More problems arose after it became apparent I could not pay for our cut of the sushi bill when we would eat out with her friends. She liked weed and opiates and I was too nervous to take them with her, and also could not afford them. Once, she called me a pussy. Then apologized. “I’m sorry,” she said on the phone. “I have to go now.”

Her birthday landed in our “dating” period, which lasted about six weeks. I drove her to Barneys Co-Op in South Coast Plaza to look for a dress for her birthday, which she insisted her mother was paying for, and met her friend Troy in the store, who had been shopping there for a while now. Olive was visibly annoyed with something as we walked to the store, what I didn’t know, but immediately perked up at the sight of Troy. They traipsed the store, gingerly holding dresses off the racks. I sat in a large lacquered wooden chair and stared at them at the other end of the store. I didn’t bother looking. Olive walked around the store in one dress for a while, looking down at it occasionally, and convinced Troy to buy it for her. “I know it’s bad,” she said, “but I’ll pay you back. Promise. Thanks, darling.”

We had sex once. She was drunk. I was sober. This was the end of our stint. I wanted her badly at this time. She’d put it off by not returning my calls, pretending to take a phone call, saying she had to be up early. I remember knowing we were going to fuck. We were at an Indian restaurant with two of her friends. It was a BYOB place and she brought vodka for everyone but she drank most of the handle. She was sloppy, her eyes were almost closed, and she kept putting her hands on my thighs. She never did this. She rarely showed affection in public; it was mainly online or in text message. I was happy.