Debut, p.4
Debut, page 4
The two friends chortled again. Their laughter continued until they realized that Sun-hee was seriously expecting an answer. Brown Hair was now at a loss for words; his smile went missing. “Oh, you know,” he said, cheeks flushed. His blonde friend elbowed him in the ribs as if encouraging a more substantial response.
“No, I don’t,” responded Sun-hee, mustering as much exaggerated innocence as possible. “Would you mind explaining your joke to me? I’m sure it was funny.”
“It’s, like —” Brown Hair stammered. “You know, like, women being on their knees to —”
“You mean push my luggage?”
“No!” The boy was squirming now. “Like —” He turned to his friend for support but wasn’t getting any. The blonde had grown increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation progressed and sought a way out while the getting was good. “Dude, gotta run. See you in class.” With that, mouthy Brown Hair was left alone to deal with the mess.
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”
“Well, you see —” the boy’s face turned bright red. “Oh, forget it. It wasn’t that funny anyhow.”
“If you say so,” Sun-hee said, feigning disappointment. “Well, I better get back to moving then.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, standing up.
“Before you go, though, do you think you could push this for me?” She pointed at her oversized bag as if summoning a porter.
Now seemingly eager to display some semblance of decency after his earlier poor form, Brown Hair responded, “Oh yeah, sure. No problem.”
It took approximately four weeks for the exhilaration of attending university in a foreign country to wear off. Sun-hee met plenty of fascinating people at orientation and spent many happy hours exploring the campus and its surrounding neighborhoods with them. Making friends was ridiculously easy at first since everybody was new and eager for companionship. But these engagements soon turned superficial. She sensed her new friends were unlikely to stick around once they met more compatible colleagues. Sure enough, three weeks in, her pals offered frequent excuses to cancel their plans. As she settled into a predictable routine, she began to miss Korea.
“Umma, I want to go back,” she told her mother. Sun-hee had purchased a calling card to phone home without spending a fortune. Video chat wasn’t an option. Her mother disliked going online.
Chan-sook responded with a sigh. “Sun-hee’ya, you just arrived.”
“I know, but it’s harder than I thought.”
“Of course. It’s a good school. Did you think it would be easy?”
“Not school. That’s fine. It’s—everything else.”
“Like what? Is someone bothering you?”
“No. People have been welcoming, but you know how I get around strangers.”
“Give it more time. You’ll make friends. What about your roommate? You said she was nice.”
“She is,” Sun-hee said, taking an extra breath, “but she has her own friends, and they’re into different things. Besides, I doubt their idea of fun is babysitting a shy foreigner.”
“Well, you need to work on that.”
Sun-hee opened her dorm room window to get some air and enjoy the magnificent view of the stately campus. A co-ed soccer game was in progress on the nearby athletic field. Runners tested each other on the track. A flag squad rehearsed a routine in the far corner. “I miss your cooking, Umma.”
“I’m sure they have Korean food there.”
“I can barely afford a bowl of noodles, though.”
“We can’t send any more money right now, and besides, we paid for a meal plan. Aren’t you using it?”
“I am, but Korean options are limited.”
“Well, you can’t expect all the comforts of home, especially since it was your idea to study abroad in the first place.”
“Umma, I know. You’ve reminded me so many times.”
“Part of maturing is learning how to adapt. It won’t be easy, but you’ll be better for it. Isn’t there a group you can join?”
“I went to some Korean club events.”
“Did you meet anyone?”
“None were the creative type. We didn’t have much in common.” Sun-hee heard tapping sounds coming from her mother’s end of the line. “What are you doing?”
“Your aunt Ri-na is having us over for dinner tomorrow, and I’m making a dish to bring. Soo-min and Myung miss you. Your sister especially admires you so much.”
“I wish we weren’t so far away.”
“Did you respond to that girl who posted on your profile page?”
“What girl?”
“The idol trainee.”
“You mean Grace? Not yet.”
“Well, that’s your problem. You say you want more friends but aren’t willing to meet halfway.”
“It’s hard.”
“It isn’t. You’re being difficult.” A loud thunk followed by a rattle suggested whatever her mother was working on had fallen over. She made no mention of it. “There’s always a pathway,” her mother continued. “Sometimes, it’s hidden, and you have to find it. Isn’t she doing a music project? I thought you’d be interested.”
“She goes to a different school. The bus takes an hour. I feel trapped on this campus sometimes.”
“Can’t you use the metro?”
“Ha! It’s not like Seoul’s or even Busan’s. I can walk to Westwood. After that, it’s busses or nothing.”
“Well, Sun-hee’ya, I can tell you, your father and I are in no position to get you a car. It’s costing enough to send you to school as it is. Besides, you don’t even know how to drive. Repay us by working hard and getting good grades.”
“I’m trying, Umma.”
“Okay, you’re trying. That means you’re staying then?”
“Yes, Umma,” she said meekly.
“You can do it. You’re stronger than you think.”
“I don’t feel very strong right now.”
“You have your own way of showing it. Learn to trust that.”
Sun-hee stared at the pile of piano music sheets on her desk. “I have to go, Umma. Practice time.”
Following the call, Sun-hee stared at her phone for several minutes. Its screen remained dark as she contemplated options. She wasn’t sure what Grace wanted. They were acquaintances only who’d met several times on various idol projects. Perhaps she was just reaching out to say hello. Sun-hee figured she could muster enough energy to handle that much, at least. Would it really hurt to say hello back? At least they had one thing in common.
* * *
“Mindy, can I see you for a moment?” Bearded supervisor Brad stood in his office doorway, wiggling an index finger in a slightly rude way. This has to be bad news, she concluded. While navigating the rows of music bins at Amorphous Records, Mindy contemplated her recent job performance. Nothing alarming stood out. Maybe it was that argument she had with Cynthia two weeks ago? But Cynthia quit a day later, so she doubted that had anything to do with it.
That Brad closed the door behind them suggested this conversation would involve more than a simple schedule swap. “What’s the haps, Paps?” she said, attempting to lighten the mood, at least for herself.
“Let’s talk about job performance,” said Brad.
“I reorganized the entire classical section on my own,” she said defensively. “Nobody else wanted to touch it.”
“Not that. I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve been talking with the owners, and we both think you’d make a great assistant manager.” Mindy fell into silence. This was the complete opposite of what she had expected. “So, whaddaya think?” he asked.
“It pays more, right?”
“Sure, after a mandatory training period. I must warn you, though, that increased pay brings increased responsibility. Your hours will be longer and not as flexible.”
“I see.”
“That’s okay, right? You’ve never mentioned having any commitments.”
That’s me, Mindy thought to herself, The Original Miss Goldbrick. “No, yeah. I guess I don’t.”
“So, is that a yes?”
Mindy considered the offer without waiting too long. She definitely needed the extra money. “Sure. Let’s do this.”
The worst part about staff scheduling, Mindy soon discovered, was that everybody wanted to bargain. After 90 minutes of crafting what she considered a perfectly fair order of business, her painstaking output was ripped to shreds within minutes of posting it. More difficult to take were the evil-eye looks some employees gave. They acted like Mindy was intentionally being spiteful if she didn’t conform to their every whim. New schedules had to repeatedly be published, incorporating all the negotiated changes. Despite these hassles, she reasoned that their shift preferences would soon become familiar and, in turn, more easily accommodated.
Bookkeeping, on the other hand, proved a more significant challenge. Mindy wasn’t bad with numbers, per se, but keeping track of every dollar going in and out quickly became overwhelming. By the time these tasks were finished, fewer than 30 minutes were left until closing. Mindy still had to stock the shelves with new merchandise before she went home.
While filing new pressings of De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising LP, a customer shouted at her, “Hey, I know you!” Mindy looked up at the unfamiliar Asian male in his mid-20s who stood in an adjacent aisle. “Weren’t you in that Fox Force Five band or something?”
“You must have me confused with someone else.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s you. The drummer, right?” Mindy tried to ignore him, but the guy wouldn’t give it a rest. “Wow, times must be tough in K-Pop if you ended up here.”
“I have a lot to do. You need anything?”
“No. Just curious, is all. Can I take your photo?”
“Please don’t”
Disregarding her plea, the guy pulled out his smartphone and snapped a quick one before scooting out the front door with a wide grin. Mindy was confident the image would be featured on a hundred K-Pop gossip sites within an hour.
That evening, out of curiosity, she considered contacting her old bandmates to discover what they were doing. After much consternation, she opted against direct communication and instead searched their social media postings. This proved a smart move. Even accounting for hype inflation, her colleagues seemed to be doing well for themselves. Better than she was, at least. Three were still working in the music industry (behind the scenes). The fourth was a mid-level manager at an upstart telecommunications firm.
Mindy assessed her own life in the wake of WeR5’s breakup. She liked her job and co-workers at the record store well enough. They seemed to like her. But was this enough to build a career on? If not, what else could she do? Heather was right about one thing: What happened to her ambition? As tough as K-Pop was to survive, she never once felt directionless in that world. Amorphous was the first job Mindy landed upon arriving in the U.S. Now, they wanted her to play a more significant role in the operation moving forward. Ten years could go by in a heartbeat if she allowed herself to get too comfortable. What options would she have then?
Mindy tapped her contacts list and stared at Heather’s number. No fewer than six times did she reach her thumb towards the dial button before pulling back. The seventh time, she hit it.
* * *
Mindy assessed the quartet seated with her at a table in a quiet corner of The Lair, the university’s main cafe. Heather, she knew from the hard sell at the record store. The girl possessed all the hallmarks of classic Korean beauty, that much was certain: A slender face defined by a v-shaped jawline, small lips, cherubic cheeks, and a slight puffiness beneath her eyes that emphasized youthfulness. In this setting, though, the singer seemed to take a back seat to Grace, the confident one. The pair had trained together at 37-G, which was impressive enough in its own right, but how they ended up in L.A. remained a mystery. She’d have to get to the bottom of that intriguing morsel sooner rather than later.
The other trainee was Sun-hee from Giga Music. She spoke little and seemed shy but presented herself assuredly, suggesting there was more to her than met the eye. Then there was the youngest one, Erin. She was in college, too, but acted more like a middle-schooler allowed to sit at the big kids’ table during Thanksgiving. The group was a mixed bag, but she’d certainly seen worse in her day.
“I was hoping to set a rehearsal for this evening but couldn’t find space,” said Grace. “In the meantime, I thought we could meet and get oriented.” The first order of business was introductions. Each of the girls took turns sharing something of their backgrounds. Most of the information she could have gleaned just by observing. The one exception was Sun-hee, who felt compelled to share an interesting story about her mother.
“Umma loved to make Western recipes occasionally, and we often ate au gratin potatoes growing up. I always called them old rotten potatoes, which unfailingly made my mom laugh. She thought it was a slip on my part and never corrected me. I never admitted to her that I was intentionally getting it wrong.”
Mindy found this admission surprising. “Why would you do that?” she asked.
“Because Umma was going through a stressful period back then. I rarely saw her laugh. Whatever I could do to lighten her mood, I did.”
Mindy wasn’t sure why, but something about Sun-hee’s story put her at ease.
Heather presented her vision for the band. Mindy was excited to hear about the hybrid concept. She’d always been a good dancer, but WeR5 had strictly been a band. The idea that she’d now be able to explore both sides of the equation stoked her enthusiasm. The skeptic in her quickly pulled the idea back to earth, though. The chances they could pull off one concept, let alone both, seemed slim. At least they were trying, however. For that, she gave them points.
Grace followed up by establishing the goals and expectations. Mindy listened intently but found the address lacking in details. “Okay, but there’s one overarching problem we have here,” she noted after Grace’s presentation. “We don’t have an agency. Convince me this is anything more than a hobby.”
Grace frowned at Mindy’s frank assessment. “You’re absolutely right. We are independent. But the bright side is we can do things our way. No silly rules stopping us.”
“But the bigger problem remains. No agency, no money. No money, no future. What’s the plan to address that?”
Grace glanced at Heather, who took the gesture as permission to respond. “We’ve identified a couple of targets to pursue, which we believe will not only gain us valuable prize money but also increase our exposure, possibly garnering more opportunities.”
“That sounds nice, but what targets specifically?”
This time, Grace responded. “You’re all familiar with Soundscape Magazine?” Heads nodded in unison. “Besides tracking music charts, they also run the Soundscape Showdown. Have you heard of that?” The girls assessed each other but admitted no familiarity with the event. “It’s one of the biggest and oldest band competitions in the country. Winning would provide a significant boost to exposure. Many record company executives attend. The prizes are substantial.”
The girls chattered excitedly, recognizing the moment as a great opportunity and an intimidating challenge. All except Mindy, whose skepticism continued. “Excuse me, but doesn’t it strike you as a little foolish to pin all our hopes on winning a contest? Isn’t that a little presumptuous? We haven’t even played one song yet.”
Grace sighed heavily, her lips pinched together. “We have to start somewhere, don’t we? We could sit here all night coming up with hundreds of reasons why this will never work, but naysaying won’t get us very far.”
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” added Heather. “The thing is, these goals compound the benefits. We must check off a few boxes before qualifying for the Showdown. A music video is one. We also need gigs, an EP, and radio airplay. Even if we don’t make it into Showdown, these achievements will be necessary if we’re ever to be taken seriously as a group.”
“In other words, the competition will motivate us to get these things done,” said Grace.
Mindy still wasn’t sold on the idea. “How are we gonna make all this stuff? Do we use smartphones to film videos?”
“Good question. A student filmmaker here at SIU is looking to team up with a band for a music video. Auditions are coming up soon, and our first goal is securing that slot. We’ll focus on covers to start, but eventually, write our own songs.”
“Okay, and what else? Radio play? Who’s gonna put us on American radio?”
Grace was seemingly on the verge of exasperation with the incessant questioning. “Some details obviously remain to be worked out, but this group has been together for less than two hours now. Don’t you think a little patience is in order?”
Mindy was being tough on the group, but not without purpose. She intentionally pushed them to their limits to see what they were made of. Heather’s concluding speech proved a standout moment. She spoke passionately about the importance of teamwork and collaboration. By the end of the evening, Mindy was impressed by the group’s enthusiasm but still had reservations. She privately gave the band a lifespan of three months before the harsh realities of show business hit them like a ton of bricks.
Despite her doubts, Mindy was determined to give it her all. She didn’t want to be held responsible if things went wrong. Who knows? Maybe something good would come out of it in the end. After all, it wasn’t like she had endless options.
4
SUNSHOWERS
Grace reflected on their just-concluded audition as the five band members left the Film & Television Building. She felt cautiously hopeful. They were the last to sign up and the last to enter. Director Steve Shepard was a student filmmaker in his junior year. He struck Grace as intelligent but a little dorky. He seemed easy to read, open, and honest about his thoughts and feelings. Grace estimated they had a better-than-average chance of getting picked. Judging from the other acts they encountered in the waiting area, the competition was not stiff. Out-of-tune mishmashes of “Smoke On the Stairway To Sweet Child O’ Sandman” still rang in her ears.
