Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas

58 - You Can't Lose Them All

Suddenly, our multi-year losing streak was over. And despite my confident prediction that she'd come crawling back — in a month, max — it wasn't Cindy Story who broke it. Instead, we were hired on the writing staff of a new Netflix show, which took us completely by surprise. We got the call late on a Friday from our agent who triumphantly announced that we had an offer on the table to be Co-Executive Producers on RenFaire. To which we said something to the effect of Rad! and also, What the fuck is RenFaire?

Danny reminded us that we had had a meeting with the show runner five or six months ago, which Tammy and I dimly remembered.

"She's the one with the corgi?" I asked.

"I have no idea what kind of dog she has," Danny said impatiently.

"I think it was a husky," Tammy chimed in. "Named... Georgia?"

"I think you're right about the name, but it's definitely a corgi."

"It doesn't fucking matter!" Danny snapped. He had expected a little more gratitude and a lot less canine talk. "You'll find out on Monday!"

The show was a single camera comedy about the quirky nerds who work at the Renaissance Faire until — plot twist! — they are magically transported back to medieval times, where there is a dearth of souvenir stores and an abundance of bubonic plague. It had been a terrific meeting, and the show was definitely in our sweet spot, but we pretty much forgot about it the moment we left their production offices. After all, we had a ton of terrific meetings and for whatever reason none of them panned out. Over time, we actually found it funny. We would leave meetings, get into the elevator and as soon as the door closed one of us would say, "That was great! I can't wait to find out why we didn't get this job!"

What was different this time around? Honestly, I have no idea. As far as I can tell it was some combination of next level agenting by Danny — it is not easy to bring a career back from the dead — and The Law of Averages. You can't lose them all.

Tammy and I were pretty stoked about going back on staff if for no other reason than we were really tired of just talking to each other. The prospect of interacting with brand new human beings was quite appealing. And I was definitely looking forward to mixing it up in The Room again. I was not disappointed. It was a great bunch of smart, irreverent and for the most part disturbingly young writers. And to illustrate how much diversity has changed over the course of my career, the writing staff on our first gig, The Has-Beens, had been comprised of ten heterosexual white guys (or, at least that's what everyone said they were at the time). On RenFaire, I was the only heterosexual white guy on staff. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was the only one on the entire floor. The times, they are a-changin'.

We had been on RenFaire for a few weeks when — as predicted, albeit a month behind schedule — Cindy Story came crawling back. She called Danny saying that she was willing to work with both Tammy and "the cis male." Which Tammy and I both agreed would be a great name for the show.

Next time on Tammy & The Cis Male: Tammy is the belle of the ball when she hosts a dinner party for all of her gender-fluid friends, while The Cis Male makes a fool of himself — again! — trying to mansplain string theory to theoretical astrophysicist Katherine Freese.

Cindy's acquiescence had less to do with a softening of attitude than the implacable Law of Supply and Demand. There were a zillion comedy show runners who were cis men and — I don't know — three or four who were cis women — but if you were looking for trans, Tammy was still the only game in town.

We met Cindy for lunch on a Saturday at One Pico in Santa Monica, a very upscale Mediterranean restaurant with gorgeous views of the Pacific Ocean. The place was packed and she hadn't bothered to make a reservation, but they didn't make her wait for a table. She was dressed impeccably. Stylish, feminine and surprisingly understated, given the metal-and-black-leather in-your-face rock and roll kitsch she favored back when she was still Sam. I learned that she never left the house without looking her best, because the paparazzi were constantly taking her picture.