Page 16 of Spark

KENDRICK

A s I listen to Cooper’s cocky voice blaring from Ruby’s phone, my blood feels like it’s simmering to a rolling boil.

Mostly, I feel fiercely protective of Ruby and pissed at Cooper for unfairly dragging her.

But also, if I’m being honest, even as those emotions overtake my body, my brain is furiously trying to process and analyze some of his most eye-popping lyrics.

Why do you want to fuck your brother ?

What did he mean when he wrote that? More precisely, who did he mean?

Did he write it about the same guy supposedly starring in Ruby’s sex dreams?

Seems like they’re one and the same person, but you never know when it comes to songwriting.

People write untrue, fantastical, and hyperbolic shit into their songs all the time, for all kinds of reasons.

Hell, some of the best, most memorable lyrics only make it into songs because two words rhymed.

Is that the case here? Did Cooper write the lyric “you said his name twice,” simply because the prior line ended in “nice”?

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ruby murmurs, yanking me from my thoughts. She’s sitting next to me on the edge of the bed, her phone placed between us on the mattress, and Cooper is now launching into his final chorus.

With a little whimper, she leans her forehead against my shoulder, and I wrap her in a warm hug.

But quickly, my thoughts spiral again. Assuming the guy in the song is based on a real person, there are only three possible options for his identity: Kai, Savage, or me.

We’re the only three guys in the world who are “like a brother” to Ruby.

But which one of us is the guy?

As the song reaches its final chords and notes, my brain furiously weighs the respective likelihoods of those three options:

Kai.

If Savage passed along Kai’s false narrative about Ruby to Cooper, either when Cooper’s band opened for us two years ago, or more recently when Cooper was traveling with us as Ruby’s boyfriend, then this option simply can’t be ignored.

To put it mildly, Savage isn’t a steel trap when he drinks, and that’s especially true when he’s got juicy gossip burning a hole in his pocket.

Did Savage let that little tidbit rip during a night of drinking with Cooper?

If so, Cooper would have thought Ruby had some longstanding romantic history with Kai, dating all the way back to her teenage years, which then might have made Cooper jealous of Kai.

Maybe even enough to write a song about him?

I must admit, it’s not a terrible theory.

But it all depends on Savage opening his big mouth and spilling that bullshit story.

And then there’s Savage .

Door Number Two.

He’s less likely, I think. The only way he’d make sense is if those lyrics were a songwriting device, rather than a factual retelling, because Ruby’s never had a singular romantic impulse toward Savage, and vice versa.

It certainly would be a genius-level marketing strategy for Cooper to hint at some lurid past between Ruby and our world-famous, global thirst-trap of a front man.

But still, at the end of the day, that doesn’t seem like something hotheaded Cooper would do.

It’s hard to believe he’d sing that passionately about a scenario fabricated out of whole cloth. One possibly designed to sell records.

Which brings me to me.

Door Number Three.

Did Cooper write those shocking lyrics . . . about me?

If he did, the marketing strategy theory doesn’t hold water.

My celebrity status got a major boost after my appearance on Sing Your Heart Out a couple seasons ago, but still, I’m not famous enough for Cooper to include me in a song just for publicity.

No, if those lyrics are about me, then he wrote them out of real jealousy.

So, that begs the question: does Cooper feel jealous of me?

And if he does, is his reason rooted in paranoia and delusion, or some facts I’m clueless about?

Like, maybe, I dunno, Ruby having sex dreams about me and saying my name twice?

“I can’t believe he’s attacking me like this, for the whole world to hear,” Ruby mutters and sniffles into my chest as I hold her tight.

“He’s an asshole,” I murmur, rubbing her back. “I’m so sorry, Ruby.”

Ruby cries in my arms for several minutes as I do my best to comfort her. But finally, she leans out of my embrace, wipes her eyes, and says, “I knew he took the breakup badly, but I never thought he’d do this . ”

“Give him a call. Beg him not to release the song.”

Ruby scoffs. “The song is literally called ‘Don’t Call Me,’ Kendrick.”

“Call him anyway. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity and self-respect?” She shakes her head. “I refuse to give him the satisfaction.” She leans her head against my shoulder again. “It’s a moot point, anyway. He blocked my number.”

“Call him on my phone, then. Or I’ll call him and?—”

“Absolutely not.” She sits up straight. “You can’t call him about this or anything else, or you’ll only make things worse for me.”

“Why? Cooper’s always liked me.”

“No, Cooper secretly hates you.”

I laugh. “Why?”

“Jealousy. You’re everything he wishes he could be.”

Jealousy . The word stops my heart. That sure feels like a point in favor of door number three. “Good,” I mutter. “Because I secretly hate him, too.”

Ruby giggles, despite the tears still raining down her pretty cheeks.

“You could call Reed and ask him to pull the song.”

“He’d never do that for me.”

“You never know. You’re one of his favorites.

Everyone knows that.” It’s true. Ever since Reed came to that fateful gig in Chicago and signed our band on the spot, he’s always had a soft spot for our adorable keyboardist. It’s never been anything weird or sexual.

Nothing inappropriate. More like a big brother vibe, thanks to the way Ruby always manages to provoke smiles and laughter from him like nobody else.

“Reed won’t care about my feelings if it means screwing himself out of a hit song.”

She’s probably right about that. The Prick, as we all call Reed, is all about the Benjamins.

His nickname definitely didn’t come out of nowhere.

“What do you have to lose?” I ask, even though I’m now feeling less confident about my idea.

“The Prick seems fractionally less like a prick since he got married. Georgina’s cast some kind of happy spell on him, I think. ”

Ruby twists her plush lips. “Yeah, he does seem a tiny sliver nicer these days.”

“Right? And if appealing to Reed’s new softer side doesn’t work out, then you can always threaten to sue him, River Records, and Cooper’s band for defamation and emotional distress.”

Ruby presses her lips together. “I doubt Reed would take a legal threat from little ol’ me too seriously, sweetheart.”

“Why not at least try? Even if your chances of convincing him are slim, they’re not zero.”

Ruby processes that. “I’d probably have a better chance at convincing Reed than Cooper.”

“I agree.”

“Although that’s not saying much.” With a long, dejected sigh, she grabs her phone and places the call. And a moment later, she straightens up and says, “Yes, hi, Owen.” That’s a good sign. Owen is Reed’s longtime, trusty personal assistant, and he adores Ruby even more than his powerful boss.

After pausing for Owen to speak, Ruby says, “Unfortunately, not great. I just heard Cooper’s new song.

Mm hmm. So, I called to talk to Reed about it.

” She pauses. “Owen, I don’t care if he’s brokering world peace.

This is my life we’re talking about, my reputation, and I—" Ruby pauses again, and a second later she exhales, shoots me an excited smile, and replies to Owen, “Thank you so much, O. You’re the best.”

I squeeze Ruby’s shoulder, and she flashes me a heart-melting smile.

“Put it on speakerphone,” I whisper, and she immediately grants my request.

A few seconds later, Reed says, “Hey, Ruby Tuesday. I’m assuming you’re not a fan of Cooper’s new song?”

“Don’t release it, Reed. I’m begging you.”

Reed audibly shrugs. “Cooper’s an artist. He’s entitled to express himself in his art. ”

Ruby scoffs. “That song isn’t art. It’s slander.”

Reed chuckles. “Slander? My goodness.”

“Don’t mock me. It’s slander, Reed.”

“I disagree. In fact, if the tables were turned and Cooper called me because you’d written a breakup song about him, maybe one called ‘Flying the Coop’ or something, I’d tell him the same thing I just told you: Ruby’s an artist. She’s entitled to express herself in her art.”

“Except I’d never write a mean-spirited, whiny little bitchfest of a temper tantrum and try to pass it off as a song. And, please, let’s not pretend you give a flying fuck about art, okay? Music is nothing but a money-making venture to you. Period.”

“That’s categorically false,” Reed retorts, sounds surprisingly indignant. “I genuinely care about putting great music into the world. And I also expect that music to make me a shit-ton of money. The two things can co-exist, Ruby Tuesday.”

“Stop calling me that. Cooper’s so-called art slanders me, so I need you to pull the plug on it, right fucking now.”

Reed chuckles. “Explain this slander thing to me. I’m genuinely baffled.”

“What’s to explain? The motherfucker literally says my name, repeatedly, in a song that trashes me. How is it not slander?”

“He doesn’t say ‘Ruby Connolly.’ He says, ‘Ruby Tuesday.’ That’s a term of art in the world of music.”

“It’s my name, Reed.”

“No. Ruby Tuesday is a phrase that’s so legendary, it’s transcendent. Poetic. For all we know, he’s singing about a woman called Sheila. Or a man named Bob. Or maybe someone who doesn’t exist at all.”

“Everyone knows Cooper was recently dating Ruby from Fugitive Summer. Don’t bullshit me.”

“ Everyone ? Maybe your short relationship with Cooper is a known fact in your tiny corner of the world, but casual fans of both your bands wouldn’t know either of your names, let alone that you dated.”