Page 39 of Spark

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 unlessyouconfirm 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.”

Reedtsks. “Song titles aren’t subject to copyright or trademark protection. All song titles, even ones as famous as ‘RubyTuesday,’ 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 actualartist,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.”

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