Page 17 of Spark

Ruby looks at me, like she’s losing confidence, so I gently squeeze her forearm and nod encouragingly.

“Even if ‘casual music fans’ of our bands don’t know about Cooper and me, they’ll find out soon enough after this stupid song drops, and everyone starts googling to figure out the lyrics.

I hard-launched him while he traveled with me for two months, Reed.

There are photos of us holding hands and kissing, all over the internet now. ”

I grimace. There sure are. Because Cooper is an insecure little prick who couldn’t keep his hands off Ruby, especially when cameras and other people were around.

“You should want people to connect the dots and figure out you’re Ruby Tuesday,” Reed says calmly. “Because that will help make the song a smash hit, which is in everyone’s best interests—yours, Cooper’s, and mine.”

“How do you figure? Why on earth would I ever want a slanderous, misogynistic breakup song about me to become a smash hit?”

“Because there’s no such thing as bad publicity. A rising tide floats all boats.”

Ruby looks at me for encouragement again, and I give it to her.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, Reed, but you’ve left me no choice. If you don’t pull the plug on this song, I’ll be forced to sue you, River Records, Cooper, and his band for defamation and emotional distress and whatever else my lawyer can figure out.”

A small snickering noise wafts from the phone, one that sounds like Reed stifling a much bigger reaction. “Ruby, if you follow through with that threat, you’d only fuck yourself over. ”

“No, I’d fuck over you, Cooper, and your label. It’d be like an anti-slander, vengeful gang bang.”

I can practically hear Reed’s smile over the phone line. “Ruby, think. If you filed a lawsuit claiming the song slanders you, then you’d have to explicitly admit that ‘Ruby Tuesday’ is you. That’s how slander works.”

Ruby’s jaw drops. “Oh.”

“Lawsuits are publicly filed. Anyone can read them. Do you really want to admit, in writing, for the whole world to see, that you’re ‘Ruby Tuesday?’”

Tears prick Ruby’s eyes, and I stroke her arm.

“At the moment,” Reed continues, “that song is subject to interpretation. And I assure you it’ll stay that way, because I’ve firmly instructed Cooper not to publicly confirm his muse.

Will people speculate? God, I hope so, because speculation and theorizing will only help the song go viral.

But unless you confirm you’re Ruby Tuesday, nobody will ever know for sure. ”

Ruby hangs her head and wipes her eyes, so I rub her back to console her.

“This conversation is a moot point, anyway,” Reed says. “The song has already gone out to all our distributors. Even if I wanted to stop it, which I don’t, it’s too late.”

“You could still do it, if you wanted to,” Ruby squeaks out, her shoulders slumped.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “I guess we’ll never know.”

When Ruby lifts her head, full-blown tears are streaming down her cheeks. “You’re not concerned about the Rolling Stones coming after you?”

“For what?”

She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “For Cooper using ‘Ruby Tuesday’ in his song.”

Reed tsks . “Song titles aren’t subject to copyright or trademark protection. All song titles, even ones as famous as ‘Ruby Tuesday,’ are fair game. Ever heard of a restaurant called Ruby Tuesdays? Case in point.”

Ruby lets out a long, defeated exhale. “Reed, please. I never consented to Cooper airing our dirty laundry like this.”

My breathing halts. Dirty laundry? That sure seems like an admission that Cooper’s lyrics, at least some of them, are based in truth. That’s interesting, to say the least.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Reed says softly. “Trust me.”

“Don’t tell me to trust you when you’re releasing a song that defames me.”

“This song will turn out to be a great thing for you. A blessing in disguise. Mark my words.”

Ruby sniffles. Apparently, she’s now resigned to her fate. “How do you figure?”

“Write a song in response to Cooper’s, and it’ll make more money than God.”

Ruby wipes her eyes. “I’d sooner write a song about a fly sitting on a pile of dogshit.”

I can’t help chuckling along with Reed. Not only about Ruby’s word choice, but out of relief that Ruby’s definitely not planning to let Cooper grovel his way back into her good graces. I was already assuming that, given her reaction to his song. But it’s nice to get verbal confirmation.

“Is that Kendrick?” Reed asks at the sound of my laughter.

“Hey, Reed.”

“Hi, KC. I’m glad you’re there with her. Give our little pixie dream girl a squeeze for me, would you? Tell her everything’s going to be all right in the end.”

“Don’t try to gaslight me,” Ruby snaps.

“I’m not. I genuinely believe you’ll thank me one day. So, listen, if you’re not going to write a response to Cooper’s song, then will you at least sit down and write me a motherfucking sequel to ‘Hate Sex High,’ like I keep asking for? ”

“There’s no such thing as a sequel to that song,” Ruby says.

“Savage wrote it during a uniquely honest moment that can’t be duplicated.

And you want to know why? Because he’s an actual artist, unlike Cooper.

Because he wrote that song to express his honest feelings, not to give the head of our record label a made-to-order song. ”

Reed chuckles. “All right, Ruby Tuesday. Have it your way. It was great talking to you, my dear, but I need to take another call now.”

“Tell Georgina hello for me. Tell her I’m sorry she’s married to a man who’s incapable of empathy and compassion.”

Reed laughs. “Will do. But only if you do me a favor in return. When it turns out I’m right about this?—”

“That will never happen.”

“Yes, it will. I don’t know what form it’ll take.

All I know is this song will bring you some opportunity and/or financial gain that’s not presently visible on the horizon.

And when that happens, whatever form it takes, I want you to shoot me a text that says, ‘You were right, Reed. Cooper’s song was a blessing in disguise. Thank you so much for not pulling it.’”

“I’d rather die than send you a text like that.”

“That’s all the more reason it’s going to delight me when it comes.”