Evicted_ Poverty and Profit in the American City - Matthew Desmond Page 0,114

movie theater, and a putting green with artificial turf.

Scott’s apartment was on the tenth floor. It had clean, wheat-colored carpet, unblemished white walls, mini blinds over person-length windows, a generous bathroom, and a working stove and refrigerator. The Guest House furnished the apartment with a dark brown love seat and matching couch, a few lamps Scott preserved by leaving the plastic wrapping on the shades, and a full-size bed that Scott hardly used—falling asleep on the couch had become a habit. There was even a stacked washer and dryer. It felt too good to be true. At first, Scott half-believed that the Guest House would call and say they had made a mistake. The apartment rented for $775 a month; Scott only paid $141.

It took a good month before Scott was able to accept the apartment as his own. Once he did, he acquired a bathroom rug, a navy-blue coverlet, hand soap, scented candles, throw pillows, mouthwash, dishes, and a welcome mat on which to place his shoes. The apartment made Scott feel affirmed, deserving of something better. It motivated him. One day, Scott used a magnet from the Society of St. Vincent de Paul to stick a note on his refrigerator. It read:

5 YEAR PLAN

Back to nursing

Make a lot more money

Live as cheaply as possible

Start a savings account

Two years and three months after losing his license, Scott was finally able to start scrimping for the lab tests he would need to become a nurse again. He even started collecting loose change for this purpose, keeping the coins in a kitchen jar.

In the trailer park, Scott had felt stuck. “I just didn’t know how to fix anything,” he remembered. “It felt like the end of the earth down there, like none of the rest of the city existed.” During that time, Scott often thought about killing himself. He’d have done it with a monster hit of heroin; but he never could find enough money. Scott’s new place was such a stark contrast to his trailer and everything it represented that he began to think back on his time in the park as “one big camping trip,” removed from civilization. Sometimes, when he remembered those days and all he had lost, he would leave his apartment and wind his way through the Majestic’s narrow, dimly lit hallways and come to a door. He’d open it and emerge in the middle of the Grand Avenue mall, as if stepping through a secret passageway. Walking the mall’s floors, Scott would take in the lights, music, food smells, and people and remember how he used to feel, years ago, when the city was still full of wonder and promise.

24.

CAN’T WIN FOR LOSING

When Arleen dialed the number, she gave Jori her “here we go” look. A landlord, Number 90, had left her a voice mail, saying to give him a call. The message was from the landlord’s son, actually, who had been the one to show Arleen the unit. He was in his early twenties with a backwards cap and a braided ponytail. “Call me Pana,” he had said. Arleen remembered living in his father’s building in 2003, in a two-bedroom unit that back then rented for $535. Now that same unit went for $625. So when Arleen applied this time, it was for a $525 one-bedroom unit. What a difference six years could make.

The phone rang, and Arleen thought about what she had told Pana. She had lied about her income, saying she received $250 a month in child support, but had been straight about her evictions. Mainly, she had begged him. She told him she’d take the unit before looking at it. She didn’t much consider the neighborhood or the condition of the place. “Whatever I get is whatever I get,” she figured. She had said, “I’m in a shelter. Please.”

Pana answered. “Yeah, so, we checked you out. Everything was what you said it was. So, we gonna work with you.”

Arleen jumped up and let out a muffled “Yes!”

“But you know, there is no room for error here.”

“I know.”

“You’re on a fixed income. So you need to pay your rent and not get into trouble.”

Arleen thanked Pana. Getting off the phone, she thanked Jesus. She smiled. When she smiled she looked like a different person. The press had loosened its grip. From landlords, she had heard eighty-nine nos but one yes.

Jori accepted his mother’s high five. He and his brother would have to switch schools. Jori didn’t care. He switched schools all the

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