Chapter 20

Saturday, April 13

There was a time when, after a call like the one he had had with his lawyer the previous evening, Simon would have trashed his own room, smashing the artwork off the walls and destroying the furniture along with one or more of his own guitars.

Not anymore. The new Simon—more like the very old one—sits quietly in the waiting room of the law firm in downtown Newport Beach, waiting on a second opinion.

He has been at the office for almost twenty minutes, and without looking up, he senses the eyes of the receptionist on him. She doesn’t look old enough to recognize him or his music. But he finds her attention distressing. At this point, he’s afraid that if he as much as makes eye contact with her, it might lead to another complaint.

Reese finally steps into the waiting room in another dark business suit. Despite her deep-set hazel eyes and almost triangular shaped face, Simon finds her distinctive look attractive, intriguing even. But she also intimidates him. Those keen eyes give him the sense that she sees right through him.

Also, Simon finds it disorienting to see a tribe member in another office, outside of Dr. Danvers’s clinic. Especially when Reese extends her hand and greets him as if they’re meeting for the first time. “Good morning, Simon,” she says and then turns back the way she came.

He follows her down a hallway to a spacious corner office with floor-to-ceiling views of the marina. “Someone’s a big shooter,” he says with a whistle as he sits down across the desk from her.

“Your call made it sound urgent.”

“Right to business, huh?”

“I don’t have long,” she says unapologetically. “I have an urgent closing today.”

“On a Saturday?”

She snorts. “As if that matters to my clients.”

His gaze falls to her marble desktop. “Someone else has come forward.”

“Come forward?”

“Another complainant.” He clears his throat as he looks back up at her. “Allegations and such.”

She squints at him. “About Dr. Danvers?”

“What? No. Not her. Me.”

She looks skyward. “I’m not following you, Simon.”

“Earlier this year, I had to settle out of court with this woman. She made certain claims that I—”

Reese shoots up a hand. “Whoa, let me stop you right there. I’m not that kind of attorney, Simon. I practice corporate law. Primarily MAs. Mergers and acquisitions.”

“I get that. I’m not an idiot. I just wanted to get your opinion. As a friend.”

“A friend?”

“OK. As a member of the tribe, then.”

She rolls her eyes. “I think that term has already been claimed.”

“Oh, yeah.” Simon chuckles. “Member of the Tribe. A MOT. My manager, David Hirschberg, describes himself as that all the time.”

“Honestly, Simon,” she says, as she steals a glance at her watch, “my opinion is going to be as good as useless to you.”

“I’ve seen how sharp your mind is in group, Reese. Just hear me out. Please. It won’t take long.”

She leans back in her chair. “All right.”

“Earlier this year, I settled out of court with this person. For a stupid amount of money, even though her claims were bullshit. But in light of the current… climate… everyone thought it was in my best interest to make the deal.”

“I assume the other party signed an NDA?”

“Exactly.”

“Let me guess. Someone else has come forward with a similar claim?”

“That’s the thing!” Simon cries. “It’s not just anyone else. It’s Brianna’s best friend!”

“Her friend is accusing you, too?”

Simon slumps in his chair. “I met them at the same time. In Portland. They approached me after a concert. Invited themselves back to my hotel suite. Sure, I partied with them. But nothing much happened. At least, not that night. They came on tour with me for a few weeks. I thought we all had a blast. We even kept in touch after.” He knows better than to mention the accidental bruising around Brianna’s neck, still not convinced he was responsible for it.

Reese’s expression remains blank, but he senses the disdain behind her impassive eyes. “Here’s my opinion, Simon. Save yourself some legal fees and settle with the second one using the exact same contract as you did with the first.”

“But Brianna signed an NDA.”

“And?”

“She must have told her friend! It’s way too coincidental otherwise.”

“Can you prove that?”

“No. But where will it end? If I settle every time one talks—clearly breaking the terms of the NDA—then it will only encourage others. It’s like negotiating with terrorists.”

“Negotiating with terrorists? Are you fucking serious, Simon? You had sex with these women!”

“Totally consensual! I’m not a neanderthal. I never so much as smile at a woman without confirming consent.”

Reese rubs her eyes. “I’m assuming they’re not in your… age group?”

Simon shakes his head.

“And neither of them are pop stars or record executives or in any other position of wealth or authority?”

“No.”

“So there’s a massive power differential between your position and theirs. And therefore, no real distinction between consent and coercion.”

“It’s not like that,” Simon mutters.

“That’s exactly what it is.” Her tone is matter-of-fact. “I assume you have enough available funds to pay for a second settlement?”

“I could manage it, I suppose.”

“Compare that to the cost to your reputation if the second claimant were to make her claims public. Or worse, she decided to file a criminal complaint.”

“There weren’t any crimes!”

“You want to talk about encouraging others? Wait till this gets out.”

Simon feels himself shrinking in his seat. More than the expense, he dreads the thought of going through the settlement process again. He can still picture the hateful glare of Brianna’s mother at the deposition. It wasn’t too different from the withering looks his own mother gave him when he disappointed her. Which was often. And he suspects Reese is now hiding a similar degree of scorn for him behind her poker face.

All those millions of adoring fans—all that anonymous love—and yet anyone who knows me despises me.

Reese stands up from her seat. “I’m late for my conference call.”

“Sure,” Simon says as he pushes himself to his feet, his hip aching. “Thank you for the time.”

“Best of luck with it,” she says as she leads him toward the door.

Though Simon knows Reese is right, he regrets having come. Now another tribe member is as disgusted with him as JJ is. “Too bad you missed the meeting that JJ called,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to fill the silence.

“I was up against the deadline on a major contract,” she says. “Never enough time.”

He hesitates at the door. “She’s really thrown off, huh?”

“Who is?” Reese frowns. “JJ?”

“Yeah. She’s totally freaked out about Elaine.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “JJ thinks it looks suspicious or something.”

Reese stops. “Suspicious? Why? Everyone knows how Elaine died.”

“That’s what I told her.” He taps his chest. “But JJ kept rambling on. Panic-stricken about how we went to see Elaine together. And how we tried to convince her to keep quiet. She figures we were the last ones to see her alive.”

“So what?”

“People might assume we went there to silence her.”

Reese eyes him stonily for a moment before her expression relaxes. “What is it with this group? First Elaine’s wild claims about Dr. Danvers. And now JJ and this wacky theory.”

“I fucking hate unfounded accusations,” Simon grumbles, thinking of his own latest accuser. “Who knows? Maybe it’s the psychedelics? Apparently, not everyone can handle them like a rock star.”