“You guys, please,” she pleaded, putting down her fork. “I’m really nervous about this SNL thing. Don’t make it worse for me, okay?”
Lizzie and Carina traded a look and then went back to eating their meals. Hudson resumed picking at her food. The breakup had hit her mother hard, just as Hudson had feared. Holla had confronted Chris about the mystery woman that same night, and after some denials, he confessed. She was his last girlfriend, with whom he’d never quite broken up. Luckily Holla’s album was finished. She called Chris a few choice words and then hung up on him, and despite the frantic voice mails he’d left, she hadn’t looked back.
Except Holla descended quickly into Breakup Mode—periods of manic activity followed by utter depression. The day after the breakup, Hudson came home to find Holla padding around the house barefoot, looking lost and remote. Hudson had seen her mom suffer through many a breakup, but she’d never actually been the instigator of one. Hudson told Lorraine to whip up a batch of her vegan chocolate-chip cookies and bring them up to the prayer room, where she and her mom ended up hanging out on the couch, watching The Devil Wears Prada. She told her mom that she was better off without Chris, and reminded her that she’d barely wasted any time on the guy. Still, Holla was heartsick.
“The whole time, he was with her,” she kept saying, as if she didn’t believe it. “The whole time.”
When Holla eventually brought up the Saturday Night Live appearance again, it wasn’t even a question that Hudson would do it.
“If you’re out there, doing it with me, I’ll feel strong,” Holla said, squeezing Hudson’s hand. “I won’t be thinking about him.”
“Sure, Mom,” Hudson said, squeezing back. It was the least she could do.
Now the show was all Holla could talk about. They’d already had three hour-long rehearsals for a three-minute song. There had been sit-down meetings about hair and makeup with Gino and Suzette. Holla even wanted Hudson to do a dance solo, to which Hudson had reluctantly agreed.
Now Hudson sat with her friends in uncomfortable silence. She knew that she’d made a mistake by saying yes. And there was no way out of it.
“Have you heard from Ben?” Lizzie asked quietly.
Hudson put down her fork and shook her head. “I wonder if he has spring break for the next couple of weeks, too.”
“Are they still doing the Joe’s Pub show?” Carina asked.
Hudson shrugged. “No clue. I haven’t heard from any of them. Not that I would.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want to call him?” Lizzie asked. “You did hang up on the guy.”
“Call him and say what?”
“At least hear him out,” Carina said.
“I think I know all I need to,” she murmured.
“Ben just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that,” Lizzie said. “Did he seem like that to you?” she asked Carina.
Carina shook her head. “I didn’t think so. But people do crazy, selfish stuff sometimes. Hey, speaking of crazy,” she said, glancing over at the corner. “Is that Hillary coming over here?”
Hudson looked up from her plate. If the girl gliding toward them had ever been Hudson’s eccentric, fashion-challenged friend, it was now impossible to tell. This was an astonishingly elegant stranger, wearing silver ballet flats, a leather backpack falling artfully from one shoulder, and dark lipstick. She’d traded her sequined sweaters for a silk camisole and a cropped black blazer—both against the school’s uniform code—and her once-dowdy Chadwick kilt had been rolled up at least five inches. She even wore jewelry: a silver cuff bracelet and silver leaf earrings that caught the light as she walked.
“Did you do that to her?” Lizzie asked Hudson.
“I don’t think so,” Hudson said.
“Hey, you guys,” Hillary said as she approached.
“Hi… uh… hi,” they murmured, all of them in awe of Hillary’s new look.
Hillary’s gaze zeroed in on Hudson. “Can I talk to you for a sec? It’s kind of important.” She drummed her fingers on the strap of her book bag, and Hudson noticed that her nails were French-manicured. Almost like Ava’s.
“Uh… sure,” Hudson said, still a little stunned. “I’ll be right back, you guys.” She followed Hillary outside onto the street.
Hillary walked down the block and planted herself in front of Sweet Nothings, Carina’s favorite candy boutique.
“So, what’s up?” Hudson said.
“Why’d you quit the band?” Hillary asked, point-blank. “Ben told me you quit. He also told me you hung up on him, but we’ll get to that later. Why’d you quit?”
“That’s between me and Ben.”
“You know how much this Joe’s Pub show means to him,” Hillary said. “How could you do that?”
“Is he still playing the show?” Hudson asked cautiously.
“Of course they’re not playing. They can’t do anything without you.”
“Hillary, this might be hard to believe,” Hudson said, “but I think Ben did something really gross.”
Hillary put her tiny fists on her hips. “What are you talking about?” she asked snippily.
“I think he told the people at Joe’s Pub that if they booked us, my mom would personally show up and do a few songs there.”
Hillary just stared at her.
“My mom got the call. And this was after I’d finally told him everything—who my mom was, all the reasons I wanted to be in his band, and why I didn’t want her involved,” she went on. “He totally destroyed my trust in him, okay? That’s why I quit. That’s why I hung up on him.”
“Ben wouldn’t do that,” she said.
Hudson shrugged. “He did it. He practically admitted it to me.”
“No. I know my cousin. And I know that this is something he would never do.” Hillary pulled her phone out of her book bag. “Call him up right now and apologize.”
“Hillary! No,” Hudson said, backing away from her. “I’m not apologizing!”
“But you have to,” Hillary said. “I know he didn’t do this. And maybe it’s not too late to save the Joe’s Pub show—”
“It is too late,” Hudson said. “I have another show tomorrow night. With my mom. I’m doing Saturday Night Live.”
“With your mom?” Hillary asked, aghast.
“Yeah. With my mom. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Hillary shook her head. “I’m just…” Hillary was quiet for a moment. “What about all the work we’ve done together?” she finally said. “What about doing stuff your own way?”
“I tried that,” Hudson said, stepping away from her. “It didn’t work.”
Hillary went quiet again.
“I’m not the one who did anything,” Hudson added. “This is all his fault. So if it’s okay with you, I have to get back to my friends.”
Hudson wheeled around and walked quickly up the block, not looking back. She was so angry that her chest hurt. None of this was Hillary’s business. And she had no right to take her phone out like that and push it in Hudson’s face.
Carina and Lizzie watched her carefully as she made her way back into the diner and to the table. “Everything okay?” Lizzie asked.
“Yeah, everything’s great,” Hudson fibbed, reaching for her bag.
“What happened?” Carina prodded.
“She’s mad that I got into a fight with her cousin,” Hudson answered. “She said that it wasn’t like him to do something like that.”
“Maybe she’s right,” Lizzie said.
“Well, she still had no right to get mad at me,” Hudson said. “She’s just upset with me about other stuff, too.”
“What other stuff?” Lizzie asked.
“Nothing,” Hudson murmured.
“I think you just got a text,” Carina said, gesturing to Hudson’s bag.
Hudson pulled out her phone. It was from her mom.
Rehearsal today at 4—don’t be late!
“You guys, h
elp,” Hudson pleaded.
“What?”
“I really don’t think I can do this. How do I get out of this?”
Carina and Lizzie looked back at her, stricken. Hudson knew what they were thinking: Sorry, H. It’s too late.
chapter 28
“Now, just stand very still for a second,” said Paula, the wardrobe lady, as she pulled Hudson’s silvery purple dress tighter around her back. “You’re so tiny, but this should do the trick.”
Hudson stared in the full-length mirror as Paula secured the pin and the dress magically shrank a size. It was, Hudson had to admit, beautiful—metallic and sparkly and belted, with short sleeves and a V-neck. She’d actually bought it online, and Holla had taken one look at it and had decided to wear something in almost the exact same color.
“Okay, I think that should do it,” Paula said, squinting at Hudson in the mirror. “You’re going to look adorable next to your mom out there.”
“Thanks,” Hudson said, stepping off the pedestal. “Do you need me to send her in here?”
“She looked fine to me during dress rehearsal, but I’ll check on her. And I think it’s better if I go to her,” she said, grabbing her sewing box.
Hudson followed Paula out of the wardrobe room and into the main hallway of the Saturday Night Live studios. It was jammed with people—writers, producers, NBC pages dressed in uniform and scurrying around in the five minutes before air. A few cast members ran by, already in makeup and costume for the opening sketch. A college-aged intern pushed a wardrobe cart up the hall, and a PA wearing headphones led some people into the green-room. At the end of the hall was a set of double doors, and behind that was the studio, where the SNL house band was grinding out “Mustang Sally,” warming up the audience. Through the doors Hudson could hear them clapping and hooting. Even though she’d been terrified of this night, now she looked around her in awe. It was hard not to get swept up in this.
Paula turned left at the double doors and then right, into Holla’s dressing room. Hudson followed her but almost bumped right into Little Jimmy, who had been edged out of the room.
“Too many people in there,” he said and pointed at the crowd spilling out of the narrow doorway and into the hall. Hudson had never seen most of these people before, but she could tell from their suits and dead-serious expressions that they were from Holla’s label. Hudson pushed her way inside.
At the far end of the room, Holla sat in a director’s chair in front of a mirror framed by tiny white bulbs, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, letting Suzette and Gino do their work. Suzette applied fake eyelashes while Gino ironed Holla’s hair, which hung straight down on either side of her head, perfectly smooth. Her bangs—newly cut—just skimmed her thickly lined eyes. Her strapless, bandage-style dress in the same purple-gunmetal metallic sheen as Hudson’s glinted under the lights.
Brendan, the music producer she’d met at the rehearsal, approached Hudson through the crowd. He was dressed in jeans and beat-up sneakers and held a folder under his arm. He was cute, with short, rumpled-looking black hair, but Hudson tried not to notice. “So we’ll be coming to get you around ten after twelve,” he said, “but before that someone’ll come by to mic you and your mom.”
“Great,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I know you didn’t want to rehearse, to keep everything under wraps,” he said, “but we just have to know in advance… Are you all set? It is live television.”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to sound like she went on Saturday Night Live once a month.
Brendan looked at Hudson just a bit longer than necessary, as if he were trying to figure this out himself. “Okay, I’ll see you out there,” he said, checking his watch. “Have a great show.”
The TV looming above them in the corner of the room flickered, and a blue screen came on.
“What’s that?” Hudson asked.
“It’s the live feed from the studio,” Paula explained. “As soon as the show starts, you’ll be able to watch it in here.” Paula approached Holla. “Just want to make sure you’re okay with wardrobe?”
Holla held up her hand. “It’s all good. But let me see you, Hudson,” she ordered. “Come over here.”
Hudson dutifully pushed her way up to her mother’s chair.
Suzette and Gino moved aside and Holla beamed at Hudson in the mirror. “Adorable,” she said, holding Hudson around the waist. “Just adorable. Look at us. This is brilliant.” They practically looked like twins in their matching silvery purple dresses.
Kierce walked up to them and gave Hudson a sweeping head-to-toe squint. “It’s perfect!” he decided.
“Hey, the show is starting!” somebody yelled. Hudson glanced up at the TV. A hush fell over the crowd as the screen went black, and the opening sketch began.
“Honey.” Holla grabbed Hudson’s wrist and pulled her in closer. Hudson almost collided with Suzette’s mascara wand. “You are ready for this, right?” she asked.
The crowd in the room laughed uproariously at the TV.
“Do you remember the dance moves?” Holla asked, sounding impatient. “Shimmy, then double-turn, then head thrown back?”
“Yeah,” Hudson said. “Of course.” At least she thought she did. It would be hard to forget something so embarrassing.
“Good.” Holla narrowed her eyes. “If you feel yourself getting anxious, just remember what I always say: No negativity.”
“Right,” Hudson said.
Holla released her grip, and Hudson stepped aside to let Suzette apply Holla’s mascara. As she tried to make her way to the sofa, she repeated those words back to herself: No negativity. They did nothing to quell the feeling of doom that was starting to overtake her.
“Okay, people!” Sophie cried. “Holla would like everyone who doesn’t need to be here to please move into the greenroom! Now!”
Reluctantly the men in suits started to head to the doors. Hudson sat on the leather sofa, staring at the yellow and red diamond-patterned carpet. Did she need to be here? This was a mistake. Maybe an even bigger one than the Silver Snowflake Ball.
“Good luck, Hudson,” someone said to her, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ll be watching.”
She looked up. It was Richard Wu, her record label executive.
“We’re so excited you’re back. And we’ve got a great tour lined up for you already,” he said with a smile. “If tonight goes well, we’ll even get your mom to come out with you onstage a few times.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Now just go out there and have fun.”
He walked out the door before she could say anything. My mom? she wanted to yell. On my tour? Come out onstage with me?
And then she realized: Her mom didn’t just want Hudson to be a mini-Holla, the perfect daughter following in her mom’s footsteps. She wanted a way to keep reaching younger fans.
She had to get out of this. If she walked out onto that stage and did this show, it would kick off a chain of events that she would never be able to stop.
Minutes later, a knock on the door made her jump, and then a bearded PA walked in, holding a couple of mics and sound packs.
“I just need to get these on the two of you before we go out there,” he said. He walked over to Hudson first. “This’ll only take a second.”
Hudson stood still as the PA looped the mic around the back of her dress. She hoped he couldn’t hear her pounding heart.
“Okay, now you,” he said to Holla.
Holla took her time getting out of her chair, never taking her eyes off her reflection as she fixed her hair. “Okay, fine, go to it,” she said, and the PA clipped the mic to her dress.
Brendan walked into the room. “Okay, how’re we doing? We all ready to go?”
“Just a second,” Holla said, turning around in front of the mirror to check for any unsightly bulges. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Mom?” Hudson suddenly asked. “Are you planning on doing more duets with me? You know, if I go on tour?”
/> Holla frowned. “What are you talking about, baby?” she asked, looking back in the mirror.
“Just what I said,” Hudson said evenly. “Are we going to be doing this again? Is this something you talked about with my label?”
“Let’s talk about this another time, shall we?” Holla said sternly.
“No,” Hudson said, blocking her way. “I need you to tell me now.”
Holla folded her arms. She looked more glamorous than Hudson had ever seen her, with her Cleopatra bangs and dramatically dark eyes. She took a deep breath, as if she were trying not to lose her temper. “We don’t have time for one of your moods right now, honey. We have a show to do.” She pushed past Hudson and began walking toward the door.
“Just follow me,” Brendan said, trying to still sound excited.
Hudson followed them, quietly furious at being cut off. Of course it hadn’t been great timing, but her mom could have answered her question. Brendan led them out of the dressing room and into another hallway, which seemed to be the entrance to the stage. Hudson spotted two or three SNL cast members, in costume, waiting to go on.
“Okay, we’re going to have you wait out here,” Brendan said, leading them up to another door.
Beyond it Hudson could hear the band playing. The show had to be at a commercial break. In just a few moments they would be back, and it would be time for her to walk out onstage.
She tried to picture what it might be like in there. The cameras moving around silently like ghosts on the studio floor. The people in the audience. The stage manager motioning for them to wrap it up, that time was running out…
She started to breathe fast. Her vision got darker. It was as if someone were pulling a blindfold over her eyes.
And then a small voice rose up inside of her: This isn’t right, Hudson. Don’t fight it anymore.
“Okay, here we go,” Brendan said, grabbing the door handle and pulling the door open.
Hudson grabbed her mom’s arm. “No. I can’t.”
Brendan and Holla turned around. “Hudson, come on,” Holla said, trying to smile.