Debut, p.23
Debut, page 23
“You want to book us on tour?” asked Heather skeptically.
“It’s all set. You’ll open for Dim Fandango. Just give the word.”
“What’s Dim Fandango?” asked Grace.
“A new Paisley Underground act. Indie too. Five guys. Could be fun.” He winked.
“Ha, I bet,” Heather smirked. “How much does this tour pay?”
“Zero,” he responded.
“You really know how to sell your ideas, Arnie,” said Grace.
“And pay your own expenses. But merch sales are yours to keep.”
“We have no merch.”
“Time to change that.” Sensing their hesitation, he added, “The exposure will be good.”
“We’re broke, Arnie.”
“You gotta start somewhere. It’s a three-week tour. Sixteen cities. Starts in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” protested Heather. “But we’re filming the video then.”
“This tour’s more important.”
“What about Steve?”
“To hell with Steve. I warned you before. No offense, but that video ain’t winnin’ nothin’.”
“But we’ve been working our asses off to perfect the choreography.”
“Use it on tour. No loss there.”
After months of having too few options, suddenly, Made in Heaven had too many. And given the conflict between their two main collaborators, neither choice came pain-free.
21
LEAVES UNTRODDEN BLACK
Finally, the time had arrived to add the final piece of the puzzle. Steve was about to get his first glimpse of the choreography for “Feel the Heat.” Much of his class grade (and subsequent chances of winning the festival prize) would depend on what he’d see in the next few minutes. While he enjoyed complete freedom in how the video would be shot and edited, the primary focus would be the performance. He knew the song was good, but the choreography was out of his hands. Dance was something he enjoyed watching but had no idea how to actually create.
Steve knew he was placing great trust in the girls holding up their end of the bargain. They needed to produce an outcome impressive enough to carry the video. Even top-quality cinematography and editing would be wasted if the underlying content was uninteresting or amateurish. Over the past semester and a half, he recognized that Heather’s passion for music matched his own for cinema. This eased his mind somewhat. He hoped by the time the presentation was over, he could stop worrying and start planning the best way to capture it on film. His greatest fear was having to tell the truth about a project that wouldn’t work and possibly scrap it altogether.
“Danya couldn’t stay,” reported Vanessa the moment Steve walked into the dance studio. “She said you better not think about changing a single thing anyway.”
“We’ll see,” Steve responded. “Let’s hope I won’t have to.” Stressed from constant pre-production headaches, he wasn’t ready to start arguing with anyone. While leaning against the mirrored wall, Steve steeled himself for the worst while hoping for the best. The seven performers took positions in a single line across the middle of the room, standing arm’s length apart.
As the music played, the group broke into the first of what was conceived as an ever-shifting series of patterns. Their goal was impactful choreography without strenuous movements that would detract from singing, which they intended to do live. The results Steve witnessed achieved precisely this. The choreography focused less on broad, showy, athletic, and improvised gestures in favor of small, concise details. These were carefully coordinated to be done in unison or as individual parts of an overall tableau.
The root formation was the entire group in a delta, with the three tallest dancers, Mindy, June, and Vanessa, taking the three top spots front and center. In contrast, the shortest ones, Erin and Heather, formed the ends further back, creating a forced perspective illusion. A series of subsidiary patterns emerged from this core set. Some were symmetrical, while others momentarily exploited the odd numbers to isolate one, two, or three dancers from the leading group. Each member would typically occupy the center when it was their turn to sing. Regularly, the pattern reset.
The quick pace provided just enough time for one or more dance movements before drifting to the next. Shifts were expertly planned. A step or two was all it took to completely alter the look of the formation. The ever-changing visual impact appeared effortless. One mistimed move would spell disaster, but each change was handled flawlessly. Synchronization between dancers was top-notch. Steve concluded that the practice time needed to master it all must’ve been staggering.
Three and a half minutes later, he had his answer. All told, the results were excellent. The gracefulness of the dance beautifully complemented the rhythmic emphasis of the song. His concerns dissolved instantly. The girls had given him a lot to work with.
After the music stopped, the dancers remained frozen in final positions for several seconds. Steve said nothing but dropped his head and covered his eyes with his hands. This reaction prompted an alarmed response. The clattering of seven pairs of heels on wood signaled their approach as they encircled him. “What’s wrong with it?” demanded an alarmed Vanessa.
Realizing that his body language was sending the wrong message, Steve raised his head and addressed the group standing before him. “What’s wrong with it?” he repeated. “That’s the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
* * *
Heather found it challenging to present the dance without mentioning the possibility of a tour to Steve. There had been no time for the band to discuss their dilemma beforehand. Once their director left the studio, Grace called for a dialogue. A decision of this magnitude required group consensus.
“It seems obvious by now that Steve and Arnie are never gonna get along,” said Mindy. “They’re like oil and water, those two.”
“We’re at a crossroads,” said Grace. “We obviously can’t be in two places at once. We have to choose. Video or tour? Keep in mind that whoever we turn down will likely quit. From my personal viewpoint, sure, Arnie’s been a problematic manager at best.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Vanessa.
“But he does make my job easier. Before, I was doing everything,” continued Grace.
“We can always help,” offered Erin.
“That’s what you all said last time, but everything falls to me in the end.”
“And it’s not like Steve hasn’t caused us problems,” noted Mindy. “We’re resubmitting a new video because of his screw-up. But remember, our goal all along has been to enter the Soundscape Showdown. We have two of the four requirements. But we’re still missing radio airplay and gigs. This tour would check one more box off that list.”
“I vote video,” said Sun-hee. “I can’t miss three weeks of school for a tour.”
“Personally, we worked so hard on the dance, I want to see it on film,” said Vanessa.
“For the video to make any money, we need to win the prize, though,” said Mindy. “What are the odds of that?”
Erin looked like her usual nervous self. “This tour could be expensive, and the merchandise is no sure thing. And what if the Dim Fandango fans hate us? What then? Imagine going from city to city being booed the whole time.”
“So, are you voting video?” asked Grace. Erin indicated her preference with a nod. “Okay, June. Your turn.”
June acted sheepish. Only with considerable prodding did she state her preference. “Travel sounds fun.”
“Alright, chalk another one up for the tour,” said Grace. “That makes it three to three. Dead even.”
And so it came down to Heather’s tiebreaker. From a career perspective, both options had their merits. Mindy’s view was perhaps the most forward-looking, and she made a good point about the Showdown. But more people would potentially view a music video over time than would ever see Made in Heaven on a Dim Fandango tour. However, Heather relied more on intuition than reason when it came to big decisions like this. True, Arnie and Steve had both made crucial errors. But in her view, honor mattered. She had personally promised Steve a video. Leaving him in the lurch at this stage would represent an epic betrayal. He would have no chance to recover in time to produce a project for his class assignment, never mind the film festival. Whatever other considerations were in play, personal integrity mattered most.
Heather was present when the phone call was made. Despite Grace leaving the door open for Arnie to continue as their manager, he took the decision personally. Heather winced as Arnie’s rage was audible from afar. Grace bravely faced his tirade for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, he resigned, causing Grace to sigh when the call ended. Once again, they were managerless.
* * *
The caravan to Arizona left at dawn on Good Friday before Easter. Traffic was heavy. The vehicles quickly became separated. Opting to ride in Steve’s car instead of the passenger van seemed like a good idea at the time. Sun-hee now regretted it. The brief sense of adventure she felt at going on a road trip evaporated in less than two hours. The journey to Scottsdale was much longer than the last trip they took. The interminable string of suburbs east of L.A. was a slog to transit through. A thermometer on the Redlands Bank sign indicated a temperature of 99 degrees. She steeled herself. It was only 10:00 a.m. They had hours left to go and still hadn’t entered the hottest part of the desert.
Steve cracked open the windows of his 1973 Gran Torino Sport to allow for better circulation. This immediately produced a maelstrom inside the vehicle. Sun-hee shut off her streaming playlist midway through NCT U’s “Baby Don’t Stop.” There was little point in continuing when she couldn’t hear a thing. Steve’s past-its-prime muscle car retained a sporty look despite its faded blue metallic paint. However, the former brawn it once possessed had atrophied in the throes of infirmity. Among the car’s many deficiencies was an air conditioner that blew only warm air. The alternative to this meager remedy for heat stroke was suffocation.
As they snaked their way through the long, narrow valleys of the Inland Empire, trees became sparser and smaller. Two giant dinosaur sculptures rose alongside the freeway, roughly marking the entrance to the desert proper. The first wind turbines appeared soon after that. Reaching hundreds of feet in the air, their giant blades turned lazily. Sun-hee initially counted them to pass the time but quickly gave up once they appeared in multitudes. Vanessa and Heather had the right idea by opting to sleep through the experience. Sun-hee grabbed a pillow and stretched her legs. For its many flaws, Steve’s car did have an expansive and comfortable rear seat, at least. Fifteen minutes went by. Perhaps sleep would set in if she pretended long enough.
No chance. By the time they reached the journey’s halfway point, the three girls were wide awake and fanning themselves in a futile effort to keep cool.
“I need to get gas at the next exit. If you’re hungry, we can grab a bite to eat,” offered Steve. “It’s covered in the budget.”
“You stop, or we riot,” demanded Vanessa.
“I’ll get some ice water too. We need to stay hydrated.” The nameless rest stop Steve pulled into featured four lonely buildings: a combination gas station/convenience store, a diner, an abandoned motel, and a boarded-up radiator shop. “What’ll it be?”
“The convenience store should be fine,” said Heather.
“Diner sounds better,” said Vanessa.
“I wouldn’t mind leaving this car for a while. The diner it is.” Steve dropped them off at Dale’s Grillorama and proceeded to the gas station. “I’ll be back soon.”
The chilled air inside the restaurant was exhilarating after the sweltering automobile. A young, gangly teen with curly black hair greeted them with a meager smile and escorted them to a booth at the front window.
“Not there, Mark,” an unseen woman’s brusque voice said from the kitchen grill area. The young man grimaced nervously. He led them to an adjacent booth in a dark corner.
Heather surveyed the dining room. There were few customers. “Why can’t we sit there?” she asked.
The busser shrugged apprehensively. “It might be broke or something. I’ll get your water.”
“Can you bring four? We have a friend coming.”
They waited for menus. The woman in the kitchen could be heard reprimanding the boy, though for reasons unclear. The booth’s red Naugahyde upholstery was ripped in several places. Vanessa pulled a bit of stuffing from one of the holes and played with it. Faux wood paneling from the 1970s and dusty plastic flower arrangements dominated the décor.
“What’s with the atmosphere in here?” asked Vanessa.
In a playful mood, Heather launched into an impromptu imitation of a museum tour guide. “I’ll have you know, Ness, people come from miles around to take in this signature artwork.” She pointed at the wall over their booth. “Behold, a faux wagon wheel strewn with barbed wire for your viewing pleasure.” Shifting her gaze to another wall, she said, “Or if prints are more your style, here we have John Wayne’s disembodied head in a cowboy hat floating above a covered wagon for no apparent reason.” Her friends laughed at the art critique.
“We shouldn’t overeat right before the video,” said Sun-hee, “but if I don’t get something soon, I’ll faint.”
“I wish they’d bring menus,” said Vanessa. “It’s not like they’re busy.”
“This is probably the height of the lunch rush in this town,” said Heather.
Finally, a pear-shaped woman approached, her sandy brown hair piled carelessly into a disheveled top knot. With a scowl, 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.”
The girls silently stared at each other, daring anyone to laugh first. Sun-hee was mildly surprised at Vanessa’s silence but chalked it up to shocked disbelief. When the woman returned to the kitchen, Ness finally spoke. “I’m debating whether to be more offended by the baby talk or the assumption that all Asians are part of one monoculture?”
“Don’t be a snowflake,” scolded Heather sarcastically.
“Do people who use snowflake as an insult realize the irony?” Vanessa asked rhetorically. “Do they know it came from “Fight Club,” a satire written by a gay man about how male fragility causes men to destroy themselves, resent society, and radicalize?”
Steve rejoined them just as she finished. “Ah, toxic masculinity. My favorite subject.”
“How did you turn out so normal?” asked Heather.
“Relatively speaking,” added Vanessa.
Steve stared at Ness but ignored the comment. “I tried to hang out with so-called ‘regular guys’ for the longest time, but the conformity-masked-as-rebellion bullshit got old quick. Plus, the notion that fear and anger are the only acceptable emotions for men is patently repulsive. And can anyone explain to me why feminine traits are supposedly less valuable than masculine ones?”
Before they could answer any of these questions, the top-knot woman returned to take orders. This time, her mood seemed genuinely warm and welcoming, the polar opposite of earlier. She was especially responsive to Steve.
“She’s nice,” he said once she was out of earshot. The girls simultaneously burst into laughter. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Remember to invite him along whenever we want to enjoy the perks of privilege,” said Vanessa to the other girls.
The taquitos and chicken strips they ordered were merely serviceable but appreciated under the circumstances. A middle-aged, long-haired guy in a plaid flannel shirt entered the restaurant just as they finished the meal. He sat in the booth by the window, unmolested by staff.
“Amazing how quickly that booth got fixed,” said Vanessa under her breath.
As they waited for their bill to arrive, the guy in flannel addressed them. “You musicians?” he asked. Their looks of surprise must’ve been evident, for he further explained himself. “I saw your Korg bag in the car outside.” He introduced himself as Matt and said he once toured with a grunge rock act in the 90s. He seemed friendly and interesting, so they invited him to pull up a chair. Most of the next half hour was spent conversing about band life.
Sun-hee was most intrigued by Matt’s answer to one question. “How did it feel to sign your first record contract?”
“At first, it was great. I soon came to hate it.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you lose control,” Matt warned. “You’ll sign away your rights for peanuts. Then they’ll bring in some ‘top guys’ (he emphasized this with air quotes) to loan you a hit because they’ll never like your stuff enough. They’ll pick your chord progressions and hire studio musicians to record them. Your job is to tour on that record. So, you end up doing the legwork on the road. Meanwhile, they’re collecting a hefty cut on everything that comes in. In the process, you’ll hopefully make enough to pay them back for the recording costs. Then, if you want to remain relevant, you have to repeat that cycle every few years. It was no life for me. No thanks. More power to ya if it works out, though.”
22
THE SACRIFICE
Full from the restaurant meal, Heather managed to nap a bit in the car despite the temperature. She woke as they were passing through a tunnel in downtown Phoenix. Upon arrival in Tempe, Steve helped the cast settle into his parents’ house before leaving with Dalton, his cinematographer friend, to do some preparatory work on the set. Stocked with sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets, the girls counted on a good old-fashioned slumber party.
Since recent rehearsals had gone so well, and seeing how there was scant space available to practice anyway, Grace granted them the night off. Armed with directions from Steve’s father (who seemed wholly enamored with his unexpected guests), they set off on an evening walking tour of the university town. After dinner at a Mill Avenue Thai restaurant, they found themselves at Tempe Beach Park admiring the desert’s imposing night sky and its myriad stars reflected on the water.
