Page 29 of High Society

As Simon sits on his deck, nursing a vodka soda and watching a gaggle of middle-aged men finish their hapless beach volleyball game, his thoughts turn back to this morning’s group session.

He’s thankful that Dr. Danvers got them back onto the ketamine when she did. Some of the darker fantasies had begun to creep back into the recesses of his brain. And he knows he can’t go back there. Not with the sharks circling, and who knows how many others waiting to pounce. He’d rather go Jeremy’s way and deliberately overdose on pills and booze than have a new accuser surface.

But Simon was surprised to hear Reese admit that she fell off the wagon. She would have been his last guess for someone in the tribe to slip up. Still, he was impressed that she owned up to it. The more he sees of Reese, the more he likes her. But he knows better than to try anything.

He also noticed how quiet JJ was throughout the session. And those weird glances she would occasionally shoot him. Was there accusation in her eyes? Maybe he’s being paranoid, but after the latest lawsuit, he doesn’t trust anyone. Absolutely nothing happened with JJ. But what if she decides to make a stink anyway? She is ultra-connected in Southern California. She’s got even more money than he does—her grandfather emigrated in 1965, made a fortune importing South Korean delicacies to California, and now her father runs a venture capital firm—so paying her off wouldn’t be an option. If she were to publicize something about that night, he’d be screwed.

Simon checks his phone again to see if JJ had responded to his earlier text that read: You were quiet today. Everything good? But there’s no reply.

“Fuck it,” he says as he taps the button to dial her.

The line rings four or five times, and just when he’s about to hang up, JJ answers. “Simon?”

“Oh, hi you,” he says injecting a sunniness into his tone that he doesn’t feel. “I wanted to check in on you.”

“Why?”

“Oh… I just thought you seemed a bit out of sorts at our session.”

“Out of sorts?”

“Quiet. Not your usual bubbly self.” He clears his throat. “Just wanted to make sure nothing was up.”

“Nothing is up.”

He reads hostility into her tone, and it only makes him feel more anxious. After an awkward pause, he says, “It didn’t… have anything to do with me—with us—did it?”

“Us? What the hell are you talking about, Simon?”

He doesn’t want to remind her of the night she stormed out of his house after his ill-advised comment about chains and bondage. Instead, he says, “You know us musicians, right? The world always revolves around us.”

“True enough.”

Relieved that he doesn’t seem to be the one responsible for her sullenness, Simon tries to end the call. “OK, well, hope you’re feeling a bit more chipper at our next group session.”

There’s a long pause. “Can I ask you something, Simon?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think Elaine’s death is suspicious?”

“She OD’d herself on opioids. Hard to call that suss these days.”

“What if Elaine didn’t OD? At least, not by herself.”

“What are you talking about, JJ?”

“I think that’s what Dr. Danvers believes. She has been poking around a lot. I think she suspects I’m involved.”

“What? That’s nuts!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” JJ says in a rush. “I don’t even know why I brought it up. Guess I’m still wonky from the ketamine.”

Simon grips his phone tighter. “Do you know something about the night Elaine died?”

“No. Not at all. Just off on a tangent again. My brain does that sometimes.” Her laugh sounds contrived. “Thanks for checking up on me, Simon. I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, JJ…”

But before he can finish the sentence, the line clicks, and she’s gone.