The Lodge sat on the corner of Seventh and Vine Streets, near downtown. On most days, residents gathered near the entrance, talking, smoking, and running after their children. That was where Crystal had been spending most of her time since the final days of February. On Crystal’s eviction court papers, Sherrena had checked the box next to “the LANDLORD desires the premises for the following reason(s),” writing in: “Causing substantial disturbances with upper and lower tenants (with police involvement). Also, unauthorized subleasing to an evicted tenant.” Crystal was confused by the whole process. Could Sherrena call Arleen “unauthorized” when she knew about their arrangement from the start? She packed her things into two clear garbage bags and left without going to court, wrongly assuming that doing so would keep her name clean.
Crystal hated the food at the Lodge, and some of the maintenance men propositioned the residents for sex, offering fresh sheets, snacks, or extra shampoo.1 But she liked her room. It was warm, clean, and free. Said Crystal, “I ain’t paying no five fifty and feel like I’m getting nothing.” Plus, she was on the hunt for a new friend, and the Lodge was a great place to find one. It collected under a single roof dozens of people who had found themselves in especially desperate situations, who were all “going through a thing,” as shelter residents put it.2
People were attracted to Crystal. She was gregarious and funny with an enduring habit of slapping her hands together and laughing at herself. She would saunter out the doors of the Lodge, singing gospel, her hands raised in praise. Crystal had some suitors, but what she wanted most of all from her new friends, and what she had wanted from Arleen, was a mother figure. She found one in Vanetta.
Vanetta Evans had been staying at the Lodge since January. At twenty, she was not much older than Crystal, but she’d grown up fast. Vanetta had her first child, Kendal Jr., when she was sixteen; then a daughter, Tembi, the next year; and a third the year after that: a boy named Bo-Bo. You might say Vanetta was raised in the Robert Taylor Homes, Chicago’s infamous public housing towers, or you might say that her mentally challenged mother, whom Vanetta and her siblings unaffectionately called Shortcake, raised her “in almost every homeless shelter in Illinois and Wisconsin.” Crystal liked the way Vanetta carried herself. She was always put-together, with her hair pulled back tight in a small ponytail. She even wore her cell phone on a belt holder, like a landlord. Vanetta’s dark-brown skin matched Crystal’s, and she had a smoky, lounge-singer voice that she almost never raised at her kids. She could snap them in line by giving them the Look. When Kendal Jr. acted up, Vanetta pretended to call Big Kendal, his father, on the phone. The boy knew she was faking but would calm down anyway. When Bo-Bo had seizures, she rushed him to the hospital.3
The two women began swapping cigarettes, each keeping mental note of the number of Newports given and received. Soon they upped the ante, taking incremental but expedited steps toward establishing a relationship of reciprocity. They exchanged snacks, then small bills, then meals purchased at fast-food restaurants. Through passing references, they began learning about the other’s resources—Vanetta received $673 a month from welfare and $380 in food stamps—as well as their character and temperament. Crystal and Vanetta began calling each other “sister.”4 After a week, they decided to look for housing together. Roommates inside the homeless shelter would become roommates outside of it.
Crystal didn’t think she needed to worry about Vanetta’s upcoming sentencing hearing. “Prayer is a powerful thing,” she said. Vanetta thought her chances of avoiding prison were decent even without Jesus. It was her first offense.
The trouble had started when Old Country Buffet slashed Vanetta’s hours. Instead of working five days a week, she would now only work one. Her manager blamed the recession. After that, Vanetta couldn’t pay her electricity bill. We Energies threatened disconnection unless she paid $705. There was no way she could pay that and the rent. But she worried that Child Protective Services would take her kids away if her lights and gas were shut off. The thought of losing her children made Vanetta sick to her stomach. Then she fell behind in rent and received an eviction notice. She felt helpless and terrified. Her friend, who had also received the pink papers, felt the same way. One day with Vanetta’s boyfriend, the two women sat in a van and watched another pair of women walk into a Blockbuster carrying purses. Someone suggested robbing the women and splitting the money; then all of a sudden, that’s what they were doing. Vanetta’s boyfriend unloaded his gun and handed it to her friend. The friend ran from the van and pointed the pistol at the women. Vanetta followed, collecting their purses. The cops picked them up a few hours later.5
In her confession, Vanetta had said, “I was desperate to pay my bills, and I was nervous and scared and did not want to see my kids in the dark or out on the street.” When she turned eighteen, Vanetta had put her name on the list for public housing. Becoming a convicted felon meant that her chances of ever being approved were almost zero.6
At her plea hearing, the judge told Vanetta that she could be “subject to a fine of up to a hundred thousand dollars, forty years of imprisonment, or both.” Vanetta tried not to think about that. After her hearing, she was fired and then evicted, which was when she took her kids to the Lodge.
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Crystal and Vanetta agreed to look for an apartment exclusively on the Hispanic South Side. When they felt God smiling on them, they even looked in white neighborhoods. They refused to consider the North Side. “It would be nice to get away from these black motherfuckers,” Crystal said.7 They began making daily bus trips to the South Side and calling on rent signs. Even in the age of online apartment listing sites, the humble rent sign remained a visible and effective beacon, especially in minority neighborhoods. Only 15 percent of black renters looking for housing relied on the Internet. By not consulting print or online listings, Crystal and Vanetta constricted their options to what they could see with their own eyes, often from a foggy bus window.8
The new friends looked at a small two-bedroom unit but turned down an application when they learned the landlord didn’t allow smoking. They hung up when a landlord answered in Spanish. “You want six fifty for a two-bedroom? You outta your mind,” Crystal told one landlord. After calling a dozen apartments, Vanetta suggested they try Affordable Rentals. You wouldn’t know it from its tiny, storefront office on National Avenue, one of the South Side’s main motorways, but Affordable Rentals was a giant in Milwaukee’s low-income rental market. The company owned over three hundred rental units and managed almost five hundred more.9
“Don’t get ghetto in there,” Vanetta reminded Crystal as they walked toward the door.
Inside, they put down a deposit and the receptionist behind thick glass handed them a master key so they could inspect the units on their own. The places were small but clean, except for the one with diapers and tires in the backyard. The gem of the bunch was a two-bedroom apartment—with a tub—renting for $445. Vanetta wanted a tub so her kids could take baths. The women rushed back and filled out an application. A paper taped to the wall announced Affordable Rentals’ screening criteria:
WE REJECT APPLICANTS FOR THE FOLLOWING REASONS:
1. First time tenants without a cosigner
2. Any evictions within the last 3 years
3. Felony drug or violent crime conviction within the last 7 years
4. Misdemeanor drug or disorderly conduct crime charges within the last 3 years
5. Non-verifiable income or insufficient income
6. Non-verifiable rental history or any bad reference from a previous landlord
Crystal and Vanetta paid no mind to the sign. On their rental application, Vanetta listed her twin brother as a reference. Crystal listed her spiritual mom.