The car winds its way, finally, through Wyneck, Jackson and Page spilling champagne all over each other like kids going to prom and I look out the window, trying to size up this town, the one where Odilie grew up. But it’s night, too early in the summer for it to be boisterous. All I see is a main strip with darkened windows, a few people loitering outside one bar, otherwise a snug silence. And the sound of waves crashing in the distance, a noise so constant that at first, I don’t notice it, that it takes me a moment to place it.

We’re here, the front gate open, presumably allowing any odd person to walk in off the street. But then I see the security detail, shrouded by the night, standing inside the clipped boxwood walling off the front of the property as if to trick the poor uninvited souls into thinking they can easily crash.

I’m underwhelmed by the house. It’s more of a cottage, actually. The Benningtons are supposed to be billionaires and this is the kind of place a rich kid might refer to as his “starter house.” I follow Jackson and Page forward, stumbling as they hold on to each other. “This is their guesthouse.” Jackson turns his head over his shoulder and explains. “They’ve been using this one because the main one is under renovation. But you’ll see, it’s deceptive, because it stretches way back to the beach.”

We enter and I’m immediately accosted by the throngs of people, the thumping bass, the art on the walls so lubricious that the prude in me wants to look away, image upon image of tits and ass and vulvas, a teenage boy’s fantasy of a woman, splayed out ad nauseam on every damn inch of wall. I pucker my lips to keep from frowning.

Louisa Bennington, whom I recognize from the remembrance ceremony, comes up to us, kisses Jackson on both cheeks, hugs Page. She’s ageless due to the work she has had done, wearing a Rick Owens playsuit, her hair now lilac-colored instead of blond, falling down to her waist, her eyes so bright blue I wonder if she’s wearing contacts. “Louisa Bennington,” she says, offering her hand, cupping our shake with her other palm. “Pleasure to have you all here.” Her gaze is so blank that I’m positive she doesn’t recognize me. Before I can introduce myself, she’s gone, trailing into a swarm of newly arrived guests.