywood isn't Wall Street. The predators in my circle don't discriminate by gender. There are plenty of power players, casting directors, and executives who swing both ways. It is a town built on leverage and compromised morals."
Grant's demeanor shifted instantly. The warm, reminiscing brother vanished, replaced entirely by the Head of Investment Banking at J.P. Morgan Chase. His eyes went flat and cold—the eyes of a man who could ruin a corporation with a single phone call.
"Hmph," Grant sneered, the sound devoid of humor. "Let them try. With the Meyers name backing him, I don't believe a single scoundrel in that town will dare to even look at him the wrong way."
He walked back to his desk, placing his hands flat on the polished wood. "I control the debt restructuring for three of the major studios, Nancy. I manage the private wealth portfolios of half the board members at Disney. If anyone so much as breathes incorrectly in my son's direction, I won't just ruin their career. I will liquidate their entire existence."
Nancy felt a shiver of pure intimidation, quickly followed by immense relief. This was the exact reason they had structured the deal this way.
"Alright, alright," she said softly. "You don't need to go full Godfather on me, Grant. Marvin is not only your son; he's my favorite nephew and my lead actor. I am the producer on this set. I will keep a hawk's eye on him. Nobody gets near his trailer without bleeding through my security first."
"Very good," Grant nodded, the storm passing as quickly as it had arrived. He sat down in his leather chair, pulling a sleek, leather-bound checkbook from his top drawer. "Marvin is in your hands now. Let's finalize the capital injection. What's the exact liquidity requirement to hit the 50% equity mark?"
"The final budget estimate for The Parent Trap came in at fifteen million," Nancy said, slipping back into her producer persona. "It's tight, but with Marvin's storyboards saving us weeks of prep, we can hit it. Disney is covering their half, but they insisted that the film's global distribution must be handled exclusively by Buena Vista."
"Those greedy hyenas," Grant muttered, uncapping his Montblanc pen. "They take zero risk on our half of the equity, but they still want to monopolize the distribution fees. Classic Eisner."
"Hey, Grant," Nancy raised an eyebrow, adopting a teasing, defensive stance. "You promised. You aren't going to go back on your word and stall the funding, are you?"
"Of course not," Grant scoffed. "How can I walk back on a contract that ironclad? For my dear sister, and for my son's dreams, seven and a half million is pocket change. I don't even need to route this through the firm's equity wing. I can cover the 'nut' myself."
With a few sharp, fluid strokes, Grant filled out the personal check. $7,500,000.00. He tore it from the ledger and slid it across the mahogany desk.
"But understand this, Nancy," Grant said, tapping the paper. "Keep a brutal eye on this money for me. It's not about the amount; it's about the principle. I despise being ripped off. I will not tolerate inflated line items, phantom catering budgets, or 'Hollywood accounting' tricks. I don't want to become a laughingstock among those Wall Street fools who throw money at vanity projects and get taken to the cleaners."
Nancy took the check, folding it neatly into her designer blazer. "Don't worry, big brother. I'm the producer, and I'm a Meyers. I'll squeeze a dollar out of a dime on this set."
"Good," Grant said, leaning back and lacing his fingers together. "By the way, Random House called me this morning. They are holding firm. We only have eight months before the synergized marketing campaign begins. That means the film must be in the can, edited, and ready for release by next July. If we miss the window, they will take matters into their own hands and launch the promotion without the movie tie-in. Time is extremely tight."
"We are on schedule," Nancy assured him, standing up. "All the preliminary prep—the location scouting in London and Napa, the casting for the parents—is locked. The sets are built. We are ready for our star."
"When can Marvin join the crew?"
"Tomorrow," Nancy smiled. "He went to San Marino this morning to officially request his leave of absence and say goodbye to his friends. Tomorrow, he steps onto the lot."
Grant looked out the window again, imagining his ten-year-old son walking onto a Disney soundstage, preparing to bend the world to his will. "Great. Tomorrow, then. Let's see what the boy can do."
---
The crisp December air carried the scent of eucalyptus and ocean salt as Marvin stood on the sweeping driveway of 222 Tremblin Drive. His bags were already loaded into the trunk of Nancy's silver Mercedes-Benz.
"Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, Mom, Goodbye, Mrs. Aranda." Marvin said, turning to give them each a measured, affectionate hug. Linda held on a second longer than necessary, her eyes misty, while Grant clapped him on the shoulder with the firm pride of a CEO sending his top executive out into the field.
Marvin slid into the passenger seat of the Mercedes, the heavy door shutting out the quiet sanctuary of San Marino. As Nancy merged onto the 110 Freeway, heading toward the beating, chaotic heart of Los Angeles, she glanced sideways at her nephew.
"Aren't you excited?" Nancy asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It must feel like you've finally broken free from the constraints of the nest. No more early bedtimes. No more Mrs. Gable's seventh-grade math."
"A little bit," Marvin admitted, adjusting his seatbelt. "But I'm also a bit sad."
Nancy softened, her maternal instincts kicking in. "It's okay, Marvin. It's completely natural. It's your first time really being away from home working on a project like this. You'll get used to it soon."
"No, Aunt Nancy, you've misunderstood entirely," Marvin deadpanned, looking out the window at the passing palm trees. "I'm just sad that I won't be able to eat Mrs. Aranda's perfectly seared beef for a while. Set catering is notoriously inconsistent."
Nancy blinked, then let out a sharp, genuine laugh. "Hehehe... well, you little shark, I underestimated your priorities. Here I thought you were having a touching moment of homesickness."
As the laughter faded, the skyline of Hollywood loomed into view through the smog—a glittering mirage of billboards, studio lots, and desperate ambitions. Nancy's tone suddenly shifted, shedding the 'fun aunt' persona to reveal the hardened industry veteran.
"Marvin, look out there," she said, her voice serious and low. "I have to warn you beforehand. Hollywood isn't as glamorous as it looks on the surface. In fact, the brighter the marquee, the darker the shadow it casts."
She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. "This industry is a meat grinder, especially for young people. It is full of drugs, alcoholism, and a kind of transactional promiscuity that will make your stomach turn. There is coercion, bribery, and people who will smile in your face while trying to bleed your you dry. They see a child star and they don't see a kid; they see a lottery ticket. They will offer you everything you've ever wanted, and all it costs is your soul."
Marvin listened attentively, his ocean-blue eyes reflecting the passing city. To Nancy, he looked like a grave, mature boy taking in a harsh reality.
But beneath the surface, his Incubus self gave a sudden, greedy thrum.
'Filth, sin, and desires intertwined,' Marvin thought, an invisible, predatory smile curling around his soul. 'A city powered by the desperation to be seen and the hunger for excess. They call it a meat grinder. I call it an all-you-can-eat buffet.'
Outwardly, Marvin turned to his aunt, his expression composed and serene. "Aunt Nancy, I understand. As I wrote for Master Oogway in Kung Fu Panda: 'One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.' These people run to Hollywood to avoid their own emptiness, only to find it waiting for them on the casting red couch."
He leaned back, his voice taking on a slightly darker, more philosophical cadence—echoing the Death Note drafts locked in his bedroom. "There are always sharp thorns hidden beneath the rose bushes. As Ryuk says, 'Humans are so fascinating precisely because they are so desperately flawed.' The brightest places have the darkest corners. I know the glamour is just a mask for the sin."
Nancy was taken aback. She nearly missed her exit, staring at the eleven-year-old beside her. She had expected him to be scared, or at least naive. Instead, he sounded like an ancient philosopher diagnosing a terminal illness.
"Ah, yes," Nancy exhaled, shaking her head in a mix of awe and amusement. "How could I forget? My little shark knows more philosophy than most men in this town, thanks to all those deep writings stacked in your room."
She tapped his forehead lightly, her gaze sharpening.
"But Marvin, knowing and experiencing are two very different things. As someone once said… people can talk about ideals all they want, but when reality hits, that's when their true nature shows."
Her voice softened, but her grip tightened just a little.
"You think because you understand the world, you can control it? No. Understanding isn't power… not until you act on it. And when you act, there are consequences. Always."
Nancy leaned closer, her tone turning almost teasing, yet edged with warning.
"And don't get too comfortable thinking you've figured everything out. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery… but today?" She flicked his chest. "Today is the only thing you can actually mess up."
She paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"This world doesn't reward the smartest. It rewards the ones who endure… the ones who keep moving even when they're scared, even when they're wrong."
Then she sighed, ruffling his hair.
"So since you understand the stakes, don't blame your Aunt Nancy for keeping an eagle eye on you. I won't let this town swallow you."
A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Because once the world gets its teeth into you… it doesn't let go."
"Auntie, you're quoting my own characters back to me now," Marvin chuckled, the tension breaking. "But seriously, no. I know you all mean well. I appreciate the guardrails."
Nancy nodded, a cheeky grin returning to her face. Marvin was indeed much more sensible than her own two daughters. 'Grant was truly a lucky guy,' she thought, merging onto Sunset Boulevard.
Instead of heading straight to the chaotic Disney lot, Nancy pulled into the secure parking garage of her own boutique production studio in West Hollywood. It was a sleek, modern space, smelling of fresh coffee and expensive paper.
She led him into her corner office. "Sit down, take a load off. Would you like something to drink?"
Marvin dropped onto the plush leather sofa, crossing one leg over the other. "Do you have any of that 1982 Bordeaux Dad likes? I'd like to try a glass to celebrate."
Nancy stopped dead, her hand on the refrigerator door. "Dream on, kid. There's milk, orange juice, and a Diet Coke. Pick your poison."
*****
Join my Patreon
GodofPleasure
(dot)com/GodofPleasure