VII - Jailbird

Thursday. She is in her office with a patient when he approaches and knocks on the door. He hears no reply. The door is unlocked. He enters. She is sitting on a chair leaning forward, her full attention focused on a woman sitting opposite her, crying hysterically. There are crumpled tissues scattered over the couch and floor. She faces him, furious.

'Ready to discuss the meds,' he says, discarding the apparent inappropriateness of his intrusion.

Calmly but sternly she says, 'busy.'

The situation is awkward, so by default, he turns his gaze to the woman on the couch, saying, 'Oh! Did you see Oprah too? It was a real tearjerker today!'

The woman's sobbing becomes louder.

'Get out!' Lee says harshly.

House pulls a face and takes a step back, shutting the door.

He returns at the end of the day. After checking with the receptionist he knocks at her door again. Hers is a private consulting room – no glass walls, not even a small glass panel in the door. Seconds later the door opens. She stands aside, allowing him to enter. She moves behind her desk and he sits in the chair opposite. He taps his cane once, twice, three times. Silence.

'How's the wrist?' he asks.

'Good…thanks to you.'

Silence.

'About this morning…' he says slowly, 'the woman with the Oprah issues…'

She can't help but smile, 'yeah…'

'I didn't know you had someone in here…' he continues.

'Yeah…'

'I knocked, you didn't answer…'

'Mm hmm…'

'So…'

'Are you trying to apologise?' she asks.

He nods once. She smiles again.

'You're not very good at apologies are you?' she says.

'Not a big fan.'

'Well, let's just leave it alone then shall we?'

He nods, grinning in appreciation.

Silence.

He rests his cane against her desk and pats the breast pockets of his jacket. He presents her with a piece of paper.

'Managed to narrow it down to three meds,' he says.

She takes the paper from him.

'They're all there – including a comprehensive list of side effects.'

Their eyes meet.

'Thanks,' she says, carefully placing the paper to the side of her desk.

He nods once again.

'Oh, here's your book…thanks,' she says, lifting the book from the desk and handing it to him.

He takes it from her.

Silence.

'Why were you arrested?' he says suddenly.

'What!' she asks, baffled.

'Why were you arrested?' he repeats the question in the exact same tone.

She shakes her head, 'Um, I haven't been arrested recently.'

'Have you ever been arrested?' he asks.

She thinks for a second. A smile begins in the corner of her mouth. She laughs.

He raises his eyebrows, his expression says I'm waiting.

'That! That was nothing,' she says, still smiling.

'That… what was that?'

'Actually, I was arrested twice.'

He raises his eyebrows higher.

'How on earth did you find out about that?' she asks.

He is overwhelmed with curiosity, and is becoming increasingly frustrated with her evasiveness.

'It was in your file.'

She furrowed her brow.

'How is that relevant to my health?'

'Well, that depends what you were arrested for…but technically it was in your employee record file.'

She regards him for a moment before offering her response.

'About five years ago, I lived in New York and I worked for Spencer Tunic.'

She pauses as she waits for him to register the name. He gives her a blank look.

'What is that? A clothing store?'

She laughs, 'no, haven't you ever heard of Spencer Tunic?'

He shakes his head.

'He's a famous photographer. Well infamous actually. He is always in the papers and on the news. He takes photographs of nude people in places you wouldn't expect to see them. Like in the middle of New York. I mean, like…lots of nude people. I guess it's sort of like installation art. Anyway, he was always in trouble – arrested for 'indecent acts' and I was his assistant so I was his partner in crime. It was never gratuitous or anything. The photographs were beautiful. Mostly, he shot them from behind, and we went to so much effort to make sure no one was going to be around. We were always shooting at ungodly hours of the morning.'

'Interesting,' he says.

'Yeah. You should Google him,' she says.

He nods.

'Actually…' she says, turning away from him and reaching for her handbag behind her desk.

'…a friend of mine has just bought a gallery on High Street, and he's doing some renovations, but he's opening it on Saturday night and he has asked me to show some of my photographs,' she says holding out a sheet of pink paper.

He looks at the paper.

'So, she's an artist?' he says.

She rolls her eyes, 'hardly, it's more of a hobby.'

She hands the paper to him.

'Here. It's an invitation to the gallery opening.'

He takes it from her and reads over it.

'There are going to be free drinks and stuff, so come if you want.'

'Saturday night?' he asks.

She nods.

'Can't, I got a thing.'

She regards him for a moment.

'Ok,' she says.

Silence.

She expects him to hand the invitation back to her, but instead he places it between the pages of his book, takes his cane and stands, eyeing her as her turns away from her. She smiles. He leaves.