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 Barry. '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.
He'd assumed at first that the offer had been made as a result of Kenny Tolkin putting in that 'good word' for him, but further questioning of his agent had revealed that the artistic consultant had not been involved at all, that the impetus had come from the movie studio, where a midlevel executive had read the book on vacation, liked it, and decided to option it.
Still, he'd wanted to run this by Kenny, who had much more experience dealing with Hollywood than he did and who might be able to offer him some pointers or let him know which minefields to avoid. He'd written down the name of the executive as well as the studio agent in charge, wanting to see if Kenny knew them or could tell him anything about them.
He'd called Frank to get Kenny's phone number and was shocked when an obviously angry Frank said that the artistic consultant had left Bonita Vista suddenly and would not be coming back. It turned out that he had not owned the house in which he'd been staying, that for the past two years he'd been illegally camping in a home purchased by an out-of-state property owner for investment. Indications were that he had no Hollywood or music industry contacts, that he was a con man who had pulled similar stunts in other states and who had successfully scammed several Bonita Vista residents before disappearing.
Barry carried his suitcase up to the living room, where Maureen was waiting. She smiled at him and held up crossed fingers. 'Good luck.'
'I shouldn't need any. I think it's a done deal.'
'Still.' She kissed him, put her arms around his neck. 'Drive carefully. Call me from the airport when you get there. And call me when you land.'
'I will.' He smiled.
'You know I worry.'
'Are you sure you don't want to come? It's only overnight.'
