Vickie woke up and stared at the ceiling. It was 4:30, and was expected at the photo shoot at 6:30, leaving her with just a little time to prep before leaving. She prepped, then waited for her chauffeur to arrive. When he did they exchanged some boring small talk, none of it worth mentioning, and even if it was she couldn’t remember what was said anyway.
She arrived to her shoot at 6:30, went through the extremely boring poses, dealt with all the people being insincerely kind to her, and generally did what she was supposed to do. She could make a scene, but it would only result in hundreds of reporters harassing her about it, attacking her because she was fed up with the insincerity that seemed to surround her everywhere. She could see the headline now. ‘Clooney Wife Loses It At Photo Shoot’ Then it’d be some article basically slandering her and proclaiming she was the next Hitler.
After the photo shoot, she went and got lunch at some café, and dealt with reporters asking her provoking questions, either that or extremely boring ones like swimsuit preference. After this she went home, and sat on the couch and ate celery alone while skimming her twitter, because there was literally nothing else to do.
She got in an argument with some radical hater, and although she was sure her agent was going to chew her out about it, she didn’t care, and was not afraid to publically shame someone who was so bad-natured. After this, she decided to go to a salon, because there was honestly nothing better to do.
She went to the salon and got her nails done, but they weren’t even done how she wanted. At this point she couldn’t find the reason to actually care, tipped the Asian who did the job, and had her chauffeur pick her up. She had walked here originally, but no longer felt like being alone.
His company didn’t carry much substance. When she got home she didn’t really have anything to look forward to. She ended up eating dinner with George, but as always, she only saw him maybe a few times a week, and it was always incredibly lacking in much emotion or even conversation that seemed relevant.
She had it. There seemed to be nothing to do, so she took the keys to his Camaro, and went for a little spin. She was heading towards a drag race track, and even though she knew it would only result in chaos in the media, she went along anyways. As she passed through an intersection, she suddenly saw the semi that slammed into her.
Vickie woke up and looked to her side. Gus, her youngest son, 6 at the time, had a nightmare and was tugging her shirt. She looked to her left and saw Eric, and gave Gus a hug, and got up to talk with him and make him feel better.