Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  At the dorm entrance, the girls found a small bus waiting for them. Any nerves they experienced were dwarfed by the overwhelming sense of excitement.

  "Be sure to show these VIPs your appreciation," said Manager Chi-won, during the ride. "They're financing your debut."

  "How many will be picked?" asked Da-som.

  Chi-won looked sheepish. "Don't put me on the spot."

  "Come on, we won't tell anyone," Grace said. Her entreaty was joined by a chorus of others who piled on the pressure.

  "I'm told they're considering six," he said, relenting.

  Minjung whistled. "Those odds are worse than I thought."

  "You didn't hear any of this from me, by the way."

  Amethyst was one of Seoul's most exclusive restaurants. None of the trainees had ever been there before, as it was far beyond their financial means. The restaurant was the kind of place catering to a crowd more familiar with signing multi-billion-dollar business deals than paying monthly mortgages. Rumors also abounded that arrangements of a more clandestine nature occasionally transpired there. As a result, the parade of elegantly dressed young women was met by disapproving stares as they passed through the crowded dining room. Heather felt embarrassed, both for herself and her colleagues. If these people knew the actual reason for their visit, she thought, they wouldn't be judgmental.

  Tucked away at the end of a long corridor, a heavy wooden door opened onto a richly-decorated chamber. Water cascaded over an imposing granite face comprising one entire wall. At its base was a pool stretching around the four edges of the floor. The effect of the unique arrangement was akin to dining on a floating platform. Around an impressive oak table sat seven men. They wore finely tailored suits, though some had removed coats. Ages ranged from the early 40s to the late 60s. Heavy cigar smoke filled the air. The smell of alcohol was pungent. Dinner service had concluded, though banchan of watercress namul and oi muchim were being served as the trainees entered.

  It soon became evident the girls were expected to tend to the VIPs' needs. This consisted of pouring drinks, laughing at terrible jokes, and making these men, two or three times their own age, feel desirable. Pulling off this feat required the trainees to draw considerably on their still-developing acting skills. For the most part, they handled themselves with aplomb. None complained if a joke was made at their expense, or if they were touched inappropriately. They understood what was at stake and knew their idol dreams could crash and burn with one negative reaction.

  Before long, Heather was invited to sit by Mr. Lee's side. She could tell he was respected by the way others deferred to him. He acted cordially towards her, inquired after her interests, and avoided improper behavior. Considering what some of her peers endured, she had it easy.

  The night was long, and the bus didn't return home until 2:30 a.m. They felt disillusioned and confused. No further news had emerged regarding the debut date nor the selection process. Despite a late bedtime, trainees were expected to observe their regular class schedule.

  Heather's mind raced with worried speculation throughout the night. Sleep avoided her. Her morning was spent in a daze. She intended to skip lunch to take a nap, but Chi-won intercepted her. He had other plans. "Heather, you're excused from afternoon practice."

  "Did I mess up?"

  "No. Mr. Lee requested you meet at his office. It's regarding the debut. Get dressed. A car is being sent for you."

  "Right now?" Heather was unable to contain herself. Grace, who was standing nearby, overheard the news and insisted on accompanying her. Chi-won granted the request after much needling. Heather had but two dresses refined enough for such a momentous occasion. Since the red one had been used the previous night, she was left with one option, a black, off-the-shoulder, pullover dress. It was more risqué than she would have preferred, but a matching overcoat allowed for some modesty.

  * * *

  "What time is it coming?" asked Grace an hour later.

  "Should be soon," responded Heather, rechecking the clock on the marquee of the bank building across the street.

  "Look." Grace pointed to an approaching raven black town car with opaque, inky windows. It stopped directly in front of them. An impeccably dressed driver emerged, and stiffly walked around the vehicle. Without greeting them, the towering hulk opened the rear passenger door. Heather grinned and entered. Grace attempted to follow but was impeded by the driver's massive outstretched arm.

  "Chi-won said she could come with me," protested Heather.

  "I'm to take you only," the driver said gruffly.

  Heather looked perturbed but relented. "It's okay, Grace. I'm sorry you had to get dressed for no reason."

  "That's not the issue."

  "I'll be fine. Don't worry. We'll talk later." The car door shut unceremoniously. Heather waved and smiled to reassure her friend, but the tinted windows made the gesture irrelevant.

  The town car made its way from Gangnam-gu and pushed into the hills overlooking the district. A serpentine road coiled through the mountains, eventually reaching a secluded, stony-walled compound. Without slowing, the car slipped through iron-jawed gates that opened as if by magic, coming to a stop in an ash-bricked courtyard surrounded by an imposing mansion. Heather peered at a broad staircase leading to a set of ornately girded double doors. Thorny vines enveloped its glass canopy like a generation of pythons. "What is this place?" she asked of the driver when he opened her door.

  "Mr. Lee will see you at his residence," he answered blankly.

  She spotted a woman with soot-colored hair standing in the doorway, waving her arm. Confused over this change in plan, Heather climbed the stairs and approached the woman, stating, "I was supposed to be at Mr. Lee's office."

  "His office is here," she said brusquely. The woman took her coat and handed it off to a lanky, square-jawed male, where it disappeared down a labyrinthine hall. Heather was escorted past a grand staircase, through a short corridor, and into an expansive great room with a stunning view of Seoul stretching to the horizon below. "Oh, wow," she gasped, as the full extent of the panorama became apparent. The lights of the magnificent city were shimmering in the gloaming.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" said a dignified voice from behind.

  Heather faced Mr. Lee, who walked in her direction. He looked a bit younger than she remembered from the night before. The clothes he wore were of the finest quality, that was clear even from where she stood several feet away. The furnishings and décor of the great room looked freshly sprung from an architecture magazine. Not one item was even remotely misplaced or unkempt.

  "I've never seen a house like this before. It's beautiful."

  "I prefer to handle my business dealings in this environment. More gets done this way."

  "That's understandable," said Heather.

  "Please, shall we sit outside? Seoul is preparing a spectacle for us, and we'd be foolish to miss it." A resplendent table had been set under a fairy-laced gazebo near the edge of the terrace with every manner of china plate, silver utensil, and crystal glassware Heather could imagine. The dining area was surrounded by sublimely scented flower and candle arrangements that must have cost a minor fortune to procure. "Dinner will be served soon. I understand you're from the States. Perhaps you'll find some of our offerings to your pleasure?"

  "Um, sure," said Heather, unimpressed with her own inartful response.

  Mr. Lee whispered some instructions to staff before inviting Heather to sit at the table. Unexpectedly, he chose the seat next to hers, rather than sit across the way. Over the next half hour, a variety of piquant appetizers, salads, and beverages were served. Heather enjoyed Korean steak tartare, taro root tacos with shrimp, and Moroccan spiced Wagyu short ribs. The main course was a delicious, wild-caught, and cedar-plank-grilled sockeye from Copper River, Alaska, spiced with the perfect amount of pepper and lemon. As a trainee, Heather would avoid eating some days to keep her weight below the maximum allowed. On this occasion, her usual caution was tossed to the wind. To
morrow she'd squeeze in an extra workout, she decided. Today was a rare opportunity for guilt-free indulgence. She deserved it.

  During the meal, Mr. Lee peppered Heather with questions regarding her family background, interests, and goals. Whenever she inquired about Mr. Lee, though, he'd expertly deflect her questions as hardly worth a moment's thought.

  By the time the meal and desserts had been consumed, and more drinks poured, Heather's inhibitions were melting away. She shared unfiltered thoughts concerning the struggles of life as a trainee. At one point of carelessness, she touched Mr. Lee's arm in response to a humorous comment. In return, her host smiled and explained that while he rarely involved himself in the daily running of entertainment ventures, little happened in the industry without his knowledge.

  "You're obviously doing well for yourself," said Heather.

  "I have the connections to open doors, and the finances to keep them open. But enough of me." He took a long sip from his champagne glass. "I see tremendous potential in you, Ms. Moon." His lips parted invitingly as he stared at her.

  She didn't know how to respond, other than with a simple, "Thank you."

  "I'm sure you've heard about our new group. We're aiming for an international release, including heavy promotion in America. Your background and talent are assets. You're a candidate, possibly even for the center." She collected her thoughts but found it difficult to concentrate, considering the deluge of recent stimuli.

  The center. An idol's dream position. Practically handed to her on a silver platter. Or was it? He specifically described her as a candidate. She wondered whether that small bit of news, unhindered by a firm commitment, warranted such an elaborate presentation. "Mr. Lee, excuse me if I sound lightheaded. The drinks may be affecting me. But I must ask, why did you invite me here?"

  He smiled, tenting his fingers under his chin as he spent long minutes assessing her. She caught his prurient gaze roaming down her body, coming to rest on bare legs. She shifted them under the tablecloth. "Are you a baseball fan, by any chance?"

  She had no idea what his question had to do with anything, but decided to humor him. "I don't follow it, but watched my brother play some."

  "But you understand the basics, correct?"

  "More or less."

  "I'm a romantic when it comes to the sacrifice bunt. Are you familiar with the term?"

  Heather thought carefully. "That's when you hit the ball a short way on purpose?"

  "A bunt allows baserunners to advance."

  "Yes, I remember that."

  "I can't recall another sport that employs such a concept. Can you?

  "I've never considered it."

  "Of course not." He offered a bemused grin. "I find bunting intriguing, perhaps because of its meaning, being symbolic of the greater good. Do you see what I mean?"

  Heather shook her head.

  "Sacrifices are not valued like they once were, I'm afraid. The game has become overly analytical. 'Why drop an out?' critics argue ad nauseam. Yet it persists. With the sacrifice, you can earn a base hit, or a well-timed squeeze play, beat over-shifted defenses, or even move runners into scoring position. By paying these small prices, you win games, and series, and championships."

  Heather wrestled with the metaphor, but its meaning continued to elude her. "Excuse me, Mr. Lee, but why are you telling me this?"

  "Have you noticed what separates you from the rest, Ms. Moon? Truly thought about it?"

  Heather pinched her bottom lip as she struggled to find an answer that didn't sound arrogant. "I'm good at singing?"

  "In my field, one has to excel at reading people. Perhaps it's bold of me to say, but I understand you better than you know. Do you believe that?"

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  "You're not like your classmates, I suspect." She sat listening. "They trained because they wanted to become idols. You, on the other hand, you did it because you need to become an idol. For you, there is no alternative. For you, all other endeavors pale in comparison."

  Heather clenched her jaw and awaited his next words.

  "Sure, you might fake your way through a normal life for a while, but eventually, it would consume you. The ongoing dissatisfaction with your mundane existence would ultimately lead to your demise. Am I right?"

  Heather's knee bounced beneath the table. She wondered how someone she'd met less than 24 hours earlier could see right into her. His ultimate point remained a mystery, however. The effects of the alcohol and the hard-hitting nature of Mr. Lee's commentary left her head spinning. Her confusion must have been evident.

  "Like bunting in baseball," he continued, leaning uncomfortably close. "A batter makes a minor sacrifice to gain a more favorable outcome. An insignificant price to be paid for the team." He sat back in his chair, much to her relief. "You care for your group members, right?"

  "I do."

  "Like any good teammate, you want their success to complement yours?"

  She nodded.

  "And if you were called upon to make a small sacrifice for their benefit, you'd do it?"

  "I sacrificed my youth to be a trainee."

  "The price of admission only, I'm afraid." He tsked knowingly. "If you want to be in the big leagues, Ms. Moon, you have to play big-league ball. I'm offering you the chance to put your old life behind you. An opportunity like this comes but once in a lifetime. Consider your position carefully. I had options, but I chose you."

  "What are you saying, Mr. Lee?"

  "We each possess something of value the other wants. I have plenty of ways to make your life more comfortable than you ever imagined. Look around. You know of what I speak. Let's say we both make minor sacrifices for the greater good?"

  Heather mouth fell agape as the full nature of his request became apparent. The pause was awkward.

  "Your hesitancy vexes. Perhaps you're not as driven to succeed as I suspected."

  "Not this way," Heather responded.

  "Don't exaggerate your naivete," he said. "Blushing violets don't dally the way you do. And for what purpose? To preserve your childhood fantasies regarding the pristine life of a pop idol?"

  "This isn't how I imagined it."

  "You won't make it far in this world by clinging to outdated values."

  "Talent. Hard work," she replied. "Those mean something." The awkward way the words tumbled from her mouth sounded unconvincing.

  "Pssh," he scoffed. "Do you have any idea how many talentless, lazy people become stars because they know how to game the system?"

  "I've earned this opportunity. I've done all that's been asked of me, without complaint."

  "And yet I simply ask for one more. There's no such thing as a free lunch, after all."

  "Wouldn't that make me a…?" The thought made her shudder.

  "I prefer the term 'motivated collaborator.'"

  She contemplated the absurdity of his response. "Who's to say I can't succeed on my own?"

  "Perhaps you can. But why bother with the tedium of a long season if you can jump directly to the championship?" As he took a bite of his salmon, his stare dug into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. She suddenly wished she had chosen a less revealing dress. "Also, you'd be wise to consider the following." He turned his fork around, pointing its tongs at her like stabbing knives. "My preference is to further your career, but should I be pushed, I could also hinder it."

  Her jaw hit the floor. "Are you threatening me?"

  "Not at all. Merely stating a fact. Thousands of girls would kill to be in your shoes. Their choice would be an easy one."

  Heather was in stasis. Could this be happening? Could years of sweat and tears be distilled to one life-defining moment? Had her struggle to reach this point been for naught? How would her father react if he ever found out? Despite pouring every ounce of energy and talent into succeeding at this endeavor, he would nevertheless reject her as a failure.

  On the other hand, was the asking price so terrible? Mr. Lee wasn't repulsive, unlike some other
VIPs. She'd be the envy of countless society girls and idol wannabes. Her living arrangements would go from a crowded, disheveled dorm room, lacking even the basics of privacy, to some of the most exceptional living accommodations in the country. Most importantly, the path to her dream life and all its associated rewards would be open to her.

  But that's not who you are, Heather. Besides, if he can indeed turn lazy, talentless nobodies into stars, as he claims, what's that say about you? Would success depend on your merits, or his?

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Lee. Your admiration flatters me, but I must decline your offer. Please understand. I'd prefer to do things the normal way. I believe I can."