Must Get Out 2
DISCLAIMER: I'm working it out with some lawyers—they still can't help me own House. They also told me to keep dreaming (eye roll).
NOTE: Joy and Luz are common names for women from the Philippines.
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I left for San Francisco a week after meeting Al at the hexagonal pizzeria. As for Al, she lost no time in implementing "The Plan".
Unlike my sister Luz, who sends me up-to-the-minute updates (literally) that overwhelms my inbox, Al gives me details in bulk. At the end of my sixth day in San Francisco—right after the wedding—I open my e-mail and found two messages from her that ate up 1.6 gigabytes out of my available e-mail space. I still have 8.2 GB for other updates, thank God.
I have to remember to send Mom a box of Mrs. See's excellent chocolates—for intimidating me into attend that speed reading class all those years ago. The combined length of Al's e-mails is equivalent to an eighth of The Da Vinci Code.
The first e-mail informed me of how Al managed to use that "jello shots and an orgy" crack on her sadistic boss—except that she substituted "wild sex" for "orgy", but who cares?—after making her team work insidious overtime hours. Made my heart sing when she added that she didn't have to look into her "notes" when she let that rip—but then the cretin ruins the mood by ordering them to continue while he goes out for a nap.
Coño!
The second e-mail had me snorting iced tea out of my nostrils:
…I can't believe I said that—"I'm hitting that"—and right in front of FOREMAN! When Chase told me that Foreman was the one who was dating the new nurse, I wanted to DIE!!!!! I blame you, you feminist plastic surgeon!
I swipe some tissues from the bathroom and cleaned up my laptop. After making sure that no lasting damage will ever come from christening it, I grab my cellphone and dial Al's number, hoping that she's not working with some sensitive equipment.
Or standing next to her boss.
"Cameron."
"For the record, I am not a plastic surgeon—I specialize in reconstructive surgery," I announced in a whiny voice. I'm not known for my hellos.
"Same difference," Al replied mockingly.
"Secondly—when I started praying that you'd find someone to help you get over Doctor Killjoy, I didn't expect you to pull an Anne Heche!" I tease.
"Ha, ha, ha, funny gal," Al growled.
My ears pick something up.
"You're crunching ice?"
"Sort of—got into a little accident with a patient," she mutters.
I jump out of my chair. "A patient attacked you? Will a lawsuit come up? Did they disfigure you?"
"No—I slipped him a narcotic to keep him from leaving the hospital," Al answers effortlessly.
"So, the patient woke up and let you have it?" I asked, scandalized. I think I created a monster; I begin to mentally draft a statement absolving me of this change in Allison Cameron, MD.
"Better—he went through a sheet of glass and took me with him after I grabbed his collar."
"Well, he avenged himself without realizing it. Is the patient big?"
"Huge—more than 600 pounds."
"Hot shit! If you were standing on the other side, I might not be talking to you right now."
"I'll live," Al said wryly. "Still kind of sore, and I'm glad you called 'cause I was about to give you an update."
"I am renowned for my excellent timing—spill! Have you finally switched House's pills with Viagra and left him with a hard-on?"
"No!" She pauses to take a slurp of something—I assume that she's got a bendy straw to slurp with—before elaborating further, "I meant that I blew him off instead of sharing my feelings with him."
"Oh, baby girl, you've grown up!" I gushed. "You've learned how to deploy wisecracks AND not go all touchy-feely around him! I can now allow you to drink alcoholic beverages! You deserve it!"
"Your treat, Joy?" Al asked hopefully. I snort.
"Don't push me, kid," I answered dryly. "And you did all this without looking into your notes, huh? I'm impressed!"
"Yeah—I'm shocked at myself. I guess he rubbed off on me, or because he got arrested…"
"Say what?!"
"He got arrested—he left a rectal thermometer up a cop's butt and got caught with a bunch of pills in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket."
"A thermometer?! He left a—shit!" I couldn't contain it any longer and burst into a fit of giggles.
"Stupid, stupid thing to do," I could hear Al mutter into my ear.
"Is it still in there?" I ask innocently.
"I hope not," Al said, appalled. "Or we'd be in deeper shit."
"Can't have that," I said before something she mentioned made me go "Wait—your boss was arrested NOT for the ass assault, but for having excess pills?" I ask incredulously.
Al answered in the affirmative. "What, is the cop outraged that the thermometer wasn't up to his standards?"
I could practically see Al rolling her eyes before saying, "Wish it was that simple." I snicker.
"Tritter thinks House is an addict and a pusher," Al said, a mite outraged.
"That's insane—after everything you've told me about your boss, I don't think he's the sharing type."
"He's not—he's in pain."
"In so much pain that he'd stick a piece of glass up where the sun don't shine without knowing what the man does for a living first? And why a rectal thermometer? Did the hospital run out of the ones you put into your mouth or ear?"
"I don't know—all I heard from the grapevine was that the cop arrived at the Clinic to have something checked out in his private area."
"Huh? He went to a Free Clinic to have his groin checked out when he could've gone to a specialist? What a cheap bastard! I bet he forgot to pay your hospital for the use of the thermometer—the hospital should sue that cop."
"I knew you'd sympathize," Al said sarcastically.
"I'm all heart, you know—we doctors gotta stick together."
"Including House?"
"I have my limits, Al."
She suddenly started to chuckle. I raise an eyebrow and demanded, "What's so funny?"
In between chuckles, she managed to spit out, "You—and House. You two are so much alike! No wonder I like the both of you."
"He's from the Philippines?"
"Ha, another funny. No, you're both so cynical! If you meet each other, I don't know who'll win!" The chuckling mutated into full-blown laughter as I look at the phone in disgust.
"Are you high?" I inquire.
"The morphine wore off hours ago."
"Okay—I'll keep that in mind if or when you ever land in the ER and someone has to fill out forms."
"Thank you!"
"You're maudlin," I groaned. "I'll be back in Princeton soon. I expect you to be sober and healed by then, okay?"
"Sure thing, Joy. Nice talking to you."
"That's why I take care not to strain my vocal chords. Bye."
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Thoughts?