I'd buy them all. Not just to keep the open space, but also because for each lot you own you get one vote in the association election. I'd have a massive voting block, probably more than all the existing residents put together.' He grinned. 'I haven't decided whether I would vote to disband the homeowners' association or just vote myself president and exempt myself and my friends from all existing rules while enforcing them to the max for everyone else.'
'That,' Barry said, 'sounds like a plan.'
'Lottery's every Wednesday and Saturday.'
Barry smiled. 'I'm a friend, right?' 'Damn straight. And I'll make those bastards pay for this.' He handed back the letter.
'But until then?'
Mike grew more sober. 'I think you're screwed.' He held up a hand.
'Don't go by what I say, though. I'm no expert on this shit. You should talk to a lawyer or something.'
'Yeah.'
'Hey, I gotta get home and eat lunch. I only get a half hour, and fifteen minutes're gone already. I'll call you later.'
'All right. Thanks, Mike.' Barry waved good-bye as the Jeep took off up the hill, and, still clutching the letter in his fist, headed up the driveway and into the house.
Maureen, after he'd told her, after she'd read the letter, didn't seem all that upset. At least not as upset as he thought she should be. She agreed that it was unreasonable to force him to stop writing at home, but she admitted that she understood the logic behind it. 'They can't very well let you off the hook and make you the exception. They're obligated to apply the rules fairly and evenly, not pick and choose who they're going to harass. That would be selective enforcement and there'd be lawsuits galore after that. I know it sucks that you fell through the cracks, but I don't think it's intentional, I don't think they're after you, I think they're just trying to enforce their regulations--as unfair as they are--in a way that proves they're not singling anybody out for prosecution or favors.'
'Jesus Christ.'
'It's not the end of the world.'
'Thanks for the support.'
Maureen shrugged. 'All I'm saying is that it might not be all that bad for you to get an office, at least not from a tax perspective. The rent's deductible--'
'That's not the point.'
'I know that. I'm just saying that we're doing pretty well these days, and your business expenses are almost nonexistent. That's why we took such a big hit last year on taxes. But if you got yourself an office ...'
'Stop trying to be practical and calm me down. I'm pissed off here, and, goddamn it, I have a right to be. Knock off the every-cloud-has-a-silver-lining crap.'
Her mouth tightened.
'If I was retired, I could sit here all day and write crank letters to the newspaper or the government or whatever, and I wouldn't be breaking any rules. But because I make my living writing, I can do the exact same thing for the same amount of time and suddenly I'm in violation of the regulations. Don't expect me to be happy about that.'
A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he took the letter from her hand, read it over again. 'You know what?' he said. 'It only mentions me. What about you? You're using this as your office, too.
I'm not the only one working out of the house here.'
'And what's that supposed to mean? You're going to turn me in?'
'Of course not.'
'What, then?'
'Nothing.'
'Then why'd you bring it up?'
'Because they're not applying the rules fairly, because they are singling me out.'
'So what are you going to do? Sue them over it?'
'Threaten them with it at least. You're right, it is selective enforcement. And maybe if I play my cards right I can get a waiver.'
He had Maureen call Chuck Shea, her association buddy, to feel him out, to see if something could be arranged, a sort of don't-ask-don't-tell policy that would allow him to continue working at home, but Chuck said the work rule was hard and fast. The only exceptions were those explicitly spelled out in the C, C, and Rs ; specifically real estate agents and accountants, who were not allowed to meet clients at home but were allowed to do paperwork--which was why Maureen had not been cited in the letter. Barry was the first writer to live in Bonita Vista, and it was conceivable that there could be an exception made for his occupation in the future, but Chuck said the matter would have to be brought before the voting membership at the annual meeting in September. Until then, he would have to abide by the rules.
'Not selective enforcement after all,' Maureen told him after relaying the message, and wasn't that a hint of triumph in her voice?
No. He was being paranoid. He was angry at her, though he didn't really have any right to be, and he went upstairs to the kitchen to get himself something to drink and to calm down before he said something he might later regret.
Afterward, he called Ray, who was of the same opinion as Mike:
underneath all the sympathy and sincerity and heartfelt offers of assistance, the association people were loving this.
'Think I should talk to a lawyer?' Barry asked.
He could almost hear Ray's shrug over the phone. 'It's your call. But if I were you, I'd save my money. These C, C, and Rs have been challenged in court too many times to count, and they've survived every attempt made on them. You might go over the regs yourself with a fine-tooth comb, see if you can figure out a loophole, but my guess is that they've got you on this one.'
'What are they going to do if I refuse, if I just ignore the letter?'
Ray chuckled grimly. 'You're opening up a whole other can of worms there. What they'll do first is hit you up with fines. That'll go on for quite a while, until the total is an outrageous sum that's almost impossible to pay. Then they'll call in then- lawyer and put a lien on your property--'
'Can they do that?'
'Oh yeah.'
'Are you speaking from experience?'
'They haven't done it to me. Not yet. But it's been done around here and I've known the people. Believe me, it's not pretty. If you can't find a legitimate loophole or find some way to argue your way out of this with the board, I suggest you start office hunting.'
Barry spent the rest of the afternoon poring over their copy of the C, C, and Rs but to no avail. He called Mike that night, who called someone else who supposedly knew someone on the board, and though neither waivers nor petitions of appeal were mentioned in the association handbook, he was hoping to find someone in authority willing to let him slide.
No such luck.
He went to bed that night angry and frustrated. If he'd known he wouldn't be able to write in his own home on his own property, they never would have bought a house in Bonita Vista, he told Maureen. No matter how beautiful the scenery might be, this defeated the entire purpose of moving here, and if they hadn't already sunk so much money into it, he'd put the damn place up for sale and put Utah in his rearview mirror.
She didn't argue, didn't agree, remained silent, and they fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed, not touching.
In the morning, Barry once again tried to wade through the dense doublespeak of the C, C, and Rs , hoping the fresh perspective of a new day might grant him insight and allow him to see something he hadn't before, but if anything, the association's case looked even more airtight than before.
