Lee Geiger

In Hollywood they don’t throw their garbage away. They turn it into television shows

Woody Allen

“So, who exactly are you?”

I was asked that innocuous question last month by Jill Soloway, a big-time Hollywood producer/writer/director who has spent most of 2015 roaming red carpets and making award speeches. A mutual acquaintance who had read my book “Pearls of Asia” decided to play matchmaker after “Transparent,” Jill’s latest creation produced by Amazon Studios, won a 2015 Golden Globe award for Best Television Series. The comedy/drama revolves around a family and their lives following the discovery that the person they knew as their father Mort is transgender and decides late in life to transition into womanhood. You think Bruce Jenner watches?

We met late on a Tuesday night inside a large conference room at The Writer’s Guild of America, located across the street from the Los Angeles Farmer’s Market. Seated on the other side of a half-acre-sized table next to Jill were two producers, two writers and an actress from the show. The “Transparent” crew munched on salads and sandwiches and barely acknowledged my existence. To say I felt a tad intimidated would be like saying the Kardashians are a tad narcissistic. The scene reminded me of my first job interview as an MBA student, where I was encourage to say anything that would make my interrogators wish they weren’t somewhere else.

I led with my best shot. “I’m nobody you’ve ever heard of, Miss Soloway. I’m a Wall Street veteran stuck in the twilight of a mediocre career. But I’ve written a compelling story that’s unlike anything you’ve ever heard.” I proceeded to outline the book’s critical themes, captivating storylines and transcendent (no pun intended) characters, and how adoring readers described my romantic mystery as “the transgender version of ‘Pretty Woman,’” or “an LBGT adaptation of ‘Cheers.’” After delivering a ten-minute soliloquy about an undertaking so near and dear to my heart, and concluding that the entire world was chomping at the bit to see my book made into a blockbuster movie or HBO series, Jill put down her fork and looked up from her Chinese chicken salad.

“Two things, Lee,” she said while removing her eyeglasses and tossing them nonchalantly onto the table. Not a good omen. “One, your pitch is WAY too long. In this town you need to sell your story in ten seconds or less. And two, I’m not interested.”

A slow hum reverberate from the overhead lights. Gurgling stomachs echoed from across the room. Nobody uttered a word. After enough time had passed to clear a Rodeo Boulevard intersection, I finally said, “Don’t sugarcoat it for me, Jill (an obvious downgrade). Tell me what you really think.”

Jill, who produced such hits as “Grey’s Anatomy” and “Six Feet Under,” spent the next thirty minutes politely, yet firmly, mapping out the lay of the land. She told me that while my “project” had value, and there was demand in Hollywood for transgender-oriented content, nobody of importance would pay attention to me unless A) I moved to LA and joined the Writer’s Guild of America and became an actual Hollywood working stiff, and/or B) my book became a megahit like “Fifty Shades of Gray” or “Memoirs of a Geisha.” Until I reached one of those milestones, she implied, my journey to the Academy Awards was going to be a tough one.

I left the meeting shaken and demoralized. Salt instead of sugar had been dumped into my cereal. I had always heard that Hollywood was “the city of no,” and this five foot-nothing woman, who didn’t know or care how much of my soul had been poured into my “project,” had just delivered a thunderous dope slap to my dreams.

The next day, during the drive home, my phone signaled an incoming email. I pulled over on I-5 somewhere between the fast food sanctuary of Kettleman City and the aromatic cow pastures of Coalinga. It was from Jill, who was responding to my early morning thank you note. “Don’t give up!!!” she wrote. “In fact, I bet a producer in Asia would be very interested in your project.”

The journey continues.