Chapter 7
House went home early. He knew she would show up after the scene in the lobby today and he was going to be ready for her.
It was 6PM when he heard the knock on his door. He limped slowly to the door and opened it. Randi was standing there with a frightened look on her face. He didn't say anything, just cocked one eyebrow at her. She swallowed hard and then said softly: "May I come in?"
"I don't usually let strangers come in my place, even young cute ones. Funny thing is, I thought I knew you. You look just like this girl Randi that I like to screw, but you said earlier that your name isn't Randi. So I guess I don't know you."
"Randi's just my stage name. It sounds sexier than Isabelle. What guy wants to screw a girl with that moniker? 'Isabelle' is not what a guy wants for his fantasy girl."
"I don't know. Isabelle. Is-a-belle."
The way he said her name made her weak in the knees. It was as if he was moaning it during the height of passion.
"Please. Can I come in so we can talk?"
House stood aside and let her in.
She stood by the sofa, wringing her hands. "I was so afraid you were going to rat me out today. Please don't tell anyone how you know me. I don't want them to know how I support myself to get through school. I'm afraid that they will kick me out if they find out."
House frowned: "Why would they kick you out? Why would they care how you earn your tuition money as long as they get it on time?"
"Because it's a Catholic college and I had to sign a morals clause. If they knew what I was doing, they would probably see that as a violation of the clause and kick me out. Please don't say anything. I only have one year left to go."
House smirked. He had her over a barrel. He could get her to do anything now just by threatening to rat her out.
"What's in it for me if I don't tell?"
Her face grew paler and her chin started trembling. "I don't know, what do you want?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure, but it seems like I'm holding all the cards now."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Pl-please, Dr. House. Pl-please don't rat me out. I've worked so hard to get this f-far and I'm almost there."
House didn't answer her. He stalked into the kitchen and she followed him like a puppy. He took down a glass and poured himself a shot of scotch and slugged it back. He leaned against the counter and surveyed her. She was pale and trembling. He was angry; he shouldn't have made that bet with Wilson and Cuddy's insistence that he hire new ducklings had pushed him over the edge. He needed to take it out on something or someone, and Randi was right here. It wasn't really her fault, but it gave him an excuse to punish someone, although she was not the person he really wanted to punish.
Harshly, he said: "I'm asking you for the last time. What's in it for me if I don't tell?"
A tear leaked out of each eye as she stuttered: "Wha, what do you-u w-want?"
He waved his hand towards his groin and barked: "Blow me."
She nodded and immediately got on her knees. Her hands trembled as she undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. She tugged his jeans down and released his cock. He was only half hard, more angry than horny. He just wanted to humiliate her and this was the first thing that came to mind. He saw her quickly swipe the tears away from her eyes and then she took him in her mouth.
Her mouth felt good, but it didn't feel like it usually did when she blew him. He knew she wasn't into it. Her usual enthusiasm was not there and he was sure that he felt one or two hot tears fall on his prick.
He fisted her hair, hard. "What the hell kind of crappy blow job is this? This isn't your usual quality. This is how you want to guarantee my silence? It ain't going to work, babe."
He could feel the change. She was trying harder. Her lips gripped tighter and her tongue ran deliciously along the underside of his dick, the way she usually did it. He started ramming his dick into her mouth and she did her best to take it without gagging. He looked down at her, expecting to see the erotic picture of her giving him a BJ. What he saw instead disturbed him. Her face was pale, not flushed with sexual excitement. He could see the tear streaks on her face. "My god, I'm raping her. What the hell kind of animal am I?"
"Stop!"
She stopped moving and just held his dick in her mouth as she rolled her eyes upwards to look at him. He could see the fear in her eyes.
"Open up."
She opened her mouth and he pulled out of her. He tucked himself back into his boxers and pulled up his jeans.
The girl in front of him looked even more scared if that were possible. "You didn't like it? I'm sorry. I'm just a little upset. C'mon, let's go in the bedroom. I'll give you a really good screw."
House waved his hand towards the door: "Just go."
"But, but Doc. Please. Let me,,"
He yelled at her: "Just go! Get out of here!"
Tears bubbled up in her eyes again and spilled over. The trembling started in her lower lip and quickly spread to her jaw. She grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the door. In her haste, she tripped and spilled the contents of her purse on the floor. A sob escaped her mouth as she quickly fumbled on the floor trying desperately to throw all of her belongings back inside. She bit her lip hard, trying to keep from crying in front of him.
"Go, already!"
Clutching the purse to her chest, she ran for the door, hoping that she wasn't leaving anything behind, because she knew that she wasn't ever going to be back in his apartment again.
HOUSEMDHOUSEMDHOUSEMD
House poured himself another shot of scotch. He was angry with himself. He had just screwed up a good thing with her. For 500 bucks a night, he had had a really good time with her. She was a lot of fun in bed and actually pretty easy to be with outside of bed. She made great pancakes too. He slugged the scotch back and slammed the glass down. Damn it! This was all Wilson and Cuddy's fault. Between his bet and her bitching, no wonder he was out of sorts and taking it out on his plaything.
He poured himself a double shot and started towards the living room. He noticed something on the floor and stooped to pick it up. In her haste to get out of the door, Randi had left something behind: her driver's license.
House sat on the couch and sipped his scotch while he looked it over. Isabelle Caroline Walker. Her address was a crappy neighborhood in Trenton. Her birthday was in May and she was just 25 years old. He rubbed his thumb over the photo. She had a small smile on her pretty face. He had liked seeing her smile, liked it even better when she was screaming his name in ecstasy when he made her come. It was a real rush for him, a 48-year-old cripple, to make a hot young thing like her come so hard.
He wondered how she got to this place, stripping and hooking to get through nursing school. He personally thought of nursing as a shit job, but he guessed it was better than stripping and having strange men fuck you for money. He wondered how she felt about him; did she enjoy his company at all or was it just about the money? He wanted to think that she enjoyed him somewhat, after all he did give her great orgasms and as a doctor, he knew she wasn't faking. They seemed to have fun watching TV and having breakfast together. He let her use his stereo and she seemed to really enjoy listening to Clapton, Hendrix and the others on his great sound system. He always had the money ready when she got here. He put it in an envelope and left it on the coffee table so that he didn't have to hand it to her. That helped to fuel his fantasy that she wasn't there for the money, that she was screwing him because she wanted to. Some nights, it almost felt like she was a girlfriend and not a hooker. He knew that was dangerous thinking that way, but he couldn't help it. He was entitled to his one little fantasy after all the crap he had had in his life. Of course, she was too young to really be his girlfriend. What 25-year-old would hook up with a 48-year-old cripple? He smirked. Boy, if it were true, other men would certainly be jealous, wondering what he had under the hood that attracted her to him.
He sipped his scotch as he stared at her picture. An idea appeared in his slightly tipsy brain. He muddled over it for a bit and then decided to go for it. He shoved her license in his back pocket, grabbed his helmet and headed out the door.
HOUSEMDHOUSEMDHOUSEMD
Isabelle managed not to cry until she got in the car. The tears started falling as she turned the ignition. As she drove away, she let out a sob or two, and then angrily slammed her fist down on her thigh. Stop it! Stop it! Crying won't solve anything. Think! You gotta think!
She thought and thought all the way home, but she couldn't figure out what to do. She didn't know how to keep House from tattling on her. The ball was truly in his court and she was at his mercy. She hadn't felt this out of control since she was 16, and it scared the piss outta her.
She pulled into the parking lot of her building and parked the car. Slowly she climbed the three flights of stairs to her place. She dropped her purse on the small table and plopped on the futon. Her anxiety was at an all-time high. She knew that there was nothing that she could do to influence him to help her. All she could do was hope. She glanced at her watch; it was only 7:30. It seemed like she had been at his place for hours. She hadn't had any dinner, but she didn't have any appetite now. Opening the cookie tin, she took out one cookie and nibbled on it while she pulled her old backpack out of the closet. She went to her corner and sat down in her familiar way, with her back to the wall, legs stretched out in front. Isabelle went through her little ritual, hoping it would calm her down like it usually did. She pulled out her dirty stuffed dog and gave him a big hug. She whispered her fears to him while a few more tears fell and wet his fur. Then she sat him on the floor pressed up against her leg and she pulled out her sketch pad and colored pencils. Although she knew that no one was in the apartment except her, she couldn't help looking around before she started drawing, just to make sure. It was just another part of her ritual. Satisfied that she was truly alone, she flipped the pad open to a fresh page, opened the box of pencils and started drawing.
She was completely lost in her work, so lost that she didn't hear the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. When the cane knocked heavily against her door, she jumped, the pencil flying across the page and leaving a huge black mark across her drawing. She started to shake again; who could be knocking at her door? No one ever came to visit her. It couldn't be the landlord; she had just paid this month's rent, and none of the neighbors ever visited. She gathered the pencils and put them back into the box. She shoved the pencil box and the sketchpad back into the backpack. Carrying the backpack and hugging the dog to her side, she walked slowly towards the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's your doctor and he's very tired after climbing three flights of stairs so let him in."
Isabelle trembled in fear; how had he found her? She had only a cell phone and wasn't listed in the phone book. She had googled herself once and nothing turned up. Yet, somehow, he had found her.
"Um, just a minute."
She hurriedly stuffed the dog into the backpack and zipped it up. Shoving it into the back of the closet, she closed the closet door and then moved slowly towards the front door. Biting her lip, she opened the door cautiously.
There was the Doc, standing there in the dirty hallway, tapping his cane against the floor. She was embarrassed to have been found, embarrassed to have him see the small dreary apartment where she lived. She had to ask him in; she knew his leg must be hurting after climbing three flights of stairs. And she needed to know why he had come and how he found her.
Isabelle opened the door wider: "Come in."
House stepped into the small room and looked around. It was just a small studio apartment. One open door led to a bathroom and he presumed the other door was a closet. There was a small kitchenette area with a half size refrigerator and a tiny stove. He saw her purse lying on a small table that had 2 mismatched chairs pushed under it. In the middle of the room was a futon that he presumed did double duty as a bed and couch. There was no TV or dresser; her clothes were neatly stacked in milk crates up against the far wall. Two other milk crates held some books. From House's viewpoint, they seemed to be mostly textbooks and a few tattered paperbacks. On top of one of the milk crates was a boom box with a small stack of CD's next to it. Next to the futon stood a scratched up coffee table, which held a stack of nursing textbooks and a beat-up cookie tin.
In an apologetic voice, Isabelle said: "It's not much. It's all I can afford."
"I thought you made pretty good money at the club."
"Some nights are better than others. I really don't take guys in the back very often and that's where the real money is. This dump costs me $950 a month plus utilities. I spend a bunch of money to make money at the club. Waxing, manicures, makeup and costumes cost a lot of money. Tuition and books are expensive too."
House continued to look around. It was small, not many possessions, but it was neat and clean.
Still not looking him in the eye, Isabelle asked: "Would you like to sit down? Can I get you something to drink?"
"Got any beer?"
She shook her head: "No, sorry. I have some scotch that a client gave me. Want a snort?"
"Yeah, sure."
Isabelle fetched two glasses and poured a shot into each. House grabbed the bottle from her and looked at the label. "Talisker? This is good stuff."
She nodded: "Yeah, it is good. Like I said, a client gave it to me as a good-bye present."
"He went away?"
"Well, sorta. I used to clean his house and give him a BJ once a week. Then he got married and didn't need me anymore. I guess you could say I got replaced."
"You clean houses, too? What else do you do to make a buck?"
"I used to clean houses, but not right now. I lost all my regular clients. They either moved, or got married or something. I'm just at the club now. But I've waitressed and other stuff."
Isabelle's hands were shaking a little as she held her glass. Finally she screwed up her courage and asked: "Dr House, how did you find me?"
House reached into his back pocket and pulled out her driver's license. He held it up for her to see and then he laid it on the coffee table.
"Oh. I guessed I missed that when I was picking up the contents of my bag. Thanks for bringing it to me, but you didn't have to do that."
House didn't say anything for a few minutes, but he continued to look around and check out the small apartment. Isabelle sat next to him on the small futon, sipping on the scotch. She was still trembling, so she needed to hold the glass with both hands to keep it from spilling. She sat silently, waiting for him to make the next move. He couldn't have come just to bring her the driver's license; he must have another agenda.
Finally House pointed at the tin of cookies sitting on the coffee table: "Are those home-made?"
"Yes, I made them yesterday. Would you like one?"
He eyed them suspiciously, "What kind are they?"
"Peanut butter with little butterscotch chips in them."
She slid the tin over to him and he took one. He had thought the combination sounded weird, but it tasted great. It was soft and chewy, just the way he liked his cookies.
He took another one: "These are good. Can you make chocolate chip, too?"
She nodded: "Sure, and oatmeal raisin."
"Can you cook real food too, like meat loaf?"
Isabelle shrugged: "Sure. If I don't know how, I can follow a recipe."
He swallowed the rest of that cookie and turned to face her: "I have a proposition for you."
