Phoebe stood with her back to a potted umbrella tree, gobbling down a pig in a blanket and pretending to text. For half an hour, she’d been circling the party and getting nowhere. She recognized some faces from the producers’ round-robin and the conference program, others from Variety, and one guy she could’ve sworn was an intern at Omega back in the day. The only people who looked up when she passed near were the single men. The older men had brought their wives for protection, and there was no reaching them. No matter who she spoke to, 50 percent of the conversation involved scant eye contact, people glancing over her shoulder for literally anyone more important. They talked about the weather, traffic, cleanses, real estate, SoulCycle, and traffic again, but whenever they got to the “what are you working on” portion of the conversation, it was like hitting gridlock. Once it became clear that Phoebe could not help them, nor they her, there was nothing left to say. She couldn’t greenlight, hire, boost, or buy anything, and the men (and it was mostly men) she spoke with were full of excuses for why they couldn’t work with her. They were looking for a comedy; they were already packaging deals for three other directors; it was too bad nobody was making small, quiet films like hers anymore, everything was Marvel and superheroes and explosions. Who said anything about quiet?! she wanted to yell. Who said her movie was small? The only thing small was the budget, and she would’ve been happy to have a bigger one. But there was no sense protesting when you’d already lost your audience.

Phoebe kept an eye on Dana, a Netflix VP she’d met with at the round-robin, in line at the bar. She’d been pleasant but noncommittal, as one was at those things. This party was the place to chat her up, without the formality and the constraints of the conference’s rules. Once Dana had her drink, Phoebe would try to talk to her again. She wished Malcolm was here or better yet Alicia, someone to nudge her forward the way she used to nudge Ted. Phoebe had the right instincts for networking but never enjoyed it—who did?—and you could will-gather yourself into a corner if you weren’t careful.