Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  "Just come with an open mind, okay?"

  "Deal. And thanks for covering my next three Tuesdays, too."

  "Three?"

  "Three."

  "For one meeting —"

  "Three."

  "Okay," Vanessa said in resignation.

  27

  Heather

  The cool blue numbers on the bedside clock taunted her. They read 3:06 a.m. Precisely 12 minutes had passed since the last time Heather dared to look. She could have sworn it'd been at least 60.

  Had she followed regular practice, ignorance being bliss, she'd be sound asleep. As it happened, curiosity got the better of her. While browsing the internet that afternoon, an innocent-looking story on Korean folk-tales led her astray. Since college started, she had managed to avoid all 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 photo practically daring her to look away. She didn't.

  She couldn't.

  The Naver story reported on 37-G's major announcement from earlier in the day. The adjoining photo depicted five members of Glimmer Blue standing before an army of cameras. It 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 was irresistible. Against every reasonable course of action, she made the opposite choice. The final straw came when she skipped out on a scheduled study group for Statistics. 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. She wanted to find the music cloying and repetitive, the dancing robotic, the outfits drab. None of those were true. The album was genuinely good. It had potential. She wanted Mi-ok's performance to fall flat, proving ultimately, she was out of her depths, but that too was a reach. Mi-ok had presence, both in the promoted music video and during the live performances. Heather wanted their rankings to tank, proving Glimmer Blue was overhyped. Yet her heart admittedly beat a little faster when the title track simultaneously reached number one on four separate music streaming services later that day. It was a genuine hit.

  Reality had struck. Glimmer Blue was going places. And they didn't need Heather Moon's help, 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 them or even despised them.

  Meanwhile, Glimmer Blue was on track to perform in packed arenas before adoring crowds the world over. That dream was dead for her. There was no turning back. Appa was right. Time to become an adult. She could still succeed at something. Maybe Appa would notice for once.

  * * *

  Student Financial Services was busy. Heather waited for her number to appear. The office featured an uninspiring blend of garish lighting and store-bought corporate art. To escape the unappealing environment, her thoughts turned to the members. They expressed joy at being part of Made in Heaven, but Heather doubted their commitment. She understood. The group was a fun diversion, but in the meantime, they had lives to live.

  A blonde, white male sat in the adjacent chair as soon as it was vacated by its previous occupant. He offered a playful grin and winked at her. "Here for the annual bloodletting?"

  Heather wasn't in the mood for tuition humor. She had yet to see one student leave the office with a smile on their face. She picked ceaselessly at the loose thread on her sweater, which was beginning to come apart. "I'm getting a cost estimate for next year."

  "Don't get too attached to your firstborn, then," he said with a laugh.

  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?"

  Not again. "Really. I was born here."

  "Oh," he responded. "You speak good English."

  Why in the hell shouldn’t I? Before she could respond, the number 23, fortunately, flashed on the monitor. "That's me."

  The Latino counselor who escorted her to his office, towered above her, even after they were seated. 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, etcetera. 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, handing the datasheet back.

  He reviewed it. "Yup, it's all there. Were you expecting something else?"

  "I mean, $72,023! For one year? Are you serious?"

  "You're a student 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. Are you good at sports?"

  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 speak at length 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 for money 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. "For a second there, I thought you said a thousand."

  The counselor looked offended. "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. 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, a coworker peeked in to complain about office policy. The pair spoke for several minutes, during which Heather's mind strayed back to her members.

  "It never changes," said the woman afterward. Heather smiled and nodded, clueless as to the reference. "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 a union apprenticeship?"

  "No, like K-Pop."

  Perplexed, the woman peered over her bifocals. "Is that a soda company?"

  "No, it's Korean pop music. I sing and dance and write music."

  The interviewer smirked 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 waved her hand as though clearing the air of smoke. "I'll ask a series of questions to determine your suitability for the types of jobs we place people in." The woman recorded Heather's responses on her computer. "How fast can you type?"

  "About twenty words per minute."

  The woman cl
icked a series of commands. "That eliminates those jobs." Heather was dismayed to see a lengthy list of entries disappear from the woman's screen. "Do you have experience with printed circuit boards?"

  "You mean like an office printer?"

  Another smirk of disgust. "We'll take those off too." More listings disappeared. Two dozen questions later, they were done. One listing 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, and 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 saying I can't get a job without experience?"

  "Rough, ain't it?"

  "I need money."

  "So does everyone else."

  28

  Sun-hee

  An important meeting had been scheduled at the St. Ignatius Film & Television Building. Grace asked the group to assemble at 3:00 p.m. to discuss the recruitment of choreographer Danya Kay. Sun-hee, at the mercy of the bus schedule, arrived early to find the movie theater empty. As she took a prime seat in the fourth row, a knock came from above and behind her. Looking up, Steve waved at her from the projection booth window. Her stomach fluttered as she acknowledged him with a wave and a smile.

  Surprisingly, the theater went dark. Heavy curtains parted, revealing an enormous projection screen. Sun-hee watched with curiosity as the black borders surrounding it transitioned from a near square to a long thin rectangle stretching clear across her field of vision. A film clip appeared. She recognized it as a scene from West Side Story. The stage production was familiar, but not the cinematic version. Its energy arrested her attention. Men and women argued over the merits, or lack thereof, of relocating to America. The performances were terrific, but it was the dancing she found mesmerizing. She imagined it had to be one of the great dance battles ever filmed. The size of the image made her feel as if she were in the scene with the performers. The brief experience left a powerful impression on her.

  As the clip ended, the lights came on. A few minutes later, Steve joined her in the auditorium. "Hey, Sun-hee. What d'ya think?"

  "Brilliant."

  "Yeah, impressive, huh? Vanessa and I prepared a brief presentation for Danya. Hopefully, it will inspire her to join us. I'm not so confident."

  "It will," Sun-hee reassured him. Her mind turned blank. An awkward silence passed as they both waited for the other to speak. She desperately sought an engaging conversation starter, but the longer she contemplated it, the further her mind drifted from anything acceptable. They both smiled uneasily.

  "Have you talked to Heather?" he asked. "She's planning on coming, right?"

  Sun-hee's stomach clenched. "I assume so." She wanted to kick herself for the stunning lack of wit in her response.

  Thankfully, her group members soon entered the theater, chatting enthusiastically. Steve's eyes sparkled as Heather approached. Sun-hee watched their body language as they embraced. They looked comfortable together. A far cry from last semester when Heather was as likely to spit Steve's name as say it. They'd both known him for the same amount of time, but Sun-hee found herself totally eclipsed by the shimmering star known as Heather.

  Since there was little time to waste, Grace turned the conversation to the upcoming meeting. Vanessa provided a summary of their plan and briefed members on their anticipated roles. "To be honest with you, I doubt this will work."

  "This was your idea," said Grace.

  "I know, but Danya can be picky. She may simply be humoring me." Her statement was met with winces. "I'm just saying."

  Needing a moment to collect herself, Sun-hee stood. "Where are the restrooms at?"

  "In the lobby, past the elevators, on your right," Steve explained. "Don't be long, though. She'll be here soon."

  "What does Danya look like?"

  "Thirty-one, half Indian and half Scottish," said Vanessa. "Dark, wavy hair to her shoulders. Worn loose, if that helps. Oh, and there's a compass tattoo on her right bicep."

  Sun-hee exited the theater and surveyed the scene. During the next several minutes, a handful of students passed hastily through the lobby. None met the profile. The clock on the wall indicated five minutes past the hour. She went to the drinking fountain for some water, when a woman matching Nessa's description ambled into the lobby. Sun-hee watched closely as the stranger oriented herself. She noted the theater door, but bypassed it and continued walking until she found the women's room.

  An idea occurred to Sun-hee. She debated its merits, briefly, before deciding it wouldn't hurt anyone. Taking a deep breath, she extracted her phone and used it to "converse" with an imaginary person on the other end. Entering the restroom, she spoke aloud, altering her voice to disguise it. "I'll go over to your place after this meeting."

  Sun-hee recognized Danya's shoes under the door of a stall. They had the room to themselves. Perfect. As she made her way to the sinks, the charade continued. "It won't take long. The choreographer we're waiting on is late, and I'm beginning to doubt she'll show at all." She paused periodically to give her imaginary friend time to respond. "No, I have a feeling she'll flake on us."

  Sun-hee turned on the tap to let some water run. "I don't know, we could probably do better." She ran her free hand under the water to splash it around. "Yeah, if she's as good as Vanessa says, would she be teaching exercise classes?" Sun-hee turned off the water. "We'll see. Listen, I better go. I'll call you if this meeting is canceled."

  Sun-hee pushed a button on her phone to produce a beeping sound, then left. She felt a tad bit ashamed for what she had done but giggled nonetheless.

  "Nothing?" asked Grace as Sun-hee returned to her seat.

  "She'll be here soon."

  A beat later, Danya walked in, wearing a half-hearted smile, and failing to mask her displeasure. As Vanessa provided introductions, Sun-hee observed closely. Danya listened intently to each member as they spoke. When it was Sun-hee's turn, she used a normal voice, which sounded distinct from her disguised one. Danya was flummoxed. The bathroom incident kept her unsettled for the entire meeting.

  A half hour later, the members of Made in Heaven exited the theater. Danya had already departed, and they were free to share their impressions.

  "That was easier than expected," said Steve.

  "Yeah, the way you made it sound, Nessa, I thought it would be impossible," agreed Heather.

  "I have no explanation." Vanessa was at a rare loss for words.

  "If you hadn't said anything, I'd think she was trying to convince us instead of the other way around," said Grace.

  "She was entirely different when we spoke last. I expected more resistance."

  "Your presentation must have impressed her, Steve," said Sun-hee with a gleam in her eye.

  29

  Heather

  Band rehearsal ended a little earlier than anticipated. Steve had requested a production meeting to discuss the upcoming music video but wasn't due to arrive for a while yet. Since the weather was sublime, the girls suggested holding it at the Bird's Nest, an iconic venue on the rim of the St. Ignatius bluff with a magnificent view of the city. They agreed to meet on the outdoor patio after practice. The transportation-deprived members appreciated this killing-two-birds approach.

  At Grace's prompting, the members agreed upon a set of aesthetic principles they hoped to see from their next video. After much discussion, the list was boiled down to five descriptors: confident, flirty, powerful, charming, and playful.

  Marielle, having drawn inspiration from this list, passed around concept sketches for three varied styles. The members marveled at the images.

  "You know how to make us look thin and pretty," said Erin.

  "I love how you can take our
body flaws and turn them into strengths," said Grace.

  Factions formed around two concepts. Mindy, Erin, and Heather favored the most feminine one, while Vanessa, June, and Grace preferred the sportiest look. Sun-hee, alone, chose the third middle way. Before a full-scale argument could develop, Marielle suggested she could tailor the outfits to each member's preference while keeping the set thematically unified.