Bentley Little - The Association

"BVTV." She frowned. "BVTV? What's ..." But the expression on her face said that she'd already figured it out.

"Bonita Vista Television." Barry stared at the match on screen. "So that's what that camera's for." He looked triumphantly at Maureen. "I

knew it wasn't just security."

"My God."

They watched the man awkwardly try but fail to return the woman's serves.

"I've seen those two before," Maureen said. "I think they live down by Audrey."

"What else do you think they're taping?" Barry asked quietly.

As if in answer to his question, the scene shifted. Now it was a live video feed from inside someone's house, the camera focused on the movements of a lone woman.

Liz.

She was not doing anything, merely sitting on the white living room couch, hands in her lap, head looking up, sobbing, but the scene was so intimate, so invasive, that Barry immediately shut off the television.

He could not watch. After only those few seconds of unsolicited voyeurism, he felt dirty and guilty. It was uncomfortable to see a person in so private a moment.

He wondered if the board members were watching on Their own televisions.

And if they were smiling.

The thought filled him with white-hot rage, a righteous , anger. He had never hated the homeowners' association more than he did at that moment. He thought of that weasel Neil Campbell, of the prissy seriousness of that unrepentant toady, and he realized that to him Campbell was the face of the association because he had never actually seen a member of the board. He'd seen Jasper Calhoun's car and his house, but he'd never seen Calhoun himself. And he'd never seen any of the others, either. Hell, he didn't even know their names.

A tear snaked down Maureen's cheek, and she drew in a ragged breath.

"How could they do something like this?" "Liz told you the board was after her."

"I'm going to call, let her know about this." Maureen ran upstairs, picked up the phone from the dining room table where they'd left it, and punched in Liz's number as she walked back down the steps. It obviously took several rings for Liz to answer because Maureen was at the bottom of the steps before she started talking, and Barry imagined the old woman pulling herself together, wiping the tears from her face, breathing deeply before picking up the phone.

And doing it all on camera for the amusement of her neighbors.

"You're on BVTV right now," Maureen said. "There's some kind of hidden camera in your house. We turned on the TV and saw you sitting on the couch ... crying. There's no sound, so we can talk, but get away from the couch, get away from the living room, they can see you."

There was a long pause as Maureen listened to her friend. "Uh-huh ...

Yeah ... No ... No ... I understand ... Yes we are ... Same to you.

Bye." Maureen hung up the phone, looking stunned. "She says she knows."

"She knows?"

"She saw herself on TV last night." Maureen's jaw tightened. "Going to the bathroom."

"But how--"

"It's not live. It's edited, on tape. She wasn't crying just ] now, she said that was probably taken last week sometime, I She was in the kitchen, cleaning. She was up half the night j trying to find where the camera in the bathroom was hidden, but couldn't find a thing. Now she thinks her whole house is probably under surveillance."

"What's she going to do?"

"File a complaint."

"That's it?"

"Keep looking for the cameras, I guess. And try to ignore them until she does."

"Jesus."

"Let's get out of here," Maureen said. "Let's go to Cedar City."

Ten minutes later, their bags were in the Suburban and they were ready to go. Maureen looked back at the house. "Do you think we should boa id up the windows first, just in case?"

Barry shook his head. "I don't want to show fear. I don't want the association to think we scare easily. As far as they're concerned, we just decided to take a little trip for a few days because we wanted to see the country."

"Okay."

"Besides, we'd have to go down to the lumber yard, buy some plywood, nail it up. I don't know how I'd reach those top windows--"

"I said okay."

"Okay."

They got into the SUV and Barry pulled out of the driveway onto the road.

They were stopped at the gate. "I'm sorry," the guard said, walking out of the kiosk. "No one is allowed to enter or leave Bonita Vista."

He was wearing an expression of grim determination. The olive garb was gone, replaced by a crisp black uniform, the shirt adorned with silver epaulets and insignias, feet, clad in knee-high black boots. His usual clipboard was nowhere in evidence, and his right hand rested on the bolstered pistol at his side.

"What?" Barry said.

"You may not leave Bonita Vista. It's been deemed a security risk, and I'm afraid that for your own safety, you are not allowed to depart the premises."

"What the fuck is this? The association's declaring martial law?"

The guard met his gaze. "Exactly."

He'd meant it as a joke. Well, not a joke exactly, but a cutting barb, an exaggeration intended to embarrass the guard and draw attention to the absurdity of such a situation. Instead, he was confronted with a flat acknowledgment that his sarcastic overstatement was the truth.

He looked over at Maureen in the passenger seat. Her face was red, livid with anger, and she leaned around him to address the guard.

"Listen, you! We are the homeowners' association and you work for us!

Our dues pay your salary! Now open that goddamn gate and let us through!"

The guard looked at her coldly, then turned his attention to Barry. "I

suggest you back up and turn this vehicle around."

"What is your name?" Maureen demanded. "I'll have your job, you insolent son of a bitch!"

"My name is Curtis. And as you know, I also live in Bonita Vista." He leaned forward, resting an arm on the open window frame of the Suburban, letting the tip of his face cross over the invisible boundary that separated the inside of the vehicle from the outside. "And I'd appreciate a little respect from you, you insolent cunt ."

He smiled, pulled away, tipped the black cap that covered his blond brush cut. "Good day, ma'am, sir."

Barry put the transmission into reverse and backed up the way they'd come. At the tennis court, he swung into the small parking lot, turned around, and headed up the hill.

"We're trapped," Maureen said incredulously. "We're trapped here and we can't escape."

"Let me think," Barry told her. "We'll go back home for J a minute and try to figure something out."

"There's nothing to figure out. I suppose we could walk out of here, but it's a half-hour hike to town and that's the only place we could get to. Besides, that would be going into the lion's den."

He smiled. "We could pull a C.W. McCall."

"Huh?"

"Crash the gate doing ninety-eight."

"Don't think it's not tempting."

Barry pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition. "He had a gun. Did you notice that?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So what do we do?" Barry asked. "Do you have any ideas?"

"No." She sighed. "God, I can't believe this is happening."

"Let's go inside. Maybe we'll think of something."

They got out of the Suburban, walked around the Toyota, but even before they'd started up the porch steps they saw a notice on the screen door.

They'd been gone five minutes, eight at the most, but somehow someone had managed to come onto their property and leave a message from the homeowners' association.

"Are we under surveillance?" Maureen asked. "Do they spy on us and wait until we leave so they can rush in and put this crap on our door?

This can't be coincidence."

"Nothing's coincidence." He remembered the note they'd found in the closet.