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****
"His face..."
"I thought he was gonna do something."
For a second, the entire crew stood in silence.
Then relief swept across the room almost all at once. A few people even laughed under their breath.
Marvin exhaled. "So that's all."
He smiled reassuringly at Elizabeth.
"Liz." She looked up.
"What you saw wasn't Bob."
"It wasn't?"
He shook his head. "No."
"That was a character."
"The real Bob..." Marvin glanced toward De Niro before smiling again, "...is mostly just a grumpy guy who drinks too much coffee and sneaks outside to smoke whenever John isn't looking."
Several grips burst out laughing. De Niro pointed his cigarette at Marvin. "Watch it."
Marvin grinned. "I'm helping."
Elizabeth cautiously peeked around Marvin.
Robert awkwardly offered her a tiny wave.
"See?"
Marvin said. "No axe. No monsters. Just Bob."
Elizabeth let out one last sniffle before giving a sheepish smile. "...Sorry, Mr. De Niro."
Robert waved it off immediately. "Hey."
He shrugged. "If anything..."
"...that's a pretty nice compliment." He cracked the faintest smile. "Means I did my job."
Marvin stood, brushing the dust from his jeans.
"Exactly."
He nodded toward Robert. "See, Liz? Uncle Bob's only guilty of being a little too convincing. He plays a psycho a little too well!"
Robert looked at him sideways. "Uncle Bob?"
Marvin smiled innocently. "It suits you."
De Niro stared at him for a beat before shaking his head with a reluctant laugh. "Kid..."
"I oughta charge you for that."
Still chuckling, he lit his cigarette and headed outside, muttering to himself.
"First time in my career I scared a kid just by sayin' hello."
Robert De Niro couldn't decide whether to laugh or curse at the teenager. 'Was Marvin insulting him, or was he praising his craft?' De Niro shook his head.
---
The woodland night shoot finally came to an end. Filming in upstate New York had been demanding, with long days and an unforgiving schedule, but the crew kept things moving without wearing themselves into the ground.
Aside from a blown fuse the previous night that briefly brought production to a halt, everything had gone surprisingly smoothly, and the atmosphere on set remained upbeat.
….
…
..
.
The night swallowed the last of the day's heat by the time the director called cut. Past twelve-thirty, the swollen moon hung over the encampment of trailers, its silver light doing little to penetrate the electric buzz of the new set. Unlike the grim isolation of the previous location, this soundstage complex—nestled in the rolling hills of a converted vineyard—throbbed with nocturnal energy.
Crew members who had slept through the day moved with caffeinated purpose, unloading equipment, resetting lights, and laughing too loudly at unfunny jokes, their circadian rhythms rebuilt around the demands of night shooting.
Marvin's trailer stood apart from the chaos, a sleek Airstream gutted and rebuilt in Santa Fe. From the outside, it appeared modest—shiny aluminum reflecting the work lights—but inside, it was a sanctuary of dark wood, brushed steel, and recessed lighting mimicking candlelight. A compact kitchenette occupied the galley, stocked with organic teas and imported chocolate. A tiny shower stall stood adjacent to a sleeping berth piled with Turkish cotton blankets. The heart of the space was the study nook: a fold-down desk where Marvin sat, hunched over bound paper and loose storyboards.
His hand moved at a speed that blurred the air. To an observer, the pen appeared to vibrate.
The reality was more uncanny—his hand traced precise loops and lines, filling pages with tight, elegant script while his other hand simultaneously sketched in the margins.
Storyboards bloomed beneath his touch: a woman in pink striding across a Harvard quad; a vampire child in a snow-covered playground; digital green code cascading down a cityscape.
Blink, and you missed a paragraph. Blink twice, and you missed a scene. The only sound was the rhythmic scratch of pen on paper.
He was cocooned in silence when the knock came—three soft, deliberate raps.
Marvin never looked up. His fountain pen continued gliding across the page in smooth, practiced strokes. "Come in," he called, already recognizing the visitors as by now it was a daily occurrence. "It's open."
The trailer door swung inward with a soft hiss.
Two pairs of footsteps entered.
One was careful for about three seconds before giving up entirely.
The other belonged to an adult trying to keep pace.
Marvin smiled to himself. "So..." he said, still writing. "What brings little Lizzie to my humble office this late at night?"
"Hey!" The protest came instantly. "Don't call me little Lizzie!"
Marvin finally capped his pen and turned his chair around. "There you are."
Elizabeth Olsen stood in the narrow corridor, her arms crossed over her chest in a posture that tried for defiant but landed near exhausted. At ten years old, she was all elbows and knees, wearing flannel pajamas patterned with stars and moons—ready for bed but too stubborn to go. Her auburn hair was braided into two loose plaits that were already coming undone. Tucked awkwardly behind her back was a stuffed Po panda she clearly hoped nobody would notice.
She noticed Marvin looking. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Mmm."
"I wasn't."
His smile widened. "Of course not."
Behind her stood Maya, her nanny—a woman in her early thirties with kind eyes and the alert posture of someone who had spent a decade chasing Olsen children. Maya carried a thermos and a worried expression, her gaze flicking between Elizabeth and Marvin.
"I'm sorry, Marvin," Maya said with an embarrassed smile. "I really did try."
Elizabeth immediately interrupted. "She did."
Maya blinked.
"...Thank you?"
"But I still won." Elizabeth looked very pleased with herself. "I wasn't going to bed until I came here."
Maya sighed. "She negotiated for almost twenty minutes."
"I made a persuasive argument," Elizabeth corrected.
Marvin rested his chin on his hand. "I'm almost afraid to ask. What was this persuasive argument?"
Elizabeth straightened proudly. "I told Maya that checking on my friends is more important than sleeping."
Maya pinched the bridge of her nose. "She also informed me that this was, quote..." She glanced at Elizabeth. "...a matter of principle."
"It is."
Elizabeth nodded with complete seriousness. "Persistence is when you're chasing something."
She pointed to herself. "Stubborn is when you refuse to give up."
Then she pointed at Marvin.
"This is different."
"You're my friend."
"So I had to make sure you weren't still sitting here working."
She glanced at the mountain of papers covering his desk. "...Which you obviously are."
Marvin laughed quietly. "And how did you decide that required a personal inspection?"
Elizabeth looked at him as though the answer were completely obvious. "Mary-Kate and Ashley say Hollywood works people until they forget to eat and sleep."
She frowned. "They've seen it happen. So..."
She shrugged.
"I figured somebody should check on you."
A smile tugged at Marvin's lips. "And that somebody was you?"
"Well..." Elizabeth puffed out her cheeks. "...I couldn't exactly send the panda."
Marvin gestured toward the curved bench built into the side of the trailer. "Alright," he said. "Come sit down. But only for a few minutes."
He glanced at the clock. "You've got school tomorrow."
"On-set school," Elizabeth corrected as she climbed onto the bench, her legs swinging freely several inches above the floor. "And I already finished everything."
"Oh?"
She nodded proudly. "My fractions took, like... twenty minutes."
She made a face. "It was kind of embarrassing."
Marvin raised an eyebrow. "For you or the fractions?"
"The fractions." She answered without hesitation. "I'm reading The Once and Future King."
She folded her arms with exaggerated dignity. "Fractions are beneath me."
Marvin laughed. "I'll be sure to apologize to mathematics."
From the kitchenette, Maya let out a tired sigh as she leaned against the counter. Settling onto the edge of the kitchenette counter, close enough to intervene but far enough to give the illusion of privacy. "She's been talking about you all day."
Elizabeth's head whipped around. "I have not."
"You have."
"I barely mentioned him."
Maya smiled knowingly. "You asked me six different times if Marvin was still filming."
Elizabeth's cheeks immediately turned pink.
"...Maybe."
"And every time someone walked past our trailer..." Maya continued. "...you asked if they'd seen Marvin."
Elizabeth groaned dramatically and buried her face in the stuffed panda she'd finally stopped pretending she wasn't carrying.
"Maya..."
"You're making me sound weird."
Marvin smiled to himself. "I think 'concerned' sounds better."
Elizabeth peeked over the panda's head. "...Yeah."
She smiled sheepishly. "Concerned sounds way better."
Marvin turned back to his desk, where four bound scripts lay in careful stacks. To the casual eye, they were indistinguishable—white paper, brass brads, Courier font. But to Marvin, they represented different worlds. One bore the weight of winter and ancient hunger, dense with snow and blood. Another crackled with electricity and cyberpunk visions of a fractured reality. A third sparked with animated storyboards of princesses and poisoned apples. And the fourth—occupying his left hand—smelled faintly of vanilla and ambition, margins crowded with sketches of blonde women and legal pads.
Four neatly bound scripts rested in separate stacks, each marked with colored tabs and handwritten notes.
Elizabeth noticed them immediately. Her eyes grew wide.
"Ooo..." She leaned forward as far as she could without falling off the bench. "What are those?"
Marvin glanced over his shoulder. "Work."
She rolled her eyes. "I know that."
She pointed at the stack closest to him. "Are they new movies?"
"Some of them."
"Can I read them?" Her words came out in one breath. "Please?"
"I read scripts all the time." She sat up a little straighter. "I even help Mary-Kate and Ashley practice their lines."
Her expression turned proudly self-satisfied. "And I found a plot hole in Passport to Paris."
Marvin looked amused. "You did?"
Elizabeth nodded vigorously. "Nobody else noticed it."
She folded her arms. "It was honestly kind of embarrassing for the writers."
Marvin chuckled before looking toward Maya.
Then back at Elizabeth. "I was actually planning on spending tonight alone."
He gestured toward the pages covering his desk. "Just me and these."
Elizabeth immediately pointed toward Maya. "See? I told her I'd not be bothering you."
Maya smiled. "That's... not exactly how you phrased it."
Elizabeth ignored her. "But she came anyway."
"Obviously," she grumbled.
"She thinks I need supervision."
She hugged her panda dramatically. "I'm ten. Not two. I know how to behave. As if I'm going to wander into the woods and get eaten by a bear." Then she added proudly, "Dad even gave me pepper spray. I know how to use it."
Marvin's smile faded into something gentler. "I don't doubt that."
His voice became calm and serious enough that Elizabeth instinctively stopped fidgeting. "But Maya still made the right decision."
Elizabeth frowned. "Why?"
"Because you're still a kid."
She opened her mouth to object. "So are you."
"I am." Marvin nodded.
"But there's still a difference." He leaned back in his chair.
"No matter how much you trust someone… or how nice they seem… it's not a good idea for a young girl to visit a boy's room alone late at night—especially not at night, especially not in their private spaces. Not until you're at least sixteen. Maybe older."
Elizabeth quietly listened. "Even if you've known him for years?"
"Even then." Marvin smiled reassuringly. "That's why adults like Maya are there."
"Not because they don't trust you. They're there because it's their job to protect you."
Elizabeth looked down at her stuffed panda, thinking it over. "...So Maya wins?"
Maya couldn't help smiling. "For tonight."
Elizabeth looked ready to argue, but Marvin gently raised a hand before she could begin.
"Listen first."
She closed her mouth with a tiny sigh.
"It's not because I think you're careless," Marvin said. "Or because I think you can't make good decisions."
Elizabeth listened quietly.
"It's because the world is full of people who don't." He spoke gently, without trying to frighten her. "And the smartest thing you can do isn't assuming you'll always spot them. It's making sure you're never put in that position to begin with."
He gave her a small smile. "So yes… I'd want you to have someone with you. Even if you were coming to see me."
Elizabeth blinked. "...Really?"
"Really."
Maya had been about to step in herself. Instead, she stayed silent. She found herself nodding.
It was exactly the sort of advice she'd been trying to teach Elizabeth for months, yet somehow it carried more weight coming from someone the girl admired so much.
A quiet feeling of relief settled over her.
The next time Elizabeth complained about having a chaperone, Maya knew exactly what she'd say. She made a mental note, grateful and relieved. This intense boy, who carried himself like a man three times his age, was making her job easier. If Elizabeth complained to her parents about being chaperoned, Maya could now say: Even Marvin agreed you shouldn't be alone with boys at night.
****
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