The Daughters Take the Stage

by Joanna Philbin

  “I can’t do this,” Hudson said. “I can’t be you. This isn’t me. It never will be. As much as you want it to be. I just can’t do it.”

  “Hudson,” her mom warned, stealing a look at Brendan.

  “I’m not quitting,” she interrupted. “I’m saying no. I totally respect what you do, Mom. But this isn’t what I do.”

  Brendan pulled the door open. Thunderous, earsplitting applause poured in. “I’m sorry, we’ve got to go,” he yelled. “Now!”

  Holla didn’t move. Something rippled across her face—a moment of understanding, of acceptance. Or maybe it was just that she couldn’t argue anymore. She touched Hudson’s cheek. “She’s not coming,” she said over her shoulder to Brendan. “Let them know out there.”

  Brendan pulled up the mic on his headset. “It’s just Holla. The daughter isn’t coming. It’s just Holla. You got that?” Brendan pressed on his earpiece, then nodded, satisfied. “They’re ready for you,” he said to Holla. “Let’s go.” Then Holla turned and followed Brendan into the studio, and the doors swung shut behind them.

  “Her tenth album comes out this Tuesday,” she heard the guest host announce, “and she’s here for the fourth time. Ladies and gentlemen… Miss Holla JONES!”

  As the studio erupted in applause, Hudson looked up at the monitor hanging in the corner. Her mom stood on the stage, shimmering in the sparkling purple dress. It had only been a few seconds, and already she owned the room. She pulled the mic out of the stand and executed a perfect turn as the song started. On her first note, goose bumps rose along Hudson’s arm. Hearing Holla sing this song wasn’t weird anymore. Her mom was a star. She could sing anything. This was what she’d been born to do. She would always be a star first and a mother second. And maybe, Hudson realized, that was how things were meant to be.

  chapter 29

  “I need to ask you something,” Hudson said carefully. “And I just want to say, in advance, that if I offend you or something, I’m really sorry.”

  Across from her, Jenny frowned slightly and rested her chin on her wrist. “Okay. Go ahead. Offend me.”

  Sitting across from Jenny at her wooden kitchen table, Hudson thought her aunt looked just as beautiful as ever. Her eyes were a little puffy from sleep, but her cropped hair had been highlighted with warm caramel streaks and her lips shone with clear gloss. When she’d called her that morning, Hudson hadn’t expected an invitation for homemade crêpes suzette and tea. But Aunt Jenny had been incredibly gracious under the circumstances.

  “First, I want to say I’m so sorry about the party,” Hudson said. “I should have just told my mom in the first place that I forgot. I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

  Jenny nodded, and then spooned some powdered sugar onto her crêpe. “Obviously, it was worse for your mom,” she said. “I can’t believe you did that to her. And I can’t believe I missed all those macaroons.”

  Hudson didn’t say anything.

  “But at least your mom and I started e-mailing again because of it,” Jenny admitted. “And we’re having lunch next week.”

  “Really?” Hudson asked, impressed. “You are?”

  “Not at your house; at a restaurant,” Jenny said, holding up one hand as she cut into her crêpe with the other. “Neutral territory. Of course we’ll probably have to close down the restaurant so she doesn’t get mobbed,” she added.

  Hudson smiled and then took a small bite of her crêpe. “Oh my God,” she said. “This is incredible. You’re a really good cook, you know that?”

  “Thanks. But don’t tell your mom I fed you white flour,” Jenny said in a mock whisper. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

  “When you decided not to audition for Martha Graham the second time,” Hudson said carefully, “it was because you didn’t want to compete with my mom, right?”

  “That’s what you want to know?” she asked.

  Hudson nodded.

  “Ye-es,” Jenny said. “But I also don’t think I wanted it bad enough. I didn’t want that life.”

  “But don’t you regret it?” Hudson asked. “Don’t you wish you’d at least tried?”

  Jenny reached across the table and took Hudson’s hand. “Is this about what happened last night?”

  “I told you how my mom changed my album because she said it wouldn’t sell?”

  Jenny frowned again and nodded.

  “And at first I didn’t care if it sold or not. I just wanted it to be my thing. My vision. But to my mom, it’s like there’s no point in even trying if you’re not going to be huge.”

  Jenny nodded. “Right.”

  “And sometimes I think there’s a part of me that believes that. I joined this band, up in Westchester, which you probably realize,” Hudson said, embarrassed.

  “Yeah, I got that,” Jenny said knowingly.

  “And I was finally doing my own thing again. But my mom found out and she’s hurt. She thinks I’m crazy for wanting to be in some high school band and play these tiny clubs. She doesn’t understand why I don’t want what she has. We’re all supposed to want that, right?”

  “Oh, Hudson,” Jenny said, shaking her head as she looked down at her plate. “I wish I could have been there for you a little more. I really do. It’s my fault I wasn’t.” She leaned so close that Hudson could smell her fig-scented perfume. “Your mom is an amazing person. She’s accomplished a lot. But you know how you’re scared of being in the spotlight? She’s scared of being out of it. She’s been doing this since she was ten. It’s all she knows. And sometimes having thousands of people love you from a distance is easier than living in the real world, where people can reject you and leave you and see you. And I don’t think your mom knows how to be seen. As a real person. I think that scares her. More than anything else in the world.”

  Hudson bit her lip. It hurt to hear these things about her mom, but she knew that they were true.

  “So my question is, do you really want to be like that?” Jenny asked. “Does anyone?”

  Hudson shook her head.

  “You don’t have to be like your mom,” Jenny said. “Not even if you want to do what she does. That night you got stage fright? That was your inner self, telling you that what you were doing didn’t feel right. And so you ran off that stage. That was the bravest thing you could have done.”

  It had never occurred to Hudson that running off the stage at the Silver Snowflake Ball had been brave.

  “We’re living in a time where we’re all told we’re nothing if we’re not famous,” Jenny said. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget how crazy that is.”

  “But you’re the one who told me that it’s in my chart, being famous,” Hudson said. “You’re always telling me that.”

  “I should have just said successful,” Jenny said. “When you were little, you used to love to hold your mom’s awards and sing her songs. I thought that’s what you wanted. But there are many kinds of success. You can play music and put all your passion into it, but it doesn’t have to be your whole life. There’s a middle road out there, Hudson. Your mom had no idea what she was getting into, and now she’s stuck. She doesn’t have a choice. But you know what that life is like. You have a choice.”

  Hudson looked at the glass vase of early spring daffodils on Jenny’s kitchen table. A middle road. She had never thought of it that way.

  “Sometimes I wish I could talk to my dad about this stuff,” Hudson said.

  Jenny nodded. “I know. But you can always come see me if you need some reminding.”

  “And you’ll have to let me know how lunch with my mom is.”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Jenny said, taking another bite of her crêpe. “It’s going to be very, very healthy.”

  Hudson smiled and picked up her fork. A middle road. She liked how that sounded.

  chapter 30

  “Well, you almost did Saturday Night Live,” Carina said later that afternoon as she dug her spoon into her pomegranate Pinkberry. “And how
many people can say that? Seriously?”

  “Thanks for looking on the bright side, C,” Hudson said. She took a small bite of her yogurt with blueberries, lost in thought.

  “Go you, that’s what I think,” Lizzie said, wagging a spoon of plain topped with mochi. “You totally listened to yourself, you spoke up to your mom, you realized that it wasn’t right for you in the end—”

  “And you may have finally cured her of her mini-me obsession,” Carina added. “How is she now?”

  “She’s actually great,” Hudson said. “This morning she seemed totally normal. I couldn’t believe it.”

  She’d been expecting a stony glare, or at least a lecture on sleeping in so late when she walked into the kitchen that morning. But her mom just gave her a warm smile and started talking about the awesome after-party at the Standard Hotel.

  “Everyone loved the song. It’s probably going to be a big hit. Shows how much I know.”

  Hudson looked out the window. Couples strolled up Bleecker Street in the sun, their coats open to the mild late-winter day. Everyone looked so happy that spring was almost here. “I know I did the right thing,” she added. “I just wish the band wasn’t over. First the album was over, now the band is over—”

  “Wait,” Carina interrupted, leaning forward. “What about the first album? The one you loved? What happened to that?”

  Hudson shrugged. “I don’t know. It still needs to be mastered, but the tracks are all done.”

  “Then why doesn’t your label just release that one?” Carina asked, shaking her blond ponytail. “Just go in there and tell them that’s the album you want to release. You could go out there and promote that one, right?”

  “Exactly!” Lizzie exclaimed, hopping up and down in her chair. “Go in there and tell them that’s your true sound and always has been!”

  “And you’d be totally fulfilling your contract,” Carina pointed out.

  Hudson tapped her foot under the table to the beat of the music playing over the store’s speakers. Why had she never thought of this idea before? For just a moment she pictured Ben onstage with her, but blocked it out. “I will,” she said. “That’s a great idea.”

  “I think that’s the best idea I’ve ever had,” Carina said proudly, polishing off her yogurt.

  “But what about my mom?” Hudson asked.

  “I think by now you probably have her blessing,” Lizzie said gently, licking her full lips. “And there’s no way you’re ever going to do this totally on your own. Your mom will always be a part of it. You’re just going to have to accept that.”

  Hudson nodded; she knew her friends were right. Maybe she’d been a little unrealistic this whole time: There was no way she could ever stop being Holla Jones’s kid.

  When they walked out of Pinkberry and onto Bleecker Street, Hudson

  heard her phone chime with a text. She pulled it out of her bag. It was from Hillary Crumple.

  Hey can u meet me at Kirna Zabete? Need to talk to you.

  “Who is that?” Lizzie asked.

  “Hillary,” said Hudson. “She wants to go shopping again.”

  “Personally, I don’t think that girl needs any more clothes,” Carina put in.

  “I think she’s still mad at me about the stuff with Ben,” Hudson said, texting to Hillary that, yes, she’d meet her. “But maybe you guys are right. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at him.”

  “Guys,” Carina said ruefully, shaking her head. “I will never, ever, understand them.”

  “Except Alex, of course,” Lizzie said.

  “No, even him. He wants to dye his hair blue. Can you believe it? If he does it, I’m gonna kill him.”

  “They set the court date for Todd’s dad,” Lizzie said quietly. “Todd’s really upset about it. He didn’t want his dad to have to have a trial. He wishes he would just fess up and go to jail. He thinks that’s almost less humiliating.”

  “But you guys are still okay, right?” Carina asked.

  “Yeah, he’s not acting weird around you or anything, right?” Hudson asked.

  “We’re great,” Lizzie assured them. “I just feel bad for him, that’s all.”

  “Don’t feel too bad for him,” Carina said. “Guys don’t like it when you feel sorry for them.”

  As Hudson listened to her friends talk about guys, she couldn’t help but feel a little left out. It wasn’t that she really wanted a boyfriend; right now her life felt full enough without one. But not having a boyfriend made her feel a little behind. She was technically the oldest of the three of them, but now she felt like the baby of the group. Both her friends were going out with guys and having experiences that she just couldn’t relate to. Sometimes she found herself wondering if she ever would.

  “Well, you guys, I gotta go meet my dad at his office,” Carina said. “He wants me to look at this proposal for a new networking site or something.”

  “So you’re giving the Metronome thing another try?” Lizzie asked.

  Carina shrugged. “He begged,” she said, grinning. “What was I supposed to do?”

  Hudson smiled. She knew that things had changed between Carina and the Jurg—so much so that now when he asked her to do him a work-related favor, she actually did it.

  “So I think I’m gonna go meet Hillary,” Hudson announced. “Thanks for letting me vent, you guys.”

  “Congratulations, Hudson,” Lizzie said, tucking a red curl behind her ear. “I mean it. Even though I’m not your official life coach, you should know what a big deal last night was.”

  “Thanks, Lizbutt. I know it was.”

  “Be proud of yourself for that,” Lizzie said.

  Carina waved good-bye to Hudson, and then she and Lizzie started walking up Sullivan Street toward Washington Square Park. Hudson tilted her face up to the sun and soaked in the feeble winter rays. Her old album was still out there. It hadn’t disappeared or gone away. All this time she’d thought of it as gone forever, when it was still intact, and waiting for her to return to it. It didn’t matter anymore what her mom thought of it. And maybe she could take the middle road to it, just like Jenny had said.

  She wrapped her chunky knit scarf closer around her, and started walking to SoHo.

  chapter 31

  Hillary stood outside Kirna Zabete, tapping the toe of her tiger-striped ballet flats as Hudson walked up Greene Street. Hillary looked incredible—maybe too incredible. She’d traded in her puffy down coat for a belted swing coat with a fake-fur collar, and she’d pulled her hair back in a chic ballerina knot. Her bag looked like a knockoff of the Lizzie bag by Martin Meloy—bright white leather and gleaming silver buckles. And in her hands was a cluster of shopping bags.

  “Hey,” Hudson said, walking up to her. “Do you want to just get some coffee? I’m not really in the mood to shop.”

  Hillary shrugged and they started walking back toward Prince Street. Hudson didn’t say anything; she was still a little scarred by Hillary’s tongue-lashing the other day, and she didn’t want to have another fight in her favorite store.

  “So I noticed you weren’t on the show last night,” Hillary said as she maneuvered herself, shoulders first, past the tourists. She still walked as if she wore that gigantic backpack. “What happened? Did they cut you out at the last minute?”

  “I decided not to do it,” Hudson said, ignoring Hillary’s slightly cruel remark. “It didn’t feel right to me.”

  Hillary’s shopping bags smacked against a lamppost. “Well, I think you seriously messed up with something else,” she said. “I spoke to Ben, you know.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “And guess what? He didn’t call Joe’s Pub and make that deal.” She shouldered her way past a dog walker. “But he found out who did.”

  “Who?” Hudson asked. But before Hillary spoke, she already knew who it was.

  “Logan,” Hillary said softly.

  They stopped at the corner of Broadway. The signal read WALK but Hudson just stayed on
the curb. “How did Ben find out?” she asked.

  Hillary waited with her at the corner. “I guess Ben told Gordie and Logan who you were.”

  “Even though I told him not to.”

  Hillary sighed as if she wished Hudson wouldn’t interrupt. “They promised to keep it to themselves. But Logan made some comment about Ben being lame for not trying to use your mom to get some gigs. And after you hung up on him, Ben found out that Logan had called Joe’s Pub and promised them your mom. So Ben kicked him out of the band.”

  “He kicked him out?”

  “Yep,” Hillary said. “And they’ve been friends since, like, kindergarten.”

  Hudson winced. “What about the band now?” she asked cautiously. “Is it over?” Without a pianist and a saxophonist, how could they still have a jazz band?

  “I don’t know,” Hillary said. “His parents are kind of happy it’s over, I think. Come on. Let’s cross the street.”

  Hudson followed Hillary across Broadway as the words it’s over knocked around inside her head. It was bad enough that she’d kept Ben from playing at Joe’s Pub. But now it seemed that she was responsible for the total demise of the band itself. Not to mention Ben’s dream of being a jazz musician.

  “So, the other thing I guess I need to say to you,” Hillary said, turning around to face her, “is that you were right. As much as I hate to admit it.”

  “Right about what?” Hudson asked. So far it hadn’t felt like she’d been right about much.

  “About Logan being kind of a jerk.” Hillary looked at Hudson and there was a flicker of sadness in her yellow-green eyes. “He hooked up with Ellie and then he hooked up with one of the McFadden twins, too.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste. “But he really did give me his number back in January. Just so you know.”

  “Oh, Hillary,” Hudson said, and without thinking, put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed Hillary’s tiny frame. Eventually Hillary let her shopping bags drop to the ground and hugged Hudson back.

  After a few moments Hillary pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Whatever. It’s not that important.”