The Association

by Bentley Little

  He walked back out to the living room, pulled his recliner against the back wall, and sat down facing the broken window. A cool night breeze blew the curtains in and out, moonlight shimmering on the shattered glass that littered the carpet.

  He waited, fingers gripping the golf club until they hurt.

  The thumping continued for another hour before stopping abruptly, but he did not sleep again all night.

  In the morning, he packed some essentials and enough clothes for a week, locked up the house, and got the hell out of Dodge.

  He'd come back later with some friends to get the rest of his stuff--and to put the house up for sale.

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

  No unmarried resident of Bonita Vista may cohabit ate with a member of the same or opposite sex in any residence within the Properties.

  Unmarried couples may jointly own a lot or residence within the Properties but may not both reside at the location until they are legally wed. Homosexual unions have no legal status and are thus prohibited.

  They'd been going to sleep a lot earlier here in Utah than they used to in California ("the Mormon influence," Barry said), but their rituals remained the same and, despite the fact that they'd talked about, planned, and fully intended to make love tonight, Barry was dozing by the time Maureen finished taking her shower. The bedroom television was still on--Politically Incorrect--and she sat on the edge of the mattress, looking down at him, his features tinted blue by the flickering light of the tube. She'd always envied his ease of sleep.

  He was one of those people who nodded off shortly after his head hit the pillow and slept through until morning, his face angelically serene no matter what was going on in his life during daylight hours. She, on the other hand, was a tosser and turner, awakened by the slightest shift in his position or the merest change in room temperature.

  He smiled in his sleep, and she touched his cheek, gave him a small prod. "Hey."

  He frowned, squinted, blinked. "What?"

  "You fell asleep."

  "So?"

  She felt a little hurt. "I thought we were--"

  "I'm joking," he told her. He yawned, smiled, pulled her down, and kissed her. She had to work on him a while to get him hard enough, but ever since she'd stopped taking the Pill, she'd had no problem getting aroused; for her, it had given their recent lovemaking an extra edge, had kicked it up a notch, and tonight was no exception. She came quick and hard.

  Afterward, she lay in bed, listening to Barry snore beside her, a sound that drowned out the low drone of the television. She looked over at his sleeping face. She wasn't sure how thrilled he was to be trying for a baby. Oh, he said he wanted a family, but actions spoke louder man words as the saying went, and his behavior and attitude clearly indicated that his desire--or at least the intensity of it--was not the same as hers.

  Still, she had no doubt he'd be a good dad, no matter how reluctant he might be initially, and she fell asleep looking at him and listening to the comforting sound of his deep, even breaths.

  In the morning, they ate breakfast together for the first time in a week, Barry making french toast while she squeezed fresh orange juice.

  She kissed him at the door before he set off for his office. "Have a nice day, dear."

  "What the hell's that about?"

  She smiled, patted her abdomen. "We have to start practicing for family life."

  The smile he gave her was unreadable, and Maureen watched him get into the Suburban, waving at him as he pulled out of the driveway.

  She closed and locked the door. She had nothing to do today, no meetings scheduled, no work to perform, and this time it was by choice.

  As hard as it was to believe, almost against her will, she'd grown fond of free days, of having time off, and she'd started deliberately rearranging her duties and shifting her workload so that she worked only Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

  Tuesdays and Thursdays were free; they were her own.

  She hadn't gone back to the tennis courts since her run in with those teenagers, but she hadn't wanted for things to do. She'd hung around the house, worked in her garden, visited with the new friends she was making in the neighborhood. She was getting used to this life, used to Utah, and if things in Bonita Vista weren't exactly perfect... well, what was?

  She sat down on the couch, turned on CNN. There'd been an earthquake in the desert outside Los Angeles, and according to Cal Tech seismologists, the temblor measured 6.1 on the Richter scale and could be felt as far away as Phoenix and Las Vegas. No damage reports or injury statistics were yet available, although, in their never-ending quest to put victims on the air, the anchors did talk for over a minute to a Howard Stern caller before realizing that they'd been had.

  "Baba Booey !" the caller yelled. "Ef Jackie! Ef Timmy's skull!"

  Laughing, Maureen turned off the television. It was going to be a hot day today, and if she wanted to get anything done in the garden, she'd better do it before ten. She went up to the kitchen to pour some water into her sports bottle and went outside, carrying the phone with her in case a client called while she was working. It was a bad habit, she knew, and one reason Barry refused to get a cellular phone, even though he readily acknowledged the practical benefits of having one in the car in case of emergency. He didn't like her need to be constantly tethered to her job. She recognized his concerns, but she also tried to make him understand that his job was unique, that most people's occupations required dealing with clients or customers, and that they could not just hang up a "Gone fishing" sign whenever they didn't feel like working. They had to take and answer calls even if they came at inconvenient and inappropriate times.

  The garden was doing well, and she fed her roses, plucking out some morning glories that had sprouted up and were winding their tendrils around some of her more sensitive plants. The phone rang while she was picking her first ripe tomatoes of the season, and Maureen wiped her hands on her jeans and grabbed the phone from the rock on which she'd placed it. "Hello?"

  It was Audrey Hodges. Laura Holm had stopped to chat for a second while on her daily power walk around the neighborhood, had mentioned that she'd seen Maureen working outside, and Audrey was just calling to see how things were going.

  "Fine. I'm taking the day off to do a little work around the house."

  "Good, good." Audrey paused. "Actually, this isn't entirely a social call. Frank and I are looking for a tax accountant. We've just gotten an IRS notice saying that we owe an extra five hundred dollars because Frank's numbers didn't gibe with the numbers submitted by his employer and our bank. It's the second year in a row this has happened, and I'm getting pretty sick of it. We had a big fight last night and, well, the upshot is that we decided to have someone do our taxes for us this year.

  "Just this year," she added quickly. "I don't want you to start counting on us and think you have a permanent client. Frank intends to just use your tax forms as a template and follow the same steps next year. I'd prefer to have you do all our taxes from now on, but getting even this big a concession was like pulling teeth."

  Maureen laughed. "No problem. I'll even give you a good neighbor discount."

  "Thanks, Mo. Say, would you like to come over for lunch?"

  She hesitated. "I don't know. I'm kind of busy ..."

  "Come on. You have to eat anyway. We can catch up on a little neighborhood gossip and you can get some extra exercise in the bargain. Just walk down here around noon, eat, and ran. I won't keep you."

  "Are you saying I need the exercise?" "After my French onion soup you might." Maureen laughed. "Okay. I'll see you around noon." She spent another hour in the garden, watering plants and squishing quite a few snails before heading inside, changing her clothes, and washing up.

  The computer was beckoning to her, and she was tempted to finish the spreadsheet she'd started yesterday, but she forced herself to sit down on the
couch and read the most recent Los Angeles Times they'd gotten in the mail. This was supposed to be a day off. She finished the paper shortly before noon and quickly went to the bathroom, putting on some lipstick before grabbing her house keys and heading out. A lot of people around here didn't lock their doors, she knew, figuring they were safe in a gated community, but after what had happened to Barney, she and Barry always made sure they locked the place up before leaving.

  The day was beautiful, not yet hot but pleasantly warm, the sky filled with the type of fluffy white clouds in which children loved to see shapes. On the way down to Audrey's house, she passed the flat vacant space that had supposedly been put aside for Bonita Vista's future swimming pool and was surprised to see a group of shiftless men working on the property. Five or six of them were clearing brush with clippers and rakes and other hand tools, while several other men were working in tandem, using pickaxes to dig at a spot in the rocky ground. They looked for all the world like a chain-gang, although there were no shackles or fetters in sight.

  She walked by, not looking at the men, feeling somewhat self-conscious, expecting at any moment to hear wolf whistles and catcalls, but there was only a loud occasional grunt of exertion, the thwack of shears, and the plinging of metal on rock.

  It seemed odd to her that there were no power tools, that no one had a chainsaw or a rototiller , and she wondered if the association had some rule against that.

  Audrey was setting a table on the side patio of the house, and she waved Maureen over. "Come on up! The food's ready. I was just about to bring out the salad."

  The Hodges' house was nice, but it was nestled among the tall pines at the bottom of the hill, in the flat part of Bonita Vista, and had no view. She knew that Frank and Audrey had paid a lot more for their place than she and Barry had, and Maureen was thankful that they'd found such a deal. She walked up the wooden steps and around the side of the house to the patio.

  "Have a seat," Audrey said. "You want wine, water, Fresca , or iced tea?"

  "Water's fine."

  "I'll be right out."

  Maureen sat down, and her friend emerged a moment later from the kitchen, two tall glasses of ice water in hand.

  Maureen accepted her glass gratefully, took a long sip. "I just saw a bunch of men a few lots up the street digging and clearing brush--"

  "Oh, those are the guys who volunteered to help dig out the swimming pool and lay the foundation for the community center. Dex Richards is a contractor, and he's overseeing the project, whipping the rest of those couch potatoes into shape. I think even Frank's going to volunteer some time this weekend."

  "We didn't even hear about it."

  Audrey waved a dismissive hand. "That's because it's been going on so long that there aren't any formal communications to the membership anymore. The association doesn't want to embarrass itself by making promises it can't keep or deadlines it can't meet. But I think this time we might actually pull this thing off.Dex is a good contractor and he knows what he's doing. It'll probably be too late for this summer, but by next spring we should have a pool."

  "What's this community center for?"

  "Oh, you know. Block parties or birthday parties or youth group activities. Whatever. The association'll probably hold the annual meeting there. We've been holding it in the cafeteria over at Corban High. It'll be nice to have our own place." Audrey held up a finger.

  "I'll be back in a sec. I'm just going to bring out the soup and salad."

  She went inside, and Maureen stared into the trees. The world was quiet, despite an occasional bird cry and through the still air she could hear the sounds of the men up the street digging, pounding, chopping.

  Audrey returned with the food, sat down, and they started eating, talking about the weather, their husbands, Maureen's job, things in general.

  Maureen ate a bite of salad. "So, Kenny Tolkin was a con artist, huh?"

  The other woman frowned. "What?"

  "Frank told Barry that Kenny was living illegally in someone's house and scammed some people out of their money."

  Audrey shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "It was his house. From what I understand, he was in arrears because he had not paid his association dues for the year. I think he was put on some type of probation but he skipped out. I don't know why. He could've worked it off. The association isn't completely inflexible." She smiled at Maureen. "Although they're pretty close."

  They both laughed.

  Audrey speared a tomato with her fork. "I suppose he'll put it up for sale eventually."

  The soup and salad were delicious, as was the homemade rosemary bread that was brought out a few moments later after a timer in the kitchen rang. Audrey was quite a cook, and Maureen wished, not for the first time, that she was a little more domestic, that she'd taken some cooking classes or, at the very least, listened more to her mother while growing up. It was not too late, though, and with her new resolve to have more free time, she thought she could probably find the time to sign up for some courses, providing Corban had some type of adult ed program.

  "So what do you think about the pamphlet?" Audrey asked.

  Maureen frowned. "Pamphlet?"

  "The sexual harassment pamphlet. Don't tell me you didn't get one?"

  "No."

  Audrey laughed. "Well, you're in for a treat. Our old friends at the association are now laying down policy about sexual liaisons between homeowners." She shook her head, chuckled. "Not that it'll stop anything."

  Maureen raised an eyebrow. "Anything you want to tell me?"

  "No, no, nothing like that."

  "Do you have a copy of the pamphlet? I'd like to see it."

  "I think Frank tossed it, but I'll see."

  She couldn't find the pamphlet, but she did come back with twin bowls of peach sorbet, and they ate dessert and talked about the prudery that seemed to have overtaken the world since their teenage years.

  Afterward, Maureen offered to stay and help clean up, but Audrey shooed her off. "Get out of here."

  "Next time it's at my place."

  "Are you expecting me to help with your dishes?"

  "Of course not."

  "I'll be there."

  Maureen walked slowly back up the street toward home. She looked again at the shirtless workers as she passed by the pool site and for some reason was reminded of Kenny Tolkin. Why, she wondered, had he ran away? Because he was behind in paying his dues? It was a bizarre and unbelievable reaction, and the idea didn't sit well with her. People only ran when they were afraid, and she thought of the mysterious appearance of the new gate as well as everything else that had happened, and despite the heat of the day she felt cold. There was no mail in the box when she checked, but there was a glossy pamphlet. Sure enough, it was titled Bonita Vista Sexual Harassment Guidelines, and she opened it as she walked up the driveway, her eye immediately drawn to the subheading "Love Can Wait."

  Wait for what?

  She glanced down at the bulleted paragraphs.

  Sexual relationships between neighbors are very seldom secret. Others will be watching and judging your behavior, which could lead to disharmony in the community.

  Relationships may end and leave one or both of the individuals with bitter feelings. If this happens, there will be uncomfortable and awkward social situations as well as the possibility for retaliation by one or both parties.

  Sex between neighbors, even consensual sex, is considered unprofessional and inappropriate behavior. While there are no current regulations prohibiting such conduct, rules are being drafted and will be put to a vote at the annual meeting in September.

  Maureen frowned. There was nothing actually in here about sexual harassment. Like Audrey said, this was simply an unwarranted intrusion into people's personal lives. Not only was the homeowners' association driving off individuals who didn't pay their dues on time, it was also trying to dictate people's sex partners. What was next? Requiring association approval before performing certain sexual acts and pos
itions? This was an audacious and unbelievable invasion of privacy, and she found it both ridiculous and horrifying.

  She walked into the house. A small petty part of her considered throwing the pamphlet away, not showing it to Barry, not telling him about it. It was difficult enough to be proved wrong about something without having your face rubbed in it. But this was too egregious to be swept under the rug. Barry and Ray had been right about the association all along, and while the regulations outlined in the pamphlet didn't affect her, the next edict might, and she found herself wondering what the association could possibly try to prohibit next.

  He was writing again.

  Whatever it was that had caused his temporary block J was gone, and Barry was grateful. He did not try to analyze it, did not look at it too carefully or think about it overmuch. He was not one to question the whys and wherefores; he simply accepted it when things went well and hoped they continued that way.

  He stopped typing, flexed his fingers, and read over the paragraph he'd just finished.

  The thought crossed his mind that he'd been corrupted by Hollywood. It sounded melodramatic and probably seemed ludicrous on the face of it, but the truth was that he'd been thinking of filmic possibilities for this new novel even as he was writing it. Always before, plot and characters had served only the story, with real-life considerations having no say in the outcome. But ever since his near brush with movie success, he'd found himself casting this novel, trying to figure out the actor or actress best suited for each character. He'd also been unusually aware of visual elements in the story, things that would look good on the screen.

  Was this influencing the work itself?

  He didn't think so, but he wasn't sure, and the possibility worried him.

  Still, things were sailing along. He'd finished twelve pages this morning alone, and he saved what he'd written, turned off the computer, and stood, stretching. It was lunchtime, a little later than usual, actually, and he closed up his office and walked across the field to the coffee shop to grab some grub.