I told him about our most recent problem, the stained ceiling in the kitchen, caused by, I believed, water leaking from an improperly tiled and caulked shower stall on the floor above. "I think someone needs to come in and redo the shower, and once that's done, fix the hole in the drywall in the kitchen. I understand these things are still covered for two years, if I remember the contract we signed and all."
Greenway considered what I'd said. "You sure you've been using the shower properly?" he asked. "Because if you're not, that could be your problem."
"Using it improperly? We turn it on, stand in there, and shower. If there's a wrong way to do that, we haven't figured it out yet."
Greenway shook his head, suggesting I didn't understand. "Pretty long showers?" he asked. "I seem to recall you saying you have teenagers? You know how they can be, letting the water run and run and run."
"Look," I said, starting to bristle, "I don't see what that has to do with anything. Water's leaking out and wrecking the ceiling in the kitchen. And I think you guys should do something about it. This isn't the first time we've had a problem, you know, and I don't exactly think we're the only ones in the neighborhood who've been having problems." I thought of Earl, whose windows were often fogged up with condensation. I'd been meaning to ask whether he'd launched a complaint of his own. "My neighbor across the street, for example, all his windows, they've got moisture or something trapped between the panes, you can't see through them, and -"
"I don't have to listen to this. By your own admission, you've acknowledged that your teenagers are running that shower virtually twenty-four hours a day, so it's no wonder some water may have spilled over the sill and that's why you're having the problem you've described."
"By my own admission? I never said that. You just said that. What's the deal here?"
Greenway's cheeks were starting to get red, and a vein in his forehead was swelling. He was raising a finger to me, about to say something else, when he saw someone over my shoulder coming through the front doors. Now the finger was moving away from me and pointing to the newcomer.
"You get the hell out of here!" Greenway said.
I whirled around to see who he was talking to. I recognized him instantly as Samuel Spender, still dressed in his jeans and hiking boots, but this time wearing a white cotton shirt. He glared angrily at Greenway.
"I know what you're up to, you son of a bitch," Spender said. "You think you can buy them off but you can't."
"Get out! Get the hell out!"
Stef, the receptionist, was on her feet. "Mr. Spender, I'm going to have to ask you to leave or we'll have to call the police."
"Go ahead and call them," Spender said. "I got lots to tell them."
"You have nothing but rumor and lies," Greenway spat at him. The vein on his forehead was a garden hose now, ready to blow. "You're out to ruin people's jobs, to end their livelihoods, to save a few fucking tadpoles, you fucking moron."
"It's salamanders, not tadpoles, you jackass, but you wouldn't give a shit either way, would you?"
Greenway started to lunge for Spender, and instinctively I stepped in to hold him back. He broke free of my grasp, which really didn't amount to much, but my brief interference seemed to have been enough to make him reconsider any sort of physical attack.
Spender hadn't stepped back when Greenway appeared ready to attack. He looked ready to fight if he had to, and if those hiking boots were any clue, he got a lot more exercise than Greenway and could probably clean his clock.
"You can't buy me," Spender said. "I'm not for sale." And then he left, kicking the trailer door wide open on his way out. Greenway stuck an index finger down between his neck and shirt collar, moved it around in a futile attempt to let in some air. He reached inside his jacket for a handkerchief and blotted his cheeks and forehead.
"You should sit down," Stef told him.
"Get me Carpington, and then Mr. Benedetto," he said, went back into his office, and closed his door. Stef got back in position behind her desk and picked up the receiver, then noticed I was still standing there.
"What about my shower?" I asked.
She looked at me for only a second, then started making calls for Greenway.
o o o back home, I plunked myself down in the computer chair, and sat, staring at the screen, for a full ten minutes, working up my nerve. Then I called Sarah.
"City. Sarah here."
"Hi. It's me."
It was like I'd placed a long-distance call to the North Pole. You could feel the chill coming through the line.
"What," Sarah said.
"I just wanted to say again that I'm sorry."
Nothing.
"Did I tell you about that guy who was going around the neighborhood with a petition?"
"What guy?"
"Okay, then I didn't. Some guy, his name's Spender, he's trying to keep Valley Forest from building homes near Willow Creek."
"Oh."
"Anyway, I ran into him when I was over at the sales office today."
"You told them about the mark on the kitchen ceiling?" Now, she was talking.
"Well, I brought it to their attention, anyway. They might need to be reminded again. They seem to have a lot on their minds over there. It's not that big a job. I might be able to do it myself."
"You're joking."