Bentley Little - The Association

"Tape!" Maureen called from the living room.

He hurried upstairs. He'd been videotaping BVTV all day and night, fast-forwarding and reviewing the tapes every six hours as they filled up, looking for anything filmed in their house. He had figured out where the camera in the bedroom was from the angle of the shot he'd seen on the television, and he'd torn out that section of wall until he found the device, which he'd immediately smashed. How someone had gotten the camera into that spot was a mystery, and the only thing he could figure was that it had been built into the house during initial construction and had been there ever since.

They'd patched over the hole in the wall as best as two amateurs could, but it still looked like hell and Maureen had hung a framed Georgia O'Keeffe poster over the space to hide the bulging spackle.

So far, they'd seen no indication that any of the other rooms in the house were under surveillance, but he wouldn't put anything past Calhoun and his cronies, and he continued his close monitoring of BVTV.

The day before the association's annual meeting, Barry finally had a speech he was happy with. It still ran long-four minutes instead of three, even speaking fast--but he figured he could keep talking while they told him his time was up and get the last little bit in before he was cut off completely. Celebrities did it on award shows all the time. It was a legitimate tactic.

They went to bed early, both of them exhausted from stress. They made love for the first time since discovering the camera and talked for a while about what they would do and where they would go when they finally escaped Bonita Vista. Gradually, the pauses between their sentences grew longer and their voices slowed as they started to drift off.

He wasn't sure when he finally slipped into sleep, but at some point he was no longer lying in his bed. He was sitting on a hard metal folding chair with all of his neighbors. At a table on a raised stage, Jasper Calhoun and the rest of the be-robed board were gazing imperiously out at the tightly packed crowd.

The president announced in a strong clear tone: "Additions to the C, C, and Rs include a provision declaring that all men may butt fuck Maureen Welch at their convenience, without her permission or the permission of her husband, Barry. All those in favor?"

A sea of hands shot up with Nuremberg precision.

"All those opposed?"

Only Barry's hand was raised.

"Passed!"

He awoke in the morning looking across the pillow into Maureen's open eyes. "Meeting today," she said.

The room was packed. Most of the people he did not recognize, but there were others he did: Mike and Tina; Frank and Audrey; Lou and Stacy; Neil, Chuck, and Terry; individuals from Ray's parties;

homeowners he'd seen at the rally. They were seated on metal folding chairs and there must have been over a hundred of them.

In the front of the room was the board.

In the back were the volunteers.

The layout was remarkably similar to that of his dream, and he experienced an uncomfortable feeling of deja vu as he and Maureen walked into the community center. There should have been voices, should have been talking, the large room should have been filled with the buzz of numerous conversations. But everyone was quiet, each of them glancing through enormous black-bound books that lay in their laps. To the right of the doorway, Barry saw, was a table piled high with dozens of identical volumes.

A man standing next to the table, dressed absurdly in livery, motioned them over. "Please pick up your revised copy of The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Declaration of Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions " he said. "Ratification is the first item on today's agenda."

He handed Barry a book. It weighed a ton and was the! size of the oversized family Bible that his grandmother| used to keep on her dining room table. "We're supposed to read through this entire thing in,|

what, five or ten minutes?" Barry asked. "It's just a formality," the man said.

"How can we make an informed decision if we don't know what's in there?"

The man laughed. "That's a good one." The laugh was genuine, and it made Barry uneasy. The idea that the votes of the homeowners were important and actually meant I something struck this man as legitimately funny. An ominous sign.

Liz was seated near the closest aisle, and she waved j them over. She'd saved the two seats next to her, and he and Maureen exchanged a glance as they walked up.

It was as if nothing unusual had ever happened, as if she had not been a paranoid recluse for the better part of two months, and her normality was disconcerting. Liz smiled as they sat down and said she was glad they'd come, she hadn't been sure they would. She spoke in whispers, and though Barry wanted to talk in a normal tone of voice, wanted to demonstrate that he was unintimidated and unafraid, he found himself whispering back, daunted by the silence of everyone around him.

"There's no way we'd miss this," he said. "I finally have an opportunity to give that board a piece of my mind."

"Please pick up your revised copy of The Bonita Vista Homeowners'

Association Declaration of Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions,""

the man in livery said from his post near the table as someone new walked in. His voice sounded absurdly loud in the stillness.

"Ratification is the first item on today's agenda."

Barry placed the massive volume on his lap and opened it up. Liz's copy, he noticed, was on the floor next to her. Several of the people around them had also laid their books on the floor, though some were attempting to read through the amended regulations.

He turned pages randomly. There was a rule disallowing the cooking of Asian food at any residence, another stating that all homeowners must own an American flag, although the flag could not be displayed either in or outside the house. He flipped quickly through the book. The regulations grew wackier and wackier. Only Number 2 pencils could be used to write grocery lists; residents were required to wash their hair daily and use conditioner; baldness was not acceptable in public, and homeowners who were losing their hair had to wear toupees outside the privacy of their homes. He was certain that there were dangerous edicts hidden among the frivolous ridiculous ordinances, but there was no time to find them, and he was glad that he'd prepared a speech ahead of time. If people were going to automatically ratify regulations with which they were completely unfamiliar, they needed to hear what he had to say.

He'd told Mike about his planned speech, asked his friend to spread the word, and Barry could only hope that he had. He glanced around the silent crowd. If everything went well, people would respond to his questioning of the board with questions of their own and those old men would find themselves under attack, forced to defend policies and procedures that until this point had been taken for granted. Even the best laid plans went astray--and this was a half baked scheme to begin with--but he had faith that he might be able to at least stir things up here today.

The president's gavel fell on the table with the sharp suddenness of a gunshot, and Barry jumped along with everyone else. All eyes turned toward the raised platform on which sat the board of directors.

"Hear ye! Hear ye!" the man in livery announced from the back of the room. "The annual meeting of the Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association will now come to order!"

Jasper Calhoun, seated at the center of the table, stood and smiled munificently. "Welcome neighbors," he said.

A huge cheer went up, the people around them began ; clapping wildly, and Barry looked at Maureen. He'd been, sitting there waiting for a follow-up sentence, having no \ idea that the president's simple greeting would be an applause cue, and the response of his fellow homeowners was as startling and unexpected as the rap of the gavel had been. He had a sudden uneasy suspicion that this was part of some ritual, like a church service, with programmed cues and responses.