[Paris Hotel Ritz, L'Espadon restaurant. Black sky, a few stars show through half-closed curtains. Candles burn brightly, stage lights down low. Morcheeba's "Over and Over" plays eerily on invisible speakers (I'm falling over and over and over and over again now/ Calling over and over and over and over again...). Seated center are F.M. "Princess Diana" Vieuchanger and Frank "Dodi al-Fayed" Figurski. Leash of formally-clad mechanical pig is hooked over Vieuchanger's chair with large sequined bag. John "Trevor Rees-Jones" Cleese stands attentively.]

Vieuchanger [not quite sarcastically, but ambiguously]: I presume we shall trick the paparazzi as we usually do.

Figurski: Naturally. You'll finish up your eggs and ... Spam, and we'll sip our wine, and we'll look like "two love-struck teenagers" as People magazine will later report, we'll retire briefly to our $2000-a-night suite, then we'll dispatch my regular chauffeur in the Range Rover to lead away the pack of wolves. Excuse me a moment my dear. [Turns.] Computer, arch!

[Holodeck arch appears near table and Figurski exits. Vieuchanger pushes food around her plate, has a tiny bite, sips her wine.]

Vieuchanger [dreamy smile to Cleese-Rees-Jones]: It's the ... medication. Takes away my appetite.

Cleese-Rees-Jones: Right.