“I think you need to worry more about you and Jax if the concern is messing up musical relationships.”
“Me and Jax?”
“Your URST or lack of, if you’re an item.”
“We’re not an item! Jesus!” Ruby laughs. “No way, never Jax. He models himself on you with women. If I was Jax’s, would I put up with the girls he scouts out after every gig?”
“I don’t see much of him doing that.”
“Yeah, you’re not around. You come back to your room and sulk. This whole tour you’ve behaved like a grumpy old man apart from when your Blue Phoenix buddies are around.”
Does she do this deliberately? Each time we tentatively relax around each other, she says something to push me away. And each time this gets my back up. “I am not an old man! Besides, how do you know what I’m doing? I might have groupies of my own—sounds like I have a reputation to maintain.”
Ruby’s mouth thins. “I never thought about that possibility.”
“Did you think I was up here alone thinking about you and our URST?” I say semi-sarcastically.
The chilled out feeling switches, the barriers re-erecting on both sides and she shifts away from me.
“I don’t know, Jem Jones, were you?” she says, coldly.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Huh! Fine.” She swings her legs to climb off the bed. “I’ll go—leave you to your sulky old man life.”
“Grow up, Ruby,” I snap.
She pauses, her back to me, and I will Ruby not to walk out of the door. The first time alone with her for almost two weeks and this happens. So, clearly sex isn’t on the agenda, but I want to spend more time with the person who brought my world to life.
I temper my tone. “Sorry, you pissed me off. I’ll play for you like I promised. Stay.”
She glares at me as I pick up the guitar and indicate she should sit back down.
“Serenaded by Jem Jones? Aren’t I a lucky girl?” Her voice is edged by sarcasm.
“Yeah, you are. I don’t normally play for a crowd less than ten thousand.”
“Fine, but I’m sitting over here.” Ruby heads back to the sofa, the dark sky in the wide windows behind her.
“Sit where you like.”
“I will.”
“I know.” With a small laugh, I shake my head and scour my mind for the right song. There’s only one I’ve been dying to play her since she first told me her name, the one that goes through my head when she’s around. “Ruby Tuesday.” I smile to myself and position the guitar.
I hardly get past the intro when she stands abruptly. “Jem. Stop. Don’t play that.”
“Why? It’s your name.” The song is her. To me. To the world. I continue.
Ruby heaves in a breath. “Don’t. You can’t.” As her voice cracks, I stop. Tears fill her eyes and she shakes her head at me, causing one to spill.
“Shit. Okay, I thought you’d like the joke. You know, your name. What’s the big deal?”
“Tuesday. You said you don’t want to know who Tuesday is, and then you try and pull her out of me!”
I’m witnessing another of Ruby’s flips from calm to panic, her switch so easily triggered by the smallest, unknown thing. I’ve come across complicated chicks before but this one wins the ‘what the fuck?’ stakes hands down.
“No, I’m not trying to find Tuesday; I have no interest in her. I just played a song I love that makes me think of the real you.”