The Daughters Take the Stage

  JOANNA PHILBIN

  LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY

  New York Boston

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  For Ido

  chapter 1

  “You can’t just sing the song, Hudson. It’s not enough to sing the song. You have to own it,” said Holla Jones as she paced back and forth in front of her daughter, Hudson, on the stage of the Grand Ballroom in the Pierre Hotel. “Own the stage, own the song, and you’ll own the crowd. And that, my dear,” she said, pivoting to face Hudson, who stood half-hidden behind a curtain, “is how you become a star.”

  Hudson bit her full bottom lip. She would be playing her first show ever in just a few hours, and already her mom was using the S word. Then again, her mom used that word a lot. Actually, Holla Jones was much more than a pop star—she was a treasured piece of American pop culture. For the past twenty years, her songs had become instant hits all over the world. Her concerts sold out in minutes. Her albums went platinum. Her bubblegumpop-with-an-edge sound was copied by artists everywhere. And Hudson knew that she’d been waiting almost fourteen years to teach her only daughter everything she knew.

  “So, you walk up to the mic like this,” Holla said, taking short, quick steps on her stiletto-heeled booties toward an imaginary microphone at the edge of the stage. “The last thing you want to do is trip in front of an audience before you’ve even sung a note.” She pretended to grab a microphone. “You slip it out of the stand, and then you hold it just a few inches from your lips, and then you back up just a little bit,” she said, taking some steps backwards. “Then you say something to the crowd,” she went on. “Be witty, but brief. And then, honey, you start to sing,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Hudson and smiling.

  At thirty-seven her mom was still beautiful, with flawless dark brown skin, lush lips, and straightened toffee-colored hair that fell past her shoulders. Her tight yoga jacket and pants showed off a body that was sculpted to the extreme: carved biceps, a rock-hard stomach, and slender, muscular legs. Her high, regal forehead didn’t have one wrinkle, and she moved with a dancer’s grace—shoulders thrown back, spine ramrod-straight. Hudson had inherited that grace, along with her mom’s sweeping cheekbones and razor-sharp jawline. But her sea green eyes and wavy hair and French toast–colored complexion came from her dad—or at least she figured as much, based on the photos she’d seen of him. Michael Kelly had been Holla’s backup dancer on her second concert tour. He was white and preppy-looking, with thick dark hair, a chiseled face, and soulful eyes, like Billy Crudup crossed with Mikhail Baryshnikov. In pictures he stood next to Holla, his head on her shoulder, smiling goofily into the camera. But they’d had a tumultuous relationship, and when the tour ended he broke up with her, just before she learned she was pregnant. He hadn’t been heard from or seen since, and Holla, out of pride, had never tried to contact him. Sometimes Hudson wondered if he even knew he had a daughter. Holla didn’t mention him too often, and most of the time it was almost as if he’d never existed at all.

  “Mom, it’s just the Silver Snowflake Ball,” Hudson said. “It’s not Radio City or anything.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Holla said. “Every show is important. Your producer and your record-label executive are coming. They’re going to want to see how you’ll do this when it’s time to go on tour. So come on out here. You can’t hide behind those curtains all day.”

  Hudson stepped out of the wings, still wearing the ripped jeans and black sweater she’d worn to her last final exam. As of today, school was officially over for winter break, and all she really wanted to do right now was go home and take a nap. Besides, she and her mom had already spent hours talking about this, planning this, and rehearsing this. In a million years, she never would have guessed that she’d end up singing at Ava Elting’s epic party. She hadn’t even been sure that she would go. But then Carina Jurgensen, one of Hudson’s best friends and the party planner for the event, had volunteered her as the night’s entertainment, and she’d had no choice but to go along with it. Needless to say, Ava had been hoping for the Jonas Brothers or Justin Timberlake or some other big star she thought Carina could get, thanks to her billionaire dad and his A-list connections. But Ava had settled for Hudson. And now she needed to be prepared.

  And her mom was right. In just six months her first album would drop, and then she would be playing shows all the time, at even scarier places. She needed to learn how to do this now. And even though she had a feeling that she hadn’t quite inherited her mom’s performance gene, at least she was getting a one-on-one tutorial that most other beginners would kill for.

  “Okay, let’s start the track,” Holla said. “Jason?” she called out to the wings. “Can we have the music, please?”

  Weeks ago, when Hudson was trying to decide on a song for the Ball, “Heartbeat” had seemed like the perfect choice. She’d written it about Kevin Hargreaves, who was four years older, a senior at Lawrenceville boarding school, and basically a complete stranger. But he was a Capricorn, which blended beautifully with Hudson’s Pisces sign, and he had deep, bottomless gray eyes that had made her heart pound and her hands sweat every time she’d seen him. Which had been exactly twice—first on the beach in Montauk, and the second time by accident in the Magnolia Bakery near her house. Carina knew him and had practically pushed Hudson into Kevin’s face both times. He’d barely made eye contact with her, and had pretty much said only “hey!” while Hudson stared at him, speechless. When she’d heard he was going out with Samantha Crain, a tenth grader at Lawrenceville, she was crushed. She’d gone straight to her piano, and two hours later she’d finished this song—a slow jazz- and soul-inflected number that she sang leaning over her piano, in her deep, smoky voice.

  But the song had since gone through a transformation. A few months ago, Holla decided that Hudson’s entire sound needed to change, that for the sake of her first album’s sales she would need to go bigger, brighter, and more radio-friendly. It wasn’t enough to have a small cult following—she needed to fill stadiums. So Hudson let her mom change studios. She let her take apart every track, layering it with digital beats and effects and backup voices. Until little by little, Hudson’s music sounded exactly like hers.

  Now, as the song came over the ballroom’s speakers, Hudson fought the urge to cover her ears. It was bad enough that it sounded fake and manufactured. Now Hudson had to sing to it. She’d never tried to sing without sitting at her piano. She had no idea what she was supposed to do with her hands and arms and feet. Of course, Holla knew what to do.

  “So, let’s practice those dance moves, honey,” Holla said, sidling up next to her. “First is the turn, like this,” Holla said, executing a perfect, weightless spin on the toes of her boots. “You try it.”

  “Mom, I told you, I really don’t want to dance,” Hudson said.

  “You’ve got to do something,” Holla insisted. “Come on. Try it. You’re such a good dancer.”

  Hudson threw herself to the left and barely did half a turn.

  “You’re not trying, Hudson,” Holla said. “Come on. I know you can do better than this.”

  Hudson gazed out at the brightly lit ballroom, filled with tables and chairs yet to be moved out. At least nobody was watching them yet. How much more fun would tonight be if I could just go to this party like everyone else? she thought. Just hang out with Carina and Lizzie and check out people’s dresses and scope the room for cute guys?

  “Mom, I really can’t do this,” Hudson said after trying to imitate her mom’s shimmy. “Do I need to dance? Why can’t I just sing?”

  “Oh, honey, don’t be so negative,” said Holla. “Don’t
you know what I always say about negativity?”

  “ ‘Negative thoughts draw negative things,’ ” Hudson recited.

  “That’s right,” Holla said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And you, my dear, are being extremely negative about this. Let’s play that again!” she called over her shoulder to Jason in the wings.

  Hudson waited for the music to begin. This isn’t right, a voice said inside her. Get out of this now. People will understand. Even Ava will have to understand.

  “Come on, Hudson, here we go,” Holla said. “Let’s do the turn, and then a shimmy to the right… that’s it.”

  It was just one night, Hudson told herself. She’d get through this, somehow. After all, she was the child of two dancers. She had to have gotten some of their talent.

  But inside, she wasn’t so sure. Her mom was the star in the family. And something told her that it was always going to stay that way.

  chapter 2

  Several hours later Hudson was back behind the same curtain, trying not to hyperventilate. On the other side, the Silver Snowflake Ball was in full swing. Butterflies flew around her stomach as she clutched the scratchy silk fabric. At least she knew she looked good. Gino, her mom’s hairstylist, had straightened her hair and then curled it into soft waves. Suzette, her mom’s makeup artist, had dusted her face with shimmery powder and lined her eyes with a thick purple pencil. Her vintage black silk halter dress felt cool and soft against her skin. She looked like a star. Now all she had to do was act like one. And not pass out.

  But first it would help to get a glimpse of her friends. She peeked out from the wings, ready to signal Carina or her other best friend, Lizzie Summers. And there, smack in front of her, was Carina, kissing some guy Hudson had never seen before. He was skinny, with spiky black hair and beat-up Stan Smiths, and he looked nothing like the guys Carina usually liked. It had to be Alex, the cool downtown DJ Carina had been talking about nonstop for the past few weeks. Normally she would have given them space, but this was an emergency, so Hudson marched right up to them and tapped Carina on the shoulder.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I think I’m supposed to go on now.”

  “Oh my God, you look gorgeous!” Carina said, breaking away from the kiss. With her beachy-blond hair, cocoa brown eyes, and freckled nose, Carina usually looked like the picture-perfect surfer girl. But in her emerald green minidress and gold heels, she was stunning.

  “Oh my God, I’m so happy I made you do this,” Carina said, jumping up and down. Then she remembered that they weren’t alone. “Oh, and by the way, this is Alex.”

  Hudson turned to the guy. He was definitely cute, with large, liquid brown eyes and sharp cheekbones. “Hey, it’s nice to meet you,” Hudson said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Hi there,” Alex said, shaking her hand. “Um, sorry to change the subject, but is that Holla Jones standing back there?” he asked, pointing into the wings.

  Hudson barely turned around. She knew that her mom was hovering nearby.

  “Holla’s Hudson’s mom,” Carina told him.

  “Wow,” Alex said. “This is some school you go to.”

  As they chatted, Hudson could see that Alex was head over heels for Carina, despite his cool exterior. But she was starting to get more and more nervous. The Silver Snowflake Ball was the most exclusive holiday party in the city. Ava had made sure to invite only the highest-ranking students from all the New York City private schools, and even some boarding schools. Hudson couldn’t quite see the crowd below the stage, but she could picture them, milling around, too cool to dance, too jaded to be excited about anyone who’d be performing. She knew that if she didn’t do a good job tonight, she’d be the laughingstock of New York. But she also knew that she just needed to get this over with, so she reminded Carina and Alex that it was time for her to start.

  “Okay, fine, break a leg,” Carina said to her.

  As Hudson turned to walk backstage she saw her mom coming toward her. Holla had changed into a tight black top and leather jeans.

  “You ready?” Holla asked, reaching out to touch Hudson’s curls. “Oh my God, what did Gino do to your hair? It’s so… unruly.”

  “Mom—”

  “Are you going to be able to dance in that dress?” Holla asked, looking her up and down with a disapproving frown. “It doesn’t look like your hips can move in that. I thought you were going to wear the blue dress with the Lycra in it.”

  “Mom,” Hudson said, feeling her heart rate start to rise. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Now just remember, when you get out there, there’s this thing called the fourth wall,” Holla said, putting her hands on her slender hips. “It’s like an invisible barrier between you and the audience. But you have to break it, over and over. You have to reach out into the audience and let them know that you’re there—”

  Hudson began to tune her mother out as the butterflies flitting around in her stomach turned into baby dragons.

  “—and make sure, whatever you do, that you project your voice, even with the microphone, and remember”—she paused for dramatic effect—“Richard is here from Swerve Records. Chris is here. Everyone’s watching you tonight. This has to be good.”

  Hudson nodded. From out of the corner of her eye she saw Ava Elting approaching. “Okay, fine, I have to go,” she said, slipping away from her mother’s stare just as Ava bossily inserted herself in front of her.

  “So are you ready?” Ava asked. She wore her auburn curls piled up on top of her head and an electric purple dress with a side slit that was cut way, way too high up her leg.

  “Sure,” Hudson said, because she knew from the way Ava was looking at her that she didn’t have a choice. “Let’s go.”

  “Just remember, it’s only one song,” Ava emphasized. “We don’t have time for any more.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Hudson. “I wasn’t planning to do a full concert.”

  Ava was oblivious to Hudson’s sarcasm. “Good luck!” she called out. Then she strode out onto the stage and right up to the mic, grabbing it like a pro. “Thanks everyone for coming!” she yelled. “And now I’d like to introduce to you the next huge pop music sensation, in her debut performance, the daughter of my really good friend Holla Jones, Hudson Jones!”

  “My good friend Holla Jones”? Hudson thought as the applause roared from the ballroom. Ava hadn’t even met her mom.

  But then the applause started to die, and Hudson knew that it was time to walk out onstage. Her heart began to race. She took her first, tentative steps. Here we go, she thought. You can do this. You can totally do this.

  With her eyes on the mic stand, she took the shortest steps she could on her three-inch heels. The last thing you want to do is trip in front of an audience before you’ve even sung a note, her mom had said.

  Hudson looked out into the audience and blinked. She’d expected to see Lizzie’s and Carina’s smiling faces out in the crowd, but thanks to the blinding spotlight, there was only darkness. She couldn’t see anything or anyone. She felt her throat tighten but she took the mic out of the stand and took a few steps back. She had no idea what to say.

  “Hi, everyone. It’s great to see you all here,” she half-whispered, holding the microphone an inch from her lips. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might fly up out of her throat and onto the stage. “This is a song off my first album. It’s called ‘Heartbeat.’ ”

  She started to turn around, instinctively going to her piano. Then she remembered that it wasn’t there. She was all alone. She bowed her head, gripping the mic with her sweaty hand. And when the song finally came blasting out of the speakers, Hudson raised her head to the audience—only to realize that she couldn’t remember the song’s first line.

  The music—the awful, cheesy music—went on, blasting through the speakers. She stared into the darkness. If she turned her head and looked offstage, she knew that she’d see her mom jumping up and down, trying to get her to
do some of the dance moves she’d spent so many hours trying to teach her. And she couldn’t handle that right now.

  Finally, the words came to her, just in time for her cue. She brought the mic to her lips and opened her mouth. The words were there, thank God, ready to be sung. She took a breath…

  You can’t just sing the song, Hudson. You have to own it.

  … And nothing came out. She couldn’t sing. It was as if she’d been running to the end of the diving board, preparing her body for a perfect swan dive, and then had just come to a dead stop.

  She opened her mouth, ready to try again, ready to own that stage even though she was starting to shake and sweat and was pretty sure that she would probably never own a stage as long as she lived…

  Nothing. She had no voice.

  The music rolled on. She looked out into the darkness. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? For a second she floated outside her body and saw herself standing there, mute and sweating. She couldn’t see anyone, but they were definitely out there, watching this happen to her, watching her completely freeze up. And she already knew what they were thinking. She could practically feel it.

  Her hands shook. Her whole body trembled.

  Please, God, this isn’t happening, she thought. This really can’t be happening.

  Finally the mic fell out of her slippery hands and hit the stage. BOOM! went the sound through the speakers. It shocked her awake. Somewhere inside of her, a loud voice spoke up. And this time it wasn’t Holla’s. It was entirely Hudson’s.

  Get out of here… NOW!

  So she turned and ran.

  chapter 3

  Alone in the hotel bathroom, Hudson tried to catch her breath. She looked into the mirror above the sink. The perfect waves that Gino had spent an hour making with a curling iron now stuck, deflated, to her sweaty neck. Her kohl eyeliner had bled into Goth-like purple circles under her eyes. One of her gold drop earrings was mysteriously missing. And what was that smell? She sniffed under her arm. Yuck.