Chapter 16

It’s been thirty-two years since Simon last registered a song on the Billboard top twenty, or hit any other significant list, but his concerts still sell out stadiums. And he is recognized almost anywhere he goes, which is the one thing Simon would change about celebrity. It’s also why he usually has his meals, especially ones involving business, in private. But JJ insisted on meeting at this trendy café, no doubt, he suspects, because of their misunderstanding last month inside his home.

Simon now finds himself wearing sunglasses indoors in a corner booth, pretending not to notice the people noticing him. Especially the balding guy two tables over with the chunky, blue-framed glasses, who keeps glancing his way as if witnessing an epiphany.

JJ didn’t tell Simon why she wanted to meet. Nor did she mention that Salvador would be joining them. But after she sits down between the two men, JJ makes it clear that she tried to convene the whole tribe. “Reese is stuck in LA with a deposition,” she says. “Baljit had to go to the desert on business. And Liisa went to San Diego to visit her daughter.”

Salvador grimaces. “Liisa has a daughter?”

“One big happy family,” JJ says.

“You’d think she might have mentioned that in group session.” Salvador huffs. “The rest of us are here bearing our messy souls. And this superior Scandi bitch hides a daughter from us?”

“Technically, Finns are Nordic, not Scandinavian,” JJ says.

“Now you sound like her!”

Simon turns to Salvador. “What does Liisa ever share in group? Aside from constantly reminding us how in the know she is. Shit, I have no idea what the woman is even hooked on.”

“Xanax.” Salvador eyes him knowingly. “As in downers.”

Simon grunts a laugh. “That figures, doesn’t it?”

“It can’t be easy for Liisa,” JJ mutters, staring at the tabletop. “My calling is to throw fabulous parties and raise a fortune for charity. People expect me to be a raging alcoholic. ‘Real Housewives of Laguna.’ But a therapist in therapy? And for addiction, no less. That must suck.”

“Coming clean on my sex addiction hasn’t exactly been my crowning glory,” Simon says. As soon as the words leave his lips, he’s inspired by an idea for a song. But the thought fizzles almost as quickly as it formed. Jeremy would have known how to work the concept into beautifully ironic lyrics, and Simon would have found a complementary melody. But since Simon lost his songwriting partner, his own creative output has dried up. Worse, he knows in his heart that more recent compositions have become derivative and clichéd. He’s a caricature of the talent he once was.

Salvador motions from Simon to JJ. “Lovely as it is to see you two darlings, I have final fittings for my show all week. Five of me couldn’t get everything done that I need to.” He turns to JJ. “What’s with the urgent rendezvous?”

JJ shakes her head as if confused by the question. “Elaine is dead.”

Salvador giggles in that anxious way of his. “Not exactly a news flash, love.”

“Doesn’t it worry you?”

His nose wrinkles. “That needle wasn’t in my arm.”

Before JJ can respond, the bald guy in the blue glasses steps up to their table. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “But I’m such a fan! I can’t even tell you!”

“Thank you,” Simon says. “But we’re in the middle of a meeting here.”

“Of course,” the man says, looking over to Salvador with starry eyes. “I’m a buyer for Saks. And I just have to tell you, Salvador, that your spring collection absolutely blew my mind!”

“Jesus,” Simon grumbles. I’m now overshadowed by this second-rate Vera Wang?

Salvador lays a hand on his chest. “How sweet. Just what I needed to hear today. I’m touched. And you are…?”

“Brody… Brody Stevens.” He extends his hand toward Salvador.

Simon pushes the man’s arm down. “We’re busy here, Brody. Would you be an absolute dear and fuck off?”

Brody spins on his heels and mutters something as he walks off, but the only words Simon can make out are “overrated has-been.”

Salvador frowns at him. “Was that necessary?”

“Maybe not necessary, but quite satisfying.”

Salvador turns to JJ again. “We’re all saddened by Elaine’s loss. But she was an addict.”

“We’re all addicts,” JJ points out.

“Yes, but her crutch was opioids. That’s night-and-day different.”

“Is it though?”

“Absolutely!” Simon interjects. “Say you fell off the wagon, JJ…”

“What if I did?”

“Then you’d get blackout drunk and likely end up God knows where after some poor decision.” Simon motions to Salvador. “And if he did, he’d go on some all-night pill and powder bender. And if I did, I’d get laid. Repeatedly. We’d all wake up the next day full of shame and self-loathing. But the key difference is that we would wake up.”

“It’s true.” Salvador nods. “With downers—and let’s face it, it’s basically nothing but fentanyl these days—it’s Russian roulette every single time. Especially if you use alone.”

“It’s like an occupational hazard in my world,” Simon says. “I couldn’t tell you how many friends I’ve lost over the years to heroin and now fentanyl.”

Salvador shudders. “I lost my Misha to the needle only last year. My absolute fave. Nobody—I mean nobody—could rock a runway like her. But that same attitude put her underground at just twenty-two.” He raises a palm skyward. “Misha might’ve been the love of my life.”

“Hang on.” Simon grimaces. “You’re straight?”

“I don’t do labels, Simon.”

JJ rolls her eyes, showing no patience for their digression. “Elaine didn’t use needles!”

“She did last week,” Salvador says.

“And don’t you find that… strange?”

“Should I?”

“You saw her that day when we all went over there.”

“We all did,” Simon says. “What’s your point, JJ?”

“Elaine believed that Dr. Danvers violated her,” JJ says. “And she was absolutely determined to expose her. Obsessed! And that’s the day she chooses to switch to needles?”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Salvador says.

“How?” JJ demands.

“The stress must’ve gotten to her. Triggered her. Made her fall back on the opioids. Maybe, Elaine couldn’t get her hands on any pills and had no choice but to inject?”

JJ shakes her head obstinately, like a child refusing to obey a parent. “And where would she get the fentanyl if she couldn’t find pills?”

“Any street corner?” Salvador says. “Fentanyl is everywhere.”

JJ squints at Salvador. “Does that make sense to you? Elaine buys fentanyl—for the first time ever—on the same day she was planning to expose Dr. Danvers?”

Simon has never seen JJ looking this out of sorts. Not even the evening she stormed out of his home, red-faced and indignant. It’s as if she’s scared. “Hang on!” He slaps the table. “Are you suggesting Dr. D silenced Elaine?”

“No, no, no. Not at all!” JJ looks frantically from Simon to Salvador and back. “But don’t you think Elaine’s death looks suspicious?”

Simon bristles. “No. It looks fucking pathetic and predictable.”