Debut, p.18
Debut, page 18
16
THE COMPLICATIONS OF BEING HEATHER
The clock on the bedside table taunted Heather with its cool blue numbers. 3:06 a.m. Twelve minutes had passed since the last time she checked, but it felt like an hour. If she’d stuck to her usual policy of ignorance being bliss, she’d be fast asleep by now. As it happened, curiosity got the better of her. While browsing the internet that afternoon, an innocent-looking story on Korean folktales led her astray. Since starting college, she had tried to avoid entertainment news from Seoul. But there, in the suggested articles column, on the righthand side, clear as day, in bright, bold, red letters, sat the headline and the article daring her to look away. She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
The South Korean online news platform Naver featured a cover story on 37-G Entertainment’s major new announcement. They were finally debuting their long-awaited new girl group, Glimmer Blue. The adjoining photo depicted the five members standing before an army of cameras. The image tore at her soul. She was intimately familiar with every one of their faces.
Even then, Heather could have limited the damage, but the temptation proved irresistible. Against every reasonable course of action, she made the opposite choice. The final straw came when she skipped a scheduled Accounting study group. By then, there was no turning back. Heather knew she’d be watching the live stream of Glimmer Blue’s debut showcase. Their first mini-album, “Summer Sun,” was eagerly anticipated. Everyone was talking about it.
She tried to convince herself to hate it, to find the music cloying and repetitive, the dancing robotic, and the outfits drab. But the truth was, the album was genuinely good. The group had enormous potential.
She wanted Mi-ok’s performance to fall flat, ultimately proving that the singer was out of her depths. But that, too, was a reach. Mi-ok had a presence, both in the promoted music video and during live performances.
Heather wanted their ratings to tank, demonstrating once and for all that Glimmer Blue was overhyped. But her heart beat a little faster when the title track shot to the top spot on four music streaming services later that day. It was a genuine hit.
Reality had struck. Glimmer Blue was going places. Quickly. And they didn’t need Heather Moon’s help to do it, did they? No siree.
Keep focused, Heather. She could hear Grace’s advice already. Remember your group. Breathe slowly. Don’t let another one of your panic attacks set in. Yet, she wasn’t born yesterday. It would take a miracle for Made in Heaven to make the Korean music charts. Likely, the best they could hope for was playing shabby clubs on slow weeknights, nursing paltry crowds who ignored or even despised them.
Meanwhile, Glimmer Blue was on track to perform in packed arenas before adoring crowds worldwide. That dream was dead for her. There was no turning back. Maybe Appa was right. Time to grow up. It wasn’t too late to succeed at something. Perhaps he’d notice for once.
It did Heather no good that the next day, during yet another rehearsal for a nonexistent gig, she overheard three Made in Heaven band members whispering about the debut. What was she supposed to say? Grace, of course, knew the truth of why they left 37-G on the cusp of Glimmer Blue’s formal founding, but thankfully, she remained silent whenever the question came up.
Heather tossed and turned for a second long sleepless night. She spent long hours brooding over her final weeks at the agency. It was difficult to forget the day she met Mi-ok for the first time. The arrival of her nemesis marked the beginning of the end of Heather’s K-Pop dream.
Nae Mi-ok was introduced to the trainees as a singer, recently displaced from a bankrupt agency. The company’s decision to include her in the pool of candidates at that late stage struck Heather as cruel. By then, scads of trainees had been kicked to the curb. Only a dozen remained. And with 37-G hinting that the final cut would only save “a handful,” more departures were sure to follow. Saying goodbye to so many friends over such a short period had been tough. Still, that morning’s announcement of an actual addition floored the remaining trainees. As brutal as the competition had been, it was bound to get worse.
Mi-ok’s visage was unique. Featuring a long face and broad mouth, she possessed vaguely masculine mannerisms without losing touch with her femininity. Heather stared at the newcomer in disbelief. When it was her turn to be introduced, she offered a graceful smile but was, in fact, shaken to the core. Mi-ok looked right through her, exuding an intimidating level of confidence. She seemed to immediately sense Heather’s status and was ready to challenge it head-on.
Heather’s worries only grew worse after Mi-ok’s initial performance. While lacking a powerful voice, she had impressive sustain and a bewitching presence. The other trainees clapped and cheered in genuine admiration. It was crystal clear now that Heather was no longer the unquestioned star of 37-G. This sudden change was downright unnerving.
When needing an escape from agency tensions, the rooftop terrace at 37-G was her go-to spot. It offered a commanding view of the Sinsa-dong neighborhood. Nearby, the Hannam Bridge stretched lazily across the Han River like a centipede. Heather’s peers rarely ventured here. She couldn’t imagine why not. Apart from the persistent hum of traffic on Olympic-daero, the landscaping was pleasant and peaceful.
Heather heard honking and shouting from the street below while setting belongings beside a chaise lounge. Curious, she approached the rooftop railing and leaned over to witness the disturbance. A delivery driver had blocked the garage entrance with his truck. A furious motorist was giving him an earful. The scene amused her briefly, but eventually, both men calmed down and went their separate ways without a fuss. Just as Heather was about to turn away, she heard an unexpected voice.
“Usually, trainees wait until after they’re cut to jump.”
Heather’s muscles tensed as she slowly faced the speaker. Mi-ok assessed her from the chaise lounge near where her belongings lay. Did she materialize out of thin air? “I heard noise is all,” Heather explained, using her hands to indicate the street.
“I wouldn’t blame you. This business gets to people.”
Resisting the temptation to flee, Heather explained, “It’s not what you think. Really.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret. Okay?”
Heather’s body flushed with heat. “Who said anything about secrets?”
Mi-ok nonchalantly smiled and held up a soda can. “I have an extra if you want. Sit down.” The invitation seemed genuine, but Heather sensed trouble. She had to learn more about this mysterious newcomer, even if it meant swallowing some pride.
Heather accepted the offer, but before settling into her own chaise, Mi-ok commenced with a recitation. “She started performing in front of audiences in third grade. By middle school, sang lead in Alice in Wonderland musical, earning plaudits from classmates and teachers. At 13, she moved to Korea, eventually training for three years at 37-G. The first and only winner of the Three Bowl Challenge. Did I leave anything out?”
“Are you angling to be an historian?” Heather asked as she sat.
“No, but you can use me as a reference if you’d like.”
Heather blinked. “I won’t need references where I’m going.” She popped open the can as if the sound would emphasize her sick burn.
“True. That’d be overkill.” Mi-ok responded.
The girl was good at trolling, Heather had to admit. Skin tightened, causing her mouth to curl into a smirk. She took a glug of cola, wishing it was spiked. “Is this how you win friends and influence people?”
“They say I’m difficult. Not my fault others can’t keep up.”
“That’s one dysfunctional attitude.”
“Da-som told me you’d say that. Always putting the team ahead of self. How noble. How…cute.” Mi-ok wrinkled her nose as she said this. “Truthfully, being hated used to bother me. I’d cry myself to sleep at night, dreading what each new day would bring. But you know what? I turned contempt to my advantage. Now it motivates me.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“I’m too busy watching others cry these days to care much.”
Heather placed her half-empty can on the pavement next to the chaise. She felt at ease sharing thoughts with this contentious stranger for some reason. “It used to bother me when I received more attention than the others.”
“But not anymore?”
“I help them. I’m not their enemy.”
“They’re competition. Why concern yourself with inferiors?”
“Nobody succeeds in a void.”
“Bah.” Mi-ok waved her hand in the air as though shooing a gnat. “Word of advice. Always keep climbing, or you’ll eventually find a knife in your back.”
“That’s a grim view.”
“Is it? You’re almost there yourself, I’d bet.”
“I doubt that.”
Mi-ok took a swallow of her own soda, maintaining a steady gaze that stung like lasers. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Why do you say that?” Heather retained a blank expression, reluctant to hear the answer.
“We’d both be lost if it wasn’t for this.” Mi-ok twirled a finger in the air as if to suggest the industry in general. Then she leaned closer to whisper under her breath. “The difference is I’m a survivor. Are you?”
* * *
Amid the commotion at SIU’s Tuition Office, Heather waited for her number to appear on the call board. Her mind buzzed with thoughts about her future. The room was dreary, with obnoxious lighting and uninspired corporate artwork. She wanted to escape this bland reality and delve into her own musings. But there was a pervasive threat lingering on the horizon. Of course, it centered around money or the lack thereof. If Appa was serious about this ultimatum (and she had no reason to doubt his sincerity), Heather only had one semester left to determine the course of the rest of her life. One path was deceptively easy. Take the free education and graduate with a “useful” degree in Finance. The problem was she had never spent a day of her life dreaming about finance. The choice of majors was an appeasement strategy tempered by the knowledge that she could pursue her real passion on the side. But that was no longer an option, at least not with Appa’s help.
Her thoughts then shifted to Made in Heaven. The members seemed to revel in the joy of creating music together. Still, Heather doubted their long-term commitment to the project. She understood the hesitancy. The group was a fun diversion, but they had lives to live. After all, what sane person would risk a college education for a fleeting chance at success with a band? But what if she could do both? Perhaps the ultimate act of defiance was demonstrating that what seemed like an impossibility was, in fact, merely improbable. Maybe she could follow Steve’s example and pay for her education on her own terms. It would be madness not to explore that option, right?
That’s why she waited in this office for her number to be called.
A blonde-haired male sat in an adjacent chair, offering a playful grin and a wink. “Here for the annual bloodletting?”
Heather wasn’t in the mood for tuition humor. Thus far, not a single student had left the office with a smile on their face. Needing to release nervous energy, she picked ceaselessly at the loose thread on her sweater. It was gradually coming apart. “I’m getting a cost estimate for next year,” she replied flatly, hoping the lack of enthusiasm would send a message.
“Don’t get too attached to your firstborn,” he laughed.
Heather offered a friendly smile but didn’t want to encourage more conversation. She had a lot on her mind.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Los Angeles.”
“No, really. Where originally?”
Ugh, Not this again. “Really. I was born here.”
“Oh,” he responded. “You speak good English.”
Why in the hell shouldn’t I? Before she could respond verbally, the number 23 flashed on the monitor. “That’s me,” she said, grateful for the escape.
The Latino counselor towered above her, even after they were seated in his office. After a few standard questions, he printed a document and pushed it across the desk for her perusal. Heather scanned the lengthy list of itemized costs: tuition, room and board, meal plans, books, fees, et cetera. Skipping the details, she settled on the prominent figure at the bottom right corner. Her blood ran cold.
“This can’t be right,” she said, returning the datasheet.
The counselor reviewed it. “Yup, it’s all there. Were you expecting something else?”
“I mean, $72,043? For one year? Are you serious?”
“You go here. Surely you know the cost by now?”
Heather had little idea. Appa had taken care of finances up to this point. “Okay, but there are scholarships, right?”
“That depends on your major and your skills.”
“I’m hell at singing,” she volunteered.
He looked at her blankly. “Okay, but you’re not a Music major. That’s kind of key.”
“If I switched, what could I qualify for?”
“The best scholarships are reserved for the heavily recruited. Otherwise, we’re talking maybe $5,000 to $20,000, depending on many factors.”
That still leaves a huge gap.”
“Are you good at sports by any chance?”
“Um.” She scanned the room with her eyes, stalling for time. The counselor had a signed baseball in a clear plastic box on his desk. “I can tell you all about the sacrifice in baseball.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll record that as a no.”
“What about Business? Surely, I qualify there?”
He scanned her file once more before issuing his response. “You need to raise your grades to be considered for the best of them. The Hallerschmid scholarship is a popular choice in general. It’s competitive, though.”
“I’m competitive. How much could I get?”
“The average is a thousand.”
Heather laughed.
The counselor looked offended.
“For a second there, I thought you said a thousand,” she said, explaining her reaction.
“I did.”
Silence. “But…how do I get the rest?”
“Most students engage in work-study for a chunk of it and borrow the rest through government loans. I can get you the forms if you’re interested. And there are always off-campus jobs. You’d get life experience.”
“So, what are you saying?”
Heather’s next stop was Colton Temporary Staffing. Her 4:00 p.m. appointment was handled by a gray-haired black woman. Before the interview started, one of the woman’s coworkers stopped by to complain about office policy. The pair spoke for several minutes, during which Heather’s mind strayed back to the Glimmer Blue debut. I bet Mi-ok isn’t stressing over temp jobs, she thought.
“It never changes,” said the woman afterward, dragging Heather back into the present reality. “Okay. Tell me what job experience you have.”
“I’ve never held a regular job. I was a trainee in Korea, though.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Is that like a union apprenticeship?”
“No, like K-Pop.”
Perplexed, the woman peered over her bifocals. “You mean a soda company?”
“No, it’s Korean pop music. I sing and dance and write music.”
The interviewer scowled in disgust as if Heather was intentionally wasting her time. “I’m asking about work, though.”
“That was work. I spent a minimum of 80 hours a week on it.”
“How much did you get paid?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s a hobby, then.”
“No —” This is like talking to Appa.
“Never mind.” The woman shook her head dismissively. “I’ll ask a series of questions to determine your suitability for the jobs we service.” The woman prepared her fingers to record Heather’s responses on the computer. “How fast can you type?”
“About twenty words per minute.”
The woman clicked a series of commands. “That eliminates those jobs.” Heather was dismayed to see a lengthy list of entries disappear from the woman’s screen at once. “Do you have experience with printed circuit boards?”
“I’ve operated an office printer,” she responded, half in jest.
This attempt at humor merely produced another frown. “We’ll take those off too.” More listings disappeared. Two dozen questions later, the interview was done. One job remained on the screen. “Okay, I have an opportunity for you.” Heather awaited her fate. “A catering company needs help. No experience necessary. It pays minimum wage, but the hours are flexible.”
Heather did a series of quick calculations in her head. “Minimum wage doesn’t even cover housing. I need to pay for college, too.”
“You don’t get how this works, do you? When you have no experience, you start at the bottom like everyone else.”
“But I can’t get experience without a job, and now you’re telling me I can’t get a job without experience?”
“Rough, ain’t it?”
“I need money.”
“So does everyone else.”
17
PRICKLY PAIRS
Sun-hee skipped class early to ensure she’s make the 4:00 p.m. meeting with Danya Kay. Grace had asked the group to assemble at the St. Ignatius Film & Television Building a half hour early to receive a briefing. The bus trip from UCLA to SIU seemed interminable, but the extra time allowed Sun-hee to conduct some research. She hoped to learn as much as possible about the woman. Driven by more than just curiosity, she was interested in what made Danya tick.
A quick browsing of the choreographer’s most recent social media posts revealed nothing. Upon deeper reading, however, a persistent theme emerged: connection. This point became clear in Danya’s interview for a performing arts magazine two years earlier. Blaming the problem, in no small part, on the rise of social media, she lamented the decline of intimacy in society. Live performances, including dance, she argued, helped counter that isolation. This was material Sun-hee could work with.
