Page 18 of Spark
KENDRICK
Three days later
T his is one hell of a twenty-eighth birthday party.
It’s also the wrap party for our tour, thank God, which probably explains why everyone is letting loose to the extreme.
Ruby, especially, has been whooping it up tonight.
Surely she’s trying to give herself some fun—and alcohol-induced amnesia about the insane success of Cooper’s song these past three days—even more so than she’s celebrating her bestie’s twenty-eight trips around the sun.
Either way, Ruby’s boisterous energy has whipped up everyone here, and the night has been all the more fun and rowdier because of her.
We’re in Savage and Laila’s massive suite, and it’s packed to the gills tonight with dancing, laughing, chatting people.
In addition to all my bandmates, the spacious room is filled with all our staffers and most crew members, a few of their plus-ones, and a smattering of celebrities and their guests.
With Savage and Laila enjoying A-list status these days, every famous face with access to a private jet, or who already happened to be shooting a project in Vancouver, seems to be here.
It’s kind of wild, honestly. The kid practicing his drums in that basement in the South Side wouldn’t have believed the guest list if he’d been shown this scene in a crystal ball.
We’re about three hours in, so I’m honestly pretty drunk. Presently, I’m sipping on a double whiskey neat while chatting with a pretty actress who’s shooting season three of a hit show on a streaming platform—a show I’ve binged with Ruby, actually.
Speaking of Ruby Tuesday, she’s currently dancing like a maniac with her gaggle of friends from the staff and crew to her favorite pop song.
And, man, she’s a sight to see. Thoroughly entertaining.
Funny. Sexy. While trying to squeeze upcoming plot points out of the actress I’ve been chatting with, I can’t keep my eyes from constantly drifting to her. She’s on fire out there.
The current tune blaring through the party is Aloha Carmichael’s iconic, girl-power anthem, “Pretty Girl,” and Ruby and her friends, led by Ruby, are doing the famous choreography from the music video.
Watching her now brings to mind a vision of her dancing and singing along to this same song with all her high school friends at our senior prom, back when the song was a new release.
Man, I was in love with her back then. Desperately. And she had no idea.
Ruby being Ruby, she went to prom with a group of girlfriends rather than trifling with Jake Silva, the football player who’d shocked her—and me—by coming out of the woodwork to ask her to be his date.
I wanted to go with friends, honestly, so I could dance with Ruby and her friends all night. But, really, with Ruby.
But since Titus and all my other teammates were taking dates—apparently, that’s what the cool kids and athletes did at St. Francis Academy—I bowed to expectation and asked Celeste Matthews, the head cheerleader, to the dance.
I wasn’t particularly feeling anything for Celeste, but several of her friends were already going with some of mine, so it made sense.
Once we got to the dance, however, I spent the whole night covertly watching Ruby dancing, much the same way I’m watching her now.
“So, anyhoo,” the actress says, temporarily drawing my eyes from Ruby on the dance floor. “It was a lot of work to learn how to use a sword properly and convincingly, but it’s also been rewarding to hear everyone saying I got it so right, you know?”
My drunk brain registers it’s my turn to speak now. “Cool. What’s your favorite and least favorite things about doing the show?”
“Oh my gosh. That’s such a great question. Let’s see.”
As she launches into her reply, I return my gaze to Ruby, just in time to see her performing the famous ending dance moves with flair.
As Ruby and her friends whoop and celebrate, a new song begins, and they all start screaming and jumping around.
It’s none other than Fugitive Summer’s biggest hit yet—the song we released a few years ago that changed all our lives forever: “Hate Sex High.”
“Excuse me,” I blurt, cutting off the actress mid-sentence. “Sorry, it’s our tradition. I have to dance to this song with my band.” It’s not a lie. But it feels like one, since I would have said anything at this point to disentangle myself from that flirty actress and join Ruby on the dance floor.
As I make my way toward the makeshift dance floor, I lock eyes with our tour manager, Caden, our DJ across the room.
I salute him in thanks, and he winks and returns the gesture.
And a moment later, when I reach Ruby, I take her hands in mine, and we jump around like two kangaroos on meth.
A few seconds after that, our three other bandmates, plus Laila, arrive and join our huddle, and the six of us start dancing like there’s no tomorrow, even before Savage’s voice starts singing on the track.
But of course, when Savage starts singing on the recording, all six of us sing along with him at the top of our lungs:
Saw you with him at the show
I didn’t like it
I played it cold to your face
But I was on fire
He said you were his all along
And I didn’t like it
Turns out I’d imagined it all
Went back and punched a hole in the wall
You’re falling (falling) falling (falling) falling in hate with me
I’m feeling (feeling) feeling (feeling) something I don’t want to feel
You’re falling (falling) falling (falling) falling in hate with me
I’m feeling (feeling) feeling (feeling) something I don’t want to feel
La la la la la la la . . . Laila, Laila
La la la la la la la . . . Laila, Laila
At this point in the song, when Savage on the recording sings his wife’s name at the end of those la-las, every person in the party, not only the six of us huddled together in celebration, screams those “Lailas,” emphatically.
It’s a worldwide inside joke at this point, thanks to Savage publicly, and not- so-convincingly, denying the song was ever about Laila Fitzgerald at the time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Savage said at the time in an interview.
“I’m singing nothing but la la , throughout the entire song. ”
Of course, his lie became an internet sensation the second Savage and Laila came out as a couple, and even more so after the pair became husband and wife—all of which only propelled the song into the stratosphere further.
Now, singing “Laila” on those parts, very loudly, is something of a worldwide custom.
During the bridge, Ruby tugs on me the way she always does when she wants to ride on my back, so I lean down and let her hop aboard, and then gallop around like a pony, while she whoops and sings.
When the final chorus heads our way, I let Ruby down, and we huddle with our other band members again for the duration of the song, including loudly speaking along with Savage on the recording, his now-famous, spoken dig at Laila during the outro: “Did he make you come three times? Yeah, didn’t think so. ”
When the song ends, we hug as a group, and everyone wishes me a happy birthday and congratulates each other on a tour well done.
Immediately, a new song starts—Red Card Riot’s smash-hit, signature song, “Shaynee,” and Ruby grips my hands and starts screaming the iconic chorus, “Shayneeeee!,” along with me and everyone else in the room.
This one isn’t a dance tune, per se . It’s a wailing song about heartbreak with a catchy chorus you can’t help singing along to—but thanks to its crashing beat and singalong, gut-wrenching chorus, it’s one of those tunes that gets a party cranked up once everyone is inebriated enough to join in on the singalong without holding back.
Midway through the second verse, Savage taps my shoulder and motions for me to come with him toward a bedroom in the back. When I look at him, like, Now? he nods and shouts above the music, “I need to talk to you in private!”
Well, fuck. This can’t be good. In a flash, my drunken brain goes straight to my upcoming stint on Sing Your Heart Out . The show begins shooting right after we get back from tour. Is Savage pulling me aside to break the news that the show’s cancelled me for a bigger name?
Savage motions to Laila, who joins our trek to the back bedroom. Maybe this is good news, after all? Like, maybe news about Ruby being approved as Laila’s guest mentor this season?
We reach the room, and Savage closes the door to muffle the blaring music.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Eli texted me,” Savage says. “Your phone is off. He told me to find you and ask you an urgent question, because he needs your answer right away.” Eli is our manager. Which means this must be something work-related.
“Am I being dropped as your guest mentor?” I ask before Savage gets his next words out.
The producers of the show are notoriously fickle and scheming, as they connive to achieve maximum ratings for the show.
In fact, as Eli explained it to me, the standard guest mentor contract includes a loophole clause giving producers the right to cancel any guest mentor at the last minute, as long as they do it before the dog-and-pony-show press conference that announces the upcoming season’s full cast.
“No, they still want you,” Savage says. “Now more than ever, thanks to Cooper’s song breaking the internet. Eli said they’re seriously considering Ruby, too.”
“Really? That’s awesome.” What does Cooper’s song have to do with it?
“But first, the producers want assurances from you. Confirmation you’re willing to play along with a certain storyline they’d want for Ruby that would involve you.”
I scowl. “What’s the storyline?”
Laila says, “The whole world knows Ruby is ‘Ruby Tuesday,’ and mostly everyone thinks you’re the ‘brother’ she wants to fuck from the song. The producers see all the buzz, and they’re excited about the possibilities.”