We Interrupt this Transition

CHAPTER FIVE: Greenlight

Jimmy couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous, bouncing his leg up and down repeatedly, sitting next to Sam in the Garden Alpha offices. After all, if Garden passed on the pitch Sam was preparing to give, he’d have lost an opportunity to direct, but he could always do an indie mumblecore movie with the money he got just from residuals of ‘Shark Attack,’ if he really wanted to be behind the camera that badly. Get into Slamdance with a bunch of film students and a half-baked plot about Sasquatch. Lord knows how he became so invested. 

But it wasn’t just him, though. He’d been hoping that Sam would turn her bad luck around for nearly two years; he knew he was working with exceptional talent ever since they met, when Jimmy was cast as the eponymous ‘Martinet’ in the American adaptation of the British TV show she created. Which failed horribly only because Sam didn’t have the clout to fight the stupid notes the studio kept giving her. 

Death by executive meddling. The cruelest of blows to a brilliant idea. 

And the young Erin, who simply blew them away during the audition. How long would she have before another opportunity came along? These were smart, competent people he somehow surrounded himself with, and in Los Angeles, that was a luxury not to be taken for granted. 

Indeed, meeting Pranav and Sheri had also got him thinking more concretely about the possibilities of this project, possibilities Daria was keen to remind him of on the pre-pitch debrief last night. 

“Jimmy, can you stop shaking your leg like that? If you vibrate any faster, you’re going to phase through matter like the bloody Flash,” Sam said. 

“Right,” said Jimmy. “Sorry.”

The two sat in Daria’s office on the couch in silence while they waited a few moments - Daryl was running a couple minutes late, they said. 

Thirty seconds later, Jimmy’s leg started bouncing up and down again of its own accord. 

Daria poked her head in. 

“Sam. Jimmy. We’re ready.” 

***

This time around, Sam was more determined and ready, and absolutely had the right slide deck. Chandra greeted them with a smile, while Daryl was already seated and looking up some quick information on his laptop. Handshakes and cordiality all around. Daria helped Sam hook up her laptop to the large television in the conference room, and started screen-sharing. 

“Right,” said Sam. “Since the last time we’ve spoken, we’ve solidified some details and we’ll be talking a bit about some of the people we’d like to bring on board if you decide to greenlight this project, but the core idea remains the same. One thing that has changed - our working title.” 

She started the presentation slide deck. On it was a neon inspired logo, made hurriedly on the computer, with ‘Woman’ written in a cute hand-written, feminine font, and ‘UP!’ written in military stencil. 

Sam cleared her throat. “Naturally, that’s just a placeholder logo. But you can see what we’re going for.” 

“Oh my god,” said Chandra. “That’s much better!”

Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. 

“So, naturally, you know the main premise. Now we get into the nitty gritty details. First, to ensure that we proceed ethically, we’re bringing in two experts to our team - Dr. Pranav Vadakar, a plastic surgeon, who you may be familiar with from a variety of television shows dealing with televised medical procedures, and Sheri Winston, licenced psychotherapist specializing in LGBT issues, and volunteer at the LGBT center in West Hollywood.”

“Oh, by Trader Joe’s on Santa Monica Boulevard?” said Daryl. 

“That’s the one,” said Jimmy. 

“Interesting. I was just there last night,” said Daryl. “They have a good wine selection,” continued Daryl. 

“At the LGBT center?” asked Jimmy. 

Sam carried on, ignoring Jimmy. “Between the two of them, they should be able to help deal with the ethical ramifications of any plans we may have, as well as provide psychological and medical advice for the contestants. They would be paid for by us but have full professional independence.” 

“We also have a host in mind,” said Sam, clicking the slide forward to Erin’s screen test, letting it play out. “Erin Cochran, a few TV credits, a lot of live stage time, some reality TV experience…” Another click and it showed a clip of Erin on ‘The Vocalist’, having fun banter with the judges and the audience. 

“She’s not a name but we really think she could be,” explained Sam.

Chandra nodded.  

“We brought her in for a screen test,” said Jimmy. “We gave her some lines, and she delivered them professionally. But when we let her improvise a bit, her personality really shone through.” 

Sam brought up the video from the screen test where she was comforting contestant Jimmy. Daryl, in particular, took notice. 

“What we’re proposing is a 24 episode series, released once a week over a six month period,” said Sam. “Pre-production would be six months, production would be anywhere from twelve to eighteen months, though it’s possible it could be as short as nine, if all the contestants drop out quickly. Because of the unconventional nature of this project, we are estimating not the actual cost per episode, but the maximum cost per episode, at around 875 thousand dollars, not including prizes. By comparison, Survivor costs roughly a million per episode, The Amazing Race a million point two.”

“Still seems a bit expensive,” said Daryl. “Why so high?”

“Well,” Sam said, having expected this question, “as mentioned, this is the highest possible estimate we could come up with, with the most conservative numbers we had, and a little bit of padding. One key item: those other shows take around three weeks to film. Transitioning takes time, and that means we’ll have to either rent a location for a long time, or buy one and sell it after the production. There’s an appendix on that in the emails I sent you. But keep in mind, we believe some of that money can be recouped through product placement.”

“Product placement?” asked Chandra. 

Jimmy rattled off a memorized list. “Clairol. Max Factor. Sephora. Maybelline. Torrid. Lane Bryant. Dior. Lululemon. Nordstrom. Macy’s. Shein. And don’t forget Garden Markets - you could run a QR code in the corner of the screen that ties directly to the page to add the current contestant’s makeup or outfit directly to your Garden Cart.”

Chandra and Daryl looked at each other, and nodded. 

“Of course, that’s one of the advantages of Garden Alpha’s vertical integration,” said Jimmy. “I’m not quite sure a more traditional company would have all the opportunities that such a reality show could present,” said Jimmy, revving up the smoke-blower into high gear. 

Sam took the conversation back over, heading over to a slide deck with a bunch of charts and graphs, and at this point Jimmy’s eyes glazed over. Let Sam handle the business stuff, Jimmy was more interested in reading the room.

So far, Chandra seemed to be all in, chewing lightly on her little plastic pen - practically drooling at the prospect of vertical integration. Daryl was harder to read, more reserved, but absolutely listening to every word. Over next to them, Daria was taking notes as the presentation went along, though she had already heard most of it.

“So, this is the hard part,” said Sam. “We’ve gone over the budget, format, and the overall plan. Time for questions.” 

Daryl nodded. 

“I want to know - this Dr. Vadekar, would he be performing the surgeries himself?” 

“If any of the contestants decide to move on to surgical intervention, Dr. Vadekar has made it clear that he would not be performing the surgeries. His role is to vet the qualifications and competency of any doctors we would bring in for medical care or surgery, and provide independent medical advice to all contestants at any stage of the project. We don’t intend to televise the actual medical procedures - again - if any.”

Daryl nodded. Chandra then took the next question. “So, you haven’t got a location lined up yet?”

“We’ve narrowed it down to three places,” said Sam. “Portugal, Thailand, and Mexico.” 

“Why those three?” asked Chandra. 

“Most places in the world will not let you take gender affirming care without a diagnosis from a psychiatrist or psychologist of ‘gender dysphoria.’ By definition, our contestants won’t have gender dysphoria, and we’re not going to ask a medical professional to give a false diagnosis. Those three countries allow for hormone therapy and surgical intervention with informed consent only - no need for a psychological diagnosis.”

“Do you have a favorite picked out?” 

“Though Thailand is the cheapest of the three, we think it might be better to go with Mexico, on the Yucatan peninsula, for a number of reasons. Specifically Tulum, a little south of Cancun. Mostly the proximity to the United States makes flights in and out easier. Frequent breaks reduce the amount of pressure the contestants and crew might face.”

“After all,” said Daria. “The last thing we want to do is be accused of forcing the contestants to make life changing decisions in an environment where they are completely isolated from their friends and families. And let’s face it, a great deal of the changes won’t even show for at least a few months, the real interesting footage occurs at around the three month mark when the changes start to become permanent.”

“Assuming they don’t start dropping out like flies,” said Jimmy. 

“Actually, that’s a good question,” said Chandra. “What happens if they all decide to just leave after, say, three months? Will we have enough footage to make a compelling twenty four hours of content?”

“We think we will. Reality TV… sort of… expands to take up the space of its container,” said Jimmy. “Plus, there are the challenges, the pre-and-post interviews, banter between contestants. We could even do on-location shoots back in the states with friends and family, as they discuss how they react to the changes - with, of course, the proper forms signed and all that. I’m not worried about not being able to find enough content to fill the air. I’m more worried we’ll have so much content that I’ll have to kill a lot of darlings on the editing room floor.” 

Daryl stopped for a second and thought.

“I have concerns, and I’m pretty sure we haven’t thought of everything. But you’ll do everything you can to make sure that this does not exploit the contestants?”

Sam shook her head.

“It would be dishonest with you to say that it wouldn’t. We are exploiting them.” said Sam. “That’s what Reality TV is. Exploitation. We’re exploiting their experiences for entertainment purposes. But always with their informed consent, always giving them the opportunity to say no and removing as much pressure as humanly possible to say yes when they don’t mean it. What I think you’re asking is, ‘will we treat the contestants with dignity and decency?’ And the answer is yes.”

Daryl nodded. 

“Well, Ms. Bryant, Mr. Howard, that was an excellent presentation,” said Daryl. “We have a lot to talk about and to discuss. We’ll have a meeting this afternoon where the three of us will make a final decision to greenlight or reject the project, and you’ll have an answer most likely at the end of the day.” 

***

“So,” said Sam, on the way back home. “That’s it then. We’ll get the rejection at the end of the day, and I’ll go back to pitching ‘Sabotage’ around. You think Netflix might give it a go? They brought back ‘The Mole,’ maybe they could use a companion series?” 

“Sam,” said Jimmy. “You need to plan for success.”

“I am planning for success. It’s just that your idea of success is different from mine. If they green-light this stupid idea, then great, we get good paydays and I get my foot in the door here in the states, but if they don’t? I count that as a victory too. I’m not even sure which one I’m rooting for at this point.”

“I don’t know. I was starting to look forward to it,” said Jimmy. 

“Even after talking with Sheri? And Pranav?” asked Sam, incredulously. 

“Well, yeah. Look, obviously I’m not trans, or gay, or queer or anything, but when I was growing up, I was a sensitive kid. I got picked on a lot, you know, for being a little different. I was a strange kid,” said Jimmy, “and nobody knew what to make of me. And I just wanted to, you know, be seen as normal. So I had to learn to be normal, you know?”

“No,” said Sam. “I didn’t know that.”

“I just… I feel like Daria’s right,” said Jimmy. “That there are people out there who just want to get on with their lives and be seen as… people, and this can help them. I might not know what it’s like to be trans, but I know what it’s like to… feel like doing what you’re doing is an act. Like, you’re… behaving in a certain way because it’s what’s expected of you. Like… like…”

“A game show host,” Sam said, completing the sentence. 

“Exactly. I got through my childhood by basically emulating people who were… friendly. Cordial. Convivial. Alex Trebek and Chuck Woolery and Wink Martindale and Bob Barker and Pat Sajak. And eventually people saw me as a normal person. It worked, it was just… so much effort. It still is, really, it’s why I decided to take early semi-retirement and the occasional hosting gig rather than, say, doing something syndicated.” Jimmy took the ramp and got on the 10, heading east, back to Santa Monica. 

“I didn’t know that about you, Jimmy. You don’t talk much about your childhood, unless it comes in the form of an amusing anecdote that is almost certainly made up,” said Sam. 

“The anecdotes are real. It’s just that I choose to remember them a certain way,” said Jimmy. 

***

Erin had her head in Julia’s lap, while Julia stroked her wife’s hair. 

“I think I fucked up, Julia,” said Erin.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” reassured Julia.

“I fucking hugged Jimmy Howard. He probably thinks I’m insane.”

“Who?” asked Julia.

“Jimmy Howard. The director of the project. Wait, you don’t know who Jimmy Howard is?”

“No. Should I?”

Erin sighed. 

“I mean, he’s not like, famous-famous, but he was, you know, on television a lot in the 2000s. Hosted a lot of good shows. I got a little star-struck meeting him.”

Julia giggled.

“What?” asked Erin, turning her head towards Julia’s face.

“Claudia was right. You do remember the hosts’ names on the game shows.” 

“Well, yeah, I guess,” said Erin. “What do you think of it? If I get the job, I mean. There’d be a whole lot of travel between here and wherever the location would be. You’d miss me.” 

“I would miss you,” said Julia. “But if it means that we would finally be able to move out of this studio, it would be worth it. I love you, honey, but sometimes this place gets cramped.” 

“We could afford something with a bit more space if we moved to Minnesota,” said Erin. 

“Right. Minnesota. Famously the place where dreams are made and fame found,” joked Julia. 

“Don’t laugh. We could afford a three bedroom for what we’re paying for this place out there. I could settle down. Get a real job, you know?”

“Erin, we discussed this,” said Julia. “First, you’re not thinking clearly. You always get so maudlin after an audition. Second, if there’s one thing I know, you shouldn’t give up your dreams. Mostly because you can give up your dreams, go for the sure-thing, and still fail at that anyway.”

“You really think I’m maudlin after auditions?” 

“Honey, whose head is in whose lap right now? I know you. When the adrenaline comes down, you crash hard for a day or two. Then you bounce right back up.” Julia smushed Erin’s cheeks together in a cutesy way, and leaned down and kissed her. “I know who I married,” Julia continued, “and I know she’ll do great things.” 

“I mean, to be fair, you didn’t know who you married. You married Mr. Eric Cochran, and then two years into the marriage, I threw you for the mother of all fucking relationship loop-de-loops.” 

“Not your fault, Mrs. Cochran. You didn’t know either. Besides, we adjusted. If anything, the sex got better.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Erin. “That it did.”

***

“Rafael! ¡Aquí!” the director yelled from across the soundstage.

Rafael Espinar headed over from the focus-puller’s position to the director. He didn’t want to lose this internship, and he had just started. “Yes, Mr. Murillo? Is something wrong?”

“‘Is something wrong.’ ‘Is something wrong’, he asks,” said the director. “Rafael, I want you to look into that monitor right there,” and tell me what’s wrong.”

It was immediately obvious. The woman in the shot holding the box of cereal was out of focus. 

“She’s out of focus.”

The director pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Si, señor. I’m about to begin the take, and over in my ear, I hear Estafan behind the camera, telling you, ‘¡Es suave, el enfoque es suave!’”

“‘Es suave.’ I thought he was telling me it was all cool?” Rafael asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s soft. ‘El enfoque es suave.’ The focus is soft,” said the director. 

Rafael cringed, sucking air through his teeth. 

“Rafael, do you not know Spanish?” 

“I… know some Spanish…,” admitted Rafael. “But, uh, not…”

“Not ‘el suave,’ obviously,” said the director, who took a calming breath, then remembered he was dealing with someone half his age, almost a kid.

“Rafael, we’re shooting a Spanish-language commercial, for the Spanish language market, for Estrella TV, and you don’t speak Spanish.”

Rafael shook his head. 

“Am I fired?” he asked.

A long, deep sigh. “A little bit, yeah,” said the director. “But that’s my fault, not yours. I should have asked that before I brought you on board. That’s on me. I just assumed…”

Rafael Espinar nodded, and pretty much knew the rest of the story from there. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll call UCLA, explain the situation, maybe there’s still time for you to grab another internship.”

Rafael nodded, knowing that there wasn’t. 

***

Rafael didn’t feel like going home right away, so he stopped by the WeHo (West Hollywood) LGBT center, waving to Keiran, the elderly receptionist-slash-librarian as he entered. 

“Rafael! Good to see you again. Wasn’t expecting you today, though. How was your first day at…” Kieran stopped once he saw Rafael’s face. 

“Job requires Spanish. Nobody bothered to ask if I knew Spanish,” said Rafael. “Fuck me, right?”

“Oh, honey, that must be awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to go home yet. You know what sucks the most? Not the fact that I don’t have an internship. Not the fact that I’m going to get a guilt trip from my parents for losing this internship through something that wasn’t even my fault. The fact that now I have to figure out something else to do this summer to get out of the house.”

Rafael slumped down on one of the seats in the library. 

“Because living in that house is driving me insane.” 

“Well, it’s not forever. What about living in the dorms?”

“There’s no way that I can afford that. I’m already going to graduate with enough student debt to drown an elephant at this rate,” said Rafael, “and it just seems like such a waste when I don’t have to pay rent to live with my parents… but… my god.”

“They don’t approve?”

“Worse. They don’t understand. They treat it like it’s a phase or a game or something. Even after telling them about the testosterone shots. They just laugh and say that their little girl is being silly. I don’t think they’re going to get it until I start growing a goddamn mustache. Which is taking forever.” 

“Aw. Need a hug?”

“Thanks, Kieran, but I’m not a hugger,” said Rafael. 

“Fair enough. You know, if there’s anything at the center we can do…”

“I know, Kieran. I just need to hang out for a bit before I head home.” 

Around that time, Bradley Ewart, all bear, all six foot two of him, walked in, waving to Kieran. 

“Hey, Kieran,” said Bradley.

“Bradley, hey. I was just helping Rafael here out. Have you met?”

“No, I don’t think I have.” Bradley extended a handshake. “Bradley Ewart.” After a short pause. “He/him.” 

Rafael looked up at Bradley, smirking. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Rafael Espinar. Also he/him,” and shook Bradley’s hand. “So, what brings you here?”

“The free condoms,” said Bradley. “Also, I wanted to set up an appointment to ask about PrEP. I’ve been seeing billboards and such. It might be a good idea.” 

Kieran got out some paperwork from a drawer. “I think we can arrange that. Just fill this out and the nurse-practitioner will get back to you as soon as we have a slot open.”

Bradley got out a pen and started filling out some information. While he went over it, he attempted some small talk.

“So, Rafael. Anything in particular bringing you to the center today?” 

“Kinda sorta. Got fired today.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t speak Spanish. And everyone assumed I could.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah, ‘oof.’”

“I mean, I don't know what that’s like. Well, maybe I do a little. My boyfriend, Jett, was teasing me earlier about how I must know how to ice skate just because I’m Canadian.” 

“Really, what part?”

“Vancouver.”

“Ah. God, that’s some beautiful country. Maybe I should have gone to film school there. I hear there’s a big film industry there too.”

“You’re a film student?”

“I am for now. Though, as I said, I got fired from my first internship in the film industry, so who knows how long that’ll last. What about you?”

“Oh, I went into construction. I’m an apprentice operating engineer. I drive heavy machinery. Working my way to becoming a journeyman.”

“Oh. That’s really cool. Wait, yoooo… are you forklift certified?”

Bradley laughed. “Actually, yeah, I am! I know it’s a meme, but I actually am forklift certified.”

“Cool. Maybe I should go into construction. I might rethink this whole film school thing.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Bradley. “You had one bad day. Don’t give up on what you love just because of one bad day, that’s silly. Plus, construction isn’t exactly a queer-friendly industry. I’m closeted to my co-workers.”

“The other construction workers would give you crap about being gay?” asked Rafael.

“Not just the other construction workers. I also get heat from the cowboy, biker, soldier, and Indian chief too,” smirked Bradley. 

Rafael rolled his eyes. 

Bradley’s phone got a text. 

“Oh,” said Bradley. “That’s my boyfriend Jett. He’s waiting outside. I should really skedaddle. Thanks again, Kieran. Nice to meet you, Rafael.”

Bradley quickly grabbed and pocketed the handful of free condoms, and headed out the door.

Rafael sighed. “Why do all the hot gay guys have to have boyfriends?” 

“Or be a third my age,” said Kieran. 

Rafael looked over at Kieran with raised eyebrows.

“What? I’m old, I’m not dead. He’s a hottie,” said Kieran. “Truth is, I actually know his boyfriend.”

“What’s he like?” asked Rafael. 

“Let’s just say, I think he could do better.” 

***

Jett was waiting outside for Bradley, dragging a wheeled carry-on bag behind him, and immediately reached up to give Bradley a hug.

And just for good measure, a smack on the ass. 

Bradley blushed. “Jett,” he whined. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in WeHo, and you just came out of the LGBT center to hug your boyfriend dressed in fishnet stockings and knee-high socks. I’m pretty sure your secret is out.”

“Yeah, Jett,” said Bradley, rubbing the back of his neck, “but like, I wish you had asked first?” 

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, Bradley?” said Jett, dismissively. “C’mon. It’s a fifteen minute walk from here to Hamburger Mary’s. Unless you want to let me ride piggyback.”

“Jett… no!” laughed Bradley. “Who are you going to be for the show tonight?” 

“I think it’s far enough past the pandemic that I have to retire ‘Maxine Vandate.’ Joke isn’t hitting anymore.” Jett said, “Thought about ‘Mentally Jill’.” 

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” said Bradley. “You could do that one in a straightjacket.” 

“Kinky,” said Jett. “I’ll work on her character more at home before I bring her out though.”

“Promise?”

“If you’re good. Hmm. I think I’m going to go with ‘Diana Fyre.’” 

“Nice one.” 

“I’ll be honest, it’s a good excuse to try out the warm palette.”

The two headed to Hamburger Mary’s and Bradley took a seat at the bar while Jett went backstage to change. 

“Maxine!,” said Brandon, as they exchanged fake cheek kisses. “Good to see you tonight. Ready for the show?”

“Absolutely, Transa. But I think it’s time for Ms. Vandate to retire, don’t you? Trying out something new.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Diana Fire.”

“Oh my god, I love it!”

Jett nodded and pulled out a sequined red dress with little spaghetti straps to hold it up, and a short blonde wig.

“The idea is that I’d be like Princess Diana,” said Jett, “but after the crash.”

Brandon couldn’t help but screw his face - it was so bad, that it was so good.  

***

After the show, which involved a lot of dancing, lip syncing, and bawdy jokes, Jett, Brandon, Bradley, Rhys, and Luke were hanging out at the bar. 

“So, anyway,” said Bradley, making small talk, “Jett and I applied to this reality TV show. Don’t know if anything will come of it, but it looked interesting. I think it’s like a world’s strongest man competition.”

“Okay?” said Rhys, confused. “You, I can see, but why did Jett apply?”

“Oh, Jett thinks it’s a bait and switch. That they’re actually going to do something genderfucky, and he’s all about that.” 

“Just a vibe I got,” Jett interjected. “Plus, it’s reality TV, it’s always about the twist, you know? So if they ask for macho men, the winner’s gonna be a girly-man. Easiest money I ever made.” 

“If you get picked,” Brandon pointed out. 

“Please, I’m photogenic as hell, it’s not an ‘if’,” said Jett. 

“Say, Brandon,” said Luke. “You think it could be that thing that Jimmy Howard and… I forget her name. Sarah or something.”

“Sam, I think” said Brandon. “Nah, there’s no way that’s going to get greenlit.”

“What thing?” asked Bradley.

“Jimmy Howard and some sort of producer were coming here asking if we knew any trans women, because they wanted to create a reality TV show that’s a ripoff of drag race, but with m-t-f transitioning for real,” said Luke. 

Jett cocked an eyebrow, and started paying closer attention.

“There’s no way that’s the same thing we applied for,” said Bradley. “They asked for macho guys, not trans women, or, like… pre-trans-women.”

“What, like, hormones and surgeries and all that?” asked Jett. 

“I don’t know. Just said ‘it was like Drag Race but with actual gender transitioning’.” said Luke. “What a shit-show that would be, right?”

Jett took out his phone and read over the posting and application again. “Minds, bodies, and masculinity to the ultimate test,” he re-read. “Life-changing experience that would change you permanently.”

Jett tugged on Brandon’s sleeve. “Brandon, hold up. Did they say what network they were doing this for?” 

“They said they were doing this for a streaming service, I think, not a network,” said Brandon.

“Well, this post is for Garden Alpha - that’s streaming, right?” asked Jett. “Fuck me, Bradley, I think we applied for the most insane thing we ever heard of.” 

***

“So, tell me if this is the most insane thing you’ve heard of,” asked Leonard Harrison, leaning back on the beach towel, getting a couple of sodas from the ice chest, enjoying the La Jolla beaches, and handing one to his comp-sci classmate, Ethan MacDonald. 

“I apply for this macho man reality TV show, I go to the auditions right, but I’m like, wearing a Go-Pro and I’m miked-up. I then go to all the jocks and like, ask them stupid questions. Basically the old Jay Leno schtick, yeah? Like Jordan Klepper does with the Trump supporters.” 

“No,” said Ethan, matter of factly. “It is not the most insane thing I have heard of. But I would put it in, say, the eighty-fifth percentile, for sure.” 

“Really?”

“It’s a tough market for selling insanity right now,” said Ethan. “Lots of competition. It’s an election year where the choices are ‘Everyone gets a free puppy’ and ‘Everyone gets diarrhea forever,’ and all the swing states are 50/50 tossups. In the meantime, the world is quite clearly becoming rapidly unfit for human habitation, all our heroes have been turning out to have been horrible people all along, and James Earl Jones just died, on Star Trek Day, of all days.”

“James Earl Jones wasn’t in Star Trek. He was Darth Vader.”

“Hence, the added layer of irony.”

“Sometimes, you’re a real joy to hang around with, Ethan,” complained Leonard. 

“Sorry. I’m just cranky because my nipples hurt,” said Ethan.

Leonard laughed.

“What?” 

“My nipples hurt. I want to keep the sun off me, so I wear a t-shirt when I swim. And in the salt water, well that salt gets into the t-shirt, and it makes the t-shirt all salty and abrasive, and that rubs against my nipples. After about an hour in the ocean, I get sore nipples,” explained Ethan. 

“You know, you could just wear sunscreen,” said Leonard.

“Maybe I should invest in a wetsuit,” wondered Ethan aloud. 

“Just do sunscreen. It’s fine, it’s waterproof, it won’t wash off, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Leonard. “I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“Don’t know. When I’m at the beach, though, I think it’s just… respectful to cover up,” said Ethan. “Nobody wants to look at my torso. Why inflict it on them?” 

“Ethan,” said Leonard. “Don’t talk about my friend that way, alright?” 

Leonard looked behind him for a brief moment, and sighed. “Look, Ethan… Stand up.”

“What?”

Leonard motioned for Ethan to stand up. 

“Stand up. Right,” continued Leonard. “Now, take off your shirt.”

“No,” said Ethan. “I don’t want to.”

“Ethan, this is an experiment. Trust me.” 

“Weren’t you just talking five minutes ago about pranking a bunch of people on video?”

“Trust me.”

Ethan sighed, and took off his shirt. And yes, his nipples were a little red and sore, and he was absolutely not well defined, with even a little bit of a belly. 

“Right. Now, I want you to close your eyes,” said Leonard. “And don’t open them until I say.” 

Ethan sighed once again, and compiled with his friend’s requests.

“Now flex your muscles. And wait right here. Keep your eyes closed.”

Even under his eyelids, Ethan couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes at that.

Leonard headed down the beach to retrieve something.

“Right. Ethan. Keep your eyes closed. Now… He looks fine. What do you think, ladies?” 

“Wait, what?” 

Ethan opened his eyes, to find two beachgoing women that Leonard had brought over. They were giggling.

“Oh my god,” said one of them, in a Valley-Girl accent. “I can’t believe we fell for that.”

“Nice nips, though,” said the other one, and then they started to walk away, laughing. 

“Wait, ladies!” called Leonard after them. “I just wanted to boost my friend’s confidence. Can you tell him, I don’t know, he looks nice or something?” 

“We wouldn’t know!” said the Valley Girl. 

“We’re lesbians!” said the other. 

By this time, Ethan had already put his salt-encrusted T-shirt back on and winced a little from the pain as, indeed, it was like sandpaper rubbing across his nipples. He then crossed his arms across his chest, frowning.

“Leonard,” said Ethan. “I can see what you were trying to do.” 

“So…,” said Leonard, “you can?”

“Yes,” said Ethan. “And I would put it in the ninety-fifth percentile of insane things.” 

***

Daryl, Daria, and Chandra re-convened that afternoon for a final meeting. 

“Daria, I know you’re in. Chandra, your thoughts?”

“Verticality, controversy, and uniqueness. I’m down.” 

Daryl nodded. 

“I have to admit,” said Daryl. “I wasn’t sure about this. I was going back and forth. But they really put together a good team, didn’t they?”

“That they did,” said Daria. 

“Especially that host. That’s exactly the kind of thing I was worried about - that they’d get some… snarky host that was going to cut people down, and instead… I think they got exactly who they needed,” said Daryl. “That budget, though. Do you think we can cut some of the costs?” 

“If you’re asking me, do you think I can keep them reined in? Yes,” said Daria. “I mean, we don’t have to rent equipment. We literally have a warehouse somewhere with all the gear we need already, and anything we use we can just sell ‘refurbished’ and take a writeoff for depreciation. And I have a few ideas on that location that might make it smooth sailing.” 

“Right then,” said Daryl. “Let’s give them the green light.”

***

Sam and Jimmy broke out the ice bucket, enjoying another evening on Jimmy’s back patio. Well - Jimmy enjoyed it, Sam mostly wanted to get back inside. But they were waiting for a phone call, and they might as well wait together. 

Around 4:45 pm, Sam’s phone rang. Daria Bryant showed up on the Caller ID.  Sam put it on speaker. 

“This is Sam Culver, I’m with Jimmy Howard. Daria, what’s the news?”

“You have the greenlight,” said Daria. “Took a lot of debate, but I think you did an excellent job of allaying all of Daryl’s concerns. That host you got was perfect, and I think that’s what sent you over the top.”

Jimmy silently fist-pumped the air. 

“You can start pre-production on ‘Woman Up.’” said Daria. “We’ll send over the paperwork tomorrow morning, just figured I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“That’s great news,” said Jimmy, genuinely enthusiastic. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“Same,” said Sam. 

“I’m going to finish up here then head home. Break a leg, alright?” 

“Will do,” said Sam. 

Daria hung up the phone. 

Jimmy raised his hand for a high-five. 

Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” said Jimmy. “You’re just going to leave me hanging? You’re a showrunner, Sam! You’re an American, Los Angeles, Hollywood showrunner!” 

Sam sighed, and begrudgingly smirked. 

“I guess I am,” she said, and returned Jimmy’s high-five.

“Right,” said Jimmy. “We have to make some phone calls.” 

***

Erin and Julia were eating spaghetti, watching a pirated copy of an episode of ‘The Mandalorian’ on Julia’s laptop. 

“Oh. He’s a cute little guy,” said Julia. 

Erin’s phone rang. Julia paused the video, while Erin retrieved her phone from her purse.

“Who is it?” asked Julia. 

“Don’t know. It says ‘unlisted number.’”

Erin answered it. “You’ve reached Erin Cochran, unless you’re a bill collector, in which case I don’t know who Erin Cochran is, I don’t speak English, and I’ve only memorized these words phonetically because Erin Cochran tricked me into doing so, how can I help you?”

“Hello Erin. It’s Jimmy Howard. Is this a good time?” 

Erin’s eyes went wide, and looked straight at Julia. 

“Uh, it is, kind of. What’s up?”

(“Ugh, did I actually just ask Jimmy Howard ‘what’s up?’” thought Erin.)

“We just heard back from Garden Alpha. We have a green light and we’re ready to move into pre-production. It’ll be a couple of days to hammer out the paperwork, but I wanted to let you know that if you can make the schedule commitments, you’re our first choice for host.” 

Erin’s mouth dropped, speechless, looking straight at Julia. Julia, who could only hear half of the conversation and didn’t know who Erin was speaking to, naturally assumed that the news was very, very good, or very, very bad. 

“Well…,” Erin finally squeaked. “I’ll see if our schedules match up, then. I do have to talk this over with my wife first, as it is a major commitment…”

Julia now realized that Erin had gotten the job she had gone for, jumped up from the couch, and grabbed hold of Erin with both arms, brought her into a bear-hug and didn’t let go. 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!” said Julia, directly into Erin’s cleavage. 

“Is that her in the background?” asked Jimmy. 

“Yeah… she… let’s just say I think this’ll be an easy sell,” said Erin. 

“Well, great,” said Jimmy. “You’ll have the details, we’ll probably get the full team together on Monday, Sam’s calling our medical advisor and our psychological advisor and we’ll rent an office to get started. Any questions?”

“Uh… yes,” said Erin. 

But then her mind went blank. Oh crap. She should have questions. She should show enthusiasm for the role. She should be asking a lot of questions right now. 

“Go ahead,” said Jimmy.

“Why do game show hosts have those weirdly long microphones?” 

Jimmy laughed. “Oh my god, nobody’s ever asked me that!”

“Sorry!” said Erin, wincing. 

“No, no,” said Jimmy. “I kinda always wished someone would! It’s a single-direction condenser mic. Back in my day, if a contestant came up from the audience, you’d either have to stop filming to mic them up, or tell them to stand in one spot, or have a boom operator. Or - you could just give the host a long, thin microphone that he could point at himself and then at the guest when it was their turn to speak. Plus, the light weight meant it was easier to hold in your hand for long periods of filming, and the thinness meant it blocked less of your wardrobe, which is important for getting product placement from the suit companies.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was usually a Sony ECM-51. Of course, nowadays they just put wireless lav mics on everyone and the sound guy records to separate channels in a digital field recorder and they do the mix in post - I guess you’ll get to experience that firsthand.”

Julia heard that last part and screamed and jumped up and down in joy.

“I take it that’s your wife?”

“Indeed she is, sir.”

“Well, go and enjoy the good news. You’ll have the details in your inbox by tomorrow and I’ll see you on Monday.” 

“See you on Monday, Mr. Howard.” 

“You’re on the team now, Erin. Call me Jimmy. And let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you out. It’s a big role, and you’re kind of getting thrown into the deep end, but we know you can do it, and… well, quite frankly, your audition blew us away.”

“Really?”

“Erin, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your compassion? Your kindness? Your warmth? I think that went a long way towards alleviating some of the doubts that Garden Alpha’s team had about the project. You’re not just on the cast, Erin, you might just be the gorilla glue that holds this crazy train together.” 

Erin was somewhat distracted by a barrage of tiny little kisses.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes, Erin?”

“I think my wife wants me to get off the phone.”

“Then I’ll see you on Monday. Break a leg.”

Erin hung up, then jumped up and down with joy along with Julia. 

After they finished hugging and crying, they both put their uneaten spaghetti in the trash, put the dishes in the dishwasher, put on some nice clothes, and went out to eat a really nice steak dinner.

They also did other things.

***