What It's Like to Be Sexually Harassed at Work - Part II

Why I Didn't Report - Complicity - David Gets Caught

Photo by Heike Trautmann on Unsplash

This is Part II in this series, so for it to make sense, you need to read Part I first. It’s rather long, so scroll down to the Section sub-titled Good God Can You Get to the Good Part Already? if you just want the meat.

I also want to respond to some comments on Part I, objecting that the way I described things was not typical, specifically with respect to not being afraid of my harasser, but more annoyed and infuriated by him.

I want to be clear that I’m not saying what happened to me is how it always happens. As fellow lawyer and HR expert Aristides pointed out, my story is only the second most likely scenario. The first most likely is a mutual affair that ends with a messy unilateral break-up. But I maintain that what happened to me is far more common than what people typically envision, which is a much scarier, darker story. And since this has happened I’ve talked to so many women who have been through similar situations, and my story isn’t that atypical. Rather than predation and fear, these things usually play out in a much more pitiful, commonplace way. The characters of Gabe, Andy, and Michael in The Office – getting crushes and suffering lovesick delusions – is actually more realistic of how it tends to go down. And I know there are women who suffer romantic delusions and can act desperate and foolish too — maybe someone else on Substack can tell that tale.

Okay, back to the story, where David had just left my hotel room after trying to maul me and crying about it for two hours.

I honestly don’t think I did anything wrong, in Part I. But this is the part I’m much more ashamed of.

I’m in Shock

After David left, I took a shower, paced back and forth muttering to myself for an hour, and tried to sleep. Mostly what I was thinking was I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that.

This was all before Me Too, but it was perfectly well known that this kind of thing was verboten. And lawyers know it especially. There was no grey area here, what he’d done was unquestionably disallowed and wrong.

I simply could not believe he had done something so stupid, and had let his emotions override his judgment like that. Mad Men was airing at this time, and this type of behavior seemed like a relic of the past, or something that only very stupid men would do. Or perhaps men with unusually low levels of self-control. And while I knew he had become infatuated with me, I truly never, not even for a minute, thought he would be so reckless. It did not fit anything I knew about him.

I recall having been similarly mystified regarding the Monica Lewinski scandal with Bill Clinton. How on earth could a man intelligent and talented enough to get elected President of the United States risk his entire career and reputation just to stick a cigar in an intern?? I think I must have chalked it up to some kind of out-of-control libidinous crazy Southerner personality, or that Monica must have really been trying to break him down. But I had NOT concluded that all/most men have a sex demon lying in wait, or that given the right circumstances, they truly are not capable of thinking with the big brain and little brain at the same time.

I’m sorry to say that David changed my mind about this. Nowadays, I DO think of all men as potential sex demons who are not to be trusted to behave themselves behind closed doors. At least, the ones not actively suffering depression or on medication or something similar – you might be able to trust a depressed guy with no libido. But I wouldn’t trust the rest, and I certainly don’t think they can control their romantic/sexual emotions all the time, even when it’s at profound personal risk to themselves. That’s where I’m at now, but at the time David jumped on top of me, I was flabbergasted.

It sounds funny, but the thing I was most hung up on was that he had done this totally sober. If he had been drunk, none of this would have surprised me in the slightest, as I’d been around plenty of amorous drunks who act like fools. But I could not get over the fact that he had had the actual courage to make this move without any liquid courage. Once again, I’m using a word here – courage – that’s a bit unseemly in this context, but I think it fits.

Because the truth of it is, until David did this, I had never once had a man who I didn’t already have an established romantic relationship with make a sexual move on me without the benefit of a bit of liquid courage. And I was in my late 20s when this happened. Not only that, but I never even realized or considered that fact! I just sort of assumed that no sober man would have the cajones to ever try such a thing. So when it happened, it shocked me almost as much as if he had suddenly opened his mouth and pulled an entire live possum out of it.

A few things I’ve subsequently realized:

1. I’m tall, and for the most part, men do not act in nearly as predatorial a manner towards tall women. I’m just a hair over 5’9”. While that’s not THAT tall, according to the internet it places me in the 97^th percentile of height for adult US women, and at exactly the 50^th percentile for adult US men. And in quizzing women about their feelings and experiences, I’ve discovered that tall women for the most part are not afraid of men in the same way that smaller women are. I think that’s because men just don’t subject them to nearly as much aggressive or threatening behavior. There is no rational reason for this, because I’m also very slight and could easily be beaten up by not just every man but by the majority of women too – basically I’m just easier to knock over, and not very strong. But men seem to subconsciously size people up, and are much more likely to behave badly with petite women. My guess is that their lizard-brain reads a 5’0” woman as “child”, and reads someone my height as “man”, since I am after all the same height as most men. And apparently, if a man has a socially unacceptable urge, he is much less likely to act it out with someone that part of his brain is reading as another man. Just a theory.

2. I also apparently come off like a bitch. At least, virtually every friend and boyfriend I’ve had my entire life has told me “I thought you were such a bitch before I knew you.” I think this is mostly just a case of resting bitch face and growing up in the north-east, where we have the complete opposite of the charming, sugary-sweet feminine graces that the Georgia peaches learn. I come off as more of an ice queen than a peach.

3. I later learned that very religious men who grew up without the crutch of alcohol to lubricate their social interactions tend to be MUCH more aggressive and sexually courageous with women, as soon as they’re out of public view. Once again, this was something I had no experience with at all, before David. But later on, when I became single and started dating, I found this was true as a basic rule. Secular guys who spent their college years partying simply would not make a move on me unless they’d either had a few drinks or I went out of my way to make it clear it was welcome. The guys who didn’t drink – either because they were religious or in recovery -- would just go for it.

The end result of these factors is that despite being alive for almost three decades, with plenty of suitors and male admirers, I had honestly never had anyone just make a sober sexual move on me, ever. So I spent about 24 hours mostly in disbelief that it even happened. I felt an incredibly strong urge to call someone and tell them, just to be able to say “can you believe he did that??”. But I was on west-coast time, and it was too late to call anyone.

One question that I anticipate might possibly form in some male readers’ minds is this: did I feel any sense of power, or superiority from this? Any sense of lording it over him, or pride in being able to reduce a man to such indignities?

I can understand why the thought might occur to someone. The honest answer is no, I felt none of that. But I will admit that most likely if I had been attracted to him, the answer would probably be yes. I suspect that if the crush had been reciprocated, I still would’ve turned him down because he was married, but I probably would’ve been inwardly gloating. In that scenario, what would have probably happened after he left is that I would’ve masturbated and felt very proud of myself for motivating him to act so recklessly out of desire.

In fact, it's actually quite amazing that I felt literally zero attraction for him at all. Because he wasn’t bad-looking, and honestly, once things get to the touching stage, my standards aren’t all that high. I guess I rely on being a tall icy bitch as my filtering mechanism, because once someone actually puts hands on me, generally my motor is going to get revving and once that happens… What can I say? My love language is touch. For the most part, if a guy can circumvent my analytical frigid bitch brain and just get his hands on me, I warm up fast. So I’m somewhat surprised that did not happen at all, and that I wasn’t even 1% aroused, even if I was 99% repulsed. I suppose the months of having to sit there watching him stare at me and droning on had made me immune to having any attraction or arousal.

I also, weirdly, did not feel angry or even necessarily offended at the attempted sexual mauling. It was too ridiculous and embarrassing for him for me to be offended by it. I just felt surprise and shock, and, if I’m very honest, a small sense of relief. Because what had made me so very angry was the months where I had known he had a crush, but because he never did anything overt, there was nothing I could do about it. I just had to put up with his constant time-wasting and him projecting his unstated emotions at me. But until the night at the hotel, he never did anything undeniable enough for me to object or take real action, and that sense of passivity and powerlessness had fueled feelings of hatred towards him.

But now that he’d made a move, at least it was all out on the table, and I could stop playing this game of pretend. I felt some measure of relief that at least the charade was now over. It was his unstated, covert yearning at me for months on end that had infuriated me, but I wasn’t particularly angry at him for actually making a move, just shocked at how undignified and reckless it had been.

The Immediate Aftermath

I don’t remember much about the next day, though we spent it at the client’s offices. That means we had to meet in the hotel lobby and drive over together in the rental car. It’s possible we even had breakfast together, but I can’t remember. I’m guessing it must have been awkward but likely with some kind of jokes or sheepish laughter to smooth it over.

The only thing I recall is that on the plane on the way home, he leaned over me to point out the window, and asked me if I knew what the circles on the ground were. I said they must be some type of crop irrigation anchored in the center, with the water lines rotating around the base and making a circle, and he seemed surprised I knew the answer. Then when he withdrew his hand from the window he let it brush and linger across my fingers, and I turned away towards the window, embarrassed, and his eyes bore a hole in my head.

When I got home, I immediately told my boyfriend, then called my best friend from college, then called my mom, and told them. My boyfriend was outraged, my friend was shocked, and my mom was totally unfazed. In fact, she seemed surprised that it had taken so long for something like this to happen, as if of course this had happened. That’s when I learned that basically every woman her age that had worked in an office in the 80s and 90s had this kind of thing happen to them, regularly. I don’t know why she never told me that before.

Honestly, why in all the years of her pushing and encouraging and advising me about a career had she never mentioned such a big thing?!? I guess that generation just didn’t talk about such things.

Anyway, none of the people I told felt that I should necessarily take formal action or turn him in at work. They were all just exactly how you would want your friends and family to be: supportive of whatever I decided to do.

But I never seriously considered reporting him.

Why Didn’t I Turn Him In?

Why not? First, I didn’t think I would be believed. I might not have believed it myself, if I didn’t live it. It seemed entirely out of character for him. And everyone at the firm had known him for years. They knew his wife and kids, they knew him to be a calm, mellow, reasonable guy with good judgment.

In comparison, who was I? Some unmarried newbie living in sin who had brought shame on the firm by being put on a sexy lawyers list. One with zero evidence, just a he-said, she-said story. I did not think that more than a handful of people would believe me, and most would think I was lying, so there was no point.

And even if they did believe me, what would be the outcome? Nothing good. Either David would be fired or put on some kind of action plan that would make things forever awkward whenever we were in a room together. And if I was allowed to stay, after that everyone would walk on eggshells around me and worry that I was dangerous. Wondering if I was a seductress or liar.

And if I left, I’d have to find a new job, and there were no jobs at the time. Also, the legal community was still small enough that everyone in town would’ve quickly found out – juicy gossip spreads like wildfire -- and no one would want to hire me. It’s just looking for trouble, to hire someone involved in a scandal like that. Best to just stay away. So my career would’ve been toast when it was just barely beginning, and I had no desire to be known as someone involved in a scandal.

I also did not want to ruin his life. On this point, Walt Bismarck is correct that most women are more forgiving, and far less vengeful that many men seem to fear. I thought he’d made a bad mistake and was under the influence of some very deranging love chemicals. But that did not seem like something bad enough that the penalty should be massive career, reputational, and life damage.

And more importantly, I really did not want to ruin his wife’s life. Because she would be the one to really get the shit end of that stick. Back then, I didn’t know her, but I knew she was pregnant, had two kids, and was totally dependent on David, living a nice suburban life in a big house. So finding out that her husband was trying to cheat on her AND him getting fired and throwing their family’s life into financial insecurity seemed like an entirely unfair, life-ruining thing to happen to her.

And to be clear, I was fully aware that this whole scenario is basically the ultimate nightmare for a wife. At the time, most of the male attorneys had non-working wives. Firms do a lot of retreats and events where people bring their spouses, so everyone gets to know each other, and there’s sometimes a bit of unspoken tension between the stay-at-home-wives and the women their husbands work with. This mostly gets solved by everyone being married, but I wasn’t.

But I knew that not much would be worse, or more humiliating, than finding out that your jackass husband was at the office flirting with an associate, risking his job to do it. And even worse than that, getting infatuated when it’s not even reciprocated, and embarrassing himself like an idiot. I can easily put myself in those shoes, and can’t think of much that would make a wife feel more betrayed and revolted. It made me sick to my stomach to contemplate, and I did NOT want to play any role in that.

So what I decided to do was nothing.

I didn’t really have a plan. I hoped that after being turned down, and having it out that night in the hotel, that maybe it was something he could move past and we could essentially just act like it never happened.

Things Get Worse

That was not his plan. Though he absolutely was a bit scared, for a week, as if the risky position he’d placed himself in suddenly dawned on him. He didn’t totally avoid me, but he was clearly worried - jumpy like a rabbit, waiting for the hawk to swoop down on him. And wow, that week was nice, while it lasted. I enjoyed it. It made me feel I’d made the right move, turned the tables, and now HE was afraid of ME. Good. Let him be afraid! Let him be the one who dreaded seeing me.

But it didn’t last. I suppose that once he realized I wasn’t going to turn him in, that I was a “cool chick” that he could trust not to get him in trouble, he took it as a green light to just let loose.

So he resumed hanging around my office all the time, but now it was even worse because I got to hear all about his marriage and situation at home. Which, truth be told, there was a story there, and he had some actual legitimate grievances. He should not have been telling any of it to me, but there were some real problems, and not just the old “my wife isn’t interested in me anymore” crap that most men peddle. I still didn’t want to hear it, but I listened, and tried to give him useful advice.

My working theory was that he had problems he needed to deal with separate from his crush. But that the crush itself would eventually fade, because that’s what they naturally do. Familiarity breeds contempt and all that. I knew that unrequited crushes could last longer than those that are quenched, so I thought that by increasing our familiarity, it would actually help his crush fade faster. Because infatuations are fantasies based on longing and mystery, which don’t survive contact with reality. So I figured a big dose of familiarity would help extinguish it more quickly. My assumption was that he was in la la land, floating around somewhere in the stars, and that the more he was around me in a boring, everyday manner, the quicker he’d return to earth.

But first, things got worse, and he became entirely reckless, as if he had no fear at all. In fact he started supplying me with actual evidence, had I changed my mind.

He hadn’t done this previously, but now he started sending me really stupid emails, just blatantly during the work day. I went back and looked through them, and it’s really quite astonishing how stupid people who are infatuated can be. Here’s some examples, to give a flavor:

From: David, 10:03 a.m.

Subject: Wow!!!

Okay, so yesterday I said the color blue looked good on you. Green is even better!!

From: David, 9:45 a.m.

Subject: Re: Schedules

Yes, if you can get the schedules finished by EOD, that works for me. But there is absolutely

nothing about you that doesn’t work for me. ;)

From: David, 12:20 p.m.

Subject: Re: Schedules

We need to go over the status on docs for [redacted]. Also, not to belabor the point, but the

bottom line is that I thought about you constantly over the weekend.

The crazy part is that it’s entirely clear in many of these emails that he KNOWS I don’t return his feelings -- and yet he was doing it anyway?! This is one part that I’ve never understood:

From: David, 1:27 p.m.

Subject: Thanks

Thanks for taking the time to hear about my home life. I am usually a closed book, but it’s so easy for me to talk to you. And frankly I like talking to you. And I also trust you . . . perhaps more than I should. However, I am not exactly sure what to make of your last comment . . . . I think it was something to the effect of "get over it." Do you want to expand on that?

From: Me, 1:44 p.m.

Subject: Re: Thanks

You know what I meant -- I meant that a crush is not a big deal, it's a passing thing, and you shouldn’t put so much weight on it. Stop mulling on it constantly. Basically I'm saying ignore it. I get that emotions/drives are powerful when you experience them, but they also pass. This will too.

From: David, 1:47 p.m.

Subject: Re: Re: Thanks

Unfortunately I do know what you meant and I don't like it. The hard question is when you have strong emotions pointing in another direction (even if such emotions may be just a fantasy or one sided), then you don’t want to even really try to move past them.

I mean, what is up with that?? I still don’t know.

This went on for another year. He bought me an inappropriately expensive gift for Christmas, which I should have given back and refused to accept, but part of me felt like I at least deserved to keep it after going through all his bullshit, so I did. He bought me some other gifts too, which I never encouraged or indicated I wanted, but I also didn’t refuse to accept them. That’s on me. I felt by keeping my mouth shut I’d earned the right to keep them. But now that I’ve just typed that, I realize it’s not exactly true. Because I felt compromised by keeping them, even at the time, and knew it was wrong. But I kept them anyway.

And, there were multiple more physical skirmishes. He came at me multiple times in my office, either waiting til later at night when no one was there, or standing in front of a closed door and refusing to move until I kissed him, which I did not. There was another chair attack. He tried it in the elevator. He tried to give me massages. This happened every month or two. I never gave in to him, and instead I’d cajole and joke my way out of it, and talk him down each time. He wrote me notes on his personal stationary, telling me how much he cared for me. Just a bunch of really, really dumb stuff on his part, as far as supplying me with hard evidence. I can’t account for why he did this, it’s almost as if he wanted to put himself in danger.

I’m not sure if he thought I’d eventually change my mind, or he figured he’d already embarrassed himself and therefore it didn’t matter if he just fully indulged himself. Maybe he wasn’t thinking at all, and was just on automatic pilot. Maybe he thought that my not reporting him must mean that secretly deep down I wanted him too, and would eventually realize it. Or maybe his romantic fantasy was all that mattered to him, and I remained only a very ancillary part of it. I don’t really know.

Complicity

But I’m obviously not blameless in this, because I allowed it to go on. I kept his gifts. I sat there talking to him, acting as his unpaid therapist. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, I should’ve shut him down hard and told him in no uncertain terms he needed to pull his head out of his ass and stop.

But I didn’t, not really. I did keep turning him down and telling him it was no big deal, that it would pass, that he was just temporarily deranged and soon he would feel differently. But I wasn’t mean, and I didn’t try to hurt or humiliate him. I was far too nice and understanding really, much like a therapist. Ultimately, putting up with it and hoping it would eventually fade seemed like the easiest course of action, so that’s what I did.

There are two instances where I crossed a line into what I would describe as complicity. One is that I lent him my copy of Laura Kipnis’s Against Love. It’s one of my favorite books, and for some reason I thought it would help him, because it’s about the all-encompassing insanity and stupidity of love. I thought it would help him see that his crush, despite feeling meaningful, ultimately was not, and was just something that happens. Instead, he returned it back to me full of underlined passages and notes in the margins. It seduced him more, if anything. That was dumb. If I page through the book now, I can see why — it’s absolutely seductive and paints infidelity as intoxicating and alluring. I don’t know why I imagined it would be helpful.

The other thing that happened is that I broke up with my boyfriend, and he moved out. And I was upset about the breakup, so I talked about it with David, because he was already there, talking to me, and I’d heard all about his drama, so why not make him listen to mine. I shouldn’t have done that. It created more intimacy between us, and turned our conversations into real two-way discussions about some more heady and philosophical topics, instead of just unilateral therapy sessions. They were more like the conversations you have with a close friend or lover. So that changed the tenor of things between us, and David, of course, was encouraged by my break-up and ramped up his constant efforts to try to see me outside of the office. He began asking me if he could stop by my house and see me, which I always evaded.

But here’s what I really should not have done, which I’m embarrassed about. When I broke up with my boyfriend, I also lost possession of most of my friends, who were my ex’s friends first. And I had surgery on my foot scheduled for the day before one of our nation’s two big holidays, when almost everyone is off work and traveling to be with family — of course that’s when I scheduled it, god forbid an associate attorney be out of office and unavailable on a normal work day. But now I no longer had a boyfriend to drive me home from the surgery, nor friends I felt comfortable asking to do such a thing the day before a big holiday. David insisted that he would take me.

I should not have let him, this was far too intimate of a thing for him to do, it was something a boyfriend or husband does. I should have just rescheduled the surgery or taken an Uber home, but I was sad and feeling terribly sorry for myself, all alone and going to spend a holiday hobbling around like a cripple, so I let him.

The surgery ended up taking a long time, and when I woke up, it was dark out and David was standing at my bedside. The nurse brought me my clothes in a bag and left us alone, because she assumed David was my husband – who else would he be? Whose boss drives them to get their foot operated on? No one’s, because it’s not normal and I shouldn’t have let him.

And of course, I had to take off everything under the surgical gown, including my bra and underwear, for surgery on my toe – I don’t really want to know why. So I’m laying there naked under my surgical gown, with an IV in my arm, but honestly at that point I was woozy from drugs and he felt like a reassuring presence. I put on my clothes under the gown, so he wouldn’t see anything. He stood there and watched. I think he helped hook my bra for me, and helped me get on my shoe, since the other foot was in a big boot. I’m pretty sure that during this, he caught a peek at a boob, maybe both. But I was half-asleep from the drugs, and frankly, I didn’t care.

He took me home, the first time he’d ever been inside my house. He got me settled on my couch with pillows and a blanket, and brought me ice cream and crackers and something to drink and my meds and set me up with a movie to watch. I was in and out, sleepy. He didn’t try anything, though I sensed him standing above me, hesitating for several minutes before he left, watching, as if he was considering it.

But he kissed me on the forehead and left. This scenario was, obviously, totally out of bounds. The next day was a big family holiday, and he was in my home, doing the kinds of things that a husband does. None of it should have happened and I should not have allowed it. But I was feeling sorry for myself and didn’t care. And honestly, I felt reassured by him being there, it shifted my feelings for him. It was the first time I felt real affection for him. I felt cared for by him, grateful. I never hated him again after this. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help developing some fondness for him after this day. When I’m sick or injured, I feel terribly vulnerable, and I was already grieving my break-up, so I was particularly pitiful and helpless. I didn’t care if he’d caught a glimpse down my gown, I was glad he was there.

So at this point, though no actual sex acts had ever occurred, things were clearly FAR more intimate than anyone would find reasonable, most especially his wife.

David Gets Caught

Some time a couple months after this, I received a text from an unknown number, saying you should really make an effort to stay away from married men. I assumed it was from David’s wife.

I don’t think he’d intended to tell her he was driving me home from surgery, but it ended up taking so long, and he got home so late, that I suppose he had to.

Then I started getting notifications from LinkedIn and online people-search engines that she was searching my name. I told him about this, and that he’d better deal with it.

And then a few weeks later, she somehow broke into David’s email, and found all his messages to me.

If she was going to find out, I was glad it happened the way it did. Because the messages she saw made it very clear it was one-sided, and also that nothing had actually happened, physically. If she’d found out a different way, he probably would’ve lied and said I was pursuing him, or she might have imagined even worse things then had actually occurred. Once she found them, there was no reason for her to trust anything he said, so in a sense it was good that the messages laid things out fairly clearly. Be thankful for small blessings. The last thing I needed was a woman on the warpath, thinking I was out for her husband and wanting to murder me.

She forbade him from any interaction with me unless there was someone else in the room, told him he could not work on any matters with me, and made him go to couples counseling. She didn’t leave him, though I’m sure she gave him hell, at home.

It seemed a fitting punishment, for the crime. I was a little amused thinking about him having to sit through therapy sessions and eat crow, when he didn’t even get any sex, or really anything out of it, other than possibly a half-second peek down my operating gown. I was relieved he got caught, though somewhat worried she would leave him and then I’d have single David on my hands. Luckily, that didn’t happen.

So David stopped being my problem. I basically stopped seeing him at work, except at firm-wide meetings, for about a year. He did slip up now and then, and would drop in to talk to me, but for the most part he went through with what he’d promised her. I stopped working on anything with him, and everything seemed to go back to normal. I was free.

I don’t know what happened in their couples counseling. I just know that time went by, and he had to pay some dues, and eventually they seemed okay, and later, better than okay. She got a boob job and got herself a massive new rack. He took her on a bunch of vacations and bought her gifts and did his penance. Over time, he either convinced her things were okay and that he’d “done the work”, or she stopped caring, or he did – I’m not sure exactly. I just know that over time, she slowly stopped being paranoid about me, and eventually she allowed us to talk and be friendly.

But David getting caught isn’t really what fully ended it. Because even after that, he still made a few attempts, though they were in a half-hearted, somewhat joking manner. The last time he tried anything, he said Look, I’m not trying to convince you it’ll be so great or that we’ll live happily every after. I’m just trying to convince you that it won’t be that bad. That made me laugh. At that point, I no longer harbored any ill will at all, and it was the last time he ever said or did anything that he shouldn’t.

But mostly what really ended it was just exactly what I had thought would: time. It turns out I was right. Crushes aren’t sustainable for years on end. They’re temporary flights of fancy, and they don’t survive contact with reality. I’m not a mysterious, alluring dream woman, I’m just a woman, and over time I became a real person to him. Eventually, I became a partner, so there was no more power differential between us, and I became much more “real” with him. And shortly after that, I met my now husband, and David knew it was the real deal. Time went by, and things became the way they are when you’re truly just friends. Nowadays, David is just as likely to work on a matter for one of my clients as I am for him. We’ve served on boards together. We’ve known each other 15 years now. It’s hard not to end up friends after that long.

And it turns out, when you go through a lot of shit with someone over a long period of time, it bonds you.

Over the years, we’ve gone through all kinds of drama and crap at the firm. Hiring people, firing people, threats of lawsuits, a merger, crazy clients, all kinds of things. Lots of shared history, and memories. He trusts me. Weirdly, I trust him. We’ve both had the opportunity to fully screw the other one over, and didn’t. In a sense, that type of mutually assured destruction treaty builds trust. I know him and he knows me, it’s just kind of inevitable. He and his wife have come over to our house for dinner. We’ve gone out with them. At my wedding, he danced with my step-mom and talked me up to mom, to make her proud. We cover for each other when we’re out of the office. We have each other’s backs.

Nowadays, our relationship is more like that of two old war buddies. We don’t work together much anymore, but if one of us has some firm gossip or some bitching to do, we drop in for a pow-wow. David sometimes calls me on his drive home, to gossip about one of our mutual enemies or just catch up. I truly have affection for him. It’s somewhat amazing, given I wrote in Part I about fantasizing about murdering him, but he’s one of my very favorite people that I’ve known through work. His romantic mania is long in the past, and is now something to laugh about, if it ever comes up at all, which it mostly doesn’t. I’m also happy to report that he and his wife have grown closer and are actually very happy together now. Their kids are almost all grown. Time heals - a cliche for a reason.

And, he did apologize to me recently. We were shooting the shit and something came up about that deal we had worked on, the one way back where he attacked me in the hotel room. David got quiet and asked what year that was. I told him, and he asked And how long had you been at the firm? I told him I was a first year associate.

Jesus Christ. The associates look like babies now. You seemed so mature, I never even thought. I can’t believe I did that. I didn’t realize how it must have felt for you. You were just starting out. I didn’t even think about your perspective. I am so sorry. Truly, I am so sorry. That was a terrible thing for me to do. You must have thought I was insane. I never even thought, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.

I said, yeah, that was pretty fucked up!! But that it was water under the bridge. It is.

There’s no moral to this story. My aim is not to excuse harassers or to convince people they shouldn’t take action if it happens to them. That’s truly not my point at all. Though granting people some grace and understanding is almost never a bad thing, in my book. And most things that upset or infuriate you won’t seem like such a big deal, years later. They might even make you laugh, or make good stories.

But also, all men do have a sex demon in there. So watch out for it. Probably most women do too.

But mostly I just wanted to tell the story. Sometimes bad shit happens, but things end up fine. I truly care for David now. I might even say I love him, in the platonic sense, like one might love their cousin or neighbor. I can’t explain that part of the story, it’s just the days and months and years.