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Apartment Hunting
Dec. 20th, 2006 05:41 amKnox remembered the first time he looked for an apartment. It took three days, and it required a lot of walking, and a deposit, and a very quick reference check. That was in 1976. And Knox hasn't moved from his studio in all the years since.
It's not that simple this time. He takes the Gotham Express to Bristol, and then finds himself jumping through hoops just to see the co-ops. Appointments with busy realtors, peeks inside other people's home, and endless chitchat. The process will soon require credit checks, board approval, references that are more authoritative than his friends and his parents. He'll need a lawyer.
Owning property. The American Dream in action. He wants to make fun of it, or himself. Declare this a thing for someone else, anyone else. But this isn't something like buying a trendy wine or hopping on the bandwagon for a winning team. This is something that his mother's side of the family could only imagine. Even now, his parents still rent. Having something you own? That's why you come to America.
But maybe life would have been easier if Rachel just gave him the keys to a masnion instead of money. Still, hard work never killed anyone. (This is of course untrue, especially in a business where heart attacks are almost as common as lung cancer.)
Walking from Appointment #5 to Appointment #6, he looks at Bristol along the way. Yeah, it's a suburb. But here, at the edge of the city, it's mainly co-ops and condos and rental apartments. The houses and the mansions of old money Bristol are miles to the north. Here it's more like what Gotham could have been, if anyone ever bothered to zone and plan Gotham.
He hated the idea of leaving the city, even if he were minutes from the border, and just a commuter rail trip to his office. Hated the thought of being in the suburbs. It was so...1950s? Baby boomer? Yuppie? No. It was worse. It was something you did in 1975, when the city went broke and never came back, and when the only hope of making it was to leave. He truly felt like he was abandoning his city. Was that part of why he felt the need to get that column? To prove he wasn't leaving? Or, if he was the Seeker of Truth, was this an accpetance of the truth about Gotham. The truth being that it really was that bad.
He started hoping that if he got a column, he would be able to start after the end of Mayor Borg's run. Because maybe Mayor Borg, honest and framed though he may be, was the reason Gotham wasn't getting any better.
Appointment #6 came as the sun set and revealed actual streetlights that lit. This shouldn't have impressed him, Knox thought. And yet...
He entered the Burton Arms, the newest of the buildings he'd seen, and toured one last 2-bedroom. This time, the guide was from the building itself, and the apartment was completely empty. "Where's the furniture," he asked the middle-aged tour guide.
"This apartment just went co-op six months ago. The tenants are no longer here."
"So how do I find out what it looks like with furniture?" A reasonable question, but also a little rude.
"Use your imagination." Fact was, all the furniture he owned would fill the master bedroom. He needed to stretch his imagination for this.
He also noticed that the place had been painted, and there was new carpeting. That was a bonus. The last time a paintbrush had visited the inside of his studio was during the '78 newspaper strike, when he and Pete Hobson did a half-ass job when not on picket duty. And he's never had a real carpet in his life. By the time he left the apartment, he was half-convinced.
The tour guide locked up and then rushed back downstairs to take care of something before closing time. And Knox was left to leave on his own. No big deal. Unless the nine year old barreling down the hall didn't stop!
"Whoa, kiddo, what's the rush?" Knox stepped aside, but the kid stopped in time to avoid hitting the elevator door.
"Sorry, mister." The boy, dark-haired and a little lanky, looked just a little embarrassed.
"Tim, didn't we tell you no playing in the halls?" A man around Knox's age, clearly Tim's father came out of an apartment at the other end of the floor, wearing a fine suit.
"Sorry, dad." Tim dashed back. Knox smiled, a little amused by the exuberance of youth. Was that what Jack Manackle would be like in ten years?
"Sorry about Tim. He thinks he's Batman. Or a Flying Grayson. Depends on what day is it."
"Hey, it's okay. Some days I think I'm Batman." Knox gets into the elevator, and heads down into the night.
Was he ready for Bristol? Probably not. But then, was it ready for Alexander Knox?
It's not that simple this time. He takes the Gotham Express to Bristol, and then finds himself jumping through hoops just to see the co-ops. Appointments with busy realtors, peeks inside other people's home, and endless chitchat. The process will soon require credit checks, board approval, references that are more authoritative than his friends and his parents. He'll need a lawyer.
Owning property. The American Dream in action. He wants to make fun of it, or himself. Declare this a thing for someone else, anyone else. But this isn't something like buying a trendy wine or hopping on the bandwagon for a winning team. This is something that his mother's side of the family could only imagine. Even now, his parents still rent. Having something you own? That's why you come to America.
But maybe life would have been easier if Rachel just gave him the keys to a masnion instead of money. Still, hard work never killed anyone. (This is of course untrue, especially in a business where heart attacks are almost as common as lung cancer.)
Walking from Appointment #5 to Appointment #6, he looks at Bristol along the way. Yeah, it's a suburb. But here, at the edge of the city, it's mainly co-ops and condos and rental apartments. The houses and the mansions of old money Bristol are miles to the north. Here it's more like what Gotham could have been, if anyone ever bothered to zone and plan Gotham.
He hated the idea of leaving the city, even if he were minutes from the border, and just a commuter rail trip to his office. Hated the thought of being in the suburbs. It was so...1950s? Baby boomer? Yuppie? No. It was worse. It was something you did in 1975, when the city went broke and never came back, and when the only hope of making it was to leave. He truly felt like he was abandoning his city. Was that part of why he felt the need to get that column? To prove he wasn't leaving? Or, if he was the Seeker of Truth, was this an accpetance of the truth about Gotham. The truth being that it really was that bad.
He started hoping that if he got a column, he would be able to start after the end of Mayor Borg's run. Because maybe Mayor Borg, honest and framed though he may be, was the reason Gotham wasn't getting any better.
Appointment #6 came as the sun set and revealed actual streetlights that lit. This shouldn't have impressed him, Knox thought. And yet...
He entered the Burton Arms, the newest of the buildings he'd seen, and toured one last 2-bedroom. This time, the guide was from the building itself, and the apartment was completely empty. "Where's the furniture," he asked the middle-aged tour guide.
"This apartment just went co-op six months ago. The tenants are no longer here."
"So how do I find out what it looks like with furniture?" A reasonable question, but also a little rude.
"Use your imagination." Fact was, all the furniture he owned would fill the master bedroom. He needed to stretch his imagination for this.
He also noticed that the place had been painted, and there was new carpeting. That was a bonus. The last time a paintbrush had visited the inside of his studio was during the '78 newspaper strike, when he and Pete Hobson did a half-ass job when not on picket duty. And he's never had a real carpet in his life. By the time he left the apartment, he was half-convinced.
The tour guide locked up and then rushed back downstairs to take care of something before closing time. And Knox was left to leave on his own. No big deal. Unless the nine year old barreling down the hall didn't stop!
"Whoa, kiddo, what's the rush?" Knox stepped aside, but the kid stopped in time to avoid hitting the elevator door.
"Sorry, mister." The boy, dark-haired and a little lanky, looked just a little embarrassed.
"Tim, didn't we tell you no playing in the halls?" A man around Knox's age, clearly Tim's father came out of an apartment at the other end of the floor, wearing a fine suit.
"Sorry, dad." Tim dashed back. Knox smiled, a little amused by the exuberance of youth. Was that what Jack Manackle would be like in ten years?
"Sorry about Tim. He thinks he's Batman. Or a Flying Grayson. Depends on what day is it."
"Hey, it's okay. Some days I think I'm Batman." Knox gets into the elevator, and heads down into the night.
Was he ready for Bristol? Probably not. But then, was it ready for Alexander Knox?
