Vertigo

"Dexter Valentine shook his head vigorously, unaware of the dangers around him. This can't be it. The final cut had gone poorly for Dexter Valentine, lead actor of the set of the movie Vertigo. It was a thrilling romp about highness in society, and the madness that came with it. Isabela, his co-star, came over to him. 'Why so upset? We still have a show. Even if that was a little, I don't know, reaching?'

Isabela patted Dexter's knee and walked off, her long dark hair flowing behind her, confident she had raised her co-stars' spirits. Dexter wailed again, holding his head in his hands and refusing to believe a word. He was in his late forties, coiffed hair, and the most perfect facial symmetry Tinseltown had ever seen. And, yet his awkward nature! So effete, so feminine! No one could stand him, up close, and his film sets often went just this way.

A line here, a gesture there, and his whole career was sunk. Ruined. If they only knew the truth. Dexter walked off enflamed, roiling over the fact that no one knew who he was. No one, at all...

A small boy on set who had been watching Dexter ran off crying, upset by the actor's strange behavior. Tears streaming down his face, the boy had not been able to figure out why Dexter Valentine was so different in person than he was in his movies. Dexter noticed, and his eyes followed the child with a wicked menace.

He puffed a cigarette, faked an inhale, and stormed off the set with all the apparentness of a great ego smoldering behind his dark shadow. Dexter had been annoyed by Isabella, too. Isabella Grande, the great American actress. She had been aggravated by his behavior as well. Whatever. Who are you to me, old lady. Dexter's ego could not account for such things.

As far as he was concerned, he was the characters from his movies. Bold, dashing, and daring. Handsome, and masculine beyond description. Dexter stared into his trailer's mirror, studying his unique face as he contemplated. The surgery? Nah. This is just who I am.

His head swam into fantasies and screen plays long ago, dashing through jungles, heroically saving people, taking down the villains in the countless movies he had done. Surely, that was the real Dexter Valentine. His phone buzzed, and he took it out and checked it. Smitty, his Hollywood friend, asking how the shoot had gone with a heart covered smiley face. Dexter smiled slightly, then shoved the phone back into his pocket. That was for him.

He studied his appearance in the mirror once more, more convinced than ever his characters were real. With a sigh, he wondered about Isabella's kid, who had run off set because of him. Nasty kid. He didn't get it. Dexter was a big deal, a naturally perfect Hollywood hero, and he had to be respected as that. Lucky he was Isabella Grande's son. Dexter Valentine had dealt with this before.

Dexter relaxed, the final credits for Vertigo rolling on screen to the audience's applause at the premiere in Hollywood. He smiled. Isabella had not been able to come, due to a fatal accident her son had been in a week beforehand. Feeling invincible, Dexter got up from his seat with a slight dizziness and started drinking in the attention of the countless flashing cameras around him.

Bringing in his braggadocio, he smiled his perfect face and explained to the cameras how responsibly and warmly he was dealing with the loss of Isabella Grande's son. It was like life couldn't get any better."