Alice LaPlante - Turn of Mind

The blond woman is writing furiously. What a lovely gift, this story, she says. Jennifer will enjoy reading about it later. But I am getting a glimmer. More than a glimmer, a Technicolor movie. It comes in bursts of images. Invoking all the senses. I speak quickly before it dissipates.

Yes. The sandy ham that crunches between our teeth. The acidic wine. The power plant looming overhead. The grown-ups perhaps drinking a little too much. Voices are raised. Laughter comes easier. The older man abstains: He is the driver but continues pouring. The other three drink past the point of pleasure. Past the point of honesty. To somewhere more primal.

That’s right, says the man. He opens his mouth as if to continue, but I push on, following the movie in my mind. I can feel the heat of the noonday sun on my bare arms. The sand against my thighs. Hear the cries of the mutant birds.

The older woman starts it. She asks the younger man if he has noticed anything different about his wife.

Different how? the younger man asks.

Her hair. Her clothes. A general glow.

I can’t say that I have. She always looks terrific. And he gives his wife an affectionate smile, gestures to the older man to top off her glass of wine.

The younger woman is startled. Something is happening that she has not expected.

You didn’t think, for example, that perhaps she has reason to celebrate? asks the older woman. That something has happened that she considers a good thing? Perhaps not news that every woman would welcome. But she isn’t an ordinary woman.

The younger man doesn’t miss a beat. He is a lawyer with a growing reputation. This is what he is like in the courtroom, in the boardroom. There is no curveball he cannot catch, no supposed revelation that he does not appear to have intimate knowledge of beforehand.

My wife is no fool, he says .

But you might be , the older woman says. She takes a sip of wine but doesn’t take her eyes off him .

I don’t follow.

Power is a strange thing.

It is. But what does that have to do with this conversation?

They say knowledge is power, says the older woman.

And that ignorance is bliss, says the younger man, derisively .

Does that mean you want this conversation to end?

The younger man considers. No , he says. I want to see where you are going.

The younger woman speaks up: Me too, actually.

The older man is the only one not getting it. The other three are facing off . The kids are squabbling over sand toys.

The younger man is the first to break the silence. So she knows. I haven’t exactly been discreet. If she’d asked I would have told her. It’s not important. Nothing can touch what we have.

The younger woman relaxes. She is relieved by his reply, and the tension dissipates from her shoulders. She shrugs indifferently. There was nothing I wanted to ask. Nothing that was worth the bother of asking. I did a little checking on my own. Found out what I needed to know. A trivial liaison, soon to end. That was the end of it.

The younger man smiles, an odd, almost proud, smile. Yes, our marriage isn’t so fragile.

It most certainly is not.

Ah, says the older woman. But this is not about the trivial. Not in the 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.