Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  Heather expressed interest in several of his suggestions. Rather than bail at the first opportunity, however, she stuck around. Steve took this as a cue to play some of his favorite tracks from the 60s. He hopped between his collection of vinyl LPs, which were stored in several pilfered milk crates by his desk, and his stereo system, which sat atop the closet dresser. An ever-growing pile of records spread across the floor made navigating the room increasingly tricky. Heather examined each of the album covers she was handed. With curiosity sated, she'd place them on one of several piles according to a cataloging system that mystified him.

  As the listening party continued, their conversation touched upon a wide range of topics. Despite their early friction, Steve found talking to Heather as easy as running fingers through a cashmere sweater. One question piqued his curiosity more than any other, though. He sensed it was touchy and approached it obtusely. "Do you miss Korea?"

  Heather tapped the album cover she held in her hands, not in time with the beat, he noted. "That's a loaded question."

  "Either you do, or you don't, right?"

  "I'm here now. L.A. is my focus."

  Having been tidily shot down, Steve changed his approach. "I've been listening to K-Pop lately."

  "What do you think?"

  Steve stopped tinkering with the turntable long enough to address her directly. "I'm growing into it. In fact, Western pop is sounding boring by comparison."

  "Go on."

  "Are you sure you want to hear this? Once this train gets

  rolling —"

  "I'm all ears," she said interrupting.

  Steve blinked in disbelief. "Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you." He went on a rant regarding major record labels and their constant emphasis on minimalism in modern pop. "They demand simple melodies, predictable chord changes, and basic beats. They must think we're too stupid to understand anything complicated. It's infuriating."

  "I know what you mean."

  "Korea reminds me of what we used to do well. Their songwriting palette is broader. There's so many more moving parts. Not just a reliance on the same four chords all the time. Bridges and melodies aren't taboo either. If I were a songwriter, I'd wanna work there too."

  "Reality is more complicated."

  "How so?"

  "It's hard for idols to have much control over their own music."

  "Is that why you're here?"

  She exhaled with enough force to blow the album's lyric sheet across the floor. "I took a risk coming here. Maybe it will pay off."

  "Let's hope." Steve desperately wanted to inquire about her decision to leave K-Pop but was enjoying her company too much. If he pushed too hard, she'd leave.

  Heather mentioned the extensive resources she once had access to and was now deprived of. Lacking the expertise and support of an agency, she found it much more difficult to accomplish her goals. "Don't get me wrong. The girls are talented. I adore them. In Korea, though, I had no end of mentors to turn to for advice. Here, I'm flying blind."

  "You should go see Mr. Perlstein," Steve suggested.

  "The film teacher?" Heather pursed her lips. "Why? I'm not even in his class."

  "That won't matter. He'd know what to say."

  "Is he a singer?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "I don't see the point, then."

  "How do I describe it?" Steve pondered a moment. "He's like a modern-day oracle spouting wisdom to anyone who seeks it. You have to visit in person, though, to learn your truth."

  "Do I have to sacrifice small animals?"

  "No. Completely free."

  Heather wrinkled her nose. "Well, thanks for the suggestion. I'll consider it."

  Steve continued to detail his discoveries about K-Pop, admiring the abundant harmonies and melodies, surprising chord changes, boundary-challenging song structures, genre-spanning appeal, and seamless blend of disparate vocal styles. "I haven't been this excited about pop music since the 80s."

  "You weren't even alive then," Heather said in protest.

  "I wasn't alive in the 60s, either." This prompted a shift in Steve's playlist. He sensed Heather needed inspiration and boy, could he deliver. The heart of his collection was 80s pop and 90s R&B, his pride and joy.

  The first record on the turntable was Scandal's "Goodbye to You." He explained why Heather's voice reminded him of the singer Patty Smyth's. When she requested specifics, he mentioned her power. "She also strikes a perfect balance between cute and sexy with a little bit of edge. Like you." Steve stopped himself, thinking he had shared too much. He glanced at Heather, who was looking at the album cover with a sly smile on her face. Whatever she might have been thinking were kept private.

  The afternoon stretched into the evening. Song after song was played. Each time another example came to mind, Steve searched his record collection and added a new album to the stack by the turntable. Heather didn't protest. She eagerly indulged in each new offering. For her benefit, he played exclusively female singers. It wasn't a limitation. The era produced many prominent examples to choose from.

  "You know so much," said Heather. "I'm embarrassed to say most of these artists are new to me."

  Steve explained how he obtained his record collection from his Uncle Tony, who relocated to Ecuador and didn't want to ship the bulky LPs overseas. Intensive exploration of the inherited treasure sparked Steve's interest in music, especially that of his uncle's youth. He came to admire the 80s for its divergent music styles, the growth of technology in music, and the rise of so many influential female singers. "Of all the musical instruments in the world, the female voice is the most beautiful," he said in conclusion. With a push of the power button, the stereo received a much-needed break. "I have to hand it to you. For the first time ever, somebody outlasted me."

  "You're a walking encyclopedia of music."

  "Only for things I like." Steve sat on the floor facing Heather and rested his shoulder on the nearby couch. He could tell from her expression she was lost in thought. "By the way, thanks," he said.

  "For what?"

  "For indulging my passion."

  "My pleasure. You gave me a ton of inspiration." Heather slid over and leaned against the couch, mirroring Steve's pose. Their eyes met. His heartbeat quickened.

  "Are you seeing someone?" He surprised himself. To blurt a question like that was unusually bold of him, but his curiosity overwhelmed his qualms.

  Heather built a slow smile before answering. "I gave up dating for Lent."

  "Nope. Not acceptable," he teased. "This isn't Lent. Don't tell me you're voluntarily observing the idol no dating rule, are you?"

  "That has nothing to do with it."

  "Sounds like you are to me."

  "I have other goals to pursue. I guess nobody's interested, is all," she said with a dismissive shrug.

  "Oh, come on. I bet not a day goes by where some guy doesn't ask you out."

  Heather laughed. "Ha! Now that's where you're wrong. You'd be surprised how many assume I'm taken and don't bother asking."

  Steve cocked his head back. "If you met an interesting guy, would you ask him out?"

  "I already answered that. I'm not interested in a relationship right now."

  Steve let the matter drop. They sat awkwardly for a long moment until Heather averted her gaze, breaking the bond.

  Suddenly, the dorm room door crashed open. Startled by this sudden intrusion, Heather sprang to an upright sitting position. Steve expected it to be his roommate; instead, it was Casey. She made no eye contact with her boyfriend but glared at Heather.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt you two?" Casey asked, her cheeks visibly flushed.

  "No, sweetheart, we were finished. We've been discussing music." Steve stood to greet his girlfriend. "Heather, this is Casey."

  Heather stood and smiled, extending her hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you."

  "Heather is the main singer of Made in Heaven."

  Casey's nostrils flared like those of a Kentuck
y Derby winner. She refused to acknowledge the offered hand.

  Heather regarded the couple momentarily before reaching for her belongings. "I should go. It's late."

  "I'll shoot you a playlist, okay?"

  "That'd be great, Steve." Her efforts to step into the hallway were hindered by an unaccommodating Casey. In parting, Heather waved toodle-oo with her fingers, then sauntered down the hallway singing "Goodbye to You" in her clarion voice.

  As Casey closed the door, a draft slammed it shut with a rude formality. She didn't mind the coincidence. "You didn't tell me she looked like that, Steve." The way she emphasized his name mocked Heather's way of saying it.

  "I told you she's Korean."

  "Not what I meant. You didn't tell me she was so…striking."

  Casey would have been aware of this had she watched his video. Steve felt it imprudent to remind her. He weighed a list of potential responses but figured distraction was the safest course of action. "Would you like to hear some cool music while I have it out?"

  Casey looked at the mess on the floor with disdain. "Not really."

  24

  Heather

  The celebration was small but meaningful. Heather's Finance study group was at The Shed, a local beachside hangout. They were celebrating the end of the semester after having earned an A-minus on their final project. Tasked with applying the theories and concepts of finance to a real-world company, the group chose Mastercard.

  Brad advocated loudly for the financial services company after naming himself project lead. Katie repeatedly clashed with him over the workload distribution. Her contention was to have all parties participate. Gregg was happy to give Brad control if it meant a good grade. Maret contributed initial research but mostly horsed around. They were all shocked to learn that Heather wasn't good at math despite being Asian. Instead, thanks to Katie's inclusion campaign, they tasked her with presentation aesthetics, a role in which she thrived.

  Brad proposed the outing mainly as a way of expressing gratitude to the group for staying out of his way. Heather tagged along to remain in the good graces of her classmates. She spoke little. Conversation gravitated around future classes, professors to avoid, and politics, none of which excited her. She ate half of her hamburger and a quarter of the fries, patiently awaiting a lull that would provide an excuse for leaving.

  The discussion veered into an unexpected new direction. Brad mentioned his streaming playlist, which triggered a sharing of music preferences. It was a topic Heather preferred to avoid. At no point had she revealed anything of her past to them. Katie, however, wasn't about to let her off the hook so easily. "What about you, Heather?"

  Surprised at their sudden interest, she faltered at first, then conceded tersely, hoping it would end the inquiry. "I listen to pop, mostly."

  "I don't like pop music. It's shallow," said Maret.

  Chafing against her better instincts, Heather responded, "Isn't that the point?"

  "How is that a good thing?"

  "Accessibility is what makes it work. A good pop song can teach the same basic life lessons as high-minded art but in a fun way. And if anything, the world needs more fun right now." This statement produced no further challenges.

  "Speaking of. Did you hear that new Travis Lenzo song yesterday?" asked Katie.

  "I've been underwater this whole time," said Brad. "Is it any good?"

  "I was shook."

  "Bought it straight off," agreed Gregg.

  "It's not lit like 'Baseline' was," said Maret, "but I'd still download it,"

  "And Heather?" asked Katie. "What's your take on TL?"

  She gauged their faces and considered outright lying, but thought better of it. "He's okay."

  "Just okay?" said Gregg, incredulously. "He's the hottest thing going."

  Their silent anticipation demanded a response. "Well, despite being a baritone, his lower range is mostly underdeveloped. His falsetto is airy and lacks projection, while his vocal runs are often pitchy. Interestingly, the more volume he adds, the tenser he sounds. In his defense, though, his mixed voice is nicely relaxed." She decided to stop there.

  Her companions remained silent, now more from pity than curiosity.

  * * *

  "Okay, is everybody ready?" Grace queried her group members as they stood outside the 1920s-era bungalow in Pasadena.

  "Yes," they responded in unison. The sounds emanating from the house confirmed the Christmas party was in full swing. A musician tuned his guitar while telling jokes over the PA system. The crowd engaged in a riotous discord of conversations as they awaited the resumption of entertainment.

  Grace continued her briefing. "Remember, as soon as —" The speech was interrupted when a short, blonde, white guy wearing a blue pinstripe seersucker suit and a 'Jerry Mandering' nametag opened the door.

  Heather didn't know his actual name, but recognized his face from St. Ignatius. "I thought I heard voices," he said with a welcoming gesture. "C'mon in."

  "It's showtime," Grace announced as she led the procession into the house.

  Heather flashed the doorkeeper a cheerful smile and an alluring wink. "Merry Christmas, Jerry."

  Inside, most of the furniture had been removed, yet it remained a tight fit for the many guests. Floors, walls, doorposts, and cornices were trimmed in fine-grain wood in the fashion of the era. In the living room, a magnificently decorated platform stood before three enormous picture windows, serving as a makeshift stage. A full array of band instruments was set in place for general use. The house was intimately lit with thousands of Christmas lights. Strategically-placed period light fixtures provided subtle mood accents. Three-fourths of the partygoers took the theme seriously, wearing a wild variety of 60s-inspired cocktail lounge attire. The party was an annual event. Regular guests knew what to expect and came prepared.

  "Hey, you made it,' Steve said, welcoming them with open arms. "Let me grab your coats."

  As their coverings came off, a young woman in a Jackie O- suit gracefully whisked them away. Grace, Erin, Mindy, and Vanessa had improvised their 60s look using borrowed items. Grace's mother, Ji-woo, proved to be a godsend, as the girls made extensive use of her great aunt's old jewelry and accessories, some of which hadn't seen the light of day in decades. Heather, Sun-hee, and June took a different tack according to plan. The three wore matching sleeveless black Twiggy-style shift dresses with white lace accents highlighting necklines and arm openings. Their hair was pulled into identical large buns at the back of their crowns. No bangs. Elbow-length black gloves and Mary Janes completed the outfits.

  "Wow, you look magnificent," said Steve. "A soon as I got used to blonde, you change it again."

  "Don't worry. These are wigs," Heather admitted.

  Phil caught sight of them. "Dang. Looking good. Hope you're planning on performing tonight."

  "We have a set ready," said Heather. "If you have room for us."

  Phil winked at Steve. "I'm sure we can accommodate."

  "Of course, you have to make name tags first," instructed Steve. "I'll need your lounge lizard names." He pointed to his own tag with 'Norman Conquest' emblazoned in black. "The more groan-inducing, the better." He indicated the 'Biff Wellington' nametag on Phil's suit. "Case in point."

  Vanessa shot her hand in the air, "Dibs on 'Natalie Drest.'"

  "That's the spirit," said Steve as he moved to a small table with name tag supplies. "Who else?"

  Grace chose 'Yule B. Sorry,' Mindy chose 'Blake Deadly,' while Erin, after putting too much thought into it, picked 'Amanda Rekonwyth.' Heather ordered a set of name tags for herself and her two "sisters," Sue Kim, Ai-ja Kim, and Mia Kim.

  As this was happening, 'Ella Vader' came by with a tray offering drinks. Heather, grabbed one, taking small sips of what tasted like a cranberry bourbon cocktail. It was delicious but packed a punch. Steve approached, peeling the backing off Heather's new nametag. Noticing that both her hands were full, he hesitated.

  Casey offered to solve his dilemma
. Wearing red plaid capri pants and a white sweater, but noticeably no nametag, she possessively draped an arm over Steve's shoulder without breaking her gaze on Heather. "I'll hold your drink," she said, more as a demand.

  After handing over her glass, Heather accepted the 'Ai-ja Kim' nametag from Steve and daintily placed it on her own dress. "Thanks," she said, retrieving the drink from Casey.