The Life and Times of Jules Vercini

I'm working on finishing this up and it is taking forever. I'd like to give people the opportunity to critique me (aren't you all the lucky ones? LOL), but rather than start with Chapter One I'd like to start with an interview of my main character that was published in a magazine (obviously he's famous.) This interview should give you an idea as to whether he'd entertain, offend, or bore you silly.

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VERCINI RISING: ONE MAN’S JOURNEY FROM THE RUINS
“It’s no secret that I have slept with both men and women. There was a time in my life when I had very few scruples and very little sleep.” – Julian Vercini.

Few people have elicited such curiosity and controversy as the man sitting on the other side of the table from me. Dressed in casual black slacks and a loose white shirt with his long hair secured neatly behind his head, Julian Vercini is the perfect representation of the new metrosexual, something he takes as a compliment when I tell him. The 30 year old male, lauded by both men and women as “supernaturally beautiful”, has demonstrated an inordinate ability to persevere through the roughest of times, re-emerging from catastrophe a stronger, more grounded individual. “I rose from the ashes of my life a new person, like the phoenix. You can see your life as a series of tragedies and recoveries, or as a sequence of rebirths and transformations. I choose the latter.”
We’re seated outside on the patio of his seventh story penthouse apartment observing an old woman in floral print shorts tend to her small garden on the third floor terrace of the building opposite ours. Not one for missing the finest details Julian is watching through his TravelSport binoculars: “Her flowers die constantly. Just last week she killed a rosebush she had imported from some foreign soil, and you should have seen what happened to the orange tree. The poor woman hasn’t a green thumb or even a yellow finger. I have a strong impulse to shout out ‘bloody murder’ every time she over waters.” When I ask him how he knows the origin of her plants, his brown eyes light up and he answers with a grin: “That’s easy. I saw the foreign stamp, but I couldn’t discern the label.”
When he’s not surreptitiously surveying his neighbors, Julian Vercini is feverously engaged in developing the concept for his new series “America’s Next Author”. Having elicited the help of his father, Sidney Cromwell, Julian hopes the reality-based show will herald in a new era in television he calls “Smart Programming”. “I think people to some extent are tired of jejune voyeuristic amusement. My theory is there are many unsatisfied viewers who are forgoing prime time in favor of the online experience. I want to reach that group, the intellectual artistic community and the corporate intelligencia, and give them something catered to their tastes.”
While some in networking question the sanity in venturing into uncharted territory, Julian has never been one to back down or out for the safety in the conventional and conservative. The prime time genius has a history of delivering alternative shows with rather surprising success. Many credit his exceptional charismatic personality for defying the odds, but he says it’s immaterial what draws his audience. “Why they watch is irrelevant so long as they watch.”
Jules Vercini is the mastermind behind Manfast Productions, a seven year old privately owned corporation that Vercini built from the ground up after a brief stint in a psychiatric ward left him hungering for self-reinvention. It was the pressure surrounding the Grace Case, in which he stood trial for six counts of murder, and the subsequent death of his close companion Nate Grace that led to Julian’s quick descent into insanity. “It was mad. I had this huge legal battle hanging over my head, and at the same time two of my closest friends were involved and were also going to stand trial. It was difficult at times to know what was best for myself and for my friends.”
Although Julian was acquitted, the conviction of Nate Grace left him with a guilty conscious that eventually impaired his ability to function. After a suicide attempt in which he hung himself from a ceiling fan, Julian decided a change was in order, and sold all his stock in the family business, using the liquidated assets to start his own firm. Initially the family’s reaction was hostile: “they were furious”, but after his relatives saw how well he was doing both as an individual and an executive, tempers calmed and eventually reached a non-combative level. “Mom and I still aren’t speaking, but at least we’re no longer fighting,” he says.
When I ask Vercini about his father, he suddenly grows shy and childlike. “He’s quite a man - look at all he’s accomplished. He teaches English at Oxford and has a family – a wife and two children – and yet he still manages to find time to network for Lifeway’s fundraisers. I’ve never met someone so interested in making a difference, not just on an individual level but on a social level as well”. He goes on to express his excitement at the prospect of having his father collaborate with him: “he brings fresh ideas and new prospects to the table,” he says, “the series is already better for it.”
Although he bubbles over with excitement when he talks about work, he suddenly grows silent when I ask him about his romantic life. Recently he has been spotted around town in the company of Cassandra Depardieu, his ex-girlfriend before the trial, and photos from the Lifeway Fundraiser two weeks ago show the two happily embracing. So exactly what is going on between these two? Julian claims they only have a special friendship: “we’re taking it slow, one day at a time, to see if we can make things work. We have a history together, which is not entirely a bad thing. It saves us the trouble of getting to know one another.” When I inquire about his past and if he has been seeing anyone else, Vercini shakes his head to the negative: “It’s no secret that I have slept with both men and women. There was a time in my life when I had very few scruples and very little sleep. But I’ve grown up a lot since then, and realize now that I have other choices.” I ask him what these choices are. Julian bursts into a grin: “To not bed everyone I fancy.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon conversing about our past mistakes and our plans for the future, and Julian confides that at one point he considered journalism as a profession (he seems sincere) and he’s only been in love twice (he won’t name names). As it approaches 3:00PM Julian brings the interview to a close. “My father is coming over,” he says “and we’re going out for tea.” Tea? I ask, a question that evokes another grin from Vercini. “I only drink tea these days,” he divulges happily. “That is another one of my choices.”
He seems to have chosen well.

I like the interview because it's well-written and short enough to hold my attention (even though metrosexuals are not my usual cup of tea.) Are you writing a full-length biography of Vercini?

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The whole point of their trip to the mountains was the reconciliation of two close friends, yet no one could have predicted the seemingly supernatural phenomenon that took place on that gorgeous Sunday in mid-September.
That morning Nate, Ana, Jules and Cass arose from a good night's sleep and, having dressed, departed camp for the precipice of St. Peter's Rock in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Nate led the group along the serpentine trail to a break in the wood, which they climbed through to reach the menacing cliff that overhung the Shenandoah Valley below. The scene that stretched before their eyes amazed them and inspired sighs of pleasure, for the majestic mountain tops and expansive valley made each one feel their own insignificance by comparison. Yet, neither the lofty summits nor the falling leaves nor the green ground upon which they rested could have rivaled the sight of Nate, who now stood with eyes closed and arms outstretched to embrace the rising sun. He looked so beautiful and so divine towering precariously on that cliff, his face angled ecstatically towards the heavens, as if at any moment the clouds would part and he would disappear from their presence. Nature in her sympathy must have thought so too, for the first rays of day broke over the horizon at just that moment. With motherly adoration the red beams of light caught his face in their hands, preternaturally illuminating it so that Ana gasped in astonishment. Even Jules and Cassandra were silenced by the sight, and for a moment they all stood still, immobilized by Nate's transformation.
If Ana had known then what lay ahead, she would have made haste back to camp to retrieve the camera and capture the moment on film. But alas she didn’t, so the incident was lost forever in the confines of the temporal.

The determined pace of the individual trailing behind her was unmistakable. Only Jules strode with such self-confidence, intentionally planting each foot, toe-first then heel, in front of the other. Ana recognized the unique pattern as Jules' runway walk; he used it whenever he was feeling self-conscious or was bridging the gap between himself and another. In this case it was the latter that drove him forward with such speed, and Ana knew before he even reached her the purpose of his visit. He was going to reiterate, for the fifth time in the exactly four hours they had been awake, that Tribalation was scheduled for that night and that she had promised to escort him to it.
Now, while Ana loved her beautiful friend dearly and appreciated his voluptuous enthusiasm, it nevertheless irked her to be constantly reminded of something, especially when she had not only not forgotten it, but she had also thought of nothing else. Ever since Jules first announced the Monday before that he intended to take her with him to the rave she had thought on it, considering what she'd wear and how'd she'd present herself. As a seasoned socialite Jules had extensive experience in the etiquette of such functions, but Ana had only been attending them for less than a year, and had found each soiree came with it's own set of rules. At some parties there was a social hierarchy in place, with tiered, stratified VIP sections that required special membership cards for entry. Others were arranged communally so that there was no sense of elitism in the atmosphere.
Despite their differences, however, all raves had one thing in common: at heart they were rudimentarily and fundamentally heathen. Thus, for a time the DJ was elevated to shaman status and, as such, was expected to lead people into an altered, metaphysical reality through techno music. In terms of style, tribal techno best represented this truth: its quintessence lay in the music's complex and primitive rhythms, which called to mind the African bongos and their associated dances.
Although Ana was well acquainted with the style of the featured headliners for Tribalation, she nevertheless despaired of meeting them and the crowd. She knew these ministers of music were quite prominent and therefore likely to eschew those with whom they were not intimately familiar.
“Is something wrong?” Jules asked as he approached and began walking her towards their Modern Poetry class. Both she and Jules were majoring in English at the University of North Carolina in Greensboro, but Jules was double majoring in Design whereas Ana was aspiring to minor in Political Science. Before his enrollment at UNC, however, Jules had briefly attended the School of the Arts but had been expelled after the Dean caught him with his daughter in the Student Center when it was closed.
“No no, nothing is wrong,” Ana replied with a smile to conceal her anxiety. “I was just thinking about our little fete tonight.”
“Oh I know, I can’t wait - but I don’t know what to wear. What do you think, Ana? I’d go with the futuristic ensemble, but it’s so cliché.”
“You know I’m not qualified to answer that question,” she responded, laughing at his histrionics. “I dress just so I can stand next to you without being embarrassed.”
“Oh pu-lease. I’m the one who shamelessly dresses like a hussy. You, Ana, have style and class, and besides, you make me look sexy,” he said with a wink. “Now, what should I wear?’
“I really have no idea - how about jeans and a t-shirt?” Ana suggested in jest, knowing full well Jules would never wear such pedestrian clothes to a function.
“The hetero uniform? That would be shocking – but I was thinking I’d go as a eunuch from Rome. Oh, is Nate back from Detroit yet? I take it he’s not going with us?”
“No, he’s not back and even if he were, he’d rather scrape the cells off his eyes with a razor than attend one of our nocturnal diversions. I mean, can you really see my Lennon cum Morrison boyfriend at a rave? I think not.”
“Well you never know,” Jules teased, “there have been stranger instances of family de-cloaking. I could see Nate in a tight, polyester shirt.”
At his suggestion, both Ana and Jules burst out laughing. “ I don’t think so," Ana exclaimed. "He’s quite married to his heterosexuality – well actually, he’s married to his truck, but that’s beside the point.”
So, when shall I come over?” Jules asked abruptly.
"Let’s say tenish. You can help me figure out what to wear, and oh, is Cassandra coming too?"
"No," he answered. "She's out of town. It'll be just you and me," he replied seductively as his deep brown eyes made love to her.
Ana felt a rush of excitement but immediately squelched it. “You are such a flirt,” she announced loudly, rebuking him for his coquetry, “and you wonder why people say the things they do about you. You'd charm the pants off of Joan of Arc."
"It'd be easy enough seeing that she rode around naked much of the time."
"You're kidding!" Ana gasped in astonishment. "She did not."
"She did; I swear it," he protested gravely. "It's the one thing I remember from history class, save those nights I spent with Mary, 'Queen of Scotch'."
"You mean 'Bloody Mary,'" Ana shot back.
"Of course. Oh, by the way,” Jules interrupted himself, “don’t worry about our evening cocktail; I'll bring wine tonight."
"Don't bother. You know I don't drink."
"Right now perhaps, but by tonight you'll change your mind," Jules ensured her.
"No I won't. I can't handle my alcohol - that's why I stopped."
"Whatever, love. I’ll be there with ‘Big Red in tow', he reiterated, then winked and blew her a kiss.
Aware that Jules was toying with her again, Ana looked away, then back at him. "Why do you insist on being so scandalous when you know there’ll be fallout for your indiscretion?” she chided.
“Because I can't resist a beautiful woman,” he responded coyly, “not to mention it would do my reputation good to be seen with you.”
At this, Ana giggled. "Cass will be mad -- but considering you usually have an entire cast parading behind you, you’re probably right – being seen with a single person would be an improvement. I bet it would even make headlines in the paper," she mused, knowing the media never tired of Jules’ calumnious behavior. Of course, Jules never wearied of perpetrating new controversies either; he had learned it as a youth from his relatives.
Born into a family whose fashion empire dated back several generations, Jules was the spoiled prodigy of overabundance and distinction. From his childhood he had understood the importance of bearing the Vercini name, and had risen to the challenge by personifying his family’s house of style. With long brown hair, delicate, soft features and a thin goatee, he embodied the androgynous beauty of the corporate image, and strove to maintain his family’s preeminence by means of his ambiguous personality, which he fully enjoyed. Because of his equivocal and outlandish behavior, his sexuality had become the subject of much speculation by the media, whose unquenchable thirst for his late-night tête-à-têtes with members of both genders ensured his notoriety. In fact, the paparazzi had linked him to everyone from Colin Farrell to Madonna, and it was suggested more than once that he was culpable of ménages-a-trois with his associates. At times, the hype surrounding him became ridiculously absurd, and yet there was a basis of truth to it, for Jules was unabashedly bisexual. But, with a girlfriend whose tastes laid along the same lines, he hardly felt guilty for his indulgences. Cass had imposed only one restriction on him: he must refrain from satisfying his lust for women. As long as he adhered to this guiding principle, he was permitted to sleep with whomever he liked.
Despite his relationship with Cass and his flamboyant, libertine lifestyle, however, Jules still felt strongly attracted to other women and in particular to Ana. Her small features, delicate child-like face and shapely figure enticed him and captivated his thoughts, yet he was always conscious of the impulse within him and restrained himself from acting upon it. Oftentimes he wondered if he weren’t attracted to the very thing that he was disallowed, and questioned whether or not gratifying his desire would free him from it entirely. But, to verify his suspicions he would have to violate the guiding principle, and considering the fate of many who had previously tasted the forbidden fruit, he wasn’t entirely sure it would be worth it.

Countess, what an intriguing idea! I've read the interview and thought it was well done. I'll have to read more later when I have more time but I'm really looking forward to it!

Btw, welcome to the forum! :wave:

Hey Darlin!

Love your avatar, or should I say the subject of your avatar. Thanks for your read and reply!!

Ana was aware of Jules’ predilection for mystery, for on several occasions she had observed him intentionally provoking attention by flaunting his liaisons. For the Ibiza event he had even gone so far as to negotiate a date with her and Cass, and had spent the whole evening mediating between them both just so he could show up with two women on his arm. It was at this party that Ana had first realized the extent of Cass’ jealousy. Despite repeated assurances to the contrary, Cass believed Ana and Jules were having an affair, and thus never left them alone together for any length of time. Although they were innocent of such charges, Ana recognized the wisdom in Cass’ actions, for she could feel Jules eyes scrutinize her face and body whenever Cass’ head was turned. As far as she was concerned, Ana believed herself to be guilty only of being infatuated with her friend, for while she found Jules beautiful and exciting, she was nevertheless deathly afraid of his capacity to devastate her. Because Jules tended to minimize other people's feelings towards him, he was completely capable of unintentionally breaking their hearts.
Between this naivety and his melodramatics, Jules was an irreconcilable conundrum of what appeared to be hypocritical behavior, leaving his friends and acquaintances with the awesome task of balancing motivation with genuine feeling. Ana reckoned herself to have already mastered that challenge, although her occasional twitches and generalized uneasiness led her at times to question her conviction. She was in just such a state on the eve of Tribalation as she sat anxiously on the couch, pulling her hair and tapping her fingers together. Having prepared herself prematurely, she had spent the past hour wrestling with her complex emotions and beliefs, and was rapidly approaching the point of imminent breakdown when she heard the doorbell ring.
Quickly forsaking her stress, Ana rose expectantly to greet her friend, whom she knew would provide amusement and thus ease her mind. Although he was expressive and high-strung, Jules' presence nevertheless had a calming effect, and his soothing voice relieved her from a multitude of her worries.
Opening the door, Ana was surprised to find Jules dressed like a pirate.
"Jules?"
"A glass of wine for you, madam?" he offered, sashaying his way into her apartment.
"No thanks,” she answered hesitantly, surveying his attire. That open shirt flatters him, she thought as she observed his taut, alabaster flesh beneath it, and noted that Jules' smooth skin resembled pearly marble behind his billowy curtain-of-a-shirt. “What is that you’re wearing?"
"A pirate costume," he responded, the slight slur of his words tipping her off that he'd already been drinking. Ana looked askance before returning her eyes to Jules. In the past few weeks his increasing consumption of alcohol had begun to bother her, although she understood it was in his nature to violate normative perimeters. Like most ingenious people, Jules possessed a creative intelligence that recognized only the extremities of thought, passion and action, and because of this, he could not grasp or attain any state that lay between the two antithetical opposites. Thus, when he loved, he loved with great intensity; when he hated, he hated with exceeding contempt, and when he drank, he drank entirely too much. Ana had begun to worry about him and his lackadaisical attitude towards his health; he seemed to presume on the assumption that he could not die, and this propensity could ultimately wreck him.
Despite her reservations about Jules' behavior, however, Ana felt an obligation to suppress her doubts, so she returned his playfulness with a smile and then began to tease him. "You're a pirate, alright, but you're no Blackbeard. Maybe Captain Hook when he's feeling a bit frisky."
"Ah, my lady, you heap unprovoked cruelties upon my head," he sighed in mock sorrow, dropping his gaze to the ground. "And what have I done to warrant such treatment from such a fine lady as yourself?"
Ana started to laugh. "Jules, you’re too much! You make a gorgeous pirate, and that's what's so unbelievable about it all. Pirates aren't supposed to be good-looking; they're supposed to be ugly."
"And why can’t pirates be beautiful?" he asked sincerely.
"Because they're pirates," she insisted. "They spend all year out at sea; they never bathe, brush their teeth or comb their hair. They're dirty, nasty creatures."
"Perhaps that's true of your average pirate," he commented, "but I am hardly an average pirate. I sail the ship called 'Love,' and we steal booty wherever we go."
"Oh God," she giggled. "Please stop now before I drown in Velveeta."
"…but there is one ship we haven't yet captured, one ship that eludes us over every ocean past every port."
Ana sighed at Jules' enticement. "What ship is that?" she asked.
"The sweet ship Anastasia. Her booty is more precious than the finest gold; her treasure more costly than the clearest diamonds. She dances gracefully upon the waters, like the mist that arrives at dawn. Some say she is a ghost that can never be caught, but I say she's a clever girl who evades her swain till one, through hard labor, secures his just reward."
"Wow. I…I don't know what to say," she stammered, struggling to find words worthy of answering the compliment.
"Say you'll do my eyeliner."
"What?!"
"Say you'll do my eyeliner. I’m afraid I'm a bit tipsy and will stab myself in the eye socket. I need black, don't you think? Black rims to match black pants and black eyes, hmmm?"

"Jules…what am I going to do with you?" Ana asked, grateful he had changed the subject.
"I have some ideas…"
"Nevermind that. You can be so prissy sometimes, worse than a girl."
"But you still love me, don't you?"
"Yes, of course I do," she replied softly, then bent down and kissed his cheek.
Of all the aspects of Jules’ personality, his vulnerability touched her the most, for when Jules was defenseless he was most like a child craving his mother's attention. At these times she couldn't help but feel an almost irresistible compulsion to reach forth and embrace him, to smother him with nurturing kisses and fill his heart with all the warmth and compassion she held for him in her own breast. Unfortunately for them both, these moments were usually short lived, for within seconds Jules would become aware of his lapse, and would quickly revert to his former manner. For some reason, he never ceased working to eradicate his own weaknesses, and appeared almost sadistically determined to eliminate that part of his soul from its entirety.

I absolutely loved the interview. I will come back to read more...

Bianca, thank you so much for taking time to read my writing. I appreciate your feedback. I hope you enjoy the rest of the novel as much as the interview

Thanks - Countess

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Countess

Hey Darlin!

Love your avatar, or should I say the subject of your avatar. Thanks for your read and reply!!

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Hey back to you, Countess. Yes, alas! alas! the Elf doth make my heart go all aflutter. And you're quite welcome. The interview was incredibly good and the perfect piece to whet the appetite.

Now I've read through the end of the current posts I have to say it's a very good read and still has me intrigued. I like this a lot. The only thing is I wonder if you've ever thought of the possibility that perhaps someone might attempt to steal your work.

Also there's a nice site that you might be interested in called http://fanstory.com/

There is a small fee to join, like $10 I think but some of the author's there have been published and even have books up at Amazon. Not only that but you're guaranteed reviews. I used to review there for a while but time's so short nowadays. Anyway, just a thought.

After several minutes of telling him to “sit still” and “look up”, Ana finally managed to line the rims of Jules’ upper and lower lashes. When she was done, he looked like a piratical tart, but strangely enough, it worked on him. Everything worked on Jules, though, much to Ana’s dismay. While he looked perfectly acceptable dressed as a pirate, she would have looked dreadfully ridiculous or, worse yet, fat and dreadfully ridiculous, in the very same outfit.
When they were through readying themselves for the nocturnal festivity, Ana and Jules jumped in her Honda and headed towards Ashville. Tribalation had just begun to peak when they arrived. Located in a tent on a castle lawn just outside of the city, the event sparked the curiosity of local residents who naturally resented the intrusion rudely thrust upon them by the happy carousers. Still, they did not interfere with the night’s activities but merely stared austerely at what they perceived to be a bunch of immature teenagers.
“Kasha! Josh!” Jules declared warmly as he greeted the two DJs before hugging them and kissing Kasha, who was currently playing shaman, on the cheek. The music was finally reaching its frenzied pitch, and all around the dancers, spurred on by the tribal transcendent rhythms, relinquished themselves to the bass, bouncing furiously to the beat of the drums. The scene mimicked that of the pagan voodooists who channeled ancestral spirits and animalistic deities via trance-induced states, except these dancers wore triple X jeans and crayola colored t-shirts.
“Oh my God, Jules, I have a passion for purple tonight; have you seen him?” Josh enthused, his blue eyes wide open with excitement. Josh always got excited about everything; however, his penchant for freebasing practically mandated it.
Jules quickly scrutinized the crowd but failed to locate the source of his friend’s vague description. “Where?”
“Over there against the pole.”
Jules eyes returned to the masses and immediately found the referenced shirt, which loosely enclosed a young man approximately 25 years in age. Leaning haphazardly against one of the supporting beams, he was dressed in boots, fresh blue-jeans and a shiny, silk, purple button-down. Although his face embodied the sharp angles traditionally associated with the classically handsome male, it was sorely lacking in originality and singularity of expression. To Jules this commonness exemplified everything ordinary and mundane, and thus he was repelled by the man rather than excited.
“He’s attractive,” Jules finally lied, hoping to placate his friend and avoid hurting his feelings.
Josh looked at Jules as if he had just been insulted. “Attractive?! He’s gorgeous!” he argued.
“Eh...not my type. I don’t go for those prodigious brawny men, but I wouldn’t mind tricking that guy in the crimson t-shirt.”
“What...the one dancing with Brittany-the-clown?
“She does look like Brittany Spears, doesn’t she?”
“And he looks like Justin Timberlake – please Jules, tell me you’re joking.”
“I like Justin Timberlake,” Jules protested. “I know he’s gaudy and represents everything odious and fraudulent in the music industry, but the man is sex incarnated.”
“You so need professional help,” Josh countered, “it’s evident that Mr. Lavendare is infinitely superior to your imitation-brand black man. Everyone can see it,” he added, gazing over towards Ana.
Accordingly, Jules turned to look at her. “Ana, what do you think?”
“Well...,” Ana started, contemplating the best way to address the question without offending either of them. “I like both of them,” she finally responded.
Jules stared incredulously at his friend. “Ana, you always have a strong opinion on the subject of men; I can’t believe you’re negotiating between the two. Be honest, now.”
“Well they both have their merits,” she continued.
“Like what?” Josh asked.
“Well, if you were in need of masonry work Mr. Lavendare could cut granite with his chin,” she offered, “but Sir Red is hot, and the way he smiles just illuminates his face…though he’d be a worthless stone cutter and you’d both die penniless.”
“Which of them would you rather do?” Jules inquired, raising his eyebrows suspiciously at her.
“Why are you putting me in this situation, Jules?”
“We’re both putting you in this situation,” Josh interrupted, informing Ana that – for the sake of the argument – her expert opinion was invaluable because ultimately it would settle the matter.
“If I had to choose between them both,” she said slowly, measuring each word carefully, “I would choose Red Hot – not because he’s Jules favorite either, but because I think he’s cute myself.”

“HAH!” Jules spat out loudly at Josh, reveling in his triumph, “serves you right for questioning my impeccable taste in the male gender.”
“That just proves your friend shares your bad judgement,” Josh retorted, miffed that he had lost to meretricious socialite like Jules and his mystery friend.
“If you’re so interested, Josh, why don’t you go introduce yourself,” Jules suggested diplomatically, “you won’t get any competition from me.”
“Aren’t you assuming you could compete? I am, after all, Josh Dugweed, master of all things trance-sendent and ambient.”
“And I am Jules Vercini, rich, powerful heir to the Vercini house of fashion,” Jules teased. “And your point?”
“I can work a rhythm,” Josh announced in a challenging tone.
“I can work a runway,” Jules immediately countered. “If he saw me strutting my goods on the catwalk, he’d totally forget you and your rhythm, but go to. I’m not holding you back. Besides, I have my interests to pursue this evening.”
“Do these ambitions of yours have anything to do with your pirate apparel, or are you just trying to perplex the general population again?”
“I like wielding a long, sharp sword,” Jules winked flirtatiously. “It’s good for pricking.”
Kasha and Josh laughed. “And who do you intend to prick with this instrument of yours?” Josh inquired.
Jules quickly shot a sideways glance at Ana. “I’m feeling quite hetero this evening. I’ve got an itch to slay a woman.”
“I see,” Josh mused, studying them both with a knowing expression. “Well I won’t tell. You guys have fun, just don’t get caught by the police – especially the fashion police,” he added, scrutinizing Jules’ ensemble.
At this, Jules wrapped his arm around Ana’s waist. “But I like handcuffs,” he shot back as he escorted her out of the booth.
away at their 'art'.

Sorry - I forgot to post the rest of his chapter. (Blush). I'm on Chapter 21 so I have no excuse.

A week later on a routine grocery run to feed her caffeine addiction Ana happened to glance down at the latest edition of People located along one of the check-out lanes. There was something very familiar about the cover, something casual and yet intimate - and then she realized in horror that it was her. There she was in black and white, completely undressed with nary an earring to suggest mock modesty. And Jules was there and he was also naked. Granted, they were both discretely arranged to avoid overexposure, but this small detail did not negate the obvious intimations suggested by the photo.
Still, the picture hardly qualified as porn. She and Jules were both seated, leaning on one hand, and he was situated behind her looking down over her shoulder, his long dark curls falling just below her collarbone. His arm was gently wrapped around her waist, his hand covering her stomach as if she might have been pregnant. He could have been her husband, the way his head was bowed as if he were kissing her neck, and yet he could have just as easily been her child. With his chin tucked neatly towards hers, Jules reminded Ana of a kid embracing his mother affectionately.
It was lovely, even prepossessing. Ana stood entranced for several moments as her eye scanned that cover, then another. They were all like that - not identical in substance - but in nature. Jules had clearly released the pictures for publication.
She was livid.
Ana carefully set her drinks on the floor and backed away from the check-out line. Shrinking down in her t-shirt as much as humanly possible, she slowly crept towards the door, looking suspiciously at anyone who might have given her more than a precursory glance. Thankfully, no one recognized her fully clothed as she made her escape out into the parking lot, then into her car for the drive home.
Now only one thing lay before her, and with trepidation, she rushed back to her apartment to hit the button on my answering machine.
"You have one message."
It was Nate.

FYI - I am going to post a few more chapters for review and then that will be it for copyright reasons. If you find yourself having to know what happens, if you will email me privately I will be sure to supply you with some other chapters, etc. But as Darin said, I have to protect my work (not that I think it's worth stealing - I don't - but people may do it anyway.)


CHAPTER IV

Nate and Ana had been dating for approximately one year. During this time he had demonstrated to her all the love, loyalty and devotion a potential good husband would possess for his wife or – perhaps more apropos in this case - a merciful father would hold for his children. At thirty-three years of age, Nate was well over a decade older than Ana, but their joint artistic sensibilities and affinity for literature had mitigated the time gap and, strangely enough, had also served as the catalyst for their bonding.
Of all the places for lovers to meet, Ana and Nate had first stumbled upon each other in the waiting room of a car wash. Nate had been seated rather uncomfortably on the wooden bench, contemplating the stark poetic overtones of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” when Ana, clenching the miscellaneous contents of her car, had stumbled through the door. Unable to constrain her burden any longer, she had watched on in frustration as one item after another toppled to the floor. Ana had then shot Nate a look that instantly rendered him her servant and therefore the party responsible for resolving her quandary. Not one to abandon a woman who required his assistance, Nate had humbly complied, and immediately stooped down to retrieve the sundry objects and place them in a neat pile on the bench.
His chivalry had the unintentional effect of winning Ana’s heart, and within minutes the two were discussing the Beat and Confessional poets, confabulating on the use of intense imagery and metaphor in the works of Ginsberg and Plath. Although initially Ana and Nate were just friends, eventually the relationship had grown into romance, and within two months they had declared their faithfulness to one another by the exchange of friendship rings.
Only four months later did Ana meet Jules at a spacious nightclub downtown, at which point she immediately fell in love with him.
As was to be expected, Nate was initially not receptive to her new friendship with Jules, but after numerous discussions and Ana’s impeccable track record, he had eventually relaxed. For this reason the release of the pictures was so devastating, and Ana now dreaded making the call.
Dialing his home number, she prayed for his answering machine but was greatly disappointed when she heard him pick up the phone.
“Hello?”
The sound of Nate’s voice sent Ana’s heart to pounding till she wondered if he wouldn't hear it on the other end of the line. “Hey, it’s me," she whispered weakly, hoping to conceal the deafening throb.
“Hey,” came the chilly response. “Nice photo in People. When did you plan on telling me, or did you just decide to let me find out for myself?”
"They weren't supposed to be published," Ana cried defensively. “I was as surprised as you were.”
"That makes me feel better."
"That's not what I meant - well, yes it is," she quickly corrected. "I was doing it as a favor to Jules - I thought he might use them for class or something but I didn't realize he was going to press."
"Ana," Nate sighed, "Jules is not the most trustworthy person - you know that. I just don't want to see you get hurt and - embarrassed. I mean, you’re the one who is going to have to confront the public, not me."
“I know,” she replied softly, affecting an apologetic tone. Ana could tell by the sound of his voice that Nate wasn’t angry with her, and concluded that he had partially fabricated his temper to make a point. Now that he had accomplished his objective; however, he no longer felt driven to be cold and so was giving her the benefit of the doubt. Steeled by this new evidence, then, she couldn't help but defend Jules honorable intentions; otherwise, she'd have to concede his mendacity, and thus would be accountable for ending their relationship. This idea - this obligation to do the proper thing - however noble in thought, was inconceivable to her in action, for Jules was as requisite to her happiness as air, and the mere contemplation of his absence made her long for his company as if she already missed him.
Although she was still incensed by Jules’ behavior, she nevertheless defended him to safeguard their friendship. "He didn't set out to deceive me," she argued. “He’s just impulsive sometimes; he doesn’t always think before he acts.”
“No joke,” Nate spat out before dropping off his conversation and coughing nervously into the phone. Ana could sense the impending question she had been anticipating was about to be realized. “Is there anything you need to tell me?” he finally inquired.
“Nothing happened between us...it was what it was: one of his preposterous ideas,” she replied before remembering his previous night's concert. "So, how was your gig last night?"
"It was sweeeeettttt. We played a couple of Doors covers and some of our recent material. The sound system was great and carried my voice well, although a string broke on my guitar at the end, but that’s ok; the crowd was still standing on the third encore."
"Is that odd or something?"
"It is when you play Detroit. Usually everyone has fallen down drunk by the end of the show. We joke that anyone left standing wins first place out the door. Too bad the lottery doesn't work like that."
"I see," she mused. "And the after-party where the fun and games usually begin? Do I have to worry about any trailer park blondes soliciting favors from my boyfriend?"
Nate sighed but Ana could tell he was secretly pleased by her jealousy. “Does it matter if they solicit if I’m not interested?”
“I suppose not,” she conceded. “Forgive me; I keep forgetting I’m dating Saint Augustine.”
”Nathanial.”
“Saint Nathanial.”
“No, there’s no prefix in Nathanial, especially that of Saint.”
“Prophet Nathan then, or Puritan Nate. Better yet, how about the Archangel Nathanial…?”
"Now you’ve got the devil laughing," he answered back. "By the way, I really miss you," he uttered softly, and Ana could tell that he meant it. His weakness touched her heart because from where she stood, he was infinitely better off leaving her behind. She loved him, but for all her attempts she could not comprehend why he reciprocated.
"I miss you too love."
"Don't say 'love'. You sound like Jules and it creeps me out."
"Sorry."
"It's ok. Look, I have to get going, but I want you to know that in the next couple of weeks we'll be closing out the tour and I should be able to come see you."
"Yay!" she shouted. "When?"
"I don't know yet - maybe when all of the excitement dies down."
Ana felt a lump in her throat. Despite his willingness to forgive her, he wanted nothing to do with the press. She could hardly blame him though. Public hype wasn't his style.

Jules hadn't been to class in three days. In fact, he hadn't ventured out of his apartment *or* left the couch save when he crawled to the toilet to relieve himself or to the kitchen to fetch another bottle of 'Big Red'. His hair was a mess and he still had on his morning boxers, which had a giant hole in the crotch - not that he minded the breeze - but it was the principle of the matter. Vercini's did not wear holey underwear, period.
Of course, if his family ever found out his passion for 'Big Red' was Boone's Farm Cherry, he'd be tried, condemned and hung in the gallows for bad taste. Worse yet, they'd reclaim his entire wardrobe: that was a fate worse than death. It was one thing to be killed, and yet quite another to be buried in a Wal-Mart brand suit. To lie forever in cheap threads is Hell.
Besides, he looked awful in polyester -- it slenderized him and he was slender enough without having to look emaciated.
I have to get up, he thought. He could not simply lie there in his holey underwear and he could not be discovered dead with a bottle of Boone's Farm by his side, and he definitely could not wear Wal-Mart dress pants.
Enough was enough.
Jules sat up on his limited edition 2004 Millennium white tiger-fur couch and looked down. The PETA people would undoubtedly murder him with their own hands if they knew that he had bought one - but then he’d donated so much money to their lobby group, it would be hard for them to say anything. He'd given them at least triple-fold the worth of the couch, and who were they to judge him anyway?
Some people he just did not understand.
Jules stood up and immediately fell back down. Three days of fasting on wine had completely thrown off his equilibrium. He'd have to crawl to the kitchen to get a bit of toast or some crackers, then slowly drag himself up the flight of stairs into his beige marble bathroom to bathe - but why bother with it at all? Cass wouldn't speak to him, Ana hated his guts and he was wanted by the police - - ok, maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit - - but he might as well be wanted by the police since Nate was on his way back from Detroit to shoot him - or maybe stab him to death - or possibly strangle him - or maybe all three.
Jules wondered which method Nate preferred - a gun was easiest but there'd be little satisfaction in the way of revenge. Stabbing would give more pleasure, but it was gruesome and blood stains were a ***** to remove, although Nate didn't care about his clothes so that wouldn't be a problem for him. But strangling, strangling gave all the fulfillment of stabbing but without the associated gore.
Yes, Nate would strangle him. He would wrap those big, powerful hands around Jules' neck and squeeze until he expired. He supposed he should be excited by the idea of Nate cutting off his oxygen - and maybe if he were interested in that kind of thing he would be - but he found the idea frightening as Hell. He wouldn't be able to breathe, and there was no telling what Nate would do to him post-mortem - even if he managed to die in his favorite 'Garcon Riche' , he couldn't guarantee Nate wouldn't dress him up in something outrageous just to mock him - maybe even throw on a wig and a dress. Oh, the horror! He had to escape - he had to flee before it was too late!
Maybe he *should* go to the police after all. He wondered if they would allow him to install a skylight overhead - he adored the night sky and police buildings were always so grungy because of the trash hauled in and out of them on a regular basis. A skylight would alleviate the drab. Perhaps if he threw enough cash their way they'd be willing to let him redecorate the interior.
What was he thinking? He couldn't live in a police building with all those homeless people. They had head-lice, and he had beautiful hair, which he would not cut off even for the sake of being lice-free. No, there had to be another way.
He would go to Nate. He would pre-empt his own murder by approaching Nate before he had time to devise his plan. Then Nate would be forced to do something other than kill him - or before he killed him. It would at least buy Jules time to buy a new black suit.

***