by Art Zeeton
The reality of life in the Bends came home to Constance McKinley one Saturday afternoon in early September. Her family was so new to the neighborhood that she still had to drive slowly on Sycamore Trace to watch for the tiny sign that marked the Bends from the other gated communities.
She pulled up to the hut where the guard normally waved her through, but this time he signaled her to stop. She slid down her window.
"Is there a problem?"
"A small one, ma'am. Would you mind parking and stepping out of the car?"
Her heart fluttered a little. The Homeowners' Association Guidelines - a massive volume - contained a section on security gate protocol, which she had given just a cursory read. She glanced at Kelli, who was in the passenger seat bobbing her head to something on her ear-buds.
"I'll be just a minute," she said.
The girl, who Jake had begun calling 'Mini-Mom' because she had inherited her mother's red hair and soft freckles, ignored her.
Connie stepped out of the van and faced the guard, a fireplug of a man who stretched the buttons on his khaki shirt and was a head shorter than she. 'Rollins' was emblazoned on his name-tag.
"What's the trouble, Mr. Rollins?"
"Got a report of some things left in your front yard: a soccer ball and goal."
She frowned. She had told Kelli to put those things away before they left, but because the McKinleys' home had a rear-entry garage, she hadn't noticed the lawn when they drove off to the store. Her initial inclination was to argue that they had only been away for a couple of hours and a soccer ball and goal left in the yard wasn't a big deal. But she checked herself.
This, after all, was what the Bends was all about. More than the security, the lush green space, and the tightly restricted architectural standards, the Bends was about rigorously imposed community discipline. After hours of soul searching, Jake and Constance McKinley had decided it was right for them.
For the first five weeks nothing had happened, but Connie knew that had to change. And it was obvious it was going to change that day.
"I've got ice cream in the car, Mr. Rollins," she said softly.
"Then we'll make it quick. Please step over to the screen, Mrs. McKinley."
The screen was a decorative barrier of rustic planks nailed across posts and engraved with Willowbends - Welcome! on the side that faced the entry. A grab bar was attached to its backside.
"Is this your first experience at the Bends, Mrs. McKinley?" She nodded. "Well, in the event you've forgotten what the guidelines say - or maybe you haven't read them - violations reported to the gate earn you a ticket. One copy goes to your husband, to deal with as he sees fit. The second goes to the Association Directors - to deal with as they see fit."
"I see. Is that all?"
He took a slender length of polyurethane hanging by its handle from a hook on one post. He flicked it through the air, producing a sound not unlike the ripping of a sheet.
"Not quite, Mrs. McKinley."
Connie nodded slowly and shoved her shades up on her head.
"I see. How many, Mr. Rollins?"
"Five, Mrs. McKinley."
She walked behind the barrier, glancing over her shoulder to be sure Kelli was still engrossed in her music.
"We've only been in the Bends a few weeks, Mr. Rollins. I haven't been through this - procedure."
"It's pretty meat and potatoes, ma'am. Just take those shorts down."
She felt the prickle of a flush begin on her neck and work its way up her face. This special corner of her existence had until this moment been lived in the privacy of her home with just her husband. She fumbled at the buttons, which normally she could open in an instant. Mr. Rollins waited patiently.
Finally the khaki walking shorts opened. She paused for an instant, then slid them down the length of her legs.
"Those, too," he said, pointing the tip of his device at her cotton briefs.
"Mr. Rollins, my daughter is -"
"I'm sure she'll be fine, Mrs. McKinley."
She took a deep breath, then pushed her panties down to join the shorts at her ankles. She stood, naked from tee shirt to white socks, her right hand moving instinctively to cover the thatch that was only a shade darker than the hair on her head.
"Now, ma'am, turn and grab the bar."
She hesitated. She could say no, pull up her shorts, and walk away. But that really wasn't an option, so she complied, turning and grasping the metal pole that was positioned just low enough that she was forced to bend at the waist.
"And put a foot on each stone," Mr. Rollins said, a hint of military rote entering his voice.
She looked down to see two paving stones, identical to ones she and Jake had put in the backyard flowerbeds, positioned about a foot apart. She kicked shorts and panties free of one ankle and placed her feet on the stones. She knew from the dresser mirror in her bedroom the view she was presenting to Mr. Rollins.
His shadow fell across her as he positioned himself to the left and slightly behind. She was looking toward the van and Kelli's bobbing head when the first slash came, a box-cutter slice straight across her bared bottom.
The hurt was something she had not experienced before, something that colored itself as a burning thin red line across the portion of her brain that registered pain. She emitted a short yelp, bent at the knees and involuntarily clinched her bottom. Her hands jerked free from the bar and flew to her wounded cheeks.
"Keep your position, please, Mrs. McKinley," the guard said.
She nodded, forcing her hands back in place and clinching and relaxing her bottom in a vain effort to lessen the lingering burn.
"Feet, please."
She spread her legs to regain footing on the stones. A trickle of mucus descended to her lip. She blinked away the first tears and watched the undulating head of her daughter in the van, oblivious to what was happening a few feet away.
Mr. Rollins placed the cool length of the cane low on her bottom, obviously to gauge the aim of his next blow. She closed her eyes and set her teeth firmly. She held the bar so tightly her expensively-manicured nails cut into the flesh of her palms.
The second cut came in an upward curving arc that caught her low, barely above the point where cheek met thigh. It lifted her to her tiptoes and she emitted a screech. Her hands flew involuntarily to her injured bare bottom.
"Position, Mrs. McKinley."
She obeyed reluctantly, but shifted her weight from leg to leg to assuage the pain that seeped unimpeded into her flesh. She hissed through her teeth and clenched as the inevitable wave of aftershock spread over the wounded skin.
The third blow was a rifle shot that put just the tip squarely in the center of her left cheek. She bolted upright, eyes flying open at the shock that penetrated her like a bullet... It was then, as she stood erect with mouth agape and hands grasping her bottom, that she heard the sound: the honking of a horn.
A sleek silver Mercedes was waiting at the gate.
"Just a moment, Mrs. McKinley," Mr. Rollins said. He walked toward the hut. "Sorry, Mrs. Carmine."
"That's all right, Dwight," a deep and measured woman's voice replied.
The gate rumbled open and the Mercedes passed slowly. For an instant, Connie saw the handsome face of a dark-haired woman peering at her through wide shades. The woman smiled and flicked a brief wave.
"I think we had done three," Mr. Rollins said as he returned.
Connie nodded and quickly wiped away tears and mucus with a bare wrist as the guard resumed his stance and placed the tip of his cane at the center of her right cheek to mirror his last strike. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled, waiting for him to acquire his aim. She burst into tears as the shot came and the hurt pierced her. She quickly stifled the cry - almost gagging - lest Kelli hear.
"Last one, Mrs. McKinley."
She bobbed a nod as Mr. Rollins touched the cane precisely to the welt that was rising low on her bottom from the earlier strike. Of course he would do that. Even in her misery, she understood she was in the hands of a man who was master of his craft.
She remembered her times with Jake, the subtle lessons she had learned. She took a measured breath and relaxed her bottom. She looked at Kelli's bobbing head.
The sound of rending cloth was quick and ended in a molten red streak that surged through her. She cried out and her knees buckled. She would have fallen had Mr. Rollins not grasped one arm.
He waited as she sobbed uncontrollably for a long moment. When she could stand again, he went to the hut and returned with a box of tissues. She plucked a handful and daubed at her eyes and nose.
Mr. Rollins took an old-fashioned ticket book from his shirt pocket, scribbled in it, then tore off a sheet and handed it to her. "Be sure that gets to your husband."
She took it, then stooped and gingerly worked panties and shorts back up her legs.
"Your ice cream should be fine, Mrs. McKinley." He looked past her. "Your daughter looks the spitting image of you - red hair and all."
"Yes," was all she could think to say. She scooted her shades down from her hair.
"Well, good to have you in the Bends, Mrs. McKinley. You have a good day."
Kelli removed the ear-buds as Connie slid gently into the driver's seat.
"Everything okay, Mom?"
"Fine." She shifted into drive and pulled back onto the street. "But I want you to put up your soccer things as soon as we get home," she said sharply.
The girl shrugged. "Sure. Whatever"
Connie kept her head turned away as she drove the short distance from the gate to their home on Bois d'Arc Lane.
"Mom?"
"What?"
Kelli leaned toward her, a peculiar grin on her lips. "He really gave it to you, didn't he?"
Alexis Carmine tossed a quick wave to the woman behind the sign, a redhead with a shocked expression and shorts and panties dangling at one ankle. She was obviously getting an introduction to Dwight Rollins' little weather-resistant cane. What was the name? McKinney? McKinley? Something like that.
Roger had mentioned one of the new families included a redhead with light freckles. The Carmines had not socialized with them yet, but if the red hair and freckles stood out enough for Roger to mention them, he was definitely interested.
As she maneuvered the silver Mercedes gracefully around Willowbends Circle she fished her phone from her bag. A text message was on the screen. She read it, and shook her head.
"Oh, Sally, Sally!" she muttered and smiled.
Alexis had intended to go straight home, but instead she turned onto Redwood Trail, a short drive that circled the building that housed the clubhouse and Association offices. Only a few cars were in the lot, so she parked close to the building. She punched her husband's number up on the phone.
"Hello?"
"Catch you in the middle of a putt?"
"No, just getting ready to tee off on eighteen. What's up?"
"I just saw the McKinney woman getting a gate violation."
"You mean McKinley? Really?"
"Yes. Sweet little panties down, eyes big as saucers, getting her first taste of life in the Bends from Mr. Rollins."
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