The Daughters Take the Stage

by Joanna Philbin

“Yeah. And Jenny’s really psyched about the party, by the way.”

  “How’s Jenny doing?” Holla asked, sitting down across from her. “Is she settled in finally?”

  Hudson got up from the table and carried her bowl to the sink. She couldn’t lie right to her mom’s face. “I think she’s doing better.”

  “Is she seeing someone?” Holla asked.

  “Nope,” she said, running water over her bowl. “By the way, I saw the pictures of you out with Chris last night.”

  Even though Hudson had her back turned, she could feel her mom stiffen at the mention of Chris’s name. “Yeah, I took him to the Jay-Z documentary. It was fun.”

  “Why?” Hudson asked, turning around.

  “Why?” Holla said, taken aback.

  “I just thought that you had rules about this kind of stuff,” said Hudson. “You know, waiting a month to take someone to a public event. That’s what you always told me.” Holla’s rule about boyfriends was how she and Lizzie and Carina had come up with their own rule in the first place.

  “Sometimes it’s okay to break rules,” Holla said. “And you’re very opinionated these days.”

  “Opinionated?”

  “I guess I’m not used to you being so… vocal,” Holla said, as Lorraine placed a glass of coconut water in front of her.

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again,” Hudson said.

  Holla tilted her head, as if she didn’t quite get what Hudson was saying. “Don’t worry,” she said with an edge in her voice. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Hudson wiped her hands on a dish towel, then balled it up. She knew that she didn’t quite believe Holla, but she didn’t have any real reason for it. “I gotta go,” Hudson said. “I’m meeting a friend at Kirna Zabete.”

  “If you see anything there that’s cute, can you pick it up for me?” Holla said. “A dressy, third-date kind of top?”

  “Sure, Mom.” She started to walk out of the kitchen.

  “You should really try to get something that’s a little more fitted,” Holla said, reaching out to touch Hudson’s waist. “You have such a cute figure—why are you always trying to hide it?”

  Hudson stepped out of her grasp.

  “Hudson.”

  Hudson turned around.

  “Please don’t worry,” Holla said, almost as if she were pleading with herself not to worry. “About Chris. Please, don’t.”

  “I won’t,” Hudson said and walked out.

  *

  “Hey, superstar!”

  Hillary was almost half a block away, but her high-pitched voice sounded loud and clear down the narrow SoHo street. Hudson waved her arms. “Hey!” she yelled back, trying hard not to laugh.

  “I heard you rocked last night!” Hillary said, her face getting lost in her bulky pink knit scarf as she jumped up and down. “Ben said you guys totally killed.”

  “We did okay,” Hudson admitted. “We didn’t embarrass ourselves.”

  “Oh, come on!” Hillary said, as if that were the most ridiculous thing on earth. “I heard it was awesome. And Ellie worships you.”

  Hudson remembered what Ellie had told her about hooking up with Logan. “Well, she really likes you, too,” she offered, opening the door to the boutique and walking inside.

  Hillary unzipped her puffy down coat, and Hudson saw that she was wearing skinny dark-rinse jeans and a gray cashmere sweater. Her hair fell straight to her shoulders, and it looked magically thick and static-free. There were no plastic barrettes in sight.

  “Wow, you look good,” Hudson said.

  “Thanks,” Hillary said, blushing. “I think today I really need shoes.” Hillary headed over to a shelf of shoes and picked up a suede bootie that looked like a cage for the foot. “So, what did Logan say? Did you ask him about me? I hope you weren’t too obvious. Were you obvious?”

  Hudson ran her hand over a strapless top with a fringed neckline. “I don’t know if Logan is the best guy for you, Hil, to be perfectly honest.”

  “What do you mean?” Hillary asked.

  “He got really mad at me for, like, no reason at the party, and…” Hudson hesitated. “I think he might be hooking up with someone.”

  Hillary dropped the bootie on the table with a thud. “Who?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know,” Hudson said. “Just someone.”

  “How do you know? Did he tell you that?”

  “No,” Hudson said. “Not really.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  Hudson looked away and cringed. She should never have stepped into this. “I just think he’s not even worth your time.”

  “Who did he hook up with?” Hillary demanded.

  Hudson bit her lip and turned to face her. If she told Hillary the truth, then it might get back to Ellie. Or even to Ben. “I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I really don’t. But the point is that he’s just not that great a guy. You deserve so much more than him.”

  Hillary looked down at the floor, lost in thought. She shook her head. “I thought you were my friend,” she murmured.

  “I am. Of course I am.” Hudson took a step toward her.

  “You’re not acting like it.” Hillary zipped up her coat. “The least you could do is be honest with me. After everything we’ve been through.”

  “Fine. He said for you not to call him anymore,” Hudson said bluntly. “That’s what he said.”

  Hillary’s already pale face turned even whiter.

  Hudson felt an instant stab of remorse. “Hillary, I’m sorry,” she said. “But that’s what he said. You wanted to know.”

  Before Hudson could say anything more, Hillary turned and walked out of the store, letting the door swing shut behind her.

  Hudson ran out of the store. “Hillary!” she yelled after her. “I’m sorry!”

  But Hillary didn’t turn around. She didn’t stop. She trudged up the street in her gigantic puffy coat as if she couldn’t get away from Hudson fast enough.

  “Hillary! You wanted to know!” Hudson yelled.

  Hillary picked up her pace, and when she reached the corner she hung a right and promptly disappeared.

  Hudson went back inside and bought her mom a pretty floral-print Stella McCartney top that she would probably hate. She felt terrible. She wasn’t the girl who didn’t mince words; that was Carina. And Carina probably wouldn’t have thought that what she’d said to Hillary was that rude. So just to make sure, Hudson called her.

  “Oh my God,” Carina said. “She said she wanted to know.”

  “I know,” Hudson said, crossing the cobblestone street. “And believe me, she would have said it to me.”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Carina said. “You need to be a little more blunt. This is progress. And by the way, Alex says that his friend can definitely hook you up with a show at Violet’s.”

  “What?” Hudson said, coming to a stop. “Are you serious?”

  “Now you just need to create a MySpace page so they can hear you. Like, now.”

  Trembling with excitement, Hudson hung up the phone and called Ben.

  “Violet’s?” he asked. “Isn’t that the place where the Ramones used to play, before they were the Ramones?”

  “Yes,” Hudson said. “And my friend can probably get us booked there. If we put up a MySpace page. And record some stuff for it.”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” Ben asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then come up here and let’s get this done!”

  *

  The next day she told Raquel that she was going over to Carina’s house, then she let Fernald drop her in front of Carina’s building. As soon as he was out of sight she took a cab to Grand Central. On the train up to Larchmont she tapped her toes and sang her songs under her breath, getting ready. She knew that they would have to record mostly original songs for their MySpace page, and she knew just the ones she wanted: “For You,” “Heartbeat,” and a new song sh
e’d just written.

  She took a cab from the train station to Ben’s house, and when she got there, Ben, Gordie, and Logan had Ben’s mammoth laptop already set up. They recorded their songs on Ben’s computer, and when they were finished, Ben fine-tuned the songs in GarageBand. It was impressive watching him work. Hudson could see that he definitely had a future in music.

  “I think we’re done,” he finally said. “Wanna hear it back?”

  He played back the three songs. The music sounded perfect, and her voice was as sultry as ever.

  “Put it up,” Hudson said. “I’ll tell Alex’s friend it’s there. And I’ll give them your number. Cool?”

  “Absolutely,” Ben said.

  *

  On Tuesday, just after Geometry, Hudson got the text from Ben:

  They were booked at Violet’s to be the opening, opening act for a Monday-night show in a little less than a month. February twenty-third.

  “We’re booked!” Hudson shrieked in the hallway.

  Mr. Barlow stepped his long, lanky frame out of his office and zeroed in on Hudson with his glacial blue eyes. “And I’m gonna be booking you in detention if you don’t keep your voice down, Miss Jones.”

  “Sorry,” Hudson said, running down the hall to tell her friends the good news.

  chapter 22

  During the days leading up to the Violet’s gig Hudson could barely concentrate. She could already see herself and the band on Violet’s notoriously small, crooked stage, playing their songs surrounded by the ghosts of rock-and-roll legends. Playing at Violet’s meant that she was no longer in a high school band—she was in a band. She practiced her piano every spare moment. And at least once a week now, as she sat in Spanish or History or English, a song would come to her. After school she’d go home and head straight to her room, and for several hours she’d work on the song, letting it take shape as her hands slid over the keys.

  She managed to escape up to Larchmont a few more times, using Aunt Jenny as her alibi. Whenever she was alone with Ben before or after rehearsal, she’d sometimes think about telling him who she was. It seemed a little weird to have “Hudson Jones” on their MySpace page. Someone, at some point, was going to figure out who she was. Just tell him, already, she’d think. He deserves to know. But Ben wasn’t a boyfriend. A boyfriend deserved to know. Ben was just her bandmate, and if she told him about Holla Jones, he would probably want her to get her mom involved in the band. She remembered what he’d said that night about connections. And right now they seemed to be doing just fine the way they were.

  Meanwhile, Holla spent long hours in the studio, putting the finishing touches on her album. She wouldn’t get home until late. At night, Hudson would lie in bed, listening to the photographers rushing to snap the SUV as it drove into the garage. It was a relief to have a little break from her mom.

  Hillary was someone else she barely saw. In fact, their friendship seemed to have dissolved altogether. Hillary no longer sat in the library in the morning, doing the crossword. Every once in a while Hudson caught glimpses of her trudging up the stairs to the Middle School. Hillary’s fashion evolution still seemed to be in full swing. Her messy ponytail had been replaced by carefully blow-dried hair, and her pink knit scarf was gone, along with any hint of bright color. Her sweaters were blue, gray, or black, and even her pink and blue square backpack seemed to have been trashed in favor of a black messenger bag. It was as if her separation from Hudson had only made her more chic and fashionable.

  And then there was her mom’s ongoing love affair with Chris. When they weren’t working in the studio, they took yoga classes together or and hung out in the prayer room, listening to music and talking about her tour. If she passed him on the stairs, he’d ask her a question: how she was, if she wanted to listen to any of her mom’s tracks, if she’d had a good day at school. It seemed that after eavesdropping on her fight with Holla in the recording studio, Chris was determined to be her friend. Sometimes she thought about telling Chris about her band. She wanted him to know that she hadn’t completely given up on her music. But it seemed too risky, especially because he seemed surgically attached to Holla.

  Sometimes it was a relief for Holla to have someone else to focus on. But it felt strange to be a third wheel in her own house, so soon. It had taken Holla weeks to allow her last boyfriend to spend any time at the house.

  On the Saturday before the Violet’s show, Hudson woke up late. The sun peeked through the crack in her velvet curtains, and it looked like one of the first days of spring. She got out of bed, showered, and dressed in a long-sleeved purple and gray striped dress layered over black tights and black ankle boots. She would need a new outfit for the Violet’s gig, and today seemed like the perfect day to get something.

  Down in the kitchen, Holla and Chris were digging into spelt pancakes and drinking kale–green apple smoothies. They were sweaty and flushed, and Hudson could see that they’d either been having a steamy makeout session or an intense power hula-hooping class. Or both.

  “Hi, baby,” Holla said casually. “You want some breakfast?”

  “I’ll just grab a muffin,” Hudson said, going to the platter of them on the kitchen island.

  “We missed you in yoga,” Holla added. “Someone here has no idea how to do scorpion pose.”

  “Come on, do you really want me to be good at that?” Chris asked, as they played footsie under the table.

  “So… how’s the album?” Hudson asked, doing her best to ignore the lovefest.

  “We finished last night,” Holla said, clinking her smoothie glass with Chris’s. “I think it turned out okay. The label’s listening to it over the weekend.”

  “Just okay?” Chris asked, leaning in to kiss the top of Holla’s nose. “I beg you to restate that.”

  “Okay, great,” Holla said, kissing him back.

  “Awesome,” Hudson said, counting the seconds until she could leave.

  “So, Hudson, I was thinking of stopping at Jeffrey today to get something for the party tonight,” Holla said.

  “Party?” Hudson asked.

  “Jenny. I’m throwing a birthday party for her tonight. Remember?”

  Hudson almost dropped her muffin on the floor. Today was February twenty-first. And then she remembered: Jenny was in Buenos Aires. In all her excitement about the Rising Signs and the Violet’s booking, she’d completely forgotten to tell her mom that Jenny was going to be out of town.

  “Raquel and Sophie have done an incredible job with the invitations,” Holla was saying. “And everything’s set. It’s going to be about fifty people, most of them my friends, of course,” Holla said to Chris. “My sister’s social circle is… well, let’s just say that it’s not quite the kind of crowd you invite into your house.”

  Hudson couldn’t move. The muffin still lay in her hand, dry and crumbly. She couldn’t think straight.

  “And tell me what you think of this,” Holla said to Hudson. “You know how much Jenny loves macaroons. Well, I had about three hundred flown in from Ladurée.” In answer to Hudson’s blank stare she said, “They make the best macaroons in the world. They’re a famous café in Paris. Don’t you think she’s going to love that?”

  “Uh… uh, sure,” Hudson said uncertainly.

  “Just tell Jenny to be here at six. She doesn’t need to help me set up.” Holla noticed that Hudson was zoning out. “Hudson? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She ran up the stairs to her bedroom, where she’d left her phone. Maybe Jenny hadn’t gone away after all, she thought desperately. Maybe her trip had been canceled. She called and waited. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

  Answer, she pleaded silently. Please pick up.

  Finally she got Jenny’s voice mail.

  Hey! It’s me! I’m out of the country but leave me a message or call me back later!

  Hudson hung up and ran to her laptop. Trying hard to keep calm, she pounded out a note to
Jenny over e-mail.

  Forgot to tell mom about your party being moved. It’s happening tonight. Can you come back in time for it?

  She hesitated for a second and then added:

  Can you call me ASAP?

  She clicked Send, her stomach in knots. Her heart was beating so fast that she had to hold the edge of her desk and take deep breaths. She knew that there was the option to just go downstairs and calmly tell her mom the situation—that she’d forgotten, plain and simple, and that Aunt Jenny wasn’t in town—but then Holla would want to know why it didn’t come up when they went to see the Broadway play. And then Hudson would have to tell Holla that there’d been no play. And then Holla would start asking questions and find out about all the other times Hudson had lied about seeing Aunt Jenny. And then Holla would find out where she’d really been all this time… Hudson grabbed her purse and coat, left her room, and went down the stairs, still unsure of what to say. But only Chris was sitting at the kitchen table, wolfing down another plate of pancakes.

  “Hey!” he said. “So what’s the latest in the life of Hudson Jones?”

  “Where’s my mom?” Hudson asked.

  “Oh, she rushed out of here. Had to go talk to a florist or something,” he said.

  “Oh.” Hudson slung her coat over her shoulders. “I have to go out for a little bit.”

  “She’s got her BlackBerry with her,” Chris offered.

  “That’s okay,” Hudson said, heading to the door. Just call her right now and tell her the truth, she thought. Just tell her that you screwed up, that you’re in this band, that you’ve been saying you’re hanging out with Jenny as an excuse.

  But she pushed the thought away. She couldn’t do it. Something about messing up that big in front of her mom made her want to run out of the house, head up to Grand Central, and leave the city for good.

  She thought of calling her friends, but she knew that they would make her fess up, and she just couldn’t. Instead, she had Fernald drop her off at the Museum of Modern Art, where she walked through the halls of the permanent collection, barely registering the art on the walls. Just call her, she’d think, reaching for her phone. But if she did, she’d be saying good-bye to the Violet’s gig. And she couldn’t do that. Not to herself, and not to Ben.