We light up in the parking lot of the combination Pizza HutTaco Bell inside Thomas’s heavily air-conditioned Volvo SUV. Thomas has rich parents, which is part of the appeal. He pays for everything and always has the best weed. He is a self-proclaimed “cannabis entrepreneur,” which is a disgusting way to define oneself. As far as I can tell he doesn’t work. He just sleeps with vacant women and shows up everywhere I am. Part of the reason I stopped leaving my house was to ensure I wouldn’t run into him.

But now I am back in his dumb Volvo, taking a deep hit and feeling sort of momentarily happy. Grating music travels through the car and snatches my bliss.

“What is this shit?” I ask, pointing to the stereo.

“Vampire Weekend,” he says.

I make a hacking noise, and he laughs his cloying laugh.

“Their new album is pretty good.”

I can’t think of a single thing to say to that.

“What would you prefer?” he asks.

“White noise,” I say. “The sound of myself talking. Cats screeching. A woman in labor.” I reach for the stereo and turn it off.

“I’ve missed your negativity,” he says. “It’s refreshing in Los Angeles, the city of unchecked delusion.”

“Is it ‘refreshing’?” I stick my tongue out at him, then I worry it is too flirtatious. “I should go soon.”

“You said three hits,” he says. “So far you’ve just taken one.”

“You’ve always been great at monitoring my movements in a borderline criminal way,” I say.

He laughs again. “So, what’s new with you?” He passes me the joint. “Any exciting auditions?”

“Oh, god no.” I inhale. “I haven’t auditioned in years.” I try to remember the last time I slept with Thomas. Two years ago, maybe three. The last few years have been kind of a blur.

“Why not?” he asks. “You’re so talented.”

I want to be aloof, but his words feel good. I want so badly for someone to tell me I am talented. And I am beyond grateful he didn’t mention my flagging career as an internet astrologer.

“Hollywood does not agree,” I say.

“Hollywood is trash, no taste,” he says. “You’re a star.”

And just like that, I decide to let him go down on me.

The nice thing about Thomas is he never expects anything in return. He makes me come in his Volvo in the combination Pizza Hut–Taco Bell parking lot and I hardly have to touch him. Afterward I feel disgusted and ashamed and say I have to go. He insists on driving me home, but I can’t stomach being in a car for twenty minutes with the gross reminder of how low I’ve stooped.

“I need the exercise,” I say.

“Your body looks great to me,” Thomas says.