Rain Outside Window

Am wearing Cardigan purchased on sweltering day a couple of weeks ago in anticipation of and fervent hope for cooler weather to come. Dramatic and decorative clouds race across sky and rain falls diagonally, pours really, and congratulate self for having the sense to be inside. (Later, when have to go to Library and rain soaks entire right side, find reason to regret cockiness.) Cozy calm (hideous overhead lights are extinguished and thought have to squint a bit to see, much prefer 2 rickety area lamps which Dave begged me to take out of the apartment) is interrupted by entrance of Oliver, who sits in chair opposite desk, sets his chin in his hands and asks in worried tone if I think the Contessa is going to call him back or not, ever. Was very relieved to hear from the Contessa herself that the date was a dud, and that they didn't even kiss, and at one point she'd asked herself very seriously how much she'd have to sleep with Oliver--but this was a bit of a paradox--she said to me--if she drank that much she'd have long passed out. Was relieved in a way when she told me this, but now that Oliver is sitting in front of me, see that her impulsive behavior has consequences, not only for her, but for me. Am very angry at her. Oliver says brightly, I know what happened! She lost my telephone number. Gently suggest that his feelings are not returned--point to rather obvious fact that she has my number and Oliver and I work in the same office. Oliver pauses, thinking about this. I'm very persistent, he says. Have never witnessed this quality in him, but am afraid that now will.