The Association

by Bentley Little

  "What are you doing?" Maureen demanded, squirming uncomfortably beneath him.

  He rolled off her. His erection was gone. Still hidden by the blanket, he reached down to the floor for his underwear. He pulled on his briefs and ran over to the television, turning it on.

  On BVTV was a video of him and Maureen making love. Maureen was on top, and the camera zoomed in on her buttocks as his hand slid down and into her crack.

  "Sons of bitches!" Barry yelled. "Sons of bitches!"

  The phone rang again, but this time neither of them answered it.

  In the morning their house had been painted black.

  The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article V, Security and Control, Section 9, Paragraph A:

  The Association and any of its committees or subcommittees has the right to monitor residents on any section of the Community properties or on any jointly owned right of-way in any manner it deems appropriate using any means at its disposal. Residents whose dues are in arrears or who are involved in disputes with the Board may be monitored anywhere at any time including in their private residences.

  It was hard writing a speech. He was used to creating dialogue, having two characters express ideas and points of view through conversation, but coming up with a stirring, rabble-rousing address in the real world was quite a bit different from doing so within the boundaries of a fictional universe in which he controlled all of the variables and all of the reactions. He was not and never had been a public speaker, so the fact that he would be performing this himself --and before a hostile audience no less--brought additional pressure.

  His first draft clocked in at a whopping fifteen minutes. He pared it down as much as he could, read it to Maureen, and it still came in at twelve.

  He would have to be selective, and he would have to be merciless. It was impossible to fit in everything he wanted to say, so he would be able to address only his most important concerns and use the most egregious examples of the association's transgressions.

  But he was having a hard time figuring out what those were.

  He scrolled down the computer screen, reread his words for the hundredth time.

  "Tape!" Maureen called from the living room.

  He hurried upstairs. He'd been videotaping BVTV all day and night, fast-forwarding and reviewing the tapes every six hours as they filled up, looking for anything filmed in their house. He had figured out where the camera in the bedroom was from the angle of the shot he'd seen on the television, and he'd torn out that section of wall until he found the device, which he'd immediately smashed. How someone had gotten the camera into that spot was a mystery, and the only thing he could figure was that it had been built into the house during initial construction and had been there ever since.

  They'd patched over the hole in the wall as best as two amateurs could, but it still looked like hell and Maureen had hung a framed Georgia O'Keeffe poster over the space to hide the bulging spackle.

  So far, they'd seen no indication that any of the other rooms in the house were under surveillance, but he wouldn't put anything past Calhoun and his cronies, and he continued his close monitoring of BVTV.

  The day before the association's annual meeting, Barry finally had a speech he was happy with. It still ran long-four minutes instead of three, even speaking fast--but he figured he could keep talking while they told him his time was up and get the last little bit in before he was cut off completely. Celebrities did it on award shows all the time. It was a legitimate tactic.

  They went to bed early, both of them exhausted from stress. They made love for the first time since discovering the camera and talked for a while about what they would do and where they would go when they finally escaped Bonita Vista. Gradually, the pauses between their sentences grew longer and their voices slowed as they started to drift off.

  He wasn't sure when he finally slipped into sleep, but at some point he was no longer lying in his bed. He was sitting on a hard metal folding chair with all of his neighbors. At a table on a raised stage, Jasper Calhoun and the rest of the be-robed board were gazing imperiously out at the tightly packed crowd.

  The president announced in a strong clear tone: "Additions to the C, C, and Rs include a provision declaring that all men may butt fuck Maureen Welch at their convenience, without her permission or the permission of her husband, Barry. All those in favor?"

  A sea of hands shot up with Nuremberg precision.

  "All those opposed?"

  Only Barry's hand was raised.

  "Passed!"

  He awoke in the morning looking across the pillow into Maureen's open eyes. "Meeting today," she said.

  The room was packed. Most of the people he did not recognize, but there were others he did: Mike and Tina; Frank and Audrey; Lou and Stacy; Neil, Chuck, and Terry; individuals from Ray's parties;

  homeowners he'd seen at the rally. They were seated on metal folding chairs and there must have been over a hundred of them.

  In the front of the room was the board.

  In the back were the volunteers.

  The layout was remarkably similar to that of his dream, and he experienced an uncomfortable feeling of deja vu as he and Maureen walked into the community center. There should have been voices, should have been talking, the large room should have been filled with the buzz of numerous conversations. But everyone was quiet, each of them glancing through enormous black-bound books that lay in their laps. To the right of the doorway, Barry saw, was a table piled high with dozens of identical volumes.

  A man standing next to the table, dressed absurdly in livery, motioned them over. "Please pick up your revised copy of The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Declaration of Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions " he said. "Ratification is the first item on today's agenda."

  He handed Barry a book. It weighed a ton and was the! size of the oversized family Bible that his grandmother| used to keep on her dining room table. "We're supposed to read through this entire thing in,|

  what, five or ten minutes?" Barry asked. "It's just a formality," the man said.

  "How can we make an informed decision if we don't know what's in there?"

  The man laughed. "That's a good one." The laugh was genuine, and it made Barry uneasy. The idea that the votes of the homeowners were important and actually meant I something struck this man as legitimately funny. An ominous sign.

  Liz was seated near the closest aisle, and she waved j them over. She'd saved the two seats next to her, and he and Maureen exchanged a glance as they walked up.

  It was as if nothing unusual had ever happened, as if she had not been a paranoid recluse for the better part of two months, and her normality was disconcerting. Liz smiled as they sat down and said she was glad they'd come, she hadn't been sure they would. She spoke in whispers, and though Barry wanted to talk in a normal tone of voice, wanted to demonstrate that he was unintimidated and unafraid, he found himself whispering back, daunted by the silence of everyone around him.

  "There's no way we'd miss this," he said. "I finally have an opportunity to give that board a piece of my mind."

  "Please pick up your revised copy of The Bonita Vista Homeowners'

  Association Declaration of Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions,""

  the man in livery said from his post near the table as someone new walked in. His voice sounded absurdly loud in the stillness.

  "Ratification is the first item on today's agenda."

  Barry placed the massive volume on his lap and opened it up. Liz's copy, he noticed, was on the floor next to her. Several of the people around them had also laid their books on the floor, though some were attempting to read through the amended regulations.

  He turned pages randomly. There was a rule disallowing the cooking of Asian food at any residence, another stating that all homeowners must own an American flag, although the flag could not be displayed either in or outside the house. He flipped quickly through the book. The re
gulations grew wackier and wackier. Only Number 2 pencils could be used to write grocery lists; residents were required to wash their hair daily and use conditioner; baldness was not acceptable in public, and homeowners who were losing their hair had to wear toupees outside the privacy of their homes. He was certain that there were dangerous edicts hidden among the frivolous ridiculous ordinances, but there was no time to find them, and he was glad that he'd prepared a speech ahead of time. If people were going to automatically ratify regulations with which they were completely unfamiliar, they needed to hear what he had to say.

  He'd told Mike about his planned speech, asked his friend to spread the word, and Barry could only hope that he had. He glanced around the silent crowd. If everything went well, people would respond to his questioning of the board with questions of their own and those old men would find themselves under attack, forced to defend policies and procedures that until this point had been taken for granted. Even the best laid plans went astray--and this was a half baked scheme to begin with--but he had faith that he might be able to at least stir things up here today.

  The president's gavel fell on the table with the sharp suddenness of a gunshot, and Barry jumped along with everyone else. All eyes turned toward the raised platform on which sat the board of directors.

  "Hear ye! Hear ye!" the man in livery announced from the back of the room. "The annual meeting of the Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association will now come to order!"

  Jasper Calhoun, seated at the center of the table, stood and smiled munificently. "Welcome neighbors," he said.

  A huge cheer went up, the people around them began ; clapping wildly, and Barry looked at Maureen. He'd been, sitting there waiting for a follow-up sentence, having no idea that the president's simple greeting would be an applause cue, and the response of his fellow homeowners was as startling and unexpected as the rap of the gavel had been. He had a sudden uneasy suspicion that this was part of some ritual, like a church service, with programmed cues and responses.

  Leaning over Maureen, he spoke to Liz. "How long do these meetings usually last?" he whispered.

  "Two or three hours," she whispered back.

  Two or three hours?

  The president beamed at the crowd, and his smile grew even wider, though that was not something Barry would have thought physically possible. The disproportionate breadth of his mouth gave Calhoun's face a creepy, wolflike appearance. "We will begin this meeting with the most important task facing us today: voting on our Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions."

  Another cheer.

  "You've all had time to look over the amended declaration. All those in favor of accepting the revisions raise your hands."

  Arms shot into the air.

  Barry was thrown off guard. "Wait!" he yelled, leaping to his feet.

  "Aren't we going to discuss this? We--"

  "Opposed?" the president said.

  The gavel was rapped on the table before Barry even had a chance to raise his hand or finish his sentence.

  "The amendments are accepted," Calhoun announced.

  Barry stood there dumbly, looking around at his seated neighbors, all of whom seemed to be eagerly awaiting the next word from the president's lips. They're all hypnotized, he thought, it's the only explanation. But he knew that wasn't true.

  He glanced down at Maureen. She, too, seemed stunned. The idea that such a massive revision of a document affecting the lives and property of everyone here could be approved in a single vote and without any discussion, without time to even fully comprehend all the changes, was unbelievable.

  Barry was still standing, and Calhoun pointed at him with the gavel.

  "Mr. Welch, would you please have a seat?"

  He faced the president. "I want to know why there wasn't any discussion about these revisions. Isn't it normal to vote on amendments individually, after people have a chance to give their opinions?"

  "This is Bonita Vista," Calhoun said, as if that explained everything.

  "Please sit down so we may continue our meeting."

  Barry was aware of the hostile stares directed at him from some of the other homeowners, and he felt Maureen tugging on his shirtsleeve. He still had his speech to give, but this apparently wasn't the time for member comment and since he wanted to win over the crowd and not alienate them, he sat down. He had not expected the other residents to be so in sync with the board, and it worried him.

  On the platform, one of the other board members handed the president a slip of paper.

  Calhoun nodded at the man, then faced the audience. "A motion has been made to do away with all cats in the town of Corban . As you know, we have begun our process of eliminating dogs, but as the eradication of all pets is our ultimate goal and part of our ongoing effort to bring Corban into the Bonita Vista family, it has been suggested that we begin killing cats. Shall we put this to a vote?"

  "Yes!" the crowd shouted.

  Again Barry thought of the church analogy. There was definitely a ritualistic element to this meeting that he and Maureen were not privy to and that did not sit well with him. Even more unnerving was the subject matter. He had] known the association was behind the dog poisonings, but! he'd assumed that it was a decision made by the board. The] idea that the entire membership had voted on and approved | such a horrific and inhuman policy threw him for a loop.

  Had they approved the child murders as well?

  Goose bumps rippled down his skin.

  "All those in favor of expanding the pet eradication to; include cats and kittens raise your hands."

  Arms shot up all around him.

  Barry looked about wildly. Mike's hand was not raised, but Tina's was, and with a sickening drop in his stomach he . realized that his neighbors, even the ones he'd considered! his friends, even the nice men and women he'd met at Ray's parties, were the homeowners'

  association. He'd been; blaming the board of directors for everything, as though they were solely responsible for it all, as though the organization was not comprised of himself and his fellow homeowners but was something separate and apart. He knew now that was not the case.

  The board members did not operate in a vacuum, and the people who elected and supported them were the ones validating the hatred, racism, and intolerance they espoused.

  He could attribute some of it to peer pressure, but peer pressure only went so far, and the enthusiasm with which his neighbors were taking part in this meeting made him realize that despite what they said in public, their true feelings came out here, where they were together with others of their kind. It was the dark side of democracy that allowed a person to actively endorse reprehensible policies and behavior by disappearing into the anonymity of a group.

  He understood now why Hank and Lyle and all of his ex buddies at the coffee shop had been so angry. Because, in some sense, he was a part of this. They all were. Perhaps especially those like himself or Maureen or Tina who voted against specific proposals but allowed them to stand, who buckled under to the will of the majority and lent legitimacy to the illegitimate by not refusing to recognize those rules.

  "All opposed?" Calhoun said.

  Barry and Maureen raised their hands, but Tina, Liz, and the few others who had not voted for the motion were not strong enough to vote against it.

  "Passed!" the president announced. He chuckled jovially. "We're on a roll today, people. We will now conduct our formal election for the board of directors. As you know, this will be done by secret ballot, so none of you need feel ashamed if you're not happy with the way Mr.

  Gehring here has been doing his job."

  The board member next to Calhoun gave a halfhearted smile and wave, and the president slapped him on the back. "Just kidding, buddy."

  Two teenage girls dressed in bikinis or underwear--it was hard to tell which--walked from the back of the room, up the center aisle, handing out stacks of ballots and rubber banded bundles of small pencils to the individuals at the end of each row. "Pass them down." />
  Maureen took the stack from Liz, peeled off a sheet and passed it on to Barry. As Ray had warned him, there was only one word printed next to the six names on the piece of paper: Approve. Next to each was a box.

  Barry immediately wrote Disapprove, next to every name, as did Maureen.

  Calhoun banged his gavel. "We will now open the floor to comments.

  Anyone?"

  Barry stood.

  "The board recognizes Mr. Welch."

  "I have a statement I wish to read."

  "Go right ahead, sir."

  "I have three minutes, right?"

  Calhoun smiled. "That is correct."

  "The purpose of a homeowners' association," Barry read, "is to provide for the common good of the community, not to penalize members of that community for failure to abide by unfair, discriminatory, and illegal rules and regulations. I personally--"

  "Time!" one of the board members called.

  Barry looked up angrily. "I'm entitled to three minutes."

  "Time!"

  "I personally have been subject to harassment--" he continued reading.

  "Time! Time! Time! Timer He was drowned out by the shouting of the seated homeowners. Except for Maureen and Liz, everyone around him--including Mike and Tina-was chanting in unison, smiling as though this were all one big joke or part of a game. Barry pointed at the board members, tried to make himself heard above the clamor. "You're killing animals and killing kids and mutilating dues-paying homeowners you disagree with!"

  They were all chuckling tolerantly, and he wanted to lash out at them, wanted to rush the stage and slap the shit out of those strangely formed faces, but instead he kept yelling. "Why aren't there any real elections? Why are you afraid to let people actually run for office and let us have a real choice?"

  Calhoun pointed toward the rear of the room. "I'd like to introduce Paul Henri, our sergeant at arms!"

  A huge cheer went up.

  "Paul? Will you please escort Mr. Welch from the meeting?"

  The liveried man from the back table strode up, pushed past Liz and Maureen, and grabbed Barry's arm. Barry tried to pull away, but the sergeant's grip was surprisingly strong. Fingers dug painfully into his muscles, and he felt himself being dragged out to the main aisle.