Jeff's office in Manhattan was smaller than Henry expected. Tenth floor. Single window overlooking a side street. Desk covered in scripts and industry trades. A coffee maker that looked like it had been there since the nineties.
"Sit," Jeff said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.
Henry sat.
Jeff was in his late forties. Gray at the temples. Suit that was expensive but worn enough to suggest he actually worked instead of just taking meetings. He'd been Henry's agent for almost two years now. Efficient. Direct. No bullshit.
"So," Jeff said, pulling out a folder. "Sundance. Your first festival. We need to talk about how you handle yourself."
"Media training."
"Media training." Jeff opened the folder. Pages of notes. Bullet points. "The film premieres in four days. Between now and then, you need to understand how this works."
Henry leaned back. "I'm listening."
"First rule: You're not selling the movie. You're selling yourself. The movie's already made. What matters now is how you come across."
"Come across how?"
"Likeable. Interesting. Someone people want to work with." Jeff tapped his pen on the desk. "You're unknown. That's an advantage. No baggage. No preconceptions. But it also means you can't afford to be boring."
"What's boring?"
"One-word answers. No personality. Looking like you don't want to be there."
Henry nodded.
Jeff continued. "You'll do press. Interviews. Maybe some press junkets if the buzz is good. Every question is an opportunity. Even the stupid ones."
"What kind of questions?"
'What was it like working with Marc?' 'What drew you to the role?' 'How did you prepare?' Standard stuff. But here's what you need to remember—" Jeff leaned forward. "Nobody cares about the actual answer. They care about how you answer. Are you charming? Are you thoughtful? Do you make them feel like you're talking to them specifically?"
"So it's performance."
"Everything's performance. But you can't let them see that."
Henry appreciated the honesty.
They spent the next two hours going through scenarios. Mock interviews. Jeff playing the journalist, throwing questions at Henry, critiquing his answers.
"Too stiff. Loosen up."
"That's too casual. You sound like you don't care."
"Better. But smile more. You're not at a funeral."
By the end, Henry's head hurt. But he understood the game.
"One more thing," Jeff said as Henry was leaving. "The Q&A after the premiere. Don't overthink it. Let Marc handle the technical stuff. You just need to be genuine. Talk about the character. What it meant to you. Keep it personal."
"Got it."
"And Henry?" Jeff stood. "This is your shot. Don't waste it."
Henry nodded. Left the office.
'No pressure,' he thought.
Park City was cold.
Henry arrived three days before the premiere. The town was small—main street lined with shops and restaurants, mountains rising on all sides. Snow everywhere. Festival banners hanging from every available surface.
The energy was different here. Not Hollywood energy. More focused. Intense. Everyone was here for a reason.
Henry checked into his hotel. Nothing fancy. The festival had booked rooms for the cast and crew. He unpacked. Stood at the window looking at the snow-covered mountains.
'This is it,' he thought. 'This is where it starts.'
His phone buzzed. Text from Marc.
Drinks tonight? Cast meetup at 8.
Henry replied.
I'll be there.
He had a few hours. He decided to walk. Get a feel for the place.
Main street was packed. Festival-goers everywhere. Industry people. Press. Filmmakers. You could tell who was who by how they moved. The filmmakers looked nervous. The industry people looked bored. The press looked for stories.
Henry wandered into a bookstore. Browsed. Found nothing interesting. Wandered back out.
He grabbed coffee from a small café. Sat by the window. Watched people pass.
'What am I doing here?' he thought. Not in a negative way. Just genuinely curious. Six months ago he'd been nobody. Now he was at Sundance. About to premiere a film. About to be seen.
The thought was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
That night, Henry met the cast at a bar on main street. Small place. Wood interior. Fireplace going. Crowded but not packed.
Marc was already there. Zooey too. A few producers. Some crew members. They'd claimed a corner table.
"Henry!" Marc waved him over.
Henry sat. Drinks were already flowing. Beer. Wine. Someone had ordered whiskey.
"How are you feeling?" Marc asked.
"Nervous."
"Good. That means you care." Marc sipped his beer. "I'm terrified. I've been throwing up every morning for the past week."
Zooey laughed. "Charming."
"It's true. This is my first film. If it bombs, I'm done."
"It won't bomb," Zooey said. "It's good. We know it's good."
"We think it's good. The audience might disagree."
Henry understood that fear. You could believe in something completely and still have it fail. That was the risk.
They talked about the schedule. The premiere was in two days. Q&A after. Then press the next day if the buzz was good. Then waiting.
"What happens if people like it?" Henry asked.
"Distribution deal," one of the producers said. "Hopefully. That's what we're here for. To get bought."
"And if they don't?"
"We go home and pretend this never happened."
Grim. But honest.
The conversation shifted. They talked about other films at the festival. About what to see. About the parties. About the strange bubble reality of Sundance where everything felt urgent and important and also completely insane.
"It's like summer camp for film people," Zooey said. "Except with more anxiety and better drugs."
Marc laughed. "Accurate."
They drank more. The nervousness eased slightly. Not gone. Just manageable.
Around midnight, Henry walked back to his hotel. The cold bit at his face. The streets were quieter now. Most people were at parties or screenings. He preferred the quiet.
'Two more days,' he thought.
The next day, Henry spent at the festival.
He watched three films. A documentary about climate change that was depressing and necessary. A drama about a family falling apart that was too slow but well-acted. A comedy about college kids that was funnier than it had any right to be.
Between screenings, he wandered. Grabbed lunch. Met some Strangers. Made small talk.
That night, there was a party. Industry thing. Invitation only. Jeff had gotten Henry on the list.
The party was in a rented house up in the hills. Big place. Modern. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley. Already packed when Henry arrived.
He grabbed a drink. Negroni. The bartender knew how to make it properly. Good sign.
Henry moved through the room. Recognized a few faces. Actors. Directors. People whose work he'd seen but never met.
"Henry Stein?"
Henry turned. A man in his sixties. Tan. White hair. Casual but expensive clothes.
"Yes?"
"Robert Redford." He held out his hand.
Henry shook it. Tried not to look starstruck. Failed probably.
"I know who you are," Henry said.
Robert smiled. "I hear you've got a film premiering tomorrow."
"Yeah. (500) Days of Summer."
"Marc Webb's film?"
"That's the one."
"I've heard good things. Romantic comedy?"
"Anti-romantic comedy, I think. It's about... the difference between expectation and reality."
Robert nodded. "Those are always harder to pull off. People want the happy ending."
"We give them something more honest."
"Good. Honest is underrated." Robert sipped his drink. "First Sundance?"
"First festival period."
"You'll love it. Or hate it. Depends on how the screening goes."
Henry laughed. "No pressure."
"All the pressure. But that's the fun of it." Robert glanced around the room. "This festival changes lives. I've seen it happen. Filmmakers come here unknown and leave with deals. Or they come here with everything riding on their film and it doesn't connect and they disappear. It's brutal and beautiful."
"Which one do you think I'll be?"
"That's up to the film. And the audience. And luck." Robert smiled. "But you're here. That's already something."
They talked for a few more minutes. About the festival. About filmmaking. About the strange reality of this industry where everything could change in a single screening.
Eventually someone else wanted Robert's attention. He excused himself. Told Henry to enjoy the premiere.
Henry stood there for a moment, processing. He'd just talked to Robert Redford. At Sundance. About his film.
'This is real,' he thought.
He stayed at the party for another hour. Talked to more people. Made connections. Exchanged information. The whole thing felt like a very polite version of speed dating except everyone was selling themselves instead of looking for romance.
Around midnight, Henry left. Walked back to his hotel. The cold helped clear his head.
Tomorrow was the premiere.
Everything else had led to this.
The day of the premiere was a blur.
Henry woke up early. Couldn't sleep. Too much adrenaline. He went for a walk. The town was quiet at seven in the morning. Just him and the snow and the mountains.
He grabbed breakfast. Couldn't eat much. Nerves.
Back at the hotel, he showered. Dressed. Nice but not formal. Dark jeans. Button-down. Jacket. Jeff had told him what to wear. "Look like you care but don't look like you're trying too hard."
His phone buzzed constantly. Texts from Marc. From Zooey. From Jeff. Everyone was nervous. Everyone was excited. Everyone was pretending to be calm.
At four, they met at the venue. The Egyptian Theatre. Historic. Packed already. People lining up outside. Press everywhere. Cameras. Lights.
"Holy shit," Marc said quietly.
"Yeah," Henry agreed.
They did photos. Red carpet. Not really a carpet. Just a designated area where press took pictures and asked questions. Henry stood with Marc and Zooey. Smiled. Answered questions.
"What can you tell us about the film?"
"It's about love. And how complicated it is."
"What was it like playing Tom?"
"Challenging. He's flawed. But I think that's what makes him interesting."
"What do you hope audiences take away from this?"
"That relationships are messy. And that's okay."
Standard answers. But genuine. Jeff would approve.
They went inside. The theater was full. Every seat. Henry sat between Marc and Zooey. His heart was pounding.
The lights dimmed.
The film started.
Henry watched the opening. The credits. The first scene. He knew every frame. Every line. Every moment. But watching it here, with an audience, was different.
People laughed at the jokes. Henry could feel it. The energy in the room. They were connecting.
The Hall & Oates dance scene. Big laugh. Applause even.
The Ikea scene. More laughter.
The expectations versus reality split screen. The room went quiet. Engaged.
Henry stopped watching the film. Started watching the audience. Their faces. Their reactions. They were with it. They were understanding it.
The ending. Tom walking away. The new girl. Autumn. The hope of starting again.
The credits rolled.
Silence for a beat.
Then applause.
Not polite applause. Real applause. Loud. Growing. People standing. A standing ovation.
Henry looked at Marc. Marc looked like he might cry.
Zooey grabbed Henry's hand. Squeezed.
The applause continued. Went on longer than Henry expected. The whole theater on their feet.
'We did it,' Henry thought. 'We actually did it.'
The lights came up slightly. The moderator for the Q&A came on stage. Introduced Marc, Henry, and Zooey. They walked up. The applause started again.
They sat. The moderator asked questions. Marc talked about the inspiration for the film. About the non-linear structure. About wanting to tell a love story that was honest about how love fails.
"The structure came from the idea that memory isn't linear," Marc said. "When you remember a relationship, you don't remember it in order. You remember the best days and the worst days. The moments that defined it. That's what we wanted to capture."
"Henry, what drew you to Tom?" the moderator asked.
Henry thought for a moment. "His honesty, I think. Tom isn't a perfect guy. He makes mistakes. Big ones. He projects his idea of love onto Summer without ever really seeing her. But I don't think that makes him a bad person. It makes him human."
"Can you expand on that?"
"Tom grows up on love songs and movies that tell him there's one perfect person out there. The One. And when he meets Summer, he decides she's it. He doesn't ask if she feels the same way. He doesn't listen when she tells him what she wants. He just... decides. And then when reality doesn't match his expectations, he falls apart."
"That sounds like you have empathy for him, despite his flaws."
"I do. Because I think most of us have been Tom at some point. We've wanted something so badly that we convinced ourselves it was real, even when all the signs said otherwise. That's not malicious. It's just... hopeful. Tragically hopeful."
The audience seemed to respond to that. Henry could feel it.
"Zooey, Summer is fascinating because she's not the villain. Can you talk about that?"
"Right. People want to make her the bad guy. But she's just honest about what she wants. And what she doesn't want. She tells Tom from the beginning that she doesn't believe in love. That she doesn't want a relationship. He doesn't listen. That shouldn't make her a villain."
"Henry, do you think Tom ever really loved Summer? Or did he love the idea of her?"
Henry considered that carefully. "I think he loved her. But he also loved the idea of her. And he couldn't separate the two. That's the tragedy. There was a real person there—Summer, with all her complexities and contradictions. But Tom kept trying to fit her into this narrative he'd constructed. And you can't love someone fully if you're not seeing them clearly."
"That's a nuanced take."
"Tom is nuanced. He's not a villain. He's not a hero. He's just a guy who wanted love so badly that he sabotaged his chance at it."
The moderator opened it up to audience questions.
A woman in the third row raised her hand. "What was the hardest scene to film emotionally?"
Marc looked at Henry and Zooey. "The fight scene," Marc said. "We shot it in one day. It was emotionally exhausting for both of them."
Henry nodded. "That scene where Tom confronts Summer at the party. After he sees her engagement ring. That was hard because Tom is at his worst there. He's hurt and angry and he lashes out. But I had to make sure the audience still understood where he was coming from. That they didn't just write him off as bitter."
"How did you approach that?"
"I tried to play the pain underneath the anger. Tom isn't angry because he's mean. He's angry because he's devastated. Everything he believed turned out to be wrong. That's a hard thing to accept."
Another question. "The soundtrack is amazing. How much did the music influence your performance?"
Marc answered first. "The music was integral from the beginning. The Smiths. Regina Spektor. Hall & Oates. They're not just background. They're part of Tom's character. He's a guy who experiences life through music."
"For me," Henry added, "the music helped me understand Tom's romanticism. He's the kind of person who makes mixtapes and thinks song lyrics explain everything. That told me a lot about how he sees the world. Everything is heightened. Everything is meaningful. Until it isn't."
A young man near the back. "Do you think the ending is hopeful or cynical?"
Henry and Marc exchanged glances.
"I think it's hopeful," Henry said. "Tom walks away from Summer. He doesn't chase her. He doesn't try to convince her. He lets go. And then he meets Autumn, and there's this moment where you see him willing to try again. To be open to possibility. That's growth. He's learned something."
"But has he?" someone else asked. "Or is he just going to make the same mistakes with Autumn?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Henry smiled. "I don't know. Marc doesn't know. Tom doesn't know. But I think the fact that he's willing to try, knowing he might get hurt again—that's hopeful. That's what makes us human. We keep trying."
The moderator asked Zooey about her approach to Summer.
"I wanted to make sure Summer wasn't just some manic pixie dream girl," Zooey said. "She's a real person with her own wants and fears. She's not there to teach Tom a lesson or save him. She's just living her life. And sometimes that life doesn't include the person who wants it to."
"Henry, there's been discussion about whether Tom is a reliable narrator. How did you approach that?"
"Tom is completely unreliable," Henry said. "The whole film is his memory. His version of events. And memory is subjective. It's colored by emotion. So when we see Summer, we're seeing her through Tom's eyes. Through his hopes and disappointments. The real Summer might be completely different."
"Does that change how you played the character?"
"It made me more aware of Tom's self-deception. In the moment, Tom believes everything he's feeling is justified. But looking back, he starts to see the truth. That's the journey. From delusion to clarity."
More questions. About the structure. About the themes. About specific scenes.
A woman asked, "What do you want audiences to take away from this?"
Marc started to answer, but then gestured to Henry.
Henry thought about it. "I hope people see themselves in it. Not just in Tom or Summer, but in the whole dynamic. We've all been the person who loved too much. And we've all been the person who couldn't love back the way someone wanted. That doesn't make us good or bad. It just makes us human. And I hope the film reminds people that relationships are messy and complicated and that's okay. That's what makes them real."
The audience seemed to appreciate that. Scattered applause.
After thirty minutes, the moderator wrapped it up. "Thank you to Marc Webb, Henry Stein, and Zooey Deschanel for this wonderful film and this conversation."
More applause. They walked off stage.
Backstage, chaos. People congratulating them. Producers. Distributors. Press wanting interviews.
Jeff appeared. Grinning. "That was incredible. The energy in that room."
"Yeah?"
"Standing ovation. Real one, not polite. That's rare."
Henry nodded. Still processing.
The next hour was a whirlwind. Quick conversations. Meeting people. Everyone wanted to talk to them.
Henry found a quiet corner eventually. Needed a minute. Pulled out his phone. Checked the time. Almost midnight.
'This happened,' he thought. 'This actually happened.'
The after-party was at a restaurant that had been rented out for the night. Press. Industry people. Cast and crew. Everyone who mattered.
Henry walked in. The energy was electric. People kept congratulating him. Telling him how much they loved the film. How much they loved his performance.
He grabbed a drink. Manhattan. Needed something strong.
Marc found him. "Have you seen the trades?"
"Not yet."
Marc showed him his phone. Early reviews. All positive. Variety called it "a smart, sophisticated take on modern romance." The Hollywood Reporter praised "the breakout performance by Henry Stein, who brings depth and vulnerability to a role that could have been one-note."
Henry read the words. Didn't feel real.
"Fox Searchlight wants to talk," Marc said. "Tomorrow. They're interested in distribution."
"That's good?"
"That's everything. That's what we came here for."
Henry nodded. Tried to process. This was success. This was what it looked like.
The party continued. Music. Dancing. Drinking. People celebrating. Henry moved through it in a daze. Talked to people. Smiled. Laughed. But part of him felt distant. Observing.
'This is happening,' he thought. 'This is actually happening.'
He found Zooey on a couch in a corner. She looked as overwhelmed as he felt.
"Crazy, right?" she said.
"Completely."
"I can't believe people actually liked it."
"Why wouldn't they?"
"I don't know. You never know. You hope. But you never know."
Henry sat next to her. They sat in silence for a moment. Just existing in the chaos.
"What happens now?" Zooey asked.
"I have no idea."
"Me neither."
But they both knew. This was the beginning. Whatever came next—more films, more roles, more opportunities—it all started here.
"We should enjoy this," Henry said. "Before it gets complicated."
Zooey smiled. "Too late. It's already complicated."
Fair point.
They sat there for a while longer. Watching the party. Watching people celebrate. Part of it. Separate from it.
Eventually Henry stood. Wandered outside. The cold air hit him. Cleared his head.
The snow was falling now. Light. Quiet. The mountains were dark shapes against a darker sky.
Henry stood there. Breathing. Thinking.
'This is real,' he thought again. 'All of it.'
Six months ago he'd been figuring out what to do. Now he had an answer. This. Acting. Telling stories. Being part of something that mattered.
He didn't know what came next. But for the first time in a long time—in either life—he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
His phone buzzed. Text from Jeff.
Fox Searchlight meeting tomorrow at 10. Be ready.
Henry typed back.
I will be.
He pocketed his phone. Looked at the mountains one more time.
Then he went back inside.
The party was still going. Would probably go until dawn. People were still celebrating. Still riding the high.
Henry grabbed another drink. Found Marc and Zooey. Joined the celebration.
Tomorrow could wait.
Tonight was for this.
For the moment when everything changed.