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Following that, he had been forced to attend a chaotic, hormone-fueled outing at the Westfield Century City multiplex with Mark, John, Lindsay, Dorothy, and Jessica—an excursion requiring a small army of bodyguards to keep the screaming fans at bay.
And then... then came the true torture. He had been dragged to the local luxury cinema five more times by his dear, fiercely obsessed parents.
The Incubus possessed a photographic memory and a calculating intellect. He knew every single frame, every micro-expression, every minor audio cue of the two-hour film. Yet, his human parents seemed entirely immune to fatigue.
Every single time the credits rolled, Grant and Linda looked at the screen with a profound, teary-eyed sense of novelty and excitement. They would inevitably discover some "new" microscopic highlight of his performance, analyzing his line delivery with breathless enthusiasm from the limousine ride home all the way until they went to sleep.
Marvin had initially tried to participate in the joyous debriefings, absorbing their parental pride as a delicious source of emotional mana.
But by the fifth viewing, he couldn't do it anymore, replaced entirely by exhaustion.
'Humans are so staggeringly, infuriatingly complicated,' Marvin thought to himself, setting his water glass down with a soft clink. Even an immortal Incubus forged in the fires of the abyss cannot withstand the sheer, repetitive stubbornness of suburban parents!
"You're really not going to humor us?" Grant placed a hand over his heart, his face collapsing into an exaggerated, theatrical pout. "Oh, Marvin. I am so incredibly sad. I am wounded. My own son, denying me the simple joy of family cinema."
Marvin didn't even blink. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, crossing his arms, his ocean-blue eyes glinting with dark amusement.
"You should at least try to act convincingly, Dad," Marvin muttered smoothly, his charm practically vibrating off his skin. "That was entirely insincere. If you attempted to perform that level of tragedy on one of my sets, Aunt Nancy would have you escorted off the lot by security."
"Alright, alright, stop teasing the boy, Grant," Linda intervened, walking into the dining room with a fresh pot of coffee. She looked effortlessly elegant in a flowing silk morning robe, shooting her billionaire husband a sharp, reprimanding glare. "We have tortured him enough with the theaters this week. Besides, we aren't going anywhere tonight because your Uncle Frank is flying in from Chicago, and he's coming over for dinner."
"Okay, okay, I yield. I was just kidding," Grant chuckled, raising his hands in surrender as Linda poured him a fresh cup. "Don't be angry, either of you. But since we aren't going to the theater, let's at least hear what the rest of the world is saying about our resident superstar this morning."
Grant abandoned the financial papers entirely and reached for the thick stack of entertainment and cultural sections piled at the center of the table.
"Let's see here," Grant hummed, flipping open a broadsheet. "Ah. Here is the weekend culture review from The Washington Post."
Grant cleared his throat and began to read aloud, his voice dropping into a professional, broadcaster cadence.
"Disney's latest offering is a highly romantic, lighthearted, and relentlessly sunny summer comedy. The core theme of the film remains deeply familiar—children becoming the unlikely protagonists in a desperate bid to save their parents' fractured marriage. The filming and editing techniques deployed by Nancy Meyers are undeniably skillful and polished. Although the underlying plot seems structurally simple and the theme leans toward the old-fashioned, the film is entirely elevated by its cast. The two adorable, devastatingly handsome twin protagonists, played brilliantly by newcomer Marvin Meyers, add massive, undeniable highlights to the film and generate constant, rolling laughs..."
Grant skimmed down a few paragraphs, nodding in agreement.
"...Clearly, Nancy Meyers wanted to give the children's summer box office a perfect, bow-tied ending, and clearly, she succeeded. Although the narrative is rather thin in places, Marvin Meyers' lively, shockingly mature performance entirely makes up for it. It is a movie you can watch with a genuine smile from the opening credits all the way to the end."
"Not bad," Grant summarized, folding the paper and tossing it aside. "They called the plot thin, but they absolutely loved you. Hmm, but this is just The Washington Post. They can be a bit stuffy. Let's take a look at the reviews from our own backyard."
As he spoke, he eagerly snatched another thick newspaper from the table, aggressively flipping past the local news to the Arts & Entertainment section. He found the bold, sprawling film review and his eyes immediately lit up.
"Oh, now this is what I'm talking about," Grant grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. "This is the Sunday review from the Los Angeles Times. Wow. This film critic, Kevin Thomas, has a really, really high opinion of you, Marvin. The man clearly possesses impeccable taste."
Marvin took another slow, elegant bite of his breakfast, projecting an aura of complete, untouchable calm, though he was deeply amused by his father's fanboy antics. "Read it, Dad. Let us hear Mr. Thomas's impeccable taste."
"Listen to this," Grant commanded, leaning forward over his coffee, reading with fierce, booming pride.
"It is a rare and terrifying thing to witness the exact moment a superstar is born. As a newcomer, Mr. Marvin Meyers had an insurmountable mountain to climb. Although it was his very first time appearing on the silver screen, and despite the fact that he is merely eleven years old, he delivered an absolute, Oscar-worthy debut."
Linda gasped softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oscar-worthy?"
"It gets better," Grant insisted, his eyes racing across the column. "As a glossy, family-friendly film, 'The Parent Trap' is hard to praise for its gritty, cinematic depth. But Marvin's acting really, truly amazed me. He portrayed the two characters so vividly, with such terrifying psychological precision, that you genuinely forget you are watching a camera trick. It feels as if these two distinct boys must actually exist somewhere in the world.
"Mike's reckless impulsiveness, his sharp humor, and his rugged mischief are balanced flawlessly against Baker's rigid gentlemanly demeanor, his icy composure, and his aristocratic intelligence. Marvin's performance perfectly, surgically captured the completely different yet genetically similar aspects of these twins..."
Grant paused, looking up from the paper, his face flushed with pure victory. He looked at his son, locking eyes with the impossibly handsome, serene boy sitting at the head of the table.
"And here is the kicker, Marvin," Grant read the final line, his voice thick with emotion. "If I were an active judge on the Academy voting board, I would not hesitate for a single second. I would definitely hand him a Best Actor award, or at the very least, an unprecedented nomination!"
Silence fell over the dining room.
Marvin remained perfectly still. The ancient demon inside him processed the glowing, historic accolades with the cold, calculating satisfaction of a general reviewing a conquered map. He was perfectly fine with these accolades; they were the necessary stepping stones for the global empire he was building.
But looking across the table, Marvin saw that Grant's grin had widened so drastically it looked like it might actually split his face in half.
The billionaire venture capitalist looked like he had just personally won the lottery.
Marvin offered a slow, impossibly charming smirk, his Incubus aura washing over the room in a wave of warm, teasing affection.
"Dad," Marvin purred, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Careful. Your jaw is about to drop all the way to the marble floor."
"Haha!" Grant barked a loud, joyous laugh, completely unbothered by the teasing. He leaned back in his chair, throwing his arms wide. "Let it drop a little longer then, son! Your old man is happy. Let me be happy!"
As he spoke, Grant enthusiastically slammed the Los Angeles Times down on the table and immediately reached for the Chicago Tribune, hungry for more.
Marvin simply shook his head, a beautiful, devastating smile playing on his lips, entirely content to sit back and watch the human world continue to eagerly lay its crowns at his feet.
"Alright, this is the big one," Grant announced, his tone shifting from triumphant glee to a slightly more serious, reverent register. "This time it's the Chicago Sun-Times. Let's see exactly what Roger Ebert has to say."
Even Marvin paused his breakfast. In the landscape of 1997 cinema, Roger Ebert was not just a film critic; he was an institution. The Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist held an untouchable, king-making position in the global film industry. A positive review from Ebert could save a dying film, and his iconic "thumbs up" was a coveted, career-defining award that veteran A-list actors spent their entire lives dreaming of receiving.
Grant cleared his throat, adjusting his reading glasses, and began to read the gospel of Ebert.
"Director Nancy Meyers' cinematic personality—as reflected in the idyllic, sun-drenched landscapes she meticulously creates and in the sprawling family dynamics she directs—is as gentle, sharp, and delicate as she is in person. Her latest romantic and heartwarming family comedy, 'The Parent Trap,' proves unequivocally that she is a true Hollywood romantic, capable of spinning pure joy out of celluloid…
"But the true anchor of this film, the gravitational center that elevates it from a charming summer distraction into a definitive cinematic triumph, is our young leading man. Marvin Meyers has delivered an absolute, unadulterated genius performance.
"His portrayal of the separated twins, Mike and Baker, showcased a staggering, deeply sophisticated talent for acting. He seemed completely, flawlessly immersed in the dual characters he created on screen, with absolutely not a single, visible trace of 'acting' to be found. He does not rely on the cloying mannerisms that plague so many child stars.
He simply exists as these two distinct boys. This is, without question, the best, most complex performance I have ever seen from a child star his age. He carries the emotional weight of a seasoned titan, and he deserves an enthusiastic, definitive thumbs up."
Grant slowly lowered the newspaper, letting the profound weight of Ebert's words settle over the breakfast table.
"A definitive thumbs up," Linda whispered, her hands clasped together over her heart. She had been listening quietly the whole time, maintaining her elegant, high-society composure, but Roger Ebert's absolute validation shattered her restraint. She could no longer contain her overwhelming, maternal joy.
She leaned over the table, threw her arms around Marvin's shoulders in a fierce hug, and pressed a loud, affectionate kiss to the side of his head. "Our Marvin is absolutely amazing!"
Marvin, who had been in the middle of cutting a perfectly roasted piece of ham, waved his silver fork helplessly in the air.
"Mom," Marvin murmured, his velvety, resonant voice laced with a charming, theatrical long-suffering tone. "I am still actively eating. And a gentleman requires full mobility of his arms to properly wield a knife."
"Oh, it's perfectly fine, sweetheart. It's the weekend! You can eat as slowly as you want," Linda laughed, entirely unbothered by his aristocratic protests. She affectionately rubbed Marvin's flawless cheek, looking at his impossibly deep blue eyes.
She couldn't help but exhale a breath of pure awe. "My God, my son is just so incredibly handsome."
"Hey!" Grant barked playfully from behind the Sun-Times, quickly asserting his genetic contribution. "He is our son, Linda! I will have you know that jawline comes directly from the Meyers side of the family!"
Marvin offered a slow, devastating smirk, picking up his milk glass. He allowed their adoration to wash over him, quietly absorbing the rich, intoxicating emotional mana that their pride generated. It was going to be a very, very long day of celebration.
---
By early evening, the quiet, triumphant atmosphere of the Meyers estate was violently shattered by the arrival of a hurricane in a tailored suit.
"Hello, Hollywood!"
The front doors of the San Marino estate swung open, and a young man strode into the marble foyer carrying a vintage leather duffel bag and exuding the reckless, untouchable energy of old money.
"Hello, Uncle Frank," Marvin greeted smoothly, stepping out of the home office with his hands casually slipped into the pockets of his dark trousers.
Frank Heath was twenty-seven years old, sporting messy, sun-bleached blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and a designer linen suit that looked effortlessly wrinkled. He was Linda's younger brother, and Marvin's maternal uncle.
The Heath family were not Hollywood newly-rich; they were established, generational titans of the American West. They owned sprawling cattle ranches in Montana, prime commercial real estate in Seattle, and massive, lucrative tracts of undeveloped land across Australia. They were undeniably, obscenely wealthy.
As the youngest, incredibly handsome heir to the Heath fortune, Frank had recognized early on that he didn't actually need to do anything with his life. So, he didn't. He lived a life of absolute leisure. His full-time occupation consisted of racing vintage sports cars, attending high-society parties, and utilizing his massive trust fund to relentlessly charm the world's most beautiful women.
*****
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