That night Hudson watched, a smile frozen on her face, as the party guests arrived. Votive candles flickered in every corner of the living room, and black-jacketed waiters passed around platters of hors d’oeuvres. Holla weaved through the crowd, looking glamorous in a one-shoulder crimson dress that swept the floor. Hudson kept her eyes glued on her mother like a traffic accident, unable to look away. Holla was gracious and calm, the perfect hostess, but she glanced at the door repeatedly, waiting for the guest of honor to arrive. Finally, at six forty-five, she walked up to Hudson, who was still standing off to the side, contemplating a vegan dumpling but too filled with dread to eat it.
“Where’s Jenny?” Holla demanded, one hand on her hip.
Hudson just shrugged.
“Call her right now and tell her to get down to this house,” she snapped.
“No problem,” Hudson said, and went up to her room. She sat down at her desk, trying to think. She’d known this moment was coming, of course. And she still didn’t have any idea of how to resolve it. She opened her laptop. Jenny still hadn’t written her back yet—not that that would have helped anything. Hudson bit one of her fingernails. It was awful to make Jenny look like even more of a flake than she already was, but her mom was used to this, after all. Jenny had done worse things to her over the years. She’d even dated one of Holla’s boyfriends right after Holla broke up with him. So blowing off her own birthday party almost wasn’t that bad.
Hudson went back down to the party after a few minutes had passed. “She’s not there,” she said to Holla with as straight a face as she could.
Holla’s eyes blazed. “What do you mean she’s not there?”
“I mean, she’s not answering her cell phone,” Hudson said, cringing inside as she said it.
Holla shook her head as if she didn’t quite understand, and then one of her party guests tapped her on the shoulder and drew her back into the crowd.
Hudson retreated into the corner. She reached for a mini veggie burger and popped it into her mouth even though she felt nauseous.
Holla asked Hudson to call Jenny again at seven, at eight, and then, one last time, at eight thirty. Each time Hudson went up to her room and just sat there, staring at the phone for a few minutes. Just tell her the truth, she’d think. But it was almost too late.
“She wasn’t there,” she’d say when she returned, as her mom’s expression changed from disbelief to fury to quiet, enraged acceptance.
At the end of the night, after the last party guest had thanked Holla and wished her well, Hudson watched her mother shut the front door, then walk around the living room, blowing out each votive candle.
“Mom?” she asked, thankful for the gathering dark. “Are you all right?”
Holla didn’t say anything.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
Her mom turned to her in the dark. “I don’t want you to ever see her again,” she said evenly. She left the room, leaving Hudson with an untouched tray of pastel macaroons.
chapter 23
“You go on at eight o’clock, you play six songs, and then you have two minutes to get off the stage,” said Bruce, the manager and head booker at Violet’s, wagging one thick, gnarled finger at them. He had watery blue eyes, a graying beard, and a very suspicious manner. “And no drinking. Do not go near the bar. You want some soda, you come ask me. You got that?”
“Don’t worry. They won’t be drinking,” said Mrs. Geyer. Mrs. Geyer had agreed to be the band’s official chaperone for the evening. Hudson was becoming more and more impressed with Mrs. Geyer every day. She’d helped the boys haul in equipment and then parked the car in a nearby garage. Now she sat in the corner with her handbag in her lap, quietly reading a magazine and doing her best to melt into the background. Hudson couldn’t imagine her mom doing one of those things, let alone all of them. If Mrs. Geyer still had reservations about Ben’s music career, she seemed to be getting over them.
“And anyone asks how old you are, just say eighteen,” Bruce continued.
“That’s no problem, sir,” said Ben, with his usual politeness.
Bruce stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t be fresh with me,” he said, pointing his finger. Then he walked out, leaving a trail of bad vibes behind him.
“For a guy who booked the Ramones, he seems a little uptight,” Gordie said, adjusting his glasses.
“Dude has a killer beard,” Logan observed.
“Anyone hungry?” Mrs. Geyer asked, reaching into her purse. “I’ve got beef jerky and Fruit Roll-Ups.”
“Mom,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you brought Fruit Roll-Ups.”
Hudson got up and paced around the small, cavelike dressing room. She’d heard and read so much about this place: famous brawls in the dressing room, police raids on the bathrooms. Of course, these days it was much tamer. The only reminder of Violet’s wild past seemed to be here, on the dressing room walls, which were covered in mostly illegible graffiti.
“Hey, does anyone have a pen?” she asked.
Ben walked over and pulled one out of his back pocket. “You gonna add something of your own?”
“We have to leave our mark,” Hudson said. She took his ballpoint pen and crouched low, careful not to let the hem of her flouncy burgundy chiffon dress get dirty. She pushed the pen into the peeling paint. THE RISING SIGNS, she wrote. And then the date.
“Hudson, is your mother coming?” Mrs. Geyer asked.
“Oh, she can’t make it,” Hudson said.
“Really?” Mrs. Geyer asked, surprised. “She can’t?”
“She’s out of town.” She’d told Raquel to tell Holla that she was going over to Lizzie’s house to study. It was a bit of a sloppy lie, but it was the best she’d been able to come up with, now that her mom and Jenny were so clearly on the outs. And Aunt Jenny was still out of the country. Every time she thought about Aunt Jenny she got a terrible knotted feeling in her stomach. But standing here now in this dressing room, she knew that she’d done the right thing by not telling her mom the truth.
“Your mother does know about all this, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Geyer asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine with it. Hey, do you want to come with me to the deli?” Hudson asked Ben. “I think I need some lozenges for my throat.”
“Sure.”
“Hurry back,” said Mrs. Geyer. “You go on in twenty minutes.”
As they walked out into the main room, Hudson realized that this was the first time she’d ever been in a real music club; her mom hadn’t played places like this since before Hudson was born. Violet’s was just one room, hardly any bigger than her bedroom at home. A cluster of tables stood on the floor, just a few feet from the stage. The bar on the side was barely longer than the island in Holla’s kitchen. Above the bar hung a collection of old photographs. And there, against the far wall, was the small, cramped stage, bathed in soft reddish light.
“Wow,” Ben said, looking around. “You have to thank that guy Alex for me. This is incredible.”
“I know.” Hudson laughed. “I can’t believe we’re here.”
“I was thinking,” Ben said, scratching his un-pomaded curly hair, “It might be kind of crazy, but we should try to get booked at Joe’s Pub. What’s the worst that can happen? They say no? Big deal.”
“Right. I think we should.”
They left the club and started walking to the corner. Just tell him, she thought. It would be so easy. Drops of rain were just starting to fall. A city bus wheezed its way up Bowery Street. Reggae music came from a taxi at the corner. Next door, a restaurant had just opened up. There was a velvet rope set up in front, manned by a large bouncer, and a throng of paparazzi jostling nearby, snapping the people walking in and out.
“I have this theory,” said Ben, “that a velvet rope is basically all you need to make a place cool. That and a few weird guys with really big cameras just hanging out in front.”
“I think you’re r
ight about that,” Hudson said.
“Yeah. I mean, people will believe anything if they see a bouncer in front of a place—”
“Hudson!” someone yelled.
Hudson looked. It was a photographer. Before she could move he’d aimed his camera at her.
SNAP! The camera flash exploded in her face.
“Hudson!” another photographer yelled.
CLICK! went his camera as another flash blinded her.
“Where’s your mother?” another one yelled. SNAP!
“What’s going on?” Ben asked. “Why are they taking your picture?”
“Come here,” she said, grabbing his arm and leading him into the deli.
“Do those people know you?” asked Ben. “How do they know your name? Why are they asking about your mom?”
She ran into the deli and down an aisle of potato chips and bags of mini-pretzels. She couldn’t look at Ben. She looked at the potato chip bags, the shelves of candy, anywhere but his face.
“Hudson?” Ben asked. “What was that?”
Finally she met his worried gaze. “My mom is Holla Jones, Ben.”
Ben blinked for a few moments. It was as if she’d just said she were a martian.
“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I should have,” she said. “But I haven’t told her about you guys yet, either.”
“What?” Ben asked. “Why not?”
“Because I was supposed to put out my own album this spring.”
“You were?” he said.
“And she’d never understand why I’m now in a jazz band up in Westchester.”
“Thanks,” Ben muttered.
“Sorry, that didn’t come out right,” Hudson said. “Look, I don’t want my mom anywhere near this. She just takes over. She takes over everything. She took over my album and changed everything. She turned all my songs into this crazy sampled pop stuff, stuff I couldn’t even recognize. It was awful. And then I tried to sing one of the songs in front of this big party and it was a disaster. And I figured that was a sign that it’s just not meant to be after all. So I just decided to stop.”
Ben nodded slowly, trying to understand.
“But then I found you guys,” she said. “And you helped me remember why I want to do this. Why I love music. And that I need to play the kind of stuff I want to play. No matter what.” She shivered in the cold. “And being up in Larchmont, being in your basement, hanging out with Ellie, it’s like I’m finally just me, you know? I’m not Holla Jones two-point-oh. For once.”
Ben smiled. “Hudson,” he said, stepping closer to her, “I know we don’t know each other very well. But you’re talented, okay? Seriously talented. And sometimes I feel like you don’t really believe it. It’s like you’re embarrassed by it.”
Hudson fidgeted with the bags of chips.
“And now I get it,” he said. “I can’t imagine having everyone in the world know my mom. And being compared to her. That would suck.” He reached over and grabbed a pack of Ricola drops. “But you have to take up your own place in the world. And feel like you deserve to.”
Hudson looked up at Ben. He gave her the Ricolas.
“And as far as not wanting your mom involved, that’s fine, but think about the position you’re in: You don’t have to pound down doors. You don’t have to stalk someone to listen to your tape. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I know,” she said, readjusting some pretzels on the rack. “I just didn’t want you guys to expect that.”
“I don’t,” Ben said. “But if this is what you really want to do, why are you making it so hard?”
She thought about that for a moment. “It’s just how I want this to be right now.”
Ben nodded. “Well, can I tell the rest of the guys?” he asked. “Would that be okay?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Maybe later. But not now.” She walked to the register.
“Okay.” He touched her shoulder. “And Hudson?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for telling me the truth.”
“You’re welcome.” She paid for the Ricolas and they walked out of the deli.
“So, are you gonna get your picture taken again?” he joked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hudson said. “They don’t usually end up anywhere.” She watched the paparazzi milling around outside and was relieved to see that most of them had their backs to her. And then a couple walked out of the bar, past the velvet rope, and onto the sidewalk in front of them. They held their heads down and walked quickly by the paparazzi, who didn’t seem to notice them. The guy was tall and skinny and his hair looked reddish-blond in the dim orange light of the street lamps. He held the hand of the woman with him. She was tiny and thin, with long brown hair that fell over the hood of her shearling coat.
Hudson watched as the man leaned down, kissed her, and then reached into the back pocket of his Levi’s and pulled out a blue knit hat.
Hudson felt a shiver run through her. It was Chris Brompton. With another woman.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“What?” Ben asked. “What is it?”
She watched Chris and his mystery woman cross the street.
“Hudson? What’s going on?”
“I know that guy,” she said, pointing, unable to say more.
“We gotta go,” said Ben, glancing at his watch. “We have a show to play, remember?”
She stared at the man’s back as he walked away. It could have been someone else. After all, she hadn’t seen his face. But she knew with a sick certainty that it was him.
She was so distracted that she didn’t even notice the bouncer in front of Violet’s when they walked back inside.
“Wait. How old are you kids?” he asked.
“We’re playing tonight,” Ben explained, and showed the bouncer his bracelet.
They pushed through the crowd and headed toward the stage. The room had filled while they were gone. They reached the dressing room just as Gordie and Logan were about to walk out. “Where’ve you guys been?” Logan asked.
“Sorry!” Hudson said, digging in her purse for a comb and some lip gloss.
Bruce walked in, waving his arms. “What are you waiting for, kids? You’re on!” he yelled. “Get out there!”
Hudson threw her things back in her purse and ran after her bandmates out onto the stage.
“Hey. We’re the Rising Signs,” Hudson said into the mic as she sat down at the piano.
A cheer rose up from the tables. A few people even whistled. Hudson pushed the image of Chris Brompton out of her head, leaned into the mic, and, thinking, You’re here, you’re actually here, she started to sing.
chapter 24
I have to tell her, Hudson thought as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I have to tell her what I saw last night.
It was early—so early that her alarm clock hadn’t even gone off yet. Outside her velvet curtains she could hear the whine of a garbage truck stopped outside their house. It was a school day, but Hudson felt too exhausted to even get up. She’d barely slept last night after the gig. The show at Violet’s had been unbelievably and wonderfully great. The crowd had loved the songs, and even Bruce had seemed impressed. They’d even had some requests for CDs, even though they didn’t have any yet.
But she couldn’t get the picture of Chris kissing that woman out of her mind. It was clear that she had to say something. If she didn’t, Holla would fall deeper in love with him. But if she did tell her mom, she would have to explain being in the middle of the East Village last night instead of at Lizzie’s apartment.
“Don’t say anything,” Carina had warned her over the phone, after the show. “Just pretend you never saw it. That’s what I would do. No way do you want to get in the middle of that.”
“You have to tell her!” Lizzie argued when Hudson called her after speaking to Carina. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“But if I tell her, she’s gonna want to know whe
re I saw him,” Hudson explained.
Lizzie seemed to be thinking. “Just say that you saw him near my house.”
“But why would we be out on the street?” Hudson asked.
Lizzie didn’t have any response to that.
“Ugh,” she said into her pillow, remembering the conversation now, just as her vintage sixties alarm clock rang.
Hudson reached up and slammed the clanging bells with her hand. Then she grabbed her iPhone off the floor and, out of habit, checked her e-mail.
Jenny had finally written her back. Holding her breath, Hudson opened it.
Hey, Hudson, just got your message. I’m really shocked to hear about the party. I told you that I was going to be out of town. I was wondering why I never heard from you again. Guess you only needed me for an “alibi.” I will be calling your mom as soon as I get home.
Jenny
With a piercing sensation in her chest, Hudson saw that Holla had been cc’d on the message.
Hudson threw the phone to the floor and walked to the bathroom on shaky legs. She was in serious trouble. Now her mom knew almost everything. Like a zombie, she showered, dried off, and put on her school uniform. When she opened the door, Matilda was there, excitedly circling her feet. Hudson picked her up. “I’m in trouble, Bubs,” she whispered into the dog’s ear. Matilda licked Hudson’s nose almost sympathetically. Hudson walked down the stairs, passing the kitchen. If her mom were home, she knew where she would probably be, and there was no sense in dragging this out.
Hudson put Matilda down at the glass doors of the yoga studio. Inside, she could see Holla’s pierced and dreadlocked hula-hooping instructor, Che, swiveling a hoop around her waist. Holla stood in the corner, conferring with Sophie, with her back to the door.
Hudson opened the door. Here goes, she thought. “Mom?” she asked.
Holla turned around before Hudson even finished speaking. Her eyes were dark and seemed even bigger than usual. Her chest heaved up and down.