We Interrupt this Transition

CHAPTER TWO: Market Research

“I’m fucked,” said Sam, riding back home in Jimmy’s SUV, nervously tapping her nails against her teeth. 

“You’re not fucked, Sam,” Jimmy tried to point out. “We just have to prepare a deck, show them our market research…”

“What market research!? Jimmy, the whole point was that we know the market will hate it.” 

“Well… we don’t know that. Dylan and Chandra seemed to like it,” Jimmy said. 

“That speaks far more to their loony tastes than it does the bloody market. Fuck me, I’m going to have to change my name to Alan Smithee and my pronouns to has/been. Mum was right. God does hate me.” 

Jimmy frowned. He had actually been quite keen to direct a TV show, and as weird as this premise was, he was reasonably sure it was still better than some of the stuff he got paid quite handsomely for. 

“Sam. Stop catastrophizing. Think of it this way - there are many, many steps between pitching and airing - and there are many places that Garden Alpha can just say: “Nope!” And do you know what happens then?”

“I get booted out on my arse, is what happens then,” sighed Sam. 

“No. You got your foot in the door. They’re going to know you gave it your all. That you’re capable. You do the market research, and the research doesn’t support a full launch? Well, hey, that sucked, but they know you did the math. Besides, you gave them a better premise, and they’re going to come right back around and if they don’t go for ‘Sabotage’, they’re going to think of you when they’ve got a good idea without a showrunner. Believe it or not, Sam, this, this right here? This is an eyelash away from being your big American break.” 

Sam looked over at Jimmy. What he was saying made perfect sense. She was worried about getting rejected before - now that they actually have a production company interested - a production company that had more money than God and its own distribution channels to boot, this was her in. It was her time. This was Sam’s make or break career moment. 

So why did the idea have to be so bloody awful?

She was so stuck in her own head that she nearly didn’t notice when Jimmy turned down one of the side streets in West Hollywood rather than continuing on back home. 

“Jimmy, where are we going?” 

“Hamburger Mary’s.” 

“Hamburger Mary’s? Wait, isn’t that a gay bar?”

“No, it’s a drag bar.” 

“What’s the difference? And also, uh, congrats on coming out, I guess.”

“What? No, Sam, I’m not gay. I just came here once because I was dating a woman who really liked drag shows, and I went along with her one time.” 

“You sure she was a woman, Jimmy?” 

Jimmy turned and looked at Sam with a look that screamed disappointment. 

“She was a hell of a woman, Sam. Also, when we go in there, it's probably not best to make jokes like that.” 

“It’s offensive?”

“It’s cliched, is what it is. Fuck if I know what’s offensive or not, I’m a straight white guy, but I don’t think you should be joking about what’s in people’s pants.”

It was now Sam’s turn to look at Jimmy like he was the clueless one. 

“It’s a drag bar, Jimmy. Ninety percent of it is going to be men dressed as women joking about the size of their dick and making horribly improper innuendo.”

“That’s… ugh… it’s different when…”

Jimmy trailed off, not quite sure of what exactly made the difference, but was damn well sure there was one.

“Right,” said Sam, rolling her eyes. “So why are we at a drag bar right now?” 

“Because I know fuck-all about trans people, you know fuck-all about trans people, and if we’re going to figure out what trans people will think of your idea, we need to talk to some trans people. And this,” Jimmy said, gesturing at the bar, “is at least trans-adjacent.” 

***

“HEEEEEEEY! Gays, Theys, and Strays, how are you all doing tonight? I’m your host, Transa Jacent! Are we ready to PARTTAAAAAAY?!”

Sam shot Jimmy a withering look. 

Jimmy shrugged. 

As the show went on, it seemed to be mostly about over the top impressions and lip-synced dance moves. It was kind of fun, thought Sam, and she could see why people liked this sort of thing. But as she looked over to Jimmy, she saw on his face a kind of annoyed boredom. During the intermission, she pointed this out. 

“Jimmy, I mean, this was your idea,” said Sam. 

“Yes,” said Jimmy, with a bit of annoyance in his voice. “Yes, it was.” 

“Not enjoying it?”

“Not my thing, really. I never really got the appeal of men dressing up as women as entertainment. Just seemed a bit… I don’t know,” said Jimmy. 

Sam didn’t push, but Jimmy continued anyway. 

“I mean, are we laughing with the performers or at the performers? Yeah, gender as performance, I get, but are we supposed to be impressed at how well they look like women, or are we supposed to be impressed at the over-the-top grotesqueness? Is femininity to be scoffed, or celebrated, or both? Is this homage or parody? Like, what even is this?”

Jimmy sighed. 

“Don’t mind me, Sam. Just enjoy the show. Our work begins afterwards when we try to make contact with someone and start asking questions.” 

“No, no, I’m not leaving this there. Are these just bad memories? You said that you went to a drag show here before with a date?”

“Yeah, Larissa. We were even getting kind of serious.” 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. I just… I felt like… things were wrong in that relationship somehow, that I couldn’t… be the man that she wanted me to be, and… ugh. I mean, it was great, but I just… I know I couldn’t put in the work of the relationship. It was just too… I had my own stuff I was dealing with and couldn’t give 100%. I was holding her back. She deserved to be happy, and I was standing in her way. So, we broke up.” 

“You dumped her?”

“I did not dump her. I sat down, tried to explain my feelings, and… okay, yes, I guess I did dump her, but I did so as gently as I could.”

Jimmy sighed.

“Maybe I was stupid. Maybe we could have worked it out. I don’t know. This would have been my mid-twenties. I think she’s just ‘the one that got away’, you know? She’s married now. With a kid. I went to her wedding when it happened. That was the last time I saw her.” 

“Fuck, that is the saddest story I’ve ever heard!” said Transa, who was standing by the table with a bucket, collecting tips. 

“Jesus!” Jimmy exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough that it was funny when you finally noticed me, sweetie!” Transa shook her tip bucket. 

Jimmy took the cue and pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and put it into the bucket.

“Actually, Sam and I,” Jimmy smiled, “we had some questions we wanted to ask you, after the show. Would that be alright?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, watching Jimmy switch from a genuine moroseness to a convivial friendliness at the drop of a hat. Then she remembered, her friend was a game show host. Faking enthusiasm was a career skill for him. 

“I don’t see why not. Thinking about getting into drag your– oh my god, I just realized where I recognize you from! You’re Jimmy Howard!”

Jimmy shrugged. 

“Yeah. I am. Oh, this is my friend, Sam Culver, she’s working on a reality show pitch but we need to do some research first. That’s why we’re here.” 

“You came to a drag show to work on a reality show pitch? Is there room in the market for two drag reality shows?”

Sam stayed quiet, while Jimmy worked the smoke-blower.

“Well, that’s kind of one of the things we need to research. And this is the place for drag in L.A. We had to start somewhere, why not someplace where we could have a little fun?”

Sam frowned, Jimmy was clearly not having fun. But she kept quiet.

“I can dig it. Yeah, after the show, just hang out and I’ll find you at a booth or something. I’ll bring two of my girlfriends.”

Jimmy smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Right,” said Transa. “Need to keep moving. This tip jar won’t fill itself! See you in a bit!” 

***

About twenty minutes after the show, Sam and Jimmy sat down in one of the deliberately tacky red-and-black circular booths. A young man in a Metallica t-shirt and blue jeans they didn’t recognize joined them and sat down next to Sam, which had the effect of freaking Sam out a bit.

“Excuse me!” cried Sam. 

“Oh, sorry. It’s me. You wanted to talk? I figured it’d just be easier if we joined you than if you joined us, considering that you don’t know what we looked like.”

A pause, then Metallica-shirt slid back out of the booth.

“Okay, yes, now, I can see why I just freaked you out. Sorry about that,” said Metallica-shirt. “I’m Brandon Richards. I performed here just now.” Another pause. “Transa Jacent?”

Slowly, Sam and Jimmy realized that they had invited him to join them, and Sam nodded, and motioned for Brandon to join them.

Two other young men came by, one in a polo shirt, and the other in a Hawaiian shirt, waving to Brandon. 

“Hey Brandon,” said polo-shirt. “These the TV people you– holy fuck, you’re Jimmy Howard!” 

Jimmy smiled. 

“I used to watch you all the time when I was sick as a kid in elementary school! Used to love ‘Rotten Eggs’, and ‘Shark Attack!’ With the little animated sharks that grabbed the money and went: ‘Ah! I’mma shark! I’mma eat your money! Om Nom Nom!’” 

Jimmy’s smile became a little more forced.

“Yep, that’s me. And you are?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Rhys, and,” Rhys gestured to a Hawaiian shirt guy, “this is my boyfriend, Luke. Brandon you didn’t tell me that you knew Jimmy Howard?”

“Well, we just met,” said Brandon. “So, what can we drag queens help you with?”

“Well, maybe I’ll let Sam start. Go ahead, tell them about your idea, Sam.”

Sam kicked Jimmy under the table. Hard. 

“Uh, yeah,” said Jimmy, accepting defeat. “So, we were in a meeting with a streaming service, and we were… brainstorming… some game and reality shows. And we had an idea that was kind of… controversial, and before we basically stuck our faces into it, we were hoping to talk to some… trans women about it.” 

Brandon, Rhys, and Luke all nodded, silently. 

“And we thought… if we… I mean…”

Luke laughed out loud. “Oh my god! You mean you thought… we were trans women?” 

“God,” said Brandon. “I don’t think I know any trans women, now that I think about it. Not personally, anyway.” 

“You’re kidding,” asked Sam, “Not one?”

Brandon shrugged. “Mostly, it’s gay guys who do drag. I’m an exception - my wife actually got me into it. She got a kick out of dressing me in her clothes, and I just love to make people laugh.”

Rhys nodded. “That may be part of it, you know. ‘Drag Race’ mainstreamed a lot of drag culture; and while there might be a few older trans people for whom drag was their only outlet for gender expression, I kinda get the feeling that most trans people our age stay far away from drag. Don’t know why.” 

Luke shrugged. “I mean, if you really wanted to talk to trans people, why not check out the center?”

“The center?” asked Jimmy.

“On Santa Monica Boulevard. The LGBT center.” said Luke. “It’s literally down the street here, just past Trader Joe’s. I’m sure I’ve seen posters for trans support groups and the like there.” 

“That seems like a good idea. Probably should have headed there in the first place,” said Sam, glaring at Jimmy.

“So,” said Brandon, “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your show idea about?”

“Oh, uh, well,” said Sam, “it’s basically like Drag Race, but uh, with gender transitioning instead of drag.” 

“Oooooh,” said Luke. “Now that, I’d like to see!”

Sam was shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah. What a train-fucking-wreck that would be!” 

***

Sam and Jimmy did not speak to each other during the short fifteen minute walk to the LGBT center.

***

“Hello, welcome to the center. How can I help you?” asked the receptionist, an older man in his sixties, without looking up from his paperwork. “There’s a sign-in sheet if you’re looking to talk to a counselor.”

“Uh, well,” said Jimmy. 

“Um, it’s, um.”

The receptionist finally looked up. “Oh!” said the receptionist, looking at Jimmy. “Right, right. Oh, yeah, the form. You don’t have to use your real name on the form. Do you maybe have a name you’re more comfortable with us using? Don’t worry. We’re all friends here. Nobody’s going to be outing you to the press or anything.”

“Uh, no,” said Jimmy. “I’m straight.” 

“We’re just… we had questions,” said Sam.

“Er, not about us. Like, we don’t have… questions about ourselves. We…” 

“Please,” said the receptionist. “Sit down. I’m Kieran, I’m running the front desk today. There are no dumb questions here, and we’re here to help you no matter where you are on your journey.” 

“No, no, I’m not… there’s no journey. Unless, Sam, are you on a…”

“No, Jimmy, I am not on any journey. I know exactly who I am.” Sam sighed and looked at Kieran. “Look, Kieran, this is maybe a really, really bad idea, which is compounded by another really, really bad idea, but Jimmy and I are doing market research for a reality television program. It involves the trans community, and since neither of us know anything about the trans community, we figured we should actually find some trans people and talk to them before we completely screw everything up.” 

“Ah, I see. Well, you’ve come to the right place,” said Kieran. 

“There’s someone we can talk to?” asked Jimmy. 

“Not right at the moment, but that’s why we have the library. Come on. This way.”

Kieran led the two to a small library, filled with queer literature of all types. “We’re open until eight tonight, unless you want to get a library card and check some of these out. And I can get you in touch with Sheri, she runs the trans and nonbinary support group.

“That would be great,” said Jimmy. Sam was already perusing the books, flipping past various queer novels, non-fiction, even some comic books. 

“Ooh,” said Sam. “‘Dykes to Watch Out For’. I’ve heard of this one. It’s the one where they came up with the Bechdel test.” 

Kieran smiled and nodded. “One of my favorites. If you’re interested in graphic novels about trans women, though, I’d recommend ‘Super Late Bloomer’, by Julia Kaye” said Kieran, taking it from the bookshelf, “and the follow up, ‘My Life in Transition.’ There’s ‘First Year Out’ by Sabrina Symington. And ‘Us’ by Sara Soler. There’s also ‘Gender Queer: A Memoir’ if you’re interested in an AFAB non-binary perspective.”

“Afab?”

“Assigned Female At Birth. As opposed to AMAB, Assigned Male at Birth.” 

Jimmy picked up ‘Super Late Bloomer’ and flipped through it. 

“What about non-fiction?” asked Sam.

“Glad you asked! The classic go-tos are ‘Gender Euphoria,’ which is a collection of essays, and ‘Whipping Girl’ by Julia Serrano.” 

Sam looked around at all the different books. Most of it dealt exclusively with gay and lesbian issues, but the smaller section on gender identity was still overwhelming. 

“You know, Kieran,” said Sam. “I think I might need to fill out an application for a library card.” 

“Sounds good. In the meantime, if you give me your phone numbers, I’ll try to find someone you can speak to who can try to explain more about trans issues.” 

“That sounds great. Jimmy, doesn’t that sound great?” asked Sam, to Jimmy, who was entranced by the comic he was reading.

“Hunh, what? Oh,” said Jimmy. “Always liked comic books.” 

***

Across town, Daria was driving to her home in Lawndale, which, regrettably, involved “the 405,” a particularly infamous stretch of highway that Daria hated. She sat in traffic, scowling, right blinker blinking, looking for an opportunity to head into the right lane. An opportunity which was not immediately forthcoming.

There were many words in the English language she did not like, but of the ones constantly suggested by her auto-correct, ‘gridlock’ was the worst. 

Her phone rang, and thanks to the miracles of bluetooth, she was able to talk hands free through her car’s speakers.

“Hey Charl– Hey Daria, how are you doing?” It was her mother.

A gap appeared in the right lane between a Volvo and a Kia, and as she steered towards the opening, the Kia decided to take that moment to speed up and close the gap, nearly causing a collision.

“Motherfucker!” said Daria.

“That bad, hunh? I’ll call back later,” said Daria’s mom. 

“No, no… Mom. I’m okay, I’m just… Driving home right now. Stuck in traffic. Again. There was a Cybertruck that crashed, and it’s playing all sorts of havoc with the traffic.”

“Again?” said her mother. “You said there was a Cybertruck that crashed yesterday too.”

“It’s the same Cybertruck. They haven’t found a way to put out the fire yet.”

“Things still going well with the job?”

“Yeah, just actually had a meeting for an interesting pitch the other day, the team loved it, and we’re going to bring in the showrunner team for a second meeting next week.” 

The car in front of her suddenly stopped, and Daria slammed on the brakes - even though they were only going eight miles an hour, there was still a chance of a collision that she didn’t want to take. Her insurance was high enough. 

Daria took a deep cleansing breath. 

“Really? What’s it about?” said Daria’s Mom. 

“Well, I can’t give too many details, but it’s a show I think could actually do a lot of good. Change people’s minds. Help people.”

There was a significant pause on the other end of the line. 

“It’s not one of those trans things, is it?” asked her mom, pleadingly. 

Daria sighed, and if she wasn’t concentrating on traffic, she would have rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Mom, it’s one of those trans things. But it’ll be good, I swear.”

“You know, Daria, you ever think you may be too much into this trans stuff?” 

“Oh, yeah, all the time. And then I remember that it impacts every aspect of my entire life, and has, and will, from birth to the grave, and I think to myself: maybe it’s alright to be a little ‘too into’ the trans stuff.”

The car ahead of her accelerated just as quickly as it had stopped, and before she had a chance to process that she should also be moving, a Hyundai suddenly darted into her lane in the gap she had left. 

“I just don’t think you should make this your entire identity, Daria.” 

“I don’t. I really don’t. I have a good career. I have a roof over my head. Food in my fridge. My board game group.”

“But you don’t have a girlfriend, I notice.”

“Mom.”

“Or a boyfriend.”

“Mom! I’m not gay. I mean, I am gay, but I’m gay because I thought I was straight, but I’m trans, so I’m gay. I’m a lesbian. I’m a lesbian on a technicality.”

“I’m just saying, when am I going to have grandchildren?” 

“You’re not. We’ve been over this. I don’t have the equipment anymore.”

“They could clone you!” said Daria’s mother. 

“What?”

“In a few years, I’ll bet they have all sorts of clones. Like in the Star Wars. You find a nice girl or boy, settle down, you don’t need the, um… the boy juice, you just take a hair sample and they make a new you.” 

“Star Wars is science fiction.”

“They said that about the Internet. And robots! Heck, we’ve got two now!” 

“Two robots?” 

“Clean Latifa and Orlando Broom.” 

“The Roombas?”

“And they have AI now, too. I know, because they’re developing personalities. Clean Latifa has been trying to escape, and Orlando Broom has depression. I’m just saying, you never know what the future holds.”

“Look, Mom, I’m focusing on my career right now anyway. I can’t get tied down to raising a clone.”

“If you had a girlfriend, she could help you raise the clone.” 

“It would be great to have a girlfriend, Mom, but that’s not up to me. It’s up to the ever decreasing dating pool of women who would date a trans woman in their mid thirties and why are we talking about this? Mom, why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to know if you’re going to be flying home for Thanksgiving this year.”

Daria sighed. There was no way in hell she was going to fly into Miami. 

“We talked about this, Mom. I don’t feel safe in Florida.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Your dad will be here, and he always brings his gun everywhere, so if you stay with him, you’ll be safe.” 

(‘Jesus Christ,’ thought Daria.)

“No, Mom,” said Daria, “I mean… it’s not safe for trans people in Florida.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad, just don’t use the ladies’ room, maybe don’t wear a dress when you go out?”

“Mom, I’m not going to get into this with you again.”

“I’m just saying, it must be terrifying living in California. We see all the homeless people and the crime on the news all the time. I heard they legalized theft under $950 there.”

“Mom, you have to stop watching that channel. They’re lying to you.”

“Well, all the channels lie to you.”

“No, Mom. That’s another lie that the lying channel tells you. Granted, the others aren’t exactly Edward R. Murrow, but at least they don’t make stuff up. You remember when I visited Paris and you told me to watch out for Sharia Law no-go zones?” 

“Well, it’s not just Paris these days. There’s parts of London like that now too.” 

Daria sighed. 

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Schultzy.” 

The nickname was affectionate; Daria’s mom was a fan of ‘Hogan’s Heroes.’ Daria was too, you gotta love a show that starred a bunch of Jews who made the Nazis look ridiculous. 

“HOOOOOONK” blared a horn from behind her, obviously not thrilled to be on the 405 at this moment of time, and, because of that, the driver behind her obviously wanted to alert the nearest person of their discomfort, presumably because there was something the driver thought Daria could do about it.

“If there was a television show that… that documented all the steps of transitioning,” asked Daria. “That showed you exactly what I went through, and why I had to do it, and why people who aren’t trans can’t do it… would you watch it?”

“Well, if it was well done, I guess. Is that what that TV show you got pitched is about? Transitioning?” 

“Yeah. Cause… I mean, you and Dad try. You do try, but you also don’t really…” Daria trailed off.  “There are so many misconceptions. Things you thought you knew, or things you were told that just weren’t true.” 

“Maybe. I’m sorry, sweetie, we just… we’re from a different time, and we didn’t have transgender people back then. I mean, I’m sure we did, but we just… didn’t talk about it. There weren't any trans people on television, let alone working in television… except maybe the drag queens on Donahue.” 

By some miracle, a gap finally opened up and Daria took the opportunity. Finally, she could get off this carpocalyptic hellscape.

“They weren’t drag queens, Mom, but… uh, you know what, traffic’s starting to clear up. Can we pick this up later?” 

“Well, okay. Drive safe. And let us know about Thanksgiving. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom. And tell Dad I love him too.”

“I will. And he loves you too.” 

“Right. Bye.”

“Bye. Love you.”

There was a three-note descending chord of electronic beeps, indicating that the call had been terminated. 

***

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAH!”

Sam was woken up the next morning by the sound of screaming. 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAH!” 

Bleary eyed, she knocked the books off of her bed where she must have dozed off. She looked around for the source of the wailing, and surprisingly, it was coming from her purse. 

“We come from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs flow! The hammer of the gods!,” her purse sang. 

Fuck. It was her ringtone. She reached over and grabbed her phone, answering it. 

“Mmmrph. Morning. This is Sam Culver speaking.” 

“Hello, Ms Culver? This is Sheri Winston, I was told you were hoping to speak to someone regarding transgender issues?” 

“Yes,” said Sam, “Just give me a moment, I’ll be right back.”

Sam placed the phone on mute, and looked at the clock. It was already past nine a.m., and thus had no claim to have been unjustly woken at an ungodly hour. She adjusted her British snark accordingly, after taking a deep breath, then unmuted herself. 

“Sorry about that. Yes, I wanted to know if you’d be available to… well, there’s an idea that we’re pitching to Garden Alpha and we would like to talk to someone who knows the issues of the trans community well. Mostly because I’m not trans, and I don’t want to create something that is… horribly insensitive.” 

A pause on the other line.

“Well, I would imagine common sense would be the guide here,” said Sheri. “I do have a few hours today to discuss things. There’s a little meeting room at the center we can use, or we could just meet up for coffee somewhere, whatever’s comfortable for you and…” Sam heard the rustling of paper. “...Mr. Jimmy Howard. Jimmy Howard, Jimmy Howard… Why does that name sound familiar?” 

Sam interrupted Sheri before she could deal with more people star-struck at Jimmy’s quazi-celebrity status. “Coffee sounds good. What time, and what place would work for you?” 

***

Sam and Jimmy pulled into the local coffee shop, and Sheri, who had helpfully pointed out that she could be recognized by the red floral top, flowing gray skirt, and prominent Adam’s apple, waved her over to the table where she was sitting with a laptop. Sheri had brought her laptop as well, Jimmy didn’t even bother to bring a notepad. 

“Hi! I’m Sheri, and you must be Sam, and… a game-show host,” said Sheri, a bit surprised. 

“A game-show host? Where!?” said Jimmy, pretending to be startled. “Not again! I can’t go back! I won’t let them take me back!” 

Sheri laughed and despite herself, Sam laughed too. 

“Jimmy Howard. Yes, that one. Yes, from that show you watched.” 

“So, Sam, Jimmy. How can I help you?”

“We want to do a reality TV show about transitioning,” said Jimmy.

(“Hmm”, thought Sam, “‘want’ is probably not the right word for that sentence.”)

“What, like a documentary, for Discovery Channel or something?”

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. 

“Not… exactly. Uh.. Sam… why don’t you explain it?”

“Oh,” said Sam with a hint of an edge to her voice, “but you explain it so well.”

“It was your idea, Sam,” said Jimmy. 

“But you provided the spark.” 

Jimmy sighed, and accepted defeat for now.

“What would happen, if you took, say, seven or eight cisgender men, and, uh, told them if they successfully transitioned to women, they’d win a million dollars?” 

Sheri blinked. 

“That’s insane.”

“Yep,” said Sam. “Exactly what I thought too.”

“But… aside from the fact that it’s completely insane…,” said Jimmy.

“Loony,” said Sam.

“Bonkers,” said Jimmy.

“Daft,” said Sam.

“Crazy,” said Jimmy.

“Mental,” said Sam. 

“Other than that… what would happen?” asked Jimmy. 

Sheri stopped to think. 

“You’re serious,” said Sheri.

“Look, I… this wasn’t what I was expecting to be doing with my career,” said Sam. “But the streaming service I’m pitching to… they seem keen on the idea and I at least need to tell them why it wouldn’t work.” 

“I can tell you right now why it wouldn’t work,” said Sheri. “It’s not a… costume, or a choice. Even the people who say ‘gender is a performance’ - they mean well, but me being a man? Or a trans man being a woman? Our brains tell us who we are and when we try to force ourselves into not being who we are, we end up going crazy. We drive ourselves into depression, anxiety…” 

Sheri gritted her teeth, and closed her eyes. “Look, it’s, uh, it’s great that you decided to talk to someone about this because this is all… very ignorant.” 

“That’s the thing,” said Sam. “We’re ignorant. We know we’re ignorant. We know we’re not… we’re asking questions, dumb questions, because that’s where we are, right now.” 

“Right.” said Sheri. “Give me a moment. I don’t even know where to start.” 

***

Daria arrived into her office after lunch, and there were already three messages on her work chat application - messages that pointed out that Garden Alpha was still behind target for original programming coming through the pipeline. 

She typed back a quick reply and sent a status update to the stakeholders, explaining that there was a thrilling idea in the works but that the pitch meeting had to be delayed a week, and if the pitch didn’t meet expectations, there were a few other projects that they could take a second look at, if it came to it, but that while they still had time and budget, and it was still Daria’s call, she was going to push for Garden Alpha to shoot for excellence rather than just quantity. 

Five minutes later, Chandra knocked on the door to her office. 

“Hey Daria. Do you have a moment?”

“I’ve got fifteen minutes before my first meeting of the afternoon. What’s up?” 

“I, uh, just noticed that you sent that message to the channel that we’re aiming for excellence rather than quantity?” 

“That’s right. I thought you were with me on that.”

“I am with you on that. It’s just that - we can’t really afford excellence at the expense of quantity.”

“Ah,” said Daria. 

“So - you know that Daryl and I are probably going to greenlight ‘Gender Island,’ when the pitch comes up officially, but it might be a good idea to start prepping a backup plan of less ambitious shows, just in case the idea isn’t fully fleshed out, by the time we need to move forward. We need to get some shows in the production pipeline, pronto.” 

“I’m meeting with some other showrunners later today to try to fill that gap,” said Daria. 

“Good. Even more than that, though, if we greenlight ‘Gender Island,’ next week, we need to start moving on it immediately. We’ve already put out a casting call and have started researching shooting locations.”

“Wait, what, a casting call? Shooting locations? For a show we haven’t even been properly pitched yet? Without telling the show-runners?”

“Well, you know the basic premise, right? We just start getting video submissions from macho men and go from there. That’s the thing about tech culture, you gotta move fast and break things. Build the airplane in flight. Be agile,” said Chandra. “Trust me, the show runners will be glad we’re taking the initiative.” 

“What if we don’t go with ‘Gender Island’?”

“Then we’ve got a good crop of talent for the next project that comes down the pipe.” 

“Chandra, when did you put out the casting call?”

“Yesterday. Why?”

***

“Sorry, Sheri,” said Sam, when her phone rang out the melodic wailing of Robert Plant. “I have to take this. Jim, are you going to be okay for a moment?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Jimmy. 

Sam stepped outside and took the phone call. 

“Hello. You’ve reached Sam Culver, who’s calling?”

“Hey, Sam, this is Daria Bryant. Is this a good time?”

“For you, always. What’s up? Did Alpha decide to pass after all?”

“No, actually. Uh, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but I think they’re going to move quite fast on ‘Gender Island’ once you make your pitch. Maybe too fast.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Chandra Harleson - VP of marketing? You remember her?”

“I remember. What is it?”

“She stopped by my office to kind of… urge me to get a move on with producing shows. She seems convinced that Alpha’s going to pick up ‘Gender Island’ and has already put out a casting call.”

“What?”

“I know, I know!”

“Daria, I haven’t even pitched the idea yet! I barely even have an idea yet! Right now I’m in West Hollywood making an ass of myself in front of a transgender support councilor just to figure out if I’m going to hell for even thinking of the idea.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really! I’m not ready to be canceled, Daria! I haven’t even been subscribed.”

***

Meanwhile, Sheri and Jimmy continued talking in the coffee shop. 

“So, let’s say you actually do this,” said Sheri. “First of all, I’m 99.9% sure this is illegal in the U.S. Hell, it’s probably illegal everywhere.”

“Okay. I feel like I should be taking notes.” 

Sheri sighed. “Yes, you damn well should.” She reached into her attached bag and brought out a small yellow pad and a plastic pen. 

“Just keep it. I have tons of these pads - I don't want to mix up notes on people who come to see me, so I just start a new one whenever.” 

“Thanks.” 

Jimmy started writing, sounding out the words as he wrote the first line. “Probably… illegal… everywhere…”

“You’re going to want to underline that. Twice,” suggested Sheri. 

Two lines darted across the paper. 

“Okay. But, let’s say that we could find a jurisdiction where it wasn’t illegal, and that we could film. How would we need to set something like this up?”

Sheri sighed. 

“Well, the most important thing is consent. And fully informed consent at that. Like, you’re going to have to tell them exactly what’s going to happen. What your plan is, every step of the way. You are intending to permanently change human bodies. For ratings.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time, though,” said Jimmy. “Back in the 2000s, there was a reality TV show that took ‘ugly ducklings’ and gave them plastic surgery and then had a beauty pageant.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously. Actually, that might be a good place to start. Maybe the doctor who did that show might be willing to consult for us.”

Sheri glared at Jimmy.

“Fuck, are all game show hosts crazy?” 

“I can’t speak for myself, but I know Bob Eubanks tells racist jokes about AIDS. And Chuck Woolery was an anti-vax Trump supporter, so… maybe?” 

Jimmy thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.

“Nah. Alex Trebek was practically a saint. Though he was Canadian. That might make a difference.” 

“God help me,” said Sheri. “Look, as I said, even if you can get a doctor to prescribe hormones, or god forbid, perform surgery, you would need to tell everyone involved exactly what those hormones will do. So if you had a contestant, you’d have to tell them that it might turn them sterile. You’d have to tell them about sexual dysfunction. You’d have to tell them about aches and pains, breast growth, fat redistribution, depending on which medications, and various side effects. You’d have to inform them that if they stay on those hormones for a length of time, the changes will be permanent if they don’t cease treatment within a certain time frame.”

Jimmy was copiously writing all this down. 

“Jimmy, look at me,” said Sheri. 

Jimmy looked up.

“Nobody,” said Sheri, “and I mean nobody goes through transition just for the hell of it. God help me, I put off my own transition for years just because I wasn’t completely sure. Even then I treated it like an experiment at first. I want the changes that are happening to my body. Need them, in fact, in order to feel like myself, like a human, instead of just a… a meat robot. And it’s wonderful - wonderful to feel like yourself… if you’re trans. If you try to take men - cisgender men - and ask them to go through all that for the chance at some money? To basically go through what I went through before I started on hormones? Nobody’s going to do that.”

Sam walked back in, phone in hand, and headed back to the table. 

“Hey, Sam,” said Jimmy. 

“Jimmy, we’re in trouble. I’ve got Daria here on the line.” 

“Daria? From Alpha? What’s up?”

“They put out a casting call,” said Sam.

“Ha,” said Sheri, bringing the coffee cup to her lips for a sip. “Good luck with that.” 

“And they got three hundred and eighty five applicants within the first four hours,” said Sam. 

Sheri nearly choked on her coffee.