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“Uh huh. So just to be clear, you think it’s okay for a man your age to sleep with someone younger as long as they’re of the age of consent. Did I understand that correctly?” he asked.
“You understood that perfectly, Mr. Levine,” I replied. But something I said must have caused him to perk up a bit. His shoulders straightened, and a smirk appeared on his face, along with his wife. Ah, shit.
“So, Mr. Crawford. Are you telling me that you think it’s okay for a man of your age, nearly forty years old, to engage with an eighteen-year-old?” Mr. Levine asked.
“Objection, relevance?” Tiffany jumped up out of her seat, and her chair knocked against the floor, prompting everyone to spin around and look at her. “What does this have to do with the case?
“Ms. Levine, I’m going to have to ask you to contain yourself,” the judge responded, staring at a chest-heaving Tiffany. Mario pulled on her hand, and she quickly took her seat again, apologizing to him. We couldn’t exchange eye contact during testimony, and it was so hard not to try to reassure her from where I was sitting.
“Mr. Levine?” the judge asked.
“Your Honor, we’re talking about the age of consent, and eighteen is the age of consent in our state. I’m trying to establish his character,” Mr. Levine said.
“Overruled,” the judge responded.
“Well, Mr. Levine, I don’t have any personal attraction to teenagers but if a man of forty years old engaged with an eighteen-year-old, he wouldn’t be committing a crime either, in certain circumstances,” I said.
Mr. Levine nodded, pushing out his bottom lip. “I see. So, you’re taking the hypothetical route,” he started.
“Objection, speculation,” Tiffany said in a tone of exhaustion and annoyance, pitching heavier on the beginning of her words.
Mrs. Levine leaned back in her chair as if she were having the time of her life.
“Overruled,” the judge spoke.
A heavy sigh escaped me. Okay, I was growing irritated.
“So, let’s continue on that hypothetical path. You’re saying, that if any other forty-year-old engaged in sexual relations with an eighteen-year-old, that would be okay because it’s legal?” Mr. Levine asked.
“I didn’t say it was okay, I said it wouldn’t be a crime,” I responded.
He seemed to ignore me, rushing to his other question. “So hypothetically speaking, let’s take a trip to Alabama or Arkansas. Hell, let’s say we take a trip to Nevada. The age of consent is sixteen in those three states. Am I right?” Mr. Levine said.
“Since I last checked, I assume so, sir.” I shifted in my seat, trying to suppress the need to storm out of this courtroom, away from this nonsense.
“Ah. So, same question. Hypothetically speaking, do you think it’s perfectly all right for a man who is almost forty to engage in sexual activities with a sixteen-year-old if they’re in Nevada on a ‘boys’ trip,” he said with air quotes.
“As a lawyer yourself, Mr. Levine, you know the answer to that question isn’t as straightforward, and it all depends on circumstance. Legally, in some cases, it’s fine, sure. In others, it’s not. Personally, I think it’s disgusting and would never be caught dead with a sixteen-year-old or an eighteen-year-old for that matter,” I responded, my voice pitching louder than I intended for it to.
“Why not?” Mr. Levine asked, staring at me with his hands casually resting against the pulpit before him.
“Excuse me?” I asked, dropping my brows and looking back at him.
“Why not?” he repeated. “Why twenty-one and not sixteen and eighteen? If the age of consent is all that matters, what’s the difference between twenty-one, sixteen, and eighteen?” he asked.
I scoffed at the ridiculous, lame attempt to paint me as something I wasn’t. “Well, for one. Twenty-one is older.”
“But come on, three years older? What’s the big deal?” he prodded.
“Sounds like there’s something you want to confess, yourself, Mr. Levine. Do you have something you want to tell the court?” I poked back.
There was a grumbling in the court. Chris was furious with me. A glance toward Tiffany told me that regardless of what was happening between us and her family at the moment, that was still her father, and she didn’t appreciate that retort. Even Mario’s mouth formed an O.
Mr. Levine wanted to reprimand me. I could see it in the way he raised his brows and tightened his lips butthole tight. But I was irritated, damn it, and I wanted him to feel a bit of the heat he was blowing down my neck.
“Order in the court,” the judge said in response to the grumbling gallery. “Mr. Crawford, please stick to answering the questions you’re asked.” She turned to me.
“Right. I’m sorry, Your Honor.” Closing my eyes, I turned toward Mr. Levine. “I’m sorry, Mr. Levine. It’s not my place to try to paint a picture of you that probably isn’t true.” I made eye contact with him while stating the irony.
