As always, much thanks for the kind reviews. They are always encouraging.
Welp, dear Hilsons, this chapter begins non-stop House and Wilson. Hope you enjoy!
Part 4
House counted out pills while stifling a yawn. Jails were jails, although theAsama Maruhad to be the snazziest. Infirmaries on the other hand, were infirmaries. They had no upside. They were white rooms filled with an endless number of whining, boring people. He had no one to blame but himself for getting caught and volunteering to do time in the ship's infirmary.
Dr. Kimura scribbled something down on a pad and hung up the phone. Indicating the Great Pyramid of vials that House had carefully constructed, he held out a small rectangle of paper with a neatly written number. "A new case, Dr. House. Since the waiting room is nearly empty, may I impose upon your good nature to deliver your," he winked, "secret remedy to our latest seasick patient?" He bent his head, checking his watch. "If you honor me with this favor, I insist you take the rest of the day off."
House seized the opportunity and a bottle from the eighth wonder of the world, without it tumbling into chaos, and eased up from the chair with his cane. He said, "Arigato gozaimashita," and left.
He meandered through corridors and public rooms on his way to the cabin, which was located in the stern. The full length of the ship lay between it and the infirmary. Strolling along the 'A' deck he dipped into the first class lounge where they were serving tea. He threaded his way around tables, nodding hellos, stuffing crustless sandwiches into his mouth with one bite, slipping scones into his pockets when no one was looking.
His second-class accommodations might be equivalent to a top-notch hotel, but why restrict himself to a gilded cage when a platinum one was available? This was one of the many privileges second class lacked and had motivated him to offer his services to Kimura. That was, the amenities along with an official pass to roam freely about the ship. Within a couple of days, aggressive squatter's rights had made him a fixture. Even the genuine first class passengers assumed he belonged there.
Chumming his way around the room without actually engaging in any conversation, he slipped out the door to the sun-blessed promenade deck and continued his journey.
Nope, he had no one to blame but himself for saving Donahue's life. As soon as he had dragged the drowning man onto land Donahue had turned back into a cop, clasping a giant paw around House's wrist, and not letting go until they returned to the room. Despite their late arrival due to their morning dip, the ship was still moored to the dock when the taxi swung into the passenger zone.
House craned his neck at the looming ship casting the pier into shadow. The driver got out and helped the porter with the luggage. He asked, "Are we sharing a bed? Be warned. I've been told my snoring can rivet sheet metal."
Donahue leveled a stare at him. "We have two adjoining cabins in second class… unless you want to share one in first?"
"You're not my type." House answered. "Not even after giving me this bracelet." House raised his handcuffed left hand, lifting Donahue's right. "When do these come off?"
"You're cocky and foolhardy, House, but don't think I'm ungrateful for you saving my life. I'm willing to go easy on you, but I also gotta follow the book. The handcuffs stay on until we're on the ship. Stay out of trouble. Don't even drop cigarette ash on the swanky carpet, and we can act like we don't know each other. That is, we can go our separate ways until Honolulu." Donahue grimaced apologetically. "I'll have to lock you in the brig until we leave for San Francisco." He opened the cab door, and began to climb out.
House refused to budge.
"Donahue. I'm not a criminal… yet. Spare me a little dignity?"
Donahue appeared to contemplate the request. "How about a compromise?" He picked up his overcoat and threw it over the handcuffs, hiding them. To anybody watching, they would appear to be friends walking side by side.
"Thanks," House said, already distracted. He filed away the new information about the brig while mulling over possible strategies for escape.
After their conversation, pieces of his plan fell into place. On the first night, choppy seas felled more than half the passengers. House volunteered his services to the ship's doctor, which was a two-for-one, affording him freedom while impressing Donahue that he was a reformed citizen. Donahue was more than happy to relinquish House's leash to Kimura while he spent his days blistering his skin poolside.
And like today, Kimura wasn't about to overtax a passenger with work.
Preoccupied with what he should do with his free time after the delivery, House was shaken from his reverie when two porters loaded down with an insignia riddled, brown-colored steamer trunk and matching suitcases passed him in the corridor. They stopped and knocked at the same cabin indicated on Kimura's slip. He almost faltered when he saw who greeted the men, waving them inside.
"Hey!" House shouted as the door began to close.
He was rewarded with a fortune's worth of emotions flitting across the occupant's face. Inquisitiveness, recognition, and amusement made entrances before astonishment grabbed center stage. "House?"
"Wilson."
With a quick backward glance, Wilson stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him until there was only a small crack. He spoke in a hushed voice, "What are you doing here? Last time I saw you, you had the hots for a crap game."
House shrugged. "It went cold, fast." He produced the bottle of pills from his pocket and shook it. "You asked for these? As a doctor you should know better, unless you flavor your coffee with them."
"Not so loud." Snapping the door shut, Wilson plucked the container from his hand. "It's for my brother. Passengers were gabbing about the ship's miracle cure and he was desperate." He shifted to the side as the porters left the room with less exalted luggage. "We're trading rooms. There's less pitch back here. Between modern engineering and old-fashioned quackery, Richard should be back to normal in no time."
"You have a long wait for normal." House drawled, then brightened with mock understanding. "Oh I get it. You mean normal for Richard."
Wilson huffed in response and plunged his hands in his pockets, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Can you come out and play?" House asked, breaking the silence. He saw a mischievous gleam in the brown eyes.
"Give me fifteen minutes. Where should we meet?"
"The Midnight Bar."
"It's not midnight."
"We're on the high seas. Society's rules don't apply on the ocean. Besides, somewhere in the world it is," House explained as he hitched his way down the corridor.
.
The bar, a provocative cave in stark black and white was open for business yet empty. House decided what the place needed was a streak of blue. He sat down at the dazzling white-lacquered piano—a pale grace note in a sea of black, lit a cigarette, and began playing a piano arrangement of Rhapsody in Blue. As he wound down, Wilson showed up. Paying for two glasses of scotch at the bar, Wilson sat them on the piano and casually relaxed against it, listening. Occasionally he sipped from his glass and idly puffed from House's cigarette burning in the ashtray.
They were having a moment. Exactly what kind, House couldn't say, but it went down smooth as one hundred year old brandy. He segued into American in Paristo prolong the spell.
Finishing the piece, House asked, "You like Gershwin or just music about cosmopolitan cities?"
"Anything played well." Wilson raised his glass. "Continue."
A stream of melodies flowed from House's fingers. Gershwin hobnobbed with Kern, who rubbed shoulders with Rachmaninov. They all tumbled into bed with Tchaikovsky before House realized they weren't alone anymore. The cocktail crowd was trickling in.
Wilson seemed to size up the situation at the same time House did. He stepped away from the piano and checked his watch. "I better get back to Richard."
"What about tomorrow? I can do things to Schubert that he never dreamed of, including finishing him off—his symphony, I mean."
Wilson paused, absorbing the statement, but simply said, "Of course. What other meaning is there?"
"That's three."
"Come again? Wilson crinkled his eyebrows and glanced over his shoulder. "Who are you talking to?"
"You. Making a study of your various and apparently endless, earnestly stunned expressions."
"I—I…"
"Repeat of number two. You're disappointing me, Wilson. Maybe you can break your record tomorrow. How about we meet after lunch for a warm up session of poker?"
"I'm playing bridge in the afternoon."
"Bridge? Are you a man or a lapdog?" House asked sourly.
"I'm doing an old lady a favor." Wilson shrugged. "Mrs. Aldridge needed a partner. Say, do you play? I didn't see Ralph Spence at lunch. We were pairing up against him and his wife. He may be in need of your magical pills."
"I prefer pinochle to bridge, but count me in," House replied.
On his way to his cabin House stopped by the library and pried two slim volumes off the shelf. He had a late night of cramming ahead of him.
.
"Well! I never!" Eulalie Aldridge harrumphed like an elephant as she rose from her chair. With much less grace than a pachyderm, she charged toward the door, halting briefly before making her exit. "Are you coming, Margaret?"
A woman of less decisive views, Margaret broadcast her apologies with saucer-shaped eyes and scurried off.
"Really?" Wilson asked after they left. "Of all the possible topics, you brought up diets?"
"Did I say something wrong?" House tried looking innocent. "Don't women love getting together to talk movie stars and losing weight? What could be better than me explaining how many pounds they could lose with the Hollywood Diet."
"When they're alone with other women, they chatter about grapefruit, yes, but not with men around." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "Eulalie's concentration was off. She kept fumbling her finesses."
House pondered briefly how Wilson would know about harems without being a eunuch, then swept the thought aside. "Don't be a spoilsport, just because you lost," he said, unsuccessfully controlling his urge to gloat. Throwing the high and mighty Mrs. Aldridge off-balance was easier than transforming into a championship bridge player overnight. "She might have been distracted by other things."
Wilson became quiet. "Well, she did touch my leg under the table several times. I thought she was signaling a bid, but the way her bare foot glided up my calf…" He shook his head, mystified.
"That wasn't Aldridge." House kicked his shoe from under the table and spun around so he could slip it on his foot. He glimpsed Wilson's face as he slowly tied the lace.
Wilson was blinking and his mouth parted slightly, but he said nothing.
"And that." House pointed triumphantly. "Is number four." He levered out of the chair. "Come on. I'm thirsty. Let's visit our favorite watering hole. I'll serenade you for as long as you buy me drinks."
"Wait." Wilson stopped at the door. "Level with me. Are you kidding or is this a seduction?
House laughed. "Seducing you? Pshaw! The very idea! Should I continue?"
.
tbc...