That I Would Be Good

Chapter Nineteen

“I'm not saying it's going to be easy. Nothing in life is easy. But that's no reason to give up. You'll be surprised what you can accomplish if you set your mind to it.  After all, you only have one life, so you should try to make the most of it.” ― Louis Sachar, Holes

      I sat on the couch, my feet curled under me sipping a cup of raspberry tea.  The sound of Dolores clicking away at her typewriter filled the apartment.  She hadn’t left the typewriter all night, not even for her usual three hour nap between four a.m. and seven a.m.

     Usually this would have worried me, but not now.  She was working urgently before her brain gave out.  She was already complaining about migraines, shortly those migraines would turn so bad she’d have to lie down for hours and be heavily medicated. 

      Setting my cup of tea down and holding one of the army-green couch pillows to my chest, I closed my eyes.  What was I going to do when Dolores didn’t need me anymore.  No one was going to hire me for the same pay that she was paying me.  I was positive about this because I didn’t have a stupid college degree.  A stupid little piece of paper that said I knew how to do something.

    

      Some time must have passed, because the next thing I knew, I was being shaken roughly by the shoulder.  I grumbled something under my breath and slowly opened my eyes.  Dolores was standing over me, her usual grumpy look pasted on her face.  I shot her a glare, sleepily and rolled over so I was lying on my stomach.

     “Get up you, dope.”  She nudged me again.

      “I am up.  I’m checking my eyelids for cracks,” I mumbled back to her over the pillow my face was buried in.  Whatever she wanted could wait a little bit.  I was tired and crabby and in no mood to run and do an outrageous errand she had planned.

      “I have a proposition for you, useless oaf.”  She snapped.  I perked my head up a bit, and opened one eye and looked at her.  She was now sitting in the lazy-boy across from the couch.

      “Does it involve longer hours of sleeping?”

      “No.  Do you want to hear it or not?  This will benefit us both.”  She folded her arms across her chest, and pursed her lips impatiently.

     Sitting up, I rubbed my face, quickly clearing my head.  Blinking a few times I focused my sight on her.  “What’s the proposition, old hag?”

     “You want to be an author?” she asked all business.

      Squinting at her I tried to decide if she was being serious or not.  She never showed any interest in anyone else writing but herself. 

      “Sure?” I answered uncertainly.  There was no safe answer for this question so might as well answer with a question.

      “I’ll help you become as good an author as myself.”  She leaned forward in her chair, and I leaned forward from my position on the couch. 

     “And how are we going to do that?”  I asked, not taking her offer very seriously.  I did my best to hide the smirk from my face, but Dolores saw it.

      “This is a serious offer, Elodey,” she said coldly. “Are you going to take it seriously, or should I just assume your employment here is done with when my book is published?”

      Losing the smirk I looked at her for a few moments, considering the offer she was giving me.  “Would I be employing you then?” I asked.

     Dolores broke into a fit of laughter.  It sounded more like cackling, but this was the first time I’d ever heard her laugh so I wasn’t about to judge.  “Of course not.  You couldn’t afford the price I’d charge.  Look at it this way.  We’re doing a trade.”