Debut, p.20
Debut, page 20
“Just in time,” said Grace.
Steve placed the bag on the table, where it was immediately pounced upon. “God, I’m starving,” said Erin. In the blink of an eye, nothing remained of the snack but crumbs. Steve looked bereft of all joy at the sudden loss of what amounted to his dinner.
“I hope you were done with those,” a mischievous Heather said, bewitchingly licking the remaining seasoning from her fingers.
“No choice in the matter, it seems.”
Steve wasted no time getting down to brass tacks. Providing a broad overview of the project, he managed to hold his audience’s attention while sticking to plain English, but once the technical jargon began, their eyes glazed over. “I plan to use a Red Helium sensor with Ultra Panavision 70 lenses to grab the image at 2:1,” he explained. “Then, we can crop it vertically to output at the 2:39 aspect ratio.” Steve paused as if to gather accolades. His enthusiasm was met with a chorus of blank stares.
Grace leaned over to Heather. “You speak film nerd. Can you translate?”
“I’m not fluent,” she responded.
“Oh, spare me,” said Steve, dismissing their mockery. He reminded them of the extra-widescreen film clips they showed Danya at the theater. “That’s what I’m aiming for. Plus, I want the colors to pop like music videos in Korea.” This disclosure proved popular. However, the subsequent reveal that they’d have to embark on another road trip produced groans of protest.
“Again?” said Mindy.
“Not that awful roof?” asked Erin.
“No,” he responded, “not exactly.”
“What, exactly, then?” asked Grace suspiciously.
“We’ll be in the desert, but this time in an air-conditioned building. The Scottsdale Airpark, specifically.”
“Where’s that?” asked June.
“In Arizona,” answered Grace. June remained perplexed.
“Why there?” asked Heather.
“My dad, much to my surprise, knows the owner of a private jet servicing hangar. Through him, I swung a deal to film over Easter weekend in exchange for promo services.”
“Do we get to fly on a private jet?” asked Erin, hopefully. “I’ve always wanted to fly on a private jet. Once my —”
“Um, no,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “But I bet they’d give you a tour if you ask nicely.” Erin slouched into a half-pout.
Steve described the travel arrangements and previewed their daily schedules. Once his report was finished, Heather nudged Grace in the ribs. “It’s time,” she said in Korean.
Grace took the cue. “Um, Steve.” The tone of her voice warned that a delicate topic was at hand.
He visibly tensed, preparing for the worst. “Yes?”
“The other day, we discussed ground rules for our videos.”
“And what did you decide?”
“Let’s see. I have a list.” She opened her phone and began reciting terms. “First off, how women are portrayed in western music videos is abominable. This is unacceptable.”
“I’m listening,” said Steve.
Grace tallied their demands on her fingers. “Our videos must be told from our point of view. We won’t be props for the fantasies of male characters nor depicted as weak, worthless victims. And don’t you dare film us as fragmented, disconnected body parts either.”
Steve shook his head and tsked loudly. “Impossible. That’ll destroy the whole video!” He slammed his palm on the table. “I have a scene where a group of men throw slices of lunch meat at your thong-clad asses for target practice. You can’t possibly expect me to cut that, can you?”
Despite his weighty delivery, the ruse was instantly evident to Heather, who giggled. Grace remained intent on keeping a straight face. She snatched the empty chip bag, shook it in the air for a few seconds, then let it fall to the table. “Luckily for you, this is empty, or you’d be taking a crumb shower right about now.”
With that resolved, Steve next turned to the thorny issue of choreography. There was no hiding from it now. “So, how’s the dance coming along?” His inquiry was met by an uncomfortable silence. Members avoided eye contact with Vanessa, but Steve noticed. He addressed the dancer directly. “This concept relies heavily on the choreo,” he said. “If the dance fails, so will the video.”
Vanessa clenched her teeth. “I know. I’m working on it.” She began fidgeting.
“We’re running out of time. I’ll panic unless I see a rough idea soon.” He assessed the members individually, but none had anything better to offer. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to accept that Danya’s a no-go.”
Heather sought to ease the growing tension. “We’ll have something for you soon.” She had no idea what that would be, but the response seemed to calm Steve for the time being.
“I don’t mean to change the subject, but the level tests are in.” Grace’s announcement produced instant anxiety. The idea had been to videotape each member’s singing and dancing performances to be rated by an impartial judge from the professional ranks. They asked one of Sun-hee’s former managers in Korea to do the honors. He was happy to oblige and was deemed acceptably unbiased.
First came the vocal rankings: Heather and Sun-hee were first and second, followed by Mindy and June, with Grace in fifth. Vanessa and Erin were tied for last place. Nobody was shocked by this news. Nobody objected.
The dance rankings went as follows: Vanessa, June, and Mindy occupied the top spots, with Grace and Sun-hee tied for fourth and Heather and Erin tied for last.
“I’m tied for the worst singer and the worst dancer?” a deflated Erin complained.
“You’re the best bassist, though,” noted Sun-hee.
“Oh, whoop de doo. I’m the only bassist.”
“That automatically makes you the worst bassist, too,” said Mindy.
“A triple threat,” added Vanessa, piling on the torment.
Erin responded with her trademark blend of feigned deer-in-the-headlights alarm and I’ll-get-you-back-someday-just-you-wait menacing stare. “Get out,” she said, pointing to the parking lot. “I hate you all I’ll have you know.” Mindy put an arm around Erin and kissed her on the cheek. This gesture produced a sheepish smile from their beleaguered companion.
Heather listened quietly to the rankings without partaking in the banter. “I’ll work harder to become a better dancer, I promise.”
“Ray specifically stated that the rankings are not set in stone,” explained Sun-hee. “They’re merely a starting point based on raw talent.”
“The last topic we need to address is fitness,” stated Grace.
“Uh, oh. Now for the fun,” said Mindy.
“Let me tell you from experience, a performance schedule can be hard on the body. I can’t stress enough how important it is to keep in top physical shape. That includes eating right and exercising regularly.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Well, some of us are getting a tad—how to put it?”
“Big boned,” volunteered Vanessa.
“Yeah, big-boned,” repeated Grace. “We’ll go with that.”
* * *
It didn’t sound right to her ears. Heather listened carefully to the final mix of “Feel the Heat.” She wanted to be sure before objecting.
Nope. It wasn’t her imagination. Something was wrong.
“Whaddaya think?” Arnie asked, holding his chin high as the playback ended.
Heather stared at the mixing console, searching for a way to express her dissatisfaction. “All the nuance is missing. What happened?” Arnie jerked his head back momentarily, evidently surprised by her reaction. “My voice sounds small and thin,” she continued. “I didn’t sing it this way.”
Arnie’s demeanor changed abruptly. His voice thundered in the small room. “I told him it was dumb. Did he listen?”
“Are you saying this was Steve’s idea?”
“It sounded good last time; he must’ve messed with it after I left.”
“You guys way overused the editing tools. Now I sound like a robot.”
“It was a bad idea to let Steve touch it.”
“Can it be restored? This concerns me.”
“We can do another mix. You got time?”
Heather absolutely would make time. The plan was to send previews to local radio stations within a week, and there was no way she’d allow the song to be released in its current form. After stepping outside momentarily to cancel a hair appointment and delay the band rehearsal, she returned to find Arnie tweaking controls on the console.
“Reset everything to zero for starters.” The next playthrough was an immediate improvement. At one point, she paused the playback to emphasize her complaint. “See, I didn’t sing this part flat because I’m clueless. I intended this inflection.” They ran through the song line by line under her guidance, tweaking settings until Heather was satisfied. Gone were most of the impeccable timings and the precise pitches. Some areas were enhanced to disguise the worst mistakes of the amateur members or to correct notes when they rubbed awkwardly against guitar chords, for example. The remaining changes were subtle and by necessity. The time-consuming exercise restored the spirit of the performance. She knew this level of control would have never been possible at 37-G. Heather wanted to take advantage of it while she could.
“I’m surprised Steve went for this,” she said when the work was finished. “We discussed our mixing options days ago.”
“He don’t understand nothing. He’s not meant for this stuff.”
A knot developed in Heather’s stomach. “What do you mean?”
“His instincts are all wrong. Plus, he quits too easily and is unreliable.”
These statements surprised Heather. She hadn’t known Steve long but struggled to recall any incident where he behaved as Arnie described. “He’s the producer. You have to work with him.”
“The music biz needs a steady hand. You know that. I bet you saw rough times as a trainee.”
Heather’s pulse raced. Arnie couldn’t possibly know what happened in Korea, could he? The way he said it made her wonder. Had she let some sensitive information slip? She studied his face. No, she decided. He had to be guessing. “What do you mean by that, exactly?”
“Someone living with regrets might overcompensate later.”
Her jaw dropped. “Where would you get that idea?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Try me.” She folded her arms across her chest, debating how much further she wanted this conversation to continue.
19
DROOPING FLOWERS
The eagerly awaited call came shortly after Grace’s last class on Tuesday.
“I’ll do it” were the only words spoken. Danya was not one for verbosity.
“Oh, that’s great,” Grace responded.
“But here are my conditions. I’m doing this as a favor for Vanessa. She’s been there for me.”
“Got it.”
“This is my one and only freebie. From now on, all my services will be charged at the full professional rate.”
“Understood.”
“And in lieu of payment, I want an end credit.”
“That, I can’t promise. Steve’s funding the project for his class.”
“Well, if you really want me, you’ll find a way.”
This caveat did not go over well with Steve. When Grace informed him of the condition later that evening, he responded, “No way.”
“Steve, it’s her one demand. And I don’t think it’s unreasonable.”
“Music videos don’t have credits.”
“K-Pop videos often do.”
Deep silence came from Steve’s end. “If I allow that, the next thing you know, everyone’s gonna want a credit.”
“Is that so bad? It’s not like any of us are getting rich off this. The alternative is a substandard dance. You said so yourself how important it is.”
“Well, I don’t like this one bit. However, I’ll draw the line at crediting the honeywagon driver.”
“We’ve never used a honeywagon. We can barely afford honey.”
“I sincerely hope you meant that as a joke.”
* * *
Slowly but surely, the girls teased out of Grace a story related to their final days at 37-G Entertainment. She admittedly had brought the problem upon herself. Grace had a habit of referring back to lessons learned there. The frequent mentions were enough to stoke curiosity amongst her bandmates.
During one of Heather’s rehearsal absences, Erin cautiously asked, “What was it like at 37-G before Glimmer Blue?”
Grace remained adamant about maintaining Heather’s privacy. “I told you I wasn’t gonna go there.”
“Tell us what you can,” objected Vanessa. “You were part of it too. What’s your story.”
They had a good point. Grace knew that distrust issues would arise if their curiosity remained unsated for long. Continuing to withhold her story risked doing more harm than good. “Well, as you can imagine, the final weeks before a debut can be intense,” she said. “Especially when it came to a high-profile group like Glimmer Blue.” Once more, Grace found her thoughts racing back to the past.
Three of Grace’s fellow trainees stood on the sidewalk in the passenger loading area outside Seoul’s KBS studio. The 12-seater van was already full.
“Get another van,” team leader Da-som instructed.
“They left already,” a member of the isolated trio protested. “This is the last one.”
“We have no more room.”
Grace evaluated the situation. “It’ll be tight,” she countermanded, “but if we squish together, they should fit.” Da-som looked miffed at being overruled but allowed the strays to enter with no better alternative. After much chaos and good-natured ribbing, the occupants finally settled in for the ride home.
37-G had treated the entire class of trainees to a taping of the network’s latest music program. In what marked a rare break from their monotonous routine, the girls were flush with excitement from the adventure and chatted ceaselessly. Besides seeing Stray Kids perform in person, they witnessed a live television production, marking a first for most. Their producer justified the excursion as a learning experience, and it was hard to argue with the results. Grace had taken copious mental notes for later inquiry.
One long-haired girl sitting in the front seat shared an anecdote about touching singer Lino as he walked by. This prompted a general debate over the standards of professionalism trainees were expected to adhere to, even if they were not yet technically part of the industry. Grace listened intently for a while but soon lost interest. Enjoying a window seat, she preferred to watch the passing streetscape instead. The rhythmic purr of tires on the pavement made her drowsy. The sudden application of brakes jolted her back to consciousness.
Rose, an ordinarily quiet girl sitting in the adjacent seat, used this opportunity to engage in conversation. “Exciting news today, huh?”
Grace wasn’t sure she followed. Shaking off her drowsiness, she said, “You mean the taping?”
“You don’t know?” Rose appeared ecstatic at the opportunity to spread juicy gossip. “Baram overheard two executives talking on break. The rumors are true. They’re debuting the new girl group next year. Can you believe it?”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Who’s in it?”
“They haven’t decided yet,” interjected Eui from two seats away.
“From here on out, all evaluations will be life or death,” said Rose.
“We’re sure about one of them, anyway,” Eui added with a hint of resentment.
“Who?” asked Grace.
“C’mon. You’re her friend.”
“You mean Heather? I’m sure we all have a chance.”
“Puh-leeze. Little Miss Perfect’s a sure thing. They love her. Don’t be coy. I’m sure she’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Yeah, you’re the best rapper here,” said Rose. “They have to pick you.”
The conversation grew too tantalizing for eavesdroppers to ignore for long. Soon, most of those seated in the rear benches offered assessments on which trainees had the best chance of making the group. Conveniently, they reserved their boldest opinions for those riding in other vans. Grace wondered if their viewpoints would hold if the seating situation were different. Full lineups were proposed, with each trainee naming five to nine candidates they felt would comprise the best overall group. Heather’s status was abundantly clear. She made every list.
After a late dinner, most trainees settled in to finish their assigned homework for the next day. Grace went to pay Heather a visit, but her roommates said she returned to the agency for practice. Despite being exhausted, Grace couldn’t wait until morning. Thankfully, the building was only three blocks away. She made the short trek in the rain.
The front door was locked tight. A friendly night watchman recognized her face and allowed access. All rooms on the third floor were dark except for Studio C. An EDM track was playing from within. Grace cracked the door open and peered inside.
Most of the lights in the sleekly-designed, wood-paneled studio were dark. The few that remained on were sufficient for the room’s sole occupant. Heather practiced her dance performance, facing the one mirrored wall in the studio that didn’t provide a direct view of the doorway. The music was loud enough to mask Grace’s entry. She sat on the floor unobserved and waited for the routine to end a minute later.
“Looking good,” Grace said at its conclusion.
Heather nearly jumped from her skin. “You scared the life out of me!” she exclaimed, holding her heart. Before she could say anything more, the looped music track began repeating.
“How long will you train tonight?” shouted Grace over the music.
“Why would I need one?”
“Need what?”
“It’s five minutes away.”
“What is?”
“The dorm.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“I don’t need a train,” Heather said louder.
