on his way to becoming a billionaire. There didn’t seem to be any signs of his success in the apartment. She looked at him sleeping and couldn’t detect any mega-rich glow emanating from his body. Not that there would be, she thought, if by some chance he became wealthy. She had observed well-to-do people, people born into mounds of money or lucky in their career, and most of the time she thought average working-class people made a better impression than they did. Since she didn’t know how to become a billionaire, she thought it might be worthwhile to read the book, although she wasn’t interested in adopting any new precepts for herself. Maybe in the future she could quiz Bill about his money-making progress.
With the book, she went to the couch and sat down. To her alarm, she sank further toward the floor than she expected; she wondered how difficult it was going to be to stand up again. Why would anyone keep such a worn-out piece of cheap furniture, she asked herself. Especially a want-to-be billionaire, she thought, remembering the book. She laughed again. Soon she was paging through the book, reading as well as she could amidst Bill’s thunderous, rhythmic snoring, which was like the crashing of the surf on a rocky beach.
After a few chapters, she grew tired of the simplistic rules and clichés of the book and threw it aside. “No one’s going to become rich reading that,” she said aloud. “The only person who’s going to benefit from that book is the author.”
For a while, she watched Bill sleep. There was a pained look on his face and in his posture from the accident, but she thought there was also a stillness, a greater appearance of relaxation than she had ever seen in him before. Perhaps, it was the effect of the codeine that he had taken. Perhaps, it was due to her presence. She preferred to think that the second explanation was the more accurate one. When she had seen him around other women or in one of his relationships that he told everyone about, bragging like a teenager, he always seemed to be acting a part. He never seemed emotionally involved with the woman. Most of the time, it appeared he was trying to manipulate those women into liking him, without truly liking them in return. He should feel more relaxed around me, Helen thought, because he’s certainly not trying to impress me. In fact, he doesn’t do anything for me at all, unless giving me a faded bouquet counts.
Such a realization would prompt most people to do nothing for someone whom they thought was doing nothing for them, but Helen was magnanimous by nature. She didn’t want a man treating her like a relative of the queen of England, putting on an elaborate show to please her. She wasn’t insecure or self-centered, a fussy orchid that would expire without the perfect, coddling climate. She was more like an oak tree, sturdy and strong. She wanted to be appreciated for who she was and what she did. Since she was tired of sitting around being useless, she decided to wash the dirty dishes in Bill’s apartment. She simply had to do something, while she was there.
That decision of small importance precipitated a sequence of related actions, and soon she was involved in a full-scale reorganization and cleaning of the apartment. While collecting the dirty dishes scattered around the studio, she discovered that the refrigerator contained spoiled food. Without much hesitation—who else was going to do this, she thought—she removed everything from the refrigerator and freezer. Then she cleaned the appliance’s inside surfaces, which probably had not been done for twenty years, and put back in only what was fresh. The kitchen cabinets received a similar treatment. All edibles for which the expiration date had passed were tossed out, and all dining and cooking wares were sorted and stored in an orderly fashion. The countertop, backsplash, and floor were thoroughly scoured and mopped. The kitchen was a vastly different place when she was done. Twenty years of use had been wiped clean.
Surveying the rest of the apartment, Helen perceived a greater domain of dirt and disorganization than the kitchen had been. A weaker person would have picked up the bible, lowered herself or himself onto the couch and read, especially Psalms and its lamentations, until Bill awoke. Helen, however, took a deep breath and started to work. She could not sit and be idle,