The Shoemaker's Magician by Cynthia Pelayo

Author:Cynthia Pelayo [Pelayo,Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Polis Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Saturday afternoon: Luis

“It’s asbestos,” the contractor says as he peels back the old beige laminate tile that was installed decades before. It is cheap material, and I remember when I bought this building what struck me was the beige kitchen floor laminate, how it was raised in the center of the room and how it started curling in on itself along the edges. The woman who lived in this apartment for over forty years mopped this floor daily, until the day she died and the realtor found her dead beside the stove. She kicked over the mop bucket as she fell, the water spilling all over the floor, settling into the laminate tile, and her, for days until she was finally found—still with that mop in hand. They had to peel her corpse off the floor, I was told.

Down the hallway I can hear hammering as new drywall is being installed in the bedroom. Two new men are entering, carrying a large sheet of drywall, maneuvering it through the corners of the door.

I look at the hardwood floor in the living room. Rolls of plastic sheeting are stacked in one corner, and paint brushes and trays in another. A drill lays nearby. There was lots of movement today, and there would be for the next few days. We needed to patch up any cracks in the walls, paint, refinish the hardwood floors, install new kitchen cabinets, and rip out this floor. At least the bathroom had already been remodeled last week.

“Rip it out,” I say. Asbestos meant tenant complaints to the city, fire hazards, and fines. I didn’t want to deal with any of that.

I was already mentally calculating the additional cost for this rehab. A four-unit building on Wrightwood Avenue in Logan Square could demand a premium. Walking distance to the Blue Line, the farmer’s market on Sundays, used bookstore, new bookstore, and however many coffee shops. There was a coffee shop for the after morning drop off mom crowd. There was a coffee shop for the crowd that liked to work remotely. There was a coffee shop where the artists sipped bottomless cups of coffee and would look down their thrift-shop shopping noses at anyone who looked like they played in the consumerism backyard, Canada Goose coat, Apple watch, a Gucci bag, the air of someone having just paid off their BMW, mortgage, student loans, or worse, the look of someone who lived in Lincoln Park.

That’s one thing about Chicago, Chicagoans are pretty good at spotting when one person from another neighborhood crosses into theirs. It’s like one gang moving into another gang’s territory. Sure, you could do it, but be ready for the consequences.

“This is going to add more days to the job,” the contractor says as he tears off a soggy piece of laminate. I wonder if that was one of the pieces the lady died on, but I don’t say anything.

Most of my contractors are hired by day, or by project. When I

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