That I Would Be Good

Chapter Eighteen

      Dolores never smoked.  I’d never seen her pick up a cigarette before. Where did she get the cigarettes?  She hadn’t left her apartment for the nine and a half months I’d been working for her. 

      “What’s with the cigarettes?” I asked, wheezing a bit.  Since I quit smoking over a year ago, the thought of smoking repulsed me. 

      “I’m celebrating.”  She took the cigarette out from between her lips, blew smoke out through her nose, and then ground it into a plate that sat next to her.  At least ten other cigarettes sat next to it, ground out and used up.

      “What?” I was confused. 

      “I’m celebrating.  Good ol’ Berry called today and is terminating my writing contract with the publishing house.  He says I’m too old to keep doing this.  Ha!  Like I wanted to keep doing this shit anyways.”  She clicked angrily away at her typewriter.   

     I stared at her in shock.  Writing was all Dolores had, besides Stewie.  This is what kept her alive and young.  Berry knew this.

      “But what about your upcoming book the one Harold is editing?”  I said desperately.  If Dolores lost her writing contract, there was no doubt another publishing house would pick her up, but if they would deal with her on a personal level was another thing.

     “That’s my last novel.”  She gave a lazy shrug and kept clicking away not breaking speed.  “They said they have someone else they want to be the leading lady of mystery for their publishing house.  I said fine, and they told me it was great working with me and I said “go to hell.”  Everything worked out great.” 

      I bit the inside of my lip and walked over to her desk taking away the  plate filled with ashes and butts.  Then I left the room to leave her to her own vices.

      Dolores was hurt.  Writing was her world, and it had just been crushed.  Everything she’d been doing her entire life was gone.  Even though she wasn’t voicing this I knew.  I hadn’t lost my world yet, because I hadn’t even found mine. 

       After dumping the used cigarettes and ashes into the trash, I grabbed the phone that was on the kitchen counter, and walked into the bathroom locking myself in there.  I didn’t want Dolores to overhear my conversation.  She would murder me if she did; and there was no joke there. 

      Dialing a number I knew by heart, I waited impatiently, sitting on the bathroom counter and tapping my fingers worriedly against my leg.  On the fourth ring someone picked up on the other end of the line.

      “Harold Cadberry speaking.”

       “Harold, why are you terminating Dolores’s contract?” I shot, trying to keep the anger and confusion out of my voice.  No use getting any emotion into this, it will only make me seem immature and annoying. 

      “Hi Elodey,” he said, patiently.  He didn’t sound unfriendly, but he definitely wasn’t happy with me calling him about this topic.

      “Harold, skip the introduction.  Just answer the question,” I said desperately.  I was still trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, but was failing miserably.  I took a deep breath trying to get my emotions back in check.  If Dolores lost her writing contract, I’d lose my job.  That’s what I kept telling myself.  That’s why I was so desperate to change things around for her. 

      Sure I couldn’t stand Dolores, and I argued with her more than I actually talked with her.  But maybe deep down I cared a little bit about her.  She was my boss and I did live with her for almost a year.  You do establish some type of relationship if you live with someone.  She also wasn’t bad to me.  She gave me a lot of free reign and a lot of money for such a stupid job that a monkey could do it.  All in in all Dolores wasn’t bad.  Just demanding.