'We can leave and still save face. We didn't buckle, we didn't cave, we stayed. We showed them. Now let's sell this place and put this hell behind us.' There was a quaver in her voice. 'Please?'
Barry nodded tiredly. 'Okay.' 'Thank God,' Maureen said. 'Thank God.' And he found that he felt the same way--off the hook, filled with relief.
It's over, he thought. It's finally over.
Barry sat in Doris' office, enduring the hostile stares of her coworkers. The real estate agent was on the phone, discussing a seller's willingness to carry with an obviously jittery buyer, but the fat man and the skinny woman who worked for her had nothing to do and behind her back were fixing him with the type of glare usually reserved for disciples of Adolf Hitler.
He was pretty sure he'd seen both of them at the rally.
Doris hung up and fixed him with a bright smile. 'Sorry about that.
What can I do for you?'
'Well...'
'It's not Bert, is it? He's not causing you any problems?'
'I'd ... we want to sell our house.'
'Oh.' The real estate agent nodded, stood. 'Come on. Let's go into the conference room.' She led him into the other half of the trailer, closed the door behind them, and pulled out two adjoining chairs from the table. 'Have a seat.'
He followed her lead. 'Your agents don't seem too thrilled to see me here.'
'Don't you worry about that. They'll do what I tell them to do and they'll think what I tell them to think, or they'll be fired.'
'I understand their feelings. Been running into a lot of it lately. We're not exactly the most popular people in town right now.'
'I don't care what other people say,' Doris told him. 'I understand Bonita Vista. I've sold enough homes there.' She smiled at him, leaned over, and patted his leg reassuringly. But the hand remained in place a beat too long, and when she finally moved it away, her fingers brushed his crotch.
He looked out the room's small window, afraid to meet her eyes. He was pretty sure she was coming on to him, but he didn't want to encourage her and tried to think of some way to make it clear that he was not interested, that this was strictly a business meeting.
'I've found that the people in Bonita Vista are very nice,' she said.
He turned to face her, and she lowered her eyes in a way that she probably thought was sexy but instead seemed crude and embarrassingly obvious.
It was a class thing, he realized. It was terrible to admit, even to himself, but as much as he hated that damn homeowners' association, he felt more at ease with the residents of Bonita Vista than he did with the people of Corban . He wanted to be a conscientious liberal, to be one with the masses and all that good shit, but when it came down to it, he had money, he was educated, and he just didn't belong with these people.
He looked at Doris with her big hair and loud clothes and overlarge jewelry and there was not even a flicker of interest, no temptation whatsoever. The fact that she was sympathetic to Bonita Vista turned him off even more, and he wondered if everyone who had dealings with Bonita Vista was automatically corrupted. The sheriff. Doris. It seemed like whoever came in contact with the gated community and the association was ... influenced somehow.
He'd been reading and writing too many horror novels.
No.
He wished that was the case, but it wasn't.
'Where do you live?' he asked.
'Out on Barr's Ranch Road.' She leaned forward, confiding in him. He smelled too-strong perfume. 'But I own a lot in Bonita Vista and I'm going to build a house there in a few years.'
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
'Well, we want to sell our house,' he told her.
'I'm sorry to hear that. I really am. Corban is situated in the most beautiful section of the state. We have four full seasons--'
'I know. You don't have to sell me on the area. We've been living here for over five months now. It's a beautiful place. But we're not happy with the antagonism between Bonita Vista and the town, and to tell you the truth we've been having a few problems with the homeowners' association.'
'I understand,' Doris said. Again, she touched his leg. 'You had a thirty-year fixed, right? Why don't I just go out and get your file, and we can talk this over.'
He was glad to be away from her, if only for a moment, and he took a deep cleansing breath, only now realizing how tense her unwanted attention had made him. He moved his chair back, away from hers to give himself some space. He wished there was another real estate agency in Corban , but he was stuck. Doris was the only game in town.
She returned with a manila file folder, closed the door behind her, and sat down in her chair, scooting it forward until they were again right next to each other.
'Do you have any idea what we could sell it for?' he asked. 'We'll let it go for the same price we paid if we have to, but if we could make a profit, that would be even better.'
'I'm sorry,' she said brightly. 'You can't sell your house.'
'What?'
'Your homeowners' association has invoked a bylaw that allows it to freeze assets--in this case your house and property--should you be involved in any disagreement or dispute with the association. Apparently, you have refused to pay numerous fines and charges levied against you.'
'They can't do that!'
'They've done it. I have a note attached here to your file.'
'What if I don't acknowledge that? What if we sell it anyway?'
She laughed. 'Oh, sugar! It's in the agreement you signed.'
'What agreement?'
'Why, your homeowners' association agreement.' She sorted through the sheaf of papers. 'Hold on. I have it right here.'
She handed him a legal-sized sheet of densely packed type. Buried in the reams of contracts and documents they'd signed when initially buying the house was an agreement to abide by all of the bylaws, rules, regulations, covenants, conditions, and restrictions of the Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association. Barry read through the carefully written legalese. They had effectively ceded to the association rights and powers that no sane or halfway intelligent person would ever grant anyone else. How could he and Maureen have signed such a thing? He didn't remember the document at all and couldn't imagine he would put his signature on an agreement without reading it, but there it was in black and white.
'Here,' she said, 'I'll make you a Xerox.'
He nodded, acting calmer than he felt. 'Thank you.'
Five minutes later, he was outside, holding his copy, blinking in the hot August sun. If before he'd felt paranoid about living in Bonita Vista, now he felt positively trapped. There was no way out. They were doomed to remain here unless they caved in and forked over money for the excessive and unjust fines imposed by the association. He drove back to Bonita Vista distressed, unhappy, and filled with a bleak resignation.
At the gate, the guard smirked at him, as if knowing exactly what had occurred.
He parked the Suburban in the driveway and sat for a moment. He sighed heavily. Maybe they should pay off their fines. Such a thought would have been inconceivable even an hour ago, but principles no longer seemed quite so important. If they could pay off their fines and then sell the house at a profit, they might emerge from this mess at least no worse off than when they started.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the vehicle, walking over to check the mail before going back inside the house. In the mailbox, in addition to bills and a horror newsletter, was a homeowners'
