least. Sex is banal. I didn’t want to talk about sex. I wanted to talk about the thing that either holds families together or tears them apart. Something much more powerful than sex or even love. Money.
The younger woman stiffens again, her features becoming rigid. Don’t do it, she says.
The older woman addresses the younger man. You lock your office door. You lock your desk drawer inside a locked room. You keep your wife out. Why is that?
The kids, of course. There are important documents in there. I can’t have evidence of confidential memos scribbled over with a red crayon.
Because of the kids?
Because it’s standard protocol when taking sensitive documents out of the office.
But what would someone find if they managed to circumvent your locked doors and locked drawers? the older woman asks. What if someone knew you well enough to know where you would hide the keys?
They wouldn’t find anything that would interest anyone outside corporate financial litigation, says the younger man.
The older woman raises her right eyebrow. It seems like a practiced gesture somehow, a dramatic device used to control others.
The younger woman interrupts. Now, that’s not quite true. She seems incensed by the younger man’s dismissive tone.
The younger man meets her eyes. And so?
And so, says the younger woman, and repeats, knowledge is power.
Seems like you relinquished a little of that power. To your good friend here. Why on earth would you do that? Cracks are appearing in his equanimity.
Seems like I did, the younger woman says, without looking at the other woman. Seemingly foolishly.
So? asks the younger man, addressing the younger woman. So what? What are you going to do? Turn me in? That would be against your own interests.
Absolutely, says the younger woman. It was a struggle, but I decided to not disturb the status quo. Not to confront you. This discovery was just a little curiosity I took out of my pocket and looked at every once in a while. As my dear friend here says, it was a power thing. It made me happy.
This was always about us, not just me, the man says. He is gulping his wine. He reaches over and takes the bottle from the older man, who is frankly bewildered, and pours himself another full glass. What I took will not be missed. I made sure of that. I didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t rob children and orphans. Only institutions have standards. Small amounts siphoned off over time. They added up. But no harm done to any human. This will never come to light. And it’s for you as well as me.
I believe that, says the younger woman. I believe that you tell yourself that and mean it sincerely.
And for the kids.
I believe that, too, says the younger woman. She turns to the little girl, brushes sand from her forehead, smooths her hair. The boy is still engrossed with his shovel and pail. He is digging a hole to China. The discussion is over as far as the younger woman is concerned. She is ready to move on. But the older woman doesn’t agree. She stands up.
But this is not just between you. It is a question of morality. This . . . activity, must stop. Right here and now. No more juggling of books. No more victimless crime.
No one doubts that this is an absolute order. And no one doubts that the repercussions of disobeying it would be severe.
I pause the movie. Come back mentally to the world. I ask the old man, Why would Amanda do this thing? What was her motive?
Peter seems resigned to the direction the conversation has taken. Who knows? he asks. One never knew with Amanda. Revenge? Mischief ? Perhaps she thought she was doing the right thing: preventing a serious crime. Or saving her friends the humiliation of being caught, incarcerated. But you haven’t finished the story.
I no longer need the film to guide me. The rest has formed itself in my mind.
Back at the beach, I say. The older man is upset. His world is being shaken.
Apologize! he tells his wife. Apologize for your appalling behavior. I don’t care how drunk you are, you don’t wreck lives for the fun of it.
But the younger woman interrupts him, addresses the older woman directly. No apologies are necessary because no apologies will be accepted. None would be acceptable. You betrayed my trust.
You see? the older woman says. Trust does matter. Betrayal is a serious act.
The younger woman considers this. Fair enough, she says. She picks up a hard-boiled egg. But seven hundred years ago I would have taken stronger measures.
And what would they have been? the older woman asks. She is amused.
