Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  The other six members regained their composure and vocally articulated their support for Heather. Sun-hee touched her shoulder in solidarity, while Grace offered a tissue from her purse to dry her eyes. Steve admired the ease with which Heather turned the tables on Phil. While representing only one vote, hers carried veto power. Without Heather, there'd be no Made in Heaven, and thus no project.

  "Fine. Dig your own grave." Phil nabbed his walking stick and stepped off the stage. Steve knew better than to expect him to stoop to the level of begging. Instead, like a wounded animal, he went on the attack as he made his way towards the exit, "Have fun with those Griffith Park concerts. Pathway to fame and fortune there." His comment provoked derisive laughter from the entourage, who followed him out. Since they had to pass his seat to leave the stage, Steve made sure to look each one of his former friends in the eyes. A few glared defiantly back, but most avoided eye contact altogether. He wondered why they had willingly accepted Phil's accusation at face value.

  Heather did not escape Phil's wrath. Before he made it halfway through the auditorium, he held his walking stick in the air, thus signaling his followers to stop. The pause was used to lash out at Heather verbally. "I had you figured as being smarter than that. They must've forgot to teach you how to be successful at that idol school." More laughter erupted. Phil had an ignoble smile on his face as he bellowed his parting shot. "Oh, by the way, Mi-ok sends her best regards."

  In the end, only the seven members of Made in Heaven remained by his side. He found it difficult to believe that only a few months earlier they'd been complete strangers to him.

  Heather had a vacant look on her face. "How does he know Mi-ok?"

  Grace, too, looked distraught. "I didn't tell him."

  "Who's Mi-ok?" Steve asked.

  Heather didn't answer, but Grace did. "That's a long story."

  Steve dropped it. He knew and respected that Heather had secrets, but the curiosity ate at him. As they exited, Steve put an arm around her shoulder as a way of acknowledging her kindness. "To be honest with you," he whispered, "I'm not sure I would have made the same choice if I were you."

  "But you're not me," she responded. "At the end of the day, I have to live with myself."

  * * *

  "I'm not going, Steve."

  Casey's stance was the latest major blow he had received in the past two weeks, and it was coming right before the biggest week of his life. He looked at her incredulously.

  "Did I seriously hear you say what I think you said?"

  "Don't play the drama queen again, Steve. I'm staying in L.A. I won't go on your shoot. You'll just have to deal with it."

  "We've been planning this for weeks. Why did you wait until the now to tell me?"

  "Something came up, and I don't want to miss it. You don't need me, anyway."

  "What do you mean, I don't need you? You're my script supervisor."

  "Who cares? Like it isn't obvious you were creating a position to get me to go with you. You don't even have a script. It's a dance."

  "That's a title. I need someone to do continuity. You said you liked doing it. That it stimulates your brain cells."

  "Darrell Stempton is visiting from Geneva to give a lecture this weekend at USC."

  "Who's Darrell Stinton?"

  "Stempton. He's a noted mathematician. That's the problem, Steve. You won't take the time to inquire after my interests, but I'm supposed to drop whatever I'm doing to participate in yours. Well, not this time. He's here to present information on a new method for computing spectral measures of infinite-dimensional normal operators, and I want to be there."

  "Infinite normal specters? Oh well, then, you better get in line right now. I'm sure that's gonna sell out fast."

  "Let me translate it into simpleton for you. It's bleeding-edge math stuff."

  "I was joking. You don't have to be demeaning."

  She looked regretful. "I'm sorry. I was rude. It's—"

  "Can't you watch a video of the lecture? I was counting on you."

  "By attending in person, I could make connections; advance my career."

  "This is the biggest project I've ever done. I've already had to replace my crew, and now you spring this on me? For networking?"

  "You're seriously comparing a student film to research that could positively impact diverse fields of science and math?"

  "What's wrong with you? You used to be my biggest supporter. We used to dream of attending Cannes together. The Academy Awards."

  "I have bigger dreams these days, Steve. Anyway, I'm sure you could get that Korean…whore of yours to keep you company."

  He found her comment infuriating. "Oh, so that's it. You're jealous, aren't you? She's not a whore, as you so crudely put it; she's a cast member. But I want you there too."

  "Don't play dumb, Steve. I've seen the way you look at her. And we both know the rumors."

  "What rumors? She doesn't even date."

  "Ha! That's not what I've heard. Besides, I know exactly what to expect. You'll be running around frantically stomping out fires all day, getting upset at each insignificant problem. By wrap time, you'll be too tired to do anything but fall asleep. The entire day we'll have said ten words to each other. No thanks. I'm done."

  "What are you saying? What does 'I'm done' mean?"

  "I don't know. Let's talk afterward. I need time to think."

  * * *

  Steve drove slowly, searching for the address Heather provided. The apartments in this part of Playa del Rey were decades old. The building names and street numbers had long since been obscured by overgrown vegetation or faded paint. Heather described her residence as a pink building on the corner. He spotted a promising possibility, a nondescript, 50s-era complex of 10 units. Unit 3 was tucked into the far corner of the courtyard, beneath an open staircase to the second level. He knocked.

  Heather answered the door looking exasperated. "Hi Steve, come in. Sorry, I'm getting my stuff together. Have a seat. I'll get you some iced tea."

  "Nah, I'm good. We should be leaving soon, anyway."

  "Well, help me finish it, at least. It'll spoil. My roommate doesn't drink it."

  "Remember, we have to get Sun-hee and Vanessa too."

  "I'll be but a moment." She fetched a plastic tumbler full of tea and placed it on the table.

  Steve took a sip. "That's tasty. What's in it?"

  "Cinnamon, ginger, and honey. My mom used to make it." Heather went into her bedroom. He could hear bags being zipped. Steve studied a framed poster of Roman Holiday hanging on the wall. An orange and white tabby rubbed against his leg, begging for attention. He scratched under its neck, and the cat purred in response. Heather walked into the room with a stuffed plastic H Mart bag. She assessed Steve and his newfound friend. "I see you two are bonding."

  "Yeah, what's his—her name?" he asked before taking another sip of tea.

  "His name is Chairman Meow."

  Steve choked in a fit of laughter, tea entering his nose. Fortunately, he was able to swallow it first without spitting all over Heather's living room. "Oh my god. Hilarious," he chortled as he tilted his head towards the ceiling. "I love it."

  Heather looked at him, coldly. She was offended. Surprised by her reaction, Steve returned to an upright position, and wiped the smile off his face, unsure of how to repair the situation. "I mean, I wasn't expecting that is all," he stammered.

  "I don't understand why people laugh at his name," she said sadly. "Are you making fun of him?"

  He felt crappy. It wasn't his intention to hurt Heather's feelings. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. You have to admit, though, that's pretty original." He knew some people were ultra-sensitive when it came to their pets, and he vowed to tread more carefully.

  "It's no laughing matter," she said. "I'll have you know I have an affinity for Asian dictators."

  Steve studied her. She was dead serious. He remained speechless.

  "In fact, I even named my dog in Korea after one."
He'd never seen this side of Heather before. "We called him Kim Jong Woof," she continued flatly.

  It took every ounce of self-control for Steve to keep a straight face. This time he was determined not to aggravate the situation. He stared straight ahead, concentrating fiercely on the movie poster to get his mind off the conversation. Then, noticing a devilish twinkle in Heather's eye, he took a deep breath. "Ah, you're pulling my leg, aren't you?" he scolded.

  "Of course, I am, Steve," she said, placing her H Mart bag on a chair near the suitcase. "Good lord, you must think I'm crazy."

  Steve relaxed. "Well, the thought did cross my mind."

  "That is my cat's name, though. After all, he does hold an iron grip on this household and just so happens to meow a lot." Heather struggled with the bulkiness of her luggage.

  "Oh, let me help you with that."

  "Thanks," she said. "I know it's excessive, but I want to be ready for any possibility." Steve grabbed the suitcase, allowing Heather to better handle the H Mart bag and another large shoulder bag. "Has Casey been waiting in the car this whole time?" she asked. "She could have come in."

  Steve grimaced. "She's not going."

  Heather looked surprised. "Oh, is anything wrong?"

  "Who knows? Yeah, but forget it."

  36

  Sun-hee

  The brief sense of adventure Sun-hee felt evaporated in less than two hours. Their journey through an interminable string of suburbs east of L.A. had become a slog. When she saw the thermometer on the Redlands Bank sign indicating a temperature of 92 degrees, she steeled herself. It was 10:00 a.m. They had hours left to go.

  Steve cracked open the windows of his 1973 Gran Torino Sport to allow for better circulation. The resulting maelstrom made conversation inside the vehicle a challenge. While the muscle car retained a sporty look, despite faded blue paint, its former brawn had atrophied in the throes of infirmity. Among its many deficiencies was an air conditioner that blew warm air. The alternative to this meager remedy for heat stroke was suffocation.

  The nearby mountains were obscured by smog for protracted stretches, offering mere hints of their grandeur. The sound of the rushing wind smothered the radio, but Sun-hee recognized Snail Mail's "Heat Wave" playing. At least the DJ had a sense of humor, she thought to herself.

  As they continued snaking their way through the long, narrow valleys of the Inland Empire, the trees became sparser and smaller. Two giant dinosaur sculptures alongside the freeway roughly marked the entrance to the desert. The whimsical sight made Sun-hee chuckle. The first windmill appeared shortly thereafter. Soon another followed. Reaching hundreds of feet in the air, their giant blades turning lazily. To pass the time, she initially counted them, but before long the towers dotted the landscape in such multitudes, it became hopeless.

  Vanessa had the right idea by opting to sleep through the experience. Sun-hee sought to emulate her friend by grabbing a pillow and stretching her legs. For its many flaws, Steve's car did have an expansive and comfortable rear seat. Fifteen minutes went by. Sun-hee remained miserable but hoped that sleep would set in if she pretended long enough.

  "Are they awake?" asked Steve, speaking over the wind.

  "Out cold," Heather responded, looking over her shoulder. "We rehearsed into the early morning. I don't blame them."

  "I'll save the music for another time." He turned off the radio. Sun-hee's eyes remained closed as they spoke, though she listened intently. "Vanessa mentioned her kids. Is she a mom?"

  Heather laughed. "No, not at all. She means the kids she teaches."

  "She's a teacher?"

  "A dance teacher for at-risk youth in Garden Grove."

  Steve gasped. "Vanessa?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Our Vanessa? Would never imagine."

  "They're both full of surprises."

  "Go on." Naturally, Sun-hee was all ears by this point.

  "You have Sun-hee to thank for your new crew, you know? She organized the effort to find replacements."

  "I was wondering how so many people mysteriously obtained my number all at once. Why didn't she mention it?"

  "She avoids the limelight. Most people don't even know she's a classically-trained pianist, for example. Started playing when she was four."

  "Why wasn't she chosen for a debut?"

  "She's a jill-of-all-trades while producers tend to prefer specialists. In our case, though, she's a true asset."

  Five minutes passed in silence. Sun-hee kept her eyes closed but basked in the glow of the positive feedback. Her mind raced. Sleep was evasive. She was on the verge of giving up entirely when Heather continued speaking. "Mindy told me what happened at the studio."

  A long pause. "My former best friend. For what reason? I still don't get it."

  "Phil's a narcissist. I suspected him the moment I met him."

  Steve pondered her observation. "I didn't do anything, though."

  "People like him act high-and-mighty, but in fact, they're deeply insecure. They need constant admiration, even if it's not deserved."

  "What's that got to do with me?"

  "Take it as a compliment. You became successful in a way he admired. Your progress threatened him."

  "He turned everyone against me. Except for you guys."

  "Acting friendly to gain your trust. That's the narcissist's oldest trick. Once they know your vulnerabilities, they can eliminate your emotional support at the time of their choosing."

  "How do you know so much about this?"

  "I've seen things. Let's leave it at that."

  "I bet."

  "You're better off in the long run. Would you rather have a few friends you can trust or a whole bunch you can't?"

  Vanessa and Sun-hee were wide awake. They fanned 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."

  "I'm starving," said Sun-hee.

  "You stop, or we mutiny," demanded Vanessa.

  "I'll get some ice water too. We need to stay hydrated." The nameless rest stop Steve pulled into featured four buildings: a gas station/convenience store, a diner, a drive-thru fast-food restaurant, and a boarded-up repair shop. "What'll it be?"

  "The convenience store should be fine," said Heather.

  "Are you sure?"

  "The diner sounds good," said Vanessa.

  "I could go for a sandwich," added Sun-hee.

  "I wouldn't mind leaving this car for a while. The diner it is." He dropped them off at Dale's Grillorama and proceeded to the gas station. "I'll join you in a minute."

  The icy air inside was exhilarating after the sweltering automobile. A young, gangly white teen with curly black hair greeted them with an eager 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 another booth in a dark corner.

  Heather surveyed the dining room. They were the only customers. "Why can't we sit there?" she asked.

  "I don't know," he said apprehensively. "It might be broke or something. I'll get your water."

  "Can you bring four? We have a friend joining us."

  They waited for menus. The woman in the kitchen could be heard reprimanding Mark, though they weren't sure why. 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.

  Heather was in a playful mood. "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 to your taste, 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 impromptu art critique.

  "We shouldn't eat much 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."

  "It's too early for lunch, I suppose," said Heather.