Eventually, they crossed the bridge and siphoned into downtown, where Dan was dismayed to find the holidays already in full swing. It was only early November and the lights on the bus mall were up and the wreaths and ribbons were appearing in windows. It was depressing. Not so much because he disliked the holidays—he liked them fine, actually—but because the seasonal change only underscored the irreversible passage of time. At this moment one year earlier he had just been finishing the script, and he had seen only great possibility ahead. In his fantasy, his sturdy, conventional comedy was going to be the gateway to riskier projects, and in five years’ time, with, say, two more films under his belt, he was going to be standing in the company of real artists. But a year later, in fact, he was no closer at all.

There was no parking on the street, so Dan swung into a garage. The ticket spit out; the arm lifted. They circled to the fifth floor and squeezed into a spot between indistinguishable Toyotas.

“Hi Guy,” he said.

“Just wanted to let you know they’re talking again today.”

“They’re talking? I thought they already talked.”

“They did. That meeting went great. Today they’re having a new meeting with Jeff on the phone.”

“Jeff wasn’t on the phone before?”

“They had to iron out some details before they bothered him.”

“So the meeting before wasn’t the real meeting?” Dan said.

“It was real. But it wasn’t final.”

Dan sighed. He understood the bizarre theater of conference-call meetings: the escalating levels of seniority in attendance, the Kabuki dance of ass-covering and sycophancy. He had become adept at the form himself over the years. He also understood their unpredictability and caprice, which worried him.

“Super,” he said. “God knows what happens now.”

“Don’t get discouraged,” Guy said. “It’s just a meeting. It means things are moving.”

“I’d been under the impression they were already moving.”

“Well, they’re moving faster now.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for the update. Tell me when the ax falls. It would be nice to know if my head is still attached to my body to -night.”

“Come on, man. Attitude. Mental toughness. Have it.”

Dan closed the phone. Celia, cradling her jacket, lurked at the bumper, observing a dented El Dorado creep its way around the corkscrew of spaces, searching for a place to rest. She seemed to be gauging the efficiency of the entire infrastructure and finding it lacking.

“What’s the matter?” Celia said, turning.

“What do you mean, honey?” Dan said.

“You sounded upset.”

“No, I’m not upset.”

“What are you then?”

“Just a little apprehensive is all.” He locked the doors with a chirp and took his daughter’s hand and they began their way to the stairs. From the concrete stairwell the tips of the trees in the park blocks made a damp, orange haze.