Debut, p.5
Debut, page 5
Heather, though, lodged a complaint as the quintet approached Grace’s beloved 2005 Subaru Tribeca. “Why did you tell him the group’s nearly complete?”
“I didn’t want him thinking we were closer to the beginning than the end,” Grace responded as she placed her guitar case in the back. “Besides, I wasn’t the only one improvising on the fly. Made in Heaven? Where did that name come from?”
“What? You don’t like it?” Heather stacked her guitar case on top of Grace’s with a lack of finesse that made her wince.
“It’s okay, I guess.” Grace maneuvered Sun-hee’s keyboard and Erin’s bass into the remaining space. “But I thought we were collaborating on those creative decisions.” While angling the equipment to fit it all in, Grace noticed Mindy still holding her djembe, brought in place of a complete drum kit.
Mindy sighed in resignation. “Nevermind. I’ll hold it in my lap.”
“I think Made in Heaven sounds nice,” said Sun-hee.
“It’ll grow on me, I suppose,” said Grace. While the name wasn’t her first option, she wasn’t willing to die on that particular hill. “And since you brought it up, we still have the dance unit to assemble. Are you sure we need seven?”
Heather nodded. “Odd numbers make nicer-looking formations. We’ll always have a clear center at any given point.”
“We have five now.”
“But who will choreograph? We have no dance specialists.”
“I was hoping to be done with recruiting by this point. If that’s the case, we need Talent with a capital T. Not just any old K-Pop fan. Start beating the bushes. I’m not doing this all by myself. Talk to everyone you know.” She slammed the hatchback closed. “They should have a strong work ethic, be easy to get along with, and look the part.”
“Piece of cake,” Heather said teasingly as she snapped her fingers.
“We’re going to need a manager before too long, too.”
“Where do we find one of those?”
“No idea. I suppose we’ll have to advertise. Until then, I’m gonna be kissing sleep goodbye.”
The inbound phone call went straight to Grace’s voicemail during her Business Ethics class the following day. “You know what to do, so do it at the beep.”
“Um, Hi, Grace. This is Steve Shepard. You know, the music video guy. Listen, I enjoyed your performance the other day. You have a promising group. I hope it goes well for you. Fact is, though, I decided to go in another direction. Hope you understand. The other band’s ready now. See you around campus. Good luck.”
* * *
The quintet had spent the last two hours at the Fine Arts Building shuffling from room to room as availability allowed. Beggars can’t be choosers. Surprisingly, they found the best dance studio empty at 5:30 p.m. Their excitement quickly vanished upon learning why. Typically a glorious place in which to work, that particular space was exposed to direct sunlight in late fall. For some reason, the vertical blinds were stuck that day. Between the torrid room temperature and a wall of mirrors that threatened to ignite into solar death rays at any moment, it was a difficult place to be productive. The overbearing heat quickly sapped the group’s stamina.
With the frequent need to replenish fluids, Grace was liberal with issuing breaks. During one of these, Heather’s insecurities emerged. “I think we should disband,” she said while lying in repose on the parquet floor.
Grace sat up straight to assess her friend carefully. She knew well enough to tread carefully in moments like this. Her subsequent words could prove pivotal. “Let’s take a moment to think about this first.”
“I mean it. I’m not good enough. I want to spare us all the embarrassment.”
“Why do you say that?”
“What have I accomplished? Can you tell me that?”
“You’re an amazingly talented person.”
“I’m a fraud. My dad made everything possible. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Don’t let what happened at 37-G define you. They lost their star.”
“I can’t even win an audition for an amateur video. How am I a star?”
Grace knew she couldn’t let her friend suffer alone. If anything, Made in Heaven was a vital distraction and potentially a source for much-needed confidence building. Grace had to continue selling the idea, if only for Heather’s mental well-being. “You’re a star to me. Doesn’t that matter?”
Heather’s eyes blinked three times in rapid succession. “It does matter.”
“Then prove it.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Show me.”
“How?”
“By turning this group into a powerhouse. We have talent on this squad. Mold us into your vision.” Heather sat up as if realizing this for the first time. Grace’s suggestion seemed to do the trick. Who knew how long it would last? But she had to keep trying.
With the music video a lost cause, attention had shifted to assembling the dance unit. This was proving more difficult than expected. Other musicians they had invited were only interested in the band unit, which already had the bases covered. Truthfully, Grace considered it a stroke of luck that they found five members with the flexibility to handle both tasks. That had run out, though. It was increasingly likely that the last two members would have to exclusively be dancers. Toward that goal, Grace was prepared to play a wild card. Once the girls returned to the studio, she primed the pump. “By the way, I invited a guest to watch our dance tonight.”
The general chatter stopped as curiosity got the better of the girls. “Are we ready for that?” asked Mindy.
“Vanessa’s in my English class. She’s the best dancer at SIU. Recruited on a full scholarship.”
“Does she speak Korean?” queried Heather.
“She’s Vietnamese.”
Heather sighed.
“Let’s talk to her at least. Find out where she’s at.” Heather remained unconvinced. “She’s good. You’ll see. Fair warning, though. She’s an acquired taste.” Twenty-five minutes later, Grace was making introductions. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Vanessa Nguyen.”
The dance major had her own sense of style. This was readily apparent next to the other three, who generally took a more conservative approach to fashion. Vanessa was hard to mistake for anyone else. She wore a flouncing, brightly patterned mini sundress under a faded jean vest, black mid-thigh stockings, boots, and a black felt hat. Her long, voluminous black hair was a bit curly, with a single braided strand as an accent. Compared to the others, she had a well-honed physique, molded, no doubt, by countless hours of repetitive movement. She looked fit and powerful without appearing muscular. Lithe and lissome without looking delicate.
“I’ve seen you around campus but don’t know your name,” said Erin. “Nice to meet you.”
Vanessa smiled weakly, appearing mildly irritated with all the formalities, but said nothing in return. Grace explained their overarching goals and described the dance they were working on. She requested that Vanessa critique their performance.
“Sure thing. Show me whatcha got.” The dance major leaned against the mirrored wall facing the windows, arms crossed. Fortunately, the sun had dipped behind the trees by that point, so she had a clear view of the proceedings.
A few minutes later, the presentation ended. Mistakes had been made, but Grace was pleased. She anticipated a favorable verdict. That hope died quickly. With haste, Vanessa snatched her belongings and made for the door. The annoyed look on her face spoke volumes.
“Okay, thanks for the offer, but I’m out. See you in class.”
“Wait! Where are you going?” shouted Grace.
“At least tell us what’s wrong,” pleaded Heather.
Vanessa stopped in her tracks to face the other five, who stood with mouths agape in disbelief. “I thought you said this was K-Pop,” she said with a snarl.
“And?”
“So, what’s with all the cheerleader bullshit?”
Muted gasps.
“See, I told you,” said Mindy.
“Was it that bad?” asked Sun-hee crestfallen.
“Oh, my god, are you kidding me?” Her dance bag plunked to the floor with a thud. Vanessa contorted herself into the most clichéd high school cheerleader moves imaginable, dramatically overemphasizing them for a humorous effect. “C’mon, my sister in middle school does more interesting stuff than that.” Her comic shimmying managed to pierce the tension in the room, causing the girls to giggle spontaneously. Everyone, that is, except Grace, who remained miffed and seriously contemplating a withdrawal of her invitation.
As Vanessa ceased her gyrations, Heather stepped forward, diplomatically restraining a laugh. “That’s exactly why we could use your help.”
Vanessa’s expression eased somewhat at Heather’s calming tone. “Look, you’re decent dancers, but your routine lacks imagination. You need much more than my help.” Vanessa looked with pity at the forlorn group standing before her. Apparently, their hopeless faces did the trick. “Okay, tell you what.” After a brief search on her phone, she declared, “I’m sending you a contact.”
Grace’s phone vibrated a moment later. “Who’s Danya?” she asked after glancing at the message.
“Danya Kay. She’s the one who’s gonna save your ass. As a former Army brat from Camp Henry, she’s familiar with K-Pop choreography. I’m willing to stick around long enough to see how this goes, but if you wanna keep me, you gotta convince her.”
“That’s terrific,” said Grace.
“One hitch, though.”
“Of course, there is.” The room went silent as the group awaited Vanessa’s caveat.
“She’s busy because she’s top-notch. Won’t be easy to convince. And let me tell you, Bring It On ain’t going to cut it.”
The next day, Grace spoke to Vanessa before English class. If she was expecting superficial platitudes, there weren’t any. The dance major’s dismantling of every aspect of their performance left her speechless. “Mindy is your best dancer but looks out of shape and was lagging noticeably. Sun-hee is good but lacks inspiration. She was going through the motions. Heather tries hard, but I hope her singing chops are enough to make up for the thoroughly pedestrian technique she displayed. You have your moments, too, but really need to sharpen your movements. Way too sloppy. And don’t get me started on that little girl. Where in hell did you find her?”
“You mean Erin?”
“Whatever her name, she’s a lost cause.”
“You don’t mince words, do you?”
Vanessa frowned. “People say I’m insensitive. But I’m just being honest. If you want someone to blow smoke up your butt, you picked the wrong girl.”
“So, is there any point in trying to engage Danya? It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind about us.”
“Look, I wouldn’t even bother if I thought this was hopeless. I’m only trying to help.”
“If it’s frankness you want, here’s my take,” said Grace. “Your points are valid. We could definitely use improvement. I just think you need to find a better way to tell people what they need to hear.”
* * *
With the college semester in full swing, available rehearsal space on campus was at a premium. Grace soon learned that the more established clubs had booked meeting rooms well in advance, leaving little to choose from at a moment’s notice. A surprisingly large number of bands had also sprouted up among the incoming freshmen class, which placed further strain on facility resources. Lacking any better options that day, Grace invited the group to her parent’s house in Santa Monica, where they set up instruments in the backyard. Most of the first two hours were spent getting arranged. Their first attempt at an original song was “Celestial.” I say attempt because they never managed to finish it. Halfway through the second chorus, the girls were sent diving for cover from an artificial downpour. All except Mindy, who gamely insisted on shielding her precious drum kit from the torrent with a nearby tarp while getting doused.
“Who the hell turned that sprinkler on?” asked Mindy in a huff as she stepped away from the mess.
“That’s our lovely neighbor, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” said Grace. She switched to a sing-songy voice loud enough to be heard over the fence. “How are you doing today, Mrs. Cavanaugh?”
An elderly woman shouted back. “Next time it happens, I’ll report you to the HOA.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh. It won’t happen again.”
“Why are you so nice to her? That was a bitch move she pulled,” whispered Mindy, now drying her hair with a sweater.
“Years of experience. Believe me, this is the best way.”
Once nerves settled down, Grace’s mother, Ha-yoon, delivered a tray of yogurt parfaits and a pitcher of lemonade to the backyard table. Heather looked disappointed, stating her need to leave for a singing lesson. Ha-yoon insisted on giving her one for the road.
After Heather’s departure, the remaining members chatted into the evening. It proved to be something of an unexpected but welcome bonding session. With musical matters dominating their thoughts since formation, few opportunities had arisen to simply chat. Grace found it comforting, that is, until one unwelcome subject came up. During the wide-ranging conversation, the group’s curiosity inevitably turned to Grace’s and Heather’s time at the agency in Korea.
“37-G is growing into a big deal,” said Erin. “Why would you ever leave?”
Grace frowned. “It wasn’t by choice.”
“So you were cut?” asked Mindy.
“I wouldn’t put it that way either.”
“Well, what’s the truth then? I feel we have a right to know.”
“No, you do. I just don’t think it’s my place to tell the story. It really should be Heather.”
“She’s been very coy about the whole thing,” said Erin.
“And you’ll understand why. Eventually. But Heather’s still recovering. I beg you not to push until she’s ready.”
Erin, Mindy, and Sun-hee exchanged glances. “Was it really that bad?” Sun-hee asked.
“Like you can’t even imagine.” That admission plunged the group into momentary silence.
“Did you two meet there,” asked Erin. “I’ve been wondering.”
“Did we ever.” Grace smiled and let out a chuckle. “Talk about good first impressions. No, that doesn’t do it any justice at all. My first day in the presence of Heather was epic. Truly epic.” The group sat back and listened as Grace recalled the events of that day in minute detail.
“I was told this class had talent. Why am I not seeing it?” The tone of the VIP’s voice was teasing but hinted at a mild and growing impatience.
Grace had been warned that her first day of K-Pop training would be unusual. That proved an understatement. By mid-morning, word had spread that the trainees were to prepare for a surprise guest. Dongpang Chul, the legendary main singer of first-generation boy band J.em, was visiting Seoul’s 37-G Entertainment. This news sent the agency into a tizzy. Rehearsals were canceled, and schedules shifted. At noon, four dozen members of the premier class of girl trainees gathered promptly in the 3rd Floor Assembly Room. Without fuss, they arranged themselves into a tidy set of four lines to greet their visitor. The jocularity Grace had witnessed during morning introductions was replaced by a nervous intensity.
Chul’s visits were intended to expose trainees to the experiences of a seonbae who could provide mentorship. While valuable in this regard, his sessions had also become famous in industry circles for an unrelated yet more compelling reason. In recent years, what was initially launched as a mere diversion had evolved into a tense competition. After each session, Chul offered his students what he called the Three Bowl Challenge. Rumors had it that the series of tests was his method of identifying exceptional talent. Its exact purpose, however, remained a mystery as no idol had ever won. Several came close, but the skill required to pass all three trials remained elusive.
The girls knew winning the competition would bring considerable esteem to 37-G. Despite recent gains, the company still ranked as one of the lesser entertainment companies in K-Pop. While renown was undoubtedly one motivating factor, the girls’ immediate thoughts were preoccupied with a more primal desire: food. You see, Dongpang Chul’s family also owned one of Korea’s most renowned galbi restaurants. His longstanding offer was an all-expenses-paid dinner for the winning agency’s entire class. To girls who had, at times, subsisted on little more than raw cucumbers as they observed mandatory weight limits, the prize was more desirable than the Golden Fleece.
The rules of the game were simple. Three colored bowls sat on a table, ranging in order of difficulty from red to green to blue. In each container were wooden chits imprinted with numbers corresponding to designated tasks. Contestants would pick a chit from the first bowl, address the challenge, and continue down the line until they won all three. The game would end on a single failed attempt.
Regardless of their motivations for playing, the girls of 37-G were failing miserably. Ten trainees agreed to try. Merely two passed the first Red Bowl Challenge. None had made it beyond that stage. The last contestant, Yoon-suh, resumed a spot amongst her peers, head hanging low in disappointment for failing the Green Bowl Challenge.
“Is this all?” Chul asked. “Is this the best you can do?”
The two oldest members, the unnies, exchanged wordless glances. Class leader Da-som stood and faced Chul. “No, Teacher, there is another.”
As if on cue, a figure approached.
The sound of footsteps in the tiled corridor heralded her arrival. Without hesitation, the trainees stood and parted like a sea divinely making way for a prophet. Grace followed their example, unsure of what was happening. The room’s atmosphere crackled with energy.
