The Daughters (15 page)

Hudson and Lizzie looked at each other again. Lately Carina had started to use corporate lingo, like the word
leverage
.

“But it’s more than that,” Carina argued. “He’s forcing me to turn my back on the stuff I love. And forcing me to live
his
life. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing. It just makes me so angry.”

They walked out of the deli and onto Sixth Avenue. It was the first brisk day of the fall, and the city air had that autumn
smell of woodsmoke and peppermint.

Lizzie pulled the black fedora closer to her head and zipped up her corduroy cropped jacket. “So what’s your big plan?” she
asked.

“Okay,” Carina said, dropping her voice as if she were planning a bank heist. “I came across this file on Jurgensenland. You
know, that charity thing my dad does in Montauk? Well, they supposedly raised two million bucks from it for Oxfam. But it
looks like they really raked in
three
million.”

“So what does that mean?” Hudson asked. “What happened to the rest of the money?”

“I think he took it,” Carina said. “I mean, I’m not entirely sure yet, but it looks that way.”

“But your dad doesn’t need another million dollars,” Lizzie said. “That’s like pocket change to him.”

“
Duh
,” Carina said. “I know. That’s the point. But where else could it go?”

“Do you really think he would do that?” Lizzie asked. “I mean, I know the Jurg is obsessed with making money, but would he
do something that unethical?”

“My dad loves money more than he loves people,” Carina assured them, tossing her bagel bag into the garbage. “He totally would.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Hudson pressed.

“Just let it slip out,” Carina said slyly. “Send in the file to the Smoking Gun. Just put it out there. No one’ll know it’s
from me. And people’ll finally see who he really is.”

“But if he finds out it’s you, he’ll kill you,” Lizzie said, pulling open her bag of chips. “Not to mention it would really
suck for him.”

“I know,” Carina said, trotting along on her new suede Adidas. “But it’d be so worth it. Just for the look on his face.”

“Oh, C,” Hudson groaned, unwrapping her string cheese. “Can we talk about this when I’m done with this album? My mom’s been
stressing me out about it.”

“I thought she was going to be ‘hands off,’ ” Carina said, making air quotes.

“Uh, right.” Hudson gave a rueful chuckle in between bites of apple. “She’s never been hands-off anything in her whole life.
Especially me. And
especially
music.”

“But this is
your
album,” Lizzie pointed out, wrapping her new Indian scarf closer around her neck. “You’re not even on her label.”

“I don’t have to be on her label. I’m her
kid
. But don’t worry,” Hudson said. “I’ve talked to her. And I have the coolest producer ever. He’s a genius.
And
a Pisces.”

“How old is he?” Carina asked, getting right down to it.

Ever since her crush on their sixth-grade art teacher, Mr. Thurber, Hudson had always liked older guys, and even adult men.
Lizzie and Carina thought it had something to do with the fact that she’d never met her father.

“Twenty-eight, and no, I
don’t
like him,” Hudson said, nudging Carina. “And speaking of
guys
,” she said, taking Lizzie’s arm, “you haven’t said a
thing
about your Todd Piedmont study date.”

Lizzie hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment in his room for days. But she wasn’t quite sure how to talk about it. “It
was good,” she said casually. “He was really nice. I think we’re friends now.”

“Friends?” Carina looked at her skeptically. “Really?”

“Yeah. We talked. And listened to music in his room.”

“What’d you listen to?” Carina asked, tossing her empty bagel wrapper into the trash.

“That song ‘Detlef Schrempf’ by Band of Horses.”

“What?”
Carina shrieked, stopping in her tracks. “Hel-
lo
! That’s totally a hook-up song!”

“What?”

“He was trying to be romantic!” Carina cried. “Don’t you see that?”

“I think he does still like you,” Hudson said more diplomatically.

“He doesn’t. And Ava called right in the middle of it, anyway,” Lizzie said.

“So
what
?” Carina blurted. “You should have
jumped
him!”

“You guys,
no
. I’m just gonna be friends with Todd Piedmont. He has a girlfriend. End of story.” She ate her last bite of turkey sandwich
and threw it out. “What’s a lot more important right now is this release I have to give my mom. So Andrea can send in my pictures
to
New York Style
.”

“You still haven’t told her, right?” Hudson said, applying a wand of Chanel lipstain to her lips.

“I can’t.
Hey, Mom, I know you’re a supermodel, but guess what? Someone wants me to be an ugly model!
I can’t do it.”

“Where’s the release?” Carina asked as they turned west on Twenty-Fifth Street.

Lizzie pulled it out from her purse. “Why? Do you understand lawyer-talk?” she asked.

“I don’t have to,” she replied, unfolding it. “You got a pen?”

“C, what are you doing?” Hudson asked, concerned.

Lizzie gave Carina a pen. Carina walked over to a mailbox, spread the piece of paper on it, and signed it with a flourish.
“There you go,” she said simply, handing it back to Lizzie.

“Carina!” Lizzie said. The signature said
KATIA SUMMERS
with a bunch of overdone curlicues and flourishes.

“What?” Carina asked defensively. “The photos are just for the editor to look at, right? She’s not gonna do anything with
them.”

“That’s forgery, C,” Hudson said, astonished. “People go to jail for that.”

“It’s making something
easier
,” Carina groaned. “I mean, Lizzie’s gonna tell her mom eventually, right?”

“Right,” Lizzie said, folding the slip. “I guess,” she added, less convinced.

“It’s still wrong,” Hudson argued. “Lizzie, why don’t you just tell your mom? I’m sure she’d be fine with it.”

Lizzie shrugged, looking at the slate-gray Hudson River in the distance. “If you guys remember, I had a hissy fit about getting
my picture taken at Fashion Week. Now it’s like I’m totally changing my mind.”

Hudson came to a stop in front of a sleek glass-fronted gallery building. “Okay, guys, we’re here.” Both Carina and Lizzie
had hung out with Hudson in recording studios before, but this was the first time they’d be seeing Hudson, and not her mom,
lay down tracks. Supersonic Recording Studios was on the fifth floor, behind a pair of smoked-glass doors that clicked open
when Hudson typed in a security code. Inside, the studio’s large reception area-slash-lounge was filled with things to pass
the time when recording an album: a flatscreen TV with Xbox, neon-lit pinball machines, piles of magazines on the coffee table,
and bowls of Chupa Chups and Hershey Kisses. Carina swiped a handful of Kisses before they turned down the hall to the studio.
“This place is awesome,” she muttered.

Hudson took off her jacket. She looked adorable in skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a black-and-red-striped trapeze top. “Okay,
you guys promise not to make funny faces at me through the glass?” Hudson asked. “C?”

“Swear to God,” Carina said, eating a Hershey’s Kiss.

“I’m so proud of you,” Lizzie said, squeezing Hudson’s tiny shoulder. “Your first album. This is so cool.”

“Tell me that after you hear the first track,” Hudson said nervously, but her green eyes shone with pride.

As they walked into the recording studio, a guy with strawberry blond hair and amiable blue eyes looked up from the mixing
board. “Hey superstar,” he said to Hudson with a smile.

“You guys, this is my producer, Chris Brompton,” Hudson said. “Chris, these are my best friends in the whole world, Carina
and Lizzie.”

Hudson hadn’t been exaggerating,
Lizzie thought. Chris was hot.

“Hey, welcome,” Chris said, getting up and shaking their hands. “Hudson’s told me so much about you guys.”

As Chris grinned at Hudson, Carina and Lizzie traded looks.
“Oh my God,”
Carina mouthed.

“I know,”
Lizzie mouthed back.

“You guys wanna make yourselves comfortable?” He pointed to a sofa at the back of the room, but Chris’s eyes and smile were
so mesmerizing Lizzie almost forgot to sit down. Carina had to gently nudge her.

“So we’re just gonna have you lay down the vocal,” Chris said to Hudson. “How’s the throat?”

“Kind of scratchy.” Hudson fluttered a hand over her neck. Lizzie could already tell that Hudson had a crush on Chris, and
she didn’t blame her.

Chris handed Hudson a bottle of water. “Or do you want me to get you some hot water with lemon?”

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine.” She took the water, blushing.

Lizzie and Carina exchanged a look.
Uh-oh
.

“Okay, guys, I’ll see you in a bit,” Hudson said, turning to them.

Carina and Lizzie gestured excitedly toward Chris’s turned back. Hudson rolled her eyes as if to say
calm yourselves
, and left the room.

Chris turned around to face Carina and Lizzie. “Have you guys heard her yet?”

They nodded.

“She’s gonna be a big star,” he added before swiveling back around to the board.

Carina grinned with pride. “Damn straight,” she whispered.

Through the window above the mixing board, they watched Hudson and her band enter the recording booth. The guys picked up
their guitars, took their places behind a double bass and a drum set, and Hudson slid behind a shiny Yamaha piano. She slipped
on a pair of earphones, as if she’d been doing this for years, and gave Chris a thumbs-up sign behind the glass.

A moment later they began to play. The soft rat-tat-tat of a snare drum poured through the studio speakers. Then the thump
of a jazz bass, and the soft trills of Hudson’s piano. Lizzie recognized it right away. It was a song Hudson had written last
year and played for Carina and Lizzie on the Steinway in her apartment, fumbling a little over the keys. Even then Lizzie
had known it was beautiful. Now with the addition of drums, bass, and electric guitar, it was gorgeous.

Hudson closed her eyes, swayed a little on the bench, and as her fingers pressed the keys, she began to sing.

There is just one place in my heart

Just one place in my heart

For you, my love, for you…

Goose bumps rose up along Lizzie’s arm. Hudson’s voice was perfect for jazz and soul: deep, throaty, and evocative. It was
the complete opposite of her mother’s, which was like a sonic Pop-Tart: yummy and sweet and made for Top Forty hits. Holla’s
voice made you want to get up and dance, but Hudson’s made you want to slow dance with some guy who was bad for you.

When the song faded out, Lizzie and Carina shot to their feet, clapping wildly.

“Yeah, Hudson!”

“Woo-hoo!”

Hudson couldn’t hear her friends going crazy, but she gave them an embarrassed half-wave through the glass.

Chris leaned into a microphone on the board and pressed the intercom. “That was amazing, you guys. Let’s play it back.”

And just then the studio door burst open.

“That was so good!”

Before anyone could fully prepare themselves, Holla Jones—
the
Holla Jones—marched into the room. “Great job, baby,” she yelled to the glass, waving her hands with their long manicured
nails. “Great
job
!”

At the piano, Hudson’s face dropped. Clearly her mom’s visit had been a surprise.

Holla turned to Carina and Lizzie and held out her arms. “Gir-
irls
,” she said in a singsong, like she always did, and both of them went up to hug her.

Holla couldn’t have been more than five foot one and ninety-five pounds, but her presence was as large and overbearing as
Godzilla’s. She was darker-skinned than her daughter, with large, almond-shaped brown eyes, lush lips, and a high, commanding
forehead that was remarkably smooth. Today her long caramel hair was twisted in a bun and swept off her face with a pair of
enormous D&G sunglasses perched on top of her head. Holla was known almost as much for her supremely fit body as she was for
her voice, and today she wore a sleeveless pink tank top and hip-slung yoga pants that showed off her fearsome biceps and
six-pack. A sparkling pendant of three diamond monkeys, one covering its eyes, another covering its ears, and another covering
its mouth, hung from her neck. It was easy to see where Hudson had gotten her love of jewelry.

As Lizzie and Carina took turns giving her a hug, two twiglike women with sunken cheeks and fake eyelashes and one beefy man
dressed in black quietly walked into the room. Lizzie didn’t recognize them, but she knew exactly who they were: Holla’s assistant,
stylist, and bodyguard. Holla never went anywhere without her entourage, but the trio was always different—none of the three
ever lasted long in their jobs. They leaned against the wall, took out their BlackBerrys, and expertly melted into the background.

“All right, Chris, I’ve got some thoughts,” Holla said abruptly after greeting Lizzie and Carina. She pulled up an empty chair
and sat herself next to him. “I know what you’re going for with the whole low-fi thing. I get it. But I’ve told Hudson a million
times—that whole rootsy, brown-sound, Norah Jones thing is totally over.”

Chris rubbed his chin. “O-kay,” he said carefully.

“We should track all these guys separately,” Holla said, gesturing to the band behind the glass. “Maybe sample in some beats.
Put her voice through a sequencer, use some compression, take out the scratches. Go sharper and glossier.”

Chris glanced hesitantly through the glass. Hudson sat on the edge of the piano bench, her brows knitted with concern.

“I think your daughter really wants
this
kind of sound,” he said, sounding a little terrified.

Holla sat back in her chair. “I know what she wants,” she snapped. “But I’m telling you the way it
should be.
”