Debut, p.2
Debut, page 2
“I’m not soloist material.”
“Well, start a group then.”
“You’re telling me to start a K-Pop group with no money, no agency, and two members?”
“I’m not telling you anything. You want this. Admit it.” Grace watched her friend patiently. It took a good long time. Eventually, however, she detected a slight change in Heather’s face. One that suggested a momentary adjustment in demeanor.
“Come to think of it, people start bands all the time.”
“Of every variety,” Grace agreed.
“Why not K-Pop?”
“Why not?”
As Heather’s enthusiasm grew, words came tumbling forth. “I honestly thought I could forget what happened there, but it’s been eating at me ever since. My lifelong dream was within reach, and I —” Instantly, her positivity vanished again. “Oh, who am I fooling? Where would I start? It’s impossible.”
Sensing enough groundwork had been laid, Grace was ready to launch her plan. “Funny you should mention that. Look what I found.” Extracting a business card from her bag, she placed it on the counter between them, using a dramatic flourish to emphasize its importance. “I was at Art of the Cinema on Tuesday when I found these on the bulletin board and took one.”
Heather curiously snatched the card and read it aloud, “Film/Recording Arts major seeks talented musical act for a collaborative endeavor. Serious inquiries only. Contact Steve Shepard at blah, blah, blah.” She held the notice next to her head as if it were a protest sign, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “That’s it?”
The coffeemaker signaled the end of its cycle. Despite the hour, the scent of freshly-brewed java made Grace long for a cup. She frowned at Heather’s reaction, then pointed at one sentence: “You conveniently skipped the part about a possible cash prize.”
Heather snapped the card on the counter like a losing poker hand. “You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?” The waiter stopped working long enough to assess the outburst. Satisfied it was none of his business, he returned to cleaning. “I thought you were just humoring me,” Heather continued. “After all we went through?”
“Yes, I am serious. Look how hard we worked, and what do we have to show for it?” Grace leaned closer, tapping her finger on the counter to emphasize her words. “Nothing. That’s what. Absolutely nothing. This time will be different. This time, we’ll do it our way.”
“Why would this guy pick us? He doesn’t even sound Korean.”
“He’s white, actually.”
“There must be plenty of other candidates. Besides, we don’t even have a group.”
“Come on. It’s L.A.” Grace raised her eyebrows, waiting for Heather to pick up the dropped hint. “You know, K-town? Hollywood? The entertainment capital of the world? Do these terms ring a bell? Use your imagination.”
The waiter came by to collect dishes, but sensing the depth of their conversation, quickly slinked away after grabbing only a couple. “I don’t know,” Heather concluded. “I wasn’t expecting to hear this tonight.”
“Don’t you miss performing?”
Heather stared into space for a long while before answering. “Like you wouldn’t believe. But is K-Pop viable outside of Korea?”
“Wouldn’t you love to find out?”
A half hour passed where they spoke little. Grace waited patiently as Heather played with her napkin. An elderly gentleman in a white fedora entered, ordering a Reuben sandwich and a root beer. He regaled the black guy with tales from his merchant marine days. Two lost socialites dressed for clubbing popped in long enough to obtain directions to Main Street.
Eventually, Heather broke the reverie. “We should go. I have class in the morning.” Grace tried to hide her disappointment. She was hoping for at least one tangible outcome from this effort. They walked back to Grace’s parents’ house, speaking in low whispers, arm in arm.
Any lingering doubts about the success of her mission were dispelled moments later. While driving away, Heather shouted through the open car window. “He’d be stupid not to pick us.”
Grace smiled. “Attagirl,” she mumbled to herself.
* * *
For the remainder of that night, Heather communicated her sweeping vision through a series of text messages to Grace. Their exchange went like this:
3:13 A.M. Heather: I want to try a hybrid concept. Half band, half dance unit. Crazy, I know. But it’s been done before. Once.
3:14 A.M. Heather: We need to find X more members who can sing, dance, play instruments, and fit the idol image. Won’t be easy. Three probably doable. Love to get five, though.
3:16 A.M. Heather: Step One. Hire manager. Find gigs.
3:22 A.M. Heather: Step Two. Raise money. Necessary evil.
3:23 A.M. Heather: Step Three. Record an EP. Imagine!
3:23 A.M. Heather: Step Four. Get on streaming, at least. Hope for radio. HOPE FOR RADIO!!!
3:36 A.M. Heather: Don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to think this might actually work.
3:55 A.M. Heather: Are you getting any of these messages??? Why so quiet???
4:03 A.M. Grace: I’m excited too, Heather, but have you noticed the time by any chance?
While walking past the fountain in front of the Theater Building that afternoon, a groggy Grace was met by an ebullient Heather. Despite mildly regretting ever mentioning the band idea, Grace listened intently. In truth, after all the doom and gloom of the last few months, she loved seeing Heather’s enthusiasm. Would it persist, though? she wondered. Or would this prove to be a temporary diversion at best?
“I’ve been thinking about the members,” said Heather. “We should probably start with people we know. Do we know anyone?”
Grace, who had struggled to stay awake through Statistics, shifted her focus as best she could onto the question at hand. Shaking her head as if rattling free some spare thoughts, she responded, “Actually, we do. Remember Sun-hee Ahn?”
“From Giga Music? Yeah.”
“Well, she left the agency. Why? I don’t know. But she’s enrolled at UCLA now. We could try her.”
“She sings and plays keys. We’ve got to get her!”
“There’s no harm in asking. I’ll DM her.”
Two days later, Grace sat with Heather on the steps overlooking the Sunken Garden at SIU. They shared a snack of hummus and carrot sticks as a long-haired, rastacap-wearing guy raced by on a Segway. He towed a wagon carrying a friend who ate ice cream while reclining on a stack of pillows.
“Remember, in grade school, when we tried so hard to be like everyone else for fear of being bullied?” Grace asked. “Now in college, you see people like that doing their own thing and think, ‘Dang, those guys got it all figured out.’”
Without acknowledging her friend’s observation, Heather asked, “Any luck with Sun-hee?”
“She hasn’t responded.”
“Regardless, it seems likely we’ll need to run auditions at some point. I looked into reserving a room.”
“Will it cost anything?”
“Not if we do it on a Sunday.”
“Okay, book one, and I’ll greenlight the casting notices —” Grace stopped midsentence and stared intently at the student commons. “Oh, my. Do you see what I see?”
Heather cast her eyes in the same direction. Students scurried like ants across the crisscrossing paths connecting the northern dorms to the bustling heart of the campus. Despite the throng that was so typical of a mid-semester weekday, it was immediately clear to whom Grace was referring. A petite, youthful girl of East Asian descent walked across their field of view. Short in stature like Heather, she possessed a small frame, relatively broad in the shoulders and tapering to a slight waist and understated hips. In her right hand, she carried a hardshell instrument case.
“Manna from heaven!” Heather exclaimed.
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Looks too young to be in college. Do you think she’s Korean?”
“I bet she is, but there’s one way to make sure.” Grace bounded down the steps on a course to intercept their target. As she approached, the girl glanced in her direction without pausing and kept walking. Grace greeted her in Korean, “Annyeonghaseyo.”
The girl decelerated and faced her greeter, looking wide-eyed and unsure what to do next.
Hearing no response, Grace offered a second greeting, this time in Japanese. “Konbanwa.” The girl reacted with even more bewilderment and settled for a halting attempt at broken and accented Korean. Deciding to end the poor girl’s misery, Grace said, “Don’t worry, I speak English.”
Relief evident on her face, the new girl laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m learning Korean, but reading it and speaking it are two different things. I get so nervous and tongue-tied.” She spoke with a slight drawl in a small but delightful voice, sounding as young as she looked.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I saw you passing by and thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Grace So.”
The girl smiled. “You speak Korean well.” Grace found the comment amusing since she had only used one Korean word thus far. By this point, Heather had joined them, giving a thumbs-up for Grace’s sole benefit. She mouthed, ‘she’s cute’ behind the girl’s back.
“I’m American but lived in Korea for five years,” responded Grace without openly acknowledging Heather. “You?”
“The opposite. I was born in Korea but adopted as a baby by a family from Oklahoma. Harper, Oklahoma, to be exact. That’s where I lived until I moved here for college.”
Heather seized on that moment to interject her own introduction. “Hi, my name is Heather Moon,” she said, stepping to the girl’s side and extending a hand in greeting. “So, you’re a student here? You look so young.”
“That’s what everyone says. My curse, I guess.” The new girl blushed and accepted the offered hand. “My birth name is Ha-eun, by the way, but people call me Erin. My full name is Erin MacLeay.”
“Hello, Erin. I’m glad we met.”
“Me too.” The girl’s eyes diverted shyly as she continued. She took a step forward. “Listen, I don’t want to seem rude, but I can’t be late for rehearsals. I play bass in a Britpop Revival band, and this is only my second practice.”
Heather, at that point still mainly behind Erin’s back, gestured silently like they had just won a jackpot.
“Britpop, you say?” Grace smiled knowingly and laced her arm with Erin’s. Soon, they were joined by Heather, who took the opposite arm. “Do you mind if we walk with you, Erin MacLeay from Oklahoma? We have an idea we’d like to propose.”
2
IS THERE A CATCH?
Heather felt like a secret agent skulking outside the entrance to Amorphous Records. As she peeked through the windows to spy on the scene inside, a call came in from Grace.
“Feel like working on songs tonight?”
“Love to, but I’m in Hollywood tracking down a potential addition to our group.”
“Heather Moon taking the initiative. This, I like.”
“The more I think about it, the more I want to prove this idea possible.”
“That’s the spirit. So, who’s the target?”
“I was watching dance cover videos on YouTube the other day when I ran across a pretty good local group. One member, in particular, struck me as either an amateur with natural talent or someone who’d been formally trained.”
“Go on.”
“Anyway, upon further research, she debuted as a member of a K-Pop group a few years ago. Have you heard of WeR5?”
“That name sounds vaguely familiar.”
“They had a modest hit called ‘Hummingbird.’ Disbanded eventually. Not clear on the rest.”
“What’s her specialty?”
“That’s the best part. She’s a drummer!”
The girl’s birth name was Min-ji, but she used an alias in the States. Over the past week, Heather had sent many direct and indirect messages. None were returned. Lacking other options, she felt inclined to take a more aggressive approach. On impulse, Heather drove to Hollywood to investigate in person after Philosophy class was canceled unexpectedly.
James Blake’s “Where’s the Catch?” blared on the record store’s sound system as she entered. Heather approached the retail counter where a bearded, white, hipster-looking fellow sorted through a stack of documents. “Is Mindy here today?” she asked, shouting to be heard.
Instead of giving her a blank stare as she half expected, the guy responded without making eye contact, “On break. Try back in 20.”
With time to kill, Heather wandered among the store’s treasures, marveling at the sheer amount of stuff. She started with new releases, reasoning that it would be best to start in familiar territory. She wasn’t exactly into vinyl but thrilled at the thought of accidentally stumbling upon a hidden treasure buried deep within the store’s bins. Album art piqued her interest. The eye-catching examples on display reminded her of the elaborate packaging that encased most K-Pop CDs. The visuals and supplementary materials were often complete works of art in their own right.
About thirty minutes into her visit, she was greeted by a soft voice with a slight accent. Heather instantly recognized Mindy, who loomed over her by several inches. Her luxurious locks had grown out since the YouTube videos, and she had matured some. Still, the girl’s mixed-race heritage gave her a unique countenance that was hard to confuse with anyone else’s. Despite wearing a simple outfit of jeans, a black vest, and a white blouse, her hourglass figure was conspicuous. Mindy exuded an undeniable sexiness while retaining a type of wholesomeness that has long been stock-in-trade for K-Pop idols.
Heather turned on the charm. “You don’t know me, but my name is Heather Moon. I’ve been messaging you.”
Abruptly dropping the polite customer service demeanor, Mindy cut her off, switched to Korean, and responded tersely. “How did you get my name?” She pointed over her shoulder at the guy working the retail counter. “If you’re the one who left those messages on Instagram, I’m not interested in your project. Stop bothering me. I have work to do.” She walked away without saying another word.
Unfazed by the rejection, Heather decided to stick around until after hours. The wait was excruciating. As exciting as the Hollywood and Vine area could be at times, three hours alone on a weeknight was a long time to kill. Heather returned to the store in time to watch the neon lights flicker off as the staff closed shop for the night.
Five minutes later, Mindy exited and made her way to the parking lot. Her eyes rolled when she spotted Heather waiting. “You again.”
“I’m motivated.”
“Delusional, too.” Mindy faced Heather directly. “Look, I’m not sure what you want from me, but my K-Pop days are over. Got it?”
Heather remained undeterred. “Then why are you doing dance covers?”
Mindy’s face flushed with color. She smiled guiltily. “Because it’s fun, and I don’t have to follow anyone’s rules. That’s why.”
“We’re not an entertainment company. I’m tired of their crap too. Just listen to my pitch. Okay?”
Mindy looked away and fidgeted like she was having a tantrum. Suddenly composing herself, she said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I haven’t eaten yet. There’s a place nearby I go sometimes. You have until they close to change my mind; then I’m going home.”
Heather smiled.
“And you’re buying.”
“How did you end up here?” asked Heather as she sipped her blood-orange aqua fresca at the restaurant. Empty plates once containing shared orders of grilled fish mini tacos, tempura asparagus, and herb salad littered the table between them.
“I wanted to get as far away as possible to clear my head, and L.A. was the most viable option,” said Mindy. “I sometimes get recognized here but rarely bothered. Actually, I made it two months this time until you came along.”
Heather let the dismissive comment slide. “Is that why you go by Mindy?”
“People here tend to react better to English names, I’ve concluded.” She averted her gaze as she said this. “Why? What’s your Korean name?”
“Heather is my only name. I used it even in Korea. Your last name is Japanese, though. Ito?”
“My father is half Japanese, half Korean. He met my Ukrainian-American mother when she was teaching English in Seoul. How’s that for a mix? Where am I supposed to fit in? I don’t feel Japanese enough for Japan, Korean enough for Korea, and here I’m considered too whitewashed to be truly Asian and too Asian to be truly American.”
“Sounds familiar,” said Heather. Not wishing to change the subject but growing anxious at the approaching deadline, she pushed the issue at hand. “I watched WeR5 videos. Your group was talented. It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”
“It’s a crappy business. You were lucky to leave when you did.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“It was only a matter of time. You’d have gotten screwed too.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Mindy analyzed Heather’s face as if reading her thoughts. “Oh, so you do know what I’m talking about,” she said with a grimace. “What’s your sputter, lemon butter? Why so anxious to get back in?”
“Let’s say unfinished business.”
“Ah,” Mindy said slyly, waving a finger at Heather. “See, I can tell. You’re hiding something, like everyone else in this town.”
Heather admired the girl’s keen awareness. “I know there’s a dark side to this business, Mindy. We both saw things we’d probably rather not dwell on. But it wasn’t all bad. You remember what performing in front of your fans felt like, don’t you?”
“I avoid reflection. It’s easier.”
“You could make a difference, you know? I want to build a group bigger than the sum of its parts, whose members trust each other and are willing to pull in the same direction. If I didn’t think it was possible, I wouldn’t ask.”
