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.

***

Nate glanced up at the stucco ceiling, his eyes tracing the thin cracks from their base of origin - the lamp - to their final resting-places along the walls. It was strange, he considered, how a simple ceiling lamp and its branching cracks were so much like life, like the common birth of all individuals into the world and the various degrees of their development until they die.
For a minute Nate sat perfectly still, studying the small ruin of his old home, before returning to his book to read the next paragraph:
"We're like actors, turned loose in this world to wander in search of a phantom, endlessly searching for a half formed shadow of our lost reality. When others
demand that we become the people they want us to be, they force us to destroy
the person we really are. It's a subtle kind of murder." - Jim Morrison
Nate grinned to himself at Jim’s small error. The point of existence was not to remove the mask, he realized, but to see it and to know it, because by knowing it, we know ourselves. The mask was always strongest in the weakest areas of the soul, that way we achieved a sort of external perfection.
An abrupt banging at the door suddenly jolted Nate from his thoughts, and placing his book on his desk, he stood up to stretch before answering it. Although he wasn't in the mood for visitors, he was even less tolerant of their knocking, so he hoped to silence the irksome noise and dispatch the visitor promptly.
Racing down the corridor to the main exit, Nate swung open the door. "Yeah," he murmured automatically, but then stepped back in surprise. It was Julian, and he was wearing blue-jeans and a t-shirt.
"Hey," Jules muttered under his breath, glancing around with the kind of paranoia one usually saw in a crack addict. "Can I come in?"
Nate opened his mouth to respond but before he could utter a single phrase Julian rushed inside and spun around to face his friend.
"Shut the door! Shut the door!" he screamed as if is life depended upon it.
Nate knew it was not unusual for Jules to overreact, but just in case he slammed the door. "Julian, have you been in the household cleaners again?" he asked as he instinctually retreated to the sanctuary of his study
"You know I don't do that!" his visitor protested as he gazed around the room. "It can kill you and besides, it’s a cheap way to get high. It's just that you live in a really bad neighborhood. There were hoodlums on the corner."
Nate chucked to himself at his visitor’s naivety. Jules was always good for a drug-free trip. "I live in the suburbs and those are teenagers. How'd you find me anyway? More of your connections?"
"I used the phonebook for your information," Jules snapped defensively. "I'm fully capable of perusing the residential listings."
Nate smiled. "Ok, why are you here then?"
Suddenly Julian became nervous. "I came here to beg for my life."
At this Nate's jaw dropped. Undoubtedly Julian had been inhaling pharmaceuticals because he sounded like a stark, raving lunatic.
"I'm sorry, I…I must be missing some crucial point here because I don't see how I can help you," he said at last.
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
Julian's wide-eyed stare almost made Nate feel sorry for whatever Julian thought he was going to do. The poor lad was scared out of his mind.
"I'm not going to kill you," Nate assured him. "I don't understand why you're under the impression that I am, but I'm not. Now, let me show you the lovely hallway that leads to the outside door…"
"Then I need your help."
Nate sighed heavily. It was clear his visitor wasn't going to leave.
"Alright. What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Ana hates me,” Julian replied, folding his arms in front of him as he mimicked a pout.
"She doesn't hate you…"
"Yes she does. I went to her apartment to sing an apology to the theme of 'Green Acres' and she slammed the door in my face."
"That was probably smart," Nate remarked. "I'll talk to her."
"Really?!"
"Yes, really," answered Nate. "It's not your fault you're cerebrally flatulent. She should have pity on you - everyone should have pity on you."
"Pity, yes, pity. That's it! Thank-you! Thank-you! Thank-you!" Julian cheered, and for a moment it looked as if he were about to embrace Nate, but then he backed off.
After what appeared to be an infinite period of silence to Nate but was only a matter of seconds to Julian, Julian spoke. "Well. That's that."
"Yes, that is that," Nate responded, as he realized Julian was not getting the picture. "Have you seen my hallway by the way? Have I asked you that yet?"
"Yes, once. I've seen it."
"Great. Do you want to see it again?"
"On my way out, yes."
"Will you be leaving anytime soon? Do you want a bottled water to take with you?"
Nate inquired.
"What kind?"
"It's generic."
"Then no."
"I kinda figured that," Nate muttered under his breath.
"So…you like Morrison I presume?" Jules asked, gazing down at several books that lay on Nate's desk. Meandering over to the table, he commenced scanning them one at a time.
"Yes."
"I've read "Wilderness". It contains his lost writings…"
Nate stared at Julian in disbelief. This flamboyant cult-of-personality had suddenly become very interesting.
"You've read Morrison."
"Yes."
"And you understand Morrison/?” Nate asked, still shocked from Julian’s’ prior statement.
“For the most part.”
Nate glared at Julian. "Where is Julian and what have you done with him?" he said finally.
“Hah, Hah. Very funny,” replied Julian sarcastically, turning now to address his host.
“Why haven’t you said anything about this before?” Nate inquired.
“You never asked.”
Nate studied his visitor for moment. "Why the secrecy then, Julian? One moment you're dressed in saran wrap flirting with the Prince of Wales and the next you're telling me you've read a book that has nothing to do with make-up or shoes. Have you gone insane?"
"No!" Julian answered defensively. "I’m not an imbecile for God's sake, it's just that I have my priorities in order."
"I question what you consider priorities," Nate muttered under his breath.
"Nate, do you know what would happen to me if anyone knew that I read?" Julian whispered.
"You'd get respect?"
"No. "They'd make fun of me. I would never hear the end of it: 'Julian reads, can you believe that?', and they'd point and laugh and stick books in my coat pockets and calculators in my shirts and call me 'nerd'. I would be the talk of all the social circles. I'd never be able to appear in public again."
Nate smirked. "Don't you think you're exaggerating some?"
"No," Julian snipped. "You have no clue how the fashion world is. I have a reputation to protect."

Nate wondered why on earth anyone would want to protect such a reputation, but he chucked it up to Julian's love for the limelight. Still, he couldn't help but felt sorry for Julian. Ana's rejection had clearly affected him because, under normal circumstances, Julian wouldn't be caught dead in the suburbs.
Luckily for his visitor, Nate had already been working on a trip to smooth things over between Jules and Ana. Ever since the dispute, Ana had been suffering terribly so that he almost felt obliged to help resolve their conflict. He hoped a trip to the mountains would reunite the two; the only thing left to do now was to pop the question.
“Do you like camping?” Nate asked Jules.
“What?"
"Do you like camping?" he repeated.
Julian looked confused. "Camping – you mean, like, out in the woods?”
“Yes.”
”Sure."
“Really? And you’re ok with living in a tent?” Nate inquired.
“Absolutely.”
“And not taking a shower every day?”
“Bathing is not a prerequisite for beauty - at least for me,” Jules bragged.
“And not having household utilities?”
“I'll bring the toilet paper.”
“And not having access to your clothes?”
At this Julian paused hesitantly. “I could always tow a U-Haul..." he began.
“Hell no,” Nate declared. “If you’re going camping, you have to do it right. No U-Haul, no designer clothes, just rugged jeans, an old t-shirt and hiking boots. That’s it.”
Julian thought for a moment. "Then I’m ok with it," he answered excitedly. "Why, are we going camping together?"
"I'm not there yet, Julian. Give me some time. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be able to take a piss in front of you…"
“Well, believe it or not, Nate” Julian interrupted, hoping to prove his masculinity to his new friend, “I’m not a complete sissy. I actually prefer women when it comes to relationships.”
Nate’s jaw dropped again. Julian actually liked Morrison and women. It was mind-boggling – this news – like something out of the Twilight Zone.
“I'm sorry?"
"I like women - actually, I love women. They're beautiful creatures."
"You…dig women?”
“Yes – but don’t take it personally,” Julian warned. “I mean, you’re really quite hot and I certainly wouldn't mind…”
“No...no...that’s ok. I’m ok with it, really. I mean, you like women. Imagine that.”
“Kind of hard for you, isn’t it?” Julian inquired.
“Yes,” answered Nate. For a few moments the two sat in silence while Nate scrutinized Julian. Undoubtedly the guy was being sincere, but just in case, Nate decided to give him a test. “So, when you were posing with Ana, did you -- were you…aroused by the situation?”
“Ummm…"
“Now, be honest,” said Nate. “I really want you to tell the truth, because the truth will set you free--as they say.”
The whole thought of Nate strangling him now made Julian panic. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion.
“I promise not to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me?”
“No.”
“Well...yeah....kind of,” Julian said weakly.
Suddenly Nate’s face lit up with excitement. “Wow – I guess Cass wasn’t a cover-up after all. Welcome to my world, Julian.”
“What world?”
“Cause you know,” Nate reflected, “if you had said ‘No’ it would’ve meant you were gay. I would’ve told you just to hang it up with women because you had no hope. If anyone should make a gay man question his own sexuality, it’s Ana.”
“Oh, I know,” agreed Julian. “Ana’s an incredibly beautiful woman. If you weren’t dating her I’d...”
“Ok. That’s enough. I’m convinced now so you can stop.”
"Sorry."
"No, don't be. Just - from now on, you're not allowed to take naked pictures of her. And I don't want you in her bedroom late at night."
"Ok."
"In fact, you're not allowed to see her nude - ever."
"That really hadn't happened before the pictures…"
"And you are never, under any circumstances, to offer her a drink. You know she has a problem with alcohol. If I find out you slept with her, I'll hurt you. But if I find out you got her drunk, I'll kill you, understand?"
"Absolutely no problem," Julian exhaled deeply. He wasn't going to die after all.
"Now," Nate announced. "Let me see you to my hallway. I'll talk to Ana and work out something so we can all go camping together. And oh, you need to ask Cass."
"Cass hates my guts too," Julian lamented. "She saw the pictures…"
"Well talk to her. Tell her you're going to take her camping with me and Ana to try to smooth things over between us all. Use your charm, Julian. You can be charming when you want to be…"
"I can, can't I?"
"But I suggest you forgo the saran wrap and eyeliner this time around."
"That's only for special occasions."
"Like when you met the Prince of Wales."
"Yes," he responded. "I had to make a statement."
"You made a statement alright. I'll call you when Ana's ready to talk."
"Great!" Julian responded, then turned to leave. Everything was going to be ok. Nate wasn't going to kill him, he'd work things through with Cass, and Ana would finally forgive him. The last thought by itself filled him with such happiness that he smiled as he walked right past the hoodlums. He'd get to see the beloved Anastasia soon - when they all went camping in the woods.

When Nate first invited Ana on the camping trip, she thought he had permanently lost his senses – until she remembered that it was Nate who was asking the question. While most people would be furious over their significant other appearing sans clothes with someone else on the front cover of a magazine, Nate was so absorbed in social evils like starvation and terrorism that his own circumstances seemed trivial by comparison. Thus it came as no surprise to her that he would attempt to negotiate peace between her and Jules, yet sometimes his unwavering and complete faith left her baffled, especially when her charming friend was part of the equation.
Nevertheless, for Nate’s sake she agreed to go, so on the day of the trip Ana and Nate packed his Hummer and waited patiently outside for Jules and Cass to arrive. Their plan was to meet in the parking lot and ride together in Nate’s truck, but when Jules and Cass arrived they quickly trashed that idea.
“We can’t ride in your vehicle,” Jules announced self-righteously, leaning against his new black, fully loaded BMW, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest.
Nate looked irked. “Why?”
“Because it's bad for the environment.” he retorted as if this knowledge obligated all humans to undertake economical transportation.
Nate regarded Jules for a moment then broke out in a smile. “Ok, Julian,” he sniggered, “how do you propose we get up there? By plane?”
“I have a truck,” Jules answered.
Nate narrowed his hazel eyes towards Jules. “Uh...so do I.”
“Yes, but your truck is a Hummer. It’s a behemoth piece of exorbitant equipment that gets ten miles to the gallon and hogs up all the space on the road. It’s the most nonessential vehicle I have ever seen.”
Nate’s face slowly clouded over, the first sign of what Ana knew to be an impending storm. He loved his truck – it was his baby. Occasionally she’d find him in his garage or in the parking lot with his head laid gently upon the hood, as if it was his mother’s lap. Jules had no idea he was treading on sacred ground while mocking the Hummer.
Nate cleared his throat in an effort to maintain control. “Alright Julian. Go home and get your truck. We’ll drive up separately,” he said calmly.
“Agreed.”
Ana watched as the two parted ways, Julian returning to his car to retrieve his truck and Nate disappearing into the apartment to make final preparations.
It was strange, she considered, how two people could be so very opposite from each other and yet so much alike. On one hand, with their curly brown hair and eyes Nate and Jules could have easily been brothers, and both were obstinate in their own opinions. On the other hand, their dispositions were entirely and radically different: while Nate preferred solitude with his books, Jules only thrived in a mass of gregarious people.
Ana only hoped they wouldn’t end up killing each other before it was all over.

***

It was early afternoon by the time Julian returned with his truck, a modest Ford Escape, and they all departed for the Blue Ridge Mountains. After several hours of tedious driving the group finally arrived at Crabtree Falls, a quaint spot located off the main road. The scene that stood before them was absolutely breathtaking. Autumn was quickly approaching and the leaves had started to change to various shades of yellow, orange and red – ‘Nature’s Tapestry’ Nate called it.
It reminded Ana of that old Frost poem, “Nature’s First Green is Gold.” She knew Nate was familiar with that verse but she wasn’t so sure about Jules. Ana never saw him read, so she found it amazing each semester when he made Dean’s List with an “A” average. She suspected that the Vercini empire was purchasing his grades, although she had no proof for her belief.
Still it wouldn’t have surprised her at all if that were the case. The Vercini’s were an eccentric but powerful bunch of people. She had met Jules mother only once. Mrs. Vicini had long, blonde hair, blue eyes and tanned skin that was wrinkled from excessive sun exposure. When she shook Ana’s hand the diamonds on her fingers had sparkled brightly, transforming into an amazing array of colors that were reflected back by her long, white prism-coated nails. Ana remembered being mesmerized by the sight until Mrs. Vicini spoke and asked “How are you dahling,” in this rather thick European accent. She had wondered at the time what it would be like to grow up with a mother who said “dahling” and blinded people with her hands.
She had also felt sorry for Jules then, not because his mother was able to blind people but because she was always working so that a nanny had to be employed full-time to care for him while he was growing up. Jules’ mother and father had never married and until he turned 15, Jules did not even know who his father was. Of course, there was great speculation amongst upper society: he was descended from English royalty, he was the son of the head of the Prida empire (a rival fashion house), his father was the leader of the Cecchini crime family in Chicago, and even that he was the lost love-child of Bill Clinton - the rumor that Ana found the most amusing and thus favored in casual conversation. However, it was eventually discovered that all of these rumors were false when, much to everyone’s surprise, the Vercini’s released a statement to the press that Jules’ father was an ordinary Brit by the name of Sidney Cromwell. Unfortunately, they failed to inform Jules of this fact beforehand so that he had to read about it in the papers.
After unpacking their respective vehicles, Jules and Nate began scouting for locations to post their tents, looking for shaded clearings and a brook to stash drinks. Although Ana had resolved to avoid Jules and thus force him into approaching her first, she now found it impossible to stay away from him, and so she casually meandered over under the pretense of discovering where he planned to set up.
Coughing slightly, she began to speak in a calm, disaffected tone. “So, where are you going to pitch your tent?”
“On the other side of the brook,” he answered back.
“That’s lower ground. If it rains you’ll end up wet.”
“I know but the weather report indicated it was going to be clear and sunny,” he countered. “We’ll be fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about us.”
At this Cass gazed up at Ana like a bull upon seeing the matador’s red flag. Ana kept waiting for her to charge, but Cass only stood there staring at her with fire in her eyes.
“Hi Cass,” Ana offered, hoping to alleviate the tension that was so thick a person could cut it with a knife and serve it for dinner.

“Hi,” she snapped back.
Jules turned to look at his girlfriend. “Touchy today, aren’t we?”
“No, you’re the one that’s touchy,” she hissed, throwing the tent poles on the ground. “You’re touchy with everyone, Jules, especially Ana.”
“I thought that was over and done with. Why are you resurrecting it?”
“It’s not over, Jules. Every time I look at a magazine I see your face and hers.”
“So how long do you plan on tormenting me?” he inquired sharply. “I have no control over the media.”
“You have all the control in the world, Julian Vercini, and you wield it every chance you get,” Cass sneered, and retrieving the poles from the ground, she pretended to erect her own tent.
Sensing the obvious chasm between the two and feeling at least partially responsible for it, Ana asked, or more accurately suggested, ”Hey, uh guys, can we not fight?” .
Much to her surprise, Cass and Jules turned simultaneously to stare at her, their confused expressions reminiscent of inquisitive puppies unable to comprehend the objects before them. Mistaking the look for a common point of agreement, however, Ana sought a swift escape.
“You know, I’m going to go see what Nate is doing. Talk amongst yourselves,” she murmured, quickly retreating into the woods.
“Wait! Ana, wait!” Jules called after her, scurrying up the bank to catch up. “I want to talk to you.”
Grabbing Ana’s hand, Jules drew her farther into the woods, away from both Cass and Nate.
“My lovely Ana,” he uttered softly, pulling her hand up to kiss it. “I am indebted to your mercy. Thank-you for forgiving my egregious behavior.”
“Jules, why do you do this?” she asked sternly.
“Do what?” he inquired, kissing her hand again.
“Woo me like I’m some prestigious lady from the middle-ages,” she responded, assuming a bombastic English accent.
“Why not?” he quipped, placing her hand over his heart. “You are a lady, are you not?”
“Yes I am, but I am Nate’s lady and Cass is yours,” she answered with a quivering voice, for she was secretly delighted by his courting. “You cannot go about romancing various women and kissing their hands. No wonder Cass is mad at you.”
“Cass and I have not been well for a long time,” he remarked. “You know that. Besides, you always play back,” he teased coyly. “I like it.”
A thrill shot through her veins, but she resisted the urge to return his advances. “Go,” she ordered, “before Nate and Cass wonder where we are.”
”Let them wonder. I shall tell them I was sailing the beautiful ship Ana, and we stopped at port for the night.”
“You have a death-wish Jules,” she proclaimed. “One day they will find you brutally murdered in a field, and they will wonder which man you cuckolded was responsible for your death.”
“Say it’s Nate and I’ll gladly die.”
”Stop it!” she ordered unenthusiastically. “I’m changing your name. You shall no longer be Julian; henceforth you shall be known as Romeo: sworn enemy to my kingdom.”
“Then as enemy to your kingdom I shall conquer your estate and steal your land, but you will find me to be a gentle and kindly master.”
Ana couldn’t help but laugh at Jules’ scintillating wit.
“Ana! Ana!”
Immediately she recognized the voice as Nate’s. He was looking for her: she’d been gone too long.
“See, you’re going to get both of us in trouble,” Ana warned. “I have to leave now. Bye.”
As she turned to head back to camp Julian suddenly grabbed her from behind. Whirling her around, he pulled her in close till her face was merely inches away from his, and Ana could smell the sweet scent of his body as it flooded her nostrils. For all of his vices, it was Julian who made Ana swoon the most.
“Ana,” he whispered softly, “Ana, I shall see you again this very night.”
With that he kissed her tenderly, as if she were a fragile vase that might break upon too much pressure. At first she felt the natural urge to push him away and chastise him for his presumptuous behavior, but in the end she didn’t do it -- for there was a part of her that not only wished for his embrace, but wanted more.

“Where were you?” Nate asked upon her return.
“I was looking for sticks for the fire,” Ana lied.
“Forget the fire right now. I need you to help me with the tent. Here, hold this,” he ordered, handing her a pole. She watched on as Nate drove the stakes in the ground, then began constructing the framework.
“Cass hates me,” she said at last.
“Can you blame her?”
“Yes,” she whined. “You don’t hate Jules.”
“That’s because I’m a man. Women are different.”
“Oh really?” she inquired suspiciously. “And how are we different?”
“Forget I said anything. I had a temporary lapse in sanity, but it has returned.”
“No, really, how are we different?” she prodded again.
“Look, Cass is a woman, and...” he said, weighing his words carefully, “as a woman, she’s...well...she can be, you know, histrionic at times...”
“You’re saying she’s melodramatic?” Ana interrupted.
“Well, yes.”
“Because she’s a woman?”
“Well, yes,” Nate answered again.
“Ok, that’s fine,” she remarked offhandedly.
Nate let out a sigh of relief.
“So, conversely, you don’t hate Jules because you’re a guy and not melodramatic?” Ana inquired.
Nate smiled at her with a rather amused expression upon his face. “That’s faulty logic. If A is true that doesn’t automatically imply that B, the opposite of A, is also true. There are other explanations.”
“So, then why don’t you hate Jules?”
“I don’t know,” he answered flippantly. “I guess because I found the photos to be artistically redeemable...and I believe he was clearly inspired, although I now question the motives of his ‘inspiration’. And finally, I guess because I don’t feel threatened by him and, in a way, I feel sorry for the guy. He has problems.”
“Yeah,” Ana confirmed weakly. “He does.”
“I’m not insulting him, Ana.”
“I know,” she answered sadly. “So, how do I make peace with Cass?”
“Time,” he answered. “Time heals all wounds. Right now the injury is fresh and can’t heal because of the press. But, eventually it will all fade from the public eye, and then from her mind. The memory will disappear into the past, and then she’ll be receptive to you.”
“You’re so wise,” Ana praised him.
“I’m not wise; I’m just a good listener.”
At this, Ana turned to gawk at Nate, astounded by his meek humility. Although he'd always been that way it still amazed her, because if anyone had any reason to be prideful, it was Nate. In addition to being creatively and intellectually brilliant the guy was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. She used to laugh watching the girls practically trip over their tongues to get to him after a gig. Ana always wondered why such a man would love her when he could have just about anyone he wanted. It never made any sense to her at all.
Although sometimes - on those rare occasions when Nate would speak about his past – she’d think it had to do with his childhood. It was the only possible explanation, but not in the way one would think.
Nate had been misbegotten in abject poverty. He was born in a dilapidated farm house in the middle of Iowa, which is where his parents had lived at the time, although they later moved into a ramshackle shanty his father had built with his own hands. Neither parent worked, and so they were always wanting for even the basic necessities. Occasionally a local resident would take pity on them and give them some money for food, and then Nate’s father would go into town for groceries. Unfortunately he’d return the next day penniless with nothing but a hangover to show for it.
A local, childless couple named the Grace’s had taken compassion upon Nate, and secretly fed him a hot meal every day after school and bought him new shoes when his were worn out, although every act of their generosity provoked a beating from his mother when he returned home. She would accuse him of stealing and call him a liar when he told her the truth.
To end Nate’s persecution, the couple visited the shanty one day to confirm his story. When Nate came home from school that afternoon, he received a black-eye and broken nose for accepting charity from other folks. Eventually Nate hid his shoes in a plastic box in the woods, so he could wear them without his mother knowing.
When Nate was seven, he stopped going to school. When he didn’t show up to eat for two days, the Graces grew concerned and went to the shanty to check on him. They found him chained to one of the supporting beams, dehydrated and half-starved out of his mind for food. His parents had abandoned him there, left him like the shanty to which he was chained.
Nate never saw his biological parents again.
The Graces had taken him in, eventually legally adopting him as their own son. Nate had told Ana that for the rest of his youth, he had known nothing but happiness with his new parents. They fed him, cared for him, bought him clothes, enrolled him in sports, read him books and taught him the general wisdom of life, but most of all, he had told me, they loved him. It was their love that had helped him recover from all his childhood pain.
For this reason he had been absolutely heartbroken when, at the age of sixteen, he found out his parents had died in a plane crash on their way back home from England. Nate and some of his relatives had planned the funeral accordingly, but they could not have anticipated the turn-out for the event. The large church, which could easily seat a thousand, was standing room only. Apparently the Grace’s generosity knew no bounds, although no one was aware to what extent they were munificent. They had kept their mercies private, to the exclusion of the other beneficiaries.
Some time after their deaths Nate received a letter in the mail informing him that his biological father had passed away while spending time in prison for armed robbery. The date for the funeral was set, although in the end, no one showed up for the service, so Nate and the preacher buried his father together, in a modest grave set on a hillside in the country.
To this day, Nate has heard nothing about his mother.

TM by Tanya Smith

It was evening by the time the small group of friends completed the campsite. Thankfully the rest of the afternoon had passed without a single dramatic incident, and they now sat broiling their food over the fire, chatting away about movies and art. While initially aloof, Cass had eventually warmed up to Ana, although Ana could tell the girl still harbored resentment for Jules’ and her indiscretion. Nevertheless, the two had attained an acceptable level of cordial tolerance, which was quite impressive given that Cass despised Ana’s very existence less than six hours ago.
In contrast, Nate and Jules were practically married to each other. Jules had brought his swords and bow along, offering Nate a brief introductory course in both before the sky grew completely dark. At first Nate had shunned the idea because he thought it was absurd and childish, but he later accepted at Jules’ urging. His resistance quickly faded, though, the first time he shot the bow. It was love at first sight and Ana knew immediately that within a week he would be hauling her to archery lessons. She was all too aware of the fact that when Nate fell in love with something, he fell all the way in love with it. Moderation was a foreign concept to him, and that’s why when, at the age of nineteen, he tried heroin he became instantly addicted.
His addiction hadn’t lasted long, but it had been severe. His taste for the drug had quickly given way to an appreciation for the fine, white powder, and before long he was a master chemist, mixing various substances together for their desired effects. From what he said, Ana gathered he had overdosed several times before hitting bottom in an ambulance en route to the hospital. It was this experience, however, that had provided the impetus for him to get clean. He told Ana he had died then, and during the period between his death and his subsequent resuscitation in the emergency room he had a vision of his parents, the Graces. They were standing in the sky, their faces contorted in grief, as a bright, white, light beamed down from behind them. Because of his dream, Nate said, when the emergency workers finally revived him he swore he would never use drugs again.
And he never did.
“Hello in there, hello?”
Ana looked up from her trance to find Jules struggling to get her attention.
“Are you daydreaming about me again?” he asked, winking at her.
At this, Nate smiled and shook his head in bewilderment at Jules’ audacity.
“Cause I know you think I’m sexy,” he continued, “and you really can’t help it.”
Cass glared hard at both of them.
“Believe it or not, Jules,” Ana answered, “I do not spend every waking moment contemplating your beauty. Revelation: you’re not the only person in my world.”
“Hush!” he chided. “I can’t believe you said that! Ana, you and I definitely need to conversate. Clearly your priorities aren’t in order.”
Ana looked over at Nate, who was now chuckling and shaking his head in wonder, and then at Cass, who by this point closely resembled a Doberman Pincher. Nate could take the joke but Cass wanted to kill Julian.
“I’m sure Cass fantasizes about you all day,” Ana said, hoping to deactivate the bomb, “don’t you Cass?”
The expression on Cass’ face informed Ana her plan had worked, for Jules’ girlfriend broke out in a grateful smile.
“Actually, I dream about Nate.”
Ana suddenly shot up from where she was seated. “I’m sorry?” she asked, wondering if she’d understood Cass’s words correctly.
“I dream about Nate,” Cass repeated, eyeing Ana’s boyfriend with those soulful, blue eyes. Although Ana knew Cass’s appreciation of Nate was purely an act of revenge, she still wanted to strangle her.
“I’m flattered,” he responded, winking at Cass, “that such a pretty girl would think of me.”
Ana now wanted to strangle them both. She looked over at Julian, her companion in the new ordeal, to gauge his response. He looked disturbed but not half as irate as she was, though Ana could tell from his face that he felt sympathetic for her plight.
“Ok, let me explain something to you both,” Jules announced diplomatically. “Ana and I have been flirting for a very long time and so we're covered under the “common-law” principle, but you two have never flirted with each other before. Consequently, you've clearly violated the rules of social decorum and are thus banned from any further coquetry until such time that you have demonstrated sufficiently to me and Ana that you can engage in said ambiguous behavior without doing grievous harm or embarrassment to yourselves, but more importantly, to us."
Cass almost burst out laughing at his diatribe.” So how does it feel, Julian?” she fleered, smug and content that she had successfully incited a response.
“I don’t know, Cass, I don’t feel much of anything right now,” he shot back, and then beamed with pride at his own cleverness.
With an amused smile Nate turned to look at Jules. “You do realize your own hypocrisy, don’t you?"
“Oh pu-lease. It’s only hypocritical if it’s somebody else,” Jules countered with a wink. For the life of her, Ana couldn’t figure out how Nate and Jules got along so well when she and Cass were ready to duke it out in a WWE RAW death match. But maybe it had to do with the fact that she and Cass were women and thus naturally inclined towards protecting their assets, especially when they came in jeans, with all the fiery determination of a lioness guarding her cubs.
Suddenly a crack and a rumble came from behind them. Turning, Ana saw what remained of a lightning strike making its way down the southeastern sky. "I thought you said it wasn't going to rain?"
"Apparently the weatherman lied, again," Jules answered. "I guess we should head for our tents before it starts."
Scampering like cockroaches at dawn, they all disappeared inside their tents to batten down for the night. Nate read part of Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye" before extinguishing the lamp and snuggling up to Ana, his warm body forming a tight cocoon around hers. She adored his naturally protective instinct and was especially glad to have it on an evening when it sounded like all Hell was breaking loose outside.
At about a quarter-to-one in the morning the thunderstorm finally broke, leaving only a light rain to dampen the thoroughly saturated earth. Nate was fast asleep as he usually was whenever it stormed; the rain served as a kind of sedative to him. For a moment Ana laid there studying him, transfixed by the subtle innocence that his face adopted whenever he was pleasantly resting. He looked so beautiful reclined upon the mattress, his long eyelashes twitching from his dreams. She would have kissed him softly if she could have gotten away with it, but was afraid that she’d wake him.
Slowly Ana sat up and unzipped the door to the tent. She had to use the bathroom and if she didn't go soon, Nate and she would be sleeping in a puddle. Making her way into a dense thicket, she relieved myself and was heading back to the tent when to her surprise she saw someone standing under one of the trees.
It was Julian.
He was leaning casually against an immature pine studying her, his curly brown hair hanging in ringlets from all the rain. The storm had also drenched his white t-shirt, which now clung tightly to his chest so that she could see the curvy lines separating his muscles.
She’d never seen Jules look sexier than he did at that moment, underneath that young conifer in the darkness while it rained. He must've known it too, because he approached her, drawing nearer until she could see the water droplets careening down his face to his lips before meeting their destinies on the front of his shirt or jeans.
They never said a word to each another that night, but when his lips touched hers, the wet ground shook beneath her feet as lightning struck all around, setting the woods ablaze with their love.

Yes, I'm shamelessly bouncing this back up to the top so it can "hang out" beside the synopsis thread.

What can I say? I can be unscrupulous at times. (--:

Countess

Thats not nice :(. How does this tie in with the rest of the story that is posted elswere on this site?? I dare say I have read the entire thing out of order and now I'm lost. How does Nate die? How does this tie in to the parts with Jules and Ana together? Does this effect Ana's choice of marrying the cowboy(sorry for the terming, I don't remember what you called him)??

thanks, me

ps) I really like your writing style :-)

“Nate! Nate! Wake-up! We have to get out of here!”
The storm that had abated in the night during Ana and Jules’ excursion into the woods now threatened to topple trees on their tent. According to the weather report on the radio, a hurricane had turned suddenly in the Atlantic, making landfall to the east of Fayetteville before rapidly moving W/NW towards the mountains. It hadn’t reached them yet, but they were directly in its path.
Jules and Cass had already risen and were expeditiously hurling equipment in their truck, which now closely resembled a construction worker’s vehicle. Nate and Ana, however, hadn’t even begun to pack.
Exiting the tent, Ana suddenly heard a sharp crack, followed by crunching glass. A narrow pine, unable to sustain the strong gusts of wind, had broken off five feet from the base and fallen directly on Jules’ truck. The roof had collapsed under the blow, smashing both the front and back windshields and making it impossible to drive. Jules simultaneously looked shocked and horrified. While the majority of his belongings had been spared, the truck itself was a wreck and would have to be abandoned.
Just then Ana heard Nate approach from behind. Apparently he had heard the tree fall and burst out of bed to see if his mechanical love machine had been damaged.
“Grab your crap and throw it in the Hummer.” he ordered Jules.
Jules looked offended. “I told you once, I’m not riding in a Hummer.”
“For God's sake, man, get off your political high-horse," Nate snapped, "and put your **** in my truck before we're all killed!”
Crossing his arms petulantly, Jules scowled like a belligerent child. “I am not riding in that evil, wicked, gas-guzzler of yours, Nate, ever! Not today, not tomorrow, never, capiche?”
“Fine! Don’t get your stuff, but I’m going to punch your lights out and put you in the truck if you don’t get in! Which way do you want it, Jules!?”
Ana could tell Nate was really pissed – but then there was a hurricane coming and his “Diesel Chick” was in imminent danger. Yes, Nate had named his truck, something she found very strange but then Nate was so wonderful in other ways she could hardly complain.
Apparently his threat to do bodily harm to Jules worked, because Jules stared angrily at Nate for a moment before returning to his truck to retrieve his and Cass’ belongings. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room in the trunk to accommodate everything so they all agreed to leave some of the camping equipment behind for the hurricane to pilfer through at its leisure.
No one said a word all the way down the mountain, save Jules who kept muttering something about diabolical motorized transportation to himself while Nate was figuring out an alternate route for them to take. A rockslide had blocked the main exit, so that they were forced to backtrack some before venturing down another path. By the time they hit the hard surface road, they had no idea where we were.

***

It wasn’t long before Ana figured out why Nate kept smiling at himself in the rearview mirror, and it wasn’t because he was checking his teeth for leftovers. Cass was flirting with him, winking and making eyes in his direction every time he checked for cars. Ana knew because she caught Cass out of her peripheral while she pretended to look for something in the back seat. Cass had a lot of nerve flirting with her boyfriend in front of her face on the sly like that, but, she couldn’t say a word. She kept thinking about the night before and feeling extremely guilty for Jules and her misbehavior. Nevertheless, she reached behind her seat and squeezed Jules' leg affectionately, all the while ensuring Cass was paying proper attention to her gesture. When Cass turned away in disgust, Ana felt satisfied that she'd seen her, but Julian must've been oblivious to their subtext because he practically crawled over the seat to return the favor.
That must've really pissed Cass off because then she leaned forward and hugged Nate out of spite.
The rest of the trip was that way, with Ana and Cass trying to outdo and irritate each other. For his part, Nate seemed extremely flattered by all the attention while Jules - no stranger to being the central focus - played back as if it were a game.
By late afternoon Ana recognized the mountainous peaks of West Virginia outside the car window, and quickly ascertained that they were lost. They had driven now for hours with nary a single sighting of human existence, so when they arrived at the small grease and grill joint whose only sign read "food", they immediately pulled in to eat.
The restaurant was standard for such a place, with poorly sanitized plastic for tables and chairs. They all ordered pancakes from the menu, although what the waitress brought them did not resemble any kind of pancake they’d ever seen before. The heap of mush should have been called "scrambled flapjacks", but they were so hungry they would've eaten snakes so long as they had been cooked.
Before long Ana noticed they’d drawn the interest of several of the restaurant's customers, who she observed shared an appreciation for badly stained cotton flannel shirts. These were dirty, filthy men - men who hadn't showered or shaved in weeks and who had certainly never visited an orthodontist. The creatures from God-knows-where were staring hard at Nate and Julian, who were properly bathed and clothed and who had clearly visited a dentist within the past decade. They didn't even seem to notice her or Cass sitting by their sides.
Jules and Nate were too busy talking and Cass was too occupied with trying to play footsie with Nate to notice the danger, so Ana quietly suggested that they should all leave to prevent a possible situation. Nate and Cass immediately recognized what was going on, although Nate had to tell Julian to be quiet when he complained about his unfinished food.
After paying the bill, Nate headed out the door to meet the rest in the parking lot and that's when it happened.
From what the men said, she gathered that they thought she and her friends were gay, and because she and her friends were gay, the men thought that they should die.
Although Ana did not understand exactly what went down that Autumn night – for to her it all seemed like a foggy mix of jumbled snapshots in time that, when put together, didn't make a great deal of sense - she had comprehended specific moments. In retrospect, she remembered Nate lying on the ground and Jules driving off with Cass and then Jules coming back. She also remembered her own screams and a man on top of her, and then another, although she did not recall their total number.
During the ordeal she had stared up at the evening sky, which then was painted bright red from the setting sun, and had thought how it reminded her of a crimson tide. She had studied its every detail, observing the subtle nuances in color and their transition across the great expanse. The sun itself was dyed a sanguine shade, something Ana had never seen before, and it astonished her to the point that she shut her eyes and tried to recollect the image in her mind.
When she finally awoke from her “dream,” she had discovered that she was coated in blood from her hair to her feet. She had tried to scream, but nothing came out. Staring down, she had noticed that she held a sword in her hand; it was stained with bright red paint like the sanguine sky. Then she had looked at Jules, who was standing within arm's reach, and he was covered in it too. And behind him was Nate, pale as the Harvest Moon, with an expression of horror upon his face.

***

At the time the whole situation felt chimerical, like they were performing a scene in a perversely twisted Stephen King novel, at least until Jules doubled over as if he were in pain. "Oh ****! Oh ****! Oh ****! Oh…"
"Are you hurt? Jules, are you hurt?" someone asked. It was Nate.
Jules looked up and Ana could see in his eyes a mix of apprehension and fear. "No."
"Then give me the sword. Come on - - give it to me now," Nate ordered, cautiously approaching Jules to retrieve the sword from his hand.
"Ana, you too."
Without thinking, she handed Nate her sword.
"Alright, where's the truck Jules?"
By now Jules was breathing hard, as if he had just run a marathon. "Down the road - it's just over that hill," he gasped.
"Ok. Let's go."
Suddenly Nate took off running towards the vehicle so Jules and Ana followed him. When they arrived at the Hummer, they found Cass inside, pallid as a ghost. She was shivering and sweating at the same time, something Ana found very strange, but she wasn't about to ask Cass what was wrong.
Reaching behind the back seat, Nate pulled out a garbage bag and thrust the swords inside.
"Alright, let's roll," he ordered.
They all got in the car and Nate hauled *** down the road. None of them knew where they were going, but none of them cared so long as it was away from the restaurant. As they drove Jules continued to curse, saying "Oh ****," repeatedly so that the rhythm of his words took on a musical sound. Ana started to tap her hand and hum along to the tune until Jules abruptly stopped to gawk at her. His determined stare eventually made Ana nervous to the point where she asked him to quit.
"She's not herself," Nate commented, looking at both Jules and Ana in the rearview mirror.
You can say that again," muttered Jules.
"She's not herself."
Jules looked at Nate in the mirror and smiled gratefully.
"So, Cass," Nate remarked, staring at the phantasm formerly known as Cass, "you've been flirting with me this whole time and I don't even know your age. Can you tell me how old you are?"
Cass shivered and sweated, but didn't say a word.
"You know, I'd really like to know your age so I can tell my friends about the beautiful girl who flirted with me."
Cass slowly looked over at Nate. "21."
"You're 21? Wow. I'm very flattered. Do you know how old I am?"
"No," she uttered weakly.
"I'm 33. That's old as Hell, isn't it?"
At this Cass giggled the color slowly returning to her face.
"It's not that old," she replied.
"If I sired you when I was 13, I could be your father."
"That's disgusting," Ana commented, and it was. The thought of Nate being Cass' father made her want to hurl chunks. But as much as it revolted her, it didn't make her jealous, although she thought that it should. She tried to muster the emotion in herself but alas, it was futile. She was dead inside, like a zombie.
"Ana's right: you guys are gross," mused Jules, and Ana could tell he wasn't jealous either.
Nate's face abruptly turned serious. "We're going to be stopping shortly. I want you guys to stay in the car while I take care of some business. Cass," he uttered softly, "you were never here. No one saw you. When you get home, I want you to call a friend a go visit for awhile. You need an alibi."
Cass nodded at his words.
"Ana, Jules…don't worry. I'm going to take care of this, alright?"
In fact, there was no basis for Nate's assertion but Jules and Ana shook their heads eagerly in agreement, perhaps because they needed to believe it was true in order to survive.

***

Ana realized only after Nate had stopped that the "business" he was referring to earlier had nothing to do with urination. He was getting rid of the swords. She and Jules watched as he disappeared into the woods with the garbage bag, then reappeared some time later empty handed. Neither of them knew what Nate did with the evidence, but it was never found. To this day it's still lost in the mountains of West Virginia.
For the rest of the trip they drove in silence, stopping only for enough gas to make it home. Nate dropped Cass off at her place like he said he would, then drove Jules and Ana to her apartment. Once inside he had she and Jules strip and take showers, and when Ana came out she found Nate behind the complex, burning the remnants of their soiled clothes, except for her underwear. He placed those in a bag.
Unbeknownst to her back then, Nate and Jules had agreed it would be in her best interest to go to the emergency room to be examined after the rape. Of course, when they pulled into the hospital parking lot she figured it out and immediately started screaming at them. The way she saw it, there had been no rape - just a bunch of out of control people behaving badly. Nate and Jules disagreed with her though, and in the end, they grabbed hold of her arms from both sides and drug her kicking and screaming into the emergency room.
She hated it the entire time she was there. All these doctors and nurses poked and prodded she body with strange instruments till she almost wished she was dead. When it was all over, Ana felt utterly embarrassed and humiliated.
As she put on her clothes she could overhear Nate and Jules conversing with the doctor outside the room. Apparently, she had been attacked in the parking lot of her apartment complex. The criminals had fled upon seeing Nate and Jules, except for one, who Nate had caught before he could escape. They had fought bitterly before the rapist finally punched Nate in the face and made his getaway, and that is why Nate had a black eye and split lip.
When the doctor questioned her about the incident, Ana told him there had been no rape - that it was all a mistake. When he looked at her with sad, blue eyes, Ana could tell he didn't believe the story. Afterwards the doctor had recommended a therapist to Nate and Jules, and then he released her into their custody.

***

CHAPTER IX

Everything changed between them all after that night. Cass informed Jules that they were finished; Nate retreated into his studio to begin work on his next album and Jules – Jules immersed himself in his social life to the exclusion of Ana. He stopped calling her, never returned her calls, and by-passed her on campus. If their meeting was imminent, he’d spit out a cursory, polite “hello”, then rush past, never giving her an opportunity to respond. She felt like she was in Hell and Jules was her tormenter.
Jules didn’t torture just Ana, however; he also punished himself. Leaving sobriety in his wake, Jules inundated his body with every illicit drug he could acquire until there wasn’t a moment when he wasn’t high. Ana watched on in horror as her friend, once lithe but toned, rapidly transformed into a living, breathing skeleton. Miraculously, his new hobby didn’t affect his face; he was still preternaturally beautiful, but the soul in his eyes had long disappeared.
Although Ana was aware that her attempts to restore the relationship were vain, she masochistically sought after him anyway, for she was in love with him and therefore compelled within to reach him. It had taken rape and murder for her to admit it to herself, but now that she had come to terms with her feelings, she was powerless over them and could not free herself from their imperative.
Hoping just for a glance at Jules, she attended all their usual social functions but she often received more than she bargained for there. Unable or unwilling to negotiate a new relationship with a woman, he had thrown himself back into male society. She’d observe him nightly with a different guy, sometimes two, and she’d have to turn away in pain. Jules never stayed with any man for any length of time; after a night, a week, or at the most a month, he’d transition to someone new. Still, that pattern coupled with his drug usage tore Ana apart inside till she thought she would die.
Thankfully, Nate hadn’t left her behind. Like a lighthouse that shines brightest in the storm, he was a fixed constant, a beacon of hope in an irreparable situation. He called her every day to see how she was doing despite the fact that the trauma they’d suffered often left them speechless over the phone. But that really didn’t matter much as far as she was concerned, for it was his presence on the other end of the line that was her comforter.
Surprisingly, Nate called Jules as well. Although Jules did his best to sound positive over the phone, Nate told Ana he could tell he was severely depressed. Sometimes Jules was pixilated, and then he’d confess his true thoughts and feelings, although Nate never gave her specifics regarding those conversations out of respect for Jules’ privacy.
Nate, Jules and Ana struggled on like that for months until their crime finally caught up with them one night. Nate was recording a new song he’d written in his studio when the police knocked down the door and hauled him off in hand-cuffs; Ana was apprehended in front of her classmates after her English Composition course was over. As for Jules, he initially could not be located, but the cops finally found him in his dealer’s house after a two week search. He was lying on the couch dressed in black pantaloons, an open but grimy white button-town, and a black sash that was tied around his head. Apparently he’d been there for days, strung out on junk and unwilling to leave. Neighbors said the dealer seemed grateful when the police arrived to arrest him.
When they drug him into lock-up, it upset Ana so much she became hysterical and a doctor had to come and give her a sedative. Jules was emaciated and filthy, like a cadaver that had been dug up after lying months beneath the earth. What eyeliner he had on had long since relocated to the spot below his lower lashes, and what appeared to be remnants of lipstick had smudged towards his chin and cheek. Semi-conscious and barely able to speak, Jules’ words were so slurred they were unintelligible. For a moment, Ana was really grateful that the police had caught them, for whether they knew it or not, they had saved Jules’ friend’s life.
What happened next, though, was stranger than fiction.
The only truly innocent person in this crucible, Nate, insisted he was guilty. Both Jules and Ana urged him to reconsider his decision to plead with them, but he stubbornly resisted their appeals. In frustration they went to the police, petitioning them for Nate’s release, but with his word against theirs, the police refused to set him free.
Furthermore, despite his refusal to see Ana, Jules paid for Nate and her legal representation. Apparently his nervous breakdown had not impeded his sense of generosity. Ana was unaware of his munificence until one day a woman walked into her cell, introducing herself as Mrs. Weston and informing her she’d been hired on behalf of Julian Vercini to represent her in the case. She was charged with six counts of second degree murder – they all were. Together, the three were looking at a lifetime in prison without parole.
Initially Nate, Jules and Ana all pled not guilty by reason of self-defense. Their lawyers argued, convincingly so, that the mountain men had initiated the dispute and thus they were justified in protecting themselves from any harm. After their defense had presented its case, everyone felt relatively certain the jury would be sympathetic to their plight and come back with an acquittal. However, that delusion was soon replaced with fear and trembling as the prosecution began to make its argument.
The prosecution contested their self-defense claim, pointing to forensic reports that indicated several of the men had been wounded in the back. The state attorney attested that such wounds were consistent with injuries a person might receive if they were fleeing their attacker. To make matters worse, one of the men apparently had been knifed twenty two times, a fact, they argued, that pointed to revenge, not defense, as its primary motivation.
As the trial wore on the three of them began to realize they had very little chance of escaping a guilty verdict. Their lawyers could not rationalize the stab wounds from behind or the overkill of one of the men, and it was becoming increasingly clear that they had exceeded the reasonable limits of the self-defense statute.
Jules and Ana resigned themselves to their fate, and began planning a survival strategy for life in prison, but Nate had other ideas. He told his friends not to lose hope, that sometimes – at the very last moment – when life seemed bleakest, someone would come along and rescue the day. Ana and Jules had thought Nate was referring to the Graces when he said that so they left it alone. Little did they know at the time that Nate was referring to himself.

On the last day of the trial, the state attorney re-called Nate to the stand. The prosecutor had realized long ago that Nate was innocent of the charge, but he wouldn’t recant the indictment in hopes of coercing him into testifying against his friends. Nate utterly refused to succumb to his pressure, however, and today was no different. In a final effort to ensure a guilty verdict, the prosecutor resumed his previous line of questioning, but this time Nate did more than just stand his ground. He overcame.
Rising from his seat, the state attorney grabbed some paper off his desk and walked towards Nate, handing it to him as he sat in the witness box.
“Mr. Grace, can you please read line 17 on that sheet of paper for us?” he asked smugly.
Nate studied the paper a minute before he spoke. “It says ‘three,’” ha answered at last.
“Can you tell us the heading of that column please?”
Glaring hard at the lawyer, Nate replied, “Specimens.”
“Semen specimens, isn’t that right?”
Nate hesitated, then said “Yes.”
“Now Mr. Grace, can you tell us how many men raped your girlfriend?”
Nate looked down at Ana compassionately, as if he were reliving the event.
“I don’t know.”
“We’ve already established in this courtroom that there were three semen samples, so three men must have raped her. Isn’t that right?”
“I guess.”
“There’s only one problem with that theory Mr. Grace. The semen samples only matched two of the men we found lying dead in that parking lot.”
At this revelation, the courtroom fell utterly silent.
“Doesn’t that seem odd to you, Mr. Grace, that only two semen samples matched the attackers when there were three taken from your girlfriend’s body?”
Nate stared apathetically at the prosecutor, unmoved by his grandstanding.
“Can you tell us, Mr. Grace, if you had sex with your girlfriend the night before the killings?”
“Objection! Mr. Grace’s sex life is not relevant to this case.”
“The identity of the third man is very relevant, your honor. Mr. Grace deserves to know exactly who raped his girlfriend.”
“Overruled. You may continue.”
“Now Mr. Grace. Did you or did you not have intercourse with your girlfriend the night that preceded the murders?”
“No, I did not,” Nate scowled, infuriated by the prosecutor’s intrusive questions.
“Well, if that isn’t your semen, whose is it?” inquired the state attorney as if he hadn’t the foggiest idea in the world.
That was the last straw for Nate. “I don’t know!” he yelled, shocking everyone in the courtroom.
“Well I know,” mused the prosecutor. “I know who it is. You see, when it didn’t match any of the dead men, I ran some other tests. That semen is none other than Julian Vercini’s. He’s your friend, I believe, isn’t he?”
Nate looked down at Jules and Ana with an expression that seemed to be a mix of pain and despair.
“Now, Mr. Grace. Can you tell me again how you killed those men?”
For a moment Nate sat silently on the stand, gazing contemplatively at Ana and Jules, whose mutual humiliation prevented them from doing the same. Finally, he said “I did it...I killed them, I killed all of them.”
Incensed by his friend’s irrational martyrdom, Jules abruptly stood up and the two locked eyes with one another. “He didn’t do it; I did it, your honor. Don’t believe him; it was me.”
“Jules, you fool! What are you doing?”
“No, Nate, the question is, what are you doing? Why are you here? You’ve been innocent from the start and yet you insist on standing with us at trial. What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”
Glaring down at Jules, Nate’s eyes flashed. “Why do you insist on taking ownership of this crime? Don’t you know what they will do to you in prison, Jules? They will make you the female of the cell block. Wherever you go you’ll be hunted like prey, and like prey you will never have a moment’s peace from the predators. And afterwards, after they’ve used you all up and torn you apart inside till you can’t do them any good, they’ll kill you and leave you lying on the bathroom floor. Is that what you want, Jules? Is that what you want for yourself?”
Nate’s eyes quickly shifted to the jury, as he continued his speech:
“Members of the jury, don’t sentence him to death for a murder he didn’t commit. Don’t send him to die like that inside those walls. Send me...I killed them all...send me instead.”
In response to his plea for leniency, the jury granted Nate his wish, eventually convicting him on six counts of second degree murder and declaring Ana and Jules ‘not guilty’.
For a few months after his conviction Jules and Ana visited Nate twice a week at the Virginia State Correctional Facility, but unfortunately the predators Nate referenced in his grandiloquent appeal eventually caught up with him. A janitor found him dead on the bathroom floor one day, stabbed to death with a shard of glass.
The guards say he was murdered because he refused to align himself with a gang. As a loner, he was easy pickings for anyone who felt slighted by his unwillingness to join them.
The killers were eventually caught and tried for their crime. In an interview concerning the event, one of them said Nate did not put up a fight. When they approached him in the bathroom, the criminal stated, he simply gazed at them mournfully, then relinquished himself over to their will. He never said a word or cried out the entire time, to the point that several of them swore he wasn’t human, and declared that they would never attack another one again.
After Nate’s death Jules completely disappeared off the face of the earth. Someone said they thought he’d moved to California, and another claimed he’d joined the circus. Ana checked the obituaries to make sure he hadn’t died without telling anyone – knowing Jules, he’d have to make an announcement about it. When nothing appeared for several weeks, she felt assured that he was still alive.
Little did she know it would be another 10 years before she would ever see him again.

***

You GUYS ROCK!

I just came back for a visit and - wow! - one freaking thousand hits! I'm so in awe that people want to read this story. I'm just in awe in general, I think.

Wow. Thanks to all of you who bothered. I just can't tell you how much I appreciate it.

Tanya

hey Countess, i've been interested in Jules' story ever since i read a bit of it somewhere on here...
I'll save these chapters on USB and read them at home when I've got time...
wow, you've got 21 chapters? when are you going to finish it? will you publish it or post all of it on here?

I'm working with a screenplay writer, and have written the first draft of the book's screenplay. The general structure (his idea) is brilliant but some problems have to be resolved. Once it's in good shape I'm going to try to sell it, and use that a means to not sacrifice artistic integrity when it comes to the book.

The short of it is I may end up posting the rest of it here, but not now as my goal is to have the screenplay sold and made into a movie, and the movie produced so editors/agents will be hungry enough that they'll let me dictate the details of the book.

I don't want some moron changing the book, deleting my favorite words and turning it into pop fiction (vomit).

HOpefully that answers your question on some level. If you want I can send the rest to you privately, however.

Thanks for reading, Tanya

cool
i haven't read all of it yet... but I liked what I've read so far, except that the language seems a bit too stilted sometimes.. no offence....

so far, my opinion of Jules is that he's a perfect ****hole, but i love the way he's written.. plus, he's hard to pin down.. maybe he's not that bad after all.... moreover, he's like most (successful) people I know, so I think it's a very realistic portrait...
is he supposed to be some modern day dandy? I'm taking this lecture on Oscar Wilde and last week the prof talked about the dandy... it soooo reminded me of Jules....

I've got a question, though... i think your characters live in the US? they're English sounds extremely British, though... Is Jules from England originally? if he is, it would make sense.. but what about Ana and the other characters?

>so far, my opinion of Jules is that he's a perfect ****hole

LMAO. People either love or hate him. I'm in love with him - if he were real, I'd marry him. Of course, I see all his potential/positive qualities and write about his negative while simultaneously overlooking them.

> but i love the way he's written.. plus, he's hard to pin down.. maybe he's not that bad after all....

He's not a bad guy on the inside. He has good feelings and a sense of right and wrong, but like most young people he's impulsive and short-sighted. He doesn't consider the consequences of his actions, and he can be too tenacious at times.

Also, he's lacking self-confidence, so what you see is what he presents to people so that they'll love him. You can see some of his self-doubt come out when he first meets Nate.

>moreover, he's like most (successful) people I know, so I think it's a very realistic portrait...

Well, he's based on a real person, did you know that? There's a successful personality out there that I fictionalized and wa-lah! Instant Jules.

>is he supposed to be some modern day dandy?

Yes! Yes! Yes! (I'm jumping up and down and applauding) Thank you for getting it! Exactly! Awesome.

>I've got a question, though... i think your characters live in the US? they're English sounds extremely British, though... Is Jules from England originally?

You're too astute. He's half-Italian, half-British and a jet setter, so he's been exposed to various cultures in his years. Plus, my real person is British, and Jules is modeled on him, so naturally he sounds British (LMAO.) Vercini is actually a satiric take on Versace - I'm poking fun at the fashion industry (which pisses me off that The Devil Wears Prada came out before this landed on anyone's desk). I poke fun at Hollywood; I have two horses named Jake and Heathcliff (Brokeback Mountain). There are lots of cultural references throughout if you keep a watchful eye. You've already picked up on the British dandy concept.

Thanks for reading. Good job. Okay, maybe I'll post some additional chapters here. I love talking about it though. Plus, I'm rewriting the screenplay, and understanding what translates and what doesn't translate in the readers' mind is VERY important...Tanya

cool :) thanks for the explanations.. i dunno the first thing about fashion or the fashion industry, so maybe that's why i didn't get the allusions...
i'll try to read the other half of what you've posted so far tonight or one of these days :)

hey Countess,
I've finally read all of what you've posted here and I still find your story extremely fascinating.

about your style, i think it reads more like some kind of report than a run-of-the-mill novel, because it summarizes long stretches of time in rather short paragraphs.
maybe you could do a little more showing instead of telling and stretch out the important passages a bit (e.g. how Jules and Nate make friends all of a sudden;Ana's rape; what Jules and Ana feel when Nate dies) but in general i like this style. it's unusual, not like any novel I've read so far.

it's very fast paced and plot-driven but the characters are interesting at the same time. the fast pace leaves you breathless and kinda reflects their rapid descent into tragedy. there's hardly any time to think about why the characters are doing what they do and you get the impression they don't think a lot themselves, either. they just rush headlong from one 'situation' into the next. at first it's all funny, playful etc but it gradually builds up into a full-blown disaster.
is the second half going to be the same? hm, I'd like to see some slower-paced scenes, a bit more reflection and more details about Jule's and Ana's lives after Nate dies. i think after the crazy rush leading up to the murder and trial, they should slow down a bit and we should see how this experience has impacted on their lives and attitudes.

about the interview: I still think it's brilliantly written. it reads just like a real interview from a news mag! it's also an ideal opening, because it makes you want to know who Jules is and what happened before his latest transformation.

Quote:

---

"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 my friends."

---

poor poor baby Jules! heehee, these lines are brilliant.. it's just like in real life: when some celebrity is involved in a crime it's treated like a rough time for them, not like something terrible they should be held responsible for. and after a little stint of insanity, they go back to business as usual and even get pittied for all they've been through. How do they get away with it?? :D

Quote:

---

"Her flowers die constantly. Just last week she killed a rosebush she had imported from some foreign soil, and you should 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 overwaters."

---

:lol: :lol: :lol:

some inconsistencies:
*the narrators voice/ the characters' speech varies in register: sometimes (especially around the beginning) it's very formal and old fashioned (e.g. nocturnal festivity for party) and sometimes it's colloquial/ everyday language.... is this intended? if it doesn't have any clear purpose, maybe you should change it...
i think it would be O.K. for Julian to use these expressions to show off/ because his sense of humour involves using funny archaic words. but the narrators diction should be clearly distinct from his from the beginning on, especially as the narrator stops using old fashioned expressions after a while.
*at the beginning (when they prepare for the rave) it's not clear where they are: what country, who's flat, are they on campus etc


have you finished the novel? wanna read more:banana:

Hey Sleepy Witch,

Thanks for your suggestions. I think what you're experiencing as you read is many different influences intermingling themselves onto the page. I love Lovecraft and Poe's narrative style, which varies quite differently from Dostoevsky/Tolstoy, whom I also love, and I have a great affection for poetry as you know, such as Lord Byron, and certain playwrights, especially Oscar Wilde. Since I don't stick with one genre they have assimiliated into the style you're reading.

Two writers I greatly respect (because their IQ's are leagues above mine) noted I had managed to merge traditional, "old English" with contemporary "new English" and they seemed to think it was a good thing because it is unique - it ties the past to the present in ways that perhaps haven't been done before. You're keen to have picked up on that as well.

Regarding your other comments - you're right in that I should do more showing in certain scenes. That's difficult for me, I think, because I don't like to write a lot of nonsense, and yet people talk about nonsense all the time, so it's realistic that characters should discuss their sick Uncles or the bur that got stuck in their foot the other day. I just personally find that conversation boring (I do alot of tuning out in my own life when things don't interest me) so it's hard for me to be boring to myself. (--:

Oh well. I guess I'll go introduce an Aunt with a penchant for purple flowered hats or something. (--:

Very good suggestions. I have downloaded your short story, fwiw, and promise to read as soon as I get a chance. That may take a few days, as I am a single parent, have a laundry list of "to dos" and have promised two other people to read their work - BUT, yours comes first, as you have been so dedicated this entire time to mine.

Thank you.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Countess

so it's realistic that characters should discuss their sick Uncles or the bur that got stuck in their foot the other day.

Oh well. I guess I'll go introduce an Aunt with a penchant for purple flowered hats or something. (--:

---

:lol: :lol: :lol: the bur that got stuck in their foot :)

Quote:

---

I have downloaded your short story, fwiw, and promise to read as soon as I get a chance. That may take a few days, as I am a single parent, have a laundry list of "to dos" and have promised two other people to read their work - BUT, yours comes first, as you have been so dedicated this entire time to mine.

---

you mean "Revels before Lent"? yep, it's 25 pages or something

thanks for reading it :) I hope you'll enjoy it. make sure you've got the latest version, because i made lots of changes and the first version was crap. (did you download it today?--> then it's the latest version)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Countess

I'm working with a screenplay writer, and have written the first draft of the book's screenplay. The general structure (his idea) is brilliant but some problems have to be resolved. Once it's in good shape I'm going to try to sell it, and use that a means to not sacrifice artistic integrity when it comes to the book.

The short of it is I may end up posting the rest of it here, but not now as my goal is to have the screenplay sold and made into a movie, and the movie produced so editors/agents will be hungry enough that they'll let me dictate the details of the book.

I don't want some moron changing the book, deleting my favorite words and turning it into pop fiction (vomit).

HOpefully that answers your question on some level. If you want I can send the rest to you privately, however.

Thanks for reading, Tanya

---

Countess, Countess... You write terrifically... incorporating a genuine level of interest and maturity into your characters that is (and I mean this) rarely seen in contemporary literature. I would suggest though that you don't post everything online, or if you do at least get your literature copyrighted first because... as it is... anyone can just take your work and claim it as their own which I would HATE to see.

Your writing, although I believe I've stipulated this before, gets on the pretentious side at times, but this is nothing a little editing won't get rid of and turn your whole project into a flawless, thought provoking piece. But hey, I needn't say that! The votes for your story speaks for itself! 8 to 1 people believe your story is terrific!(and that one must be plain jealous ;)). Keep it up Countess. I really am enjoying the read... but your chapters seem very short. Is this going to be a short book?

Thanks for the advice Adolescent. No, I won't post it all online for the reason you have listed, although the idea that anyone would even want to steal my work is absurd, seeing as my first score in the contest was a 4.7 out of 10 (I should have failed English).

I do write "high-brow" prose because I prefer it myself. (-: I'm rarely content unless I'm reading Wharton or Wilde or Shaw or some other writer whose main characters are all snooty and clever (okay, Bastat is different in some respects - more dedicated to Poe and Lovecraft).

The book is not short. My chapters are, however, I suppose because I don't beat around the bush. I tend to ask myself "Is this conversation/dialogue necessary?" and if it doesn't seem to add to the book, I don't write it or delete it. Narration covers parts I would personally find boring to read (You remember in early English classes "Describe how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Well, I hated that - I don't care how the guy gets into the car or if he picks his nose on the sly, or if you can see through her skirt because she doesn't have on a slip. I've never had a single question asking me the color of the protagonist's car on an English exam, so if the color is a lovely shade of blue, then it's blue for a reason - it symbolizes something.)

Everything has meaning in whatever I write, from the names of characters down to their interior decoration. That's how I work and it's probably my greatest weakness.

BTW, I like your fox leaping over walking cashmere. That's hysterical.

It's 12:30 AM, I just got home from work and am tired. Bye for now.

WHOOP! I didn't see this! Getting bookmarked, I'm gonna read it when I get back. :banana: Yay!