EXT. CINEMA. CENTRAL ENTRANCE. DAY/NIGHT.
The film festival Liza arrived at was a whirlpool of fame and ambition. Here, every step on the red carpet was meticulously staged. Famous actresses showcased luxurious outfits and diamonds, while actors competed in posing. Liza stood among the crowd of journalists, clutching her accreditation badge. Her camera was running, but she filmed detachedly. She didn't need routine shots for the newspaper—she needed one single person—Gleb.
Among the first stars to arrive was Vadim—a sexy brunette with a predator's gaze. He stepped out of the limousine with a self-satisfied smile. A tight black shirt perfectly emphasized his muscular body. Next to him, like an expensive accessory, walked a stunning blonde. Vadim's posing was maniacally focused on himself. He squared his shoulders, played with his eyes, but when his companion tried to straighten his collar, he casually brushed her off without even turning his head. His gaze slid over the crowd, judging and despising simultaneously. Vadim was here to prove he was the best and wouldn't tolerate anyone daring to distract attention from himself.
Next came Maxim—a new rising star. The tall man with model features was alone. Sought-after and loved by the public, he instantly surrounded himself with an aura of accessible romance. His movements were graceful, his smile, meant for the cameras, was captivating. But when he turned away from the flashes for a second, a deep, almost physical pain flickered in his eyes. Hiding his true orientation and playing the role of the ideal lover, Maxim felt like an actor even in his own life. He was suffocating from the constant need to pretend, and every walk down the red carpet was another heavy performance for him.
INT. GLEB'S HOUSE. WARDROBE. DAY.
While stars arrived at the film festival one by one, Gleb was preparing for his exit in his luxurious house, creating the image the public would see in an hour. He loved to arrive last, forcing the audience to wait for his spectacular appearance. His wardrobe was a sanctuary of order: perfectly ironed shirts, neat stacks of sweaters. He threw a shirt over his toned, handsome torso and, with the same "total surrender" as in his roles, buttoned it up. Gold cufflinks, collar, a perfect jacket, shoes—every one of his gestures was refined, demonstrating an inner discipline bordering on ritual.
EXT. CINEMA. CENTRAL ENTRANCE. DAY/NIGHT.
Celebrities continued to arrive at the ceremony. Liza didn't notice them. She was focused and cold, like a sniper stalking a target. The script, rolled up in her handbag, felt like a talisman. She wasn't conducting interviews, merely scanning the crowd, ignoring everyone who wasn't Gleb.
INT. LIMOUSINE INTERIOR. DAY/NIGHT.
Gleb left the house and got into the waiting limousine. He was genuinely surprised to see Alyona inside, dressed in a provocatively revealing evening gown. Her presence was an unwelcome intrusion into his personal space. Beautiful and self-confident, as befits a socialite, she was already waiting for him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked with barely concealed irritation.
"Your father asked me to accompany you," Alyona replied, sweeping an evaluating glance over him. "You can't arrive alone at such an event! Besides, I'll protect you from intrusive fans."
Gleb pressed his lips together. He reluctantly agreed, but immediately set a condition:
"Fine. But you are here only for the public. And for my father. Don't expect any attention from me."
EXT. CINEMA. CENTRAL ENTRANCE. DAY/NIGHT.
When Gleb's limousine pulled up, the central square erupted. Journalists' shouts, fans' screams, the crackle of flashes—it was the apotheosis of his fame. Liza instantly rushed towards the car. Gleb stepped out of the limousine, surrounded by an aura of inaccessibility. Behind him, without the support of his hand, stepped Alyona, clearly unhappy with the neglect. Fans went wild, abandoning everyone else and running towards their idol. Off to the side, Vadim watched this with rage blackened by envy.
"Looks like Gleb is much more popular than you," his companion threw in.
"Shut up," Vadim hissed, clenching his fists. "I brought you to show off your chest, not to babble about who's more popular!"
Maxim turned away. All this commotion, this ostentation, amplified his vulnerability. He again felt like a "private in the ranks" of lies, and it was hard for him to look at Gleb, who seemed to carry his fame with such ease.
Liza was a step away from her goal. She pulled the script folder from her bag, trying to push through the crowd, but she was shoved back by fans, photographers, and reporters. Her "dance" was stopped by the crowd. Gleb and Alyona, like two unreachable deities, walked down the red carpet and disappeared into the building.
INT. CINEMA. MAIN HALL. NIGHT.
In the hall, where solemn silence reigned, the nominees for Best Actor were announced. The suspense hung in the air until a ceremonial voice declared:
"The award goes to... Gleb!"
Vadim forced a smile. His face twitched when he realized he had lost again. Gleb walked onto the stage under the spotlights. He didn't just receive the award—he came out to address his audience. He began by reciting a poem by Gennady Shpalikov:
Do not look to the future gloomily, Sadly nodding your head... Today I became literature The most average, very ordinary. Let my line be eclipsed by another's, But I thank my fate For the right to creative sleeplessness And for the happiness of privates in the ranks.
Finished, he looked straight into the hall.
"I am an ordinary actor," Gleb's voice sounded captivatingly sincere. "And you, my fans, are the ones who make me special. I am grateful for your love and promise to try harder. After all, if it weren't for your love, there would be no creativity from me for you."
Everyone gave a standing ovation. Only Vadim, nursing a grudge, and Alyona, who disliked that Gleb noticed his fans more than her, did not applaud.
INT. CINEMA. LOBBY. NIGHT.
After the awards ceremony, the gala buffet began—a noisy and luxurious continuation of the event. Tables were laden with champagne and exquisite appetizers. Stars, shedding the formality of the stage, now mingled freely with producers, directors, and journalists.
At the buffet, Gleb was immediately surrounded. He was a magnet for attention—the newly awarded actor. Journalists, producers, and admiring colleagues craved his word, his attention, his time.
Liza followed him like a shadow, searching for a moment. She navigated through groups of people, holding the script folder under her arm. She had to ignore the smiles of other, less significant actors and refuse offered champagne. Her journalist accreditation gave her entry, but not access.
Alyona stood persistently beside Gleb. She wasn't just accompanying him, she was blocking him. From her side, this was a dance of ownership: she intercepted glances, answered awkward questions for him, and seemed to maintain a kind of invisible boundary around Gleb, making it clear to everyone: this was her territory. Journalists asked questions, including those about Hollywood. Gleb answered diplomatically, but when he was asked to introduce the "lovely lady," Alyona, eager to confirm her status, took the initiative.
"I'd be happy to introduce myself!" she interrupted with an affected sweetness in her voice, giving Gleb no chance to speak. "Gleb and I are not just dating, I am his fiancée!"
Gleb flinched at such audacity. He tried to object, his face tight, but Alyona was quicker. She sharply pulled him toward her and closed his mouth with a long, commanding kiss. It was a purely performative kiss, calculated only for the public, and aimed to burn away all public doubt. Alyona pulled away from Gleb with a triumphant smile. She didn't suspect that this attempt to publicly declare her power over Gleb, forever securing him as hers, would actually result in her pushing him to dance that very dance of love... but not with her.