Lex took a look at it and shook his head. “Nope.”

“He was part of your entourage.”

“No,” Lex said, “he wasn’t.” He sighed, picked up a cocktail napkin, started tearing it into strips.

“Tell me what happened, Lex.”

“Nothing happened. I mean, not really.” Lex looked toward the bar. A pudgy man in a fitted golf shirt was chatting up one of the au pairs. Tears for Fears’s “Shout” was on and literally everyone else in the bar yelled “Shout” at the appropriate time. The guys who’d been snapping on the dance floor still snapped.

Myron waited, gave Lex space.

“Look, Kitty called me,” Lex said. “She said she needed to talk. She sounded pretty desperate. You know we go way back. You remember those days, right?”

There had been a time when the rock gods partied with the tennis starlets. Myron had been there for part of it, fresh out of law school and seeking clients for his start-up agency. So had his younger brother, Brad, enjoying the summer before his freshman year of college by “interning” for his big bro. That summer had started off with such promise. It ended with the love of his life breaking his heart—and Brad gone from his life for good.

“I remember,” Myron said.

“So anyway I figured that Kitty just wanted to say hi. For old times’ sake. I always felt bad for her, you know, the whole career gone up in flames like that. I guess I was curious too. It’s been, what, fifteen years since she quit.”

“Something like that.”

“So Kitty meets up with us at the nightclub, and right away I know something isn’t right.”

“In what way?”

“She has a bad case of the shakes. Her eyes are glazed, and man, I know strung out when I see it. I stopped using a long time ago. Suzze and me, we went through that war already. Kitty, no offense, but she was still using. She hadn’t come to me to say hello. She came to me to score. When I told her I wasn’t into that scene, she asked for money. I told her no on that too. So she moved on.”

“Moved on?”

“Yep.”

“What do you mean, moved on?”

“What part is hard to understand, man? It’s a simple equation. Kitty is a junkie—and we wouldn’t give her a fix. Ergo, she hooked up with someone who could, uh, help her out.”

Myron held up the photo of Ponytail. “This guy?”

“I guess.”

“And then what?”

“Then nothing.”

“You said Kitty was an old friend.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So you didn’t think to try to help her?”

“Help her how?” Lex said, turning his palms to the sky. “Like, organize an intervention right there in the nightclub? Like, drag her by force to rehab?”

Myron said nothing.

“You don’t know junkies.”

“I remember when you were one,” Myron said. “I remember when you and Gabriel were throwing all your cash at blow and blackjack.”

“Blow and blackjack. I like that.” Lex smiled. “So how come you never helped us out?”