Chapter Two. Luna
Chapter Two
Luna
I should be concentrating on whether I can move enough in this new sequined jumpsuit and how many seconds it takes me to peel it off and switch into my ball gown outfit.
But all I can think is If Hudson doesn’t show up in the next hour, I won’t be able to break up with him before I leave for the European leg of my tour.
The tailor puts pins in and adjusts the jumpsuit without saying much to me, but when I hear a knock at the door, I jump and she accidentally sticks me with a pin. I crane my neck to see who it is, but instead of Hudson, it’s Ashley.
The crushed look on my face must be blatant, because she winces apologetically. “He’s not coming,” she says bluntly. “His manager just called and said their rehearsals are going late.”
“I need to see him before I leave,” I say tightly.
Ashley glances at the tailor. “Would you mind giving us the room?” The tailor scurries out, and I slip out of the jumpsuit and drop into a chair in my bra and underwear.
I used to be so self-conscious at fittings.
When I was seventeen, I was always rushing to get my robe on, and hearing a room full of people discuss my appearance made my skin crawl.
Now my team has seen me in various stages of undress backstage more times than I can count.
“I need to see Hudson before I go. He needs to know it’s over.”
Ashley knows me better than anyone now that my mom’s gone, so I’m sure she’s seen this coming. She just raises an eyebrow. “Would it be the end of the world to wait just a tiny bit longer? The boost he gives you is a plus right now.…”
If anyone else had said that, I’d just roll my eyes and tell them to get real.
But Ashley is a shrewd businesswoman, and she was my mom’s best friend.
She took me from playing for ten strangers in a coffee shop to opening for my favorite singers to putting out my first album that admittedly didn’t top the charts—at least until I started dating Hudson—but was totally my own stylistically and that I’m so proud of.
And when I told her I wanted to do whatever it took to get a Grammy, she took me seriously and now here I am.
Almost a pop star, with a number one single and a world tour.
And Hudson is what made it possible for me to make that jump from a folk-pop lyricist with heartfelt ballads to sparkly jumpsuits and Rolling Stone articles and being on every pop radio station.
“Tell me why I should,” I demand.
Ashley immediately starts to pitch. “He’s a star.
No matter what he does, he’ll be one. His fan base is massive, and you have significant overlap there.
He’s easy on the eyes and just as invested in good press as you are.
I know the tour has sold out, but scalpers buy those tickets.
We need to make sure that humans buy them back and that they show up.
You both write really well together. And, most important, Grammy nominations are coming up. ”
“Wow. So romantic,” I say sarcastically. “I did my part and his bad press is gone—he’s basically a Boy Scout as far as the tabloids are concerned. He did his part, and we have a number one together and I got here. Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” Ashley says, direct as ever. “Your old songs are doing great, and ‘You and Me’ has staying power at the top of the charts for the summer. The buzz about you two is amazing; everyone’s excited about it.
But the new singles … they’re not charting.
We went out on a limb with this new direction in hopes of the Best New Artist Grammy, and now we need to make sure we make it pay off. You need him right now.”
Fuck me. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t want to worry you before the tour,” Ashley says soothingly.
“Sometimes it just takes a few weeks for the songs to stick. But the label isn’t pushing them; they’re just pushing your single with Hudson.
I know you can write new songs for the next album that are hits, all on your own.
But we need to build buzz, show them how popular you are.
Show them that it’s not just your song that’s great, it’s you. And that you can do it again.”
The moment we leave the studio, the chemistry between Hudson and me flatlines.
Inside, we’re bouncing ideas back and forth, singing into just one mic—in “You and Me” you can even hear my sharp intake of breath when he puts his hand on my cheek right as we hit record.
But outside … we have so little to talk about that you’d think his personality only activates when he’s holding a guitar.
Last summer he flew me out to a heavily photographed vacation in Spain, but every night at dinner he’d be glued to his phone while I silently ate my food.
I felt more alone than when I’m actually by myself, and it hurts that the guy who acts obsessed with me in public has not one thing to say to me in private.
But fans can’t get enough of us. When we perform “You and Me” together on tour, it inspires thousands of videos on social and keeps the song trending for weeks.
Making it was such a creative rush that I tried to convince myself there was more between us.
I’m the girl who made an honest man out of everyone’s favorite bad boy, and people eat it up.
Hell, the Ludson fan accounts are probably responsible for half my tour sales.
“I feel bad,” I say. “It’s dishonest to drag it out when I know it’s already over for me. It’s been over; I was just waiting to have the conversation in person to be mature.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind,” Ashley says dryly. “The press is good for him too, you know. And really, you’re both so busy right now. It’s just a few more weeks of texting. Or rather, of not even texting. What’s the harm?”
I scrunch up my face and shut my eyes. I’m already struggling with trying to be a pop princess instead of the folksy, heartfelt lyricist I am.
Even though I’m okay with crafting the all-American girl-next-door image, I want to at least be authentic in my private life.
But Ashley’s right. Knowing Hudson and how focused he is on appearances, he’d probably be happier if I waited a year to break up with him if it meant it kept his career in the news.
If I had a phone call for every over-the-top gift he’s sent me with the goal of getting people talking about us, I’d actually feel like I had a boyfriend. I sigh.
“Fine, you’re right.”
Ashley nods, pleased that she was able to keep things on track.
“Amazing. Now, let’s get this show on the road.
I had your stylist pull some outfits for postshow and around town.
With the eyes on you right now, we want to make sure that we’re hitting all the right notes with your style.
Once we get through these, you should have about two hours before your car arrives at JFK, and I’ll be meeting you there in the morning after I make sure this all gets shipped out properly. ”
The next hour passes in a blur of couture, pins, and trendy athleisure.
These clothes are way fancier than what I used to wear, but it’s all part of the plan to get people talking about me and build buzz, so I agree to basically everything she’s pulled.
I’d be happy in a sweatshirt and leggings every day, especially after all the outfit changes during the show, but I understand this is a necessary part of brand building.
It’s still so strange to me that in the morning after I’m photographed walking into dinner, there are articles dissecting each aspect of my outfit and telling women where to buy it.
That never happened until I was dating Hudson.
I used to love playing dress-up, but now that it’s my job, it wears on me.
It’s a whirlwind of an hour, and at the end I’m exhausted, but after all the racks are wheeled out of my hotel room and Ashley has retreated to her own room to work, I miss the bustle of it.
My room is so quiet. I’ve spent my whole life trying to get to where I am now in my career.
I have my own tour, and maybe, if everything goes right, I’ll get the Grammy nomination I want so bad.
We tried for the Best New Artist Grammy when I released my first album, but I wasn’t mainstream enough then.
Now that I’m more popular, though, my old songs are suddenly trending, and I’m still eligible because that award hinges on the artist having a breakthrough year and establishing who they are as an artist, not just on releasing their first album.
Who I was before wasn’t good enough for a Grammy.
So what I’m trying to be now has to be. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something big, if I could just write one new song that’s a hit.
But I haven’t written anything new since “You and Me” with Hudson.
I flop onto the bed, finally back in my sweatshirt and leggings, and I suddenly feel like I might cry.
I wish I could talk to my mom right now.
I never struggled to write until she died, and since then it’s like I’ve lost something I didn’t think was possible to misplace.
But also, obviously I have nothing to write about—all I do is sit alone in hotel rooms. I need to do something new or I’m never going to break through this and get my inspiration back.
I’d thought I found my spark with Hudson. I still remember when I rang the buzzer outside his New York apartment the day after we recorded “You and Me.”
“Luna, baby. What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see you. I feel so awake, like, creatively, after yesterday, I thought maybe we could write something else. Or just hang out and have breakfast, I don’t know.” He didn’t answer, and I suddenly realized I had misunderstood something. “Sorry. I can go?”
“No, no, you have to come up now. What if there’s a photographer?”
I thought I had found a twin flame. But it wasn’t like that for him. He’s just that good a songwriter, that he makes magic wherever he goes. And so I’m still here, stuck and … alone.
I let myself lie in bed and stare at the ceiling of the hotel for two more minutes.
And then I get up and pack my carry-on, and as I put the locket with the picture of my mom and me in it, a small smile creeps back onto my face.
A European stadium tour. I still remember what my mom used to say to me before each show.
Luna, you’re a star. You make magic out there.
Now go enjoy every second of it. Back when she would whisper that to me in the bathroom of a café or a tiny bar, a world tour was just a dream.
I can’t believe that I’m finally doing it.
That fans all over the world want to hear me sing.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and I’m not sure who I’m talking to. But I really am thankful to be here, and I need to hold on to that feeling, because I know there’s about to be two straight months of lonely nights in unfamiliar hotel rooms.