Neighborhood Watch (19 page)

Kristin’s, the paneling and tile done in Wedgwood blue.

“I love your house,” Kristin said. Angela poured out the coffee remaining in the pot and started to make a fresh one.

“Maybe you’ll be able to buy it soon,” Angela said. She turned. “If you’re a cooperative resident, the homeowners board of trustees might approve a transfer. Your house will be sold and you’ll move into this one.”

“Are you really thinking of selling?”

Angela laughed.

“It’s not a matter of thinking about it. It’s a matter of accepting it. To tell you the truth,”

she said gazing around, “I love this house and even love the development. You know

what I mean,” she said with a wide gesture, “the scenic beauty here. Who, in her right mind, wouldn’t want to live here? It does have everything, and for the most part, if you don’t piss off Nikki Stanley or Phil Slater, you can have about as nearly perfect a Norman Rockwell painting life as is possible.

“But . . .” She sighed. “To my husband’s way of thinking, I fucked things up.”

“What did you do?”

Angela finished fixing the coffee and sat at the table in the nook adjoining the kitchen.

The windows gave a sweeping view of the northeast part of the lake. Kristin saw

someone in a boat, fishing.

“I challenged one of their damn CC and R’s and came into direct conflict with Nikki and the committee. And then I complained when we were fined. I had the audacity to go

directly to Phil Slater in his company office. He complained to my husband, made veiled threats. Suddenly, we found we were violating other ordinances, we got another fine for dripping oil on the street and then, just to be sure I got the message clear and sharp, they put the dogs on me.”

“Dogs?”

“The security guards. That whole phony thing with the alarm and breaking into my

home. I’ve lodged a formal complaint, even though my husband didn’t want us to. Our marriage is a bit strained at the moment. Seems he’s lost some accounts and he’s blaming it on me.”

“Why?”

“Why? I lodged a formal complaint, even threatened a lawsuit. Phil Slater has a lot of clout with business interests in the community. My husband wants me to rescind the

complaint and get back with the program. I’m . . . not of that mind at the moment, so at the moment, we’re at war. Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload it all on you during our first chat.”

“No. It’s all right. I appreciate your candor. What are you going to do?”

Angela shrugged and then rose to pour the coffee. Kristin gazed out the window again, watching the person fishing. It did seem like a Norman Rockwell painting. She looked up when Angela brought the coffee.

“Sugar?”

“No, just milk. Skim, if you have?”

“Watching your figure? Oh, right,” Angela corrected herself. “You’re pregnant. I forgot.

You don’t look like you’re gaining a lot of weight.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Doctor Hoffman?”

“Yes.”

“I used him. He’s good and one of those residents you hardly ever see or hear about here.

I call them ghosts,” Angela added, laughing.

“Ghosts?”

“There are people in this development I haven’t seen more than . . . four or five times in three years. They keep to themselves; they obey the rules and they leave everything up to the homeowners board. The truth is most people in most developments, condo

associations, co-ops, do the same thing. I’ve made a sort of independent study of it and concluded it’s a particularly American thing . . . indifference as long as you leave me alone to eat my junk foods and watch my junk television.”

Kristin smiled. She liked this woman.

“So, what are you going to do?” Kristin asked.

“I’ll probably give in if I want to keep my marriage and family,” she predicted. “And when I do, don’t be too quick to condemn me for it,” she added quickly.

“I’m not condemning anyone for anything quickly these days,” Kristin said. She sipped the coffee.

“Steven asks, what do you want, Angela? Look what you have: a beautiful home in a

beautiful place with expensive furnishings, nice cars, clothes, jewelry, vacations. You don’t have to worry about the violence people on the outside live with daily. Your kids are safe; you’re safe. Why make waves just to prove a point?

“I tried to explain how I’m not upset about all that, but I don’t like being made to feel like someone’s puppet.”

Kristin widened her eyes. They were sisters of the same temperament.

“I’ve got a mind of my own. I want to have freedom of thought, too. He thinks I’m

crazy. We’ve gone round and round about it. He believes the small compromises, as he puts it, are a small price to pay for all the rest. So, he wouldn’t go along with my formal complaints.

“You’re new here, so I know you think I’m nuts, too. Even though you had to give up your dog, right?”

“Wrong,” Kristin said. “I mean, everything your husband says sounds logical on the

surface, but I haven’t been exactly in heaven. I’m not comfortable with all this Big Brother security. I think Nikki Stanley is growing a penis on the side, and the

homeowners board is a group of people in love with their power.”

“Jesus,” Angela said. “How did you slip past the homeowners’ new residents review?”

“How did you?” Kristin countered.

Angela laughed.

“Well,” she said, “maybe you and I can form the nucleus of a mutiny and eventually

perform a coup d’etat and take over the homeowners association.”

“Maybe. My husband is being appointed to fill Larry Sommers’s position,” Kristin said and Angela’s smile evaporated.

“Oh,” she said changing her tone. “I see. Is that why you’re here?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you supposed to talk me out of my actions, get me to be more reasonable?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Your husband was appointed by Philip Slater after you people have been residents here for so short a time, and you want me to believe you’re not making deals?”

“We’ve made no deals.”

“Really,” Angela said dryly.

“Really. In fact, Teddy’s going to try to change some of these things. He’s going to—”

“Sure,” Angela said sharply.

“Look,” Kristin said, fixing her eyes firmly on Angela. “After some of the things you’ve been through, I don’t blame you for being distrustful. Under the circumstances, I might be the same way, especially after seeing how aggressive the security people were, but what I’ve told you I believe and I feel is the truth. I didn’t come here to talk you out of doing anything. In fact, I hope you do pursue your complaint, and if you want me to come and testify to what I did see the security man do, I will.”

Angela stared at her a moment and then nodded.

“Okay, I might just have you do that,” she said. “There’s a preliminary hearing about my complaint this coming Thursday at Phil Slater’s.”

“I’ll be there,” Kristin quickly vowed.

Angela sipped her coffee, keeping her eyes on Kristin.

“What did they tell you about Sol Feinberg before you bought his house?” she asked.

“That he committed suicide.”

“Did anyone say why?”

“Marital problems, financial problems . . .”

“They didn’t mention his actions opposing the homeowners association or his lawsuit?”

“No, but last night my husband told me he found out Sol Feinberg was going to take the homeowners association to court, and I recall Jean Levine telling me Elaine Feinberg was not the development type.”

“Jean should know. She’s the original Stepford Wife. I once pinched her to see if she would feel pain.”

“I know what you mean,” Kristin said and then, after a moment added, “I had a very

strange encounter with Elaine Feinberg in the supermarket.”

“Really? When?”

“Right after we moved into the house. She had suffered a miscarriage.”

“I heard about that.”

“She seemed very odd and she said I would be sorry I was living here unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“I became one of them,” Kristin replied.

“Which is what you think might happen now that your husband is on the board of

trustees?”

Kristin didn’t reply.

“Sol and Elaine became very bitter people here. I didn’t befriend them when they needed it, but I was with the program then. I was just as guilty as everyone else.” She sighed as if she carried the weight of that guilt on her bosom.

“But was that enough to drive him to suicide?” Kristin asked.

“They broke him financially. But you’re right,” Angela said, “to ask if that was enough. I did. He was a strong-willed man, a real challenge for the board and for Slater.”

“Who found him?”

“His wife. And then our security guards were on the scene with miraculous speed,”

Angela said.

“You know,” Kristin said, “maybe this job is too big for one or two people to handle, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. I’d like to challenge some of the things going on.

Maybe you and I can go around to some of the ghosts and talk them into joining us. Then, when we have enough strength, we’ll approach the board and get rid of some of these ridiculous restrictions and elect some more reasonable people. With my husband already there, it won’t be impossible.”

Angela nodded.

“Maybe. All right,” she said after another moment of consideration. “I trust you. I’ll keep up my defiance and risk Steven’s ire a while longer. Who knows, maybe he’ll see the light too. Say,” she added, laughing, “is this the way revolutions begin . . . over a cup of coffee?”

“It is in Emerald Lakes,” Kristin said. Angela’s laugh was lighter, her smile warmer.

“I have to admit, I did read up on you in Nikki’s little directory. It makes it easier to peep into someone’s life. So you write music?”

“Yes. I’ve had a few entertainers try some in night-clubs. No one big or anything, but it was fun going to the lounges and listening to the songs I wrote being sung.”

“What have you written since you’ve been here?”

“That’s just it,” Kristin said. “Nothing really. And the first time I saw this place, I thought it would be the perfect setting for creativity.”

“It is. It’s just some of what’s being created by our residents we might find difficult accepting.”

Kristin laughed and nodded.

“Say,” Angela said. “I know this great place in

Wurtsboro for lunch, and right beside it is this wonderful store selling antiques and housewares, furnishing, all country style. If you feel like it . . . I mean, I don’t want to take you away from your work.”

“No, that sounds great.”

“Good. I have a reason to shower and dress today! Maybe, just maybe, we can do

something about this place,” Angela said buoyed. “I’ll call the restaurant and make our reservation for about one, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t mean it when I told you that day the security people broke in,” Angela said, lifting her coffee cup in a toast, “but welcome to Emerald Lakes.”

They tapped their coffee cups and laughed like coconspirators.

Lunch was as wonderful as Angela promised, and afterward, they had a great time

shopping and finding unique things. Kristin hadn’t laughed and felt so light and happy since she and Teddy had moved into Emerald Lakes. They returned in time to be home

for their children. Angela had two boys, Anthony, age seven, and Daniel, age nine.

“They’re pretty independent for their age, already macho Italian young men,” she said.

“But God forbid I’m not home when they want me. They’re still momma’s boys and want me there the moment they need me.”

They made a date to meet the next day and begin their own analysis of the coveted

Emerald Lakes CC and R’s. They planned out their strategy at lunch. They would begin slowly, challenging this rule and that, supporting their challenges with reason and logic, and they would try to build support with the unassuming residents, Angela’s ghosts, getting them to at least endorse some of the requests for changes. Then they would ask for a hearing and present their suggestions, campaigning for them just the way they would campaign for any election. They would make phone calls, visit with residents, explain, cajole, and urge others to make phone calls to the board members. They thought if they broke some of the ironclad regulations, they could begin to tear down the

domination the homeowners board had over the residents.

Later that evening at dinner, Kristin, who was energized by her day and her alliance with Angela, overwhelmed Teddy with her ideas and hopes. He barely had an opportunity to comment before they were finished eating. Finally, Kristin brought their coffee to the table and sat again, anticipating Teddy’s reactions anxiously.

“Well?” she said. “What do you think? You haven’t said a word.”

“How could I? I never got an opening.”

She laughed.

“So? I’m working within the system. Aren’t you happy about that?”

“Sure,” he said, but in a noncommittal tone. “It’s only that . . .”

“Only what, Teddy?”

“Only I wish you were working with someone else. You just met Angela, and I’m glad

you’re making friends . . .”

“But?”

“But from what I’ve been told she’s gotten on the wrong side of many residents here, not just a couple on the board. She’s not the best one to go around the development with and solicit support for new ideas.”

“Who told you this, Teddy?”

“Phil Slater, for one.”

“Who else, Teddy?”

“Well, he’s . . .”

“Did Doctor Hoffman tell you this?”

“No, but . . .”

“Did you speak to the Kimbles, the Mateos, the Dimases, the Meltzers?” she asked. He widened his eyes as she continued to rattle off the list of residents from memory.

“You memorized everyone?”

“Nikki Stanley isn’t the only one with a mind here, Teddy. I think things are the way they are because people haven’t bothered challenging them properly. We intend to and I

thought you did, too. I thought that was the point of your becoming a trustee.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So?”

“I . . .” He shrugged. “Great,” he said. “Let me know what I can do.”