HeartBeat (Saranghaeyo Book 2)

HeartBeat

By: Sarah G.

Chapter One

              This was it.

              Leila Dumas was giving herself this one last chance. As she stood with fifty others wearing the same hunger in their eyes, she was determined to give this one last shot everything she had. If they didn't choose her this time, it wouldn't be her fault.

              She’d come to New York a year ago—like so many before her—wanting to dance, to feel that breath-stealing excitement of the stage. Like so many before her, there hadn’t been much luck. In the almost two-hundred and some odd days since she moved here she'd only landed two dancing gigs. One in an off-Broadway flop that only lasted only a week (and in the eyes of the critics who panned it, that weeks had been six days too long), and another in a low-budget music video for some Lil Wayne wannabe that luckily she got to keep most of her clothes on for. She had also been placed so far behind the other half-naked video vixens that it was hard for anyone to even see her.

              Leila loved dancing. Even as an awkward, gawky teenage girl, it was the one skill she had that made people notice her in a positive way. Those moments when she danced she sloughed off her misfit skin and soared higher than the stars. In high school for her junior year theater project, she performed “The Cellblock Tango” from Chicago, a performance that almost didn’t happen due to the risqué nature of some of the movements, even though her costume had been quite tame.

              Even though her family was of modest means, her mother had allowed her to be formally trained in jazz, ballet, and modern. However her first love was, and always would be hip-hop. Leila had always known she wanted to innovate and to entertain through dace. Like most parents of star-struck children, her mother had done her best to ground her daughter in the realities of that life, but after much debate, had agreed to allow her little girl to find her own wings—with the promise that if nothing happened as far as a theater job she would come back home and use her degree in pharmacology. Leila took that chance. She left her home of twenty-four years in Georgia and moved to New York City.

              At first life in the Big Apple was everything she’d seen on television—hyper-fast paced, filled with people from all around the world, never sleeping and expensive. Everyone in New York, even those in her age bracket seemed so much worldlier, so fashionable. Leila did what she could, but her deer-in-the-headlights demeanor and slow Southern drawl marked her as the new girl in town, though she wasn’t some innocent abroad. Her Mama didn’t raise no fool.

              Unfortunately, reality as it’s been said—bites. Audition after audition, standing next to sometimes hundreds of hopefuls with the same dreams and the only thing she had to show for her hard work and determination had been aching muscles and those two jobs. After only 4 months in the quick moving metropolis Leila had been forced to get a part-time job. The extended stay motel she’d been calling home at the time had been seriously draining her once fairly-substantial savings.

              After another in what seemed like a long string of failed auditions where in spite of being told she was better than those eventually chosen, that she didn’t have the right “look”, Leila finally applied at one of the many Starbucks that practically dominated Fifth Avenue. Luckily, most of her fellow baristas were also theater/acting/artistic hopefuls and they all shared their horror stories and gossip with one another while whipping up frothy coffee drinks to the expensively coiffed and attired—and their accessory pets.

              That was where she had met her friend and now-roommate Marcia, a struggling actress and singer with dark hair with maroon streaks, and an unnaturally bubbly personality, probably due in part to a serious caffeine addiction. The young woman waltzed into Starbucks everyday and ordered the same thing—a venti caramel macchiato with an extra shot of caramel. During one of Leila’s breaks, she told Marcia about her living situation, to which the young Latina instantly brightened.

              “Well chica, seems today is your lucky day." She said, a huge smile appearing on her face. "I’ve been looking for a roommate and who better than the woman who keeps me hooked on caffeine?”

              As they talked, Marcia explained she'd received the loft as a college graduation gift from her grandfather who owned several successful restaurants in the city.

              "It's paid for so your share will basically go for the lights, gas and cable."

              Within hours, Leila found herself and her few belongings comfortably ensconced in one of those fashionable lofts near Soho that looked like crap on the outside, but were probably worth a small fortune on the inside, with their vaulted ceilings, recessed track lights and hardwood floors. Her own room wasn’t spacious, but it was far better than the hotel, and she could decorate it as she wished in spite of a meager budget. A quick trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond and Leila's room was turned into a comforting reminder of home.

              A month later after another long day of work followed by another fruitless “don't call us, we’ll call you” for a slot as a replacement dancer for a burlesque show, Marcia burst into the loft, a blur of bouncy brown curls (the maroon streaks having gave way to caramel-blond highlights) and a huge grin on her deep olive features.

              “Chica hold your horses, and don’t even think about going home! Who do you love,” she asked excitedly like a little girl with a surprise behind her back.

              For a few days, Leila had been talking about moving back home and fulfilling the promise to her mother. If she played her cards right, she could always become a dance instructor at one of the local area studios as well as a pharmacist.

              She looked at her friend in confusion. “Is this your new way of saying hello? Because I'm warning you now, it may not work with everyone.”

              Marcia ignored Leila’s pseudo-grouchy demeanor. “Very funny, but guess who found a sure-fire audition for you?”

              Leila’s heart raced once more, but her head remained steady. Trying to feign New York style world-weariness, she padded barefoot towards the kitchen. “There’s no such thing as sure-fire in this town, but tell me all about it. And if it’s another one for that rapper wannabe, count me out. I can barely show that video to my mom as it is even though you can’t even see me.”

An oh-so-smug smile crossed Marcia's face. “Oh no girlfriend, you’re going to love this one!” As she proceeded to tell her the news, a large smile appeared like the sun across Leila’s dark skin. Hope flared within her breast. Somehow, somewhere, she had a good feeling this time around.

***

              Leila's mind snapped back to the present when her number was called. “Showtime”, she whispered like a prayer then stepped out onto the stage ready to give it her best and even more.

***

              “Okay, why are we doing this again?”

              G.K.’s patience was slowly coming to an end as yet another potential dancer walked off stage after what, in his mind had been a lackluster performance. Technically speaking the young woman was good, but something vital was missing. Her jazz number seemed so by-the-numbers.

              When their manager Jin Yung had asked whether she could do hip-hop routines, the blonde woman scoffed, her very attitude dismissive as she proclaimed that she didn’t feel that “hip-hop wasn’t real dance.”

              “This has been such a waste of time,” G.K. muttered, loud enough for the rest of the band and their manager to hear. “I still do not see why we just can’t use Korean dancers. They’d be easier to work with and at least they know who we are.”

              Jin Yung understood the young man’s frustration and even felt it himself, but had been well-schooled in politeness not to let his weariness show. “You need dancers for your American promotions, and the company thought it best to use American faces this time. Besides, some of our regular troupe lack passports and others do not speak English very well.”

              “Not to mention we hired that American choreographer,” Kwan pointed out.

              G.K. huffed. “Fine, but so far all these dancers haven’t been any good. They have no style,” he complained. And to be honest G.K. doubted the remaining ones would be any better.

              “What time is it?” Kai asked, absently looking at his watch for what to his band seemed like the millionth time. To everyone around him it seemed he was more interested in something other than the auditions going on in front of him.

His band mates Kibum, who was also known as Boom to those closest to him, and Young snickered.

              “A little after five,” answered Kwan. He watched his band mate grab the cell phone from his back pocket and rolled his eyes. “Geez Kai, Noel’s probably just waking up.”

              “Give her some time to relax!” G.K. chimed in with a laugh that no one noticed sounded forced.

              Kai childishly stuck out his tongue. “Don’t be jealous,” he said as he dashed off to call his fiancée. Jin Yung smiled indulgently.

              “It will be interesting when those two are touring together,” he mused. Young and Boom groaned.

              Noel was Kai’s fiancée, once a waitress in a Hawaiian-style diner, now practically married and well on her way to a career in Korean pop music. It was a huge gamble for the often-insular and looks-conscious Korean music industry to give an American plus-size artist a chance, but Jin Yung liked taking risks. He also understood the burgeoning appeal of Korean pop and hip-hop. Nothing would generate more interest and more fans than an African-American woman singing Korean Music. It had obviously worked for Jero, a young African-American man who sang Japanese enka music while dressed in hip-hop clothing and who was quite popular, especially amongst older Japanese women.

              After an impromptu audition in which Jin Yung had fallen in love with her husky contralto, he’d signed her to the label and for the past several months since she had moved to Korea, Noel had undergone intense language courses, rigorous dance practice and recording sessions. And now the label planned to release her first single which was a mid-tempo duet with Kai.

              Noel was a trooper. She quickly adapted to her role as both Kai’s significant other and soon-to-be star. Unfortunately, their busy schedules hadn’t allowed for much in the way of “couple’s” time and the bulk of their conversations were either via the phone, texting and Skype.

              “If she ends up coming to visit, I don’t want my hotel room next to theirs,” Young said firmly. “I don’t want to hear them through the walls.”

              A few minutes later Kai rejoined them, a huge grin on his face. He said nothing, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth and mischief. G.K. was happy for his cousin. Despite the initial coolness towards Noel, he’d come to like very her much, and wondered if he'd ever know that same happiness.

              His eyes were once again drawn to the stage, when the sound of a heavy 808 that came thumping through the speakers. The next dancer appeared onstage, her moves smooth, assured yet without artifice, and G.K. felt like something had stolen all the air from his body. For a moment he wondered if this was how Kai had felt upon first seeing Noel. He needed to keep his assessment professional, but she had such an arresting style, as if she were dancing for the sheer joy of it and cared less that she was being judged.

              G.K. chided himself to remember that if she were chosen that she'd be an employee, but his eyes couldn't help taking in her supple frame clad in black spandex pants, a fitted tank top, and black dance shoes. She was lean yet fit, but by no means rail-thin unlike most of the previous dancers they had seen earlier. Her mahogany complexion glistened under the stage lights.

              He tried to convince himself that the familiar tightening in his groin had nothing to do with the gorgeous woman who was doing something with her hips that at any other time would be a great excuse to take her to bed. G.K. fidgeted in his seat as looked around to see if it was just him being affected this way. His band mates watched the performance as nonchalantly as if viewing a CNN documentary or the stock report.

              Once the routine was over she gave a small bow before filing offstage. G.K. ran a nervous hand through his already messy red-brown hair.

             
What is going on with me? I'm losing my mind
, he thought as he crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to settle the arousal that he hoped no one would notice. Unfortunately his cousin, Kai, chose that moment to look in his direction and his eyes took in the flustered demeanor, crossed legs and smiled knowingly.

              G.K. groaned inwardly.

***

              Leila walked backstage feeling pumped and more positive than she had in a months.

Onstage she'd felt a burst of energy that infused every step with the sense that she'd brought it and then some. She sank down next to her duffle bag and took out a bottle of water. With a critical dancer's eye, and perhaps a little arrogance, Leila observed the rest of the field. Some were very good, but seemed a little stiff. A few appeared bored, as if they'd been sent unwillingly by their agents. Still others came off as desperate to score this gig, as she felt. She understood the latter, but in those cases their desperation showed in their routines. She winced when one dancer went up for a high kick and nearly slipped. His recovery was swift, but the mistake seemed to cloud the rest of his performance.