Dear Readers, The first few chapters don't have a lot of House in them, but then he's featured quite a bit. So hang in there. Gorblimey2

GAL FRIDAY

Chapter 1

Residency 101

I hate Gregory House. I know mothers around the world will cringe—"Sweetie, hate is a strong word! You dislike him." But Moms, if you're reading this, let me make it clear, I hate Gregory House. Now, despite the fact that I've admitted it, I also have to admit that I don't think House did it. And that leaves us with the big question. Who did?

Susan Friday is the woman that when you are sitting with her at a club men buy her the drinks and ask her to dance while you sit there, hands folded, smiling as if it doesn't matter—as if you always come to these places to watch Susan dance. We've known each other since med school where we roomed together from day one. Because of our looks, everyone thought we were related, although it was assumed that I was, in contrast to Susan, the ugly step-child. The comparisons were sure to happen when Susan showed up in our dorm room with her Louis Vuitton trunk and Bose stereo and declared that I needed a makeover. That makeover ended up making me look a little more like her than it should.

We 're both blond, mine just happens to be real. Her eyes are a gorgeous blue when she has her contacts in; mine are a gray-- sometimes blue (depending on what I'm wearing)-- with flecks of green around the iris. At 5'6", Susan is a few inches taller than me. Our features are petite, except mine are probably too petite in places where more would have been better. Susan had fuller lips, slightly bigger eyes and her breasts were a full cup size bigger than mine, but then, she got to pick hers out.

I'm not complaining. I'm not a double bagger. In fact, when I'm not in Susan's shadows, people tell me I'm very pretty and have a nice figure. But I blend into the wallpaper whenever Susan is around. Do I mind it? Yeah, I'm human, there are days when I want to push her into the dirt and stand on top of her. But, she is also very generous. In med school I basked in her fallout, whether it was castoff clothes, invitations to parties, or the guys she didn't go home with. One of my long term relationships was the result of being her wingman at a party. I ended up with the wingman of the guy Susan went home with.

Here's the clincher. Susan Friday wasn't just gorgeous and from a rich family; she was bright and articulate. We frequently jockeyed for the same position in our classes. It was always a tossup on who would rank higher. In the end I edged her out. I was 20th out of 230 graduates; she was 22nd. She took it well, even giving me a Louis Vuitton suitcase as a graduation gift.

I make Susan sound like a caricature of a rich bitch, but she isn't. Sure, she has her polyester moments, but in the end, this is a woman who committed herself to pediatric oncology, the worst of the worst specializations. Everyone knew that if you were going to treat kids with cancer you had to have a strong stomach and disposition. Susan did. I admire her for tackling it and doing well. Me? I eventually did my residency in surgery.

Susan scored Mass General for her residency. I did well for not having her connections. I found a place at UCLA in general surgery. Not having the money that Susan does, while we were residents, she was the one who usually caught the red eye out to California when we wanted to have a few days of fun together.

It was our first December as residents that she flew out and surprised me, showing up as I was making rounds. I turned the corner and there she was, standing in the company of two doctors and one intern, all salivating over her. I almost turned around to run but she saw me.

"Finley! There you are!" She turned to the men. "Excuse me, gentlemen." She gave them a sparkling grin and then turned in my direction.

I wanted to dive through the door next to me and hide under a bed, but I knew that behavior would just add fuel to the fire that was about to ignite.

She put an arm around my shoulder. "Hi, sweetie—oh my God! Why are you crying?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." I said as I swiped the tears under my eyes away.

She grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to the elevator. When we took it to the first floor we were in the company of three patients and a nurse so we said nothing to each other. The door opened on the first floor and she pulled my arm with such a force I had to go in her direction.

"Susan, you're hurting me!"

Pushing me through the door to the empty atrium, I stumbled out. Susan pulled my lab coat down so that I'd have to sit next to her on the bench outside. I looked around, as a resident working non-stop, I was not used to being outside . It was a fairly warm winter afternoon in California. The sky was bright and sunny with puffs of clouds flying east. I wondered if I had enough Vitamin K and D in my body to make good use of the sun.

I couldn't look at her or she'd know how upset I really was.

"Are we just going to sit here or are you going to tell me why the woman who didn't cry when Professor Gherig called her an idiot in front of the resident heartthob, Johnny Franklin, is crying now?"

I finally looked up. Her blue eyes were unusually blue from the contacts she was wearing. Her hair had been colored perfectly, giving her flawless, un-freckled skin a perfect frame. She was wearing a wrap dress that set off her small waist.

"It's one of the attendings here. He keeps ragging on me."

She rolled her eyes at me. "They're supposed to rag on you."

It was true. One of the time honored traditions is that once you're an attending you get to verbally abuse the residents about their abilities.

"No, not about medicine, about everything and anything."

"Like what?"

"Things like, "Your birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory." "Christ, when they gave you an IQ test it came back negative, right?" "If you want to impress me, just show up naked with a beer." "Don't worry, Finley, there's a cure for virginity and I've got it." It's humiliating. Over and over, constantly making rude and vulgar remarks in front of all the residents and interns. I'm the laughing stock of the hospital."

"That's sexual harassment!" Susan said, her jaw jutting out in defense of me. "You need to report him to human resources."

"Everyone reports him to human resources."

She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. "Well, you call my uncle, Winston Larabie, and tell him what's going on. He'll take care of you."

When Susan left the next week, I tried to brave it out, but then the attending screamed at me one night claiming I had prescribed the wrong drugs, when in fact, I hadn't prescribed any. It had been the Surgical Attending above me that had. But, it wasn't the fact that he screamed at me for that, but that he started talking about my breasts and what was between my legs. So I did call Susan's uncle who had already been convinced by Susan to represent me for free. After a few calls and an hour long interview by human resources, my problem was miraculously solved. The Attending was fired and the insults I received from the other Attendings returned to being about the practice—my practice—of medicine. I didn't mind their insults because, as Susan had pointed out, insulting residents was their job.