The Daughters Take the Stage

  Hudson stirred her tea, listening.

  “When Holla heard what had happened, she called the company and talked them into giving me another chance.”

  “She did?” Hudson asked.

  “I said no,” Jenny said, looking down into her mug.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think I really wanted it. And I knew that no matter what, I would always be compared to her. How are you just a dancer when your older sister’s insanely famous? You know what I mean?”

  Hudson nodded. She knew exactly what Jenny meant, but she didn’t want to say anything.

  “The same thing happened with your father,” Jenny said.

  “My father?” Hudson asked, her curiosity piqued.

  Jenny looked guilty. “I suppose you haven’t heard a lot about what really happened with him,” she said. “But I don’t think he could handle it, either. Your mom’s fame. Always being linked to someone like that. And your mom isn’t exactly easy to deal with, either. But that’s another story.”

  Hudson put down her mug. “Do you know where he is?” she asked, looking down at the table, trying to sound casual.

  Jenny shook her head. “I heard he was in Europe for a little while, but now, I don’t know. He was the type of guy who liked to stay under the radar.”

  Hudson let this sink in. She wondered if Jenny had ever seen him.

  “But saying no to that audition was the best decision I ever made.”

  “But you loved dancing,” Hudson argued.

  Jenny gave Hudson a gentle smile. “I love a lot of different stuff. I’m an air sign. And you, my dear, are all water. Very creative, very sensitive.”

  “Yeah, so far it’s been great,” Hudson said wryly.

  “Well, don’t be surprised if you end up more famous than your mom. I told you it’s in your chart, right?”

  Hudson smiled weakly. “Too bad I pulled the album.”

  “What?” Jenny asked. “What happened?”

  “The same thing that happened to you. Right before Christmas, I was supposed to sing at this big dance, and I froze up. Right there onstage. In front of three hundred people.”

  “Was your mom there?”

  Hudson nodded.

  “What’d she do?” Jenny asked, slightly horrified.

  “Told everyone I had food poisoning—what do you think?” Hudson said, with an ironic smile. “But before it happened, she was driving me crazy. I was doing this wrong, I was doing that wrong. I needed to learn all these dance moves, and sing to this track. And before that she made my producer change my entire sound. To hers.”

  Jenny listened with a somber look on her face.

  “So I just decided, forget it. It’s not worth it. No matter what I do, it’ll never be right for her. She wants me to be her.”

  Jenny put her hand on Hudson’s wrist. “You can be whatever you want, Hudson.” Her brown eyes were soft but also battle-scarred, as if she were a fellow survivor of something.

  “But I’ve been thinking… what if I just joined a regular high school band? No record deal. No concert dates. No promotion. Just playing a couple shows here and there and jamming. Just for fun?”

  Jenny raised one eyebrow. She seemed to sense that this wasn’t exactly hypothetical. “I’d say it sounded great,” she said. “Not everything has to be so serious, you know. You’re allowed to have fun in your life.”

  Hudson glanced at her watch. It was almost twelve thirty. She needed to go meet her friends at Grand Central. “I have to go. I told my friends I’d meet them.”

  Jenny smiled knowingly. “Your friends, or your band?”

  Hudson smiled back. “You should come over to the house sometime. My mom really does feel bad. She loves you. She really does.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I think we’re just not meant to be friends.”

  “Maybe we can throw a little birthday party for you next month,” Hudson said, undeterred. “Your birthday’s February seventeenth… what about that Saturday night? The twenty-first?”

  “Whoa,” Jenny said, holding up her hand. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Of course,” Hudson said, getting to her feet. “I’m sure she’d want to do it.”

  “We’ll see,” Jenny said, hugging her niece good-bye. “I’m always here for you, you know. And it looks like I’m actually staying here for a while. So come hang out with your crazy aunt.”

  “I will,” Hudson said as she left.

  Downstairs, in the dim vestibule, Hudson remembered what she had to do. She called Fernald.

  “Hey, Fernald, I think I’m gonna be staying here awhile,” she said lightly. “Jenny’ll drop me home in a cab.” Her heart raced with the lie.

  “Sure thing, Hudson,” he said, before she clicked off.

  She had no idea how she was going to do this every time she had rehearsal, but she told herself she’d worry about that later.

  chapter 15

  “If my dad could see me right now he’d freak,” Carina said, settling into her seat across from Hudson and pulling a warm chocolate-chip cookie from a brown Zaro’s bag. “But this definitely beats reading Macbeth all day.”

  “When was the last time we were on a train together?” Lizzie said, taking her battered copy of Nine Stories out of her purse.

  “Sixth-grade field trip to D.C.,” Hudson said. “Remember when Eli threw up in the club car?”

  They burst out laughing as a bell sounded and the doors shut. They’d chosen a group of four seats that faced one another in the back of the train, and Carina propped her Chuck Taylors up on the cracked Naugahyde seat next to Hudson.

  “Yeah, I remember,” Carina said. “Some of it got on my foot.”

  “Ugh!” Lizzie yelled.

  The train lurched forward, and soon they were rolling along through a dark tunnel. Hudson still couldn’t believe what they were doing, but being with her friends made her less anxious.

  “Thanks so much for coming with me, you guys,” Hudson said. “Who knew that doing karaoke at a bar mitzvah could be so eventful?”

  “What’d you sing?” Lizzie asked, putting her book away.

  “ ‘Poker Face,’ ” Hudson said. “But it was a duet. With Hillary.”

  Carina crumpled the brown bag. “Hillary?” she asked. “Your stalker Hillary?”

  “She’s not my stalker,” Hudson said.

  “Are you guys becoming friends now?” Lizzie asked warily, looking over the top of her book.

  “She asked me to go and I went,” Hudson said. “She’s a little weird, but she’s actually really cool.”

  “No one with that kind of backpack can be cool,” Carina said.

  “Be nice, C,” Lizzie said, nudging her in the arm.

  Suddenly the train shot out of the tunnel and into sunlight. Hudson looked out through the smudged window. They were on a track above Park Avenue, passing through Harlem. The cloudless sky glowed a deep cornflower blue, and sun glinted off the windshields of parked cars below. She’d never seen the city from this angle before.

  “Wait,” Lizzie said, pulling one unruly curl behind her ear. A moment later, it sprang back again. “Do the guys in the band know about your mom?”

  “It never came up. And as long as they don’t ask, I’m not telling them.”

  “But don’t you think they’ll find out?” Carina asked. “You’re in the tabloids, like, once a month.”

  “These guys don’t read US Weekly,” Hudson said. “They’re into jazz and the Discovery Channel.”

  “But you don’t have to be looking for info,” Carina said. “All they have to do is see a photo of you somewhere—”

  “And then I’ll tell them,” Hudson interrupted. “It’s not the end of the world if they find out. But right now, it feels good to just be… nobody.”

  “And you’re definitely not telling your mom,” Lizzie prompted.

  “No.” Hudson played with her cowl-neck collar. “She’d never understand why I’d
choose a high school band in the suburbs over Madison Square Garden.”

  “Is this guy at least cute?” Carina asked. “What does he look like?”

  “Curly hair. Tall. Skinny. He’s really nice.”

  “Sounds like a dork.”

  “He’s not a dork,” Hudson said.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with a dork,” Lizzie said. “Todd’s kind of a dork.”

  “Todd is definitely not a dork,” Hudson replied. “And how’s Alex?”

  “Oh, I found out his birthday,” Carina said. “It’s September twenty-fourth.”

  “A Libra,” Hudson said approvingly. “That’s just what we want. His air balances out your fire.”

  “I wish you could figure out if he’s compatible with my dad,” said Carina. “Alex is supposed to come over for dinner next week. And something tells me they’re not gonna bond over music and subtitled movies.”

  “Don’t even expect it to go well,” Lizzie put in. “Todd’s polite, he’s a writer, he calls people ‘sir,’ and my dad still doesn’t know his name. He calls him Brad. It’s like he’s mentally blocked him out or something.”

  “It’s so funny; I think my mom would love for me to go out with someone,” Hudson said, yawning. “That way she could tell me how to do that, too.”

  Lizzie and Carina laughed.

  As they crossed the bridge into the Bronx, Hudson felt herself start to get drowsy from the gentle rocking of the train. A short time later, Hudson felt Lizzie’s foot nudge her leg. She opened her eyes to see bare trees and power lines and a church steeple whizzing past the window. “I think we’re the next stop,” Lizzie said, as Carina rubbed her eyes.

  The train began to slow down, and they passed a white sign that said LARCHMONT in big black letters. A few moments later they screeched to a stop. “Let’s go,” Hudson said, getting to her feet. The doors opened and they stepped out onto the platform as a gust of wind seeped in underneath her cape. “Hillary gave me directions. She said it’s a quick walk.”

  “Uh, no,” Carina said, heading for the line of black cabs waiting by the platform. “This may be the suburbs, but we’re still taking a cab.”

  They got into a cab, gave the driver the address, and pulled out of the train station parking lot. Soon they turned onto a picturesque main street with an old-fashioned movie theater and a barbershop.

  “This place is so cute,” Hudson said. “Can you imagine living up here?”

  “It’s too quiet,” Carina said bluntly.

  “Our lives would be so different,” Lizzie said. “We’d have to learn how to drive. And go to a school with a football team. And there would be cheerleaders.”

  “Cheerleaders,” Hudson said, trying to picture it. “Do you ever think that we’re gonna end up total weirdos, growing up in the city? Not driving, not going to football games and stuff like that?”

  “I think if we end up total weirdos, it’s gonna be for other reasons,” Lizzie said.

  They turned off the main street onto a rural road. “So I hope this isn’t Silver Snowflake Ball, the Sequel,” said Hudson.

  “But do you know if this band is any good?” Lizzie asked. “You’re so talented, H. It’d be good to know if they’re up to your standards.”

  “You sound a little like my mom,” Hudson said.

  “No, seriously,” Carina said. “How do we know that these guys even know how to play music?”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Hudson said.

  They passed several three-story homes, Victorians mostly, until they turned into a gravel drive. The half-melted remains of a snowman stood frozen on the front lawn. Beyond it was a Victorian shingle house. It looked old and friendly. A gray Ford Windstar was parked in the driveway. A few bikes lay on their sides in the snow.

  They paid the driver and walked up the steps to the house. “Can you imagine having a front lawn?” Carina asked in a whisper as Hudson rang the doorbell.

  “You have, like, three of them,” Lizzie said.

  “I mean, all the time,” Carina said.

  Hillary opened the front door. She wore jeans and a surprisingly muted navy blue sweater. It was the first time Hudson had ever seen Hillary in pants. And in a sweater that wasn’t a blindingly bright color.

  “Oh, hey,” Hillary said, blinking her yellow-green eyes. “I didn’t know you all were coming.”

  “I asked them to come for moral support,” Hudson said. “You know Lizzie and Carina. You guys remember Hillary.”

  As they stepped into the house there were murmured greetings.

  “Everyone’s downstairs in the basement,” Hillary said, leading them past a bench covered in coats and scarves and mittens. Hudson heard the whirring, tumbling sound of a dryer in the distance and, upstairs, the muffled blare of a TV. Hillary pulled Hudson aside. “Logan and I have been talking this whole time,” she whispered excitedly into her ear.

  “That’s great!” Hudson said encouragingly.

  “I really feel like he’s this close to asking me out,” Hillary said excitedly. “Should I have a date planned or should I leave it up to him?”

  “I think we should just leave it up to him,” Hudson said. “And by the way, you look really nice.”

  “Thanks. Do you guys want something to eat?” Hillary asked her friends in a louder voice.

  “Sure,” Carina said, going straight to the fridge and opening it. “Are these enchiladas?” she asked, taking a Tupperware container from the fridge. “Score.”

  “C, put that back,” Lizzie said.

  “No, she can have some,” said a voice, and Hudson turned to see Ben walk into the kitchen. At first Hudson barely recognized him. He looked so different than he had the day before. Then Hudson realized that he was wearing clothes that fit: dark jeans, a black T-shirt that read STOP THE ROBOTS, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that were a little too square-shaped to be cool. “Hey, Hudson,” he said shyly. “Nice… cape.”

  “Hey, Ben,” Hudson said. “These are my friends Carina and Lizzie. They came with me for… well, because they’d never seen Larchmont.” She quickly unpinned her cape and took it off.

  “Oh, hey,” Ben said, awkwardly shaking their hands. “Nice to meet you.”

  Hudson watched Carina and Lizzie size him up. Lizzie was always polite, but sometimes Carina could take her time. “Nice to meet you, too,” Lizzie said.

  “You sure I can eat these?” Carina asked, popping the lid off the Tupperware.

  “Oh, sure. My mom would be flattered. Does anyone want something to drink?” he asked.

  “Water would be great,” Hudson said. She tried to imagine her mom making enchiladas—at least, with real cheese. It was impossible.

  “So, lemme ask you something, Ben,” Carina said, folding her arms and walking away from the Tupperware. “What exactly are your plans for this band?” She sounded just like she had the day they’d barged into Andrea Sidwell’s photo studio to find out about Lizzie’s modeling opportunities.

  “My friends are a little protective,” Hudson explained.

  “No, I get it,” Ben said, going straight to the sink to get Hudson a glass of water. “I saw you sing. You don’t want to be around a bunch of deadweights.” He grinned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, we’re definitely not deadweights.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Hudson said, feeling the heat in her face.

  “I think, Marina—”

  “It’s Ca -rina,” Carina interrupted.

  “Carina, I love jazz,” he said. “Are you into jazz?”

  “Uh, no,” Carina said decisively. “But Hudson here is. Actually, she’s got her own unique style. It’s like a cross between Nina…” Carina turned to Hudson. “Nina, who?”

  “Nina Simone,” Hudson said. “Nina Simone and Abbey Lincoln. And a little bit of Julie London.”

  “And Lady Gaga,” Ben said with a smile. “Let’s go down to the basement. That’s where we’re all set up. And you can see for yourself
if we’re up to your standards.” As he made his way out of the kitchen he stumbled on a broom handle but caught himself.

  Hudson saw Carina almost giggle. “Be nice,” she whispered.

  “I am!” Carina whispered back.

  Hillary tagged along. “Logan looks really cute today,” she whispered to Hudson. “And we talked for, like, three whole minutes.”

  “Then I’m sure he’s really into you, Hil,” Hudson said.

  Hillary wrinkled her nose. “You sure I look okay? Do you think I look too boring?” she asked, yanking on her sweater.

  “I think you look perfect,” Hudson said, making Hillary beam. “Very agnès b.”

  “Who’s agnès b.?” Hillary asked.

  “Oh, just… no one,” Hudson said, knowing that Hillary probably wouldn’t have heard of the super-influential French designer from the eighties. “So, have you guys picked a name?” Hudson asked Ben as she followed him down a back hallway.

  “Right now we’re the Stone Cold Freaks,” Ben said. “But that’s just temporary.”

  Thank God, Hudson thought. Hudson and Carina and Lizzie all flashed looks at one another.

  “And I have to tell you, the other guys aren’t mad,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “but they’re a little weirded out. They knew we needed someone on piano, but they didn’t know we were gonna have a lead singer. I spoke a little too soon.”

  Hudson cast a worried look at her friends.

  “But don’t worry. Let’s just play one of your songs,” he said, pushing up his glasses again. “And if it’s as good as Hillary says, then great.”

  “No problem,” she said cheerfully. So this was going to be more like an audition after all. In that case, she was extra glad she’d brought her friends.

  Then Ben opened the door to the basement stairs, and she heard the music. Or at least what sounded like music. Someone was pounding mercilessly on the drums while a saxophone whined and warbled over the beat. Hudson knew that this was supposed to be the kind of hectic, free-form “coffee-shop jazz” that Hillary had referred to at the bar mitzvah. But this wasn’t even that. This was just noise.