d was turned so that Livingston and Kaitlin couldn’t see. I realized he’d seen Olaf put his hand on me. In that moment I wasn’t unhappy he’d seen it. Now I could tell him the same cover story that Edward had told a fellow cop at his wedding when I’d been best man/person: Olaf had a crush on me and was starting not to take no for an answer. So Edward had pretended to be my boyfriend even in front of other cops to back Olaf off. It had been half true; the only lie was that Edward and I had ever been more than just best friends. I didn’t want Newman playing white knight for me, but him helping me not be alone with Olaf would be helpful until Edward got here.
But right now I was going to lay down some ground rules for the big man. He wanted to try to date me. The fact that it would be a cold day in hell before I actually let him date me was beside the point. If he was serious, then he needed to understand basic consent. You didn’t get to touch me anywhere unless you asked first, and I had to agree to the touch. Then and only then could you do it. I was about to try to teach a sexual sadist and serial killer about asking before he touched a woman. Since his idea of a great date up to this point had been kidnap, torture, and rape, I wasn’t sure how he’d take the lesson, and worse, I was beginning not to care. He had done far scarier things before, but for some reason, his touching me under the table like he was my boyfriend with other cops sitting right there had just pissed me off.
33
WE WENT TO stand at the end of the porch far enough away from the screaming toddlers and the families dressed like they’d just come from church. Newman, Livingston, and Kaitlin stayed on the other end of the porch so we’d have privacy, but they were watching us, so we’d have to be careful of what we let them see, and there would be no shouting.
“There is no fear in you, just anger. Why?” Olaf asked.
“Why am I angry? Or why am I not afraid?”
“Both.”
“Look, if you really mean it that I’m . . . the Woman for you, that I’m your Irenie, or whatever, you need to understand the basics of consent.”
“I touched your knee. That is not a sexual area.”
“The fuck it’s not,” I said, lowering my voice as I saw a toddler race past us with a harassed woman chasing him. “If I let you touch me someplace that isn’t technically an erogenous zone, then you’ll touch me again without my permission, and maybe next time, it will be somewhere that’s more sexual. I learned a long time ago with men that I have to draw the line early on, or they just keep pushing.”
“It was not a big deal.”
“It’s my body, so if you want to touch me anywhere, then you need to ask me first, and I have to say yes.”
He stared at me. “You are joking.”
“No, I’m not. Jean-Claude had to learn to keep his hands to himself, too.”
“He had to ask permission to touch you?”
“When we first started out, yes. I’m a little confused on boundaries with some people because of the metaphysics involved, but if I have a choice, I go slow. Besides, Newman saw you, and the other two knew something happened.”
“If you had not reacted to it, they would not have known.”
“Maybe, but I’m not going to sit quietly like a good little girl while anyone touches me without my permission. Anyone in my life has to earn the right to touch me.”
“But you do not have to earn the right to touch me. Women can do anything to a man, and we are just supposed to be flattered at the attention.”
“No, that’s not right either.”
“Am I wrong about everything?” He was starting to be angry now.
“No. I mean, it’s not fair. It’s a double standard that women can grope men and not be in trouble, but men get in trouble in the reverse. I think everyone should keep their hands to themselves until they have the other person’s consent. It’s about mutual respect of one another’s bodies and personal space.”
“I would not mind if you touched my knee.”
“Even if we were to the point of casual touch like that, I wouldn’t do it at a business breakfast with other cops.”
“So your objection is that it was unprofessional?”
“Part of it, yes.”
“I am sorry if it was unprofessional.”
I’d been ready to start yelling, but his apology caught me off guard. “If you don’t do it again, then I accept your apology, and thank you for saying it.”
“You are welcome, Anita. You know I do not understand consent.”
“I think you understand it, Ol . . . Otto. You just ignored it until now.”