"Hell. Nothing, I guess." He glanced over at Hank. "What do you say?"
"Let's do it."
They left after lunch. Ralph and a couple of the younger men were working and had to get back to their jobs, but Hank and Lyle were retired, and Joe and Sonny were unemployed, and the four of them piled into Joe's battered Econoline and followed Barry out of town and up the highway.
Barry pulled up to the entrance of Bonita Vista and leaned out the window to punch in the code that would open the gate. The metal arm swung inward, and he sped through quickly. Joe was right on his tail, as he'd instructed, and the Econoline made it in just as the gate started to swing closed. "We're in!" he heard Lyle shout out the window in mock heroic tones.
Barry led them up the narrow winding road to his house. Maureen was not home, and he was not sure if that was good or bad. She was definitely not a fan of uninvited guests, and if she'd been there when he'd traipsed over with a horde of strangers, he would have caught hell for it after they'd gone. On the other hand, he'd talked enough about his newfound buddies that she doubtlessly would have wanted to meet the gang from the coffee shop, although perhaps with a little more advance notice.
The four men got out of Joe's van and looked around.
"Al was right," Lyle said. "What a view." He stood at the end of the driveway next to the edge of the house, looking back toward Corban , a few of whose buildings could be seen through the trees.
"You think that's something? Check out the view from the upper deck."
Barry walked up to the front door, unlocked and opened it. "Come on in."
"Nice place you got here," Hank allowed.
Barry led them upstairs and through the sliding glass doors onto the porch. "You think we have a great view, you ought to check out the scenery from that place up there." He leaned over the edge of the railing and pointed toward; Ray's house farther up the hill. "Their living room's all glass, and you can see all the way to the desert."
"You make enough off your writing to afford this place?" Joe said.
Barry nodded.
"I'mgonna have to start showing you more respect, boy."
Barry laughed.
Hank turned back to face the door. "So the association won't let you write here, huh? Your own damn house and | you have to rent an office in town to do your work." He shook his head. "That's craziness."
"Reason number two hundred why I hate those bastards."
Sonny cleared his throat. "Didn't you say something about drinks?"
Barry chuckled. "Coming right up." He opened the sliding door. "Beer okay? I got Bud and Miller Light. Or Coke if you'd rather have that."
"Bud."
"Bud."
"Bud."
"Bud."
It was unanimous, and he walked inside to get some cans out of the refrigerator.
The men stayed for another forty-five minutes, but the visit grew increasingly awkward, and Barry was soon sorry that he'd invited them up here. He'd intended for this to be an ice breaker, a way for them to get to know each other better. Maybe, he'd thought, they'd become real friends instead of just lunchtime acquaintances. But instead their visit seemed to widen the gulf between them, and he felt like a nouveau riche snob lording his possessions over the local yokels. That was not his intention, and he did everything he could to counteract it and make them feel at ease, but the nice house with the great view on the hill in the gated community still stood between them. He should have left well enough alone. They all got along fine at the coffee shop, but outside of that specific environment their differences were emphasized, and even beer could not engender the kind of camaraderie needed. He'd wanted to bring them all closer together, but his invitation had ended up pushing them farther apart.
They left early, dispiritedly, offering polite thanks and rather formal good-byes, and he decided to stay home and take the rest of the afternoon off. He wasn't going to get any writing done anyway.
He sat on the deck reading a Richard Laymon novel. There was no storm to the south today, no clouds anywhere on the horizon, only a deep blue sky and hot, still air. Great, he thought. Just what he needed. An extension of the water rationing in Corban . They'd really resent him now.
He sped through the book. He'd continued drinking even after the others had left, and the cans piled up next to his chair as he read.
One. Two. Three. Four. By the time he saw Frank's pickup pull into the driveway shortly after four thirty, he was feeling more than a little lightheaded, and he walked back into the house and stepped carefully down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing.
"Hi, Frank." He opened the door just as the other man was about to knock.
"Whoa. ESP."
Barry smiled. "I saw you from the deck."
"Mystery solved."
"You want to come in?"
Frank shook his head. "No, no. I just stopped by for a sec." He looked uncomfortable.
"What is it?"
"I was working up here today, and I ran into a couple of the board members." Frank looked down at his shoes, shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"They wanted me to tell you that you're not supposed to be fraternizing with the locals. At least not in Bonita Vista. I guess they said you invited some locals over or something. I don't know. Anyway, they said it's cool if you go to their houses, but you can't hang with them here."
"What?"
"Outsiders aren't welcome in Bonita Vista."
"Now they're trying to tell me who I can be friends with and who I
can't?" Barry stared at him incredulously^ "I don't believe this shit!"
Frank held up his hands. "I'm just the messenger. I know how crazy it is, but I don't make the decisions. I'm just repeating what they told me to tell you."
"I can't invite friends over."
Frank shrugged. "Not if they're from Corban ."
"They can't do that."
"It's in the C, C, and Rs ."
"So what? Fuck the C, C, and Rs ." He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or simply righteous anger, but at that second he wanted nothing more than to find his copy of the regulations, rip it up, and send Frank back with a counter message: shove these pages up your asses.
Frank glanced around furtively, obviously worried that they had been overheard. "Don't even joke about that." He looked back toward the road. "What if someone from the association hears you?"
Something about Frank's reaction didn't seem right. It felt too exaggerated, as though it were part of an act put on for his benefit, and a hint of Barry's earlier suspicions returned. He remembered the way Frank had insisted to him and Ray that the association could not be behind the vandalism that had been visited upon them. The fact that Frank had turned out to be right was beside the point. It was his attitude that was important. Looking over at him, Barry realized how little he really knew the man.
Everyone's an informant.
Frank seemed like a good guy, and Ray had obviously trusted him, but despite his accounts of occasional problems and run-ins and disagreements, he was not as anti association as Barry would have liked him to be. That didn't automatically make him a stooge or a spy, but it was definitely cause for concern.
"This is my house," Barry said evenly. "I'll say whatever I want to say and talk about whatever I want to talk about. And if I want to say that I think the architectural committee eats out their own mothers'
assholes, I'll do it."
Frank nodded, pretended to smile.
"And if I want to invite friends over, I'll invite them over. Is that clear?" Frank held up a hand. "Hold on there, cowboy. I'm on your side."
"Yeah." Barry's tone of voice made it clear that he did not think that was the case, and Frank backed up awkwardly.
"Well... Igotta be heading back. Just wanted to tell you what they told me."
Barry nodded and watched him retreat to his pickup. He stood in the doorway as Frank waved and the truck backed out of the driveway and continued up the road.