The Edge of the Clipboard

The edge of the aluminum clipboard stopped three inches from Alicia’s nose.

The glare off the steel clip stung her eyes. Printed forms fluttered in the dry breeze, marked with red ink and photocopied bylaws.

“You think you’re exempt from community standards?” Karen said, leaning her weight over the balls of her feet. “Section 4B covers unauthorized water features and rear encumbrances.”

“This is a private residence,” Alicia said.

“Under deed restriction,” Karen snapped. “Which gives the board full right of inspection without prior notice.”

She thrust the board closer, the sharp corner brushing Alicia’s shoulder. Two steps back, the water of the pool shifted against the blue tile line, slapping the concrete wall in a rhythmic beat. The heat radiating off the stone pavers rose through the soles of Alicia’s sandals.

“Lower the board,” Alicia said.

“I don’t take instructions from renters or newcomers.” Karen adjusted her grip on the metal frame, her knuckles white against the edge. Her floral blouse fluttered, the orange fabric catching the midday sun. “You ignored two certified letters regarding patio alterations. You ignored the summons for the June hearing.”

“I received no letters.”

“Because you don’t respect the process,” Karen said. She stepped forward, cutting the space between them down to eighteen inches. Her breath smelled of mint gum and stale coffee. “People like you buy in here thinking you own the dirt. You don’t. You bought a privilege granted by this board.”

Alicia kept her hands flat at her sides, her voice level. “Step outside the gate, Mrs. Whitmore.”

Karen smiled, a thin stretching of red lipstick that showed her front teeth. “I decide who stays.”

“You hold an unpaid seat.”

“I run this development,” Karen said. Her voice dropped into a rasp. “I decide who belongs here, and I decide who packs their bags by autumn.”

Alicia did not blink. The silence hung between them, thick with the scent of chlorine and hot stone.

“Get off my property,” Alicia said.

Karen’s face tightened, the mask of administrative duty cracking into open rage. Her left hand shot forward. Her nails and rigid fingers clamped down hard on Alicia’s bare arm.