Unconventional
"Why do I have to present at the stupid convention?" House whined to a highly-vexed, but thoroughly unconvinced Cuddy!
"Because maybe it's a convention on infectious diseases and, let me see, you're an Infectious Disease specialist?!"
"Also," Cuddy added with just the slightest smirk, "maybe this will make you think twice before you shout to a cafeteria full of people that the mayo is tainted. I'm still dealing with the fallout from the Great Mayonnaise Scare of '07!"
"But Mo-o-o-m?" House pleaded, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.
"Forget it House! Now here's your ticket. I suggest you be a good little boy and start thinking about your presentation. The convention is three weeks from today in New Orleans."
House clutched his cane tightly and mumbled a string of curses and epithets including 'three weeks!'...'damn convention'...and the ever popular 'rotundas ss' as his boss herded him out of her office
As a defeated House hobbled into his office, he found Taub and Kutner at the table engaged in their favorite game, 'Who's Hotter,' while 13 figured she could avoid catching their idiocy by staring intently at her crossword puzzle.
Without a case to occupy them, his conference room had turned into a nursery for his obviously bored little ducklings.
House knew how they felt. He was bored, too! Maybe a few days at the Infectious Diseases Conference in New Orleans was just what the doctor needed.
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"Cripple coming through," House bellowed to the long line of lively conventioneers and tourists waiting for taxis outside New Orleans International. His flight had just landed and he was now ready to explore the city he'd spent the past three weeks daydreaming about. The only thing that would have made this trip even better is if Wilson would have been able to join him. Inconsiderate cancer patients.
In his endless musings and research, he had discovered online that none other than John Henry Giles himself was going to be playing at a little club called Snug Harbor located just outside the French Quarter. He couldn't wait to see the look of surprise on Giles' face, hear real jazz, eat spicy food till smoke poured out of his ears and, if he was lucky, get laid by some beautifully exotic southern creature.
After checking into the five-star Windsor Court Hotel instead of the four-star Sheraton Cuddy had arranged for him, House took the glass elevator to his very plush suite on the 15th floor.
The mini-bar didn't stand a chance as he grabbed two bottles of Scotch, a bottle of water, a Snicker Bar and a bag of M&Ms. He knew Cuddy would hit the roof when she got the bill, but so what! She owed him.
After scarfing down half the treats, House showered, changed into his dark jeans and a black designer t-shirt. He wondered if he should call that cute flight attendant who had given him her number, with very little prompting, as he disembarked. New Orleans was her home base and she said she could show him a good time.
I bet she could, House thought as he grabbed his jacket, room key and wallet and headed out the door. Maybe he'd give her a call tonight--much later tonight.
House watched as the city blocks scrolled by as the taxi wound its way through the streets of the historic French Quarter. The old streets, many still lined with cobblestones and hitching posts, reminded House of the times they lived in Europe, especially Paris. The quaint art galleries and restaurants with their delicate wrought iron balconies and lush, hidden courtyards were simply breathtaking and dying to hear new secrets and share secrets long past.
The ringing of his cell phone snatched House back from his romantic musings.
"What?!" he barked, not bothering to look at his caller ID.
"Gregory Michael House! I know I raised you better than that!" said an exasperated Blythe House.
"Sorry, Mom." House said reverting to his 10-year-old self.
"It's okay, son. So how's New Orleans?" Blythe asked, immediately throwing her son off guard again for the second time in 10 seconds.
"Mom, how...how'd you know I was in New Orleans?" House stammered even though he knew instantly who had ratted him out the moment the words left his lips. Wilson! he thought. You are SO dead!
"Well, Gregory, when I couldn't get hold of you, I called James and he was kind enough to tell me you were in New Orleans for a medical conference. And guess what honey? Your dad, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Joe, your cousin Susan and her husband and I are flying into New Orleans tomorrow to take the Carnival Cruise Ship Fantasy to the Caribbean. The ship sails at 5 p.m. so we have just enough time to meet up with you and take you to lunch before we leave!
House gripped the cell phone so tight he thought it might disintegrate in his hands.
"I've been wanting to go to that restaurant...let's see, what's it called again...oh, now I remember...Galatoire's! Won't that be fun, Gregory?" Blythe gushed.
"Fun doesn't begin to describe it," he muttered under his breath. Yeah, the last thing I need is my whole family cramping my style while I'm in sin city of the south for the first time in years! Lucky me!
"So when do you guys get in?" House finally mustered the courage to ask, silently praying to a god he knew didn't exist that it would be too late for them to join him before they had to board their ship.
"11 a.m." Blythe said. "That should give us enough time to get settled on board and then grab a cab and meet you for lunch at 1 p.m.
"One it is," House said as the cab pulled up in front of the jazz club in the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood just outside the French Quarter.
After throwing the cab driver a fistful of crumpled bills, House headed straight for the bar as fast as his leg and cane would carry him and ordered a double Scotch neat. If he was lucky, maybe he could drink this little family reunion away.
tbc...?