Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  Sun-hee examined a small flip menu next to the condiments tray. "What's a takweeto?"

  "Taquito," corrected Vanessa. "They're kinda like Mexican egg rolls." Heather found it easier to explain them in Korean. Vanessa didn't seem to mind. She had become accustomed to the group's many dual-language conversations.

  Finally, a pear-shaped white woman approached, her sandy brown hair piled carelessly into a disheveled top knot. With a scowl on her face, she slapped the menus in a pile on the table's edge. As if speaking to small children, she over-articulated each word, saying, "We don't serve Chinese food here."

  They sat with their mouths open in disbelief as the woman returned to the kitchen. Vanessa looked indignant. The room was so quiet, they could distinctly hear the clock ticking.

  "I'm not hungry anymore," said Sun-hee.

  "Come on. Let's go," said Heather.

  As they approached the exit, Mark met them carrying a tray with four glasses of water.

  "We won't be needing those after all," said Heather. "Thanks, though."

  "Sorry about my mom," he whispered.

  "You seem like a good kid," said Vanessa, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't let this be your only option."

  Stepping into the heat, they spotted Steve's car nearby. The door was ajar, and he was half-sitting inside while talking on the phone. He looked surprised to see them. Once it was clear they wanted to leave, he tilted the driver's seat forward to allow access to the back. Heather resumed shotgun. They waited for him to finish.

  The call ended two minutes later. "That was the rental house. I got the gimbal I was hoping for." Heather offered a weak grin.

  "What's the matter? I thought y'all were hungry."

  "We changed our minds."

  Steve grew serious. "What happened? Tell me."

  "It's no big deal. Let's go."

  After many long miles of open desert, increased development signaled the start of the Phoenix metroplex. "When we get to my folks' house, you can take cold showers and naps if you want. It's not fancy, but you'll be comfortable."

  "It's nice of your parents to let us stay over," said Heather.

  "They wanted to help in some way. Just don't be shocked if my Dad seems surprised to see you."

  "Why, because we're Asian?" asked Vanessa.

  "Because you're girls."

  "Why would that be surprising?" asked Sun-hee.

  "My dad is convinced I'm gay." The car went silent as they processed that information.

  "What about Casey?" asked Heather.

  "He thinks she's a decoy to throw people off the scent. That's what he told my mom once."

  "What gave him that idea?"

  "He's old school when it comes to gender roles. You know the drill. Strength and aggression are the only acceptable qualities in so-called 'real men.' Don't ever cry. That crap. I had to abandon anything that didn't fit that description if I wanted to avoid getting bullied."

  "But you didn't," noted Heather.

  "I tried for the longest time to hang out with so-called regular guys, but the conformity-masked-as-rebellion bullshit was exasperating. I got tired of being ridiculed every time I wanted to express an emotion. And no one could ever explain to me why supposedly feminine traits were less valuable than masculine ones."

  "Guys who are passionate about something are attractive," said Sun-hee.

  "And it wasn't just my dad. You were expected to act like a misogynist in school to avoid being labeled as gay. I refused to and suffered the consequences. I didn't want to give up what I loved and regret it later. It wasn't until college, when I met open-minded people, that I could finally be myself."

  "No wonder the world's screwed up," said Vanessa.

  37

  Steve

  Dalton Lim, Steve's replacement cinematographer, was a UCLA grad student from Singapore. Not only did he possess an impressive demo reel, he offered to bring along an entire camera crew as a package deal. This unexpected perk was a boon. Dalton also shared his admiration for cinematographer Tak Fujimoto, one of Steve's favorites.

  The remote-control gimble stabilizer he rented was designed to fit on the end of the telescoping jib crane dolly. This equipment was unfamiliar to his crew, and their tests had thus far produced mixed results. Operating the remote camera head using a joystick proved trickier than expected. It was only when Dalton flicked a switch nestled at the base of the controller that he found a workable solution. Lifting the unit from its docking stand, he tilted it back and forth, and side to side. The crew marveled as the camera head moved in perfect unison with his movements despite the lack of a physical connection.

  "Wow, that's cool," remarked Steve.

  "This is much better. I can mount the unit on a fluid head tripod and operate like I normally would, except I won't be restricting the crane's movement at all."

  As they discussed this option, excited voices soon heralded the arrival of the cast. "Excuse me," Steve said, "I need to get the talent situated." His mother, Vivian, who'd been co-opted into serving as a shuttle van driver, led the procession of dancers into the hangar. The looks on their faces as they got their first glimpses of the 16,000 square foot space was priceless. Five executive jets were arranged in a broad semicircle against the open hangar doors, silhouetted by the McDowell Mountains rising in the background, magnificent in the afternoon sun.

  Everyone spoke at once.

  "Wow."

  "Look at this."

  "Am I dreaming?"

  "This is awesome."

  "How'd you find this place?"

  They soon scattered to four corners, scampering around like kittens in a leaf pile. Vanessa, during her tour of the facility, stumbled upon their choreographer sitting in a chair tucked away behind the wheel strut of a Gulfstream, "Look, Danya's here!"

  Danya remained seated, leaning against one arm of the chair with her legs draped over the other. "Damn straight," she said. "You think I'm going to let y'all ruin my dance?" The members gathered round to greet her.

  "How'd you get here?"

  "I flew in this morning."

  "That's not fair. How come she gets to fly?" asked Erin.

  "Bargaining power," explained Steve.

  After a brief tour of the facility, he escorted his cast to the conference room, which had been pressed into service as a temporary green room. Steve asked them to get dressed so he could assess their outfits one last time. Heather was the last one inside. She looked pale, with a glassy look in her eyes.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a lot's at stake is all."

  "Tell me about it."

  When they emerged a half hour later, it became apparent Marielle had conjured magic once again. Based on feedback from the prep meeting, she had adjusted the former "Ascot Gavotte" outfits. They appeared utterly unrelated to their previous use, but retained a streamlined sense of their magnificence. "You look like the Powerpuff Girls grew up and joined the Federation," Steve said approvingly.

  Before the dancers could take positions for a lighting test, the crew experienced a genuine scare. Erin's scream signaled trouble. All attention immediately turned in her direction. She struggled to hold Heather upright. Sun-hee soon came to assist, and together they were able to ease her into a nearby chair. By then, the rest of the cast and crew had joined them. Heather was hyperventilating and clutching her chest. Grace took control, leaning in to calm her, while encouraging slow breathing.

  "I can't breathe," said Heather. Terror was evident both on her face and in her voice. "My heart. I'm dying." She kept repeating these phrases in rapid succession.

  "Is she having a heart attack?" asked Vanessa.

  "Somebody call an ambulance!" said Toby.

  "No. It's a panic attack," explained Grace. "She gets them sometimes. Everybody, back up! You're crowding her."

  Heather kept insisting she couldn't breathe. Her hands trembled as they grasped her throat.

  Steve was deeply concerned about her conditi
on. He saw Pete standing near the craft services table and ordered him to bring three ice cubes. His command was met by confusion. "Now, please!" Pete abided without further questioning. Once he had the cubes in hand, Steve asked Grace to stand back. She resisted at first but soon thought better of it.

  "Heather, listen to me. I want you to open your mouth. I'm going to give you some ice. Okay?"

  "I can't breathe." Her breaths came in such rapid succession that Steve was unable to get any ice into her mouth.

  "Heather, please do what I ask. Open your mouth. It will be okay."

  "Do what he says," added Grace. Soon others were offering encouragement.

  Eventually, Heather was able to keep her mouth open long enough for Steve to place one cube inside. She wrapped her lips around it. Soon her hands stopped shaking. Arms then dropped to her side as her breathing slowed. The redness steadily disappeared from her face. When the first ice cube melted, Steve gave her another one. The cast and crew sighed in relief as Heather's health gradually improved before their eyes. Before long, she was talking normally again. Mindy gave her a glass of apple juice, and Heather gulped it down. She was smiling now. Fifteen minutes later, Heather felt well enough to stand. The girls hugged her. So did Steve.

  "What happened?" asked June.

  "Sometimes it's stress-related. Other times it simply happens," said Grace. "Fortunately, not often." She addressed Steve. "Where did you learn that ice cube trick?"

  He smiled. "A kid in my high school suffered from anxiety. It worked for him, so I thought I'd give it a shot." They waited another 20 minutes before Heather confirmed she was well enough to continue.

  With the crisis behind them, attention returned to matters at hand. Both cast and crew needed rehearsal time, and Steve made sure to provide plenty of it. The hangar doors were closed to better control lighting. As Danya ran the members through their dance routine, correcting minor errors in execution, Stan, the gaffer, tweaked the lighting setup while Dalton and his camera crew practiced moves with the crane dolly. Eventually, after a significant number of run-throughs, progress was made. Each test ran smoother than the last. Happy with the progress, Steve opted to release cast and crew to a dinner break.

  As they enjoyed sandwiches from a local deli, the number of hangar employees on the scene steadily grew. The men ambled around the facility, trying to look busy. They spoke excitedly, opened drawers at random, and gesticulated wildly at parked jets, pretending their observations were of utmost importance. Steve was grateful he didn't require their acting talents, for they were thoroughly unconvincing at their ruse. He knew precisely why they were there.

  The group members returned to the dressing room to have their hair and makeup retouched one last time. When they reemerged, Grace approached as Steve was supervising last-minute lighting adjustments. "Do you have a second, Herr Director?"

  "Sure, what's up?"

  "A couple of the newer girls expressed nervousness over our unexpected audience. What are they here for?"

  "They work here."

  "I know that, but today's an off day."

  "It is."

  "So why are they watching us?"

  "A couple of them are babysitting, but the rest forgot stuff and dropped by to pick it up."

  Grace scoffed. "Oh, please. Eighteen guys just happened to forget something, and coincidentally appeared right as we're about to shoot? You're telling me that with a straight face?"

  "Look, don't shoot the messenger," Steve said. "I'm renting the place. At a below-market rate, I might add. I can't tell them how to run their own business. Besides, if y'all are too shy to perform in front of strangers, you probably got in the wrong line of work, don't you think?"

  Grace turned her back on him with a "humph," and rejoined the group.

  Steve opted to film the dance in its entirety several times, using multiple setups. The first was a stationary shot using a 28mm wide-angle lens, the goal being to capture the group's choreography in full. Their spontaneous audience applauded appreciatively when it was over. Steve had to remind them the film set was live and requested silence. Their positive feedback, however, galvanized Made in Heaven.

  For the second set up, Steve used a 70-200 f2.8 lens for close-ups, focusing on the center of the formation. This allowed him to capture fine details in choreography, such as the hand and facial gestures that gave the dance such character.

  The final two setups featured the crane. The first move was more complicated, as it included what Dalton called the diving board shot. As Steve conceived it, the maneuver consisted of a group overhead shot that dropped to a portrait of Mindy, who occupied the center at that time. The maneuver required tight coordination between the camera crew and Mindy, who had to hit the same spot each time to be in precise focus. The move proved most challenging but looked excellent on playback.

  As an insurance run, Steve opted for a separate crane shot without the maneuver to ensure basic coverage in the editing room. The numerous run-throughs took a physical toll on the dancers, whose energy began to flag. The hangar employees, too, became disillusioned by the long waits between takes as countless adjustments were made to equipment, costumes, and lighting. By the time the crew was ready to attempt the second crane shot, most of the superfluous looky-loos had found reasons to make their way home.

  Since it was a half hour before the scheduled wrap time, Steve opted to take one more wide shot, this time with smoke machines.

  "I was wondering about those," said the gaffer.

  "It's an experiment. I'm not sure I'll use it," said Steve.

  Everyone took their positions one last time. Nobody complained, despite the fatigue. At Steve's command, the two machines began pumping the hangar with an atmospheric cloud. The smell of the fog fluid hitting the heating element, reminded him of his high school theater days.

  "Okay, that should be enough," said Dalton moments later.

  "No, a bit more," Steve said. "Keep 'em running!"

  Dalton grew anxious. "If you add much more, it'll reduce the

  light —"

  Steve cut him off before he could continue. "We'll be fine. Don't worry. I like how this looks."

  As the smoke cloud continued to grow, a cough was heard, possibly Erin's. The density of the smoke made it difficult to see anyone. "Okay, shut them off," Steve demanded.

  The machines kept pumping.

  "I said, cut!" The poor visibility made it impossible to tell who was coughing, but plainly the smoke was affecting multiple people.

  Pete's discarnate voice was heard saying, "I can't find them."

  "Unplug the damn things," commanded Steve.

  "There are cables literally everywhere."

  "Find them!" At this order, chaos erupted. Nobody knew where to go, yet everyone wanted to be somewhere else. Steve dropped to the ground to begin his cable search, only to discover the fog was even thicker at floor level. As he crawled around on all fours keeping his eyes peeled for power cables, his hands were nearly crushed twice, once by a sneaker, and once by a high heel. Then, unexpectedly, the hangar was plunged into darkness. The chugging of the smoke machines ceased. Someone had tripped the breaker box.

  "Thank god," said one male voice.

  Their relief was short-lived. A harsh-sounding alarm started clanging.

  "Now what?" an exasperated Erin could be heard exclaiming.

  "Fire alarm!"

  A beat later, the sprinkler system triggered. Soon, the hangar was drenched. Puddles formed on the floor. Somebody cursed as they slipped and knocked over the craft table, producing a tremendous crash of splattered food and shattered dishes. Amid this deluge, one employee had the wherewithal to locate and open the hangar doors. Cast and crew members staggered outside, holding onto each other for support whenever possible. A few were subject to violent bouts of coughing. Once exposed to fresh air, the afflicted could breathe more freely. They could also better hear the approaching sirens of the Scottsdale Fire Department.

  Paramedics were
methodically checking patients for lingering respiratory problems. Meanwhile, the fire marshal combed the building to ensure it was free of any actual fires. The sprinklers had been shut off, and the alarm reset. Police were taking reports and checking for possible violations.

  The members of Made in Heaven who had arrived playful and carefree, now acted like a litter of scolded puppies. Their smeared makeup suggested a troupe of deranged clowns. Their once carefully tended hairdos hung limp. Marielle's lovely costumes dripped puddles onto the airport tarmac. Danya frowned in disbelief at what she had gotten herself into. Heather looked miserable.