Consent_A #MeToo Romance

by Jason Letts

  I’d wanted to go on about how he could fire me if he wanted to, but his broiling anger made it clear that didn’t need to be said. We stared at each other in silence for a full minute. His lip quivered and I sensed he was going to break.

  His mouth opened but a hand fell on his shoulder unexpectedly.

  “We could use her help with the new Laddie’s project.”

  Suddenly Keenan was there, relaxed and with a gentle smile. But he didn’t stay long, already moving away by the time Martin answered.

  “Of course,” he said bitterly. The anger flashing in his eyes at me was withering. It was like it was my fault he was trying to make my life a nightmare, and it spoke to the resentment Chelsea said she’d experienced with him. Martin thankfully didn’t say what was on his mind, drifting back to his desk instead.

  It was weird, but if anyone should’ve felt disappointed by the outcome of that confrontation, it was me. Keenan had ironically foiled my best shot at bringing a lawsuit against him by uncharacteristically getting involved out on the office floor. He was lucky that I much preferred a decent, stable job to put my energy into rather than litigious attempts to prove I’d been harassed.

  But it turned out he really had taken my comments to heart. His appearance when I was talking to Martin was far from an isolated occurrence. People were used to seeing him only when he needed to scold someone for falling short, but by the time the weekend hit people were no longer nerve racked as he moved around. When he was in his office, he kept the door open.

  The wonders he did for my work life just by being out there were profound. No one attempted to give me a distasteful job to do. There wasn’t one rude comment. And most significant of all, there wasn’t a single sexual advance, though it was hard not to wish one had come along if the right person had expressed an interest.

  After a tumultuous week, I geared up for Saturday with my favorite trio of pleasure, pajamas, a box of Lucky Charms, and Netflix. I was ready to take a breath and enjoy a respite from everything going on at work. There were Facebook chats to have, news articles to read, and I had a hankering to put something on my blog even if I wasn’t ready to blow the whistle on my place of employment.

  It was around ten a.m. when my door buzzed. I was so unused to visitors I’d nearly forgotten what it sounded like and thought there was something wrong with the TV, but I quickly got up and rushed over to see if somebody down at my building’s entrance had pushed the wrong button by mistake.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “It’s Keenan,” the voice said through the intercom. I froze and my cheeks flushed. What?

  “Oh, hi,” I said pathetically.

  “Can I come up?” His question came through as I glanced at the mirror in the bathroom. My reflection could’ve inspired The Scream by Edward Munch. I wanted to say no, but he was here, and I had to know what it was about. Did he want to hop on the couch and watch Netflix? Where was that going to lead? My head was pounding with everything Chelsea had said about not getting involved with him, but I didn’t have a muscle in my body able to resist him.

  I hit the door lock rather than answering and rushed into the bathroom to do as much damage control to my face and hair. Thank goodness the elevator was slow as death. With any luck it would break down and I’d have a good two hours to get myself together.

  By the time the knock came on the door I’d managed to put jeans on and gave up on changing my t-shirt, which was up around my head. I took a deep breath and tried to believe I wasn’t a three-headed monster as I opened the door.

  Keenan was standing there in clothes much like those he wore at work. The black dress pants and swanky shoes were complemented by an athletic-looking jacket I hadn’t seen before and a thick brown hat with earflaps. His bangs just peeked out from the bottom of it. The little grin he had said life was cake.

  “What a surprise,” I said, secretly petrified he’d be mortified by my appearance.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. He looked up and nodded as if it just occurred to him I wouldn’t have anticipated him showing up at my door.

  “I didn’t know you knew where I lived,” I said.

  “Somebody has to look at those employment forms.”

  There was a pause in which I took a deep breath.

  “Would you like to come in?” I asked, not realizing until a second too late that I was basically pointing to my bedroom.

  “No,” he said at once. I was about to ask what, then, he wanted, when he produced an envelope that had been tucked under his arm and handed it to me.

  I took it and saw that it was from the same law office as the other one. It required some restraint not to be too hasty about tearing it open and reading the contents. The wording of this one was mostly the same, but it was asking for something other than permission to make a personal comment.

  “You want to have a meeting outside of normal working hours?” I said, reading a line from the page.

  “If you’ll give your consent,” he said. It was off-putting how natural he seemed standing there in the hall, like he’d always belonged there, handing me legal documents. I squinted at the page for a moment and then relaxed my arm.

  “Can I ask what these are about?” I gestured to the envelope and the letter.

  “They’re about documenting an explicit answer from you regarding my proposal,” he said. It was mystifying to me how he could say these things and not realize or show how completely bizarre they were.

  “Yes, I get that, but why? Don’t you think it’s a little strange?”

  “Have I offended you?” He raised his eyebrows in concern.

  “Not yet,” I said, smirking.

  “Would you say I’ve been unwise to give you such a letter?” He leaned a little closer.

  “No.”

  “Is it unpleasant to have your decision recorded in such a way?”

  “No.”

  “Are you saying you’d prefer not to have the opportunity to make your wishes clear beforehand?”

  “No.”

  “Then please tell me what it is,” he said.

  I set the letter and envelope on a nearby counter where there was already a notepad and a pen, to turn my full attention to the man standing in my doorway.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s a little unusual to have to do this, don’t you think? I mean, am I going to have to sign something every time you want something from me?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about anything else I want from you,” he said. That one stung a little, and I decided I was ready to push beyond this line of questioning. I took the pen, signed the letter, and handed it back to Keenan.

  “OK, so what’s this meeting about?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  “We’re going out? I mean, we’re going somewhere? You have to give me some time to get ready. I just got up,” I said, massaging the truth.

  “How much time do you need? If you take more than ten minutes we’re going to be late,” he said.

  I growled and slammed the door in his face, turning tail and rushing to get myself ready. The shower water had barely gotten hot by the time I’d jumped out. My hair refused to cooperate and had to be given up on. My skin looked like it had a close encounter with a cheese grater. I spent most of my time feeling envious that Keenan probably rolled out of bed looking exactly the way he did.

  I opened the door feeling like I’d run a marathon. Inside I was bubbling with excitement over what might happen. What kind of things did Keenan take women to on Saturday mornings? Was there any reason to think he had collected any more adjectives for me beyond thoughtful? I got carried away so easily.

  But he cringed when he saw me.

  “Is that what you’re wearing? You’re going to freeze,” he said. I looked down at my pea coat, mortified, until I snapped back to my senses.

  “My family is pretty hot blooded,” I said, stepping out and closing the door behind me. “Is it a super-long
walk then?”

  “Oh, we’re not walking,” he said.

  I shrugged and tossed up a hand.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. It seemed to take Keenan a moment to get over it.

  “Come with me,” he said at last.

  We went downstairs and exited the building, walking briskly until we reached Keenan’s red Tesla by the side of the road.

  “How did you find a parking spot here?” I asked.

  “I paid someone to move their car.”

  I couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not, but Keenan popped the passenger door open and held it for me as I got in. I’d never been in one before, and it was hard not to be impressed by how beautifully awesome it was.

  “This is nice,” I said, dialing it down quite a ways.

  “I met Elon Musk once,” Keenan said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “He was nice and all but I could tell he thought I was small time. One day that might change, depending on how things work out.”

  We drove on for a while in silence. I decided it was better to seem cool and enjoy the view rather than try to chat him up the entire way. But after about fifteen minutes saying something seemed like a good idea, and I had one good question in mind.

  “What made you want to take me to this undisclosed thing that we’re going to?” I asked.

  He glanced over with that subtle smile that seemed to appear so easily on his face.

  “It’s never too early for professional development,” he said.

  I spent the rest of the ride pondering whether this could really all just be a professional rendezvous. It certainly didn’t feel professional to me, but it got me thinking I might’ve been reading signs that weren’t there. I didn’t know whether anyone else in the office had ever experienced a kind of weekend drop-in like this.

  It seemed even less professional when Keenan pulled off the highway and made a few turns into a completely residential neighborhood, stopping at a white two-story house with enough snow on the roof to make it seem like the entire building was going to be crushed. I didn’t have the foggiest clue what was going on.

  “This is it,” Keenan said with enthusiasm, hopping out. I opened my door and looked down at where I was about to put my slim black shoe. The snow around the curb seemed solid enough to step on, but instead my foot sank through like it was nothing and I had snow up to my ankle. Growling inwardly, I got out and trudged over to the driveway to catch up with Keenan. My feet felt like frozen stumps.

  “What is this place?” I asked. There was a welcome sign on the front door, a mailbox with the name Crystals on it, and a little barking coming through from inside.

  “This is a friend’s house,” he said, continuing onto the mostly uncleared sidewalk and up to the porch. It was hard not to be apprehensive as he rapped hard on the door, causing an uproar of barking from within. The door swung open noisily, revealing a large woman with a nightgown on and a colorful drink containing an umbrella in one hand.

  “Keenan!” She gestured him over and gave him a hug with her free hand. A playful German shepherd appeared at her side and she nudged him away.

  “Good to see you, Mrs. Crystals. Is Wesley…”

  “In the basement playing games, as always,” Mrs. Crystals moaned, turning her attention to me. “And who’s this? Can you be a little sweet on him, dear? Might convince him there’s something in this world of interest that can’t be found under my kitchen.”

  I smiled politely wondering what in the world I was walking into.

  Keenan continued through the small foyer, past an empty living room where the TV was on, and to a door against the wall on the other side of the stairs that presumably led to the basement. He set his hand on the knob but stopped and turned to me.

  “I hope you’re ready for a good time,” he said.

  I was ready to wave the creeped-out flag. Were we here to play video games? Something weirder? Drugs? I couldn’t even guess. As Keenan opened the door, I saw there was an awful lot of light down in the basement.

  We walked down the creaky wooden steps and surveyed an unfinished basement with folding tables covered in computer equipment all over the room, cords running this way and that everywhere. There were also at least twenty people around the walls and sitting in folding chairs. Some of them were teenagers, but some also had nice suits on. It was a strange mix of people.

  One boy with short red hair and pasty-white skin jumped from a desk and rushed over to us.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it!” He gave Keenan a bro hug.

  “No way was I going to miss this. Sarah, this is Wesley Crystals. He’s a genius.”

  “Hi,” I said with a smile, wondering if that was sufficiently sweet. The young man had a faint odor on him. His shirt had a few red splotches around the collar and chest. I began to notice empty pizza boxes stacked in the corner. The topmost one was open and had a couple of slices left in it.

  Wesley nodded at me but didn’t say anything. He turned around and started back to his seat.

  “I think we’re ready to get started,” he said. His voice hadn’t been raised at all, but everyone there went quiet.

  “What is this about?” I whispered to Keenan as Wesley turned to face everyone but put his head down to look at his phone.

  “The future.”

  “What?”

  There was a round of clapping that I found myself participating in, but I had no idea what it was for. Keenan leaned over to me.

  “One day something is going to come along that changes everything. The way we do things now seems so normal, but from another perspective it’s completely rudimentary and unnatural. Think about it. Typing into little boxes on glowing rectangles. Even using our hands is an incredibly wasteful intermediary for processing the output of our brains.”

  In front of us, Wesley held up his phone and appeared to turn off the screen. That wasn’t enough apparently, because he grabbed a blindfold from the table and wrapped it tight over his eyes. He then began barking orders with his phone in his hands behind his back.

  “Tell me how much free space is on my computer. What is Amazon’s best deal today? Check the mileage on my car. Let me know as soon as my friend Justin posts anything. Download the hottest pictures of Kate Upton to my phone. Start the washer. Get my mom to bring me a ham sandwich for lunch!”

  I squinted, not seeing anything happening other than the young man’s shouting, but everyone seemed to be impressed.

  “So it’s a hands-free add-on,” I guessed. “Voice command?”

  Keenan looked up at the pipes running along the ceiling.

  “The simplest way to describe it might be as a web browser that operates entirely via voice. There are no windows or buttons or apps. It has a startling ability to execute complex tasks and deduce meaning. It’s almost like an artificially intelligent guide showing you the way in the dark.”

  I nodded and watched as Wesley took off his blindfold. The others in the room approached him, took his phone, sat down at his computer, and otherwise investigated what the program had done. Wesley just looked at his watch and after two minutes walked past us up the stairs, reaching the top right as his mother opened the basement door carrying a sandwich on a plate. There were ooh’s and ahh’s.

  I clapped along with them, thinking it was a little beyond me to estimate for sure if this really was the wave of the future we were looking at or not.

  “Doesn’t Alexa and Google Home do most of this already?” I said to Keenan in a whisper, sure that if I was overheard I’d be subjected to ridicule from the faithful. Fortunately Keenan’s reply didn’t contain any condescension.

  “That’s a little like calling a calculator a computer. Responding to voice commands and regurgitating information is one thing, but this is like a digital version of you navigating everything you’re connected to. All of these big tech companies we’re familiar now are going to be disrupted and supplanted by those better oriented to this kind of direct interface.”

  Wesley
invited volunteers to try out the program, picking a few eager hands out from the crowd. I hadn’t volunteered and was glad not to be chosen. Still, the new participants seemed to have a blast challenging the machine to explore different areas of their lives, using their credit card histories to estimate how much gas they had left in their tanks, getting suggestions for presents for their wives based on other things they’d bought, sending texts to people, making Facebook posts, or asking for articles on various topics.

  I wondered if I would’ve been more interested if I’d seen a slick commercial about it. All of the participants had headphones in, but they were still all talking out loud to their phones. It made it pretty loud in the basement, and I wondered if the silence of tapping on glass screens was going to be a thing of the past.

  The pizza was momentarily appealing, but I decided my wandering attention wasn’t any match for my bladder. I told Keenan I’d be right back and headed upstairs.

  “Can I ask where the bathroom is?” I asked Mrs. Crystals, leaning around the opening to the living room. She set her jaw and gave a sympathetic tilt of the head.

  “A little bored, dear? I can’t blame you. They can blast away at each other for hours down there. If you want to watch a few episodes of Lost with me and tell them later that the level they achieved was amazing they’d never be the wiser,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s a nice offer, but I don’t think so. Anyway, I really do need to pee,” I said.

  When my business was finished and my hands were washed, I came out and attempted to hurry back to the basement, worrying that if I missed too much Keenan would think I wasn’t being properly professionally developed.

  I reached for the door handle but had it pull away on me as soon as I grasped it. The door was opening and I lost my balance, tripping into the narrow concealed stairwell with all of the light emanating from below. Keenan was there on the other side. I fell against him. His strong arms caught me and kept me in place against his chest.

  It was a different perspective being slightly up above him. He seemed even more beautiful than I had thought. I couldn’t exactly blame the momentum for my craning neck, but when our lips met it felt like I was weightless. I could feel him kissing me back, but just as it was getting good we were ripped apart.