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 the 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.
