That's especially ironic since we're in what they call a 'right to work' state. Which means that even if you work in a union shop, you can't be compelled to join the union. Exactly the opposite of the situation here.' Ray leaned forward. 'In case you can't tell, I'm an old union man.' 'Where are you from?' Barry asked. 'I mean, originally. I assume you're not from Corban .'
'New Jersey. I'm a retired transit worker. We moved out west because of my asthma. Besides, my wife has family in Salt Lake City.'
'But you like it here, right? I mean, overall?'
Ray shrugged. 'Sure, I guess. The scenery's beautiful, we have four seasons a year, I live in a great house, and I've met a lot of nice people, made a lot of friends. It's a wonderful place to retire.'
'But?'
'But the association is way too intrusive, and it's such a... pervasive influence here. I blame the board. The association's board of directors is made up of old busybodies with no hobbies and no lives who get their jollies harassing people and snooping around to make sure everyone's conforming.' He nodded at Barry. 'Who'd they send after you? Who came out this morning?'
'I don't know. The guy introduced himself, but I forgot his name.'
'Youngish? Short hair? Serious face? Prissy?'
'Sounds like him.'
Ray nodded. 'Campbell. He's fairly new, just moved in last year, but already he's their little toadie Hopes to be elected to the board once one of those geezers croaks.'
'If the association's so bad, why don't people elect some new board members? Or just disband the organization entirely?'
'Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. Don't get me wrong, there are people like me who don't like them. But we're very definitely in the minority. Most of the homeowners here love having an association. They want to live in a gated community where there are strict maintenance standards and everyone's forced to keep up their property values.' He smiled. 'Welcome to Bonita Vista.'
'Great.'
Ray laughed. 'So what do you do for a living?'
'I'm a writer,' Barry said.
The thick eyebrows shot up. 'Really?'
'I write horror novels. You know, like Stephen King.'
'Stephen King, huh?'
'Well... not exactly. I say that so people will understand the type of books I write. I used to just say 'horror' and leave it at that, but people were introducing me as their friend the science-fiction writer or their friend the mystery writer, and I don't write science fiction or mysteries. The Stephen King comparison seemed to clear that up.'
Ray shook his head. 'A writer. That's pretty exciting. I don't think I've ever met a real writer before. Where can I get your books?'
'Around here?' Barry chuckled. 'I doubt if you can. But they're at most of the big chains. I'll give you a copy of the newest one next time I see you.'
'Autographed?'
'Sure.'
Ray leaned forward. 'You know, this might work in your favor. I'll spread the news, play up the fact that you're a big-name celebrity, a rich and famous writer. It might intimidate the board into leaving you alone.'
'You think so?'
'Can't hurt.'
Barry nodded. 'Feel free to lie. You can tell them I am Stephen King, if you want to. Anything to keep them off my back.'
'No guarantees, but I'll spread the word.'
Two new cars pulled up, twin families emerging from the four-doored vehicles. One of the elderly women who'd been looking through the displayed junk stepped up to Barry's table with a vase and a set of place mats in hand, and Ray waved good-bye as Barry tallied up the woman's total. 'I'll stop by later in the week,' Ray said, 'once you guys've gotten settled.'
'Nice to meet you, Ray.' Barry waved, then turned his attention back to his customer.
It arrived in their mailbox the next day. The Bonita Vista Homeowners'
Association Declaration of Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions--the promised C, C, and Rs . Thicker than the Corban phone book, it was a perfect bound document filled with nearly a hundred single-spaced pages of text, all written in dense legalese. Barry sat down, tried to read it, got through about half a page, then tossed the booklet over to Maureen. 'Here you go. Some light reading material.'
She glanced through a few pages, then threw it onto one of the unpacked boxes. 'It looks pretty thorough,' she said.
'I assume that means that loopholes will be hard to come by.'
'Then thank God I'm a rich and famous writer who will be treated with deference and respect and won't be bound by the petty rules of mortals.'
She laughed. 'Dream on.'
'I think that's a song cue!' He rushed over to the stereo and quickly put on an old Aerosmith album. Turning up the volume, he held out his hands, and soon they were dancing through the living room, weaving between the boxes and twirling around the furniture to the music of their adolescence.
The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article III, Land Use Classifications, Permitted Uses and Restrictions, Section 3, Paragraph A:
No yard sales or garage sales may be conducted in, on, or from any Lot or any portion of the Properties.
Maureen was not sure she liked Bonita Vista.
It was not something she would ever admit to Barry. And it wasn't a strong feeling or a definite mind-set. It was more a vague recognition that perhaps her impression of the neighborhood wasn't as favorable as she'd expected it to be.
Part of it was the snotty letter they'd received from the homeowners'
association about their garage sale. Written in a formal yet clearly judgmental manner, it stated that they were in violation of the C, C, and Rs , which plainly declared that yard sales or garage sales were forbidden. The letter went on to say that they would be excused this time because of their ignorance of Bonita Vista rules and regulations, but in the future any such infraction would be punishable by a fine.
The letter wasn't all of it, though. Not even most of it. There was something else.
Only she didn't know what Outwardly, everything was fine. The few people she'd seen walking or jogging along the road seemed to be nice, the area was beautiful, and despite all of the work that remained to be done, she loved their house.
Except... Except those elements didn't gel the way they were supposed to. The nice neighbors, the beautiful environment, the perfect house, all of these were separate components, isolated attributes that were entirely unconnected.
And the whole was less than the sum of its parts.
But she refused to acknowledge any of this to Barry. She did not want to dampen his obvious pleasure with her unfounded impressions.
Besides, the feelings would probably pass.
They spent the next few weeks working on the house: repainting, wallpapering, transforming the dead dark space of their predecessors into a light, airy home that complemented their own furniture and did justice to the magnificent surroundings outside the generous windows.
They ripped out what paneling they could, papered over the rest, replaced the heavy brown drapes with white miniblinds , and pulled up the stained and rotted carpet in the bathrooms, sanding and buffing the hardwood
