Spike blew through a red light.
Melanie Joan let out a small yelp.
“Try not to get us killed, virtuoso,” I said.
“What? It was yellow.”
“Sure it was,” I said.
“I believe it was yellow, Sunny,” said Melanie Joan.
I sighed. “Whatever.”
“Just so you know, I’ve never been in an accident, either,” Spike said. “And I’ve been driving since I was fourteen.”
I wanted to tell him that there was a first time for everything, but I kept quiet. I’d been the one to ask Spike to drive. I’d done it because I needed to reread Blake’s profile of Book Babe on the ride and focus on my thoughts—which were basicallyHow can I get a hostile stranger to help me save Melanie Joan’s career?
I didn’t see it as an impossible task. Like a lot of cops, ex and otherwise, I knew how to manipulate people. But that had been a lot easier in the interview room, where I’d known exactly whom I was dealing with. All I had on Book Babe was a bunch of words that she’d chosen to put out there, about books written by other people.
I went back to Blake’s profile. Based on his observations, I’d constructed a mental image of Melanie Joan’s nemesis—a young mother who lived in a modest home with her three-year-old child, books everywhere, a pot of tea brewing, Turner Classic Movies playing on the TV. She loved Hollywoodmemoirs and romances, and so I figured she was something of a romantic herself—a dreamer who, in her childhood, had practiced Oscar acceptance speeches in front of the mirror. But she also had a practical side. She read a lot of self-help books, which meant that when she looked in the mirror today, she saw room for improvement.
As diverse as her reading may have been, though, Blake had pointed out that the genres she liked all had something in common: lots of engagement on ReadAnon. He’d also cited the words she frequently chose to describe her favorite movie-star memoirs:brave,revelatory, andaspirational.
I searched ReadAnon for those three words,Blake had written.The memoir reviews that included any combination of them got A LOT of likes and comments. I believe Book Babe used those words on purpose, to get eyes on her content.
Blake knew what he was talking about. Back in the day, he explained, he used popular hashtags like#blessedand#Friyayto attract followers, and it had worked.Just because Book Babe hasn’t shown her face, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to get noticed. The only difference between her and me (the old me) is that she wants attention for her opinions, and I wanted it for my hot workout pix. JMHO!!!
By that logic, the viciousness of herStronger Alonereview made a new kind of sense. “Melanie Joan,” I said, “do you know what a dis track is?”
“That’s patronizing,” she said. “And ageist.”
“Well, do you?” Spike said.
She cleared her throat. “No.”
“It’s a rap song that one artist releases, trashing a rival,” I said. “The rival usually comes out with a dis track in response. And then maybe the instigator comes out with an even nastier one and back and forth until the feud has its own hashtag and people are picking sides and all the late-night comedians are joking about it.”
“So…what’s the point?” Melanie Joan said.
“Schadenfreude,” Spike said. “And record sales.”
“No,” Melanie Joan said. “What’s the point of telling me this?”
“Because I think Book Babe’s review ofStronger Alonewas her version of a dis track,” I said.
“Meaning?”
“I think she did it to up her profile. Gain more followers. Not because she necessarily hated your book.”
“Oh,” Melanie Joan said.
“And when you posted that comment, you played right into it.”
“Which reminds me, I’ve stopped taking that water pill. I’ve told my doctor to prescribe an alternative.”
“My point is, you upped Book Babe’s engagement. Her next reviews will get even more eyes on them, and she might be able to monetize it. I mean, even more than she already has. I’ve noticed ads on her posts, and I’m sure she gets a nice cut.”
We were in Union now. According to the sign, the population was 785. Everything about it was tiny. Spike zoomed past a one-story Town Hall, a two-pump gas station, a small church, a village green that was half the size of my parents’front lawn. It seemed like a place you’d go to hide rather than to be seen. But that didn’t necessarily negate Blake’s profile. In a way, it supported it.
