With proper reverence, the salesman packed Celia’s old shoes into the new box and rang up the sale. Celia, meanwhile, walked back and forth on the hardwood floor, listening to the thin clack of her heels on the boards, enjoying a state of unconflicted happiness with her purchase.

Dan remembered the feeling. He still had the feeling, actually. The sense of completion that temporarily came with a new pair of shoes. Who said you couldn’t buy happiness? You could, at least briefly. The idea that you couldn’t was just a lie poor people told themselves to feel better.

They exited the store the way they had come, down the escalator, across the cosmetics section, out to the street, where the autumn sun was still shining. In the park the hacky sack game was still underway, and the skaters continued their revolutions around the amphitheater, epoxy wheels thrumming on concrete.

It was getting late. On the East Coast it was already well after seven, which meant they had gone another day without news.

They entered the bus mall, a canyon of shadow, and dodged the bums and bike messengers that crossed their path. Dan could tell that something was changing. He had finally crossed a boundary and there was no point in pretending otherwise. His movie had unquestionably entered the past tense. There would be no more meetings to schedule. There would be no more phone calls. There would be no more notes from prospective actors or financiers to address. And that, he had to accept, was all right.

The number 37 bus passed by, and Dan was at peace. He had nothing to regret, he told himself. He had pursued his project with the best of intentions, coming to it humbly, hoping only to participate in the pageantry of public life, and perhaps exert a small political influence for the better on the world. He had hoped to invest his daughter’s universe with a little more meaning, a little more magic, and if no one wanted to give him the money for that, so be it. In the morning he would call his agent and tell her he was actively looking for ad work again, and he would proceed to do whatever was demanded of him. He could even become another person if necessary. If nothing else, at last, he knew his true place.

Dan and Celia walked over the gold leaves scattered on the ground. Up ahead, the mirrored walls of the bank building were shining with the last of the day’s sun and sky. He didn’t even notice at first when Celia tugged on his coat sleeve, seeking his attention.

“What?” Dan said.

“Your phone,” she said.