"That's not all. Look."
He read the line to which she was pointing. It stated that all flowers and house plants had to be removed from the inside of the residence within forty-eight hours. Otherwise, additional fines would be imposed. The amount was unspecified.
They were both agreed that no changes would be made; their plants would be neither moved nor removed. Since the inspection, they'd been tilting dining room chairs and placing them under the doorknobs in order to discourage intruders, but Bill and his buddies had somehow found a way to unhook a chain latch and throw back a keyless deadbolt, so this extra precaution probably hadn't amounted to much. Still, Barry vowed that tonight he would also duct tape the edges of the doors. At the very least, it might tell them if someone had broken in while they were sleeping.
Maureen decided to walk through where her garden used to be and see if any of her plants had been spared. Barry went inside. He had an idea.
He was pretty sure that Maureen would not approve, so he waited until she came back in and told her that he was going to walk around the property and do his own inspection "Our homeowners' insurance might cover this," he told her. "So after I look around, I'm going to take some photos and call them to file a claim, see what comes of it."
She thought it was a good idea.
He did intend to take pictures and file an insurance claim, but he also had more immediate plans. From underneath the bottom deck where he stored their gardening implements, tools, and leftover renovation materials, he found what he was looking for: a large cardboard box.
Using a pair of clippers, he raggedly cut off one side and then placed it on the ground, and painted a short, crude message. The only color of paint they had was white, but against the dark brown of the cardboard, the letters stood out and were clearly visible.
Barry positioned the sign at the base of a scrub oak, using a large rock to hold it in place, and walked out to the street to make sure his message was legible and could be read by passing cars.
FUCK THE HOMEOWNERS' ASSOCIATION
It was legible all right. He grinned. This would show those bastards.
He'd be fined, but it was worth it to him to make sure that they were aware of his defiance, that they knew he was willing to take his dissatisfaction public.
Besides, he'd just throw the fine notice in a drawer with the others.
He walked back inside, still smiling, and got the camera out. He took pictures of the damage from different directions, then, just for fun, took a picture of the sign.
He was cheered up for about ten minutes, but then he started thinking about all the time he'd wasted on this crap, all of the hours spent worrying and responding and thinking and brooding that could have been used for more productive purposes, and suddenly, he no longer felt so good. His thoughts turned to those creepy old men of the board and the futility of fighting against such entrenched institutionalized power.
Maureen was lying on the couch, watching the Home and Garden channel, mourning her lost plants. She, too, seemed drained. She'd been all fired up after their nighttime inspection, ready to go to war with the entire world if need be, but subsequent harassment had taken its toll, and now she looked positively beaten down.
Was any of this really worth it?
Maureen must have been thinking along the same lines because she sat up, using the remote to mute the television's sound. "Maybe we should move," she said.
He didn't respond.
"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."