The Association

by Bentley Little

  "I was down at the office paying my bill and I overheard Shelly talking to Graham in the back."

  Hank snorted. "About time."

  "I guess," Joe said loudly, "that Bert can start serving water again without charging, huh?"

  "Don't hold your breath," Bert called out from behind the counter.

  Ralph Griffith glanced over at Barry. "You know, I was heading down the ranch road yesterday when I saw this Lexus come out of the gate at Bonita Vista, all shiny and just washed. There was water still dripping off the hood."

  "Hey," Barry said good-naturedly, "I haven't washed my Suburban in months. You can go out back and check."

  They all laughed.

  "I wasn't saying anything against you" Ralph said. "I

  was just commenting that some of those rich guys in Bonita Vista are washing their cars right before a rainstorm while I can't even fill up my little boy's plastic pool with water."

  The laughter died down.

  "Face it," Hank said. "There are selfish pricks everywhere. And if the situation was reversed and we had water and Bonita Vista didn't, you can be damn sure that there'd be people washin ' their cars and waterin' their lawns and flauntin ' it. It's human nature."

  "But don't you think there are more of them in Bonita Vista?" Ralph pressed.

  Barry jumped in. "Probably."

  "Don't try to take it out on Barry," Hank said.

  "I'm not, I'm not. I just..." Ralph shook his head. "It's just that those assholes make me so mad sometimes. I wanted to ram that guy's car yesterday."

  "Any of you ever been up there?" Joe asked. He grinned. "Barry, you're excluded."

  Hank shook his head slowly. "You know, I never have. Never cared enough to until they put in that gate. Now I can't."

  "I never been up there either," Lyle said. "Old Al the roofer told me every house has a view and the views are amazing, but I ain't seen it for myself."

  "Why don't you all come up and take a peek?" Barry said.

  Lyle looked surprised. "What?"

  "Yeah. I'll get you through the gate. We'll head up to my house, have a few drinks. I'll show you what you're missing." He smiled at Ralph.

  "Give you a peek at the enemy camp."

  The other man reddened.

  "That's a mighty nice offer, but..." Lyle trailed off.

  "But what?"

  "Hell. Nothing, I guess." He glanced over at Hank. "What do you say?"

  "Let's do it."

  They left after lunch. Ralph and a couple of the younger men were working and had to get back to their jobs, but Hank and Lyle were retired, and Joe and Sonny were unemployed, and the four of them piled into Joe's battered Econoline and followed Barry out of town and up the highway.

  Barry pulled up to the entrance of Bonita Vista and leaned out the window to punch in the code that would open the gate. The metal arm swung inward, and he sped through quickly. Joe was right on his tail, as he'd instructed, and the Econoline made it in just as the gate started to swing closed. "We're in!" he heard Lyle shout out the window in mock heroic tones.

  Barry led them up the narrow winding road to his house. Maureen was not home, and he was not sure if that was good or bad. She was definitely not a fan of uninvited guests, and if she'd been there when he'd traipsed over with a horde of strangers, he would have caught hell for it after they'd gone. On the other hand, he'd talked enough about his newfound buddies that she doubtlessly would have wanted to meet the gang from the coffee shop, although perhaps with a little more advance notice.

  The four men got out of Joe's van and looked around.

  "Al was right," Lyle said. "What a view." He stood at the end of the driveway next to the edge of the house, looking back toward Corban , a few of whose buildings could be seen through the trees.

  "You think that's something? Check out the view from the upper deck."

  Barry walked up to the front door, unlocked and opened it. "Come on in."

  "Nice place you got here," Hank allowed.

  Barry led them upstairs and through the sliding glass doors onto the porch. "You think we have a great view, you ought to check out the scenery from that place up there." He leaned over the edge of the railing and pointed toward; Ray's house farther up the hill. "Their living room's all glass, and you can see all the way to the desert."

  "You make enough off your writing to afford this place?" Joe said.

  Barry nodded.

  "I'mgonna have to start showing you more respect, boy."

  Barry laughed.

  Hank turned back to face the door. "So the association won't let you write here, huh? Your own damn house and | you have to rent an office in town to do your work." He shook his head. "That's craziness."

  "Reason number two hundred why I hate those bastards."

  Sonny cleared his throat. "Didn't you say something about drinks?"

  Barry chuckled. "Coming right up." He opened the sliding door. "Beer okay? I got Bud and Miller Light. Or Coke if you'd rather have that."

  "Bud."

  "Bud."

  "Bud."

  "Bud."

  It was unanimous, and he walked inside to get some cans out of the refrigerator.

  The men stayed for another forty-five minutes, but the visit grew increasingly awkward, and Barry was soon sorry that he'd invited them up here. He'd intended for this to be an ice breaker, a way for them to get to know each other better. Maybe, he'd thought, they'd become real friends instead of just lunchtime acquaintances. But instead their visit seemed to widen the gulf between them, and he felt like a nouveau riche snob lording his possessions over the local yokels. That was not his intention, and he did everything he could to counteract it and make them feel at ease, but the nice house with the great view on the hill in the gated community still stood between them. He should have left well enough alone. They all got along fine at the coffee shop, but outside of that specific environment their differences were emphasized, and even beer could not engender the kind of camaraderie needed. He'd wanted to bring them all closer together, but his invitation had ended up pushing them farther apart.

  They left early, dispiritedly, offering polite thanks and rather formal good-byes, and he decided to stay home and take the rest of the afternoon off. He wasn't going to get any writing done anyway.

  He sat on the deck reading a Richard Laymon novel. There was no storm to the south today, no clouds anywhere on the horizon, only a deep blue sky and hot, still air. Great, he thought. Just what he needed. An extension of the water rationing in Corban . They'd really resent him now.

  He sped through the book. He'd continued drinking even after the others had left, and the cans piled up next to his chair as he read.

  One. Two. Three. Four. By the time he saw Frank's pickup pull into the driveway shortly after four thirty, he was feeling more than a little lightheaded, and he walked back into the house and stepped carefully down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing.

  "Hi, Frank." He opened the door just as the other man was about to knock.

  "Whoa. ESP."

  Barry smiled. "I saw you from the deck."

  "Mystery solved."

  "You want to come in?"

  Frank shook his head. "No, no. I just stopped by for a sec." He looked uncomfortable.

  "What is it?"

  "I was working up here today, and I ran into a couple of the board members." Frank looked down at his shoes, shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  "They wanted me to tell you that you're not supposed to be fraternizing with the locals. At least not in Bonita Vista. I guess they said you invited some locals over or something. I don't know. Anyway, they said it's cool if you go to their houses, but you can't hang with them here."

  "What?"

  "Outsiders aren't welcome in Bonita Vista."

  "Now they're trying to tell me who I can be friends with and who I

  can't?" Barry stared at him incredulously^ "I don't believe this shit!"

  Frank held up his hands. "I'm just t
he messenger. I know how crazy it is, but I don't make the decisions. I'm just repeating what they told me to tell you."

  "I can't invite friends over."

  Frank shrugged. "Not if they're from Corban ."

  "They can't do that."

  "It's in the C, C, and Rs ."

  "So what? Fuck the C, C, and Rs ." He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or simply righteous anger, but at that second he wanted nothing more than to find his copy of the regulations, rip it up, and send Frank back with a counter message: shove these pages up your asses.

  Frank glanced around furtively, obviously worried that they had been overheard. "Don't even joke about that." He looked back toward the road. "What if someone from the association hears you?"

  Something about Frank's reaction didn't seem right. It felt too exaggerated, as though it were part of an act put on for his benefit, and a hint of Barry's earlier suspicions returned. He remembered the way Frank had insisted to him and Ray that the association could not be behind the vandalism that had been visited upon them. The fact that Frank had turned out to be right was beside the point. It was his attitude that was important. Looking over at him, Barry realized how little he really knew the man.

  Everyone's an informant.

  Frank seemed like a good guy, and Ray had obviously trusted him, but despite his accounts of occasional problems and run-ins and disagreements, he was not as anti association as Barry would have liked him to be. That didn't automatically make him a stooge or a spy, but it was definitely cause for concern.

  "This is my house," Barry said evenly. "I'll say whatever I want to say and talk about whatever I want to talk about. And if I want to say that I think the architectural committee eats out their own mothers'

  assholes, I'll do it."

  Frank nodded, pretended to smile.

  "And if I want to invite friends over, I'll invite them over. Is that clear?" Frank held up a hand. "Hold on there, cowboy. I'm on your side."

  "Yeah." Barry's tone of voice made it clear that he did not think that was the case, and Frank backed up awkwardly.

  "Well... Igotta be heading back. Just wanted to tell you what they told me."

  Barry nodded and watched him retreat to his pickup. He stood in the doorway as Frank waved and the truck backed out of the driveway and continued up the road.

  Barry closed the door. He'd had no intention of asking the guys from the coffee shop up here again, but now he was tempted to invite them for lunch every damn day. He walked upstairs to the kitchen to get himself another beer.

  Hell, maybe he'd even give them the code to the gate.

  The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article IV, General Provisions, Section 9, Paragraph D:

  No member of the Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association shall, within the boundaries of the Properties, socialize with any individual currently residing in the town of Car ban. The only exception to this shall be if a resident of Corban owns a Lot within the Properties and is also a member of the Association.

  Maureen had an early meeting with Ed Dexter at the title company, for whom she was doing some freelance account auditing, and since the Toyota was at the shop getting a new water pump and they had only one vehicle, she offered to drive Barry into town and drop him off at the microscopic shack he called his office. He didn't usually leave until after The Today Show ended, but this morning she made him get ready early, and they were out the door before eight.

  She drove carefully down the steep winding road, through the neighborhood toward the entrance of Bonita Vista.

  The gate had changed overnight. Maureen slowed the Suburban, feeling an icy tingle tickle her spine and then settle like a lump of lead in the pit of her stomach. She glanced over at Barry in the passenger seat, and he, too, seemed dumbstruck and thrown for a loop.

  They'd come through the gate just last evening. In what turned out to be a futile effort to cheer up Liz and get her out of the house, they, along with Mike and Tina, had taken her to a late steak dinner in town.

  As they probably should have known, the last time she'd been to the restaurant was with Ray, and she'd spent the first part of the meal crying quietly, the second half silently staring at her almost un touched plate. They'd returned to Bonita Vista around ten, Barry driving, and he'd stopped in front of the gate as always, entered the code, and once the creaky metal had swung open, driven through.

  Now, though, the old gateway was gone. In its place was an even more elaborate entrance: stone columns on either side of the road, massive ornate double gates that looked tall enough to block a semi.

  And a guard shack.

  She and Barry looked at each other, although neither of them spoke.

  The road had been widened at this point, bifurcating around the small square structure, allowing for simultaneous entrance to and exit from Bonita Vista.

  The Suburban coasted up to the gate and stopped.

  Maureen rolled down her window as the trim middle aged man staffing the booth stepped outside at the approach of their car, clipboard in hand.

  He was wearing the olive uniform of a security guard, and his close-cropped hair accentuated the militaristic appearance.

  The guard walked up to the driver's window. "May I ask your name, sir?" He looked over at Barry in the passenger seat, ignoring her completely, acting as though she didn't exist.

  Barry met Maureen's eyes and looked deliberately away from the guard, which caused her to smile. "My name is Maureen Welch," she said.

  The man looked down at the list on his clipboard. "Welch ... Welch ..." He glanced up. "Here you are. Barry and Maureen." The humorless formality gave way to a fawning smile. "You are free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience."

  "Free to go?"

  She'd been about to put the car into gear, but Barry's words caused her to stop.

  "You mean if our names had not been on that list, we would not have been free to go? You would have forced us to stay here and not let us leave?"

  "There've been reports of intruders, and one apparent burglary," the guard said. "My job is to make sure that only residents are allowed in or out of Bonita Vista. If a trespasser has managed to get in, then, yes sir, I am obliged to hold them here until the sheriff arrives to take care of the matter."

  Maureen glanced over at Barry, wondering if he was as chilled by the fascistic tone of this exchange as she was.

  "So they put up this new gate and this guard booth and hired you because there was a burglary!"

  "As I understand it, too many people knew the entry code. It had been given out to plumbers and roofers and contractors; half of Corban knew it. So the old gate was no longer effective as a security measure. It was felt that new measures needed to be taken."

  "Are you from Corban ?" Maureen asked, thinking they'd hired a local man to staff the entrance.

  The guard shook his head. "No, ma'am. I live here in Bonita Vista."

  There was the sound of a car driving up behind them, and she glanced in the rearview mirror to see a red Saturn pulling up.

  She put the car in gear, but kept her foot on the brake. "How ... ?"

  Maureen did not know how to ask what she was really wondering. "How did this get put up so... fast?"

  The guard shook his head. "I don't know, ma'am. I didn't build it, I

  just staff it."

  There was tacit recognition that this was unusual, strange, but not acknowledgment that it was damn near impossible. The gate swung open before them, and she guided the Suburban through. She glanced at the stone columns as she drove by. The cement did not even appear to be wet. It was as if this whole thing had been here for months, years, and she realized how truly incredible this all was. There was no way that even a large crew of workers could have torn down the old gate, put up an entirely new one, widened the road, and constructed a guard shack between ten o'clock last night and eight this morning.

  They headed toward the highway.

  She glanced over at Barr
y. "What are you thinking?" she asked him quietly.

  "The Davidsons ," he said.

  Maureen nodded. "Me, too." She had not been sure at the time that she entirely believed the couple's story about the gate being built to increase property values and thus drive them out with higher property taxes, but it seemed eminently reasonable now.

  "You going to call Chuck Shea or Terry Abbey and ask them what's doing?"

  Maureen shook her head.

  "Why not?"

  "I'm afraid to," she said quietly.

  That shut him up, and neither of them said anything as they drove between the two pine-covered hills toward the highway.

  She took a deep breath. "Who do you suppose they're trying to get rid of this time?"

  She didn't expect an answer and she didn't get one, and they rode the rest of the way into town in silence.

  The telephone was ringing when they got home that afternoon, and Barry dashed past her the instant she unlocked and opened the door, picking up the phone from the coffee table where they'd left it that morning.

  "Hello?"

  Maureen closed the screen and threw her keys in her purse.

  "I'm fine," Barry said into the phone.

  The call obviously wasn't for her, so she took her purse downstairs and then went to the bathroom. He was still on the phone when she walked back up several minutes later, still standing in exactly the same position. There was a strange expression on his face, one that she could not read, and she could not tell if what he was hearing was good or bad.

  Her heart started pounding.

  "Barry?" she said.

  He held up his hand. "Yes," he said into the phone. "Okay."

  She touched his elbow.

  "All right. Thanks. Goodbye."

  "So?" Maureen asked.

  He clicked off the Talk button, looking stunned.

  "What is it?"

  "A movie deal."

  "What!"

  "They want to buy the rights to The Friend" he said. "Half a million dollars."

  It was still hard to believe.

  Barry finished packing his suitcase and closed it up, fastening the straps. True, The Friend was one of his more commercial novels, though it was not the biggest seller. And he'd always secretly thought that it would make a good film. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that Hollywood would be interested, let alone shell out this kind of money.