The Committee and Other Stories

By Jim Farrell

Phil and Muriel move into a homeowners association-controlled community in Florida. Their one-eyed dog, Bennie, enables them to have the last laugh on an annoying committee.

Widower George Wilson moves into an adult community in Florida where the widow-widower ratio is three to one. He also meets Adriana via his computer. Life is good for a widower at the Ocean Dunes, or is it?

Captain Vince Sullivan takes R & R from Vietnam in Perth, Australia. There he meets a blue lady who changes his life.

Regina Kelsie leaves the cold of Worcester, Mass, to experience spring break in Panama City, Florida. Fellow Worcesterite, Jim Rancourt, rescues her from hell; but things are not as they seem.

Margie ORourke decides to cremate her deceased husband, but her plans for his ashes are bizarre, frighteningly bizarre.

Little Adela spends her first of many nights in a harem when she is only five.

Grandma is led to believe that her stool is self-combusting. That is quite disturbing information for Grandma.

Barney and Herb, two octogenarians, discuss cisgender and transgender issues in Dunkin Donuts over coffee. It is quite the hilarious conversation.

These are just a few of the tales that make the Committee and Other Stories so uniquely enjoyable. It is a journey into the depths of the human spirit, illustrating the importance of laughter and the miracle of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532019760

Jim Farrell

Jim Farrell earned a master’s degree in accounting from the University of Rhode Island and a bachelor’s degree in philosophy from the Gregorian University in Rome, Italy. He spent eleven years in a Roman Catholic seminary, served as a captain in the U.S. Army, and worked with Air America in Vietnam. Now retired, he lives with his wife, Marianne Collinson, in Palm Coast, Florida. He has published four novels and two collections of short stories.

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Copyright © 2017 Jim Farrell.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-1977-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1976-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017905028

iUniverse rev. date: 04/26/2017

Contents

The Committee

Rebecca

Fight on a School Bus

Adriana

It All Started One Saturday in Perth (Sky 1)

Marcus and the Schoolyard Fight (Sky 2)

The Rhode Island Visit (Sky 3)

Gushy

Spring Break

Spring Break Redux

The Portable Husband

Adela and the Ragman

How Halloween Was So Named

The Mannequin (An Adult Farce)

Meeting Bobby’s Beautiful Younger Sister in Washington, DC

The Man from New York Who Did Something in Shoes

The Old Lady Whose Stool Exploded

My New Friend

What the Hell Does Cis-gender Mean?

The Fairy Queen, Fuega

Meeting an Old Lover in a Bar

The Owner’s Closet

The Diorama

Is That You, Richard?

Maddie’s Soliloquy

I would like to thank my editor, cousin, and friend, Patty Gallagher, for the hours spent reviewing this manuscript. Her corrections and suggestions are invaluable.

I would like to thank my little five-year-old puppy, Chip, for letting me use his picture on the cover as the model for the one-eyed dog in the first story, The Committee.

I would like to thank photographer Larry Mingledorff for preparing Chip’s photograph to meet publication specifications.

I would like to thank Marianne Collinson, Adele Stott, Lori Baronian, Sky Bailey, Aithne Bartlett, Bill Collinson, Patrick Matthews, Ginny Leahy, Sharon Corriveau, and Jim Villarreal for, in one way or another, giving me ideas that led to stories in this book.

The story, Gushy, first appeared in Chapter Twenty-five of my novel, Brooklyn Boy. The story, Maddie’s Soliloquy, first appeared as Chapter Twenty-three of my novel, The Barge of Curiosity.

The Owner’s Closet and The Diorama first appeared in my other collection of short stories, Kiss Me, Kate and Other Stories.

Special thanks to Marianne Collinson and Madeline Nixon for their constant support.

The Committee

My wife, Muriel, and I decided to retire in Florida to escape the winters and taxes of Rhode Island. Since we have five pets, three dogs and two cats, we made the further decision to buy a house instead of moving into a condominium. As Muriel put it, There are just too many restrictions in a condominium complex, and there is no way I am giving up my fur family. That is also the reason why we looked for a home outside the many gated communities in the region. Gated communities also have too many restrictions on this and that and everything in between.

We found a beautiful home with four bedrooms, the master suite on one side of the house, a guest suite and two smaller bedrooms on the opposite side, which would allow us to maintain our privacy when we had overnight guests. A spacious open central area separates the master bedroom from the guest rooms.

The house also has a den off the entry way where I can do my writing. I have always wanted to write and now that I have the time, I devote one or two hours every day to creative writing, or, at least, I think it is creative. People ask me constantly when I am going to publish. I try to explain that, just as many seniors who always wanted to paint take up painting in retirement, so I, who always wanted to write, have taken up writing. It is for me the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Ars gratia artis. If any of my work ends up on the New York Times Bestsellers’ List, well that would be an unexpected bonus.

The house has only one storey, a prerequisite for our aging bodies. And the property has a pool, a screened-in lanai, a gorgeous patio, and a fence-enclosed backyard with nine majestic palm trees around the perimeter. Retirement living at its best! Or so we thought.

We made an offer. The seller accepted. We prepared to close. Since this would be a cash purchase, everything was proceeding smoothly. It wasn’t necessary for us to fly to Florida for the closing. The company handling that transaction mailed us the documents for our signatures. We faxed the signed copies to them and concurrently mailed the hardcopies. We wired the money for the purchase from our bank to the escrow agent. Everything was going smoothly. Oh, yes, everything was going so smoothly. Too smoothly?

Then Muriel said to me, What is this Homeowners Association document we acknowledged receiving and reading? Did you read it? Where is it? What is it?

I think it’s appended to the end of the Sales Agreement. Since this isn’t a gated community, I think we just have to pay a quarterly fee so the Homeowners Association can take care of the common grounds. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.

Did you actually read it, Phil, she asked. before we signed the Sales Agreement?

Noooo….. But I’m sure it’s harmless, I answered.

Let me read it now. I hope it’s not too late, said Muriel.

As she was reading it, her demeanor became more and more serious. You’re right about most of it. We have to pay a quarterly fee for common property maintenance and have to agree to maintain our own property. I am fine with that, but it says you can only have two pets. I can’t live with that.

Let me see that, I said.

There it was right on page 11 of the document: No homeowner in the community covered by this agreement will have more than two pets.

That’s silly, I said. Does that include fish?

I’m sure it doesn’t include fish. Why are you talking about fish anyway? We don’t have fish. But I’m sure it includes cats and dogs.

We can still get out of this if you want, but we’ll lose our twenty-five hundred dollar deposit. Why don’t you call Maggie? We were buying the house from a Maggie Robinson.

Muriel removed her cell phone from her pocketbook and dialed Maggie’s number.

Hi, Maggie, Muriel Thompson……

Yes, we’re both fine….

Well I hope there are no problems. We just received the documents from the closing company, and we signed an acknowledgement agreeing to the provisions of the Homeowners Association Agreement…..

Yes, I agree, it doesn’t seem too onerous, but it says you can only have two pets. I have five…..

No, they’re not big, three little dogs, well one is medium size, and two cats, but no one mentioned pet restrictions when we made the offer…..

You’re sure of that? Muriel covered the mouthpiece and spoke to me. Maggie says no one follows that restriction. It’s just there as a way to make sure people don’t let their pets run free.

"And, Maggie, one of our dogs is very old, on death’s door actually. I cannot put her down before we leave Rhode Island, but she will not be with us for long….

What was that? ………. Yes, yes, Maggie, the cats are house pets. They never leave the house…. That was not true, but who would ever know?

(To me again) Maggie says the Committee is very reasonable. They just don’t want people having big dangerous dogs on the loose. As far as she knows, no one has ever received a notice from the Committee for excess pets, especially not cats, dogs, or fish.

What Committee? I asked. Notices?

What Committee, Maggie? asked Muriel.

Oh, I see, Muriel said. Phil, she means the Homeowners Association Board of Directors. They call themselves the HOA Committee.

And, Maggie, what are the notices you mentioned?

Oh, I see…. (To Phil) They only send out notices to egregious offenders. People who let their property go to ruin for example.

Well thanks, Maggie, I feel better now. We have already sent back the signed Sales Agreement, and I was concerned…. Yes, I know we will.

We will what? I asked.

Love the house and the neighborhood.

Yeah, I think we will.

After hanging up, Muriel turned to me and said, I feel better. I’m sure the Committee will be reasonable.

Later I compared this to Chamberlain saying, I’m sure Hitler really wants to be friends. But at the time we did feel relieved. I like our pets too. Not as much as Muriel does, but I do like them. Maybe we should also have considered that Maggie, eager to sell her house, was not the most unbiased person to question about the Committee’s strictness. Oh well, you learn.

It took three days for the seven of us to make the trip from Rhode Island to Florida. I drove the U-Haul truck we rented, and Muriel followed in our Honda Accord with the menagerie. We found pet-friendly motels for the overnight stops, one in West Virginia and one in South Carolina. We pulled into our new driveway in mid-afternoon of the third day. Maggie had sent us the keys and the garage door opener, so we were able to sneak all the animals through the garage into the house undetected. I felt like the resistance in occupied France helping a Jewish family escape the Nazis. Muriel had purchased new bark collars for the dogs. The collars sprayed an unpleasant, but harmless, liquid into their faces if they barked. The collars, which we put on the dogs just before arriving, enabled us to complete the animal insertion. Otherwise our three little barkers might have ruined the surreptitious entry.

Once inside Muriel breathed a sigh of relief. But she did say, I don’t know if I’m going to like this. It’s going to take some getting used to, this hiding the pets and keeping them relatively quiet all the time. How do we take them out for walks?

I’ve given that some thought, I said. Ling-Ling (our Chinese Crested powderpuff) and Bennie (her son sired by a Shih Tzu) look somewhat alike, so we can leave one at home and take the other for walks with Nikkie (our American Eskimo). No one will know the difference.

But Bennie only has one eye, Muriel objected. He was born with a defective right eye, and the vet had to remove it to prevent infection. The doctor simply sowed over the socket, and it, the empty socket, was now covered with hair.

No one will notice that especially since they will never see both little dogs together, I replied optimistically. His hair covers the socket, so you can’t really tell the eye is missing.

Ooh, I don’t know about that, Muriel said. What if someone does notice?

We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, I responded. I had a whole pocketful of handy sayings that I laid on Muriel from time to time.

She just shook her head and started to unload the car.

Nikkie won’t be with us too much longer anyway, I added.

Don’t say that, corrected Muriel. She’ll hear you.

Muriel, she’s just a dog and she’s deaf.

Shush, she admonished.

Well, we can always move if things don’t work out, I said. But I have a feeling that everything will work out fine.

That sounds like a drastic solution, Phil, said Muriel. Doesn’t it? Moving. And don’t you dare tell me, ‘We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.’

We decided for the first few weeks to let the dogs relieve themselves in our fenced-in back yard. Muriel was never one to push the envelope. The fence was white, opaque, and seven feet high. We would be hiring a lawn maintenance man, but whomever we employed to cut the lawn would probably not care about the number of our animals since, as a contractor, he would have no connection to the development. But, on the other hand, the presence of excessive dog shit in the yard would be, to say the least, an annoyance to him, and he might mention that fact to another owner. How many dogs do they have at number 14? There’s enough dog shit for a pack! So I decided I would pick up any dog dirt on a regular basis and conduct a special treasure hunt on the mornings the lawn care man was coming. Of course we would keep the animals in the house while he was working in the yard.

Our first notice came three days after our arrival (three days!), but it had nothing to do with pet violations.

We got a notice from the Committee today, Phil, Muriel said when I returned from the post office.

What for? What egregious violation did we commit? I asked incredulously. Did someone find out about the animals? The dogs had not been displayed in public yet, and even I had not seen the two cats since we arrived.

No. Nothing to do with the animals. We received an email from a Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary, telling us that the condition of the garden areas in front of the house was woeful. She really wrote woeful. It was supposedly a friendly notice. Here look at it. I printed it out.

She handed me the page she had printed out:

Dear New Owner, Welcome to Hollow Pines Development. Let me introduce myself, Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary. I know you are just settling in, but the condition of the gardens in front of the house, on both sides, is woeful. If you would like some suggestions on a service that could handle this for you, let me know by return email. If you would like to do it yourselves, of course that is fine too. But in any case ‘the situation’ should be handled ASAP. A few homeowners have complained about ’the situation’ to me. The complainants used the words ‘eyesore’ and ‘disgraceful,’ and I have to agree. Once again, Welcome to Hollow Pines! Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary.

Holy shit! I said. Is she for real? The situation? Doesn’t she realize we just arrived three days ago?

I believe she is very much for real, said Muriel. She acknowledged our recent arrival. But I guess three days is enough time ‘to settle in,’ in her opinion, or, in the opinion, of ‘a few homeowners.’

Well the front does look woeful, I said. Why don’t we tackle it tomorrow morning, I suggested.

Do you think that is soon enough? asked Muriel.

When I gave her a startled look, she said, I’m just kidding. But unfortunately, I didn’t think Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary, was.

So next morning bright and early, Muriel and I labored in the front gardens, on both sides of the entrance, to remove the offensive weeds. We were rewarded for our efforts. Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary, sent Muriel another email that afternoon.

Dear New Owners, We at the Hollow Pines HOA love to see such a prompt and corrective response. I told the others that we had to give you a chance. I was justified in my faith. Sincerely, Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary.

I feel like we are being watched, I said to Muriel.

We are, dear, we are, she answered. I’m not sure I like this place. And they don’t even know about the dogs and cats yet. And what’s with this ‘New Owners’ baloney? Our names are on the agreement we signed. Why can’t she address us as ‘Dear Muriel and Phil’ or at least ‘Dear Thompsons’?

Maybe to avoid a too friendly relationship, I offered. She is the Committee Secretary, after all, and has to maintain her aloofness. Even the military has a non-fraternization policy between officers and enlisted.

Muriel just stared at me.

But I don’t think we should start walking the dogs yet, she suggested. Why take chances?

Things went along smoothly for a few weeks. There were no complaints, at least none that we knew of. Then Muriel’s brother, Jimmy, came for a visit, and, scofflaw that he is, he left his car parked on the street in front of our house for three hours one afternoon. It was more convenient for him to park there than for him to move the car every time Muriel or I needed to enter or exit the two-car garage. We knew, or had been told at any rate, that overnight on-the-street parking was verboten, but no one had mentioned anything about parking during the day. And I didn’t remember reading anything about it in the Homeowners Association Agreement.

We had made friends by that time with Van and Melissa, a wonderful retired couple from New York. Van was on the Committee. The day after Jimmy’s on-the-street parking episode, Van came over to our house.

Phil, we got a complaint today from the homeowner in number 18. He complained that one of your cars was parked on the street in front of your house for a few hours yesterday.

What! Is that frowned upon? I asked, quoting the famous George Costanza. Seriously I didn’t see anything about that in the HOA agreement.

Well, it’s not really clear, but some of the homeowners try to say it’s covered under the ‘Excessive use of the common areas by one homeowner’ provision of the Agreement.

And what do you say? As a Committee Member, that is? I asked.

Well, the street is a common area. They do have a point, he answered.

Isn’t that a stretch? What do you do if you have a party?

These are the homeowners who don’t like other homeowners having parties, Van answered.

That doesn’t answer my question, Van.

What can I say? he answered shrugging his shoulders.

Well, what happens now that a complaint has been filed? I asked.

It’s not a formal complaint in writing to the Committee. It was just a phone call, but I wanted to bring it to your attention.

So they just want to scare us into doing things their way, is that it?

What can I say?’ he said again. It used to be a lot worse. I would get calls within five minutes if someone parked a car on the street. I even used to get complaints if garbage cans extended into the street when left out for collection. Just forget about it for now."

After Van left, I briefed Muriel.

She could not believe it. How do we handle this? she asked.

We have to be careful because of the pets. We could just ignore it, but I am going to write a letter to the Committee and leave a copy in number 18’s mailbox. As Edmund Burke once said, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’

I drafted the letter that evening and delivered it to Van the following morning. I put a copy in Number 18’s mailbox which I knew was a violation of United States Postal Service regulations, but not, as far as I knew, a violation of the Homeowner Association rules.

Dear Hollow Pines Committee:

It has come to my attention that a complaint, albeit verbal, has been rendered to the Committee by the homeowner in Number 18, accusing us of violating a nebulous, at best, Committee rule against on-the-street parking during the daytime. I would like the Committee to present us, in writing, with confirmation that this is, indeed, a violation of Homeowners Association rules, citing the section of the Agreement prohibiting this activity. If this is not a definite violation of the rules, I would like to make a counter complaint against the homeowner at Number 18 of malicious accusery (in the words of the great Rob Petry), and request that the Committee send that homeowner a cease and desist order. If the Committee is of the opinion that this is a violation, and we receive written notification thereof, I will forward the Committee’s finding to my attorney for his review and comment. In either case, I will continue to use the street in front of my house for parking during daytime hours whenever the need arises until this issue is resolved in the courts.

Sincerely,

Phil and Muriel Thompson

A little verbose, said Muriel. And we don’t have an attorney.

They don’t know that. I was just trying to impress them. And if they want to make this an issue, maybe we will have an attorney! I said.

You are taking this seriously, aren’t you? she asked.

We can’t live like prisoners here. This is our retirement home. Either we can be comfortable here and silence these assholes, or we move!

The Earl of Grantham has spoken, she said. Muriel is a devoted fan of Downton Abbey.

Don’t you agree? I asked.

Yes, by God, I do. The Hell with them, and let’s start walking the dogs, two of them at any rate.

That very evening we took Nikkie and Ling-Ling for a walk. The next night we took Nikkie and Bennie. We continued the walks alternating the little dogs each evening. It went without incident until one evening, a woman whom we now know is Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary, stopped to talk to us as we passed her house.

That small dog is very cute, she said. But didn’t I notice the other day that he had two eyes. Now he only has one.

Oh, no, said Muriel, He has one real eye and one glass one. I sometimes forget to put in the glass one.

I reminded you to put it in, I said, joining in the fun. Didn’t I, Bennie Boy? I said bending down to pet Bennie. Bennie bounced in excitement. Muriel can be so forgetful, I said to Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary.

Sandra looked from one of us to the other, shook her head, and returned to her house.

Fuck her! said Muriel.

Couldn’t have said it better myself, I replied giving Muriel a high five.

The young couple in Number 16, between us at Number 14 and the curmudgeon in Number 18, had a party one Saturday. Number 16’s driveway rapidly filled up with cars, and the overflow ended up on the street, three cars in front of our house, four in front of the party giver’s house, and three in front of Number 18!

I, of course, had no problem with this. But I did call Van the following morning. Did anyone complain about the ten cars parked on the street for five hours yesterday?

No, answered Van.

Not even Number 18? I asked.

No, he answered. Did you have a problem with the parking in front of your house? he asked. I’m surprised.

Not at all. Robby (the owner of Number 16) did not ask permission, but he did not have to. After all the street is common property. But if you think about it, parking three cars in front of your neighbor’s house comes close to violating that ‘excessive use of the common areas by one homeowner’ provision. But, believe me, Van, I am not complaining. I was just curious if the asshole in Number 18, excuse my language, complained, and now I’m wondering why not? Was he just trying to intimidate us as new residents when he lodged that earlier complaint?

I’ll call him and ask why not, said Van. That’s a good point.

He called me back in an hour. I asked Milt, Number 18, why he didn’t complain about the cars on Saturday since he had complained about your one car. He told me Robby had asked his permission to park the cars in front of his house, and he had said, ‘Yes.’

So, I said. What gives him the authority to permit violations of the Homeowners Association rules? The street in front of his house is part of the common area, is it not? I asked. "And what gives him the authority to permit parking in front of our house?"

Good point, said Van who really was a good guy.

I’m not trying to put you on the spot, Van, and I have no complaint against Robby, but Muriel and I will not be intimidated by Milt. We’re good neighbors.

I know you are. I’ll make a note of this in my Committee file, and if I get any more complaints from him about cars parked in front of your house, I’ll bring out my notes at a committee meeting.

Thanks, I said.

Muriel and I understood the advantages of a Homeowners Association. Driving around neighborhoods without such restrictions showed that clearly: junk cars in front of homes, often tireless and raised on cinderblocks, houses painted pink and purple, yards not weeded, grass not cut, broken toys and various car parts on the lawns. But we also understood that every neighborhood with a Homeowners Association has at least one vigilant busybody, commonly referred to as a pain in the ass, who carries things to an extreme. Milt, for example, is ours. Poor Milt, he has nothing else to do. He should take up writing or painting in his retirement.

My sister was visiting one week and, while we were grousing about Milt, she told us a great HOA story. She and my brother-in-law had a condo in New Hampshire which they used for weekend skiing. They drove up from Rhode Island on Friday and drove back to Rhode Island late Sunday. They often packed their clothes in large black garbage bags so that they could fit more items into the trunk of their car. One day they received a call from a member of their Condo Committee who told them that the Committee had received a complaint against them.

"What?’ asked my sister.

It has been brought to the attention of the Committee that you are bringing up garbage from Rhode Island to put in the condo dumpster.

If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny.

We had a similar experience in our fifth month in Hollow Pines. We hired a local company to power wash the front of the house and the driveway. While they were working on the driveway, the doorbell rang. It was Van.

I just had two calls, one from Milt and one from Ronald in Number 17. They’re all upset.

Why? We’re doing a good thing, I said. Cleaning up the property.

Are you getting your house painted? Van asked.

No, just getting the house and driveway power washed.

You’re not prepping to paint the house? he asked.

No, you have to get permission from the Committee to paint your house, I answered.

Ronald said to me, ‘Go over there and stop them. They need Committee approval to paint their house.’ I’m sorry to have bothered you, said Van. He left, shaking his head.

That evening Muriel and I took Nikkie and Ling-Ling for a walk. Sandra Johnson, Committee Secretary, came out as we passed her house. I finally realized she did this to make sure all dog walkers picked up any unwanted deposits if the dog selected her property, or the common area in front of her property, to take care of its business.

"I see the glass eye is