It's easy for Norma to pretend, so easy. Everyone lets her indulge herself in her fantastic daydreams, supports them when even she knows they shouldn't.

Like Max.

He writes her bundles of fanmail everyday. She knows it's him, but she doesn't let on that she knows. She sees how similar all the writing is sometimes.

But she lets him think that she doesn't know. And he keeps writing it for her, letting her pretend that she is still famous.

She knows she should just tell him and fully accept that her fans had forgotten her. But he lets her indulge herself in this fantasy in which she still has fans, so she does.

Like Mister DeMille.

When she speaks to him in person, he acts as if he likes her script. She knows he hates it, that he must. She isn't an idiot, she knows it's horrid and that she could never pass for a sixteen year old.

But she lets him act like he likes her script and that he intendeds to shoot it, letting her pretend that she will have her "return."

She knows she shouldn't have bothered with the script. But he lets her indulge herself in this fantasy in which her script is good and that her "return" is imminent, so she does.

Like Joe.

He pretends he loves her. She knows he doesn't love her, doesn't find her attractive. She sees the way he looks at her sometimes when she undresses or lies beneath him. He finds her repulsive.

But she lets him think that she doesn't know. And he keeps "making love" to her, letting her pretend that he is in love with her.

She knows she should just accept that he will never love her, never find her sexy or attractive. But he lets her indulge herself in this fantasy in which he loves and adores her, so she does.

Until he doesn't anymore. Until he destroys every fantastic dream she has created since the "talkies" came out: telling her that Max writes her fanmail and that they never wanted her or her script, just her car, as he walks away from her.

Until she shoots him three times and kills him.

Then all her fantasies collide in her mind, mixing with what she knows is real until she doesn't know what is going on anymore, what's reality and what's fantasy.

And then Norma doesn't have to pretend anymore because it's all real in her mind anyway.

But somewhere, tucked away in the back of her mind, is the truth of reality.

But Norma would keep that locked away even if she knew where to find it. It makes it so much easier to pretend.