John nodded, quickly thinking through how much he wanted to say. “My father’s a chef, and there were a lot of years, before he had his own restaurant, when he would be a little too happy or a little too sad. Those days when we knew it was okay, and he would come to the soccer games or when we could ask him to help with homework, were fine, but there were other days. Those days with too much sleep, when he’d complain about his boss, not make it to whatever restaurant he was working at the time. It was like living with a malfunctioning robot, one that you never knew if the circuits were wired correctly that day.”

John had gotten used to his rote retelling. The comparisons to Basketball Diaries or The Lost Weekend and the description of its three-act structure removed him from the memories. Today, the words poured out of him in a tripping stop and start, as he lost the detachment of his practiced pitch.

John told the story of his movie—a young lawyer just starting out, with an alcoholic father and a difficult past. The public defender, overwhelmed by his caseload, bargains for redemption but with each attempt sinks lower into his own personal abyss. He hits rock bottom in a scene of delusions and grandeur that leaves the audience uncertain whether the past the character’s telling was a truth or a lie, whether the haze of cocaine had resulted in a false narrative. John had put a lot of himself into the movie, a lot of those long nights waiting to see if his dad would come home, always wondering if it would be a good morning or a bad morning.

John felt almost embarrassed at his stuttering words, but if he had learned one thing this afternoon, it was that Anna Kovács knew how to listen. His usual audience, studio executives or other screenwriters, didn’t listen so much as they waited for a chance to jump in with their own opinions and projects. He had only so much time to get his story out. But Anna gave him the space to find the words. He was surprised to realize how much he cared about what she thought. His knee knocked the table as he tapped his foot on the floor.

“That could be really good.”

John didn’t miss the note of begrudging respect in Anna’s voice. He imagined this was high praise from her. “You’re surprised.”

“I’ve heard a lot of movie ideas.” Anna shrugged. “Yours might be worth making. You don’t have a problem with strong female characters. I hope there’s at least one.”