A/N: I realize I've taken some liberties with Emily's malady for the sake of the story. Hope you will read this with that in mind.
Thanks to Betz88 for her help and encouragement.
"Taub's Wife"
Decisions had always been difficult for Emily. It was just one of the things that about her that drove Chris up the wall. Should she wear the black shoes with the blue skirt or the tan dress with the brown stockings? She figured the underwire bra would suffice. But yesterday, that young, dark skinned girl in Victoria's Secret took her to the side and told her to go for the lacy black underwear; that it would make any man sit up and take notice.
She left the store empty handed.
Now, as usual, her thoughts threatened to stifle her, making it hard to breathe. So she did what she always did, leaned her right hand against the arm of the sofa, inhaled deeply, then let it out slow.
There. Much better.
Even so, she needed to maintain the ritual: count to ten, tick the numbers off on your fingers, once more to make sure, then count thirteen steps to the bedroom and straighten the lipsticks in your makeup box on the bureau.
It was important for those shiny, pretty cases to always lay perfectly even, stick straight like cylindrical soldiers. It was a shame she had to use them, but she did. It was essential, important. Different color for a different mood. Red Roses For a Blue Lady. Chris would sing her the song when sadness engulfed her like a dark and stormy night.
Part of the plan. Okay. Six lipsticks for the six of them ( Emily, Lucy, Etta, Bernice, Danielle, Maxie). Ten fingers. Ten and six made sixteen. An even number, which was excellent, a sign that today would go well.
(dear Lucy, won't you come out to play?)
Keeping Chris happy was so important.
Emily was proud of her husband. To be chosen over a multitude of other candidates to work on Dr. House's Diagnostic team was a great honor. Even she, a simple hair stylist from Secaucus, understood this.
Sometimes it was hard to believe she was the woman behind the man. Who knew she would ever find herself in such a formidable position?
(...it's not just you, honey...it's all of us...)
Chris's plan worked. This fellowship was what he wanted for himself and for her. Plastic surgery, he said, was no longer a challenge; he wasn't helping people in ways that truly mattered. Working for House would enable him to do so much more.
The money Chris earned as a fellow didn't approach what he had made as a plastic surgeon. Emily mentioned this fact once, after they had both finished off the celebratory bottle of Chianti. His smile faded then; he looked so defeated, she never brought it up again. After all, what right did she have to tell him what to do with his career? It was his life, his dream.
(still...you are the woman behind the man...the one who wields the ultimate power of yay or nay...we'll teach you...you'll learn)
The call from the eminent Dr. House took Emily by surprise. He told her that Taub (Dr. House called Chris 'Taub', like Chris was a good buddy, an important player on a team. Emily liked that) had the potential to become a major asset to the Diagnostics Department.
This made Emily feel warm and good.
He went on to say that meeting with his fellows' spouses--alone--was an essential part of getting to know his employee on a deeper level. A one on one conversation with her would enable him to have a more complete look at the whole picture. He did this 'on the sly'. You won't tell him, will you? Emily imagined she heard a conspiratorial note in Dr. House's tone, something she wasn't sure she liked, but she let it go. If this was how to make sure Chris kept his fellowship, she would do it without complaint.
Staying 'mum' was Chris's forte, not hers. He always said her face was like an open book, that she would never work for the CIA. But...perhaps now she had picked up something from him, a small crafty edge she never knew she had.
Today she wouldn't need to wear sexy, slinky underthings, although Bernice might squawk and disagree (you dress sexy underneath, it makes you sexy on every level, sweetheart). With a silent apology to the woman, Emily digressed. Today Emily needed to be demure like Grace Kelly or Ingrid Bergman. She was blond, attractive, petite and soft spoken, and would dress the part of a surgeon's wife. She would hold her head up high, smile prim and pretty.
The others were forever trying to make her feel incompetent, like she was nothing more than a slave to their whims. All except Etta, who wanted so badly to be loved herself, she tried hard not to argue or take sides.
This time Emily hoped to prove them all wrong; Sandra, her very wise therapist, told her she was ready. The doctor had great faith Emily could swing this by herself.
Yes, she was up for it. She had to be. Ignoring those meddlesome women would not be easy (regardless of how they irritated her, she still thought them insightful). But she would remain calm and collected.
(just be yourself, Emmy)
She would be perfect.
For Chris's sake.
After a quick hello, Dr. House nodded and brushed past her, strutting into the house like he owned the place. He was lanky, unshaven, wearing a suit jacket, t-shirt, jeans and sneakers; he looked more like the scruffy guy who ran the newsstand downtown than a doctor.
His gaze moved everywhere, eyes touching, scrutinizing. Emily got the feeling you couldn't hide anything from him for long. Those eyes would search and dig and excavate until every little secret was unearthed. This made Lucy drift up to the surface, determined to handle the meeting until Emily shut her down.
"You okay?" House asked, taking a Hummel angel off the hearth and turning it over and over in those large hands.
"Certainly." Emily coughed. Danielle did not like what Dr. House was doing to the Hummel. She feared he would break it and then what would they all do? It was part of a set!
"Would you like some tea, Dr. House?"
He set the angel down and moved away from the shelf and the Hummels, causing Danielle to relax and Emily's shoulders slump with relief.
This is not going to work. Emily's misgivings were piling one on top of the other, soft and neat, like folded clothes in a laundry basket.
As the doctor crossed the room toward the closed door, the tip of his can thumped loudly against the hardwood floor. He obviously didn't care if he marked up the carefully waxed shine. Etta pushed at Emily, wanting to come out and speak her peace. Etta liked a clean home, not the slovenly mess Maxie attempted to foist on all of them. This man was weird and not a good person at all, but Etta was a mousy little geek, and Emily was able to easily force her back with the others.
"Do you have coffee?" He rapped his cane against the door. One of them had closed it. Bernice, most likely. She was older, valued her privacy. Yesterday Emily had found Bernice's vibrator and fur lined wrist restraints in Chris's sock drawer. In the notebook was a reminder to all of them not to touch those things. They were for 'special moments'.
"I...sure."
He followed her into the kitchen, where he leaned his cane against the butcher block table and took a seat.
In her head they were discussing, judging. Lucy thought the doctor was sexy and thought she might try her hand at seducing him.
"Muh!"
Emily leaned over the counter by the coffeemaker as Lucy pushed...hard.
"Problem?" the doctor's voice grated on her. He spoke softly but that superiority in his tone disturbed her.
"No." Emily shook her head, swallowed against the lump in her throat.
"I just have a few questions." He was tapping that cane again. This time against the table's leg.
Danielle was incensed. That is solid oak. An expensive, uneccessary luxury that you didn't need. Now it will be ruined because of him!
She told them to be good. Wrote them notes in the notebook they shared telling them about how important today was. Obviously they didn't care.
"Sure." She managed to still the tremors in her hands as she poured coffee for both of them. She used the white cups. None of them would complain if she used the white cups.
"Thanks," House said, then took a sip. All the while his eyes were on her, searing through her. Ice. Blue. She shivered.
"Your husband had a successful practice in New York City. Good plastic surgeons are hard to come by and he was one of the best." Folding his hands on his napkin, he went on, "Why did he leave?"
"Well, he...felt it was time to move on," Emily averted her eyes, stared at the crumbs on the stove. She had missed them this morning after cleaning up from breakfast. Etta noticed too; she pointed this out to Bernice. They were not happy about it.
"I heard he needed to distance himself from a somewhat ticklish situation," House said.
"Is this...really any of your business?"
"I just need to know what's up," he said. "You don't have to talk, but it would be to your benefit, and your doctor hubby's, if you did." He took another sip, smacked his lips, causing Bernice drift up, this time managing to push Emily back.
"You're coarse and you're cruel. Are you aware of that, sir?" Emily's shoulders stiffened as the words flowed from lips that were no longer her own.
"I'm here on a mission." Dr. House turned the white coffee cup this way and that, making rings on the table. "A truth finding mission. Truth's a hot commodity. It's in short supply everywhere. I try to dig some up when I can."
"You are upsetting Etta." Bernice continued. Emily pushed and struggled but the others thwarted her efforts. Their hands and bodies submerged her deeper into that familiar, somewhat comfortable place where she floated: part shadow, part liquid motion. The others had taken over. She felt their smiles, their sense of calm. They were running the show.
Dr. House smirked, intrigued. "Multiple personalities." The corners of his eyes crinkled with delight. "Cool," he said.
Bernice's words stuck in Emily's throat as Lucy caught the baton. Leaning her elbows on the table, she offered House a sultry stare. "My name is Lucy. They all wish they could be me."
"That so."
"We would have lost Chris if it wasn't for me. He thought we didn't know he was fucking those nurses."
Emily flinched, and drifted further down. No one could find her here.
"He left his practice for you." House twiddled his spoon at her. "All so Mr. Happy wouldn't be tempted by all those angels of mercy."
"Chris adores women," Lucy said. "Loves their form, their scent, the swell of a hip, the curve of a breast. They're like art to him."
Tossing her head, Lucy showed off her long, white neck, the soft bend of her throat. No wonder Chris likes her best, Emily lamented deep in the comfort of the mire. I could never act like that. She blanched and thought of her therapist and the progress made that was now all for naught. How much ground had been lost over the past hour?
"I was the first to show up," Lucy continued. "The night after Chris learned he was one of the forty you were considering, I took charge and showed him how it was to have a real woman in his bed." She winked. "He never thinks of straying anymore."
Dr. House stared at her hard. "You in there, Emily?" His voice was soft again, this time infused with a touch of wonder. His curiosity was childlike, and Lucy found it exhilarating.
"You don't want her, Dr. House." Lucy wide, carefree grin was so unlike Emily's polite, shy smile, it made Emily cringe. Lucy's appearances had become more frequent of late. Emily's customers at the stylists adored her and seemed disappointed when Emily was just...herself.
Lucy was eloquent, a real charmer, assuring the others if they allowed her free reign, they wouldn't be sorry. All the while, Emily floated on the tide, struggling to salvage any pieces of herself that remained.
They shared the last piece of strawberry shortcake, which Emily had been saving for Chris's dessert that evening. Lucy licked her fork (like some animal, Bernice complained) with exaggerated swirls of her tongue. Emily knew nothing about being seductive; she only knew this wasn't appropriate and was embarrassed and fearful of how Dr. House might treat Chris after today.
"What's behind the door?" he asked after draining the dregs of his coffee.
"What door?" Lucy's tongue darted out to snag the last dot of cream off Emily's lips.
"The locked door off the living room. Your apartment is wide open, airy, nothing seems off limits." His eyes narrowed. "Except that room."
"Oh, that." Lucy's delighted laugh was as unnerving as the sound of razorblades scraping down a chalkboard.
She pushed out of her chair and, after taking a small, quick bow, grabbed House's cane and handed it to him. "Emily wouldn't want you to see this," she whispered, slipping her arm through his as they headed toward the living room. "Chris wouldn't either. Frankly, he would be mortified."
Emily struggled, pushed, getting nowhere. What would happen now? She couldn't imagine. Lucy had no shame. Absolutely none. The others were silent, watching. Captivated. She could hear their breathing, the intense beating of their hearts...
In the pocket of Emily's skirt were the keys. With a hoot and a giggle, Lucy jangled them in front of Dr. House before sliding the right one into the lock.
Before she could open the door, the tip of the cane passed over her shoulder and did it for her.
"Impetuous bastard!" Bernice cried, while Danielle bemoaned the fact there must now be a mark from that cane on her pristine white door.
The room sparkled. Cranberry colored wallpaper glinted with what looked like cold yellow stars on a winter night. Mannequins played dress up; their wardrobe might have been filched from a theater trunk--boas and blue jeans, wedding gowns and black lace, tiaras and baseball caps. One model wore a fat suit, clothed in overalls and a denim shirt.
Intrigued, Dr. House moved away from Emily, brushing the back of his hand against a gold lamé jacket.
All along the far wall, wigs were propped on faceless heads. Some were fancy with curls and flips, others plain, lank and homely. They were jet black, coffee bean brown, peroxide blond. Over there a spiky magenta thing sat majestic atop its pate, and here in a special case were braided plaits of honey gold. Beneath each head was a name printed in a prim, proper hand. Bernice, Etta, Danielle, Maxie...Lucy.
"Which one do you think is my favorite?" Lucy giggled, grasping House's hand and running her thumb along his palm.
You have no right. You're ruining everything. Emily wails were like those of a wounded animal. " Hush, now," Bernice scolded. "Once Lucy sets her mind to something, there ain't nothing anyone can do..."
"Your favorite is wig is the one no one would suspect you would wear." House step-thumped around the room, graceful despite his infirmity. Emily thought there must be some special trick to that.
House lifted a gray pageboy do off one of the few nameless heads the room. "The school marm, the strict task master. Underneath all that repressed sexuality we find the wildcat."
"Mmm, you're good."
He snorted.
"I'm good too." She winked. "Wanna see?" With one swift twist of her hand, her top button came undone.
Emily sobbed. Nobody cared.
"I diagnose the afflicted, then save their spotty butts," House said with a raised brow. "I don't generally take advantage of them."
The CD player in the corner clicked on; a disco beat pounded. Chris liked this song. Sometimes Lucy dragged him in here at the end of the day to dance for him.
"The man of the house probably enjoys this way more than he should," House shouted over the music. "Tell your host to find herself a therapist."
"Oh, Emily's got one." Lucy rolled her hips as she casually undid another button. "She's no match for us."
"Let me talk to Emily."
"She's boring." Lucy pouted and swiveled her hips with a little less gusto.
"Now."
Lucy decided she didn't like this man, couldn't control him like she could Chris. "Your loss," she sighed before melting back into the fray.
It was like a gate had opened, allowing her to float up and out into the light. The music that had been muffled and low now hurt her head, causing her temples to pound in time. Pressing her hands to her ears, she gave Dr. House an agitated look.
"Didn't want to leave without saying goodbye," he said.
"I'm sorry this happened." She shook her head.
"I'm not." He turned on his heel. "You should get a different therapist, one your hubby doesn't know about."
"Why?" she asked.
He gestured at the wigs, at the costumes, at her. "Think about it."
"Wait." Emily headed him off at the door. "You're not going to fire him?"
"A man with his smarts?" House's snicker could barely be heard over the song, the one that Lucy danced to, the one that Chris had her play over and over again. "He's a guy who knows what he wants and how to get it. Can't fault him there. Are you okay with this?"
"I don't...I'm not sure." Whispers in her head. They were discussing what they would do when Chris got home. She didn't want to hear it...didn't want to know."
"Good luck," House said, heading out the door. Whitney Houston provided the soundtrack for his leaving.
Emily's tremulous grin followed him out. "I'm every woman," she sang in farewell. Her voice was hesitant, low and reedy but the others urged her on.
"It's all in me-e-ee-"