The Sins of the Seven 01 Lust: Marion & Richard

Take a peek behind the scenes of the hit 90s TV series that never was.

Enjoy the first chapter of Rhodes Ave. Press’ novel, The Sins of the Seven.

Preface

The following story is a work of fiction that unfolds in a familiar world of pop culture—a world of yesterday, as I remember it: the vibrant, rebellious 90s—setting the stage for a narrative that flips reality on its head.

Ever wondered what really happened behind the cameras of your favorite hit TV show that never existed? This isn’t just a reimagining—it’s a confession, a revelation, a secret diary of a phenomenon that could have been.

Prologue

It’s often said that friendships come and go throughout life. And, often in this endless transit of friendships, there are those that bisect our paths if only for a moment while others may divert our paths entirely and it’s often in these most transformational of friendships that we can find the course of our lives altered dramatically.

That was certainly the case with my group of friends. The one major difference with The Seven as opposed to the other friendships I had in my life thus far in that we were all brought together by chance as opposed to choice. Our destinies were all rapidly brought together like multiple lanes of traffic all\ merging together on a busy highway at rush hour, our courses in life suddenly colliding together.

Our paths were also different in that we formed our friendship under the searing spotlights of fame where friendship has the hardest time fully blooming. But in spite of it all, we forged our bonds and pushed ahead as best we could.

The Seven was the result of a time in our lives that could never have been planned and could probably never happen again. It really was lightning in a bottle when each of The Seven needed it the most.

As time has passed, we’ve each drifted in and out of each others lives, the results of changing priorities and waxing and waning loyalties and grudges. But while some things changed, one thing never seemed to change: we were the closest of friends in the best of times bound together by our loyalties and in the worst of times we found ourselves ultimately bitterly divided by our differences.

To say we have a complicated history would be putting it mildly. So, as we approach the 30th anniversary of the show that made us famous and brought us into each other’s lives, I’m attempting to document the history of our friendship.

As with anything purely based on memory there is always room for interpretation, hyperbole and creative storytelling but I’m attempting to do my best to present an honest and unbiased accounting of our shared history beginning with the moment that started it all, Breakers Beach, the show that skyrocketed us from obscurity to stardom.

The following is the story of a group of friends and those caught in our orbit who became closer than family, we were an extended family who could fight like cats and dogs one minute and make up like best friends the next.

The following is an accounting of their good sides, their bad sides, their pretty sides, their ugly sides, their sins and their tragedies.

These are the stories of Paige, Marion, Richard, Sierra, Kylie, Brad, and Alex.

These are the sins of The Seven.

Requiem: The Seven

NexTV Studios, Burbank, September 2022

Paige Bauer held her hand up to shield her eyes from the piercing sun. In a twist of Hollywood magic, the sun she was protecting her eyes from was not actually real but rather an enormous stage light brought into the soundstage to simulate the afternoon sun shining off of the ocean into one of the original sets from Breakers Beach - NexTV’s hit primetime series that originally ran from 1992-1999.

Paige held up her hand, not just to block the blinding glare that burned at her cheekbones, but to remind herself that even this sun was nothing more than an illusion—a carefully engineered ray of light, much like the life she led on set here.

In its heyday, Breakers Beach shot its unknown cast to superstardom. Dubbed ‘The Seven’ by gossip mags and tabloids—from North Dakota to New Delhi—this group of seven young, striking actors captured the public’s imagination.

The show’s global hit status is still debated, but many agree it arrived in the early ‘90s at a perfect moment. As America recovered from the Reagan hangover, the Gulf War, and the LA Riots, audiences craved something sudsy, silly, and escapist.

Breakers Beach was born from the same soapy DNA as Knots Landing, Dynasty, and Dallas, yet it broke the mold. Instead of standalone episodes, it wove tangled, long-form narratives about relationships and youthful misadventures—stories that resonated with a modern audience. It wasn’t just a show; it was a cultural wave that left lasting ripples across a generation.

And, as the news cycle of the 90s evolved to resemble more of a sudsy, reality show circus itself, more and more viewers began to seek refuge in the fictional town of Breakers Bay where scandal and secrets became the ultimate currency.

Breakers Beach’s over the top antics and firm grasp on what resonated in the 90s had instant water cooler potential and became to many became a sort of socially acceptable guilty pleasure - after all, in the early 90s no one would spend their evenings eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and then tell their whole office about it the next day. But what happened on Breakers Beach was quickly becoming a figurehead of the burgeoning wave of appointment TV - the happenings of Breakers Bay becoming fodder to be endlessly discussed and dissected by fans and casual viewers alike.

Breakers knew who its audience was and wisely integrated issues and storylines that were of interest to its young, upper-middle class viewers. While the show’s cast was admittedly deficient in diversity by today’s standards, Breakers still broke down barriers and defiantly introduced several firsts for American network TV such as daring to have the first ever Lesbian as show runner of a major primetime TV show and the first-ever HIV-positive character who’s storyline was treated with great reverence and empathy — almost unheard of in the 90s when conservative titans like Jerry Falwell and Rush Limbaugh were hiding around every corner ready to unleash torrents of vitriol upon the denizens of Breakers Bay for their transgressive progressiveness. The very act of the beloved characters of Breakers merely existing was protest and progress in and of itself.

Breakers’ enduring legacy was that it came along while many of its viewers were growing up and also growing into themselves while allowing viewers to see themselves reflected in the world of Breakers Bay - similar to the “Sex and the City” effect seen many years later - the fans of Breakers found common ground over debating which character they aligned their hopes and passions to the most: Nomadic dreamers who desired to belong were able to easily find themselves in Sierra Waggoner’s portrayal as Lori Jacobsen, the new girl in town who suddenly finds herself absorbed into the plots and ploys of Breakers Bay’s residents.

Girls who envisioned being swept off their feet by a dashing Prince Charming could see themselves in Kylie Irving’s delicate and nuanced portrayal of Maxine Hughes, the spoiled rich girl who aspired to something more than a life handed down to her. Not to be outdone by all the girly-girl action, Brad Lowery’s quietly powerful performance as Jo Byers was created with all the tomboys in mind - Jo was the solemn loner who answered to no one and beat to the sound of her own drummer and stridently rejected the feminine norms of the era - you’d never see Jo in shoulder pads and ruffles.

But amongst the stable of powerful female characters and the actresses that breathed life into them, Paige Bauer’s star shone the brightest as Beth Davies who rounded out the cast as the sensitive but troubled artist who seeks to chart her own course and forge her own future.

After Lori, Kylie, Jo and Beth, the most oft-desired character was Marion Grace’s Jamie - the oversexed villain, sure, but the Queen Bee of Breakers nonetheless. Everyone secretly wanted to be “a Jamie.”

Every girl of the time wanted to be a “Lori,” a “Jo,” a “Maxine,” a “Beth” or even a “Jamie,” and wear their allegiance with pride. And it was a quiet sort of power that who a girl aligned herself with became a sort of calling card, it wasn’t just wish fulfillment and aspiration or the mere copying of a star’s style it was like having a cherished friend who existed in the liminal space of Breakers Bay, and tuning in wasn’t to watch the latest misadventures of the cast, for those girls it was spending time with a friend, an ally, a confidant.

Adding to that “must-see” quality was the fact that in an attempt to push boundaries and redefine what a “hit” drama was in the early 90s, producer Howard Kessler and the team at NexTV shrewdly looked to capitalize on the emerging celebrity culture of the early 90s.

Realizing that people wanted to follow the movements and machinations of celebrities, Howard envisioned that his young, hot cast would go beyond simply reeling in viewers to see the outcome of the latest love triangle, he’d leverage the media world to move his cast around like chess pieces who would then extend the fantasy and fiction of Breakers Beach beyond the screen and onto the page of magazines.

Howard’s ploy was truly ahead of its time, in a way, he was helping to shape the blurry world of “reality” TV-meets-scripted programming that would rise to prominence nearly 30 years after the premiere of Breakers Beach.

The most famous example of this stratagem was the union of Richard Warren and cast mate Marion Grace - a tumultuous relationship that threatened to tear The Seven asunder before they even began to fully realize their true potential.

In the years since Breakers went off the air, it has experienced a second life in the form of reruns on Next, NexTV's popular streaming service. The arrival of Breakers on Next has allowed a whole new generation of fans to become friends with Lori, Maxine, Jo, Robert, Beth, Jamie & Sammy. In addition to finding a new audience, the arrival on Next allowed fans who grew up with the Breakers crew the ability to revisit a simpler time before pause buttons, the infiltration of the internet and allowed viewers to see the show which when seen through the hazy afterglow of nostalgia tricks those caught in its wake into remembering the show’s heyday as “the good old days.”

As Paige sat staring into the sunset, she looked around the set which at one time was the interior set for El Farallon, the Breakers Club’s bar and central locale, a sort of hornier beach-side version of Cheers where the characters would meet, mingle and manifest the schemes that drove the show’s central plot.

The set had been rescued from the studio’s prop department and painstakingly recreated for the show’s 30th anniversary reunion special.

Next, realizing how lucky they were to still own the lucrative streaming rights to the show planned to celebrate their prized investment and the 30th anniversary of the show’s premiere with a splashy special that would reunite the remaining members of The Seven for the first time on-screen in over twenty years.

Amongst The Seven themselves, it was a chance to face each other after years of distance, a chance to make amends and to make peace with the past, not to mention the things they had done to each other along the way to where each was now.

In reality, The Seven recently reestablished contact on a long-running group text as well as recently meeting at Paige Bauer’s house in Malibu to take a first stab at settling their resentments with each other, to let off just enough steam so that the reunion didn’t devolve into a bloodbath of epic proportions and even more epic egos.

While it was good for the group to briefly reunite before having to do it in front of the cameras, it was obvious that a lot of the hurt inflicted almost 30 years before still ran in rivers of pain just beneath the surface. The cast thankfully and quickly slid back into old rhythms and were able to mostly pick up where they left off also managing to sidestep any potential landmines which could threaten to derail the whole endeavor altogether. Sierra, Kylie and Brad picked up where they left off, cracking jokes and engaging in the gossipy girl talk they used to love so deeply.

Eventually the subject of Richard came to the fore. In 2022, just as it was in 1992, everyone was left wondering if Richard would show up and if so, what Richard would they be meeting? Would it be the friendly, handsome devil that could charm anyone with his roguish good looks or the dark, brooding, self-destructive asshole who was hell-bent on destroying himself along with everyone in his vicinity?

Not surprising to anyone, Richard never made it to Paige’s house for the reunion pre-game in Malibu. So, as the days to the reunion ticked down, a growing sense of unease was emerging in the group as to if and how Richard would chose to return to the spotlight alongside his former cast mates.

Sierra Waggoner leaned over in her seat towards Paige, “You want to place bets on if Richard shows up?”

Paige laughed saying back to Sierra, “I got $20 on him showing up two hours late.”

“Oooh, good one,” Sierra replied poking her finger in the air, saying, “Two hours seems about normal Richard time.”

Overhearing this conversation, Kylie Irving craned her neck around from her seat towards Sierra and Paige adding, “I got $50 saying he’s fucked up when he gets here.”

Brushing her long, stick-straight brown hair out of her face, Brad Lowery huffed, “If he gets here, that is. Here’s my 20 saying he never makes it,” Brad says as she pulled out a wadded $20 bill from her pants and placed it in Sierra’s hand.

The four women shared a knowing glance before a production assistant approached letting the nearby assistant director know that Richard has just arrived on the lot.

Paige and the girls inhale deeply and hold their breaths as Paige lets out a deep exhale and says to the girls, “Okay, girls, it’s showtime.”

Hollywood, April 1992

Richard Warren woke to the sirens’ wail echoing down Las Palmas Ave. Groggy and disoriented, he sat up just as he saw the transom flicker with a searing orange glow. In that split second, he realized his building was aflame—a brutal reminder of the riots that once tore through Los Angeles. Choking on smoke and adrenaline, he grabbed his bag, his heart pounding like a drumbeat of fate, and sprinted for the stairs

Richard suddenly realized his apartment building was in flames.

Richard, choking through the smoke, grabbed his bag and began balling up clothes, and whatever else he had within reach and stuffing it in. Richard slid on a pair of jeans by the bed, put on a baseball cap and slung the bag over his shoulder and ran towards the door.

His heart slammed in his head as his studio door opened. All he could see was the flicker of the flames engulfing the apartments at the end of the hall. Luckily, Richard was able to quickly get to the stairwell of his building and made his way quickly to the street level.

Pushing through a crush of tenants, neighbors and lookie loos, Richard flung himself onto Las Palmas sucking in breath after breath of fresh air as the early morning scene around him came into focus: A First Responders Nightmare.

Richard’s building had been the site of an intense fire during the riots that had rocked Los Angeles sending plumes of black smoke into the sky, the black of the smoke streaming into the early morning sky, a stark reminder of the incendiary rage and crumbling dreams that scorched the basin of Los Angeles while the eyes of the nation watched.

Richard never really found out what happened to his building but he later heard through the grapevine that it was possibly the result of rioters burning and looting the liquor store in the adjoining building which spread to Richard’s building.

While Richard managed to escape the fire that consumed his building unscathed, Richard would soon find himself shaken…and completely changed by the experience. Luckily, for Richard, his luck was about to change for the better.

As he stood watching the flames consume the building he had once called home, a familiar face emerged from the crowd of fellow tenants watching their lives burn.

“Hey, Richard,” Charmagne said tapping Richard on his shoulder. Charmagne Dennis was a fellow aspiring actress from a small town like Richard. Charmagne had the bad girl looks of Tawny Kitaen with the soft, enduring charm and high wattage smile of Julia Roberts. Charmagne stood in front of Richard with her hip cocked to the side in her high-waisted jeans and white tank top. Richard always marveled at the way her legs seemed to go on for days. To say Richard was attracted to Charmagne would be a serious understatement.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Charmagne asked sweetly. Richard happily agreed and the two walked down towards Hollywood Blvd. to their favorite diner, Nero’s, on the corner which would be opening shortly to sling short stacks and coffee to the riot-weary denizens of Central Hollywood.

Unfortunately, upon reaching the corner of Hollywood Blvd. and Las Palmas, Richard and Charmagne found their beloved Nero’s a hollowed out mess, also the victim of fire, the burned out hulk of the building looked more like a bombed-out corner in Beirut as opposed to a street corner in the tourist mecca of Hollywood.

Instead, Charmagne and Richard hopped into Charmagne’s car up the block and hightailed it towards the lush boulevards and wide medians of Beverly Hills.

Charmagne and Richard sat at the counter of Nate and Al’s in Beverly Hills chasing back the dawn with cup after cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes, Charmagne’s favorite.

“I guess,” Richard stammered, “the silver lining is, I finally found a way to get rid of those damn roaches.” Charmagne laughed softly while twirling her auburn hair with the tips of her fingers.

“You never know,” Charmagne said as she swirled bits of pancakes in an amber pool of syrup on her plate, “Speaking of silver linings, this could be just one of those things that becomes a part of your biography one day when you’re a world famous actor. Just imagine…”

Charmagne held her hands up as if she was seeing the scene on a TV screen, “Richard Warren had a rocky start in Hollywood, his first apartment burned to the ground in the riots but he still went on to become a huge star,” Charmagne said putting extra emphasis on the word “huge.”

Richard chuckled to himself, Charmagne really was helping him take his mind off of the situation at hand.

Following that day, Richard took the one bag of his belongings he was able to save and took turns jumping between the couches of friends hoping to return to normal as quickly as possible.

As soon as the riots faded, the National Guard rolled out and the local shopkeepers finished brushing away the broken glass that covered Hollywood Blvd.

Finally, when Richard needed it most, his career ascended from the rubble of his life. Richard’s agent, Tori Cavanaugh, managed to track him down while Richard stayed with his college friend, Andrew, in Van Nuys. Tori called with news of an audition for a series on NexTV from TV impresario Howard Kessler.

Howard was more than just another TV producer, he was practically a household name outside of Hollywood having been responsible for some of the biggest TV dramas of the late 70s and 80s.

Howard’s style was soapy, sudsy and most importantly, sexy, always willing to push censors and audiences as much as possible in the pursuit of wilder and more over-the-top storylines.

Howard’s series had already made several actors from nobodies into stars so of course Richard leapt at the chance to work with Howard.

NexTV had come of age in the 80s as as potential 5th network to compete with the well-established quartet of NBC, ABC, CBS and FOX.

NexTV had the brash, risk-taking nature of FOX mixed with the youth-skewing, anti-establishment DNA of MTV. Finally, Richard was headed from sleeping on couches to the possibilities of lining the walls of teen girls’ bedrooms. Tori promised that this opportunity would catapult Richard from obscurity to stardom, a dream too tempting to resist.

Wilshire Corridor, November 1992

The marine layer that typically blanketed Los Angeles was starting to roll in, the thick soup of grayness stretching out over what is typically known as the “Westside.”

Richard stood and watched as the encroaching layer flattened itself against the LA basin just as the lights of Wilshire flickered on as little orbs of light barely visible beneath the fog.

Richard, no longer a struggling actor, had recently purchased this palatial penthouse towering over Wilshire with earnings from his starring role on NexTV’s hit series, Breakers Beach. And the timing couldn’t have been better, Richard had long outgrown the couch-hopping and dingy studio apartments he called home for nearly a decade.

Seemingly overnight, Richard went from begging for anyone in Hollywood to notice him to suddenly being noticed by everyone, everywhere. Part of the appeal of this particular penthouse was in that it had a private underground parking garage and entrance that allowed him to come and go from the penthouse fairly undistributed and allowed him to carry on his relationship with his Breakers costar, Marion Grace, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who knew all of The Seven’s cars and their typical routes by heart. The Beverly Hills Hotel, the hottest new club, you name it, they all had the paps on speed-dial waiting to see where The Seven were going at all hours of the day and night.

Richard stood in front of the window dressed in his Burgundy-colored robe, his perfectly coiffed hair swept behind his ears.

Richard’s assistant, Scott Berenger, a plucky young NYU graduate wrapped his knuckles on the doorframe of Richard’s bedroom. “Richard?” Scott asked snapping Richard out of his trance-like stare. Richard looked over his shoulder to see Scott holding a martini in a frosted glass. Richard cocked his head to one side as if giving Scott permission to enter.

Scott approached Richard cradling the martini between his fingers and gently sat it on the console table by the window.

“Thank you, Scott” Richard muttered as he put his hand under the glass, opening the space between his middle and ring finger and gently lifting his hand until the glass was cupped into his palm as if to inspect it closely.

Richard gently swished the glass in his hand marveling at how the little flecks of ice swished about in the glass, like watching shards of glass swimming with a skewered olive.

Gently taking a sip, Richard said to Scott, “Excellent work, Scott.”

“Dinner should be here shortly, just in time for Ms. Grace,” Scott reported.

Richard hoisted his martini in the air towards Scott signaling his approval.

“Scott,” Richard said piercing the air of the room, “Marion isn’t here yet, so why don’t you fix yourself one,” Richard said motioning towards his martini adding, “And join me?” Richard said while motioning towards the extensive deck that wrapped around Richard’s penthouse.

Scott, who had never really had the opportunity to have much one-on-one time with Richard leapt at the opportunity. Scott scurried to the kitchen of Richard’s penthouse and began furiously mixing up another martini for himself. Not wanting to come off as overly-eager or as if he didn’t know his place, Scott also prepared a second martini he poured into a small, delicate carafe for Richard.

Scott skewered a few olives and cocktail onions and dropped them into his glass before he headed out to meet Richard on the terrace.

Scott stepped onto the terrace as Richard extended a hand towards him indicating to come closer, “I brought reinforcements,” Scott said hoisting the sidecar carafe in the air until it caught the waning sunlight.

Scott delicately put the carafe down on a small side table next to Richard and sat in one of the terrace chairs across from Richard.

“Thanks for inviting me to have a drink with you,” Scott said instantly kicking himself inside for coming off too desperate and cloying.

“Not a problem,” Richard said playfully slapping Scott’s knee. “You’re a good kid, and you work hard, I appreciate that, you deserve a moment to blow off some steam, we all do.” Richard said.

Scott beamed receiving what he believed to be the first compliment he had ever received from Richard.

“So, look,” Richard began, “I have something kind of delicate to talk to you about.” A small lump formed in Scott’s throat fearing he had done something wrong.

“And,” Richard continued, “It’s extremely important that this is something we keep between us, I have to know that I can trust you.”

“Of course, Richard,” Scott replied, “You can trust me with anything.”

“So,” Richard continued, “with Marion and I, things are getting pretty serious and you’re going to start seeing a lot more of her soon,” Richard said.

“That’s great, Marion’s a nice girl,” Scott said naively.

“Now, here’s where it gets complicated,” Richard said, “The network thinks it’s best that we now date each other publicly.”

Confused, Scott asked, “I thought you were seeing each other already?”

“Well, yes, you’re right, we have been in a manner of speaking,” Richard replied. “We’ve had a purely physical relationship up until now.”

“But the network wants us to take our relationship public soon.” Richard leaned in and said, ‘The network wants us to be the perfect on-screen couple—a façade to keep the fans hooked. It’s a ruse, but it’s our ticket to staying relevant.” Richard leveled his eyes to Scott.

“The network wants us to appear to be two stars who just started dating each other. They envision us as some sort of TV ‘Golden Couple.’”

“And,” Richard added, “On the show, our characters have that whole ‘Romeo & Juliet’ romance going on so the network thought it would be something to see us pair up off screen, to really keep the mystery going and to blur the lines between fantasy and reality, the press and the fans really eat that shit up, you know?”

Scott considered the fairly theatrical angle in play here and shrugged his shoulders indicating he understood where Richard was going.

“And you see, Scott,” Richard pleaded, “I’m not really a one-woman kind of guy. Marion knows this full and well and she’s not looking to settle down either. So we’re agreeing to this for the good of the show.”

Scott nodded as Richard explained, “So, that being said, it can’t ever be known that we have this little arrangement. I’m free to live however I please as long as we keep up the guise that we are legitimately together. And as part of that, I need you to keep this all on a need-to-know basis. You understand?”

Scott nodded and mimicked turning a lock over his mouth to indicate his silence.

Richard playfully slapped Scott’s thigh saying, “Kid, I know your parents probably put down a pretty penny on that NYU film school education of yours, but this is going to be better for you than any film school you could ever go to, this here,” Richard said pointing at his chest.

“This is the best film school you’re ever going to go to, You’re going to see up close how the real game of Hollywood is played. It’s not about being ‘discovered’ or landing that one magic ‘audition,’ or getting your script to the right person, it’s about playing the game to your advantage at all times. You got me?”

“Hollywood’s not a game of waiting, it’s about taking - if you wait for your shot, someone else will take it from you so take what you want while you can grab it,” Richard said with a depressingly cynical bent in a way that wounded Scott some.

Scott again shrugged his understanding, the whole thing made sense to him but Scott felt conflicted about Richard’s overly dark approach to fame.

Scott, always one to be idealistic and optimistic about the entertainment industry was finding this crushing reality of the business he so cherished and wanted so badly to belong to was becoming a hard pill to swallow.

As Richard and Scott sat on the terrace, a chime sounded within the apartment. Scott darted inside to answer the house phone and returned to the terrace. “Richard,” Scott said, “Dinner is here, I’ll bring it up and get it set up in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Scott,” Richard replied as he swished his martini glass around and poured the sidecar into his glass watching it fill to the brim.

A few minutes later, Scott emerged from the elevator holding two large bags from The Grill on the Alley, Richard’s favorite steakhouse in Beverly Hills. Richard was certainly no chef and hadn’t gotten around to hiring one so he ate most of his meals out at popular restaurants like The Polo Lounge, Mr. Chow, the Blue Lotus, and legendary Hollywood haunt, Chasen’s. It didn’t hurt that the paparazzi followed him on his outings splashing his dinner exploits on the pages of magazines which only continued to ratchet up his fame and inflate his fragile ego.

Scott began unpacking the bags in the kitchen placing two steaks onto plates accompanied by heaping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and sautéed mushrooms.

“Richard,” Scott called out from the kitchen, “I’m putting the plates in the warming drawer,” As Scott put the two plates into the warming drawer beneath Richard’s stove and flicked the warming drawer to ‘on.’

Marion turned onto the Wilshire Corridor from Santa Monica Blvd. as she crossed the border of Beverly Hills as U2’s “Mysterious Ways” blared on her car radio. Marion was driving her red Porsche convertible with her blonde ringlets secured in place by a floral headscarf she had tied around her chin.

As Marion approached Richard’s building, she could already see the photographers camped out in the driveway leading to the parking garage. Marion pushed her thick, dark-rimmed Cartier sunglasses further up on the bridge of her nose and pulled the edges of her headscarf down in an attempt to cover her face.

This sort of thing had become de rigueur since becoming a member of the Seven. Marion had the delicate, almost porcelain-like features of an old Hollywood-era starlet with a head of platinum blonde ringlets to match. Marion’s looks were part of what drew the press to follow her obsessively - she had a stylish charm that made her the perfect “it” girl of the 90s accented with a glam flair of yesteryear. Marion got her beauty and Old Hollywood glamour from her mother, famed actress Vivian Grace, a name which helped her considerably as she sought to launch her acting career.

It also didn’t hurt that Marion looked amazing in almost anything and since Breakers Beach - Marion’s style went from sundresses and oversized pieces to trim, elegant, luxury fashion provided to her by fashion houses eager to see their pieces on the pages of magazines worn by members of “The Seven.”

On Breakers Beach itself, Marion played fan favorite Jamie Preston, one half of a doomed Romeo & Juliet-style relationship with Richard’s character, Robert Davies.

The characters of Jamie and Robert were members of the warring Davies and Preston clans, two families locked in a decades-old feud that served as one of the central nexuses of the show’s plot: the constant turmoil between the families spinning off numerous plots, subplots and shifting loyalties and alliances that would ensnare the characters week after week.

Over the course of the series’ run, viewers would see Jamie and Robert engaged in several multi-season story arcs such as Robert buying The Breakers and converting it into a hotel and Jamie becoming a real estate titan in Breakers Bay in an attempt to create a name for herself — all the while, both Robert and Jamie would find their turbulent relationship engulfed in affairs, backstabbing, blackmail and betrayal befitting of a couple on a primetime soap.

As a result of both characters’ ambitions, the audience would see the other characters aligning themselves with either Jamie or Robert to either support or supplant the plot at hand.

And, in turn, each characters’ choice of aligning with Jamie or Robert would inspire or evoke retaliation, relationships or revenge which would drive much of the show’s most over the top moments and rest assured, there were many: many seasons strained credulity often veering into naked ploys for ratings with outrageous stunts, cameos and catfights designed almost as if to say, We know how to have fun—in a conscious attempt to separate the show from the more serious “adult” fare of the time that bordered on overly sedate tedium.

We know how to have fun might have been Richard and Marion’s motto as well because in all of the time spent working together thus far launching the first season, Marion and Richard found the line between fiction and reality becoming exceedingly blurred. The blurriness began one night while meeting at Richard’s penthouse to run lines.

After several bottles of wine, Marion and Richard ended up spending the night together. It was as if the romance of Jamie and Robert transcended a plot line into becoming a very real narrative thread of the moment.

Marion told herself and Richard to his face that this would be a one time only thing. Marion was adamant that she intended to keep her work and personal life separate and while she begged Richard to accept that fact, she continued to see him despite her convictions and continued to give in to his excessive and relentless flirting around the set.

Marion was finally experiencing the kind of fame she had sought for so long and she did not want to hitch her star to the whims of a man.

Marion successfully entered the garage without arousing the lenses of the photographers. Richard’s building was thankfully home to several other boldfaced names so her arrival went largely unnoticed, a scant trace of the anonymity Marion had shed like a molting skin upon the debut of Breakers Beach.

Once Marion parked in one of the building’s guest spaces, she swung her door open and began strolling to the elevator that would take her to Richard’s penthouse.

Marion had dressed for the evening in a new outfit sent to her by a stylist. The outfit consisted of a high-waisted pair of cream-colored Chanel pants, cream ankle boots, and a crisp white blouse under a vibrant red Todd Oldham blazer.

Marion slung her red Birkin bag into the crook of her elbow and began walking towards the elevator hearing the sound of her car alarm beep behind her as she tossed her keys into her cavernous bag, the keys clinking as they came into contact with the various contents of her bag.

As the elevator ascended to Richard’s penthouse, Marion took several deep sips of air telling herself that tonight she’d lay down the law with Richard - this was a great tryst while it had lasted but it was over. But just as Marion summoned her strength she was pulled backwards in her memory to the scene in Alexa Monroe’s office mere days before.

Pinnacle Talent, Century City, November 1992

Alexa Monroe, known to everyone as Lexi, was Marion’s talent agent at Pinnacle Talent - Lexi had summoned Marion to her office overlooking Century City. Marion initially thought this was just a usual client/agent checkin which was routine especially for a high-profile, young client like Marion.

Agencies like Pinnacle always had a habit of holding their talent close, constantly reassuring the talent that the agents in Pinnacle’s charge were doing anything and everything to keep their clients top of mind. In a town of constantly shifting loyalties and an even more cutthroat landscape of talent constantly shifting agencies, it was paramount to agencies like Pinnacle to showcase that they were the best at what they do constantly reassuring talent that their best interests were at top of mind.

Lexi stared out at the concrete canyons that made up Century City, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips as she broke the news to Marion. “Look, Marion,” Lexi intoned as Marion marveled at how broad her shoulders looked on account of the shoulder pads in Lexi’s gray blazer.

“As far as The Seven goes,” Lexi continued, “You’re clearly the one with the most star potential. You have the qualities to go the distance.”

Marion took this in although she was a bit unsure as to what point Lexi was trying to make.

“And,” Lexi continued, “I’m not just talking about Breakers Beach, I mean you have a bigger and brighter future beyond that show,” Lexi said as Marion smiled.

“I’m talking movies, brand campaigns, you name it. Breakers is just the beginning, and while Breakers has no doubt made you a star, we need to help you move up to the level of a bonafide celebrity if we want to make that future a reality.”

“And how do you propose I go about making that happen?” Marion asked.

“Well,” Lexi said, “I was hoping you’d ask that. For starters, let’s begin with Richard.”

A lump formed in Marion’s throat.

Seeing the concern flash on Marion’s face, Lexi responded tartly, “Don’t act so surprised, Marion, I already know all about that. And it's okay.”

“How do you know about that?” Marion asked.

“I wouldn’t be a good agent if I didn’t have eyes and ears everywhere, Marion,” Lexi responded with an exacting and cold precision.

“He’s not exactly the guy I’d prefer to have you linked to but we’re going to make it work to your advantage nonetheless,” Lexi told Marion icily.

“I’ve already spoken with Richard’s representatives and the publicity team at the show and we’ve all agreed on a strategy,” Lexi said before adding, “So here’s how it’s going to happen.”

The ding of the elevator opening on Richard’s floor snapped Marion out of her memory as Marion stepped into Richard’s penthouse.

Scott appeared and cheerily greeted Marion, “Hi, Ms. Grace,” he said as he reached out to take her blazer and purse. Marion handed her Birkin to Scott as she shimmied her shoulders letting the blazer slide down her arms. Scott appeared behind her to grab the blazer in before it fell to the ground as he hurriedly placed the Birkin and the blazer on the sofa nearby.

“Right this way,” Scott said motioning towards the dining room. “Dinner is ready.”

“The Grill again, I assume?” Marion asked.

“Would Richard ever have it any other way?” Scott jokingly responded. Marion always appreciated Scott’s candid humor especially when it was at Richard’s expense. In Scott Marion had found a seeming ally. Scott seemed just as disillusioned with Richard, and with the whole world of fame they were all being rapidly inducted into.

But beyond his kind words, there was something else about Scott emerging for Marion, more than just his understanding and a kind smile, Scott was becoming a sort of anchor for Marion and whether she would fully admit it or not, Scott was becoming like the glass that covers a fire extinguisher, delicate, useful, affixed in place. Always visible. Easily broken, if needed.

As Marion and Scott approached Richard’s Lalique dining room table, Scott pulled out Marion’s chair and scurried to the kitchen to grab Marion’s plate from the warming drawer.

As Scott placed the plate in front of Marion and served her a glass of Malbec, Marion looked at Scott and patted the table next to her indicating she wanted him to sit next to her.

Scott obeyed. Maybe it was this light, or this night, but he never realized how truly gorgeous she was until now. It filled him like a revelation. That, and the setting sun over the city streaming through the windows cast her in its amber glow making her skin appear truly radiant.

Marion turned towards Scott and asked, “So,” she asked, “I take it he’s told you, no?”

Scott feigned ignorance shaking his head but Marion wasn’t having it. “Scott, you don’t need to be modest, we’re adults here.”

Scott, relenting said, “I, for one, am glad we’re going to see a lot more of you around here.”

Marion responded as she flipped her hair over her shoulder, “You’re such a sweet boy, but, let’s cut the shit, Scott, you know the arrangement. So, I need you to help me keep an eye out. We both know what we’re getting into with each other but as part of that agreement and understanding, I’m going to play my role dutifully but I refuse to be made a fool of in any way. So, if you see some other girl trying to move in on what’s mine, you tell me and I’ll handle her,” Marion said holding a finger up stabbing the air to land her point.

Scott pulled himself away from this conversation and headed towards the warming drawer, opening the drawer, Scott flipped the switch to the off position and slid his fingers under Richard’s plate wrapped his thumb around the edge of the plate to steady it in his hand.

Scott slid the plate out of his hand at the head of the table, Richard’s usual seat. Richard had an uncomfortable habit of sitting at the head of the table while his guests sat at the far end of the table, a juvenile power play maneuver Richard had turned into one of his trademark acts of puffery.

Richard’s memories of barely scraping by weren’t far from his mind and he made up for this by constantly projecting his newfound comfort and security at every opportunity.

In all their time together, Scott, usually a good judge of body language, hadn’t yet concluded if this was due to Richard wanting to project this fact outward to others or if he wanted to prove it to himself, a constant reassurance that he had finally “made” it.

Richard finally emerged from his bedroom. As he walked into the dining room, the plume of expensive cologne practically preceded him. The cologne was another act of Richard’s incessant but growing oeuvre of puffery.

“Marion, darling,” Richard said as he glided over towards Marion laying it on extra thick. Scott noticed Marion recoil slightly at the wafting smell of Richard’s cologne but she turned her cheek up slightly so that Richard could land a kiss on her cheek before moving to his chair.

Marion didn’t mind Richard’s table seating quirks, after all, Marion was gaining her own considerable fame and the opportunity to sit face to face across from Richard gave Marion the opportunity to exert her own power play using her own body language to remind Richard that she was not some withering daisy but rather, a formidable opponent.

The Blue Lotus, Beverly Hills, November 1992

Richard’s town car pulled up to the bustling curb of The Blue Lotus on Camden Dr. in central Beverly Hills. As the car came gliding to a stop, Marion looked out at the bank of photographers jostling to get a shot of the car as soon as the doors flung open.

Now that Richard and Marion were about to go “official” at the urging of the troika of their respective representatives and the show’s publicity team, the next step to their ‘relationship’ was to officially go public. That involved hitting the town at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, The Blue Lotus.

The Blue Lotus was quickly becoming one of the hottest eateries in town with a nearly two-week waitlist for the honor of eating Asian fusion cuisine while dining shoulder to shoulder with boldface celebrity names. The Blue Lotus was also a notorious paparazzi hangout. Lexi and the show’s publicity team knew all it would take was one dinner and one set of photographs to officially launch Richard and Marion into the celebrity couple stratosphere.

To achieve this perfectly-planned maneuver, Lexi and the show’s team tipped off a pair of of trusted photographers to the time and date of Richard and Marion’s date while the show’s publicity team lined up a “friendly” magazine outlet to “break” the story meaning that in exchange for the tip off, the magazine would work with the show’s publicity team to publish only the most relevant facts about Breakers’ new real-life couple while also keeping the focus on the show itself and driving more fans to tune in to see how Jamie and Robert’s fictional relationship would play out now that it had already led to a seemingly real-life courtship.

Such an approach would also open the door to other potential “romances” amongst the Seven. Once NexTV set Richard and Marion to sail in seeming romantic bliss, there were still 5 more young, sexy, cast mates in The Seven with near endless potential to be paired off amongst each other.

Richard and Marion were to be the launchpad for many a tabloid romance to come.

As the car door flung open, Marion held her breath, readying herself to face the coming onslaught of flashes. As Marion emerged, the initial pop of flashes startled her, but Richard appeared behind her, his hand on the small of her back providing some emotional and psychical support while also hamming it up for the cameras. Marion looked ravishing in her black Chanel minidress topped off with a colorful Anna Sui jacket with vibrant hues of pink, orange and yellow.

They were a force entering The Blue Lotus. The sounds of cameras clicked behind them as they walked like loud mechanical cicadas trilling in the air on a summer’s eve.

Entering the main dining room heads swiveled noticing Marion and Richard entering the dining room as Marion marveled at the reflecting pool that bisected the middle of the dining room floor in which small blue stained glass lotus flowers floated with twinkling candles.

Richard slid out Marion’s char as she draped her jacket over the chair’s high back.

As Marion sat, she picked up a matchbook from the table and produced a long cigarette from her clutch. As soon as the cigarette was lit, an attentive staff member had already appeared to deposit an ashtray on the table.

Marion tapped her cigarette into the ashtray as she looked at Richard over the brim of the menu. Richard extended his hand and placed his palm atop Marion’s hand on the table.

“Shall I order for us, darling?” Richard asked as if he were rehearsing a scene.

Marion rebuffed his touch adding, “There aren’t any cameras here, Richard.” Richard pulled back his hand as Marion’s attention was suddenly drawn to the corner of the dining room. Richard craned his neck to see what Marion was looking at as Marion exasperatedly asked, “What is she doing here?”

In the corner of the room Paige Bauer came into focus. She was on the arm of a man neither Richard or Marion recognized.

Paige was the de-facto leader of The Seven. Paige had been first cast on Breakers Beach and the show revolved around her character, Beth, a wide-eyed outsider in the coastal town of Breakers Bay suddenly thrust into a maelstrom of wealth, backstabbing and constantly shifting alliances involving the characters in her orbit.

Paige also was the first of The Seven to gain mainstream fame. When she was initially cast, Paige had a wavy mane of fiery red hair which the network opted to cut into a short, blunt cut reminiscent of Molly Ringwald in the 80s. As soon as "Breakers Beach" made its debut, it was clear early on the show was a hit in that it inspired the girls of the nation to chop their hair off in a hairstyle that was quickly being known in salons nationwide as “the Paige.” Part of the popularity of “the Paige” was that it was a fairly simple, low maintenance cut that could be cut in any salon from Beverly Hills to Boise and looked good on almost any head size or shape.

Suddenly, magazines everywhere took notice of Paige and her signature hairstyle and within weeks, photographers were camped out in front of Paige’s house, cameras peering through her bushes. For better or worse, Paige had gone from a simple girl from Central Illinois to a bonafide Hollywood star, sex symbol, and style icon.

“What’s so special about her, anyways?” Marion sneered to Richard. “Just that dumb haircut?” Marion added brimming with vitriol.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Richard asked playfully. Softening a bit, Richard added, “Why would the gorgeous Marion Grace possibly be jealous of Paige Bauer?”

“Paige has that sexy girl next door thing going on, but that fades,” Richard said, “Marion, my dear, you have that ravishing bombshell look that has real staying power, trust me.”

Marion relaxed some just as a martini appeared on the table in front of her which she raised to her lips and sipped slowly.

As Richard and Marion made their way out of The Blue Lotus, they stopped by Paige’s table to exchange pleasantries and air kisses.

“Ooh, Marion,” Paige cooed running her hands over Marion’s coat, “Anna Sui?”

Marion nodded as Paige added, “So chic on you.” Looking at Paige’s flowery dress, Marion returned in kind, “Todd Oldham?”

“Why yes, I always knew you had quite the eye for style,” Paige responded even though Marion begrudgingly swallowed the compliment like choking on a razor.

As Richard and Marion stepped onto the curb in front of The Blue Lotus waiting for the town car, the photographer brigade assembled again.

Grabbing Marion’s hand, Richard turned towards Marion and said, “Let’s tell them the good news, darling.”

Marion nodded as Richard pulled her close to his body pressing his lips to hers as his hand wrapped around Marion’s lower back as she wrapped her hand around the back of Richard’s neck. Marion would have been lost in the kiss if it weren’t for the trilling of the camera shutters and the pops of light that made her feel frozen in time as she melted further into Richard’s embrace. Instead of feeling woozy with love, Marion felt the crushing weight of fame pressing down on her which felt like being knocked over by a wave in the ocean.

As the town car arrived, Richard and Marion came down to earth briefly enough to climb into the backseat. Richard reached over to hold Marion’s hand telling her, “You did great tonight, babe.”

“Driver,” Richard said, “Please take us to Axis.”

Axis, Hollywood, November 1992

Richard and Marion bypassed the line of eager patrons at Club Axis as Richard high-fived the bouncer who pulled back the velvet rope granting them access inside.

As Richard and Marion stepped into the narrow long hallway leading to the club’s main floor, the club’s sound system thudded in their chest.

As soon as they stepped onto the main floor, Marion took a moment to take in the sight as the bassy thumps of Inner City’s Big Fun filled the cavernous space - the space was draped in large white swaths of fabric that hung from the ceiling onto which various colors were projected making the club look like some sort of throbbing Technicolor womb while the floor was encircled by banquettes of white leather, with platforms between the banquettes where scantily clad dancers gyrated in elaborate costumes.

Richard led Marion to a banquette as a waiter came over to attend to the two. “Bottle of your best champagne, please” Richard ordered.

An icy bucket of champagne landed on the small table as chunks of ice from the condensation loosened and slid down the bucket. The waiter opened the bottle with a loud pop and proceeded to pour the champagne into two flutes. Marion delicately held the flute by the stem as Richard looked deeply into her eyes.

“To us,” Richard said sincerely as he clinked his flute into hers.

“To us,” Marion replied as she began sipping the champagne.

As Richard held the flute up to his lips and sipped, his eyes caught something on the platform behind Marion as he locked eyes with Charmagne.

Charmagne twirled on the platform in a black feathered headdress atop her flowing hair that cascaded over her shoulders as she arched her back, showcasing her see-through bodysuit flecked with sequins and crystals that shimmered under the club lights.

Marion craned her head around to see who has transfixed Richard. Gazing upon Charmagne, Marion turned towards Richard asking, “Do you know her?”

Brushing off the question, Richard responded simply, “She just reminds me of someone I knew once.”

Wilshire Corridor, November 1992

The morning sun crested above the marine layer, casting a bleak, oppressive haze over the LA basin. Gray light streamed through the windows of Richard’s penthouse, its edges blurred and soupy.

As the elevator doors opened, the sun stabbed at Scott’s face, bouncing off the penthouse’s polished floors with blinding intensity. He stepped inside, squinting, shielding his eyes with one hand.

On his way to the kitchen, Scott’s gaze caught on something strange—draped over the back of a dining chair was a black feathered headdress, as if stolen from a Las Vegas showgirl revue.

He began cleaning up: martini glasses smudged with fingerprints and the splotchy imprint of pink lipstick scattered across the dining table. He gathered the dishes, brought them to the sink, and turned on the hot water. The stream began to scald his hands as he scrubbed—just as the door to Richard’s bedroom slid open.

A topless woman emerged, her long, curly brown hair cascading down her back. She walked past Scott at the sink, barely noticing him, her breasts pointed forward like they had somewhere to be. But just before disappearing from view, she turned her head and met his eyes.

“Are you Scott?” she asked—kind, but with a firmness beneath it.

He nodded, sheepish.

“Richard said you could call me a cab.” It was half-question, half-instruction.

Scott nodded again, trying not to stare.

“I’m Charmagne,” she said brightly, extending a hand. Scott shook it, murmuring, “I’m Scott. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

She nodded and began rummaging through a bag slung over the back of the chair. She pulled out a pair of tightly rolled jeans and a tank top, and began shimmying into them just as Scott set a steaming mug on the counter in front of her.

Charmagne gave him a knowing wink and took her first sip, closing her eyes to breathe in the aroma.

Scott watched her silhouette framed by the view, her curves rising like flame from a fire thats just been lit—flickering, graceful, and dangerous the way the flames dance with each other as they expand and grow. There was something elemental about her. Delicate. Destructive. Primal.

He wondered if this was what Richard saw in her too—if chasing that swirl of fire felt more thrilling than pretending with Marion. Richard had called his relationship with Marion “the real face of fame,” but Scott was beginning to doubt whether Richard could even keep up the illusion.

Scott had idolized him once. But the more he learned about who Richard really was—and what he really wanted—the more that idolatry began to fade.

Scott was beginning to see Richard for the pompous asshole he truly was and was also cursing himself for being seduced so easily by Richard’s charm and promises. Scott started to regret going to film school, feeling that he did it all for nothing more than being an errand boy to a grade A Hollywood asshole strung along by the promise that one day Richard might pass on one of Scott’s spec scripts to the Breakers Beach writers.

As Scott continued to study Charmagne, he suddenly found himself weighed down by Marion’s stern warning to keep an eye on Richard. Scott began weighing if he should tell Marion about this, but Scott’s resolve wavered and ultimately Scott decided that it would be best for him to stay out of it so he filed away the incident into the black box of things he had seen in his time working for Richard that he vowed never to speak of to anyone ever.

If one thing was true of Scott, it was that he was like a Fort Knox of secrets although Scott had plenty of secrets of his own.

Beverly Hills Flats, December 1992

Marion used her fingers to part the curtain just enough to peek through the front window of her cottage in the Flats of Beverly Hills. As expected, the early light cut through the marine layer, and like clockwork, the glint of a telephoto lens peeked through the hedges.

Walking into the kitchen, she clocked the coffee maker—her mug already full, her usual low-calorie sweetener packet resting beside it. As she stirred it in, the phone rang.

“Babe,” a voice called from the next room. “It’s Lexi.”

“I got it,” Marion replied, grabbing the receiver and stretching the cord to the kitchen table. She sat down, took a sip of coffee, and exhaled.

“Lexi?” she said, breathless.

“Mar!” Lexi burst out. “What can I say? You and Richard are the new it couple. That spread in Close-Up was a total smash—everyone can’t get enough. The magazine wants more. NexTV’s already cooking up the next plot twist—maybe a holiday trip to Santa Barbara or Maui. Nothing’s locked yet, but the wheels are turning.”

Lexi barely paused to breathe. Marion, meanwhile, felt the buzz of adrenaline fizz in her chest.

Yes, she was in the magazines. Yes, the coverage was flattering. But the idea that her relationship—or the imitation of one—had an entire team plotting its arc made her stomach turn.

She stared down into her coffee. The line between her life and the storyline was vanishing. Her choices, her future—it was all being scripted.

Snapping out of it, Marion turned back to the coffee maker. She poured a second mug, let the spoon rattle inside it, and nudged her bedroom door open with her elbow.

Sliding under the sheets again, she set the second mug down on the nightstand beside Scott and kissed the back of his head.

Maybe it was the caffeine. Maybe it was the sun. But something electric was kicking in.

She hopped out of bed and strode toward the front of the house. With one hand on the knob and the other on her hip, she swung the front door wide open.

“Good morning, boys!” she called. “You can come out now!”

From behind the hedges, the photographers emerged, lenses up and shutters clicking. Marion stepped barefoot onto the grass, basking in the golden light, posing like a woman on her own terms.

She could practically hear Lexi’s panicked voice in her head, but she didn’t care. Not one bit. The flashes, the heat, the sun on her skin—it felt like freedom.

Back inside, Scott was just beginning to stir. Marion slid into bed beside him and kissed him fully on the lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, groggy. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I made a decision,” she said. “I’m done with Richard. And I have the perfect plan to end it.”

Scott blinked. “How?”

Marion smiled. “If this whole thing is just a plotline, then I’ll give them one hell of a plot twist. The last one. And when it airs, I walk.”

She pulled him out of bed and led him into the living room. Pushing him gently down onto the couch, she yanked the curtains wide open.

“Marion—what are you doing?” he asked, squinting into the daylight. “They’re gonna see us.”

“Exactly,” she said, voice soft and deliberate.

She slipped off her nightshirt, climbed onto his lap, and kissed him—deeply, deliberately—as the shutters outside began clicking again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice catching.

Marion leaned in, whispering against his ear.

“I’m setting us free.”

Then, with the drama of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, she tossed her hair, tilted her head to the sunlit window, and purred for the photographers:

“Fasten your seatbelts, gents. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”