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Our eyes met.
“Do you want to call the police? We could report the guy who did this to you, just not the rest of the group. You said the women were into it. That makes it consensual behavior between adults. Even if it’s sadistic, it’s not illegal.” His eyes dropped, like he didn’t want to say the next part while looking at me. “I don’t judge people for what they like. As long as there’s consent.”
He was talking about Laurel, but underneath that, he was talking about me.
I twisted away, walking to the bed, then turned, pacing past him to the door. I unlocked it, then locked it again. There was this restless energy humming inside me, making me feel caged. It had been building ever since I’d stepped off the plane at JFK.
I gathered myself. Pressed my hands together and faced him. “Is it okay to do bad things to people as long as they agree?”
Jamie looked taken aback. “Isn’t it? It’s their choice, right? Personal freedom.”
I moved to the window, keeping my back to him. “Is it always an expression of freedom?” This time, I didn’t wait for him to answer. “What if you’ve come to believe the options available to you are limited?” My chest rose and fell. “What if the way you think the world works is wrong? What if life taught you something false, or people lied to you, convinced you they knew better than you did? Can you really choose freely if you’ve been mistaught?”
He cleared his throat. “No. Then you’re under the influence of… I don’t know. A manipulation. It’s just like you can’t give real consent if you’re drunk. A yes doesn’t count if the person’s not thinking straight.”
I pictured the woman who’d kneeled in the center of the circle, crying for the chance to grow, reaching into that masked man’s zipper. But when I blinked and focused, all that stared back at me was my own face, reflected in the window. “What if you’re a woman,” I said, feeling each word like fire in my throat, “and the world teaches you who you are, and where your place is, from the moment you’re born, but all along, it’s a lie. What if the lie chains you every day? If you’re not thinking straight any minute of your life, and even your defiance, even yourpleasure, is suspect?” I pressed my palm against the cold glass. “How does consent work then? What makes you want the things you want? Is it your choice, or were you molded?”
When I turned, Jamie was no longer on the couch. He stood behind me, close enough to touch. His eyes were wide and anxious. And it suddenly struck me, the absurdity of saying these things to my childhood friend. The boy from soccer practice, and math class, and countless afternoons watching movies after school.
Jamie the journalist, I reminded myself.Jamie, who tells stories people listen to, who has power.
“Shay,” he said softly. “Help me. I want to understand.”
I stood on the edge of a cliff. If I leapt, I would surely be dashed on the rocks or get swallowed by the sea—but I would have a few moments of wild, perfect freedom, suspended in the air. Or I could do the sensible thing and retreat. Climb back down to safety.
“Get out your phone,” I said. “Please.”
Jamie looked at me and knew.
It was the rocks for me.
Chapter Fourteen
TransgressionsEpisode 705, interview transcript: Shay Deroy, Sept. 6, 2022, Part One (unabridged)
SHAY DEROY:Have you ever come apart with your face pressed to the floor, licking someone’s shoe?
(Silence.)
JAMIE KNIGHT:I…uh…
SHAY:Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting you to say yes.
That’s the thing. He got us each in different ways. By the next weekend, Clem had agreed to go back to Don’s house and spend the night. She said he’d called her privately, told her he knew her family had never understood her, and because of that, she’d developed this instinct for doubt and cynicism, and ironically, it was those very defense mechanisms that would guarantee she’d always be alone. He offered to help her learn acceptance and humility. After he was done, she’d be whole.
I knew under her hard shell, Clem was secretly soft. She’d always felt uncomfortable in her own skin, worried she was too much, and Don must have sensed it. He clearly struck a chord, because she stopped dying her hair, and by the time we went to see him again, her roots were showing.
Laurel was different. She’d been Don’s from the start. She hung on every word, kept saying he reminded her of her dad, the way he talked, the fact that he was a family man. All week after his dinner party, she kept touching her burned hand, even though it made her eyes tear. I think she wanted to relive the moment.
(Throat clearing.)
JAMIE:And for you, the attraction was…?
SHAY:How about I tell you what happened, then you tell me.
The first night, Friday, seemed perfect. Don didn’t have to force us. We cooked dinner together, the three of us and Rachel, and afterward he mixed us martinis and tried to teach us how to bop, but we were terrible at it and pretty much collapsed laughing. When it was time for bed, he showed each of us to our own rooms, and they were beautiful, canopy beds and big bay windows. The next morning when we woke, he told us since we were staying the weekend, it would be nice to help him clean a little. It seemed like a thoughtful thing to do, and we wanted to please him. You know that feeling when you’re a kid and you’re trying to make your parents proud? It was the same feeling, like we’d reverted back to being young.
We scrubbed the bathroom tile on our hands and knees. Put our heads in the oven and cleaned grease from every corner. Stood on ladders and dusted fans. Don moved from room to room with us, watching the whole time. It was exhilarating to feel his eyes on me. I was aware of each movement, every time I stretched or brushed my hair from my face. My skin actually tingled.
