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  Reaganomics Chapters 1-11 
 by gorblimey2	

 Reaganomics Chapter 1 Prostitution 101

I'm a hooker, a whore, a putain, puta, a lady of the night, tramp, harlot,
whatever euphemism that you can think of for a woman who sells her body
for money. Okay, I'm not very good at it, but I'm working on it. I haven't
been one for long so you'll have to cut me some slack. Sadie told me the
first six months were the hardest and she was right. I find that when I
meet a John that is repulsive (and suprisingly, most men who have to pay
for sex are) I just can't go through with it. I tried once with a roly
poly tire salesman who looked as round as the tires he sold and I ended up
climbing out the bathroom window of the hotel room right into a Dempsey
Dumpster. 

Here I am at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital with a guy that I had actually
hoped enjoyed screwing and had added to my clientele list of two. He
looked a little like Stephen Colbert and, well, I have a little crush on
Stephen and that funny ear of his. It had been awhile since I actually
found someone I wanted to put on my client list. I've gotten good at
making up excuses for why I can't go through with the deed. I accidently
stumbled on one excuse that really worked well. I was with a rather
flatulent draftsman who had gotten my number from my very first trick. He
was sweet but UGLY, not to mention smelly, mostly pizza and beer farts
that he constantly apologized for letting escape. I sat there trying to
imagine he was George Clooney, but it wasn't working. Finally when I
sneezed, he was polite and said, "Bless you." 

I said, "You'll have to excuse me but I have the flu. I wouldn't have come
tonight but I really needed the money." He couldn't get me out the door
fast enough and even gave me $50 NOT to have sex with him. I was smiling
all the way home. I learned that also claiming you're just getting over an
STD helps dampen their desire. "Make sure you wear that rubber, the last
guy gave me the clap and I'm still on penicillin." Luckily, I've never
really gotten an STD except when I was in college and my boyfriend gave me
chlamydia.

The only problem with getting out of sex is that I wanted to build up a
clientele, not scare one off. I only had two clients and I had been
working the streets, okay, the posh bars, for the last four months. I was
beginning to think I needed a pimp or that I should join an escort service
but Sadie told me that the ones who make the big bucks are the ones who go
it alone and find themselves several regulars who pay top dollar. I had
two semi-regular guys that seemed to always want it on the same night for
some reason. What is it about Wednesdays that makes men so horny? 

"Do you have an insurance card?" The nurse asked my favorite client. Pete
looked at me in pain and pointed at his jacket that I was still carrying.
I pulled out his wallet and thumbed through photos of his wife and two
kids, AMC Movie Fan card, ATM card and finally found the Blue Shield card.
I handed it to her and she took one look at me and said, "I take it that
you aren't Mrs. Wilkerson?" 

"Gee, what gave it away? The short @ss lycra skirt, the three inch f#ck-me
shoes or the fishnet stockings?" I normally would have been embarrassed
showing up anywhere in this outfit but I was beyond being embarassed. I
was just worried about Pete.

I had been surprised that Peter Wilkerson had called and asked me for a
nooner on a Friday. Not only did he want a nooner, but he wantd me to wear
a hooker outfit. I was at a loss as to exactly what he thought a hooker
should look like and when he described one of those Parisian women in a
red and white horizontal top, I almost laughed outloud. I ran to the
costume shop, bought a cheap one and changed into it in the hotel room.
When he arrived I was decked out as a french whore, his favorite fantasy.
I had been in full hooker mode, undoing my garter for him when it hit. He
clasped his chest and fell back. I immediately called the paramedic sand
rather than leave as Sadie had cautioned me to do if something strange
happened to a John, I went with him in the ambulance. I couldn't leave him
because he kept crying out for me to stay and hold his hand. Well, he was
one of my two good paying clients, so I stayed. 

I wasn't always a whore....okay, hooker wannabe. I once wrote Harlequin
romance novels and taught creative writing at a community college in
California for a living. That is, that's what I did before I went to
prison. Now, instead of answering to the dean, I answer to my probation
officer, Kenneth. Ken is okay and he cuts me a lot of slack. Sometimes he
just lets me call in rather than attend sessions in his office. And he
usually calls me before making his "surprise visits," the required visits
to insure that I'm not sitting in my apartment with a cache of AK47's or
planning on storming the polls on election day to exercise my non-existent
right to vote.

I'm a poor excuse for a felon. I don't have tattoos, didn't get involved
in any desperate lesbian love affairs or end up raped by any guards during
my four and a half years in the federal penitentiary. Nothing happened
that could have advanced my repertoire for my romance novels. I do have a
lot of great felon girlfriends who taught me a lot about life and how to
dance like Beyonce. I went into prison dazed and confused and came out
with halogen headlights.

I ended up in Princeton because it was an ivy league town and I had
convinced myself that I could find a tutoring or teaching job at Princeton
or one of the smaller colleges around, but when they saw the word
probation on my application, I wasn't even introduced to the Human
Resource manager. Instead, I got a nice polite smile and a, "We're not
hiriing right now but we'll keep your resume." Even when I printed out the
job ad from their website they would inform me that the job was filled or
had been pulled. It was then that I decided that I need another
profession. Although I received royalties off of my novels that amounted
to about $400 a month I still need a lot more to keep me afloat. 

I was starting to get desperate, I had just about gone through my savings,
the little that I had hidden from the feds before I went into prison.
Although my mom had died while I was in prison, she didn't have anything
left to leave me. She had taken out a second mortgage on the house to pay
for my attorney even though I begged her not to burden herself. I was
going to take my chances with the court appointed Federal Defender, but my
mom said, "No way." She got me the best she could afford. He did manage to
get the charges reduced which meant that instead of 10 years, I got 5
years, eligible for parole in 4 . I behaved and so I managed to get out on
probation for good behavior.

I had been such an idiot. All my life, at least until I ended up in
prison, I had been a romantic and it had finally been my undoing. I'd seen
all those television shows and even the Bridget Jones sequel, and should
have seen it coming but I didn't. So when I met Robert Jakes, I was sure I
had met "THE ONE." It had been a worldwind romance. He smelled expensive,
dressed immaculately and, best of all, told me he loved me and wanted to
marry me on our second date. I was bowled over. Two weeks later we took
off to Ecuador on a short vacation. Who goes to Ecuador on vacation you
ask? I wish I had asked that six years ago. On our way home there was a
"screw up" (according to Robert) in flight reservations and Robert told me
to go ahead back to the States with the luggage, he would catch the next
flight. Yeah, I know YOU can see it coming, but I was gullible and in
love. The 250 grams of pure cocaine in our suitcase, of which I knew
nothing, sent those damn beagles at customs into a frenzy. I'm sure you're
surprised to learn that Robert Jakes never made it back to Los Angeles to
help defend my honor. I knew I was innocent, my mom knew I was innocent
and the drunk in my jail cell knew it too. For some reason we were the
only three committed to my innocense. Not even my lawyer believed me, he
had seen the Bridget Jones sequel too and thought I had pinched the idea
from the movie.

So that's how I ended up here in PPTH with my John. Peter was taken to a
room where they could run some tests. I had been with him the whole way
and felt I could leave without feeling guilty. "Pete, I have to go. Your
wife has your power of attorney and they just called her. I don't want to
be here when she arrives. Ok?"

He had on an orange and blue oxygen mask attached at the ears which had
helped him return to a healthier pink. He nodded yes. He lifted the mask
and said, "Next week?"

"Sure sweetie." I blew him a kiss and scooted out the door. I heard
someone asking for him at the charge desk so I ducked into the stairs and
came out on the second floor. I thought I was home clear but the elevator
door opened about thirty feet in front of me and his wife got out! They
must have sent her down to fill out some papers. I panicked and saw glass
doors through which I ducked. The room wasn't well lit so it took my eyes
a second or two to adjust. I realized I was in someone's office and there
was a man behind a desk. He was concentrating on whatever was on his desk
and barely even acknowledged that I was there. I couldn't go outside yet,
Pete's wife was right outside the door asking someone for directions. The
man at the desk sighed, put down his pen and said, "Alright tell me
about..." He stopped in mid-sentence as he finally looked at me. His head
snapped back.

"I told them young and nubile but wild and kinky will work too. What's
your name?"

I wondered if I should give him my hooker name or my real one? I decided
on the real one, "Reagan Grogan."

He picked up the phone and dialed. I was sure he was going to call
security but he didn't , instead he said into the receiver, "I'll take the
last one you sent me, Reagan Grogan. Yeah, okay." He put the phone down
and looked at me, smiled slyly and shook his head like he needed to wake
up. "Go back down to human resources and see Sarah to fill out your forms.
You start Monday at 10:00 a.m."

"Monday? Start?" I was confused.

But he was no longer interested in me, he looked down at his desk again
and waved his hand at me, "Shoo, skoot, skiddadle. I have work to do." I
had been dismissed.

I walked out the door and looked back at the doors marked with, "Gregory
House, M.D." I decided to go see what I had just been hired to do. I took
the elevator to the first floor and found my way to Human Resources.

I turned a lot of heads but kept my chin up and assumed my battle
position. "I'm here to see Sarah." I said as I took a defiant posture at
the counter. The young Hispanic girl disappeared quickly into the back.
She returned and opened the counter gate for me to follow her.

Sarah was a middle aged woman with a faint beard and hearty laugh which
she exercised when she saw me. "I should have known. I sent him four
qualified girls this morning and he turned them all down. How did you find
out about the job?"

I didn't want to say that I had been ducking a John's wife so I said, "I
ran into him in the hall."

"That makes sense. Hiring you would be a House thing to do. Can you even
type?"

"Yes, of course. Can you tell me a little more about the job?"

"He needs a part-time secretary- more of a Girl Friday. It's four hours a
day Monday through Friday, but you do get benefits. It's $20 an hour.
You'll do whatever he asks you to do but I have to warn you, he's odd and
abrasive." She sat back and while shaking her head said, "Something tells
me from your outfit that you can handle that. Do you want the job?"

I quickly did the math, $400 a week plus my $400 a month royalties would
give me about $2,000 a month. I could just barely keep my head afloat on
that. If I pulled a few tricks a week it would give me another $1600 a
month and I could be comfortable on that. Plus benefits!!! "Yes, I'd love
the job."

"Oh sweetie, I don't think you know what you're in for...but it's your
funeral."

Chapter 2 You Can't Always Get What You Want

House had been pissed at Cuddy and the Board of Directors. The Board had
decided that in order to capitalize on House's reputation in diagnostics,
they needed to promote House's department more. So they had decided to
enforce his contract, or at least the provisions that hadn't been enforced
before now. He either had to teach a class or draft a minimum of six
papers a year to submit to the New England Journal of Medicine. Since
classes had been in session for a month, House was being forced to write
articles, the first to be submitted for consideration by June 1st. 

Almost simultaneously with this edict, Dr. Allison Cameron, citing gender
discrimination, refused to be House's high paid secretary and demanded
that one of the male Fellows, either Drs. Chase or Foreman take over the
clerical duties. House informed the Dean of Medicine, Lisa Cuddy, that he
would not be able to write the articles because he had no one to help him
with the physical drafting and his daily clerical needs. Cuddy authorized,
on the spot, a part-time secretary for House and his entire department.
She was surprised he hadn't asked for one before. Most of he departments
either had a nurse or clerical staff that handled the daily paperwork of
the department. House was disappointed. He was hoping to get out of the
articles altogether.

"I want her to be 20-26, brunette, pouty lips, single, thin, sexy and
well-endowed. Oh, and no kids." House was giving Sarah his prerequisites
in a candidate for the job. Sarah tried desperately to not laugh. She knew
when the position opened up that trying to find him someone without
breaking all the labor laws would be challenging.

The morning had been tedious with the parade of young vacant women walking
through his office like Stepford Secretaries. The first was young and
pretty but so bland House started yawning half way through her recital of
her prior employment. "I can type 72 word per minutes and I know Excel,
Word, Word Perfect, Presentation...

"Blah, blah, blah...yadda yadda yadda..." House shook his head. "Boring.
Goodbye."

"But Dr. House, I thought you needed a secretary with good skills and
that's me."

"When I want to commit suicide by slow death I'll call you. Bye."

The next one that was sat down was also in her early twenties. When he
looked up he snickered, "What, did you wrestle my mother out of her
clothes?" The girl left within four minutes, not bothering to call Sarah
to let her know how it went. 

The third was in her fifties. Within five minutes, Sarah got a phone call.
"I told you young and nubile, not old and putrid."

"Screw you House, I have to send you all qualified applicants no matter
what age, ethnicity or ability to handle your abuse. So don't call me wit
your whining, just interview the applicants." She hung up the phone, the
morning had gone just about as well as could be expected. Sarah had
decided that getting someone approved by House would be a war of
attrition. He'd finally get bored with the game and hire someone, it would
just take awhile.

House had just returned from lunch with his best and only real friend, Dr.
James Wilson, and was concentrating on handicapping some baseball games,
when he heard the door to his office open. He could feel the presence of a
human standing a few feet in front of him but was so certain that the new
applicant would not be to his liking that he didn't look up righ away. He
finally put his pen down and started to look, "Alright tell me about..."

House was stunned. Standing in front of him was a woman who looked like a
Goth French hooker...if there was such a thing. She had on an off the
shoulder red and white striped lycra top, a wide red plastic belt, a black
lycra mini-skirt, black fishnet stockings with the tops of garters showing
and 3 inch spike heels. Her hair was pinned up in a dissheveled chignon
and her heavy black eyeliner was rubbed around her eyes and down her cheek
making her look like a character from, "A Nightmare Before Christmas." She
looked like she had just come off a bender and was in desperate need of
sleep.

He continued to eye her, she had an average figure, nice breasts. Her legs
were great, it was just her face he had trouble figuring out. With the
smeared makeup, she looked comical, although her features weren't
grotesque in anyway that he could tell. Her hair was a honey blonde
streaked, apparently naturally, with lighter shades of almost platinum
blonde. She was a little on the older side for him, maybe early to
mid-thirties, but she was perfect in that garb. She had probably been sent
by Cuddy as a joke. But even if she hadn't it would be a great joke on
Cuddy if he hired her. He sent her down to Human Resources to finish the
hiring process. He smiled to himself. He had another warm body to torment.
He loved having his own little dominion of minions that he could abuse.

At five that evening, James Wilson swung by to see if House might like to
go to get a drink. They took off for a local dive. "How's the interviewing
going?"

"Done, hired one today."

"Really? At lunch you said that they all read like the back of a box of
All Bran?"

"This one read like the back of a box of Count Chokula. I think she's a
Goth Tart."

Wilson looked confused, "I'm afraid to ask what a Goth Tart looks like?"

"Like a Halloween french hooker with really bad makeup."

"That doesn't sound appealing. I thought you wanted something young and
nubile- sweet to look at."

"Human Resources' idea of young and nubile is Pollyanna on prozac. Boring.
At least she'll stir up the gossip."

"What's her name? Elvira?"

"Reagan something. I only remembered Reagan because he's dead and she's
Goth, you know the living dead."

House smiled and raised his glass to Wilson, "To Goth Tarts."

Chapter 3 

Getting My Sea Legs

I got home, took one look in the mirror and screamed. "Oh My God!" My
heavy black Parisian hooker eyeliner had dissolved in my sweaty haste to
get Peter help. I now looked like a Racoon on steroids. The smeared
lipstick gave me the added touch of looking like I had eaten my way
through fresh road kill.

"Why would anyone hire me after seeing me like this?" The realization that
this doctor had hired me on my somewhat demonic looks rather than any real
tangible skills unnerved me. What the hell could be going through his
head?

I decided to spend what little money I had on a work wardrobe. I had noted
that most of the women in the hospital were wearing trousers and a blouse
or scrubs. So I went down to Kmart and went directly to the Jaclyn Smith
line of clothes and picked out two pairs of trousers and two blouses that
could be mixed and matched. Most of my belongings, at least the ones that
had not been seized by the government for my "drug activities," had been
stored at my aunt's house in California after my mother's death. I hadn't
gone back to see my aunt yet because of the cost. I'd have to save up some
money first.

I woke up Monday morning, put some Coco Puffs in a bowl, poured the 1 per
cent milk over it and started eating as I read the newspaper. I rinsed my
bowl and felt a little flash of nervousness. What if I couldn't do the
job? Hopefully, Dr. House was a kind man who would show some pity on me if
I floundered. 

I drove off to the hospital with great expectations and high hopes. I
parked where I was instructed to park and put my new PPTH pass in the
window. I walked up to Dr. House's office and opened the door with a
smile. Dr. House was sitting at his computer playing a game. I waited,
shifting my weight from foot to foot and occasionally picking my tooth,
something I do unconsciously when I get nervous. I continued to watch as
he shot a hole in the head of what looked like a fantasy ninja. I
recognized the game, we had played it in the Pen. I started to scrutinize
my new employer. He had an area in the back of his head where his graying
brown hair was thin. He had long ears, a long nose, a long face, long
fingers and I wondered what else might be long. None of this length
detracted from the fact that he was pretty good looking. The added bonus
was that he had blue eyes. They seemed bluer today than they were on
Friday, or maybe I was just noticing them today. They were a clear blue
with a dark blue outer ring, almost like his pupil had on blue eyeliner.
He stopped and looked up. 

He stood up and eyed me with a somewhat puzzled frown. It was only then
that I saw that he had a bad leg and walked with a cane. I looked at the
cane and then back in his eyes, unfazed. He seemed to know me, but not
know me. He slowly undressed me up and down with his eyes. I figured
what's good for the goose is good for the gander. Since being in the Pen I
found that fighting fire with fire is often the best tactic. So I
blatantly undressed him with my eyes, lingering on his crotch. He chuckled
and said, 

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Now that I've seen you nude in my mind's eye, I'm afraid you don't
measure up."

"Who are you?"

"I'm your new Gal Friday, Reagan."

He looked terribly disappointed, "Where's your Goth Tart outfit?"

"Goth Tart?" I couldn't figure out what he meant and then finally I
remembered the racoon eyes. "Oh, that was the outfit I was required to
wear for my last employer. What, you really thought I'd wear that to work
here?"

"One could hope. I wanted you to scare off all the interns and kids."

"Dr. House, I don't need a costume to do that." I smiled. "Where do I
begin?"

"When I'm in here you can work at the computer station out there. When I'm
not here, you'll be going through my mail and answering it. When I am
here, you'll be bringing me my coffee, when I'm not here, you'll be
cleaning my coffee cup. When I am here you can give me a lap dance, when
I'm not here, you can give Chase and Foreman a lap dance. Any questions?"

"Who are Chase and Foreman?"

"You'll see them around, Chase is the blonde Fellow and Foreman is the
black Fellow."

"Oh, well do you have anything that you need done right away?"

"Too early for the lap dance so how about the cup of coffee? Milk and
sugar."

I went to the next room and poured the coffee, stirred in milk and sugar
and took it back to him. He continued to play his game as I sat the coffee
next to him. He didn't acknowledge me or thank me.

I went back over and looked through the desk in the outer office next to a
white board with medical terms scrawled on it. There were documents,
journals and odds and ends all over the place. I straightened things out
and then realized that there was nothing secretarial for me to do at that
moment unless, of course, it was laying on Dr. House's desk. I started to
get up to go ask him when three doctors entered, two males, one female.

The female was very curious, "Can we help you?" She said suspiciously.

"No, not unless you have something secretarial that you want me to do? I'm
Dr. House's new secretary."

"Secretary?" She blurted out in disdain, "You mean Chase and Foreman don't
have to do what I did? House hired a secretary?"

"I'm not sure I follow you except to say that I was hired to be clerical
help for Dr. House."

She stormed into his office and started to yell. She and House were both
sounding rather angry and their arms started gesturing wildly. I could
hear her say that it wasn't fair and I heard him say, 'grow up and stop
whining, it's not flattering in someone your age.' I looked at the two
males in the room, "Does she always get that upset over him? Why don't
they just get a room."

They both started laughing. "They just might someday." Said the black guy.
"I'm Dr. Eric Foreman and this is Dr. Robert Chase, we're two Fellows
under Dr. House."

I broke up laughing and they both looked at each other surprised at my
outburst. "I'm sorry but two fellows under Dr. House sounds slightly
homoerotic wouldn't you say?"

Dr. Chase began laughing but Dr. Foreman remained glum. "I'm Reagan
Grogan."

I stuck my hand out. Dr. Chase gave it a hearty up and down and while Dr.
Foreman's grip was strong, there wasn't much wagging. "If you have
anything for me to do when Dr. House isn't using my services, "I stopped
and giggled -wondering why my mind was in the gutter-"feel free to ask."

They both nodded yes and then the upset woman came into the office, took
one look at me and ran out the door.

"Who is that woman?"

"Another Fellow, Dr. Allison Cameron." Said Foreman.

"Oh! You mean Fellow as in apprentice, not as in gender." I started
laughing loudly. House came into the office, took a look at me and handed
me a tape. He said nothing but turned to Chase and Foreman and said, "Well
what are the results?"

They began their medical mumbo jumbo dance and I spaced out. I found a
dictation machine but it didn't have any headphones or foot pedal so I
trekked down to the administration office. I met Sarah in the hall.

"Sarah, where do I go to get equipment?" I asked.

The look on her face said it all, she had no clue who I was. "I'm sorry,
do I know you?"

"Reagan Grogan. You know, the Dark Lord's menial task mistress."

She started laughing, "Oh, I didn't recognize you without the fish net
stockings. Down in the basement. The third door to the right after you get
off the elevator."

"Thanks." I retrieved the equipment I needed and headed back to the second
floor. I hooked up the transcription equipment and looked at the tape
which said, "Hemochromatosis Complications." I put it in and started it,
"Dear Sir, I am a physician at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and
after one day of listening to clinic patients, I have determined that
there is a great need for samples of Xanex to be sent to me right away so
that I might be able to curtail my anxiety in dealing with the patients.
It might also help if I doled out Xanex in the waiting room to help
curtail the anxiety of my patients. I have to admit that most patients are
more anxious after meeting with me, but I still believe that handing each
patient a Xanex as they come through the clinic doors would make the
patient's visit much easier and would certainly improve the disposition of
the doctor. Yours Truly, Gregory House, M.D."

I obtained the address for the pharmaceutical company and printed out the
letter. I can type pretty fast, being a writer, but beyond basic word
processing, I'm still learning. I was hoping there would be no need for
spread sheets or presentation programs until I had learned them. The
hospital was working in Word and I always used Word Perfect, so I was
making stupid mistakes and taking much longer than usual to type the damn
letter. I handed the printed letter to Dr. House, who signed and handed it
back without reading a word of it.

He looked up at me as if I was a child, "Reagan, could you wear something
more revealing tomorrow? I hired you because you dressed like a french
whore. When you give me that lap dance, I'd at least like to imagine
you're Carmen Electra and not my local waitress at the bistro down the
street."

I looked at my black gabardine pants and crisp white shirt and realized he
was right about the waitress outfit. "Yes, Dr. House." And so began my
legacy at PPTH. I tried not to dress conservatively after that. I figured
if he hired me to look like a hooker, then I'd give him sexy. I needed
this job.

The next day I put on my caramel satin blouse and short tight Tiger
Stripped skirt with gold chain belt and gold strappy 3 inch open toed
shoes. I had my hair up in a chignon but with curly tendrils coming down.
I wore blood red lipstick and a barely noticeable topaz eyeshadow with
brown eyeliner and thick mascara. I accented the outfit with long, gold
earrings with a small topaz at the end of each earring. I topped it off
with my only luxury in the world, a pair of Raybans. 

I sauntered in at 9:45 a.m. and as my eyes were hidden behind my dark
sunglasses, watched the men watch me. I looked up as I walked through the
clinic and saw Dr. House and another doctor with dark hair and lovely deep
brown eyes looking down from the second floor balcony. They were talking
about me as I slinked through the corridor and made my way up the stairs
to the second floor. Dr. House was still leaning over the rail but he was
turned to look at me over his shoulder as I walked around the walkway. I
walked up to him, noticed everyone watching me and bent down, whispered in
his ear, "Is this what you want?" I continued to his office where I
promptly switched to a pair of loafers in my purse.

There was nothing on my desk so I went into his office and began to work
on sorting through the mail and organizing his desk. Among other things, I
found porn magazines, a bottle of single malt whiskey that was on it's
last legs, a buried photo of a brunette and him in each other arms with a
sunset in the background, a harmonica, rubbers (some past their use-by
date), several half-filled Vicodin bottles and the occasional odd file.
There was one drawer that was locked so I thought I'd come back to it
later. A drawer lock would be no match for a jailbird like me. Lock
picking was another talent I had picked up in the Pen.

I had been in the Dublin, California, Federal Penitentiary. There's only
five female federal penitentiaries in the USA. I was sent to one that had
a double fence around it and no frothing guards with sniper rifles. It had
been low key minimum security. It was one of the things that my lawyer had
negotiated (thank you). So I ended up continuing my education while I was
incarcerated. I received a doctorate by internet and real time webcam
classes from Pacific University in English, sub-specialty, Creative
Writing. Big deal. A felon with a doctorate is like an eighteen year old
kid with a high school degree. Whopee.

House walked into his office and without saying a word to me motioned with
his thumb for me to get out of his seat. I did but I had a hard time
getting by him because he was standing in my way. He smelled good, a
cologne similar to Polo, but not Polo, a faint smell of the hospital
bathroom soap and a musky smell all his own. 

"Can I lick you?" I envisioned asking him but held my tongue (no pun
intended). I simply let him take my place at the desk. He kept his eyes on
me the whole time we exchanged places. I did the same. What a strange man,
he must throw a lot of people off balance.

"Did you find anything useful?" he asked.

"Just that, according to that one magazine, I can keep my pubic hair soft
and manageable by simply using the same hair conditioning on it that I do
on my head. Oh, and that men like having their balls licked." I paused and
gave him my most sincere look, "Is that true?"

"I don't know but if you'd like to lick mine, we could find out...for the
sake of science."

"Do you think I would win first place at the Science Fair if I conducted a
ball licking experiment? Of course, I'd start with you and your Fellows."

"I'm not sure I'd let you. I like my balls to be licked by nubile young
women who are still young enough to appreciate the fine art of ball
licking."

"Or are just too ignorant to be able to tell a good set from a lousy one."

"Bite me."

"Nah, you'd like it." I didn't bat an eye, "Dr. House, is there a service
I can provide you right now? Otherwise, Dr. Cameron has given me a tape to
transcribe."

He was about ready to say something about the service I could provide when
a woman in her late thirties-early forties, dark hair and blue eyes
waltzed into his office. She took one good look at me and snickered, "They
told me, but I didn't believe it."

"What?" he asked defensively.

"That you actually hired a woman who was old enough to grow hair on her
legs." She stuck out her hand, "Hi, I'm Lisa Cuddy and I'm the Dean of
Medicine. If his sexual badgering or bantering gets too much, come see
me."

"Hey, she started it!" House said like a teenager being scolded by the
principal."She offered to lick my balls a minute ago."

"If she did I'm sure that you manipulated her into doing it."

I watched them and knew right away that Dr. House wasn't afraid of her.
They had some connection between them, what I didn't know. Lisa Cuddy had
a firm but not exaggerated hand shake. I'm sure it was developed over
years of trying to get it just right. A woman in her position had to do a
lot of handshaking or ball licking. Judging from the handshake she wasn't
doing a lot of ball licking. She was scrappy and I like that in a woman,
you meet a lot of them in the Pen. 

 ***********************************************************

I spent the first few weeks in the office trying to figure what I was
suppose to do. Frankly, there wasn't much. I started typing Dr. House's
notes on patients for their charts, his strange letters (mostly trying to
obtain drugs from different pharmaceutical companies) and organizing his
calendar, which didn't take much organizing. I started to get bored and so
I spent a lot of time gossiping with the different departments. When you
live in a prison for 4 years, gossip is your main form of entertainment
and a great asset for bartering. It had reached an art form in Dublin and
I was one of the best gossip artists around. I knew how to extract gossip
like a dentist extracts an impacted molar. 

My reconnaissance helped in the whore business. I found out who was
cheating on whom and who was most likely to want an "arrangement." It
wasn't long when I found out that one of the thoracic surgeons, Virgil
Thackery, was bored with his sexless marriage. Mildred, his loyal nurse,
had a thing for Virgil. She loved him but it wasn't sexual. It was one of
those light Harlequin romance loves where they barely look each other in
the eye let alone touch hands or other body parts. Only in this case the
only one who knew they were sharing this romance was Mildred. She told me
how Virgil frequently went to the Triumph to drink and forget his
troubles. This was divulged with bright eyes swollen with tears of
constant sorrow for the man she loved. Of course I wanted to tell her to
get a life, but with her looks this life was probably the best she could
do. Poor Mildred. 

Virgil isn't bad looking. He's short and cute, like a short Jimmy Stewart
without the stutter. I thought I could probably tolerate him in bed as
long as he didn't do anything too unsavory. Had Sadie been sitting next to
me, she would have been egging me on, "Come on, you can land this one. Get
out your little black book and add his name right there under 'T'."

I was daydreaming about all of this when I heard a voice in what seemed a
far off land, "Earth to nut case. Hellloooo? Are we in the same continuum?
Can I get a hello back?"

It was Dr. House waving a hand frantically in front of my face and making
silly, adolescent faces. Sometimes I couldn't believe from the way this
man acted that he was 47 years old. "Yes, Dr. House, sorry but Uhura
patched me into the wrong starship. I'm reading you now."

He tried not to laugh but his eyes crinkled. He turned to the three
Fellows, "You guys need to take lessons from her. She's almost funny." He
turned back to me, "You need to go with Chase and break into our patient's
house. He'll show you what to do." House said impatiently.

My heart skipped, surely he didn't really mean, "break in." "Break in? You
mean, enter without the patient's permission?"

"The patient is out cold so I don't think he'll be giving us the thumbs
up."

"But breaking and entering is illegal and carries a sentence of 1-3 years
if no one is home. If someone is home it's home invasion and you're
looking at 5-7 years if nothing happens, more if we hurt someone when we
break in."

They were all looking at me as I rattled off the federal sentencing
guidelines and the possible addition to my sentence if my probation was
revoked for breaking and entering.

"We weren't planning on hurting anyone." Chase stepped forward, "It's
okay, we do it all the time. You won't get caught."

House was frustrated, he didn't have time to be nice or reassuring to me,
"For God's Sake, DO YOUR JOB and get that spreading @ss out the door."

"My spreading @ss is staying put."

"Then you're fired."

"Like hell I am." I knew I couldn't be fired for refusing to commit a
criminal act. But I also knew that he'd be pissed off enough to find
something for which he could fire me.

Chase stepped in, "Look, Reagan, I have the key to his house and we're
trying to sample his things, which we will return and test to see if there
is some bacteria, virus or zoonotic reason for his illness, nothing else.
Okay?"

He sounded pretty reasonable and I realized that a court wouldn't rule it
breaking and entering under these circumstances. Still I hated giving Greg
House what he wanted. I looked at Chase and he seemed so kind that I
decided to give in. I gave House the evil eye and said, "I'll go because
Chase is cuter, has nicer hair and only looks at my @ss when I'm not
looking. Let's go Robert." House made a face at me and we left. 

I enjoyed my time with Chase, he was really very funny and sweet. He did
Greg House impressions all afternoon. I suspected that he was probably
32ish, making me about four years older than him. I wondered if he would
like to be one of my clients? But then I knew bedding the Fellows would be
too close to home. Besides I was picking up vibes that there was something
between him and Dr. Cameron.

"Now, this guy is showing strange symptoms so anything you think might be
related to being sick, bag it." he said. "Like a toothbrush? They make me
gag sometimes." I asked.

"Well, a toothbrush would be a possibility but not because it makes you
gag, but because it may harbor bacteria. See the difference?"

"Gotcha." I started bagging things. He was working too. "Hey what happened
to Dr. Doom's leg? His Mom kick him?"

He started laughing. He then spent a half hour describing what had
happened to House's leg. Part of me felt sad for House, but then a part of
me knew there was more to his mercurial temperament than a bum leg. "You
know, eight years ago I would have blamed the leg problem for his surly
disposition. But you don't get that surly from a bum leg. He's probably
always been a prickly pear. I'd say it's a combo of genes, parent problems
and then the leg. Has he ever been married?"

"No, but he lived with a lawyer, Stacey Warner, for five years, the
girlfriend who authorized the operation."

"What happened to them?"

"I get the impression that he blamed her for the leg and she blamed
herself. The relationship imploded."

"Is she the attractive brunette with high plucked eyebrows from about ten
years ago?"

"That would be her."

"Is he getting laid?"

"Funny you should ask that, everyone thinks he's doing you. But in answer
to your question, he hires hookers."

I almost swallowed my gum. I coughed and spattered. "Hookers? Really? Why?
He's good looking, single and a doctor. He could ...you know."

"I don't understand it. Despite his demeanor he seems to pull the women.
They're always flirting with him. I thought his constant nattering about
hookers was all show but Wilson insists it isn't. He has an escort service
he calls when he needs servicing and they send one over. Wilson said he
walked in on him and a hooker one day so he has confirmation. I also heard
through the grapevine that he likes them young and brunette, like Stacy."

"Then why do they think he's doing me?"

"Because you were hired in a rather unconventional outfit and you tend to
dress...huh."

"Yeah, I get it. I do that because he asked me to and it's no sweat off my
block."

"So, are you doing him?"

I started chuckling. It had been over five years since I had an orgasm
that wasn't a present to myself. I had forgotten what it felt like to have
a man give me one. "No, I'm not doing him. Why would I? I'd never hear the
last of it. He'd find a way to torture me with it. So, if everyone says
I'm doing him, how good am I?"

"They say you must be a dominatrix to keep House in line."

"Dominatrix?" I started laughing...oh the fodder he just handed me. "Is
House into S?"

"I think House is an equal opportunity pervert. If it will get his rocks
off, he'll sign up."

"You know, something tells me that all that bluster is just smoke. I think
he likes his sex like he takes his whiskey, neat."

Chase laughed heartily. "You're a laugh Reagan. Ever thought about going
out with me?"

"Sorry Chase, but 'doing House' is a full time job." We both smiled,
"Besides, you look like a puppy when you're around Cameron. I couldn't
separate a puppy from it's Mommy so soon."

We went back to the hospital with our stash and I learned later that they
found the evil critters on the toothbrush I had bagged! I felt great, like
I had solved a crime. 

"For Gods sake, we always bag the toothbrush. Get over yourself and
remember, you're just a typist." House yelled at me when I did my little
victory dance with Chase.

"Alright Scrooge, but remember, be nice, I open your mail."

"Yeah, and I give you a paycheck."

"And I answer your phones."

"I give you your review."

"I fix your coffee." I emphasized with pretend spitting sounds.

"I can arrange to have you fixed."

"I'd like to see you try."

He broke out laughing and so did I.

Chapter 4

House and Wilson Go Hollywood

"Pick me up at 7:00 tonight."

"Are you wearing a dinner jacket?":

"No, I thought I'd go with that little lavendar cocktail dress." House
gave Wilson a look of frustration, "Of course I'm wearing a dinner jacket.
Hey, bring your sunglasses. We need to look b!tchin' tonight."

House fingered the invitation and smiled. One of his patients had been a
short subject producer and had given House a ticket for two to a
red-carpet premier. It turned out the premier was for a documentary on
Hollywood and the studios. Several A-list actors were scheduled to attend.


House pulled out his tuxedo and looked at it. He was looking forward to
tonight, it had been a boring winter except for the addition of Reagan to
the staff. This reception might lighten it up. He got dressed, drank a
whiskey and put the finishing touches on his bowtie just before he heard
the knock on the door. House turned out most of the lights, grabbed his
keys and put on his winter coat. Wilson always drove because he had the
nicer car. Wilson parked the car using House's blue placard and they
started walking towards the theater where the premier was taking place.
House elbowed Wilson, "Ahhh," his mouth dropped, "Be still my beating
heart, it's Helen Bonham Carter...ohhh, I've had a crush on her since
Howard's End. Look, Kirsten Dunst all grown up and without fangs! She sure
can suck face upside down."

Wilson was just as excited. "Jake Gyllenhaal."

"Oh...ever since Brokeback Mountain I've cooled on him. I can't stand the
thought of him with Heath Ledger. I wanted him to hook up with Randy
Quaid."

"Hey, he was just acting."

"Yeah, but I could have gone my whole life without seeing Jake ridin',
ropin' and redecoratin'."

House was in line and lurked around while he waited for Helen Bonham
Carter to end her television interview. He nonchalantly started to walk
next to her up the red carpet. Photos were being taken and what Helen
didn't know was that House had position himself so that it appeared they
were together. Photos were snapped and eventually several photojournalists
asked for House's name. He smiled slyly and gave it to them. Meanwhile,
Wilson was inside at the champagne reception talking to Jake Gyllenhaal
and Matt Damon. They were having an intellectual discussion regarding the
recent oil spill in Alaska. Everyone was talking about how similar it was
to the Valdez incident.

House was quite pleased with himself and was making his way over to Wilson
when he saw her. He pointed her out to Wilson who gave House a quizzical
look, "What is your secretary doing here?"

"It looks like she's waitressing. Those black trousers and white blouse
came in handy."

Reagan saw House and Wilson and smiled. She walked up to them and said,
"Champagne?"

They both took a glass. "What are you doing here?"

"Moonlighting." She didn't dare tell him that her probation officer had
wrangled the job for her. "I need the money." She nodded to them and then
took off.

House saw her a few minutes later talking to a man in his mid to late
forties. The man was smiling and flirting. Reagan was obviously receptive.
House was curious and just a bit put off by the fact that someone was
hitting on her. He felt a little protective towards her and so he made his
way over. She was writing her phone number on the arm of the man and
flipping her hair back, smiling seductively. She turned and saw House a
few feet away and looked absolutely scared to death. 

House took another champagne, "Is he forcing you to tattoo him with your
concentration camp number?"

"Yes, I gave him my number." She was hoping House would do nothing more.
This was her chance to make some really good money after the premier. The
producer was going to call her when it was over and have her meet him at
his hotel. "Now bugger off."

"He looks like he swings both way, did you ask for an HIV clearance?"

"No, but I did get his secret decoder ring. Leave me alone Dr. House. I'll
see you Monday and try to behave. I saw what you did on the red carpet.
I'm going to have a ton of calls to respond to on Monday. Just what do you
want me to say about Helen Bohham Carter?"

"We're just good friends." He said seriously and wiggled his eyebrows.

Reagan snorted, he could be so funny. 

The front rows were saved for the celebrities, but House, using his leg
and cane as an excuse, managed to get them seats in the second row, next
to Jessica Biel. House gave her a sly, sexy smile as came down the aisle
and to his great surprise, she returned it. He sat down and smoothed out
the crease in his trousers.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" she asked.

"Kind of, but it's typical premier crap." House answered, "Why don't we
skip out and have a drink and see where it goes?"

He said this just as a head bent down from the seat next to her and gave
him the evil eye. Jessica smiled, "Huh...." She waited for House to say
his name.

"House, Dr. Gregory House." He smiled.

"Dr. House, this is my mother, Mrs. Biel."

House said nothing but gave her mother a painful smile. Things were a
little awkward afterwards and House left with nothing more than an
autograph and a cell phone photo of the two of them together. However,
House did hit it off with another, not so well know actress, Marcia. She'd
even given him head in her car. When she was done and ready to leave, he
got out of the car to go home. She stopped him, gave him her card and told
him to call her. As she drove off he saw that she lived in Santa Monica,
California, hardly within easy driving distance. He pocketed the card and
smiled. It had been a fun evening.

Later that night Reagan's cell phone rang, the caller I.D. showed a
California cell phone number, it was him. "Hi."

"Hi, it's Jerry. Well, it's finally over. I'm at the Hyatt, Room 544. How
soon can you be here?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Great, see you soon." He hung up.

She had rushed home and cleaned up, putting on her tiger skirt and caramel
blouse, strappy shoes and was out the door. She knocked on the door of 544
and he answered in a robe. "Fiona, come on in." He let her in and went
over to pour a drink of wine.

"Nice suite. How was the movie?" She asked.

"It sucked. It came off as a National Enquirer article rather than a
serious documentary about the inequities in Hollywood. But, it will go
over well with the public and it will make money, so that's what counts."
He handed her the wine, "So shall we talk money?"

"Obviously it depends on what you want: $300 for an hour; $500 for the
night; $100 for just a blow job and sorry but I don't do backdoors."

"Fine. He pulled out his wallet and counted out $500. "I don't want you
jumping up in the middle of the night and running out the door." He put
his wine down, "What's the rules on kissing you?"

"No kisses on the mouth, you know, standard stuff."

He pulled out his wallet and counted out another $500, held it up to her,
"An extra $500 if you let me kiss you on the mouth while we're having
sex."

Oh...wow, that's tempting. She thought back to Sadie's admonishment,
"Don't let the John kiss you on the mouth." She never really said why.
"Alright." She took the $500 and pocketed it.

He undid his robe and she could see a rather normal package, nothing
special. "You're turn." he said.

Underneath her blouse and skirt was a corset and french cut panties. She
turned on the television in the room to the music channel and, in keeping
with the music, dropped her skirt, kicked it to the side and then opened
up her blouse. She continued to dance in her high heels. She swayed and
dipped, rubbed herself all over. Stuck her hand suggestively down her
panties, rubbing and grinding for several minutes. When the song was over,
he grabbed her, pulled her near and started kissing her breasts and
undoing the corset. He smiled when the corset fell to the ground. 

"Are those real?" he asked.

"Of course they are, they'd be bigger if they weren"t."

"They're beautiful." He nuzzled them and licked them. All night long he
complimented her on her body, her laugh, her technique. He was on this
third go. Just before he put on a rubber she gave him a little extra on
the deal, she gave him the Special Head, the style Sadie taught her. 

He had his eyes closed tight, feeling lightheaded from the sensation. She
put the rubber on him and then bent over so he could have her from behind
creating the golden trio, missionary, girl on top and doggy style. In each
scenario she moaned and groaned for him but there was no pleasure in it
for her. She was concentrating solely on him and not what felt good to
her. He didn't seem to need for her to pretend to come as long as she gave
him verbal sex cues during the act.

When it was over he collapsed onto her and she collapsed down to the bed
and giggled. He almost felt like dead weight. For a moment she was
frightened, what if he was dead? After all, one client had a heart attack
with her. She quickly turned and noted that he was moving. She let out her
breath and smiled.

"Damn, you're good. That thing with your mouth, I've only had one other
hooker do that and unfortunately, she's serving a sentence in jail for
pandering. You may have heard about her. She had an international
prostitution ring, the Bel Air Madam? Sadie Thompson?"

"Yes, I've heard of her." Reagan smiled at the mention of Sadie's name,
"You were her client?"

"Yeah, Sadie only personally serviced a few clients in the end and I was
one of them. She made her most of her money as a madam. In fact, she made
a lot of money, she was good, really good. I miss her."

"I heard she left a void in Los Angeles when she was put away. I've often
thought of moving out to California to apply my trade." She smiled at him.


He pulled her into him and held her during the night. This John was
romantic, he liked having sex as if it was more than sex. Some men just
wanted what was between your legs and others wanted all of you, including
the cuddle afterwards. You usually knew what way they were because the
romantics always paid for the entire night.

In the morning she got dressed as he showered and shaved. He came out to
the room, still wet from the shower and looked at her as she grabbed her
purse. He went over to his wallet and got out two cards.

"Keep one of the cards and if you're in L.A. call me, please. On the other
card, put down your name, your real name, and your phone number. I'll call
you when I'm in the area."

She tilted her head sweetly and simply said, "Okay." She left her number
and name (real one) and kissed him on the cheek. "See ya."

Chapter 5 Poor Poor Pitiful Me

"Well, did you get any?" House was making his own coffee while I was
drafting a grant proposal for the department. Dr. Cuddy had given it to me
to type and submit. It was poorly phrased. It was typical of most
professionals, they must use some "Idiot's Guide to Submitting Grants." I
improved the wording and submitted it.

"Did I get any what?"

He looked frustrated. House was shaking his head. "Did you get any @ss?
Did you hook up with that guy? Did you put out? I'd think twice about
seeing him again, I'm pretty sure he was bi-sexual or a tranny. But then,
maybe that's all you can pull. You know, you do have nice legs, maybe if
you wore a sack over your head you'd get better offers." 

"Why would I want a better offer when I can stare right through that glass
and see the man of my dreams. I'm just so turned on by your juggling and
that bald spot. Man when I see that my knees go weak. Let's not forget
your lovable limp and the fact that you're such a fashion plate. I just
sit here all day wishing I could be that ball you're always playing
with...and I don't mean the one on your desk. I may sleep with others
but," I paused and then gave him a sultry look, "you're the man." I paused
and turned cranky, "Now can I get back to work or do you still need to
demonstrate to me why you're still single?"

He shut up and gave me a strange look as if I had turned the tables when
he wasn't looking, "I was just wondering if you were going to be in a good
mood or not. I figure if you got the big "O" maybe you'd be nicer. And
what's with the black? Have you gone Goth again?"

I had gone shopping with my $1,000 trick money. I had on a new black silk
blouse that showed lots of cleavage, a short black pencil skirt, black
stockings and 3 inch red stiletto heels. I also had on a red studded
collar. I figured I'd play up the dominatrix gossip. House kept looking at
me. I got up, went over to him and stared longingly into his big blue
eyes. I rubbed the back of my neck and then down my breasts. I licked my
lips and smoothed my skirt over my hips. I was close enough that I could
feel his breath which was quickly becoming irregular. I looked slowly back
up to his blue eyes. I could smell him and so I knew he could smell me. A
little glisten of sweat broke out on his forehead. He was clearly
wondering what I was doing. I motioned for him to bend down so I could
whisper something to him. He bent down and I put my mouth so close to his
ear that they occasionally brushed against him as I spoke. "There's been
something I've wanted to do since I walked in this morning." I gave just
the faintest of smiles and then reached up towards his face slowly and
purposefully. He closed his eyes. I plucked a piece of fluff from his hair
and then walked away. I went to the women's bathroom where I broke into
gales of laughter.

That was fun. He thought he could torture me with his tirades and insults.
I now knew I could torture right back. We were both pros at what we were
doing. What he didn't know was that I had perfected flirtation 101 with
Sadie. She knew just how to drive a man wild and she had taught me. Poor
pitiful House, I realized I had a cannon and he had a pea shooter. 

The team arrived and showed me a photo in US magazine of Helen Bonham
Carter walking with Dr. Gregory House. It was taken just when she turned,
saw House and his cane and gave him a polite smile. It looked like they
knew each other and were intimate. I laughed so hard it hurt. House walked
in, saw the photo and smiled at me.

I nodded, "You're good...really. I can't believe that photo.

"Hey, she's hot. It's a shame I had to turn her down. I just can't be with
her, she smokes like a chimney."

"Yeah, like that would stop you." I said.

I fielded phone calls all day about the photo and had fun with it. I
started with, "They're just good friends" and by the end of the day I was
telling the reporters, "They aren't prepared to discuss their relationship
and where it's going." 

It was Friday and I was looking forward to the long Memorial Day weekend.
I had decided to take some of my hooker money and go see my old college
classmate in New York. House walked into the outer office and, with a
sucker in his mouth, said, "I'll need you to come in this weekend to do
some typing."

"Typing? I have plans." 

He leaned down and with the meanest look he could manage said, "Tough.
This article has to be submitted by June 1st or none of us have a job.
Capice?"

I sighed and gave him a look of disapproval. "Give it to me, maybe I can
get it done tonight."

"Doubtful, this is just tape one. I haven't finished tape two. I'll work
on it tonight and see you here tomorrow morning."

"Jerk."

"B!tch."

Around 2:00 pm I was still pouting when he came in and grabbed a book off
the shelf. He turned and saw my best pouty face. "Oh for God's sake grow
up. It's not like you have a lot to do around here anyway. You're
basically a carbuncle sucking the money out of this department. You're
lucky I hired you. No one else would have."

I jumped to my feet, grabbed my purse out of the desk drawer and said,
"Get screwed!" in my best felon voice and started to stomp out of the
office. I think he realized the import of what he had just done. Without
me, he wouldn't be able to submit his article on time and the board would
have his nads. Chase told me that they had been very generous in giving
him until June 1st to submit the article so I knew he needed me, they were
unlikely to extend his deadline.

He reached out and tried to stop me with his cane but it only ended up
tripping me. I stumbled on my 3 inch heels and went flying. I caught my
head on the edge of the table as I tumbled forward. It happened so fast
that I couldn't get my hands up fast enough to protect myself from the
fall. I then hit the chair and finally the floor. Blood was spurting
everywhere from my cut eyebrow, bleeding nose and busted lip.

"Christ!" House hobbled over and kneeled down, rolled me over and saw the
blood coming from several cuts. I looked up, gurgling from the blood going
down the back of my mouth. I'm sure I must have looked horrified because I
could see in his face a mixture of anger, frustration and deep concern. 

Cameron came in, looked down at me bleeding on the floor and then looked
at House, "What did you do to her?" Without waiting for a response, she
ran out to get a wheelchair and a towel. It was Cameron who gathered me up
and put me in the wheelchair with the towel pressed to my face and took me
down to Emergency.

I was in the emergency room when House showed up, looking like a churlish
teenager who just had his car taken away on prom night. The doctor was
sewing up the gash in my eyebrow when House asked, "I guess this means you
won't come in this weekend to type up my article?"

I couldn't move my head because of the stitching so I simply said, "Bite
me."

The doctor, Geffler, laughed and then looked over at House and snickered
at him. 

"What are you looking at? She's the patient, keep your eye on her." House
turned back to look at me, "I'll make it up to you...give you some time
off next month with pay..."

He was going to say more but Cuddy came rushing in with Cameron behind
her, looked at me and then laid into House, "You two can't have kinky sex
at the office. This S & M thing has to stop."

House shook his head in disbelief, " What have you been smoking?"

"House, everyone's talking about it. You two should know better and if it
doesn't stop, I'm firing one of you." She turned towards me, "Looking at
the shape she's in, I suspect I'll be firing you House." 

"Dr. Cuddy?" I finally spoke up. "Uh...I don't know where you're getting
your info," I paused and looked directly at Cameron who I suspected had
been the source, "But I'm not doing Dr. House. Come on Dr. Cuddy, look at
him. Don't you think I could do better? He's a mess. He drinks too much,
takes too many pills, looks like he slept in his clothes, snores and has
thinning hair. We weren't in some kama sutra position when this happened.
Dr. House tripped me with his cane to punish me for not wanting to do his
last minute typing."

" I DIDN'T TRIP YOU." He turned to Cuddy and was very agitated, "I was
trying to stop her from leaving the office. It was an accident."

Cuddy calmed down and then gave Cameron a disapproving look. "I can see
your point Reagan. He isn't much to look at is he?"

"Hey, I score better looking women than her." House lamented.

"Maybe when you were younger but you're past your sell-by date House. You
need to think about repackaging." She looked at both of us, "You two need
to sort this out. There will be no time extensions on your article." She
didn't wait for the gobsmacked House to answer. Cuddy turned on her heels
and left. Cameron followed.

"Where did she get the idea that I was screwing you?" House asked.

Dr. Geffler answered for me, "It's all over the hospital. I heard you two
were caught in the sleep lab with whips and handcuffs."

I started sniggering, I just couldn't keep it in. Dr. Geffler backed off
with the needle to wait until the bout of laughter passed. He laughed too.

House was agitated, "If we're into S, who's the S and who's the M?"

"According to Nurse Brenda, you're the submissive one House. The word is
that all your bluster and meanness is a cover for you. In reality you want
to be humiliated." 

I was doubled up with laughter. House's face contorted into a look of pure
bewilderment and anger, "I'm an S or I WOULD BE an S if I were into S & M.
They can't really think she's the S?" he shook his head, made a tsk noise
and left the room.

Geffler turned back to me. "You have him dancing on a tightrope, don't
you? I've never seen House so tongue tied."

"Is that really the gossip?" 

"Nah, some people think you're the submissive one, but I didn't want him
to know that. Don't worry, most of the gossip is that you two are just
screwing, no kinky stuff. But with that stud collar, I'm beginning to
wonder. Now let me stitch you up."

"We aren't screwing but I do like to yank his chain."

"I can tell and there's no one who deserves it more."

He was quiet for a few minutes while he stitched me up. He finished and
then smiled at me. He smelled like Obsession por Homme. Nice. He was good
looking, not handsome, but definitely pleasant to be seen with. He was a
touch overweight, maybe ten pounds but tall, about six feet. He looked
down at me and said, "Would you like to go out sometime?"

It finally dawned on me that my mouth must be opened because he started
laughing at me. I hadn't anticipated anyone asking me out. I hadn't been
on a date since Ecuador. That was almost six years ago, right after my
thirtieth birthday. So many thoughts went through my head at once. Do I
want to go out with him? If I do, do I tell him I'm a felon? If I tell
him, do I do it now or when we're on the date or when? More importantly,
do I tell him that I'm a part time hooker? Nah, I knew the answer to that
one. 

I breathed out and said, "I think I would." I know I didn't sound very
convincing, "I just haven't dated a lot lately."

"Well, we can start slow. How about dinner in a well lit restaurant
frequented by police?"

I giggled. "We don't have to go that slow, but dinner would be nice."

"Tonight?"

"Too fast. I'm going to have to stay with Dr. Dread to get this article
typed in time. I was just holding out to see what perks I could get out of
him. Tomorrow night?"

"Great. I'll pick you up."

I gave him my address and directions. Ken, my probation officer, had found
me the place. There aren't many people who will rent to felons and most
rental applications ask if you've ever been convicted of a felony. I was
pleased with my new apartment. It was a large studio over a three car
garage. It had a kitchenette, a bathroom and then the main room. It was
$450 a month plus utilities, a bargain in Princeton. Most of the housing
is snapped up by the students. I was lucky to get this. My landlord is a
math teacher at the local high school, a widower named Ralph.

"What time?"

"7:00 pm. Okay?"

"Great."

I looked in the mirror in the women's restroom and almost screamed. I had
a black eye, stitched eyebrow, and split lip. My nose had stopped bleeding
but was beginning to get black and blue. I looked horrible. This sucked. I
just knew my Johns were going to call and want some nookie. I couldn't
meet them like this, it would scare them away. Oh well, I guess I'd have
to have the flu this week. 

I opened the door to the outer office and Chase made a painful face in
response to the bruising on my face. House walked in and Chase looked up,
"What the hell did you do to her?" Chase got to his feet as if he was
going to do something about it.

"Calm down Chase, he meant to use the cane as a barricade and ended up
using it as a hook on my ankle. I fell."

House looked sheepish, "Cuddy wants you to fill out these accident forms.
She said if you want to take the rest of the day and weekend off you can."
He sounded so pitiful that I was both satisfied that he was in pain and
sympathetic simultaneously.

I said nothing but went over, picked up the tape, shoved it into the
transcriber and sat down. He looked apologetic and wouldn't go away. I
took off the headphones, threw them on the desk and yelled, "WHAT?" 

He stepped back in surprise, "Cuddy said I had to apologize."

"I'm going to transcribe your tapes but you owe me. You're going to give
me not one, but two days off during the week whenever I choose and you're
going to pay me for those days off, understand?"

He looked embarrassingly at Chase and then back to me. He shook his head,
"yes."

"Oh...and go get me a diet coke." I ordered. 

"Screw you." House said and went back into his office.

I chuckled and so did Chase. Chase looked at me, "Good try. I thought he
just might do it."

"He would have if you hadn't been here. He had to keep that alpha male
dominance in the pack."

I started transcribing what had to be the most boring tape in the world. I
was looking up half the medical terms or asking Chase what they meant and
how to spell them. I was also falling asleep or spacing out. I knew I had
to do something. I took a break and then came back to it. I transcribed
until 7:30 p.m. and to give House credit, he stayed the whole time
dictating the next tape even though he could have dictated at home. Before
I left I handed him a draft of the first tape to correct and he threw it
in the trash.

I was shocked, "Don't you want to edit it?"

"I could give a crap. I just have to submit something, it doesn't have to
be published. That's why they have editors at the Journal. What time are
you coming in tomorrow?"

"Early, about 8:00 a.m."

"Okay." he paused, "How do you feel?"

"My lip feels like a sausage, my eyebrow hurts and I have a huge
headache."

"I'm...I'm sorry."

I looked at him, I hadn't expected that. I searched his face to see if he
was going to start laughing or if there was any hint of perfidy. But he
looked genuinely contrite. "Yeah, well next time that cane comes near me
I'm going to shove it up your @ss, okay?"

He smiled. "Are you flirting with me?"

I shook my head and left.

The next morning I stopped and got a smoothie. I arrived at 8:05 and was
surprised to see House at his desk on his computer. I walked into his
office. "You didn't need to come in. You could have just put the tape on
my desk."

"I need to have it in the mail this afternoon."

"I looked at how much tape was left to transcribe. I'll be done by noon if
you want to come back around 11:30 a.m."

He nodded and got up. He grabbed his cane and looked at me. "The yellow
goes nicely with your top." He was pointing to the bruising which had
changed from dark, dark purple to purple and yellow.

"Thanks, I hope my date likes the new color scheme."

He stopped, "Date?"

"Yeah, the emergency doctor asked me out. It's the only good thing that
came out of this. He wants to see if I really am a Dominatrix. Could you
vouch for me. Maybe show him some whip marks?"

He cocked his head like he wanted to ask a lot of questions but knew I
needed to start typing so he kept shut his mouth. I went into the outer
office and continued to transcribe the tape. Now that I knew he wasn't
going to edit I felt an obligation to make it sound legible, so I enhanced
it, corrected the grammar and in general made sure it was legible. I took
my time and was printing it out when House came back with two milkshakes,
handing me one. "Chocolate."

"Thanks, I love milkshakes, I like malts even better.'

"I'll remember that."

"Well, here. Sign it."

He signed on the back page and I produced an envelope already typed and
ready to go with the appropriate postage. I put the documents into the
envelope and he put out his hand. 

I shook my head violently, "You think for one minute I trust you to get
this into a mail box? Hell, no. I'm taking it over to the post office and
posting it."

"So where are you going tonight?"

"Disneyland." I said. He looked perturbed. "Out for dinner. I'm not sure.
Do you have any plans?" I knew when I asked that he didn't. He didn't go
out often. He seemed to stay home and from something Wilson once said, he
spent most of his time drinking, watching television, and playing piano. I
had an urge to hug him but then I remembered the status of my face and the
urge passed. "I've got to go. See you Tuesday."

I got home and there was a call on my voice mail cancelling my Wednesday
tryst. I was grateful that it was the John who cancelled instead of me. I
still had just two regular clients, Peter and Calvin. But Calvin only used
my services once a month. He was much younger than me but he said he liked
the "experience" I brought to the bedroom. That made me feel old.

I dressed in my new pink sundress, pink cardigan, white heels and hair in
a pony tail. I thought I looked a little like a Barbie doll that had been
physically abused by Ken. I pulled out my RayBans which helped a little.
There was a knock on the door and I opened it. He looked great in nice
navy blue microfiber trousers, a Nautica shirt and brown loafers. He
whistled at me. I knew he was just being kind because the whole busted lip
and bruises really did nothing for my appearance.

"If I can just remember that gorgeous face from the first day I saw it a
month ago, I bet it looks great with that dress. I know that body is hot."

I blushed. "Thanks..." I went blank. I only knew him as Geffler, Dr.
Geffler.

"Ryan."

"I'm so sorry! I just know you by your last name.'

"It's okay."

We went to a Asian Fusion restaurant and ate. The conversation was easy
and I laughed a lot. I had to dodge some questions about my past but I
made sure I didn't lie. I just didn't want anyone to know about my jaded
history. At least not yet.

We got along really well. He was funny, polite and attentive. He wasn't
the biting wit that House was, but he was that "ah gosh" kind of funny.
When we got back to my place I debated about asking him in but he solved
the problem. At the top of the landing he pulled me around, gave me a very
nice first kiss with just a little tongue and then said, "I have to get up
early to go deep sea fishing with my buddies down at the shore so I'll say
goodnight. I'll call you."

"Thanks for a lovely evening." I said. He went half way down the steps,
turned to make sure I got inside safely and then left. "Wow! That was nice
and fun." I said to a non- existent companion and then closed the door.

Chapter 6

Things Come to a Head

June 8th was a rainy day and a busy one for the Diagnostics department. A
new patient, who wanted House to personally diagnose her, had just
arrived. For the last month she had been having dizzy spells and problems
with her balance. House had met her at the celebrity reception. She was
the new actress he had met. Her block- buster science fiction film had
just opened that week. Her arrival had created some havoc in the
department mostly because House already had one patient that was giving
him heartburn. Now he had two.

House opened the door to the outer office and started grabbing journals
and medical books off the shelves. "The team is busy running tests on the
runt, I need you to go down and take a history on the new patient, Marcia
Grant."

"Me?" Reagan asked. 

House looked around the otherwise empty office and said, "No, Jimmy
Hoffa's ghost over there. Here, get her to answer these questions and any
others that you think might help." He handed her a patient questionnaire.

Reagan started looking for a pen on her new desk. It pissed her off that
they always went missing, the team kept taking them. She was wearing a low
cut black shell with a pencil skirt. When she bent over everything was in
view for House, except her nipples. He was just praying to get a glimpse
of her nipples and was tilting his head and squinting when he noticed her
staring at him. She looked at her top and the view of her breasts and then
straightened up quickly.

"Oh, grow up." She said with disgust.

"Don't blame me, you wear those blouses and flash your breasts. What am I
suppose to do, look away?"

"You know, I wouldn't be wearing these clothes if you hadn't ordered me to
dress like this when I came here two months ago."

"Thank God."

She grabbed the pen she found and stormed out to a smiling House. He
adjusted his jeans a little and went back to the other room to work on the
first patient's files.

Reagan entered the patient's room and was greeted by her manager and her
mother. "I'm Reagan Grogan, Dr. House's assistant. I'll be asking you some
questions." Reagan looked at the young woman. She had a pair of knockers
on her that were obviously fake but otherwise, the rest of her body was
all Marcia. She was brunette and according to her answers, she was 26,
5'7" 122 lbs. She was born in Illinois and had no allergies or known
exposure to molds. Reagan was asking the questions when Marcia finally
interrupted her.

"I want Dr. House to see me. I want him to do the interview."

"Dr. House is with another patient. He wanted me to get your medical
history first and then he'll be down." 

The actress frowned but kept answering Reagan's questions. Marcia's face
lit up as the sliding door opened and House walked in."

"Hello Greg." Marcia said.

"Hello Marcia." House walked over and took the questionnaire out of
Reagan's hands. He read through it quickly. "When did you finish filming
in the Philippines?"

"Just before we met."

He asked her mother and the manager to leave but not Reagan. He went over
to Marcia and started to examine her. Reagan had never seen him work
before. She was impressed and somewhat amused that he was so serious.
Everyone said he was a genius. The fact that he got away with so much
attested to that. Cuddy wasn't likely to keep anyone who gave her that
much grief unless they were good, really good.

"Greg, you never called me."

"You live in Santa Monica."

"But I come back here all the time to see my mother. I enjoyed our little
outing to my car the other night. I hope you did too."

Reagan wasn't surprised. She had heard that House liked them young and
nubile. Marcia fit the bill to a T. He finished the examination and looked
over at Reagan.

"Get Foreman in here and tell him to run a CSF on her, a catscan, a CB3
and ANA."

"Okay." She got up and went to get Foreman. There was something very alpha
male about House doing an examination. She felt submissive and that felt
odd. Reagan rarely was submissive. If you're submissive in the Pen then
you never get to eat, shower or keep your dignity.

The first patient died. House had diagnosed him but the disease was in the
final stages and there was nothing they could do. The actress turned out
to have a small tumor resting on her spinal column that was hidden by
tissue. She was scheduled for an operation for the following month after
she finished filming a pilot to remove the tumor and surrounding tissue.
She was in no real danger for the next month so the neurosurgeon cleared
her for filming.

Reagan had come back from lunch, picked up the calendar and saw that House
had written in a medical seminar for the end of the month but had no
details written down. The vertical blinds were pulled in House's office
meaning he was probably on the floor sleeping. She burst through the door
and saw House in his easy chair with the actress's head in his lap
bringing him to climax. He was coming at the same time he saw her standing
in the doorway. He had forgotten to lock the second door. 

There was nothing he could do at this point but let nature take its
course. He moaned and grimaced and tried to give Reagan the evil eye all
at the same time. Reagan knew she should leave but she was transfixed. He
looked like he was in pain but the moaning and white semen spilling over
said otherwise. He was embarrassed but at the same time seeing her watch
them was a turn on. He felt confused. Reagan finally shrugged and backed
out of the room. She wasn't sure how she felt. She was amused, a little
embarrassed and a little, could it be? She was a little jealous. How
strange. She figured the actress was done by now and House was zipping up.

Reagan looked at her watch. She had a half hour left on the clock. She
didn't think House would mind if she went home early. It was probably
better for them to give it a night before they saw each other again.

When Reagan got home she saw that she had a voice mail. She was hoping it
was Ryan. He hadn't called and it had been over a week. After what she saw
today she was really hoping that she could get some action. And by action,
she wanted a man to to make her come. This dry spell had to end.

The phone call was from Pete. He wanted to meet up with her next Wednesday
at the usual hotel. She penciled it into her calendar, Pete, 7, Hyatt.
That was it, no more messages. She came to the conclusion that she had
read the date with Ryan wrong. He really hadn't found her attractive. Of
course with the bruising and busted face she couldn't blame him. She
looked into the mirror. She could barely see the bruising and with makeup
you couldn't see it at all. She ate dinner, watched 24 and went to bed.

The next day she braced herself for House. It was his birthday and she had
bought him a book on the famous jazz pianist, Dave Brubeck. She put it on
his desk with his card and then turned to leave to find him standing,
leaning on his cane, in front of her. He looked stern and said nothing.

"I need more information on your conference at the end of the month so I
can make your reservations and get your cases covered."

He nodded.

"Uh, happy birthday. I put a little something, not much, on your desk."
She wanted to say that for her, spending $20 on a present was a big thing.
But she knew that compared to what the doctors earned $20 was nothing. She
needed to get more clients, it was hard to make ends meet with just two
regular guys and the odd overflow from the local escort service. 

One of her original tricks had mentioned her name to a local escort
service and they had called her. Reagan came to an arrangement with the
owner, Pam. They would call her if they didn't have enough girls to
service all of their clients. They expected her to give them a 15%
referral fee. They never gave her any of the locals because they didn't
want to lose their clients to her. They only gave her the out-of-towners.
They figured 15% of something was better than turning the business away.
She had turned two tricks for them. Both nice guys. She left and went to
her new desk. Cuddy had purchased a second computer station after the
Fellows griped that they didn't have access to the old one when they
needed it.

House opened the card and read it. It was funny, causing him to smile. He
opened the gift and was pleasantly surprised to receive the book. He
already had it, it was one of his favorites. But the fact that she had
read him well enough to purchase something he liked was a miracle. Cameron
always gave him something that went to the back of his closet and Wilson
was smart enough to just ask him what he wanted or took him out. This year
House had bought himself a present and was looking forward to receiving
it.

They didn't talk much all day even though Reagan tried to act normally.
House was guarded and said very little to her. Reagan saw Cameron come in
with a gift and then Cuddy with a card. Reagan knew that Wilson was taking
House out for drinks later but she wondered if House was going to do
anything special for his birthday? Today was not the day to ask. Things
between them had gotten awkward quickly.

Chapter 7

Sex and the Single Girl

I had just watched Cuddy hand the birthday card to House when I received a
call from Moonlight Escort Service. They had several Johns without girls
that night. Pamela told me that they had a rash of requests and had
originally filled them but two of the girls were sick and one had to go
back to Ohio because her brother had died in an auto accident. Pam ran a
nice, clean operation and was pretty good about checking out the Johns.
Unlike some services, she checked the information the Johns provided
before letting her girls meet them. It turned out to be the smart thing to
do. There had only been two bad incidents in the fifteen years Pam had
been running the service.

"I've got a semi-regular who needs a girl. He calls occasionally, nothing
you could set a watch by. But he's a little odd. He usually likes college
girls but I think he'll be okay with you. You look young for your age. He
doesn't like you to talk. He's kind of a slam, bam, thank you ma'am.
Nothing kinky, just in and out in an hour. He's a good tipper if you keep
your mouth shut. We'll expect 15% and of course, you won't tell him that
you're independent, right?"

"No problem."

"He's set the appointment for 9:00pm tonight. Okay?"

"Fine." I took down the address.

I went home and cooked myself a light dinner and debated as to what to
wear. If this guy liked them young and wanted to get the deed over with
then I would wear trendy clothes that were easy to take off. I picked out
a peasant blouse, a flip skirt, no nylons and my nice bra and panties set
I bought last week at Marshalls. I tried not to look like a hooker but to
look more like a perky college girl. I let my hair hang down with just a
headband to keep it off of my face. I put on backless heels and was out
the door at 8:30 p.m. I don't know the city that well so I left early. I
arrived about ten minutes before nine but I could see a light on and when
I listened at the door, I only heard a television. I straightened my
skirt, checked my lipstick, ate a mint and tried to look young and perky.
I checked the address again, 221 B. I knocked on the door.

The door opened and my mind went, "F#CK, F#CK, F#CK!" It was House
standing at the door. He looked a little confused and then nervous. He
kept looking around me as if he was expecting someone else. The shock was
starting to dissipate from me and I was now curious.

"What do you want?" He asked in a hurry.

"Can I come in?"

"No. I'm expecting company any minute."

"This won't take long." I pushed past him and into the room.

He turned, obviously annoyed with me, and hobbled back to the middle of
the room where I was standing. He was dressed in just a navy blue t-shirt
and dark blue levis. He was barefoot. There was a bottle of whiskey on the
coffee table with a half-empty glass next to it and a couple of birthday
cards and their envelopes. His piano was in the corner and there were
musical instruments all over. The apartment looked like him.

He pointed towards the door with his arms and his body, "Get out!
Leave...I'll see you tomorrow."

"Who's so important that you can't take time out to let me say my peace?"

"My birthday present. Someone is bringing me my birthday present."

"Oh." I pretended to understand. "Ok, I get it. But I also came to give
you your birthday present before I leave."

"You gave me a present already, now leave."

I walked up and was standing so close to him I could feel the body heat
wafting off his chest along with that musky smell he has. I could almost
taste the whiskey on his breath. He became very still and stiff. I put
both hands on his face and pulled his head down as if I was going to
whisper something in his ear. He let his body drop a little to hear what I
had to say. Instead, I nibbled his ear and stuck my tongue in it while
massaging his package through the jeans. His breathing became slow and
deep. He actually quivered when I let my lips come down his neck. Then I
unzipped him and started to stick my hand inside but he grabbed my hand
and pulled it out.

"This is all very...very interesting but you really have to go, can I take
a rain check?" His voice was softer more considerate.

I looked up into his eyes and smiled sweetly, "Greg, I am your birthday
present, Moonlight sent me over."

He was stunned and looking at me like I had just announced the second
coming of Jesus Christ and the Rapture. He didn't comprehend what I was
saying at first. Then it hit him like the proverbial lightbulb coming on.
His eyes widened and all he said was, "F#ck. I was looking forward to
this."

"I'm not leaving. I'm here to do a job and it's important that I do it.
Pam won't hire me again if I don't report back that you were satisfied."

"Let me get this straight...you're a hooker? A hooker?"

"I'm still trying to build up a clientele but yes, I am. And you're a
John. So now that we have that figured out, let's go back to your bedroom
and I'll keep my mouth shut."

"You think I'm going to pay you for sex? First you're what, 35? Blonde and
oh, here's the clincher, my employee!"

"Not tonight. Tonight I'm your birthday gift to yourself. And before you
dismiss a 36 year old blonde, at least give me a try. I know why you want
a brunette and you want her to be quiet. It's because you want to imagine
that you're back with Stacy, back when you both just met and were young.
But try something different for your birthday, try this. If you find me
repulsive, you won't have to pay me. Come on, where's your bedroom?"

I started to walk to his bedroom while pulling his hand. He still wasn't
convinced. "I don't bite Greg. Do you want me to be quiet?" Like a
salesman, always keep asking the customer questions as if they had already
committed to the purchase.

"I want you to leave."

"I will after I do what I came her to do. Come on." I could see he was
melting, realizing that his plans for sex would fall through if he didn't
take me up on it. I pulled again and he started down the hall with me. I
saw that straight ahead was the bathroom and so I figured the room to my
left was the bedroom. It was. I went over to the night stand, turned on
the light and smiled at him. He came into the room and rubbed his forehead
like he was still worried. I had to act fast so I took off my peasant top
and popped my bra. My girls are always the clincher. Guys have a hard time
saying no to my pert round breasts. Greg groaned a little and at first I
was worried that he was unhappy but then I realized he was groaning from
defeat. He reached out and started to fondle them. I took my hands and ran
them up his shirt and he took it off. I pulled down the bedclothes and saw
he had clean sheets on the bed. How considerate.

I crawled up onto the bed and, while kneeling on my knees, I came to the
edge and rubbed my breasts on his chest while kissing his neck and ears.
He was kissing my neck too and then came down to kiss the breasts and suck
them. He took his tongue and circled the areolas. I was having a hard time
keeping my mind in the game. I went for the belt and undid it. I unzipped
the levis and he dropped them to the floor. He started to climb into the
bed with me. I put my hand down his shorts and found the most exquisite
hard on you could imagine. It was long. Not too long, not too big, but a
little above average. He was laying flat on the sheets. I reached down and
sucked him a little and then came back up to let him fondle me. I still
had my skirt and panties on so I got out of bed and took the skirt off. I
climbed back in bed. We both had our underwear on and it was such a
turn-on, sticking our hands down to feel, rather than see, what we were
doing. His breath was picking up, a little faster than before. He was
getting extremely excited. He backed away a little and I could tell he
wanted to slow it down, make it last a little longer before he penetrated
me. All I could think was that I wanted to feel him inside of me.

He pulled me over to him to feel my breasts on his chest again. We said
nothing at all to each other. We were just feeling, smelling, licking and
rubbing each other. He took my panties off and then his shorts. He opened
my legs and he looked down, rubbed me a little, stuck his fingers inside
to see if I was wet and then took in a sharp breath. I was very wet. He
reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a rubber. I took it from him
and dressed his penis. He pushed my legs open and stabbed me, penetrating
me deep inside. I was tight, always have been. He made a little gasping
sound when he started moving in and out of me. I wanted to ask him if he
wanted to be on top or what he wanted, but I figured I'd just let him
guide me. He took my arms, pinned them over my head. Then he lifted up
slightly to watch his penis penetrating me. He watched while he began
thrusting faster and faster. He reached a point where he couldn't watch
anymore or he'd come. He lay back down on top of me, supporting most of
his weight on his elbows. I was so damn excited I was losing my focus. My
breath was becoming irregular, faster, shallower. God, I was afraid I was
going to come. I held back, Sadie had told me that some men don't want you
to come, especially before they do. The sensations were incredible. I
looked up and he opened his eyes and looked into mine. We were both about
to come. We stared at each other and then it happened, he tried to kiss
me. I turned my head. He immediately pulled his head back, realizing in
that one move that this was business, I was a whore and you didn't kiss
whores on their lips. He started thrusting hard, like he wanted to punish
me, I said nothing but my excitement was gone. He came, crying out like a
wounded animal. He stopped thrusting and I continued thrusting up for just
a moment, to give him the last of his climax. He fell to the side but
couldn't look at me. I put my hand on his chest to let him know it was
okay but he pulled it off. I felt like crying. I should have let him kiss
me.

He was laying there with his arm over his eyes, just resting. I looked
down and saw his leg with the shriveled and angry scar. I stroked it. He
pulled my hand away. I put it back on the scar and sat up to massage it. I
put just the right pressure on it because I could feel the muscle spasms
in the leg ease up a little. I continued and he didn't try to push me
away. I got up, went and got some lotion and came back. I massaged both
legs and then his chest. I spent more time on his bad leg, a lot more
time. Twenty minutes went by and I was still massaging his arms, torso,
legs. I made him turn over and I massaged his back, his butt and back down
to his legs. I massaged his neck and head with as much tenderness as I
could muster. He was relaxed again. I kept thinking that by not kissing
him I had stripped him of the one fantasy he wanted that night, the
fantasy of having someone in bed with him who cared about him.

I was done with the massage and it was time for me to go. I had already
stayed an hour over my time. I started to get up and he reached out and
grabbed my arm. "How much for all night?"

My heart leaped, "$500."

"Get my wallet out of my pocket."

I got his wallet out of the levis and handed it to him. He looked in and
counted it out. He was short by $73.00. He fell back on the pillow,
dejected. 

"You can owe it to me. I know where you work."

He chuckled. "Okay. I'll give it to you tomorrow."

"Fine."

"How did you get into this?"

"I only take home $1200 a month working for you. How do you expect me to
survive?"

"$1200? I didn't know it was so little. You're smart, why don't you go to
school and get a degree."

I could see where this was going. But I had made a decision early on not
to lie. "I do have a degree. Actually, I have three including a Masters
from San Diego State and a Doctorate from Pacific University in English."

House sat up on his elbow and looked at me like I must be nuts. "Why are
you working as a part time secretary?" He paused, noting the bigger
question, "As a hooker?"

"I can't find a job in my field. I had to take what I could get until I
could get on my feet. I hope to go back to writing novels,"

"Novels?"

"Nope, no more about me. $500 doesn't buy my life story. But it does buy
yours. Daddy was a bad @ss Marine who rode his son a little too hard,
huh?" Where was Mommy?"

"Okay, I'll pay you an extra $20 to shut up."

"I'll deduct $20 if you answer."

"Come here."

"I have to call Moonlight and let them know why I haven't delivered their
money."

I got up and went into the living room naked and dialed Pam.

"Moonlight Escorts."

"Pam?"

"Yes?"

"It's Reagan. The client wants me to stay all night. So I'll get the money
to you tomorrow morning around 8:30 a.m. okay?"

"Crap."

"What's wrong?"

"He's never, ever asked for extra time. That means he likes you. He's
going to want you when he calls."

"I don't think so. It's his birthday and he's just treating himself. Trust
me. I'll explain tomorrow, okay?"

I hung up and turned around to see a nude House swinging off the overhead
molding and watching me. He was actually very handsome with his blue eyes,
handsome face and that lovely tackle just hanging there.

"You look inviting." I said.

I don't think he expected a compliment because he flinched. "I was just
thinking the same about you. Come back to bed."

We were back in bed, he turned on his stereo by remote and Eric Clapton,
"Born in Time" played in the background. He pulled me close and wrapped me
up inside of him like he didn't want to let go. He kissed my ear and my
neck. His left hand fondled and pinched my nipple gently and then he
licked and sucked it. He took his tongue and ran it down the middle of my
body and finally he pushed my legs apart and buried his face between my
legs. I tried to push his head away and he looked up at me somewhat
puzzled.

"This is about you tonight, not me. Come on, let me give you another
orgasm."

He shook his head no and smiled, "My money, I bought your pussy, I own it
for the night, I can do what I like. Now don't even try to fake it. I'm a
doctor and I know all the physiological signs of a female orgasm,
understand?"

"Greg, please. Let's get you off."

"Lay back." He looked at me sternly, "I'm not kidding, lay back and
relax."

He buried his face back in between my legs, licking very lightly on my
clit. It was so gentle that it almost tickled. His beard was short and a
little on the scratchy side but he knew that and tried to avoid too much
movement with his chin. He used that tongue instead. He kept licking and
then looking down at me, licking and looking. He finally smiled and I
could feel that my clitoris had shed it's cover and was begging for more.
Greg began to suck on it gently and with a rhythm that mimicked gentle
screwing. He placed one finger inside me as he romanced my clitoris. He
stroked the area in and around the opening to my vagina. 

I was very self-conscious. This was my boss down there and I wasn't sure
how pleasant it was for him. But as he continued his sucking and licking I
didn't give a damn any more. All I knew was that my uterus was starting to
contract and so were my thighs. I was arching my back into the bed with my
pelvis riding higher to give him a better advantage point. My breasts were
rising up and down with my shallow breathing. My uterus was sending out
signals of pleasure to my nipples, my thighs, my head. I was going to come
and I wanted him in me when I did.

"Greg.' I reached over in his nightstand and hurriedly grabbed a condom. I
unwrapped it as he continued to suck, "Get this on now and screw me." He
put it on and then as fast as he could manage, entered me and started
thrusting, I met him with equal force. I couldn't help make noises, high
pitched moans. My nipples were sensitive when he kissed them. I opened my
mouth and screamed outloud, six years of orgasmic celibacy came crashing
down with each thrust. I could feel what a tight fit we made and that he
was coming too. His rhythm got off as he started penetrating with shorter
strokes and then stopping at the top of the thrust while he ejaculated
over and over. I wrapped my legs around him and rocked the last of my
orgasm out of me and then collapsed. Beads of sweat glistened on my chest
and my nipples were firmly erect. He was also spent but we were both
laughing and smiling. I grabbed him and kissed him, a full on, french,
lots of tongue kiss on the mouth. He reciprocated. We made out like
teenagers for several minutes and then he pulled out of me with a little
whimper from being so sensitive.

I buried my head in his chest and couldn't look at him. I didn't want him
to see how happy I was. So happy I was crying. I pretended to be laughing
and I think he bought it because he laughed with me. I pulled the sheet up
and over us and within minutes we were asleep, still tangled in each
other.

I was hazy but I felt him gently stroking up and down my back. I mumbled,
"That feels good." So I did the same to him. He kissed me on the lips to
test me, to make sure it was kosher. I could feel him getting excited and
I asked him, "How do you want it?"

"Your legs over my shoulders." He grabbed a condom and put it on. He
guided himself in and then I lifted myself. He put a pillow under my hips
and then my legs over his shoulders. Penetration can't get much deeper
than this position. I knew he liked how tight we fit together and the way
the deep penetration felt as he glided in and out. It's hard to do
anything for your man in this position but provide a warm place for him so
I watched him as he watched what he was doing to me. I looked down to see
his view and I have to admit it was erotic. The view caused me to
involuntarily clinch my vagina. That was enough to set him off. He was
coming. I don't think he was ready yet, but he couldn't control it. I
decided the least I could do was to keep clenching and releasing. I did
this and he let out short explicatives almost like he was in pain. He
stopped, shook his head like a dog shaking water off and pulled my legs
down. He pulled out slowly, wincing a little. "Christ, you've got a grip
like a long shoreman. You are tight."

"Is that a complaint or a compliment?"

"Oh, believe me, it's a compliment." He rolled over on his back and
chuckled as he looked up at the ceiling and then at me. "Whew...I need
some sleep. You're killing me. I just turned 48, not 28."

"Hey, you initiated that last one."

"Yeah, I wouldn't have if you didn't have your breasts pressed up against
my chest so provocatively. I wake up and bam, those nipples are pressing
into me like hot coals."

"Give it a rest."

"You're right, shhhhh. Go to sleep." He wrapped an arm around me and we
went back to sleep.

The alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. I looked at it and almost threw it across
the room. I felt like Cinderella after the ball. I got up and went into
the bathroom, peed, washed up a little and then came out in my bra and
panties. He had one eye opened watching me. 

"You're going?"

I nodded, "I have to get this money to Moonlight, get home, get cleaned up
and get into work. My boss is a real bast@rd and he'll take it out on me
if I'm late." I put on my clothes, reached over and gave him a peck on his
cheek and left.

My heart sank. I knew it was a one off, that it wouldn't, couldn't, happen
again, but still there was a part of me that wished it could always be
like that. I drove by and met with Pam who I had to wake from a much
needed rest.

"Here's $75."

"Okay, so why won't he be asking for you next time?"

"Because we know each other. It was slightly embarrassing but I got him to
go through with it. It was his birthday and he just wanted someone to stay
with him. So I charged him $500 and stayed with him. He was just lonely.
He won't want me again. Thanks for the opportunity. Call me if you get in
a bind again."

"Reagan, why don't you come and work for me? You'd be busy every night."

"I think I like being a part-time hooker. I'm not as comfortable with the
whole sleeping with anybody thing as I had thought I would be. I have a
couple of regulars who are good to me and the odd trick is fine. I'm doing
okay. But thanks, who knows, I may need to take you up on that offer
someday.""

"Well, it's open anytime."

I thought about the offer all the way home. A different man every night
and no control over whether I could tolerate them or not. It wasn't very
appealing, but I'd make double what I was making now.

I went home, took my shower and pulled into PPTH at 9:45 a.m. There was no
one in the office when I got in but there was an envelope on my desk with
$100 in it. I made change and put $28 back on his chair in the same
envelope. I looked around for something to do. There was nothing pressing
so I decided to check out that bottom locked drawer in his desk. I took
out the letter opener and had it opened within seconds. I rummaged through
the top layers of several files. There were papers about criminal charges
filed against him for Possession with the Intent to Sell -Vicodin. There
was a minute order from the court dismissing the charges. The next file
was thick and involved his bad leg. There were numerous articles about
pain control and depression. I read one of the latest chart entries on his
leg and saw that for some reason, he regained function in his leg after he
was shot. Shot?

I looked up and he was standing over me. "Find what you were looking for?"

I blushed a bright red.

"A lock usually means that you don't want anyone nosing around in the
drawer." he said.

"I just thought it meant, "Challenge, the really good stuff is in here.
You were shot?"

"Oh, no, no. No changing the subject. We were just about to get the part
where I punish you for snooping where you shouldn't."

"Well, I'll just go sit out there by that white board until you come up
with the appropriate punishment." I got up and sneaked by him, thinking to
myself how great he smelled and wishing I could stop smiling.

I looked over my shoulder and I could see him going through his drawer
trying to figure out what I had seen. "Uh, I hadn't gotten that far. I
stopped at your leg file."

He looked at me and threw it all back in the drawer. I wanted to apologize
but I was finding just being around him to be awkward. I could tell he was
having a hard time too. He wanted to tease me about last night but for
some reason he was holding back. I think there was a part of him that
wanted to keep it special, not ruin it with banter and jokes. I knew that
this wouldn't last long, eventually he wouldn't be able to resist teasing
me, but for now it was kind of sweet.

I went back to my desk and sat down. Foreman walked in and asked if I
would type up an article for him. I knew he would review and edit it so I
just typed. I didn't try to make any changes. It kept my mind busy. At
noon I got a call from Pam.

"I thought you said it would be a one off deal. That he wouldn't ask for
you."

"What happened?"

"He called ten minutes ago. He wants to hire you for Saturday, all night."

I was hurt, stunned. Now what? If he had really wanted to be with me he
would have just asked me out. By hiring me he could control the situation.
He didn't have to feel anything. He could enjoy the night without the
emotional investment in a real relationship. I was just a nice piece of
@ss to him. 

"I hope you told him no since I'm independent."

"Well, I thought about it. Usually, the service makes $50 off of him
because he just hires the girl for an hour. If he hires you for a night,
we get $75. So, if you want the trick, he's yours."

"I'll think about it."

"I need an answer by tomorrow."

I sat at my desk and stared into his office as I watched him read
journals. I didn't want another night with him, not as a hooker. Screw
him...well, don't screw him. I guess I should have felt flattered. My
services were so appreciated that he wanted another night with me. Sadie
would be pleased. Instead I felt rejected, as worthless as I felt when I
was in prison. I thought about how House just wanted to hire me by the
night and Ryan didn't even bother to call me back after one date. Life
sucked.

Chapter 8 Thackery Daiquiri Doc

Tara Rembrandt from dermatology was having a bacherlorette party Friday
night and it was going to start at the Triumph and then move through
several bars in town. At first Tara and most of the women at PPTH thought
Reagan was just a slut from the way she dressed, but Reagan had won them
over and now had a lot of friends at the hospital. She was frequently
invited to hospital events by the staff. Tara really like Reagan and had
begged her to come.

Reagan hadn't slept Thursday night. She had to let Pam know in the morning
if she would do House on Saturday. It was driving her nuts. If she said
no, then he'd probably punish her in some truly inspiring way. If she said
yes, she'd be giving him an easy out, he could have her without strings as
long as he had money.

Pam hung up the phone and shook her head. Sometimes she didn't understand
her own sex. She dialed G.House's cell phone. 

"Hello?"

"Dr. House?"

"Yes?"

"This is Moonlight Escorts. We're sorry to have to tell you but Reagan is
unavailable for Saturday night. Can we send you Paula? I know you like her
and she's available."

"No I don't want Paula. I want Reagan." he stared at Reagan through the
glass while he was on the phone. She was tying furiously and occasionally
look up and at him.

"I believe that she has another customer that night. Perhaps I could comp
you on another girl, to make it up to you."

"Did she say she had another customer? Is that what she said?" House said
it like it was the Spanish Inquisition. 

"Dr. House, I know you're upset but there's nothing I can do, she's
booked. Please call us when we can be of service to you in the future."
Pam hung up, shook her head and laughed. "That man's got it bad." 

House stormed out to the outer office. He looked at her and was clearly
frustrated and angry. The team looked up, expecting him to say something
to them but House was watching Reagan type. She had on her headphones and
was transcribing a tape. She didn't realize he was standing by her at
first. She finally looked up and saw everyone staring at her. She took her
headphones off.

"Did I fart or something?"

"You're...you're...busy Saturday night?"

She went white and looked around the office at the other three doctors.
She couldn't believe he was going to do this right here, right now. "I
have plans Saturday night. I won't be able to type that up for you Dr.
House. Sorry."

"Type, type? I don't want you to type, I don't need your fingers, well,
maybe your fingers would come in handy. I want you to..."

"...Dr. House, I'm sorry, but I am busy. I can't work that night."

"Who's your..."

"Dr. House! Can I see you in your office?" 

House looked silly as if he was being called out. Reagan practically ran
into House's office. House gave the team a shrug and followed.

"What was that about?" She was shaking she was so angry.

"You have a client Saturday night?"

"I don't want anyone to know what I do outside of ..."

"Answer my question," He paused and said in stacatto fashion, do...you
...have...a...client...Saturday...night?

"None...of...your...business." She put both hands on her hips.

He looked down at her, obviously pissed, "Screw you." He turned and walked
out of his office. 

She wished she had someone to talk to, maybe Sadie. She didn't know what
to do or what she was feeling. She ran into the outer office, looked at
the stunned Team and ran out.

"What was that all about?" Cameron asked.

"I don't know but I could swear House looked crazy, almost insane."
Foreman said.

"I think House has fallen for Reagan and he doesn't know how to handle
it." Chase said without looking up from his magazine.

Reagan went home and had a glass of wine before getting ready for the
bachelorette party. She got dressed in her pink sun dress, the only
sundress she owned, and drove to the Triumph.

Wilson could see that House was acting strange. He had burst into Wilson's
office, looked at him, said nothing and then threw up his hands as if in
defeat. Wilson wasn't sure if House was angry or sad or both. "Want to
talk about it?"

"Not yet."

"How about some drinks tonight? I'll buy." Wilson offered. It really
wasn't much of an offer because House rarely paid for their drinks anyway.

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head and left. House went up to the roof. I thought we had a
good time. I thought she enjoyed it. I just wanted to take her out for
some fun. Does she really have another John Saturday night? If she liked
me, wanted to be with me, she would have called the guy and backed out. I
wonder if I offered enough money. She needs the money. Maybe the other guy
is giving her more money and she needs it. I should have offered more
money. Screw this, I can't do this. I won't do this. 

House went with Wilson to the Triumph for drinks. They were settling in
for a long night. "Do you want to tell me what's eating you? I had hoped
your little birthday treat would make you easier to deal with...what
happened?"

House was taking a good swig of his second whiskey when they saw a group
of women come in through the door to the patio. House recognized them from
the hospital. Wilson turned to him, "Tara's bachelorette party. She's
getting married tomorrow."

House smiled. He was about to go over and flirt but then he saw her open
the door. Reagan took off her Raybans and looked good enough to eat. She
was in tight white clam diggers with white heels. He recognized her black
low cut shell and the white hoop earrings. Her hair was back in a
ponytail. Her lips were blood red. She took off her glasses, smiled and
waved at the crowd. She didn't see Wilson or House at the bar at first.

House settled back down to watch the group of women. Wilson elbowed House
and pointed at the far end of the bar. They weren't surprised to see
Virgil Thackery already at the bar with a, was that a Daiquiri? How
girlie. It was common knowledge that Virgil's marriage was in the toilet
and he spent more time at the Triumph than at home. Wilson and House
saddled up next to Virgil. He was one of the few surgeons that House could
tolerate. Virgil still had a humble air to him and House liked humility in
his acquaintances. 

"You know Virgil," House said as the bartender brought him another drink,
"You should always talk to your wife while you're having sex, it's easy
now with cell phones."

Wilson shook his head, "How are you doing Virgil?"

"Like crap, I haven't gotten laid in...well let's just say there was still
snow on the ground when we last had sex. I can't take this Rosie Palm crap
anymore. I'm 34, I need more than a growl at night."

House had heard through the grapevine that Virgil's wife was doing the
male nurse in post-op, they had met at the Christmas party Virgil had
thrown for his department. 

Wilson asked, "How bad is it?"

"I called her the other day to tell her I'd be home late for dinner and
the voice mail said that dinner was in the microwave...that bad."

House downed his whiskey and motioned for another. Wilson could see that
House was amused by Virgil's pain and had perked up a little. "You need to
get laid." House said. "You see that blonde?" House pointed out Reagan.
"She's a hooker. For $300 you can get your rocks off and send her packing,
no strings attached."

"HOUSE, stop it. That's Reagan. Don't do that to her, it's not funny."
Wilson was mortified.

"I'm not trying to be funny. She really is a hooker...a part time hooker."
House turned back to Thackery, "She's good. I know, I f#cked her last
night."

"HOUSE!" Wilson wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. He
couldn't believe that Reagan was a hooker. She looked perky, sweet,
beautiful. 

House batted his eyes at Wilson, "She's a hooker, a whore, a putain, puta,
a lady of the night, tramp, harlot...get it?" He could see that Wilson
wasn't convince. House dropped his bravado and all the drama. He looked at
Wilson and said solemnly and without any fanfare, "She showed up last
night. The agency sent her. We spent the night together." 

Wilson was disturbed, "Reagan?"

House nodded.

"You spent the whole night with her?"

He shrugged his shoulders and a little of his sarcasm came back into his
voice, "She's good. You should try her."

Wilson winced. So that's why House was acting strange. He spent the whole
night with a hooker, with Reagan. His routine is to get them out of the
apartment after the deed is done. He must really like her if he let her
stay. But why is he doing this? Why is he offering her up to other men?
God, he can be such a bast@rd. 

"House, don't do this. Look at you. You're a wreck. She must mean
something to you. Don't treat her like trash under your feet. She must be
doing it for a reason. Her job must not pay much at the hospital. It's
just economics, she needs to eat."

House looked away from Wilson and then swallowed, took a breath and got
his bravado back, "Hey, just helping a working girl make a buck. She could
do worse than Virgil here. He's a straight up guy, aren't you Virgil?" He
slapped Virgil on the back.

Virgil hadn't been listening, he was watching Reagan, wondering if she'd
do him, "Huh?"

"Go on Virgil, go get you some of that tail." House almost pushed him off
the stool.

Wilson grabbed House's hand and gave him a disgusted look but he could see
that the whiskey was making House mean and spiteful. Something had gone
wrong between them. House was hurt and wanted to hurt her back. 

House laughed at Wilson. Wilson took out his wallet, threw a couple of
twenties on the bar, took a last look at House and left. House frowned and
felt like crap. He watched as Virgil Thackery walked over to Reagan.
Reagan got up, smiled at him and stepped off to the side to talk to him.
She was listening, she had a slight smile on her pretty face and a polite
demeanor. Her smile dropped as she followed Virgil's finger, pointing at
House. She looked at House with so much pain in her eyes that House had to
look away. He finished his drink, added another twenty to the pile and
left. He couldn't take it. What have I done? 

Monday morning House came in to work, wearing his sunglasses, hung over
and tired from a weekend of heavy drinking. Around 9:45 a.m. Reagan showed
up in her sunglasses too and took her seat without saying anything to
anyone. She moved her computer a little so that her back was to everyone.
The three Fellows looked at each other, something was up.

Cameron had to ask, "Is there something wrong Reagan?"

"I'm okay." She answered.

Cameron looked again at the others and shrugged her shoulders. House came
into the outer office and threw several files on the table at the Fellows.
He furtively glanced at Reagan and saw that she had her back to him. He
didn't say anything to her.

"An elderly man reports having recurrent hematuria over a period of two
years. He had undergone transurethral resection of the prostate because of
benign prostatic hypertrophy two years earlier. He had evidence of chronic
renal insufficiency, with a serum creatinine level of 4.4 mg per
deciliter. Multiple urine cultures during the previous nine months have
yielded only "contaminants."

"You're the nephrologist, what's your thoughts?' Foreman asked House.

"Get a C.T. and do another urine culture."

They all took off leaving House in the same office as Reagan who continued
to type aimlessly. She was writing up another grant request for the
department. When she taught at community college she had obtained
thousands of dollars in grants for the English Department. The other
department heads would come to her for assistance in drafting submittals.
She seemed to have the golden touch. No one had asked her to do it at
PPTH. But on occasion she would see a request for grant proposals
mentioned in the journals or newsletters House received and she'd sit
down, get assistance on some of the medical wording, write up a proposal,
sign House's name and submit it. She'd already submitted five of them.

House desperately wanted to say something to her, something witty and
funny, but he was blank. He spent a long time preparing a cup of coffee,
hoping maybe she would say something, but she continued to type. He needed
something to break the ice. He finally realized that he had to submit his
next article soon, he could ask her about that.

"I have to submit my next article by July 1st. I should have it for you on
Monday, okay?"

She just nodded her head.

"I'm going to Dairy Queen at lunch, do you want one of those Hot Fudge
Malts?"

She shook her head "no."

"Well, what's on my calendar for the next few weeks?"

She threw the calendar at him without looking up. He looked at it. He
remembered the seminar at the end of the month in London. Crap, he was
going to have to make sure he had the article written before he left.

"What airlines am I flying?"

Her voice cracked, "American." She tried not to sniff, but it just came
out.

It hit him that she was crying, not that she was mad. He swung her chair
around and looked at her. Her eyes were swollen, red and dotted with
tears. She took her arm and wiped across her eyes. He could have handled
anger, sarcasm or hatred, but not tears? He had really hurt her, down to
the bone.

He tried several times to say something but ate his words each time. She
just looked at him, waiting but he said nothing. She turned back around
and started typing again.

He tried to explain why he did it, "I thought you needed the money."

She just nodded. "Yeah, I do. Thanks."

"So," he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he had to ask, "did Thackery
work out for you?"

She just nodded again.

He felt sick.

Chapter 9

Wilson and the Damsel

I was having a good time, hadn't even noticed the men at the bar. We were
laughing and making bawdy jokes about Tara's honeymoon when Virgil
Thackery walked up to me. He looked sad and nervous. He had on slacks and
a polo shirt and smelled like Carolina Herrera. 

"Dr. Thackery, nice to see you. Are you here for the party?"

"Uh...no, I just thought I would come over to talk to you." There was a
burst of laughter related to something someone said to Tara. I couldn't
hear Dr. Thackery.

"Why don't we step over here, I can't hear you." We moved away from the
table and I smiled at him to make him feel at ease.

"I...I heard that you might be interested in a business proposition." He
was white and a little clammy.

"Proposition? What kind of proposition?" He can't mean sex and, if so, how
did he know to approach me?

He lowered his voice and looked around, "Sex. I have money."

I kept smiling, my mind working overtime, "Who told you that I...that I
sleep with men for money?"

He raised a finger and pointed at the bar. I saw House's blue eyes and my
heart died a thousand deaths. Why? Why is he doing this? Was I so little
to him that this was his idea of fun? I just stared at him. He ran as fast
as he could out of the bar. I was still stunned when Dr. Thackery said,
"I'm sorry, Dr. House told me you were...I'm sorry."

I turned to him. Now I was angry at House, "Yes, the doctor is right. $300
for an hour, $500 for all night, $150 for a blow job and no back doors."

"Backdoors?"

"Anal sex."

"OH! No, no backdoors."

"Great, where do you want to go?" He looked around like there might be a
bedroom in the restaurant. I realized I was going to have to hold his
gifted hands through this. "Go to the Hyatt, get a room and call me on my
cell, I'll join you after I say my goodbyes here. Oh, and don't forget to
go by the ATM, I don't take checks or credit cards."

He nodded, "Okay, okay." He smiled and left.

I returned to the table and pretended to be engaged in the party but I was
dying. F#ck House, f#ck Ryan, f#ck men. That's what I'll do, I'll just
f#ck them...no feelings, no kissing on the mouth. You give too much of
yourself when you do that. Now I understood.

The phone rang half an hour later. He was in room 232. I made my apologies
and left. I drove to the hotel, parked and made my way to his room. He
answered the door.

"I ordered some champagne. Is that okay?" He asked.

"Sure, it's great, just great. I'll need the money up front though."

He reached in got his wallet and I saw a wad of twenties from the ATM.
"Here's $300, I just need an hour."

"Okay, it's 8:45 p.m. your hour starts now." I went over to the
television, turned on the music channel and began my little show. He came
quickly the first time.

"God, it's been a long time. You feel so good, so soft and warm. You're
good, really good."

I almost laughed, how would he know if I was good? He took less than three
minutes. Oh well, the second go should last a little longer. There was a
knock on the door. Virgil looked stunned, he had forgotten about the
champagne.

"There's a robe in the closet."

He grabbed the robe and some cash for a tip and took the champagne bottle
and glasses from the server. We popped the cork and started drinking. 

"You're so nice, so pretty, why aren't you married with kids?"

I wasn't expecting that. I was expecting the, 'why are you a hooker?'
question. I must have looked stunned because he smiled at me.

"I...I don't have a good track record with men. I was away for a long time
and there weren't many men around. The ones who were around were married."

"Oh." He drank his champagne and we talked for a few more minutes and then
I started to fondle him. He was ready. This time I teased him just to the
point of climax and then backed down several times until he was begging
for me not to stop. I let him come this time and I could tell afterwards
that Virgil Thackery was now a regular.

I went home, took a shower and collapsed on the bed. I started to cry and
I didn't stop crying the whole weekend. I felt worthless, crappy, unloved.
I wish I had Sadie to talk to, she'd cheer me up.

I went into work and wore my sunglasses until I could arrange the computer
to hide my face. But House was persistent and when he finally turned me
around to look at my eyes I wanted to hit him. He took one look and I
could see how sad he was too. We really screwed this one up royally. I
stared at him, hoping he would just say he was sorry. Instead he gave me
an excuse, "I thought you needed the money." I was really screwed. I need
the job and the benefits but working around him was incredibly painful. 

I went to lunch by myself, off campus, and returned to see that there was
a bouquet of a dozen long stem red roses and a card. I thought maybe they
were from House. I looked through the glass, into his office and he was
staring up over his reading glasses at me, watching me read the card,
which had obviously been opened.

 "You're beautiful. Tomorrow? Virgil."

I smiled at how sweet it was for him to send them but I was curious as to
what House thought when he read the card. Did it matter? No. I called
Virgil's cell phone from a land line so it would say PPTH and not raise
any suspicions. I just left a short message in his voice mail, "This is
diagnostics, the appointment for tomorrow is confirmed for 7:00." 

My hooker job was picking up steam. Between House, Virgil and Pete I would
rake in an extra $1325 this week. If Calvin called I would hit the jackpot
for one week. I shouldn't have turned down House. It would have been
another $500, money I could have used. It was all economics, I couldn't
afford to get sentimental. I should keep House as a client.

I pulled out my little pocket calendar and marched into House's office. He
looked up from his work and took off his glasses to look at me. They were
somber, studious, constantly analyzing me.

"I have this coming Saturday open if you're interested." I looked him
straight in the eye like a businesswoman should.

He thought a moment and rubbed his lip with his index finger as if it was
a weighty problem. It must have been at least a minute before he
responded, "No thanks."

"Suit yourself." I wasn't really surprised. He wouldn't want me after
Virgil. Screwing Virgil sent a message to him that I really was a whore.
Well, I am.

I finished my work at 2:05 pm and began to pack up. Wilson walked in and
asked, "Can I buy you dinner?"

My mouth must have dropped because he laughed a little at me. I asked, "A
date?"

"No, just dinner. I'd like to talk to you."

"What time?"

"7:00?"

I gave him my address and turned to grab my purse. I saw House watching
me. He had to have seen me talking with Wilson. No matter. I went home to
clean up. I didn't have a clue what Wilson wanted so I got dressed in a
corset and garter belt just in case it was sex. Some Johns like to take
you to dinner, pretend that it's a date. You just never know. I really
dreaded the thought of sleeping with Wilson, not that he wasn't incredibly
handsome and kind, but he was House's best friend and I could never expect
any kind of truce (not that I was expecting one) with House if I did.

He knocked on my door and I opened it. "Would you like to come in?" I
asked.

"No, we better get going our reservations are in twenty minutes."

"Okay."

He opened the passenger door to his car and I got in. As we were driving
he commented on the weather. "It sure got hot quickly this summer."

"Yes, it did. I still find it hard to get used to the humidity."

"Where are you from?"

"California. You know, dry heat."

"I love California. I would have gone there to practice but my family is
all on the east coast."

"Dr. Wilson, do you have any kids?" I knew he had been married three
times, it was a running joke between House and the team, but I had never
heard if he had kids.

"No. And please call me Jim."

There was a pleasant pause and I turned and looked at him, "House told
you, didn't he?"

Wilson looked at me, unsure of what to say. "Yes, he told me."

"Is this about that?" I sounded childish, not coming out and saying what I
meant. It was just that Wilson seems so sweet, so nice, I felt dirty now
that he knew.

"Yes."

I swallowed hard. So he wanted sex. I'm a whore, what did I expect. My
voice broke but I managed to get it out in one breath, "$300 for an hour,
$500 for all night, $150 for blow jobs, no back doors." I started crying.
Just those little tears, no sobs, nothing traumatic. I just had a hard
time imagining having sex with Wilson.

"Oh! No, no. I don't want sex..." He stopped in mid-sentence, "Are you
crying?" He sounded truly concerned.

"It's just something in my eye. I got it out. I'll be okay. You don't want
sex? Did he tell you I turn tricks?"

"Yes, yes...I knew. Why were you just crying?"

I sighed. "I don't really know. I think I didn't want to sleep with you."

He was a little taken back and I realized that I had fumbled what I meant.


"Oh, Jim, I would love to sleep with you...or I would have loved to sleep
with you but not now, not after all that's happened. Maybe if you had
asked me out on a date earlier...God, I'm making a balls up of this aren't
I." I balled my hands into fists trying to get it right, "Okay, I find you
attractive. I find you sexually attractive, but..."

He started laughing, "This is funny, you're as bad as House right now.
Crap, it's worse than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

We pulled into the parking lot, he parked the car, turned off the motor
and looked at me under the parking lot lamps, "I mean you've fallen in
love with the curmudgeon cripple and he's fallen for the hapless hooker. I
don't know if this is a romantic comedy or a Shakespearean tragedy. Well,
come on, let's go eat."

We walked into the restaurant and were shown our table. It was a bistro
set up with black cane back chairs, white table clothes, black and white
checkered floor. The food was Californian. Kind of a Mexican from Haight
Ashbury mix. 

"So what did you do before you came to Princeton?"

"You mean what did I do with my degree in English?"

"Sure."

"I taught creative writing and wrote Harlequin novels."

He was stunned again. "You were a teacher?"

"Yep. I was full time faculty at a community college. It was the best job
in the world. I loved it."

"Why give it up, why move?"

"A relationship that went very, very bad. Abusively bad."

"Oh, I'm sorry. But why aren't you teaching?"

"I couldn't find a job in it."

"But there are so many other things you could do. Why work for House?"

"Money and benefits. I was about to get kicked out of my apartment when he
hired me."

"But I thought hookers, especially pretty hookers, made a lot of money."

"I'm not a very good hooker, I mean I'm not good at getting clients
because I'm too picky. I can still count the number of clients on my
fingers. I don't need my toes yet. That's not a very good turnover. But
I'm working on it."

He was engrossed in what I was saying. Like it was a really trashy novel
that you don't believe but can't put down. "So you're the romantic
part-time hooker with benefits?"

I chuckled, "I guess you could put it that way. Jim, why did you ask me
out?"

"I wanted to get to know you. House was acting incredibly cruel the other
night and he only does that when he's wounded. I was just wondering what
happened between you two. If you don't mind. You see, he's brilliant at
his job, horrible in relationships. He acts like a teenager most of the
time and it's painful to watch him screw things up."

"Jim, you've been married three times. You can't judge him too harshly." 

"I know. But I at least get into and maintain a relationship long enough
to walk down the aisle. He falls for someone and the minute something goes
wrong in the relationship, he compounds it by being cruel. So, can I ask
what happened?"

"I'll give you the abridged version. An escort service in town didn't have
enough girls so they sent me. I get there and it's House's apartment. I
needed to show the owner of the service that she could trust me to get the
job done so she'd continue to give me a call when she was short on girls.
So I convinced House to try me out. He ordered an hour and ended up paying
for the whole night. I thought we had a great time, we clicked. But, I've
been so wrong, so often that I'm not surprised by what he did." I had my
mojito and was staring out the window trying not to cry.

"What did he do that upset you?"

"He asked the escort service to send me again, on Saturday."

I could see that Wilson wasn't sure what to say. "You're obviously
devastated by this but it seems rather nice of House to have asked for
you. Maybe it's just a guy thing, but I'm not following."

"Jim! I'm sitting less than forty feet away from him and he couldn't just
get up and ask me for a date? He wanted to hire me as a hooker. Don't you
get it? A hooker. No feelings required, he can pay me and not have to
think about what I'm feeling. Easiest date in the world...a hooker. I said
no."

"I'm beginning to understand but you see, even I didn't register that. He
probably didn't want to insult you, make you think he wanted "it" for
free. He knew you needed the money and he was willing to shell out $500 so
you wouldn't think he was cheap. But, I see what you're saying and you're
right. I can't say for certain what was going through his mind but I know
he's acting strange, even for House."

"Then why did he send me a new client?"

"Thackery?" He asked and I nodded. "I told you, when he's wounded, he
striked out. When you said no, you were rejecting him and rather than just
say, "You hurt me," he finds ways to hurt back. He's like a wounded animal
or a little boy. Did you sleep with Thackery?"

I didn't think that was any of his business but he seemed to genuinely
want to help so I nodded.

"So it backfired on him. You called his bluff and he got hurt. It looks
like you got hurt too."

"I think we're beyond hurt. I think we're two ships in the night that are
so far off course we'd be lucky to find any port, let alone each other. I
went back today and offered him Saturday night...as a hooker...and he
turned me down."

"Oh, I see." Wilson looked as if this was grave news. "Yeah, I'd have to
agree. It looks like the U.S.S. House and Grogan have sailed. I'm sorry
that his happened. I think you would have been good for him."

We ate dinner, talked about mundane things like tv and movies and then
just before he left Wilson said, "Reagan, is there some way I can help you
so that you don't have to turn tricks to stay afloat? I could try to find
you another job. Maybe someone else in the hospital has another part-time
job or even a full-time one."

"I don't want you to go out of your way Jim, but if you hear of something,
let me know."

I knew that the only reason I got the job with House was because House
asked for me and Sarah didn't want to argue with him. She knew I was a
felon because I put it down, but she had never said anything to me. I
liked Sarah. Whenever I saw her she'd shake her head and say something
like, "I can't believe you've lasted this long." It was a running joke
between us.

Chapter 10 While the Cat's Away

The next few weeks were hectic. House was frantically trying to get his
article done before flying to London. He was spending a lot of time at
work, writing and re-writing it. He was actually very proud of the case he
was reporting and so he was spending more time on it. Plus, it gave him
more time at work with Reagan. 

She was working extra hours to stay on top of everything. The Fellows had
decided that Reagan was the perfect person to type up their patient notes
and rather than use their down time to catch up on charting, they simply
handed tapes to Reagan to transcribe. This pissed Reagan off a little
because the department handled maybe one patient a week, giving the
Fellows more than enough time to chart their own notes.

House and Reagan appeared to ignore each other except for matters dealing
with work. Despite the appearance, they were both keeping watch on each
other. House sometimes asked Reagan to stay a few hours to type up his
patient notes too.

"I need you to type these notes up. For every hour you work over four I'll
let you have an hour off while I'm gone."

"With pay?"

"No, I'll scratch you under the chin when I get back. Of course with pay."
He watched her as she stood up and looked intently out into the hall.
House turned around and saw Ryan Geffler go by.

"What, Geffler forget to pay you?"

She looked up at him and sighed. Whenever they were alone he made blatant
cheap shots at her about being a hooker. When others were around he was
more obscure but just as cruel.

"No, I just... forget it." She sat back down.

"What is it about him? Oh, I remember, you went out on a date with him. I
bet he never called you back for another one."

She looked up at him, her mouth was open and her eyes clearly registered
shock.

"It's his M.O. He dates to keep the rumors down, but he nevers asks a
woman out twice."

"Really? Why?"

"He's gay. I saw him at a film festival with his boyfriend, a tech down in
the labs."

"I'll be damned. Why try to hide it?"

"Parents don't approve and they own half of Trenton. Don't tell me you
were beating yourself up over him?"

"I normally have good gaydar. But looking back I think I was just so
surprised that anyone would ask me out that I shut it off. I just wanted
to feel like a girl again."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean? You get paid to be a girl."

"I get paid to be a woman. Forget it. It means nothing." She regretted
saying it. It was too late House's "sexth sense" had been alerted.

"No...not nothing. You must get asked out on dates all the time."

She kept quiet and pretended to be busy so she could ignore him. He got
down in her face and with the light in his eyes dancing said, "What did
you mean, 'feel like a girl again'?"

"You see doctor, I used to be a man, had to go off my hormones, but now
I'm back on them...feelin like a girl again. Now leave me alone and let me
get back to typing up your nonsense."

He took a chair, turned it around and straddled it backwards, staring at
her. "Well, Wilson asked you out the other night."

"As a friend. It wasn't a date."

"Did you wear special lingerie when he took you to dinner?"

"Yeah, but he refused to pay to take a peak. I have it on right now, want
a peak for $100?"

"Sorry, haven't been to the ATM today."

"Too bad, it has little black bows on it. Why don't you leave me alone?"

"Because you're fun to humiliate."

"Yeah, well you would know. You really got me good at Triumphs."

His smile left his face and he looked down. "Yeah, that was stupid, huh?"

"Not really, he's a regular now. I guess I owe you."

She could tell that she had just scored one. He was trying to keep his
face from showing how he felt but she saw him clench his teeth slightly,
look away and swallow hard.

"Just trying to grease the wheels of the economy. So, how are tricks? Just
last night the girl I screwed from Moonlight told me that she's been busy
every night for the last two months."

Now it was Reagan's turn to feel hurt. She laughed it off and said, "Well,
just make sure she gets her STD tests done."

"That reminds me, are you getting tested?"

"Every quarter. I'm clean just in case you're worried about my health or
want to schedule that Saturday night."

"Hell no, I'm worried about my health."

"Dr. House, I really need to get back to typing. This has been lovely, but
I have work to do."

He got up and put the chair back, grabbed his cane and said, "Oh, one more
thing. While I'm gone you're going to have to feed Steve."

"Steve?"

"Steve McQueen, my pet."

"I didn't see a pet the other night?"

"He's in a cage in the kitchen. He's a rat."

"I have to feed a rat?"

"I'll give you the key before I leave. He gets some rat pellets. I'll
leave instructions."

Later that evening House and Wilson were on their way to the movies when
House told Wilson, "Stop by Princeton Pets."

"Why? Are you buying a pet?"

"I'm buying a rat."

"Another rat? Why?'

"Because I told Reagan that she had to feed Steve McQueen while I was
gone."

"But Steve's been dead for months."

"No, Steve is about to be resurrected."

"House, what are you up to?"

"She won't be able to resist going through my things so I'm going to
"plant" some stuff."

"Like what?"

"Phone numbers, letters and photos for other women. Women's lingerie. You
know."

"You're going to try and make her jealous? Why don't you just ask her out
on a date?"

"Who said I wanted to date her? I'm over that. I just want to torment her.
She still wants me, I can tell."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what they call it when someone goes out and has fun
on a regular basis, "pining for House.""

"I tell you, she's still has the hots for me."

House bought a new rat and installed it in Steve's old cage. Steve McQueen
Jr. happily ran on his wheel and ate contentedly all day. House packed and
left for his five days in London after giving Reagan keys and
instructions. House also installed three web cams that were motion
activated, one in the living room, one in the kitchen and one in the
bedroom. 

The first day that House was away, Reagan was a good girl, she unlocked
the door, walked in, put his mail on the table, fed Steve and was out the
door. House checked the webcam and was disappointed. Nothing. 

The next day she came in went into the kitchen, took out a glass, drew
some water from the tap and had a drink. She went over to the cage, took
Steve Jr. out and petted him for a few minutes. After hand feeding him,
she put him back in his cage, washed the glass and put it in the cupboard.
She left. House was even more disappointed. 

The third day she came in with his mail and looked through the envelopes
before putting them down on his table. She went in to the kitchen and fed
Steve McQueen. Reagan was going to leave but she put her purse down and
went into the living room. She opened up the piano and hit a few keys.
Then she sat at his piano. She played a few songs, got up, put the cover
down on the keys and left. House watched the webcam from his hotel room.
She plays piano? 

On Friday after work she went into the kitchen, took Steve out and played
with him for awhile. She went back into the living room, sat down and
looked around. She went to the shelves, pulled a book, sat down on the
couch and read for an hour and then left.What is wrong with this woman.
Has she no curiosity? 

Saturday, the day that House was scheduled to leave London, Reagan was
feeling incredibly depressed. Her aunt had just been hospitalized in the
final stages of leukemia and she had to admit to herself that she missed
House. She wanted a drink. She fed Steve and then went into the living
room and took out a bottle of whiskey. She poured herself a whiskey and
put on some music. She started dancing. House had already boarded his
plane and was oblivious to Reagan's party for one. 

Reagan began playing the musical instruments that hung on the wall,
poorly. She went through his CD collection and played it too. She looked
at his high school album. He looked young. She had another couple of
drinks. She went back to his bedroom and opened his dirty clothes hamper,
got out a t-shirt and smelled it. The smell made her happy and sad all at
the same time. She took off all her clothes leaving just her panties on
and danced around a little. She put his t-shirt on and went back out to
the living room and played more music, sang, danced and played the
piano...and drank. She went back to his bedroom to fetch her clothes and
leave, saw the queen sized bed, crawled on top and passed out.

House was tired. The plane had been delayed and he was getting home at
1:00 a.m. He walked in and saw his musical instruments spread all over the
living room floor along with CD cases. His new bottle of whiskey was half
empty. Is Wilson here? 

House went into the kitchen and then came back to the living room. He felt
like he was living a modern day version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
I wonder where Goldilocks has gone? He hung up his coat and started down
the hall. He flipped on the light in his bedroom and saw a little blonde
woman laying in his t-shirt on his bed. He couldn't see her face but knew
she had to be Goldilocks. He got undressed, noticed the whiskey glass on
his night stand and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.
He took off his pants and got under the covers. He could smell the whiskey
wafting off of her. He could see she was passed out and dead to the world.
He lifted the t-shirt up for a good look at her breasts, smiled and went
to sleep.

Chapter 11 The Cat's Back

I woke up slightly drunk and aware of the fact that I wasn't in my own
bed. I could hear someone snoring but my eyes and head hurt so bad it was
hard to open them to see. I finally managed to get one open and realized I
was laying on top of the covers of someone's bed. Is it a John? I turned
towards the snoring and tried to focus. I saw the beard first and then the
profile of his nose. His mouth was open and he was loud. House! I let out
a short but loud squeak. Oh my God, I passed out in his bed! House snorted
as he was startled from sleep by my squeak. 

'Huh?" He yelled out. 

I put my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. He was trying to wake up,
figure out what was going on, just as I had a few minutes ago. I quietly
tried to back off his bed in the hopes he would just go back to sleep but
one blue eye latched onto me.

He laid his head back down. "Good morning Goldilocks."

"Welcome back. I'll just get my things and get going. I fed Steve. He's in
good shape."

"My living room looks like someone had a private party last night."

I flashed on last night and realized I had left a mess. I was embarrassed,
"As soon as I find some pain killers I'll clean it before I go. Do you
have any pain killers...aspirin?"

He reached over and threw me his Vicodin bottle. 

"That's a little heavy for me, do you have naprosyn?"

"Yeah, in the cabinet out in the kitchen."

"Thanks. I'm sorry about this. I don't normally breach someone's trust. I
had some bad news and I just wanted a drink. I got carried away. I really
feel bad about this, really."

I guess House felt sorry for me. "What was the bad news?"

"My aunt is in the hospital, she's terminal. I don't have the money to go
back and see her." I shook my head like I was trying to shake the thought
out of my head, "I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Look, you go back to
sleep, I'll pick up your living room and be out of your hair."

I started to leave his room but turned and looked over my shoulder, he had
rolled to his side to purposefully watched my butt as I walked out of his
bedroom. I got to the kitchen and quickly realized that he had followed me
into the kitchen and watched as I was trying to find the cupboard with the
naprosyn. He went over to the other side, pulled it out and gave me the
bottle.

"I feel like I have a marching band in my head and mouth. Ugh."

He gave a little chuckle and said, "Go take a shower, it will make you
feel better. There's a new toothbrush in the drawer in there." he paused
and looked at me with a grin, "and leave my t-shirt where you found it. Go
on, I promise not to do anything nasty while you're in there."

I took the naprosyn and went in to the bathroom and started the shower. I
was wondering if he might join me. I could imagine his hands exploring my
breasts and body and him kissing me deeply, but he was true to his word
and didn't come in. I thought about storming through the bedroom door and
grabbing him. But I realized that there were too many things to consider
before doing something impulsive and wreck less, too much water under the
bridge.

I did feel better, especially after brushing my teeth. I wondered what I
should do with my new toothbrush. In a defiant gesture, I hung my
toothbrush up in the holder next to his and smiled. He'll think of me when
he sees that there.

I slipped back into the bedroom and he wasn't there. Walking down the hall
I saw that he had picked up the instruments. I heard him laughing in the
kitchen so I went in to see what he was doing. He was sitting with a
laptop laughing his butt off. He looked up and over the edge of the laptop
monitor and said, "Now this was worth the wait. I especially like this
little dance." He hit enter and turned the laptop around for me to see. 

The screen was split into three with the largest screen on the bottom, a
camera on three different rooms. There I was in the right upper quadrant,
you could barely see me in the corner of his bedroom, digging through his
dirty clothes hamper. My butt is up in the air as my head is briefly
dunked into what was obviously his dirty clothes. I'm singing, "Missing
You." I grab a t-shirt and pull it out and dance around the room, singing
and smelling it. Then I'm dancing on his bed and stripping, my breasts
bobbing as I dance in just my panties. I turn the t-shirt back from
outside-in and put it on. All the time I'm singing and dancing. "...in
your world I have no meaning. So I'm trying hard to understand. It's my
heart that's breaking down this long distance line tonight..."

I could feel my entire body blush, "God, Greg, I'm so embarrassed. I don't
know who that woman is. I was really, really drunk and stupid. Please
forgive me."

He looked at me like I just took all the fun out of it. "Do you think I
really care if you run around, drink my whiskey and dance? I had hoped
you'd go through my drawers, rifle my papers, invade my privacy, but you
didn't."

"I wanted to, but I remembered you didn't want me going through your
locked drawer at work, so I decided to curtail my criminal activities. I
really am sorry about this..." I pointed at the screen.

"Don't be, I'll always treasure it. Look for it on My-Space."

I just grinned. He poured me some tea, "I know you don't drink coffee very
often, I figured I'd be safe with tea."

I looked at him in just his boxers and his hair mussed and wondered why he
had bothered to get up. He liked to sleep. I was just about to drink the
tea straight down and leave when he said, "The crew races are today down
on the lake, want to go watch?"

I really wanted to sleep off my hangover, but I figured he was trying to
hand me an olive branch and for the sake of the department, I should
accept it. "Sure, but I'd like to change and check on my aunt."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Leukemia."

He said nothing but gave me a sympathetic nod and sad face. He looked
around the kitchen, "I'm hungry and don't have any food so let me get a
shower and we can go to breakfast."

"Okay."

He came out about fifteen minutes later in a t-shirt and shorts. He really
did have nice looking legs. He grabbed a ball cap and we drove first to my
place. He came in and looked around the studio apartment. He went over and
picked up my photo of me and my Mom and my aunt. I was undressing and
putting on my clam diggers and little t- shirt that said, "Rehab is for
Quitters." He smiled when he saw my shirt.

"Your Aunt?" He asked picking up the photo.

"On my left, my Mom on my right."

"Is your Mom with your aunt?"

"No, she's dead, lung cancer. She was a smoker." I started lathing on the
sunscreen and then threw it to House and he put some on. I put it in my
purse for later.

"Sorry."

"I'm ready. I grabbed a white ball cap with the PPTH logo and pulled my
pony tail through the back of it. I topped it off with my white hoop
earrings, shorter heels, and white hobo purse. I put a bottle of water in
my purse and we were out the door. I knew he had restrained himself from
turning my apartment inside out and I appreciated that.

He shook his head at me.

"Problem?" I asked.

"You look hot."

 "Thanks!"

We went to Mama's Kitchen and had breakfast. He had some big-@ss eggs and
bacon breakfast. I had blueberry pancakes. We talked about, and I still
can't believe this, quantum physics! We both had our own pet theories
about time and singularities, so it made for a lively debate. 

"You know, in another universe we never had a fight and we're still doing
each other. In another we're married and have four kids." I said.

He smiled widely as he put hash browns into his mouth. "Yeah, and in
another Universe I took out a gun and killed you. And four kids? There's
no universe where I would have four kids. Two max, but not four."

"Ouch! That's cruel."

"No, you turning me down for that Saturday night was cruel."

"Drop it. I'm having a good time, let's not get into that, okay?"

"Yeah, well Helen Bonham Carter called me the other day and begged me to
take her back. I said no, not until she got herself into a smoker's
rehab."

"Poor Helen."

We left and drove over to the crew races, watched them for several hours.
I rooted for UCSD, my hometown team. He thought I was a traitor and I have
to admit he drowned out my hoorahs with some pretty mean retorts. "You
call that paddling? I gave my girlfriend a better one this morning." I
tried to hide my face but it didn't stop people from staring, thinking I
must be the girlfriend.

At around 2:00 p.m. we went in search of food at the booths set up
throughout the launch area. He bought me the most disgusting hot dog and
diet coke, but I was hungry and I ate it. 

"I think I just ate the entrails of a skunk." I said.

"No, I did. You just got their testicles." We were laughing when his face
went cold and then sad. I turned around and saw the woman with high arched
eyebrows and new it was an older version of the woman in the photo I had
seen in his desk.

"Stacy?" I asked.

He nodded yes, "And her husband Mark."

"Want to leave, they're coming this way."

"It doesn't matter. She's already seen me. She'll just assume that I'm an
unhappy misanthrope with no one to love and feel sorry for me. He'll gloat
because he has her and I don't."

Now, I know that when I dress right, I'm hot and today, I'm hot. I had
been getting appreciative stares all day. So I took pity on House. I've
been in his position myself ...seeing that the ex is in a better place
than you hurts. And the last thing you want them to know is how miserable
you are. I watched them walk towards us and just when the four of them got
to a point where I knew they would have to recognize House I grabbed his
face, pulled him down and gave him the most erotic and sexual kiss I could
muster. At first he wasn't doing anything and I was beginning to think it
had been a bad idea. But then his mouth and whole body responded and I do
mean his whole body. It ended up being one of those kisses where half the
population stops to watch and the others says, "Get a room."

We pulled apart and House looked up. Stacy was smiling one of those, 'Well
isn't that cute' smiles. I acted like I hadn't noticed her before and
played dumb. 

"Hello Stacy." House said. He turned to Mark, "Hello Mark." He put his arm
around me. "Honey, this is Stacy and Mark Warner. This is Reagan Grogan."

"Glad to meet you. How do you know Greg?" I purposefully asked to give her
the impression that he never talked about her.

House snickered, "Stacy and I lived together for five years."

"Oh, right. You did mention that briefly. Well, I can see why, you're very
pretty." I said sweetly.

Mark blurted out, "So are you." I gave him a nice smile.

Stacy introduced us to the couple they were with and asked if we wanted to
join them while they watched the next race. I spoke up, "That would be
great, you can tell me what Greg was like when you were together." 

House was shell shocked. He obviously didn't want to be around them at
first, but then he warmed up to the idea. We found a dockside table at a
restaurant to have drinks and watch. I sat between Mark and House. Stacy
was on the other side of House and the other woman, Mary, was next to her.
House had his arms draped around my shoulders. When the waiter came, House
ordered my drink without even asking me, as if we had been going out for
awhile. I was getting a Mojito, which I love, so no complaints except that
I really didn't feel like drinking. I put my hand on House's upper thigh,
my fingers resting close to his crotch. I knew Stacy could see it. I kept
talking to Mark, engaging him in conversation and laughing at all his
stupid jokes. 

House excused himself to go to the bathroom. Stacy went into interrogation
mode. Now I've been interrogated...in the Pen there's an investigation
every five minutes...so I was ready. "So, Reagan. How long have you known
Greg?" 

I didn't lie because I knew she would ask House questions based on what I
said when he got back. "Three months. We met at the hospital when he
complimented me on my outfit."

"Is it serious?"

"I guess you'd have to ask him but my toothbrush is hanging right next to
his in his apartment so I guess you could say that. We see each other
nearly every day."

"Well, it's only been three months."

"True, but he expects me to be around for a long time. He even had me meet
everyone at work. I feel like part of his team. Cuddy said she fire him if
he didn't treat me right, isn't that sweet?"

Stacy's mouth was pinched together. Mark asked me, "Do you think you might
get married?"

"Well," and I smiled broadly, "Just this morning we were debating on the
number of kids we would might have. I said four, he said two max."

Her face went white and all pretense of being nice dropped away. "He wants
to have kids with you?" She asked with the voice of a sad little girl.

Now I felt sorry for her, "We were just bantering back and forth. I said
four, he said two."

House joined the table again and everyone stared at him. He took a deep
breath, "Did I forget to zip up?" He looked down at his shorts.

"I was just telling Stacy about our conversation this morning. I said four
children and you said..." I held my hand out to House for him to chime in.

He remembered the quantum physics discussion, smiled and said, "Two, max."

I smiled at her and Mark. I could see that this was difficult for her to
take. That some other woman might have his children was the ultimate blow.
I had hoped it wasn't too much.

Mark piped in, "Reagan was telling up you met her at the hospital."

"I noticed the outfit first, then Reagan. Can I get another drink?" House
was starting to feel a little uncomfortable with the discussion so he
changed it.

When we left, he asked me, "What happened back there?"

"She asked where we met. I said the hospital. She asked if it was serious.
I told her we spend a lot of time together, almost every day. Mark asked
if we were going to get married. I simply said that just this morning we
were discussing how many kids we would have. End of conversation."

"You are ornery. Just enough of the truth but out of context. I love it.
Let's go to the movies. I was going to go see, "Life According to Brian"
at the arts cinema. It starts in forty minutes."

"Oh yeah! I love John Cleese...I love Monty Python. But I need something
to wear in the theater, I get cold in a/c."

"I have a sweatshirt in the car."

We saw the movie and it let out around 8:00 p.m. It had been cold in the
theater and I was glad I had grabbed House's sweatshirt. As soon as we hit
the sidewalk I started sweating so I took it off and carried it. We were
doing our best imitations of scenes in the movie and so I wasn't paying
attention when we crossed the alley. The young, obviously high on crack,
guy with the rather large knife, seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Hey you! @sshole. B!tch, give me yo' money." He was brandishing the knife
in a menacing gesture, one he had probably seen on television. I thought
it was straight out of a Chuck Norris episode. He should have thought it
through because the knife wielder in that episode got his butt kicked.

House started to reach in his pocket for his wallet and money. I held my
purse close to my body and said, "F3ck you." With as much disgust as I
could. "You think I'm letting you take my hard earned money so you can buy
some tits and get high? Go get an enema d!ckwad."

I looked at House and I wasn't sure who he was more afraid of, me or the
kid. "Reagan, may I point out that he has a knife." House turned to the
kid, "Look, she's just kidding, SHE'LL GIVE YOU HER MONEY." He said it
loudly for my benefit. 

I turned towards him, "Give him yours but he's not getting mine."

"Lady, I'm not playin' here...it's been a long time since my last fix and
I don't give a sh!t what you think you're doing, but you're going to give
me your money or I'll hurt you and cut up your face."

"I'm not afraid of a knife...now if you had a gun..."

"Reagan! Give him your money, he's not one of your tricks that you can
charm," House said nervously.

"Shut up House." I pulled the purse closer to me defiantly. In the
meantime I was quietly wrapping my right hand in House's sweatshirt. The
kid stabbed at me and I literally grabbed the blade of the knife with the
sweatshirt, tugged it quickly and kicked his balls all in one move. I had
the knife and he fell on the pavement rolling in pain. started kicking him
and then stomped in his groin so hard that I fell back on my butt. By this
time, House had his cane at the guy's throat. I took the knife and was
about ready to plunge it, just as I would have plunged a shank at the Pen,
but House grabbed my arm.

"Aren't you getting a little carried away?"

The guy was rolling in pain, "You crushed my balls, you crushed my balls
you slut."

I backed off just as sirens came around the corner. Someone must have seen
it and called it in. I had the knife in one hand and House was standing
with his cane on the guys chest. He was in too much pain to get up and
run.

The police took us in to get a statement while the twenty year old kid
went to the hospital. Within minutes of reaching the police station we
were separated and I knew then that they had run a rap sheet on me. I was
thrown into an interrogation cell and two detectives came in.

"Well Reagan, we called your probation officer. A felon with a knife? Bad
girl. Now why don't you tell me what you were really doing in that alley?
That kid says you jumped him , demanded drugs and money."

"I'm going to tell you once and only once what happened and then I want a
lawyer." I proceeded to give them a blow by blow account of the incident.
After I was done I looked up and saw Ken outside talking to another
detective. Ken kept looking in at me. House was standing off to the side
watching all of this and being questioned by a detective. They made me
stand and in full view of House they handcuffed me and sat me back down. I
almost died of embarrassment.  
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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.