Jules Does Oprah (no, not *that* way)

The meeting with his father and publicist had gone well. Together they had agreed that Jules' best course of action was to confront the accusations and rumors head on, which no one would possibly expect, and disarm his enemies by refusing to be intimidated by them. Although Jules was less enthused by the prospect of a confrontation, he nevertheless concurred with his keepers' approach, and promised to show up at the specified locations at the appointed times to recite the prescripted answers to the predetermined questions. There was only one caveat to the plan to which Jules held exception, and that was the intentional renewed relationship with Cass. Ana, he was told, was a nobody and as a nobody her presence in his life was a superfluous one; therefore she could be dismissed without causing a ruckus, and could easily be replaced with a connection of superior and thus noteworthy significance. Although Jules initially raised fierce opposition to the idea, citing his ardor and affection for Ana as a legitimate reason to reject such ludicrous and preposterous notions, he eventually became reconciled to it through his father's rational argument as well as his publicist's frenetic insistence that it was the "right" thing to do.
As was to be expected, Ana was not delighted that she was being summarily replaced by her former rival, even if it were for the benefit of Jules's career. In fact, an elderly gentleman on the third floor of the same hotel reported overhearing loud voices followed by a very pronounced crash and the appearance of broken shards of pottery on his terrace soon after the producer's return to the room to tell Ana of his new resolutions. However, after the original excitement died down, a taciturn peace settled over the place, and it was generally agreed upon by both the staff and service personnel that the two had reached a mutually acceptable solution.
So, when Jules emerged from his room on Monday at approximately 2PM and took the elevator downstairs to the limousine that was awaiting him outside, no one thought much of it, and indeed, neither did Jules. He was singularly focused on the mission at hand, and on memorizing the questions and the answers he was to give during his interview with Oprah. Although he had already sat once with her and knew her to be a kind and gentle woman, he was nevertheless anxious, especially considering the time and the subject of the material.
They had arranged for her to put the questions to him as delicately as possible, and he was to respond with the tact and refinement that betrayed his good breeding. Nonetheless, the volatile nature of the situation invariably excited his nerves, and when at last he heard his name called to go onstage, he felt a large lump in his throat and his hands quivered from the stress.
Standing erect, Jules strode down the imagined runway, intentionally planting each foot, toe-first then heel, in front of the other, to the cushioned seat that awaited him at the far end. His ears registered the loud screams of his primarily female audience, but being intimately acquainted with the fickle quality of their shallow emotions he could not appreciate their adoration. In the next hour they could easily turn against him and jeer him off the stage.
Oprah stood up to embrace him, and then both of them sat down and ceremoniously gazed at each other. Her affectionate smile immediately put the producer at ease. "So, how are you Jules?"
"I'm well," he beamed, turning to smile at the audience to the delight of several of its members. "And yourself?"
"Fine….well you look good," she commented, studying his appearance. "You really do. Do you feel good?"
"I feel great - of course, beauty is a prerequisite to health," Jules quipped, crossing his legs and tossing his hair. “What good is it to be fit and perfectly plain?
Oprah chuckled at his jest. "It must be the Vercini blood."
"Oh it's definitely the Vercini blood," Jules shifted excitedly in his seat. "Definitely, but don't underestimate the Cromwell aristocracy. They have extravagant taste as well."
"You mean your father," Oprah suggested.
"Yes, my father…but really, the entire Cromwell pedigree. My ancestors were gentry landowners in Regency London, and several held summer homes in Paris. In fact, I suspect my father fell for my mother's Greco-Roman classic style."
Oprah looked surprised. "Do you think?"
Jules grinned devilishly. "No, but it would have been a better story."
"But your mother did do some classic Italian designs, didn't she?"
"Yes, for about a year she was inspired by the Italian Renaissance," he confirmed.
"And you went through a similar period yourself?"
"I did, although mine didn't last six months," Jules noted seriously. "After dallying in it I moved on to more exquisite motifs, like luxurious fabrics and elaborate patterns - pure decadence."
Oprah smiled graciously. "That's the Jules we all know."
"Yes, well it's tedious being mature all the time," he jested playfully. "Sometimes you have to act a bit childish," and he winked at her and made her blush..
"So what made you leave fashion for literature? I remember the move was rather controversial for you."
"Well let me make one thing clear: I never left fashion and I will never leave fashion," the producer corrected, waving his hand in the air like a regal nobleman. " As you said, it's in my blood. Rather, I was interested in expanding my creative horizons, seeing what I could do in other industries. I didn't just explore literature either; I looked into art, sculpting, photography - I had my hand in many different projects. At some point I realized I had to choose a primary trade, and I chose producing."
"And speaking of producing…" Oprah cut in.
"…oh no, here it comes!" Jules giggled delightfully, "You saw my debut I heard. Did you know I wrote, acted in and directed that entire project, not to mention fund it? It was quite a production."
Oprah burst out laughing at Jules clever red herring. "That was your first try at producing and directing."
"Absolutely. A lot of hard work went into that film," the producer grinned slyly. "Did you enjoy my performance?"
At this question, Oprah's eyes grew wide and she blushed as she continued to chuckle hysterically. "Yes."
"That's wonderful!" Jules enthused, then turned to the audience. "Did you guys enjoy it, eh, did you?" he asked. His question was immediately met with a loud round of whoops, whistles and screams. "That's great, really great. Maybe I'll get an Oscar nomination, or a Golden Globe…or two." The fashion mogul continued to smile gleefully as he observed his amused host and his highly animated spectators. Eventually the interviewer was able to calm down and resume her usual calm tone.
"Jules…you didn't…" she started.
"I did. You know I did, I always do," he teased, his eyes dancing coyly with hers. "You want me to again?"
A few audience members whooped once more at his suggestion, although none knew to what he was referring.
“Now this was based, at least in part, on your own life, right?” the host asked, resuming her previous serious tone.
“Well it’s not autobiographical per se,” Jules mused, “but it is an allegory to an experience I had when I was eighteen – my first, really.”
“With a man,” Oprah clarified.
“Yes.”
“And how did that shape you?” she inquired. “Do you feel like you’ve become The Handsome Prince?”
“Eh, at one time, perhaps,” he expounded. “I was becoming that way and I’ve no doubt without Nate’s intervention I would have become a victim of my own design, quite literally, but his death changed everything for me.”
“Speaking of which – he’s the centerpiece of your biography, correct?”
“I wouldn’t say he’s the centerpiece – his death or rather his sacrifice is the crux of the book and the event that drives the film towards it’s ending,” the producer commented.
“You said it changed you. How?”
“Without going into great detail that might spoil the plot, his decision made me question for whom I was living, and also why I was making the choices I was making in my life. I realized how conceited I was, vain, arrogant – all the words we reserve for the celebrity,” Jules joked. “I decided I didn’t want to be that person, I didn’t want to hurt anyone or myself any longer. I’m a long ways off from where I want to be, but far away from who I used to be.”
Oprah smiled wisely at these words. “You’ll get there,” she said, reassuringly. “So tell me who the mysterious individual is who authored your biography. By all accounts you’re pleased with it.”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you the individual’s name just yet,” Jules remarked, carefully avoiding the issue, “but I will say the book will be published in conjunction with the film – at least that’s my goal.”
"Well, now, because of this video, I hear you've been chased around town by paparazzi, and apparently some of them took some photos of you and Cass Depardieu. Are you two back together again?"
"Yes, definitely."
"So you are off the market…"
"…for both men and women," Jules joked. "Yes, I'm taken," the producer announced loudly to the audience, "I'm sorry."
His declaration was met with several "Awhs" and general sadness on behalf of the audience.
"I know, I'm a mean, cruel man," he continued mischievously.
"No you aren't," his host rebuked him, "but now we have to go to break. When we come back, Martha Stuart talks to us about decorating for the holidays."

Stupid character limitations...rest of chapter here:

As soon as the cameraman cut for a break, Jules ripped off his microphone and scooted quickly backstage where Cass awaited him, dressed all in black with matching beret.
"How did it go?" she asked him.
"It went well, very well. Oprah is a gracious host, but we better get going. What time did you tell them we'd be there?"
"Six - we still have time."
"Barely, it will take us a half-hour to reach the art exhibit," Jules commented offhandedly. "Who's going?"
"Oh, your usual friends," Cass informed him.
"Who are they? I have no friends anymore, at least not in drama circles, but let's go."
The two ambled out the door through the crowd and into the black limousine that awaited their arrival along the street. As they drove down the congested one way avenues of New York, Jules observed the dingy, packed, grey-black mounds of mush that were characteristic of New York in early November. It had been two months since he rode along the country roads of West Virginia, but it seemed as if he had never left the big city and his hectic lifestyle. This feeling was further confirmed when his arrival at the exhibit was heralded with a round of applause and numerous whistles from both friends and former lovers. Although he was initially surprised by the support, the producer soon relaxed in the familiar surroundings, and started chatting up the featured artist and his girlfriend. After the event he and Cass joined the artist and his girlfriend for drinks at a local club, and before he knew it, the time was 2AM.
Hailing a cab, Jules and Cass rode back to the hotel, where they parted ways when the elevator reached their floor. Although he hadn’t had anything to drink, Jules was punch drunk on sleep deprivation, and it took several swipes of the card before the reader gave him access to his quarters.
The room was completely dark, save for a small, faint sliver of light that ran vertical along the far wall; it illuminated the area just enough for Jules to observe messy albeit empty bed. Taking several steps forward, the producer turned back to look from whence the glow was coming, and noted the bathroom light was on and the door cracked ever so slightly. Cautiously tip-toeing over to entrance, he gently pushed open the door.
She was resting so peacefully against the wall Jules almost hesitated to disturb her, but he knew her sleep was unnatural; the rusty, dried blood that stained the tile testified to that fact. Bending down he nervously felt for a pulse, and was greatly relieved when he detected the faintest throb in her small, delicate neck. From what he could tell, both wounds had clotted, so he quickly grabbed two hand towels and wrapped her wrists, then picked her up and rushed out of the room and down to his car, where he gently laid her in the passenger seat and then drove like mad to the hospital.

************************

“Get out! Get out! I hate you!” she screamed, hurling first the pillow and then the empty cup at him.
Jules ducked quickly, missing both by mere seconds. “Ana...,” he started.
“No! Leave me; you’re ashamed of me,” she blubbered.
“I am not ashamed of you,” he argued. “I’m not, it’s just business.”
“You hide me wherever we go,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “as if I am some dirty little secret of yours.”
“Ana, Tom and that video set me back. In the public eye I haven’t changed a bit, and no one is going to believe that biography you wrote or the film I’m producing if they are not convinced I have undergone a transformation.”
“You haven’t.”
“I have. I made a single mistake with Tom; that video is a ghost from the past come to haunt me, but I am a different person today,” Jules asserted.
“No you’re not; you’re still a publicity whore, except now you’re one who doesn’t smoke or drink or do drugs.”
“Or sleep around.”
“Whatever,” she sighed.
“Ana...”
“Go away Jules; I mean it. Leave me. Your face is my curse and your soul my damnation. I don’t wish to see you again – ever – and if I forget you, it will not be too soon for me.”
Jules opened his mouth wide, but only silence filled the room as he realized there were no words that would alleviate her pain or apology that would erase his mistakes. She had slaughtered her own body and sacrificed herself on his altar, but she had been unsuccessful in completing her martyrdom, and that was perhaps the most tragic part of it – that she had survived her own suicide. There was nothing left for him to do but to allow her a measure of dignity by bowing gracefully out of her life, so he slowly backed away and left the room.
He stopped briefly at the administration office to arrange for all bills to be sent to his address for payment, and then he called his financial adviser and had him make a check out to Ana Devon for $200,000 dollars for the script. He would take care of her the only way he knew how: by paying and subsidizing her expenses. It seemed to Jules that generosity was perhaps his only virtue, and charity the only blessing he could bestow on other people, especially one he loved as deeply as Ana.