“I’m not mad,” Hudson said.
“You’re always mad,” Holla spat. “You never like anyone I date. It’s like I’m living with my mother.”
“Maybe I’m just not looking forward to when you guys break up and you’re in my room sobbing every night,” Hudson said, letting her own voice get loud. “Since we all know that’s coming.”
Holla’s eyes darkened, and she pointed to the door. “Go home,” she said in a withering voice. “Right. Now.”
Hudson picked up her book bag and went to the door. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she reached for the knob.
“Just go,” Holla repeated.
Hudson opened the door. Sophie, Chris, Liam, and Little Jimmy stood in the hallway, studying the carpet. She knew that they’d heard everything. Chris looked up at her. “Hudson?” he asked carefully, as if she were a mental patient who might have a seizure any moment. “Is everything okay?”
Hudson shook her head and trudged past him. As if she were going to pour her heart out to him, of all people. She pulled out her iPhone as she reached the elevators and typed two words:
Pinkberry. NOW.
*
“You did the right thing, H,” Lizzie said a half hour later, digging her spoon into her cup of pomegranate Pinkberry topped with mochi. “You said how you felt. Your mom asked for your opinion and you gave it. That’s all you can do.”
“But what’s the point if all she’s gonna do is freak out?” Hudson took a bite of her yogurt with blueberries and let it melt on her tongue.
“It was a trap,” Carina said, finishing her cup. “Whenever someone says they want your ‘honest opinion,’ it always, always means they don’t.”
Thankfully Carina had been hanging out at Lizzie’s place, which made the Pinkberry on Columbus and Seventy-fifth Street superconvenient. Hudson looked out the window at Fernald in the black SUV, double-parked in front of the store. “But seriously, you guys,” she said, cupping a blueberry with her spoon. “The song was awful. She needed to know. And then all that stuff with Chris…” She paused. “Obviously, I know we were never gonna be together or go out. And I feel dumb that I even had a crush on him. But why does she have to have him? Why does she have to have everyone love her, all the time? It’s not fair.”
“But that’s the deal,” Carina said, tossing her empty cup into the trash. “She’s, like, the biggest star in the world.”
“Do you think she is gonna end up in your room sobbing?” Lizzie asked, her hazel eyes locked on Hudson.
“I don’t know,” Hudson said, taking another small bite of her tart yogurt. “Maybe Chris is different. Maybe he’s the one who’ll really love her for who she is.” She pushed the container away. “I’m just so sick of it. At least those guys get to leave one day. I’ll never get to leave. I’m gonna have to deal with this the rest of my life.”
Lizzie leaned closer and took Hudson’s hand. “You’re your own person, H. Really. Your mom has nothing to do with you.” She chuckled. “I mean, believe me. I know how hard it is.”
Hudson nodded. “But you had Andrea. I don’t have someone like that. I just have me. And I don’t know if I can do it all on my own.”
Lizzie and Carina put their hands on top of Hudson’s. “Yes, you can,” Carina said. “We know you can.”
Hudson squeezed her friends’s hands. She thought she might tear up for a moment so she pulled her hand away. “So, I forgot to tell you guys that we have a show. Tomorrow night. Up in Larchmont.”
“You have a show?” Carina gasped. “Where?”
“At some girl’s house. Her name’s Ellie. She’s really nice.”
“Can we come?” Carina asked.
“We have to come!” Lizzie said. “Can I bring Todd?”
“Can I bring Alex?” Carina asked.
“You guys—I don’t even know these people,” Hudson hedged.
“And neither will we!” Carina cried. “Come on, you have to let us come.”
Hudson tossed her melted Pinkberry in the trash. “Okay, fine. Let me check with Ben and I’ll let you guys know.”
Later, after she’d dropped Carina and Lizzie off at Lizzie’s house, Hudson thought about what Lizzie had said in Pinkberry. She tried to imagine a world in which Holla didn’t exist. Where she’d never seen billboards of her in Times Square or heard her songs as background music in taxicabs and restaurants and boutiques. Where she’d never seen her mom mobbed by fans screaming her name. It was impossible, like trying to imagine a world without sunlight or water. Her mom would always be there, taking up all the space in the room. Lizzie was wrong: Holla would always have everything to do with who Hudson was.
Later that night, as Hudson did her homework, she got an idea. Her mom was still at the studio, and probably would be for hours. So she picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hunan Gourmet!” said the voice on the other end of the line.
Hudson scanned the menu on her laptop. “Order for delivery, please,” she said. “The chicken lo mein and the moo shu pork. With extra brown sauce.”
Hunan Gourmet had a reputation for being the most organic and non-MSG Chinese takeout place in the West Village, but still, it was Chinese food. And Chinese food was very much not allowed in the Holla Jones Diet Plan. Ordering it felt like the ultimate way to rebel, and after Hudson’s fight with Holla, it just felt like the right thing to do.
When it arrived, she pulled off the plastic tops, trying not to freak out about oozing toxins. Then she sat at the kitchen table, alone, slurping up her lo mein. Some of it was a little too salty, and some of it was too spicy, but most of it was delicious. To her credit, Lorraine didn’t say a word. She just stood at the island, darting sly smiles in Hudson’s direction as she chopped up some kale.
chapter 19
The next afternoon Hillary planted herself next to Hudson at the lockers. She wore a somber black sweater, and the absence of color made Hillary’s skin look even paler than usual.
“How was rehearsal the other night?” Hillary asked.
“Great!” she said, deciding not to mention Logan and his angry glares. “And we have a show tonight. Wanna come?”
“I can’t. I have to do something with my mom,” Hillary said, her arms folded in front of her. “I’m so annoyed. But can you do me a favor? Can you ask Logan about me?”
From the little interaction she’d had with Logan so far, Hudson already knew that this wouldn’t be easy. “I’ll try,” she said.
“Just mention my name, and maybe that I wish I could be at the party, and just see what he says. And watch his facial expression. Even if he’s trying to play it cool, you’ll be able to tell from his face.”
Hudson pulled out her Geometry book. “I’ll keep that in mind, Hil.”
Hillary beamed. “Great!” she said. “And then tomorrow we can maybe go shopping again?”
Hudson needed to get to class. “Sure,” she said. “Meet me at Kirna Zabete in SoHo. Noon.”
As she watched Hillary walk away, Hudson wondered if it was a good or bad thing to be so superconfident. On one hand, people like her mom and like Hillary never let the word no stand in their way. But sometimes that meant that they also set themselves up for disappointment. Hudson wasn’t sure, but she had the distinct feeling that Hillary was going to be headed for some real disappointment as far as Logan was concerned.
*
After giving Carina and Lizzie directions to the party in Larchmont and making plans to meet them at eight, Hudson left school and made the trip home to change. As Fernald navigated the traffic down Fifth Avenue, Hudson looked at the brittle winter sunlight slanting through the branches of Central Park and realized that she would need another alibi to get out of the house for the night. She still hadn’t seen her mom since yesterday’s fight at the recording studio, and with any luck, Holla and Chris would have plans tonight. Still, Hudson would have to say something to Raquel, so she thought quickly.
Jenny. She needed to ask her about the bi
rthday party, anyway. She picked up her phone and called her aunt.
“Jenny?” she asked. “It’s Hudson.”
“Hey, Hudcap,” came her aunt’s cheery, but tired, voice over the line. “How’s it going? I’ve missed you.”
“So, I talked to my mom about that birthday party we’d like to throw you,” she said. “My mom really wants to do it.”
Jenny laughed. “Well, considering my sink just exploded and Barneys just told me they don’t want to carry my line and I had the world’s worst date last night,” she said, “I’d say a party sounds kind of nice. But I’m gonna be out of town. Remember Juan Gregorio?”
“Who?” Hudson asked.
“The guy from Buenos Aires. He’s invited me down for the week of my birthday. I think he misses me.”
“Oh,” Hudson said.
“So just tell her I can’t do it the twenty-first. I’d call her myself, but I don’t want to look pushy.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Hudson said. “And if my mom calls you tonight, will you say I’m with you?”
“O-kay,” Jenny said cautiously. “What is it?”
“It’s just this band I’m in. We have our first show tonight. Not at a club or anything. It’s just a high school party. She still doesn’t know about it.”
“No problem,” Jenny said. “I’ll tell her. I hope it’s going well.”
“Okay, thanks!” Hudson said. “And let’s hang out again soon!” Thank God for Aunt Jenny, she thought as she pressed the End Call button. She’d really lucked out when her aunt came home from France.
Back at home, Hudson showered, dried her hair, and put on her Leather Milkmaid dress, designed by Martin Meloy. Martin Meloy wasn’t her favorite, since the whole debacle with Lizzie and his ad campaign, but she still loved the dress. She topped it off with a beat-up boy’s motorcycle jacket she’d scored at a flea market in Florence and then slipped on her stretchy, rhinestone-covered headband for a little sparkle. This was going to be her first show, and she wanted to look good for it.
When she slipped downstairs, she almost walked right into Raquel, who was holding a tall, spindly orchid. “You look nice,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“Aunt Jenny’s taking me to a Broadway play,” Hudson said, heading to the elevator. “We’re having dinner before.”
“Does your mom know this?” asked Raquel.
“I think so,” Hudson said, trying hard to look Raquel in the eye.
“Just be home by eleven thirty,” Raquel said, continuing past her down the hall.
Hudson gave Fernald the address of a restaurant on Forty-third and Sixth, which was about halfway between the theater district and Grand Central.
“Aunt Jenny will bring me home in a cab later,” she told him as she got out.
Fernald nodded and she slammed the door. Then she ran down Forty-third Street, straight into the wind, amazed at how good she was getting at this. And she almost wanted to laugh. Probably every kid in Larchmont wished they could be in the city on a Friday night. And here she was, lying through her teeth so she could flee to the suburbs.
Ben had texted her that he and his mom would be waiting for her at the train station. As she stepped onto the platform at Larchmont, she saw his mom’s car parked under a street lamp and recognized Ben’s tall, lanky frame when he stepped out of the front seat. “Hudson!” he yelled. “Over here!”
She waved and ran to the car, relieved to see them. She still wasn’t used to taking the train by herself.
Mrs. Geyer waved at her from behind the steering wheel. “Hi, Hudson!” she said.
“Thanks for picking me up,” she said as she slipped into the backseat.
“How was your train ride?” Mrs. Geyer asked. “Does your mom know you’re up here?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “She wanted to thank you for picking me up.”
Ben got back into the passenger seat and closed the door.
“Because she should really have my phone number,” Mrs. Geyer said. “Do you want to give it to her?”
“I’ll give it to her later,” Hudson said. “She’s out right now.”
This seemed to be enough for Ben’s mom. They drove out of the parking lot and then turned in the opposite direction from town. “It’s so quiet up here,” Hudson marveled.
“Too quiet,” Ben said. Hudson could see that Ben had tamed his hair with some kind of product, because it wasn’t as springy as usual. He’d also switched his glasses for contact lenses, and she could smell some kind of spicy, musky scent that might have been aftershave.
“Ben thinks it’s boring up here,” said Mrs. Geyer, fiddling with the radio. “He’d love to live down in the city. What do your parents do in the city?” Mrs. Geyer asked.
“Mom,” Ben objected. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation,” Mrs. Geyer said.
“Well, it’s just my mom and me, and she kind of… works from home.” Hudson paused. “She’s in the arts.”
“Hmmm,” Mrs. Geyer said as they turned into a driveway. “So she’s a painter? Or a writer?”
“Kind of a cross between the two.”
Mrs. Geyer drove up to what Hudson assumed was Ellie’s house. It was a modest Tudor-style home with a stained-glass window in the front door. There were lights on in the windows downstairs, and already Hudson could see kids inside, milling around.
“All right, I’ll come by to get you around eleven,” Mrs. Geyer said. “Hudson, is that good for you? Or should we get you to the train a little earlier?”
“I’m getting a ride back to the city with my friends,” she said. “But thank you.”
“Have fun tonight,” Mrs. Geyer said. “Ben, don’t forget your bass.”
“I know, Mom.” Ben sighed.
Hudson and Ben got out of the car. He pulled the case containing his electric bass from the trunk, and as Mrs. Geyer pulled out of the driveway, he rolled his eyes at Hudson.
“Your mom’s really cool,” Hudson said. “I wish my mom was half as cool as that.”
“She’s okay,” Ben said. “She’s not that into this band thing. To her it’s like this big distraction from what I should be doing.”
“And what’s that?” Hudson asked.
“Being on the chess team. Being on the physics team. Trying to get into MIT,” said Ben. “Or Harvard. Or Johns Hopkins. Those are the only colleges that are officially approved.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Both my parents are professors. And look at me. I’m, like, genetically engineered to be in a science lab somewhere, studying genomes or writing software.”
Hudson laughed.
“But this is who I really am,” he said, shaking the case of his bass. “I got big plans for this group. Just so you know.”
“So I hear,” she said, smiling. “What’s your big plan?”
“That we play at Joe’s Pub,” he said simply, as if this were the most logical thing in the world. Joe’s Pub was a famous club and cabaret space in New York. It booked all kinds of acts—jazz and pop and rock and even stand-up comedy—and everything from up-and-comers to the seriously famous.
“Joe’s Pub?” Hudson asked.
“My dad took me there a couple of years ago,” Ben went on. “He loves jazz. He’s the one who got me into it. He gave me all his old John Coltrane and Miles Davis CDs. My mom wants to kill him.” Ben smiled to himself and kicked at the gravel in the driveway. “So he took me to Joe’s Pub to see Bill Frisell, who’s probably the greatest jazz guitarist of all time, and I had kind of a flash-forward. I could just see myself doing the same thing, onstage there one day.” Ben chuckled. “Obviously I know it’s a long shot. Not to mention my parents would completely freak out if I actually got that far. But if I did play there, one day, then maybe my not doing what they want wouldn’t be so hard for them to take.”
Hudson listened, remembering the conversation she’d had with Richard Wu just
a few months earlier. She’d wanted to book a show at Joe’s Pub. Naturally, Holla had changed his mind about that. She’d wanted someplace bigger, more of a real concert hall, like Roseland. Hudson hadn’t even fought her on it. “So you think that would do it? Playing at Joe’s Pub?”
Ben shrugged. “It’s just my goal right now. And maybe I could make it happen. The whole trick to this business is connections. That’s how anyone gets anywhere. It’s, like, ninety percent connections. I went to camp with this kid whose dad was some big-shot music exec guy. He could totally help us.”
“I think it has a little more to do with talent,” Hudson argued.
“Well, maybe,” Ben said. “But what about all those kids who become movie stars because their parents are? You think they got the job just because of their talent?”
Hudson didn’t want to answer that. “Look, if you are that serious about doing this, then what about changing the name?” she asked. “The Stone Cold Freaks isn’t doing us justice. What do you think of… the Rising Signs?”
Ben didn’t say anything.
“I’m kind of into astrology,” Hudson explained.
“The Rising Signs,” he murmured, looking off into the night. “That’s kind of cool.”
“Let’s run it past Logan and Gordie and see what they think.”
“The Rising Signs,” Ben repeated as he leaned down to pick up his case. “Nice one.”
They walked into Ellie’s house, and as Ben stopped to chat with some friends, Hudson stepped slowly into the living room. She didn’t usually go to parties alone, much less parties thrown by people she barely knew. Groups of girls walked past her, laughing and talking. All of them wore jeans and oxford shirts or sweaters. Hudson looked down at her poufy leather and hot pink silk dress and felt a little self-conscious. A couple of girls eyed her dress from across the room. Hudson waved at them. They waved back, hesitantly, but kept talking. Hudson walked over to the piano and dropped her bag. At least she could hide out here for a while.
“Ooh, Hudson!” Ellie cried, coming toward her. She was more dressed up than her friends were, in jeans and a camisole lined with sequins along the neckline and straps. “Great dress! I love it!”
The Daughters Take the Stage Page 14