Debut, p.7
Debut, page 7
The family explained how to use the appliances and reviewed all the available assistance programs. Aunt Ye-jin’s yawn must’ve betrayed her weariness. The mother graciously apologized for taking up their time, and the family departed soon after, but only after reemphasizing their contact information should any need arise.
When the minivan drove away, June and her aunt burst into tears. They hugged each other as if their lives depended on it, overwhelmed by the understanding that they had beaten the odds by making it this far. At the same time, they were equally sobered by the realization of where they stood in this new world.
“We survived,” said June. “We should be grateful for that.”
“We have so much work to do,” her aunt responded.
6
ACQUIRED TASTES
Heather was feeling pangs of hunger. Her belly grumbled as if a small but vociferous monster lived inside. Despite being only the second day of her crash diet, it felt like an eternity had passed since she started. Her energy level was lower than the Mariana Trench. She couldn’t think straight. The extra weight she had gained since the beginning of the school year, the ‘Freshman 15’ as the phenomenon was called, was unacceptable. Drastic measures were needed. A traditional diet was just too slow. She reluctantly embarked on the ‘idol special,’ a week-long cleanse of nothing but juice while continuing her usual workout routine. But there was one catch — no water allowed!
She knew deep down that the weight loss would be temporary, and the pounds would creep back soon enough without extreme diligence. But in her mind, that didn’t matter. The band could get gigs at any moment; she only cared about returning to her training weight. If this was the quickest way to do it, so be it. The thought of sticking to it for a whole week seemed impossible. At the agency, she was constantly surrounded by idols in the same boat as her. They all suffered, but they suffered together. That was a whole different story from her reality at SIU. Here, the temptation of food was everywhere. Parties, dorm room study sessions, strategically placed vending machines, multiple restaurants, and the cafeteria that served a cornucopia of culinary indulgences that she had to pass twice every day on the way to and from class. The monster in her belly was angry. It was unclear how much longer it could be ignored. Concentrating on schoolwork helped some. She had a lot of catching up to do to make up for lost time. But even this had limits.
Introductory Economics was half over when she received a text. Professor Shaw’s lecture was “Thinking on the Margins.” Unable to concentrate, Heather had been thinking of marginalizing his ramblings since the class began. Perhaps a quick chat was in order?
Appa!
3:23 P.M. Dae-hee: Remember we discussed an internship before you left?
3:24 P.M. Heather: I do.
3:24 P.M. Dae-hee: You remember Kwan Byung-hoon? He was an associate of mine when we lived in Los Angeles. He came to our house for dinner a few times.
3:25 P.M. Heather: I guess.
3:25 P.M. Dae-hee: You were pretty young.
Yeah.
3:26 P.M. Dae-hee: Anyway I mentioned you were going to school there and he agreed to meet regarding an internship his company offers.
3:28 P.M. Heather: Isn’t it a little early for that? I just started.
3:28 P.M. Dae-hee: It’s never too early to consider your future. You must seize opportunities as they come.
Heather struggled internally to devise a believable excuse.
3:32 P.M. Heather: I was gonna get a part-time job. Internships are unpaid, right?
3:32 P.M. Dae-hee: What do you need money for?
3:32 P.M. Dae-hee: We pay your expenses.
3:32 P.M. Dae-hee: Take advantage of our support.
3:33 P.M. Dae-hee: While you can.
3:35 P.M. Heather: I see.
3:35 P.M. Dae-hee: Mr. Kwan is a busy man. He was willing to see you as a favor to me. Don’t disappoint.
3:36 P.M. Heather: I
“Ms. Moon?”
Heather looked up to find herself the center of attention. The entire class was waiting for a coherent response from her, which was not forthcoming.
“Since you have apparently mastered the material,” Professor Shaw said sardonically, “would you kindly share an example of how William Stanley Jevons might have used his marginal utility theory to explain consumer behavior?”
3:36 P.M. Heather: gtg
Heather turned off her phone. “Um —”
There’s that bothersome cafeteria again. An intoxicating aroma emanated from the place. Heather wondered whether they were barbequing chicken or pork ribs. Maybe both. Of course, there was one way to make sure. She stopped in her tracks and looked up at the second floor. Through the windows, she watched students happily chatting away while enjoying their meals. Eventually, she noticed a guy take an enormous bite of a chicken leg. “Well, that answers that question,” she muttered to herself. Before her well-honed idol discipline could manifest itself and carry her right past the source of enticement, she heard her name being shouted by a male.
“Hey, Heather. Wait up!” The smile disappeared from her face as she focused on who it was. Twenty yards down the path in the direction she had just traversed was Steve, the video director who’d so recently rejected Made in Heaven. Heather had no interest whatsoever in chatting with the likes of him. Before she could escape, however, he was by her side.
“Oh, hi,” she said bluntly before resuming her walk.
Unperturbed, Steve accompanied her. “We’re going the same way. Mind if I join you?”
“It’s a free country.”
“I’m Steve, remember? From the auditions?”
“How could I ever forget?” snipped Heather as she kept her eyes locked straight ahead. “So, how’s the music video biz?”
He ignored the question. “Maybe Grace told you, but I thought your band was superb. My decision was a tough one.”
“I bet you struggled for days.”
“I did, actually. Anyway, I’d like to hear your band play when you get gigs. You kept my contact info, didn’t you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Are you parked over here?”
“Are you following me?”
“No.” Steve stopped at the crosswalk, but Heather walked straight through without hesitation, forcing him to wait for another car to pass before he could regain her side. “I thought we could work on a project together in the future. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Heather chose not to respond. They continued walking silently. Awkwardly. Steve searched for an opportunity to make a graceful exit.
“That’s my dorm over there. Rosecrans. I have to go.”
“Don’t get lost.”
“Nice to see you again.”
Heather made no effort to acknowledge his farewell. He could have genuflected for all she knew. She kept walking towards her car, mind wracked with thoughts of starvation.
* * *
Heather and Grace made a renewed push to fill out the membership. Vanessa remained an infuriating toss-up. No effort had been made yet to contact Danya, the choreographer, as they hadn’t formulated a coherent strategy to convince her yet. Grace argued they’d only get one shot at it, ‘so it’d better be good.’ Without Danya, they’d have no chance at Vanessa. Even so, there was still the matter of a seventh. Heather remained adamant that Made in Heaven be a seven-member group. Towards that end, they decided to hold auditions.
The fruits of that labor lay before them, meager as they were. A pile of polaroids was scattered across Grace’s dining room table. Heather proposed photographing each auditionee to better attach names to faces. Most, after all, were amateurs who came unequipped with headshots. The first order of business was to eliminate those lacking any obvious talent.
“No.” Snap. “No.” Snap. “No.” Snap. “Definitely a no,” Grace said as the discards piled up.
“Add these to the reject pile,” suggested Heather, handing over two more.
Grace assessed them. “Oh, definitely.”
“To be honest, I’m kind of disappointed. There were no clear front runners.”
“At this rate, we’ll have to hold a second audition or devise another plan.”
Grace’s mother, Ha-yoon, entered bearing two cups of chrysanthemum tea. “How is it going?”
“Thanks, Umma,” said Grace, eyeing the tea as it was placed on the table. “About as well as a broken-down jalopy. Not sure if we have anything.”
“Yeah, it was pretty weird,” Heather said. “One girl just immediately broke down and started crying for no reason. Lots of them weren’t even prepared. Two guys even showed up. Gotta give them credit for trying. A few had no idea what K-Pop was, yet decided to try out anyway. What else am I missing?”
“One girl’s original song featured the F-word every other line.”
“Oh, my,” her mom gasped.
Heather laughed, “Yeah, we’ll be sure to look her up when we go gangsta rap. And don’t forget the one who thought we were casting for a movie or something. Delivering lines from Downton Abbey. That was…interesting.”
“And pretty much everyone was surprised to see us for some reason. I guess they expected old white men.”
The phone rang in the other room.
“Well, it sounds like you have your work cut out. Gotta get that.” Ha-yoon left promptly.
“We have a strategic decision to make first.” Heather picked out two photos from the pile and showed them to Grace. “Two of the best performers were white. What’s our policy on that? With one member who can barely speak Korean, do we add a second?”
“Good point. Too many could handicap us.”
“The other thing is body type. This one, for example,” Heather pulled a photo of an Amazon. “Good voice, but much taller and more muscular than anyone else in the group. I hate to say it, but it would make our dances look strange.” Heather knew how much K-Pop choreography relied on exceptionally well-drilled and coordinated movements. Groups lived and died on their ability to synchronize. To have one dancer shaped so differently than the rest would be difficult, if not impossible, to overcome.
“Yeah, I felt the same way. There’s this one, though,” said Grace, holding up another photo. “Julie Walker sang and danced well enough, but she’s petite and would blend in better.”
“And as a St. Ignatius student, she wouldn’t have to travel far. But there’s one more. Let me see if I can find it.” Heather searched through the remaining photos. “Here.” She held up another image. “June Kwan. She had the perfect look. Too bad about the live audition. Her video was dynamite.”
“Deeply flawed but impressive.” Grace took the photo from Heather to assess it again. “Looked like a movie star. And Korean, too.”
“But what about her accent?”
“Yeah, no idea. Odd one, though.”
“Well, regardless, once she botched the song, I knew it was over. She got so flustered and gave up before the dance.”
“Clearly a noob,” Grace observed.
“Stage fright hits us all at some point, but during a low-pressure audition? That’s a red flag. Julie seems the safer bet.”
7
SECOND CHANCES
With their Marketing Analytics class over, Grace and Heather walked to their cars in the northeast campus lot. Grace described her call inviting Julie to the group when her friend interrupted. “Quick, turn around.” No sooner had Heather spoken than she reversed course and walked in the opposite direction.
“Did you forget something?” asked a puzzled Grace, trying to catch up.
“He’s standing there. I don’t want him to see us.”
“Who is standing where?” she asked, looking around.
“Steve! That video guy. I think he’s stalking me.”
Grace laughed in surprise. “Oh, come on, Heather, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, humor me, at least.”
As Grace pondered the preposterous notion that they’d have to walk all the way back to their classroom, a shout rose from behind. “Hey, Heather. Grace. Wait up!” Heather pretended not to notice and kept walking. Grace, however, grew tired of the charade, stopped, and glanced over her shoulder. She used a much louder voice than necessary. “Oh, look, Heather, it’s Steve. Say hello to Steve.”
Heather halted a few feet away, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Grace felt the stinging daggers of rebuke on the back of her head as the film director approached. He huffed as if out of breath. It was hard to tell whether that was from physical exertion or excitement. “I’m so glad to see you two,” he exclaimed. “I was going to call, but my news will sound better in person.”
“What’s up?” Grace asked cheerfully, hoping to ease the tension.
“I changed my mind. I’d love for you to be in my music video.”
Heather and Grace looked at each other with evident surprise. “What about the other group?” asked Grace.
“After thinking about it, I realized my mistake.”
Heather smirked. “Come clean. I’m not buying this sudden change of heart angle.”
Steve looked embarrassed. “Okay. I admit. I blew it. Please accept my apology. The truth is I’m in an awful jam and need your help.”
Heather squeezed her notebook to her chest. “So now we’re acceptable, but only because you’re in trouble?”
“I deserve that,” said Steve.
Grace attempted to de-escalate the situation. “Heather, calm down.”
“I’m not ready to calm down yet!”
Steve looked pained. “My friend talked me into it. Terrible idea,” he said, shaking his hands in distress. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Grace watched the two converse. Their body language revealed some mysterious force at play. Steve displayed every sign of someone smitten by Heather. This was nothing new. She often turned guys into quivering lumps of jelly with a simple bat of the eyelashes. What struck Grace as odd was how Heather responded to him. After the audition, Heather described his lack of fragility-masking machismo as refreshing while admitting simultaneously that he wasn’t her type. Once Steve rejected Made in Heaven, though, Heather seemed to take the news personally. Now, her face was flush red. Was this rage, or was something else at play? For the time being, Heather appeared willing to listen to his pitch but wasn’t about to let him off the hook easily. “We’re not a consolation prize, you know?”
“I — I don’t…” Steve seemed stumped for a response.
Grace felt more forgiving. “We’ve been working on some new songs.”
Heather remained silent, apparently trusting Grace’s strategy.
“Oh, that’s great,” said Steve. “Can you be ready soon?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Heather looked askance, then shook her head as if questioning Grace’s sanity.
“Oh, you two are lifesavers. I’d’ve lost my studio time otherwise. Is two weeks okay?”
“Of course,” Grace said without hesitation.
“Now, who’s being ridiculous?” asked Heather in Korean. She smiled at the perplexed Steve, doubtlessly relishing the advantages of multilingualism, and not for the last time.
“What about song choice?” asked Grace while returning to English.
“Whaddaya say we talk over dinner at the cafeteria?” Steve suggested.
“Sounds more fun than homework.” The pair proceeded in that direction until Grace realized they weren’t being followed. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“I have plans.”
Heather was obviously fibbing, but Grace knew better than to press the issue. “This is important.”
“I trust your judgment.”
Grace shook her head. “Okay, but don’t blame me later.”
Over a dinner of roasted chicken and grilled Brussels sprouts, Grace listened to Steve’s account of his decision-making process. “From the moment I left the voicemail, I felt bad about it. I had a history with Radial Elliot. They were a straightforward rock act that had long been together. I knew what I was getting with them. My music producer friend talked me into taking the safe route, and I listened to him instead of my heart.”
“What did your heart say?” asked Grace.
“Keep in mind that I had been in auditions all day when I met you. Let me tell ya, it was a non-stop procession of overdramatic, angsty, and downright pretentious acts that would’ve exhausted anyone. I was seriously regretting the whole business.”
“Why have auditions at all, then?”
“Just a faint hope I’d find something better, I guess.”
“But you didn’t, apparently.”
Steve smiled guiltily and stuck a finger in the air for emphasis. “Au contraire. I just hadn’t realized it yet. Honestly, I never expected a K-Pop act to walk through the door. And I wouldn’t have been ready to process what you were offering anyway.”
“So what happened with…Radio…Idiot?” she asked, half forgetting the name.
“Radial Elliot,” he said in correction, “though I’m starting to like your name better. I got an early morning wake-up call informing me that the band had broken up. Irrevocably.”
“What caused that?”
“Girl trouble, of course.” He blushed and quickly corrected himself. “No offense intended.”
“Naturally.”
“To make a long story short, basically everyone in the group was cheating with each others’ girls. It was a spaghetti bowl of tangled liaisons. When the news broke, chaos erupted. I’m frankly shocked there were no fatalities. There’s simply no going back after a mess that big.”
“No doubt.”
“The bright side is I can make amends at least. I’m sorry the timing is so poor. It’s not fair to demand such short prep time. My only other choice, though, is to cancel the project altogether and fail my class.”
