Evicted_ Poverty and Profit in the American City - Matthew Desmond Page 0,16

freckled white skin. Years ago, she had been gorgeous and liked to dress in a way that made boys lean out of their car windows. Larraine still cared about her appearance and would leave her eyeglasses at home because she thought they made her look “like a dead fish.” When she wanted to look nice, she put on jewelry she had acquired as a young woman, using safety pins to expand the necklace chains so they fit.

Smelling of sweat and vinegar, her brown hair in disarray, Larraine stepped into the office, wringing the yellow paper like a dishrag. After a brisk exchange, Tobin led Larraine outside and called after Susie.

“Susie? Susie!” Tobin yelled.

“What, Tobin?”

“Take her to the bank, will ya? She’s gonna get some money for the rent.”

“Come on,” Susie said, stepping briskly to her car.

When Susie returned with Larraine, Tobin was in the office, shuffling through papers. “How much?” he asked Susie.

“I have four hundred,” Larraine answered.

“I’m not calling off the eviction,” Tobin said, still looking at Susie. Larraine owed another $150 for that month.

Larraine just stood there.

Tobin turned to Larraine. “When can you get me the other one fifty?”

“Tonight, okay—”

Tobin cut her off: “Okay. You give it to Susie or Lenny.”

Larraine didn’t have it. She had used $150 of her rent money to pay a defaulted utility bill with the hope of having her gas turned back on. She wanted to take a hot shower, scrub away the smell. She wanted to feel clean, maybe even something closer to pretty, like she used to feel when she danced on tables for men, back when her daughters were babies. She wanted the water to soothe the pain of her fibromyalgia, which she likened to “a million knives” going up her back. She had prescriptions for Lyrica and Celebrex but didn’t always have enough for the copay. Hot water would help. But $150 wasn’t enough. We Energies accepted her money but didn’t turn on her gas. Larraine felt stupid for paying.

Susie made out a receipt on a piece of scrap paper and stapled it to Larraine’s eviction notice. “You should go ask your sister for the rest,” she suggested, picking up the fax machine’s phone and dialing a number she knew by heart. “Yes. Hello? I need to stop an eviction at College Mobile Home Park,” Susie said to the Sheriff’s Office. “For Larraine Jenkins in W46. She took care of her rent.” Office Susie had canceled the sheriff deputies, but Tobin could reactivate them if Larraine didn’t come up with the rest of what she owed.

Larraine sulked back to her trailer. It was so hot inside that she thought lukewarm water might run in the shower. She didn’t turn on the fan; fans made her dizzy. She didn’t open a window. She just sat on the couch. She called a few local agencies. After several unsuccessful tries, she said blankly to the floor, “I can’t think of anything else.” Larraine lay down on the couch, tried to ignore the heat, and slept.

4.

A BEAUTIFUL COLLECTION

The day the Common Council was to decide the fate of the trailer park, Tobin Charney, dressed in a polo shirt, tan slacks, and brown loafers, sat in the middle of a front-row bench next to his wife and lawyer. Large pink marble columns stretched up toward a beamed ceiling with an intricate maroon-and-yellow pattern. A large oak desk rested in the front of the room, facing fifteen smaller oak desks assigned to each alderperson and spaced several feet apart. The night before, the lawyer had submitted an addendum to the council. It came in too late for most alders to read, so the lawyer stood and cleared his throat. The addendum, he informed the room, included ten steps Tobin would take in the immediate and near future. He would enroll in a daylong landlord training class offered by the city, hire a twenty-four-hour security service and an independent management company, evict nuisance tenants, and address the property-code violations. He would not retaliate against tenants who spoke out against him. And he would sell the trailer park within a year.

“The people in this park are vulnerable: elderly, disabled, children,” the lawyer concluded, noting that Tobin had “worked diligently” with Alderman Witkowski to “draw up the terms of the agreement.”

The Common Council was not happy with this midnight deal, and they argued with one another as sunlight beamed through the chamber’s stained-glass windows. One alderman called it a “gentleman’s agreement.” Another asked if all citizens, when called

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