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Kisses Sweeter Than Wine - Chapter One
by Evilida
Part One
Incident at a Finnish Movie
James Wilson blinked when the movie theatre's lights came on. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he managed to hold them back. Although he had in his capacity as an oncologist delivered the worst possible news with a practised professional composure, clear-eyed and without a tremor, the imaginary people who inhabited the movie screen had a way of slipping past all his emotional defences. Maybe that was why he loved the movies so much.
This afternoon's film was part of a Scandinavian film festival, and the audience surrounding him was composed mainly of university students. The movie's director, a bearded Finn in his twenties, rose to accept the audience's applause and to address questions. Most of the questions dealt with technical matters which held no interest for Wilson - filters and film stock and focal lengths - and he paid little attention. Wilson hadn't quite made the transition back into the real world; his thoughts kept returning to the fragile beauty of the movie's heroine and the cruelty of her faithless lover.
The director took one last question from the audience, pointing to a tall, immaculately-dressed woman in the fourth row. She stood to address him, and Wilson recognized his ex-wife, Julie. Julie's auburn hair, long and flowing when Wilson first met her, was now cropped in an efficient bob. Then, she had had the appearance of a Renaissance Madonna filled with compassionate sorrow for the sins of the world. Wilson had been unable to resist her air of sweet melancholy, had longed to bring a smile to her down-turned lips.
Of course, Wilson now knew, he'd misread her entirely. He'd seen what he wanted to see. That depth of soul was only ordinary discontentment with her lot in life. Julie wanted the life she read about in books and saw on movies and television, but reality always fell short of the perfection she envisioned. Wilson fell short, too. She complained that he wasn't ambitious or forceful enough and that his very respectable salary as Head of the Oncology Department was still not enough to pay for entry into the social circle where she properly belonged.
Since their divorce, she'd married a wealthy property developer, who could presumably afford to give her the life he wanted. He wasn't in the audience though. Julie, like Wilson himself, had come to the theatre alone.
Julie's question was sharp and perceptive and the director became quite animated in his reply. Julie responded, and the two became involved in a discussion, ignoring the presence of the rest of the audience. The director seemed to be quite taken by Julie, despite the fact that she was at least a decade older than he was. Wilson had almost forgotten Julie's quick intelligence. His memories of her had been coloured by his feelings of betrayal and anger. He realized that he hadn't been fair to her.
The question and answer session was over and the audience poured out into the streets. Wilson stood next to the wall in the lobby, letting the crowd disperse, waiting for Julie to appear. He thought he had wronged her somehow, if only in his own mind, and he owed her a few polite words.
Julie spotted her ex-husband waiting for her across the lobby and advanced towards him with regal hauteur. She had forgiven Wilson a long time ago for not being the knight in shining armour she had thought he was, but she had no intention of letting Wilson know that. Her new husband had provided her with the social status and material possessions she craved, but ruthless ambition is not quite as attractive a quality in day to day life as it is in romantic fiction. Life with Carl Bensonhurst had given her a new appreciation of Wilson's gentler qualities. She inclined her head slightly, allowing Wilson, who was an inch or two shorter than she was in her high heels, to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
"Hello, Julie," he said. "I was very impressed by your comments back there. Your insights were quite...insightful."
"Thank you," Julie said. "Not a bad film I thought, but rather manipulative. I do hate it when films try to toy with the audience's feelings so obviously."
She spotted the bearded director across the lobby, where he was showing a great deal of attention to a young female admirer in a low-cut blouse. The admirer, obviously an undergraduate, was giggling and blushing in a very immature and unbecoming way, but the director didn't seem to mind. Julie drew closer to her ex-husband and put her hand on his arm.
"Let's go for a coffee and talk a bit. I always think that the best part of a film is discussing it with someone afterwards," Julie said. "Unfortunately, my husband Carl doesn't share our interest in cinema. He falls asleep as soon as the lights dim. "
"I saw your wedding announcement in the newspaper," Wilson said. "I thought of sending you a card or a note, but I wasn't sure under the circumstances what would be appropriate etiquette."
Julie waved her arm airily, dismissing etiquette, as if such concerns had never mattered to her. Wilson knew that Julie was, in fact, obsessed with what she called `proper standards of behaviour' and `the right way of doing things', but he nodded agreeably.
"Yes," she said. "My husband is Carl Bensonhurst. Have you heard of him? He's in real estate."
"So it said in the newspaper."
"And you've married again as well. Is it number four, or have I missed one? Lisa Cuddy, I remember her well. A formidable woman, very dedicated to her work. An unmarried mother, too. You've taken on a lot. It's admirable of you."
"Lisa's wonderful and so is her daughter Emily," Wilson said in a rather strained voice. Julie was making it difficult for him to be polite.
"I have no doubt," Julie said coldly.
She watched the director and the undergraduate walk out of the theatre together. The Finn could not keep his eyes off the young woman's cleavage. Julie's haughty facade suddenly cracked.
"Please ignore me. I'm being catty and I can't help myself. I'm just a miserable woman who can't stand to see other people enjoying life. Oh, James, I'm so unhappy!"
She started to cry and Wilson reached in his pockets to find her a tissue.
All signs of Julie's emotional outburst had been carefully concealed by the time the waitress returned with two cups of coffee. Julie picked up her cup, took one sip of the bitter liquid and put the cup aside. Wilson, she knew, would drink anything, even the dishwater they served they served at the hospital, but she had standards.
"I never expected fidelity from Carl," Julie said. "Men in his position live by different rules. They all have their little affairs and their mistresses, but it doesn't mean anything. She's just so young though. Nineteen! She's younger than Carl's daughter!"
Wilson nodded sympathetically. A nineteen year old mistress. How could Carl keep up? He imagined a jaded sophisticate and an excited teenage girl jetting to London or Paris for romantic assignations. She wouldn't care that he was married; the poor naive girl would be overwhelmed by his glamour. Wilson's romantic imagination rather outstripped reality. Carl Bensonhurst was a millionaire of the penny-pinching kind, and he visited his girlfriend in her tiny dorm room at Princeton. His mistress was equally hard-headed and practical and used his `gifts' to help pay for her tuition.
"I should be happy," Julie said. "I'm living the life I've always wanted. Why aren't I happy? Was I happy with you?"
"No," Wilson said. "You weren't happy and neither was I."
"Are you happy now?" Julie asked.
Wilson hated direct personal questions. He always tried to deflect her attention away from himself. This was one of the things that had frustrated her during their marriage. She had no doubt that Wilson felt things deeply, but he refused to communicate his feelings. Julie could tell Wilson was trying to think of a clever way to avoid answering her. Impulsively, she reached across the table and touched his hand. Wilson looked up and Julie smiled at him, letting him know that she wasn't going to force him to talk if he didn't want to. He smiled back, and Julie almost gasped.
Confused by her own reaction, she dropped her eyes and took another sip of the vile coffee. She decided to change the subject.
"There's another movie in the festival series next Saturday afternoon that I really want to see. It's Norwegian. The director's been compared to Hitchcock. "
She had his attention. Wilson was a devout disciple of the British director.
"Really, what's it called?"
"Nine Angel Street. It's about a love affair that leads to murder. I've got the festival program in my purse somewhere."
She pulled out the program, found the listing, and handed it to him.
"I know how much you love Hitchcock. We should see it together so we can discuss it after. Bring Lisa along. I'd love to meet her again."
"Lisa doesn't like subtitled movies. She's says reading the subtitles gives her a headache. Besides she likes to spend Saturday afternoons with Emily. It's sort of their tradition. They're seeing Disney Princesses on Ice today. I'm not sure what they've got planned for next Saturday."
"Well," said Julie. "I'm definitely going to see it. It only has one showing and I'm not going to miss it. If you decide to go, I'll see you there."
Wilson nodded and passed her the program back.
"Keep it," Julie said. "I've already got the date and time written in my day timer. This coffee really is horrible. I'm not going to finish it. I've got to get going. God forbid Carl's dinner should ever be late. I'll see you next week if you decide to see the movie. If not, I'm sure we'll meet again at a hospital fundraiser or something. Carl and I go to all the charity events; it's good social networking and he gets tax deductions."
Wilson stood up and kissed her on the cheek again. He was smiling at her again, and her heart was beating faster. She hoped she wasn't blushing. How dare he still have this effect on her!
After Julie left, Wilson called the waitress back and ordered a piece of pie and a refill. He was aware of Julie's affectations, and her tendency to over-dramatize the events of her life. Still, she had seemed genuinely upset. Wilson hated to see her in distress. He wished there was something he could do to make her happy.
When Lisa and Emily returned from Disney Princesses on Ice, Wilson was watching the last few minutes of a football game. His feet were on the coffee table and a cold beer was his hand. Emily's cat, Munchausen, was sleeping on Wilson's lap so he couldn't get up to greet his wife and stepdaughter. Lisa leaned over to kiss his forehead, and he smiled up at her. Emily grabbed Munchausen and took the protesting cat back to her bedroom.
"Did you make dinner?"
"No," Wilson replied. "I've had a lazy afternoon. Saw a movie instead of doing anything remotely productive. Want me to order a pizza?"
"I'm not hungry. Emily and I had hot dogs. I was feeling quite guilty, thinking that you made dinner, and then I spoiled our appetites eating stadium hot dogs."
"I guess my laziness worked out for the best then."
"This time," said Lisa. "Who's winning?"
"I'm not sure. The ones in purple, I think. "
Lisa laughed and settled next to her husband on the couch.
Part Two
Mornings
Wilson woke early Sunday morning. Gently he eased out of bed. Lisa, whose delicate ladylike snores were the only sound in the house, did not stir. It was seven o'clock, really too early to be up on a Sunday morning, but he was already fully awake and knew he would not get back to sleep. The early morning light shining through sheer curtains was enough for him to grab an armful of clothes. He went to the main bathroom rather than the smaller one attached to the bedroom so that the sounds of the toilet and the shower would not waken Lisa.
He stepped out of the bathroom, damp haired and dressed in his weekend clothes - sweatshirt and jeans. Emily, Lisa's daughter, was waiting in the hallway. Her puffy, sleep-smudged face stared up at him.
"Good morning, Emily," he said in a whisper. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry. Do you want to go back to bed?"
Emily shook her head.
"Want some breakfast then? Do you want pancakes?"
"Cereal," Emily said.
Wilson should have known. Lisa and Emily were creatures of habit where breakfast was concerned. Everyday Emily had orange juice in her blue plastic cup and Cheerios in her red bowl. Lisa had a container of yogurt and a big cup of coffee. If she was exceptionally hungry, Lisa might manage a slice of toast as well.
"We have to talk softly because your mommy's still sleeping," said Wilson, as Emily followed him to the kitchen.
Emily's breakfast took about thirty seconds to make. He decided on scrambled eggs for himself. Emily watched him crack and beat the eggs intently, as if she were memorizing his actions. When she grew up, she might want to eat scrambled eggs instead of cereal, and she wanted to be prepared.
Wilson sat down next to Emily with the scrambled eggs. Emily was a slow eater and easily distracted from her food. At the moment, she was distracted by Wilson's damp hair. He hadn't been able to blow-dry it, since that would wake Lisa, so it was messy. Emily liked it.
Wilson felt in a baking mood this morning, and would have made banana pancakes, if only there were someone else to eat them. He remembered waking up to the smell of banana pancakes when he was a boy. He decided to make banana bread instead. He could always bring some into work if Emily and Lisa didn't eat it. House would eat anything he made.
Lisa slept in past nine, a rare luxury for her. She woke to the smell of freshly baked banana bread and coffee, and wandered into the kitchen. Emily, dressed in her play clothes and with a tea towel tied around her waist as an apron, was watching her stepfather carefully remove the bread from the loaf pan.
"And then Cinderella scared the bad cat and he ran away and the mice came out and they were dancing and the littlest mouse was the best one! He had floppy ears and Mommy thought he was Dumbo. She's so silly! Dumbo's a lelephant!"
"Who are you calling silly?" Lisa asked in a pretend-angry voice.
"You!" said Emily, running to her mother, her favourite person in the world. "You're so silly!"
Wilson smiled and went over to Lisa to kiss her cheek. He went to the cupboard to get her a cup for her coffee. "What flavour yoghurt this morning?" he asked.
"Maybe I'll have some of whatever smells so good," Lisa said.
"Wait a minute for it to cool," Wilson said. "I was thinking that maybe we three could all do something together today. We could go to the park or the natural history museum."
"Not today," Cuddy said. "Remember, we're going to visit Aaron today. He's got a new barbecue and he's having us around for steaks and burgers. "
"I forgot. Were we supposed to bring something for the barbecue? Diana, the new tech in radiology, gave me her recipe for Tex-Mex chicken wings. She said they're really good."
"We don't have time to make anything. We're going to watch the football game first. The pregame starts at 10:30. We can pick up something ready-made at the supermarket."
Lisa left to take a shower and change, banana bread forgotten. Wilson wrapped it in tin foil and put it in the freezer.
Wilson, Emily and Lisa were driving to her Brother Aaron's house. They had stopped at a supermarket to buy grill-ready chicken kebabs and a six-pack of Aaron's favourite beer.
"Maybe we could do something together next week," said Wilson, "How about next weekend?"
"Saturday, Emily and I have reservations for lunch. Crustless sandwiches and petit fours. Really girly-girl stuff."
"I can do girly-girl," Wilson said, smilingly.
"I'm going to meet Andrea and her daughter. It's a mother-daughter thing. No husbands or boyfriends allowed. Sorry, honey."
Wilson did not like Lisa's friend Andrea, mainly because Andrea had made it very clear that she did not like or trust James Wilson. He'd met her a few weeks before the wedding and Andrea had asked him all sorts of questions about his past and his family. Wilson valued his privacy. He knew that Andrea was Cuddy's oldest friend, so he was polite, but he had no intention of indulging her insatiable curiosity. He'd used all his charm and skill to deflect her but he'd only aroused her suspicions. She'd tried to get House to spill some information but had only been insulted for her pains. She tried his colleagues at work and she'd even called his ex-wives; he knew because Bonnie had telephoned him afterwards, indignant on his behalf. He was happy that Andrea lived on the other side of the continent in California, and had hoped to see little of her. Unfortunately, her career seemed to take her to the east coast fairly frequently, and she usually dropped by to see her parents and her old friends when she was nearby.
"What about next Sunday?" Wilson asked.
"I'm going to have to work Sunday, getting ready for the quarterly review. I should really be working on it right now, but I already told Aaron we'd come. "
Cuddy's brother was a football fanatic and would probably spend the entire evening quoting statistics and parroting the opinions of his favourite sports jock. Wilson watched the Super Bowl once a year, like every other patriotic red-blooded American male, and then he forgot about football the rest of the time. Every time he met Aaron, Wilson was afraid that he would be caught out and tried to cram himself full of football knowledge, but that was just nervousness. All he really had to do was agree with everything Aaron said, and Cuddy's brother would assume that Wilson was a football genius. It was going to be a long day.
Weekday mornings were very different from Sundays. Organization and logistics were where Lisa Cuddy really shone, and Monday mornings showed her at her very best. She confirmed the week's schedule with her assistant on the phone while getting Emily dressed and fed. She arranged a lunchtime meeting with the Heads of Nursing and Pediatrics between sips of coffee and spoonfuls of raspberry yogurt. Wilson's role in Lisa Cuddy's morning was to stay out of everybody's way. He tried to help out a bit by making sandwiches for Emily's lunch and his own, but when Marta, Emily's nanny, arrived, she took over. He was swept out of the kitchen and into the comparative quiet of Lisa's living room.
Wilson retrieved his battered briefcase and put on his coat. From the pocket, he pulled out the movie program that Julie had given him and reread the blurb for Nine Angel Street. He quickly stuffed it back in his pocket when he heard the sound of Lisa's heels on the hardwood floor.
"It looks like I'm going to be late home tonight, James, so I'll take my own car today. Marta has an afternoon class today and won't be able to pick Emily up at pre-school. Would you mind picking her up after work?"
"I was going to go to Barnhart's lecture - the one on the nutritional needs of leukemia patients. She's getting really interesting results."
"The lecture is going to be videotaped so you can watch it another time," Lisa said.
"I had some questions I wanted to ask her," Wilson protested, but Lisa had already left the room, ready to solve her next problem.
Wilson pulled out his own cellphone and called one of his colleagues in Oncology, "Hi, Khan. This is Wilson. I was just wondering whether you were planning on going to Barnhart's lecture. Great. I can't go but I have some questions I wanted to ask her about the results of her last study. Could I give them to you to ask her? Thanks. Yeah, I'd appreciate that. Bye."
Without thinking, Wilson pressed a number on speed dial. The phone on the other end of the line rang a dozen times before it was picked up.
"Whoever this is, this had better be important. I was dreaming about sharing a bubble bath with Carmen Electra and the Olsen twins."
"It's me, House," Wilson said, only then realizing that he had no idea why he had just called his best friend.
"Okay," House said. "What do you want that can't wait until I get to work?"
"Just checking to see if you're all right."
"Why wouldn't I be all right?"
"Well, I haven't seen you for a while, and I was just wondering..."
"Whether I could survive without your constant nannying. "
House's voice was unusually gruff on the other end. Wilson realized that his friend was having one of his bad days. Probably, he had gotten House out of bed and to the phone before he had had a chance to take his Vicodin.
"I'm sorry. I know I haven't been a very good friend to you lately. "
Wilson's apology, his meek refusal to respond to House's provocations, only made the diagnostician angrier. He preferred it when Wilson was brisk and bantering. House's upbringing had taught him to despise displays of emotion. Since Stacey had left, Wilson was the closest person to House in the world, but House's instinct was always to attack when he saw signs of vulnerability and weakness. Sometimes, he managed to overcome his instinct; this day, he couldn't.
"When were you ever a good friend, Wilson?" he said. "Our friendship has always been about me indulging your pathetic need to be needed. I don't actually need you and I never did. If looking after a wife and kid aren't enough for you, why don't you adopt some sad-eyed puppy and leave me alone?"
House hung up. Wilson dropped the cellphone into his coat pocket and left for work.
Part Three
Eternal Joy and Everlasting Love
House had spotted the engagement ring on Rosemary Lum's finger immediately, but he pretended that he hadn't seen it. If House admitted to seeing the ring, he would not be able to congratulate her on her upcoming wedding. House despised social hypocrisy. He'd have to tell her what he really thought about her decision.
Lum was making it difficult to pretend though. She was showing the tiny diamond chip in a circlet of 10 karat gold to a couple of nurses taking a coffee break. Lum's pleasant demeanour and her regular doughnut rounds had made her a favourite among the nursing staff, and soon a small crowd gathered around her, admiring her pathetic ring and offering congratulations. Tony Crane, House's other fellow, glowered at the edges of the group, resenting his colleague's popularity. Crane was much disliked for his arrogant attitude and he had never given anybody as much as a stale soda cracker. As House watched from his office, James Wilson stepped off the elevator to go to his office, but he was sidetracked and drawn into the group. He leaned over as if he were going to kiss Lum's hand, although he was only looking at her ring. Wilson was undoubtedly offering his sincere congratulations. He firmly believed in the institution of marriage. Three failed attempts had not discouraged him. He persevered.
Lum spotted her boss standing in the doorway of his office and happily waved him over, spreading her finders wide so that the ring was visible. House could not avoid her any longer. He limped out toward the group. Lum smiled warmly, but Wilson frowned and sent House a warning glance. Wilson liked Lum, knew what House's opinion of her engagement was likely to be, and didn't want House to spoil this happy moment for her. House ignored his friend. He had an obligation as her mentor to give Lum the benefit of his knowledge and experience, even if she was unlikely to follow his advice.
"I assume that this ring is from Henry."
Henry was Lum's long-distance boyfriend. He was a post-graduate student in creative non-fiction. House had never met him, but he had heard Lum talk about him and had come to some conclusions about his character and suitability as a husband.
"Of course, it is," Lum said. "I should show you the inscription on the inside. Henry is so sweet and he's so good with words."
She pulled the ring of her finger and handed it to House to examine.
"'Eternal joy and everlasting love.' Your Henry's a bit of a plagiarist, is he? I guess he couldn't fit the author's name on this little piece of metal. Or the whole quotation:
`Angels are painted fair, to look like you:
There's in you all that we believe of heaven,--
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlasting love.' "
"Beautiful," said one of the nurses.
"Shakespeare," said Crane authoritatively.
"Thomas Otway," corrected House, "but don't worry; it won't be on the test.
Of course, Henry probably didn't come up with the inscription himself. I'd imagine that a jewellery store would have a list of suitable phrases for the husband to pick from. Is that what you did, Wilson? I imagine you were getting pretty far down the list by the time you got to Cuddy. Or did you just reuse the same quotation over and over?"
House turned his head slightly to address the oncologist. Wilson didn't answer him, indicating that he wanted no part of House's performance. Wilson stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat and avoided House's gaze. Several of the nurses frowned; they thought House was picking on their favourite oncologist. House returned his attention to Rosemary Lum, whose smile wasn't quite as bright as it had been before.
"Aren't you going to congratulate me or wish me luck?" Lum asked.
"I should congratulate Henry and wish you luck," House said. "He's a liar in training with no career prospects and he's found a supposedly intelligent professional willing to make a legal commitment to support him `until death do you part Congratulations to him. You're going to need the luck, or at least a rock-solid prenuptial agreement."
By some miracle, Wilson's sandwich was still in the staff refrigerator at lunch time. He'd carefully hidden the sandwich at the very back of the refrigerator, concealed behind a protective wall of expired yogurt containers and a sealed plastic bag containing something brown and furry. He briefly considered mixing the yogurt into the contents of the plastic bag and creating some new and exotic form of life, but decided that doctors should not play God.
"So what do you think of Lum's engagement?" said a voice coming over Wilson's shoulder. Wilson jumped.
"You startled me, House."
"Caught you doing something you shouldn't have been doing?" House asked. "Is that your sandwich or are you stealing one of Birnbaum's?"
"I wouldn't steal one of his. He has tuna every single day. It's as if he'd never heard of mercury levels."
"So it's one of yours," House said, "I want half."
"I'm sure you do." Wilson said. "This is thin-sliced roast chicken and cheese on sourdough. I've put on a little spicy apple chutney too, for extra flavour. There's lettuce too, but I keep it separate and add it at the last minute so it's still crisp and green and crunchy. It's going to be delicious and I'm going to enjoy every bite. "
"I'm hungry."
House tried a pleading expression that had worked very well on his mother when he was six years old. Either the magic had worn off, or Wilson was much less susceptible than Mrs. House, because it had no discernable effect.
"The cafeteria special today is grilled cheese. Or if you feeling frugal, there's peanut butter and white bread in the cupboard."
House chose the peanut butter.
"Lum's engagement?" he prompted.
"I'm happy for her and I wish her all the best."
"Wishing her all the best won't do any good once she is married to that male gold digger."
"Henry seems like a perfectly nice person from what Lum tells me and they've known each other since high school."
"He was just clever enough to spot her brains and ambition early on. She's going to spend the rest of her life supporting him while he sits at home in his pyjamas being `creative' and waiting for the muse to strike."
"He seems reasonably industrious," Wilson commented. "Lum showed me a poem he had published in a literary review."
"Was it any good?"
"I have no idea," Wilson said. "There was something about red wheelbarrows and something about the taste of watermelon. Lum said he was influenced by the imagists."
"He'll bleed her dry," he said. "Her only hope is that he'll find someone richer than Lum and latch on to her instead. Next time he's in town, I'll get Cuddy to invite him to one of her fundraiser dinners. Maybe he'll find a spoiled socialite to support him and he'll drop Lum."
"You have a very cynical view of human relationships," said Wilson, taking a big bit of his sandwich. He closed his eyes as if all his other senses were overwhelmed by its flavour. He even moaned a little.
"I have a realistic view."
There was a little spot of chutney on the corner of Wilson's mouth. Slowly and deliberately, Wilson used his finger to get that little bit of chutney and then he licked his finger.
"This is a really good sandwich," Wilson commented. "There's a sort of mystic fusion of flavours and textures that's hard to describe. You just have to experience it."
House refused to beg, but his eyes followed the sandwich as Wilson lifted it towards his mouth again.
"I would have thought that Julie would have scraped some of that romantic idealism off you."
"What do you mean, House?"
"I mean that Julie was a gold digger, obviously."
"She was not," Wilson protested. "If she was a gold digger, she would have asked for alimony. She agreed to a very reasonable settlement."
"She let you off the hook," House said, "because she had already caught a much bigger fish. She threw you back because you were a minnow and she wanted a marlin."
"That comment is going to cost you. I was thinking of giving you half of this sandwich, but now I've changed my mind. You are going to regret it, because I swear to you," Wilson looked straight into his friend's eyes so that his sincerity could not be doubted," this is the best sandwich in the history of the human race."
Carl didn't get home until almost eleven. Julie didn't bother asking him why he was late. His answer was always the same - `business.' When he sat down next to Julie on the couch, she could smell a sickly scent that clung to his clothes and his skin. It was sweet like rotting flowers or spoiled fruit but with an unpleasant chemical undertone. It reminded her of the insecticide she used near the patio doors to keep ants from invading the house. Because of that association, it took her a few seconds to realize that the smell had to be his girlfriend's perfume. Julie had married a man who went straight from his mistress's bed to his wife, without even bothering to shower.
Julie had married Carl knowing that he was a bully to his employees and that he treated waiters, taxi drivers and other people he considered his natural inferiors with contempt. Julie, however, had been his princess. The contrast between the way that he treated everyone else and the consideration and kindness he showed Julie made her feel valued and special. She told her friends that he was a forceful self-made man, and that his drive and ambition made him impatient and careless of how he appeared to others but that he was kind underneath. With her encouragement and guidance, Carl learned moderate his behaviour. When she was there to see him, he refrained from snapping his fingers for wait service or snarling at his staff.
Julie's benevolent influence was short-lived. Once they were married, Carl reverted to his old ways. When she rebuked him for his lack of manners, he ignored her. He lost interest in Julie within a few months of marrying her; now that he actually had her, he couldn't remember why he wanted her. Carl treated Julie as if she were just another employee. She had no claim on his thoughts, but he retained for the sake of her utility as stepmother and housekeeper.
Julie would gladly have left him, but she had signed a pre-nuptial agreement and would receive nothing from Carl if they divorced. She had quit the job she held before marriage at Carl's insistence. Divorce meant that she would be penniless, homeless, and jobless. She'd weighed a comfortable life with a man she disliked against a minimum-wage job and a basement apartment and made the logical choice.
Julie waited until he'd gone up to bed before she allowed herself to cry.
Part Four
Nine Angel Street
It was time for Wilson's Friday morning muffin. Sitting in the cafeteria, he pulled the film flyer out of the pocket of his white coat again. He told himself that meeting Julie at the movies could not really be considered a date; he would have wanted to see the film whether or not Julie was there, and avoiding it just because Julie would be there seemed overly scrupulous. It was only his own male vanity, he reasoned, that made him cautious about seeing her. It was ridiculous, to act as if she still had feelings for him more than five years after their divorce. All she wanted was a sympathetic listener; there was nothing wrong with listening. Besides the movie really did sound interesting. Before he could reread the blurb describing the movie for at least the tenth time, it was snatched out of his hands.
"Hello, House," said Wilson, without looking up.
House was glancing through the program for the Scandinavian film festival, noting that one of the films was circled in green ink. Green ink? Since when had Wilson used green ink?
"Swedish movies used to have a reputation," House said, "but these days most perverts prefer the Internet. More sex, fewer umlauts."
Wilson tried unsuccessfully to snatch the program back.
"You have Nine Angel Street circled. A Scandinavian movie, I assume."
"Yes."
"Not in English."
"In Norwegian."
" Subtitled. Cuddy hates subtitles. "
"That's why she's not going."
"So you're going alone."
"Not necessarily," said Wilson.
"Right, I'm sure there are dozens of people lining up to see Norwegian movies with you." He sat down opposite Wilson. "A sexy Hitchcockian thriller. Maybe I should join you."
"No, House. I' I thought we had agreed never to see another foreign movie together after the Farewell, My Concubine debacle."
"That was entirely your fault."
"I thought it was a martial arts movie. I got mixed up. "
"It was about Chinese opera singers. Male Chinese opera singers. Transvestite male Chinese opera singers."
"It was a good movie though. I was really enjoying it until you got us kicked out of the theatre."
"Any movie with Chinese opera in it is not a good movie. Did I tell you about the errors in the subtitles?"
"You always tell me about translation errors," Wilson said, "just usually not while the movie is playing and not at the top of your voice."
"If you had just given me your car keys when I told you I wanted to leave, I wouldn't have shouted."
"How would I have gotten home? You couldn't have driven anyway; you had at least three beers at the restaurant and a couple of Vicodin," said Wilson, taking a last sip of coffee, and glancing at his watch "I'm supposed to be at a patient conference right now. We'll have to bicker again some other time."
He retrieved the program from House and put it back in his pocket. He threw his empty cup into the trash.
Julie had subtly altered her appearance in the week since she had last seen James Wilson. First she had gone to her hairstylist and asked her to soften the severe bob she wore. Josianne hadn't been happy. She was an artist and Julie wanted her to destroy one of her creations. It had taken the promise of a very substantial tip before she would agree to do it. Then Julie had rummaged through long-neglected corners of her closet to find something floaty and ethereal to wear. She had found a long gauzy skirt in pastel colours. It was years out of date, but she knew Wilson would never notice that, and it still fit. She had to buy new low-heeled shoes to go with it, and had even purchased a new shade of lipstick, something pink and demure, almost virginal. Looking in the mirror, she saw someone more gentle and innocent than life had allowed her to be. As a last touch, she stopped in a department store on her way to the movie theatre and sprayed herself with perfume from one of their testers. It was the same subtly musky scent that James had once given her as a Valentine's Day present. She hoped he would remember it.
Julie spotted her ex-husband waiting in front of the theatre. Thankfully, he was alone. Julie had been afraid that his wife might decide to join him. She had even worried that he might bring his awful best friend, Gregory House, as some sort of chaperone. Julie's spirits rose. She had not been deceiving herself; James must feel about her as she felt about him.
Wilson kissed Julie on the cheek and handed her a ticket. Julie was disappointed by the kiss, which seemed the kind of kiss a dutiful nephew would give an elderly maiden aunt. James seemed awkward around her. That ease she had felt in his company the previous week had disappeared. He was backing away instead of coming closer, as she had intended. She had expected sympathetic understanding. She had to try harder to get what she needed. Julie addressed her ex-husband through half closed eyelids, as if she were too shy to tell him what she thought directly.
"I'm so glad you're here, James," she whispered. "I need a friend right now."
She put a hand up to her eyes as if wiping away non-existent tears. Wilson briskly pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and handed it to her.
"The movie starts shortly. We'd better take our seats."
Julie knew that she had miscalculated, that she had alienated Wilson in some way, but she had no idea where she had gone wrong. Her dismay was entirely genuine.
The lunch had been delicious, and the service attentive but unobtrusive. Lisa Cuddy was proud of her daughter Emily, who had been impressed by the elegance of her surroundings and had been on her best behaviour. Emily was also greatly taken by Andrea's daughter, who was a few years older than Emily. Leonie was an only child, and she basked in the younger girl's open admiration.
When the waiter presented the bill, Andrea picked it up.
"What's my share?" Lisa asked, since it was their custom to split the bill evenly.
"I'm paying," said Andrea, "or actually the company I work for is. I have to admit that I have a bit of an ulterior motive in asking you out for lunch today. It's kind of a business proposition. I'm hoping we can go up to my suite and discuss it. I'll put on a DVD for the kids and we can talk about it privately."
"Is it about a hospital contract?" Cuddy said. "You know I can't make you any promises. All our contracts go up to tender."
"This isn't about a hospital contract. It's about one of your physicians - Dr. Gregory House. We're very interested in him."
"Are you still working for the publishing company? Do you want House to write you a book?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that. Let's discuss it in my suite."
Wilson sat beside Julie in the darkened theatre. Lost in his own thoughts, he was surprised when the lights went up at the end of the film. He'd lost track of the plot in the first five minutes and had no idea whether the movie had been any good or not.
Wilson was furious at his ex-wife. He'd fallen in love with Julie because she had seemed fragile and delicate and in need of protection. Then, after their marriage, she'd changed. She'd become hard and demanding. He'd blamed himself for her transformation. He thought that her disappointment with him had caused it. He'd made her cynical and materialistic, because he could not offer her the kind of love and support she wanted Finally, he started to avoid her, because he could not stand the person that she'd become. He had believed that he was responsible for destroying everything that he had loved in her. Did Julie have any idea how much that realization had hurt him?
Now her calculated performance this afternoon destroyed his illusions. He had to face the fact that the fragile, delicate woman he had fallen in love with had never really existed. She was a fiction, someone Julie had created to draw him in. She had callously manipulated him, which was bad enough. What was worse was that she had thought he was so gullible that he could be fooled again with the same act. It was outrageously insulting.
"Well," Julie said, "that was an interesting film. Should we go for coffee and discuss it?"
Wilson turned towards her. Julie was wearing an artificial smile, although her eyes were clouded by tears. Perhaps, he told himself, something in the movie made her cry. He prepared to refuse her invitation, maybe even tell her what he really thought of her, but something in her expression stopped him. Her unhappiness was real. He couldn't pretend not to see it. She did need someone to talk to and she must have really been desperate to choose him, of all people. Of course, she was manipulative and deceitful, but she was also vulnerable and in need.
"Just for a few minutes," Wilson said. "I have to get back to Lisa."
Julie and Wilson were in the theatre lobby, discussing where to go for coffee, when House made his way down from the balcony where he had been sitting. The tedium of sitting through an hour and a half of ersatz Hitchcock was more than made up for by the expression on Julie's face as she caught sight of him.
"Wilson," he called out. Wilson turned around; he didn't look at all surprised to see House.
"Hello, House. Would you like to join us for coffee?"
Three quarters of an hour later, they were sitting in the booth of a diner and Julie was still pouring out her tragic story to Wilson. Everyone time House tried to make a comment, Wilson gave him a stern glance. He was treating the brilliant diagnostician as if he were a bratty twelve year old, and in retaliation the brilliant diagnostician was acting like a bratty twelve year old. He had constructed a pyramid from coffee creamers and jam packets, and was now balancing a spoon on the end of his knife. A six year old at another booth was watching House with fascination. Just to amuse him, House performed the old trick of hanging a spoon off the end of his nose.
"So you marry a man you know is a creep for his money," House had removed the spoon, "but you've signed a pre-nuptial agreement so that if you divorce the creep, you don't get the money. I overestimated you. I knew you were a money-hungry bitch, but I didn't think you were an idiot."
Julie forgot her role as tragic heroine long enough to swear viciously at House under her breath. Wilson's glare at House was not quite as stern or reproving as it should have been; he too was tired of listening to Julie's catalogue of grievances. The waitress dropped off the bill and Wilson automatically paid it. He knew that neither Julie nor House would offer to pay for their shares.
Julie headed off in one direction to get to her car, and House and Wilson headed off in another.
"You tricked me," House said. "You wanted me there to keep Julie from throwing herself at you. Why didn't you just ask me?"
"Would you have come if I asked you?" Wilson asked.
"No, but that just makes it worse. You knew I wouldn't have come, so you tricked me."
They had reached House's motorcycle. He pulled the keys out of pocket.
"Want to come back to Lisa's house for dinner? She and Emily won't be hungry after their fancy lunch, so I'm just going to order in."
"Now that you're actually married to Cuddy, maybe you should stop calling it `Lisa's house'," said House.
"There's this Indian restaurant that does delivery. It makes the best butter chicken, and the vegetable korma is unbelievable. Emily would love to see you. You're her favourite `uncle'. I'm way down the list."
"Okay," House agreed, "but I want a double portion of naan."
Part Five
The Billionaire's Brain Trust
Andrea put a Disney movie into the dvd player in the living room of her hotel suite for Emily and Leonie and went into the bedroom to talk to Lisa Cuddy.
"That's should keep them quiet for a little while at least, "Andrea said. "Now we can talk."
"I'm dying of curiosity," Lisa said. "What this mysterious proposition to do with House?"
"It's a business proposition really. Payment for a consultation." Andrea noticed her friend's worried expression. "Don't look so concerned. I'm not sick with some unknown disease."
"After Peter and I divorced, I left Bellamy Books. It was just too awkward working in the same company with my ex. I got a job with another publishing company that specialized in cookbooks and, yes, I do realize how ironic that is, someone who barely knows how to boil water editing cookbooks. Anyway, the cookbook firm was swallowed up a bigger publishing company and in the shakeup I ended up getting a better position in the business books division. Then that publishing company was swallowed up too. Finally, I ended up working in corporate headquarters for the Andersen media empire. I'm in charge of Special Projects and I report directly to Alan Andersen."
"You're working for Alan Andersen. That must be ... interesting. He seems to be a man with very strong and forceful opinions."
"Don't mince words with me, Lisa. If you think my boss is a rightwing blowhard, say so. Nothing in my job description says I have to like the guy, or agree with his opinions."
"Well," Lisa said. "I'm a bit surprised you're working for him. You were always such an idealist and Alan Andersen..."
"Models himself on Genghis Khan," Andrea said. "Ideals don't put food on the table. Besides Alan Andersen has never asked me to do anything unethical. Swindling widows and orphans is taken care of by an entirely separate department.
The nickname for Special Projects in the firm is the Whitewash Division. Andersen spends most of time ruthlessly tearing his business rivals to shreds and feeding on their raw flesh, but for some reason he hates that people don't like him. Special Projects is his way of rehabilitating his reputation. The special project that I'm involved with right now has two goals. The first goal, and the only one that really matters to Andersen, is making my boss look good. The second goal is to conduct research in the social sciences. Right now he has a team looking into the way innovative and unconventional thinkers solve real-world problems. We've come up with a suitably impressive title with all sorts of scientific-sounding phrases like `heuristic patterning" and "iterative algorithms", but I just call it the Billionaire's Brain Trust."
"You want House to be a part of this brain trust."
"He'd be perfect. I always thought you were exaggerating when you told me all those stories about him. Then I met him at your wedding, and I knew you were really down-playing his weirdness. He's brilliant, but he sees everything from his own strange House-centric perspective."
"Please tell me that you are not training people to be like House! Yes, he's brilliant," Lisa said,"but he's also incredibly single-minded and stubborn. The thought of actually unleashing a generation of House-clones into the world would give me nightmares. In the medical world, House has me and the board keeping him in line, but out there in the unregulated free market..."
Andrea laughed, "Creating House clones isn't the intent of the project. Andersen has hired all these researchers to come up with questions and tests and we've got a list of potential research subjects in all sorts of disciplines - we've got a guerrilla fighter whose going to explain his unconventional military tactics, and this grade-school teacher whose achieved really impressive results with disadvantaged kids, and even this pastry chef I met in my cookbook days. He puts together really odd ingredients, like lima beans and tuna and chocolate, and somehow makes deserts that taste heavenly. My boss is going to represent innovative thinking in the business community. It's not going to be all House."
"It doesn't sound very scientific."
"It's not real science," Andrea agreed, "It's social science, which is entirely different."
"I'm just trying to imagine Alan Andersen and Gregory House in the same room," Lisa said.
"Clash of the Giant Egos."
"Run away! Run away!" said Lisa, quoting one of their college-era favourites, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
The resultant laughter drew a reproving glare from Leonie, who got up to shut the door that connected the living room from the bedroom. The grown-ups were drowning out her favourite movie, just at the best part.
"Talk to House for me," Andrea said. "I know you can communicate with him. He mystifies me. He was making all these crude sexist jokes to me at your wedding, and I just assumed he was drunk, but then he delivered that beautiful after-dinner speech flawlessly."
"It's House's technique. He unsettles people to see how they react. I've had years of practice in not reacting at all, but he can still get under my skin when he wants to. "
"Convince him. Tell him there's an honorarium involved - a substantial honorarium for him and a very decent donation to the hospital foundation for lending him to us."
"Money isn't all that important to House," said Lisa. "He likes it, but I think he might actually like frustrating Alan Andersen more. He's not particularly fond of billionaires."
"Tell him that the whole experiment is about puzzles. The trickiest, cleverest puzzles a whole team of highly educated researchers can come up with. It's a contest - House vs. the Ivy League."
"He's already taken on God. The Ivy League might not be challenging enough for him."
House avoided visiting the house that Wilson and Cuddy shared. Seeing them together made him uncomfortable. The two people he relied upon the most had formed a union that excluded him. There had been a connection between House and Cuddy - still was. He'd always been aware of the possibility that the two of them could be more than colleagues and friends. House had secretly thought that someday, when the time was right, House and Cuddy were going to make a life together. Then Wilson had stepped in and made sure that the right time would never come.
Wilson and Cuddy must have known how he felt, even though House had never spoken of his feelings to them. It was the worst kind of betrayal, and House knew that, if he had any pride, he ought to have shunned both of them and walked away from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. House's imagination, which could be embarrassingly juvenile, had pictured the consequences. Without House as goad and inspiration, PPTH would lose its cutting-edge reputation. It would become just another hospital - respectable enough but unexceptional. Wilson would collapse from the weight of his guilt and have a nervous breakdown. Cuddy would suffer even more than Wilson. She would be heartbroken, realizing that she had settled for a life of mind-numbing domesticity when she could have had House. Unfortunately, his imagination had not stopped there. Instead House had gone on to see himself, lonely and friendless in a strange city, reduced to practising tedious cookie-cutter medicine for an HMO and killing himself with alcohol and drugs to make the boredom tolerable. An imagination can be treacherous.
In the end, House hadn't walked away from the job that gave his life an illusion of purpose, nor from the two people he loved the most. He wasn't strong enough to face an existence without the comforting prospect of new intellectual puzzles, a routine that gave him the incentive to get up in the morning, and the support of Cuddy and Wilson to rescue him from his self-destructive tendencies. However, he hadn't really forgiven Wilson for betraying him, and he despised his own weakness, which made him desperate for the company of a man he should hate.
Wilson tried to make House feel a part of the life that Wilson and Cuddy shared, while taking care not to hurt his friend with any overt display of marital bliss. For example, House was sure that they were sitting at the kitchen table, rather watching t.v. in the living room, because Wilson was concerned that House might be pained by the sight of the wedding photo prominently displayed on the wall above the television.
"I'm not sure what time the girls will be back," Wilson said, "so I won't phone in the order until they get back. Would you like some coffee? There's orange juice or Diet Coke if you'd like something cooler."
"A beer," said House.
"Not while you're riding that two-wheeled death machine."
House sighed. House thought that one beer wouldn't have any effect on his driving ability, but Wilson was certain that motorcycles existed only to maim or kill their foolish owners.
"Aren't you afraid that coffee or Coke will make me too jittery?"
"Orange juice it is, "said Wilson, ignoring House's sarcasm. "Don't you think that you're getting too old to be riding that thing?"
"You'll never separate me from my hawg," said House. "You'll have to bury me with it."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Wilson said, handing House a glass of juice. He wasn't planning on driving anywhere so he got himself a beer.
"My hawg and I are together to the end," said House. "I was thinking of giving her a treat - a new paint job. I'm thinking "Death Machine" stencilled in Gothic lettering and a death's head wearing a stethoscope."
"Very reassuring for the patients who see it parked in the staff lot."
"Not it. Her. A man who drives a seven-year old sedan can't understand what a motorcyclist feels for his machine - that powerful purring engine throbbing between his legs." House put on an expression of animalistic lust that would have made Hugh Hefner blush. Wilson didn't react.
Seeing that dinner was not imminent, House got up and peered into cupboards looking for something to eat. Unfortunately, the cupboards were filled with boring healthy food.
"House," said Wilson tentatively. "I didn't actually tell Lisa that I was going to see Julie at the movies."
"No kidding."
"She was kind of upset with me when I went to see Bonnie last week after her mother's funeral and forgot all about Emily's parent-teacher conference. She thinks that I'm too close to my ex-wives."
"So you don't want me to mention it," said House.
"Yes," said Wilson. "Please."
House turned around and stared into Wilson's eyes, looking for deception. His friend had always had a weakness for damsels in distress.
"Tell Cuddy," House said. "Don't start out your married life by keeping secrets."
"It's not a secret," Wilson protested. "It's not important enough to be a secret. It's just that she would be upset if she knew I was spending time with Julie, and I don't see any reason to upset her unnecessarily."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have gone to see Julie in the first place," said House, hating how self-righteous and prudish he sounded.
"But Julie was unhappy..."
"You didn't go for Julie's sake," said House. "You went for your own sake because you loved having the woman who rejected you suddenly coming to you for comfort. You couldn't resist playing the White Knight. Cuddy and Emily deserve better than you. You're pathetic." His voice was icy with contempt.
Wilson's faced hardened with anger. He got up from the table and advanced toward House. House was curious whether this time Wilson would finally overcome his inhibitions and actually hit his best friend. Wilson took a deep breath to calm himself. "I think you should leave," Wilson said. His voice sounded flat and dead. He avoided looking at House.
"So do I." House slammed the door on his way out.
Wilson was unable to remain angry for any length of time. By the time the roar of House's motorcycle had receded, Wilson was already beginning to regret the way he had treated the diagnostician. House had respected Wilson by giving him an honest opinion, however harshly phrased that opinion was.
House rode away, passing Cuddy as she turned into her street. He waved to her, and Cuddy waved back. Emily had fallen asleep in the car, so Lisa carried her to the door. Wilson had heard the car pull up and was waiting in the hall to greet her. The oncologist knew that House was right; he had to confess his indiscretion to Cuddy. Still, Lisa looked so happy and relaxed. How could he upset her over an incident so trivial and unimportant? Instead he kissed her on the cheek. He carefully took Emily from her arms and carried his stepdaughter to her room. When he returned, Lisa had taken off her coat and her high heels.
"Wasn't that House I saw leaving on the motorcycle? Why didn't you ask him for dinner?"
"House couldn't stay." Wilson shrugged, expressing his inability to understand or control House's actions.
"I have something to talk to him about, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow. I know you were thinking about Indian food, but I'm not really in the mood. I'm just going to make myself a salad. Do you want one?"
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."
Wilson followed Cuddy into the kitchen, where she was peering into the refrigerator.
"I love you and I love your daughter." It was important that Lisa believe him, so Wilson spoke as clearly and sincerely as he could.
"I know you do." Lisa turned around and shut the refrigerator door. She was surprised by Wilson's unusual intensity. Something had upset him, and she suspected that it was an argument with House. She was too clever to try to interfere with House and Wilson's friendship, which was a complicated and delicate mechanism that would have to find its own equilibrium, but she did know how to make her husband feel better. Her fingertips began to caress the soft, downy nape of Wilson's neck. Her breath, Wilson thought, was like the kiss of an angel. He leaned back slightly to enjoy the sensation better. Lisa's voice was a low, sexy whisper in his ear. "I love you too, James." Wilson abandoned himself to pleasure. Confession could wait.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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