Chapter Two: Doctors and Food

The four of us, Blue Eyes, Dr. Wilson, my IV pole, and myself, made it to the cafeteria and to a table with food without too much added drama. Just as I had stuffed my mouth with green vegetables, Blue Eyes addressed the other doctor, "Wilson, Ms. James Joyce, here, is from Alabama." He then turned to me. "Did you grow up in a trailer park?"

I was chewing very slowly. Dr. Wilson uttered a cautionary, "House," but B.E. was honed in on me. I cleared my throat.

"Now that you mention it, Blue Eyes, I did live in a trailer park. I wish I could say we had a double wide, but we didn't. Every spring we'd have tornadoes and that trailer would rock like a cradle in the wind. I used to lie in my bed listening to stuff flying off – window screens, roof shingles, antennas. Fear was a motivating force in the religion of my youth." I stopped and felt slightly ashamed when I recognized they were both fixated on me with the enraptured stares of the utterly gullible. "And the thing was, I had this pet pig named Wilbur, and we didn't have a fence, so he slept with me . . ." Well, I finally had to stop. "Come on guys, say something."

Wilson shook his head sheepishly and looked into his plate, but B.E. just kept staring at me. "And I bet your mother and father are cousins, too."

Now I had him. "Okay, hot shot, my mother and father actually are third cousins."

Blue Eyes looked at Wilson and said, "Scheherazade needs to spend less time telling tales and more time writing them down."

"My parents are third cousins, dammit!" I protested rather lamely.

"Did you have a black mammy?" B.E. asked me.

I leaned right into his face. "No, but you're about to have a black eye, puddin'."

"Whoa now," Wilson interrupted nervously. "Play nice, you two."

Blue Eyes and I were nose-to-nose and I was offended. I tried to get up, reaching for my IV pole, but my grand exit was prevented since B.E. had his foot on my tubing. I looked down at his brand new pair of Nikes and back into his eyes.

"Don't you even," he started.

"Then get your blasted foot off my cord."

Wilson stood up, trying to intervene, but my dander was up and I was not to be placated. I pulled back my right arm and took a swing at B.E.'s rather prominent nose; at about the time I should have connected, he leaned over to untangle my IV from his foot, so my fist missed his nose but my chest landed squarely against his head. I made some embarrassing "Ummmpff" noise while he lifted his face right up between my meager breasts.

Wilson yelled, "Audra," and climbed across the table to try to separate the two of us. We were beginning to gather an audience. I smacked B.E. right on top of his head.

"Do you think you could pull your face out of my cleavage?"

"There's cleavage? Where?" he said as he rubbed his face back and forth on my chest.

I extended both hands and lunged forward with all my weight, hitting against his shoulders and shoving him backwards onto the floor with me on top of him.

Wilson finally got to us. He grabbed me around my waist and lifted me off Dr. House. I was kicking and muttering and behaving as foolishly as anyone could want. Once the two doctors managed to sort out my IV apparatus, Dr. Wilson put me down a far distance from Blue Eyes. I turned my back to him while he was climbing up from the floor. I really wanted to kick his cane across the cafeteria, but I didn't think that would win me many friends. I reached out to grab my pole and travel back to my room; however, my exertions had weakened me so that I not only missed grabbing the pole, but I lost my balance completely and hit the floor head first. At least, that's what Dr. Wilson told me when I woke up an hour later in my room.

"Bet you have a headache," Dr. Wilson said just as I opened my eyes.

I wanted to say something horribly rude to him, but he had such an adorable baby face I just couldn't. "Can't you give me something to make me forget that whole abomination in the cafeteria?"

He chuckled in a warm-and-fuzzy-doctor way. "Wouldn't help. Every nurse, technician, or janitor who gets within twenty yards of you will want to know if you really took a swing at House. They'll probably want to shake your hand or get your autograph."

I suddenly remembered Ulysses. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"His pride is hurt and he has a small bump on the back of his head, but he'll survive."

Before I could get out the "Huh?" I was thinking, I realized Dr. Wilson was referring to Blue Eyes. A small bump. I could fix that.

"About the baby?"

"Oh," he said. "You had a bit more exercise than House had intended, but everything seems to be holding steady. As long as you don't start bleeding or cramping . . . In fact, I'd suggest you try to get some rest. You can call a nurse if you need anything."

"Dr. Wilson, why are you here?"

He looked flustered for a second. "We didn't want you to wake up alone."

"And Blue Eyes is sulking."

For the first time I saw a genuine smile from Dr. Wilson. "That he is, Audra. That he is."

The next time I woke up the sky was black outside my window and Blue Eyes was banging on my bed with his cane.

"Heavens, you're worse than an alarm clock. What time is it?"

"It's the wee hours of the morning – time to eat."

As my eyes focused I realized he had a tray covered with Chinese take-out containers. There must have been a dozen of them.

"Where did you get Chinese at this time of night?" I was trying to act disinterested, but the aroma was making my stomach growl.

"I know a guy. Besides, we've been banned from the cafeteria for a week."

He handed me a paper plate with a little bit of a lot of stuff on it. "Only a week? Your boss is a wuss."

"No, she just can't stand to be away from me any longer."

Even though my mouth was crammed with shrimp and bok choy and rice, I laughed obnoxiously. I think I hurt his feelings. We ate for awhile in silence.

"I have a question for you, Blue Eyes." He was still eating, but I had reached my limit.

"You only get one."

"Don't you sleep?"

He took a medicine bottle out of his shirt pocket and rattled it at me. "My pain meds keep me up. Now, I get to ask you a question."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Not the mammy thing again. Do you have some kind of Aunt Jemima fetish? Do you dream of doing it while wearing a bandana and smelling of maple syrup?"

"Hmmmm," he paused. "Let me get back to you on the maple syrup thing. Siblings?"

Fortified with food, I was feeling energetic and exasperated. "What are you asking me? Is this a poll? Am I for them? Against them? Planning any for Ulysses? I can give a definite no to that."

"So, Scheherazade, you're still planning on keeping the fetus."

"Yes, Blue Eyes, I'm keeping Ulysses. In fact, the longer I ponder spending your northern winter alone trying to teach your northern students how to write, the more I like the idea of welcoming a new family member in the spring. As you pointed out, Ulysses has proven to be quite resilient and hardy, definite qualities a fatherless child will need."

He looked at me with an intense, searching stare, and I felt a cold chill run down my spine; I had the eerie sensation he knew me, knew something about me. I had no doubt he had been to my apartment and had been through my apartment, but somehow he had discovered something about me there, somewhere, and he knew me now. I felt naked and vulnerable under his blue-eyed stare. I had to look away.

"I don't even know your name," I finally whispered.

"I told you – Dr. House."

"You've never called me by name, and you call me something different every time I see you. For all I know House is just one of your many aliases. Today you're House, tomorrow you'll be Hotel, the next day you'll be Brothel. How do I even know you're a doctor? Do you have any identification on you?"

"I have a stethoscope somewhere."

"Is Ulysses a boy?"

"Your Ulysses? How would I know?"

"You did the sonogram. I thought you could tell on a sonogram. Where's your doctor's license?"

He smiled. "You're not far enough along to tell on the sonogram. Besides, I'm not an obstetrician."

"You're not an obstetrician? Why have you been messing with my uterus then?" I was beginning to screech a little.

"Strictly speaking, I haven't 'messed' with your uterus. And you became my patient when you puked on me and then passed out on top of me in the clinic. Are you having memory problems?" He pulled a penlight out of his ss and started waving it in my eyes. I detested having little lights waved in my eyes.

"Stop that. And what kind of doctor are you?"

He put the penlight away and sighed. "I'm a diagnostician. And my first name is Greg."

I smiled. "My brother's name is Greg."

"Did he have a black mammy?"

I can't explain it, but I laughed. Then I slapped his shoulder. "What did you do, find the last existing copy of Tobacco Road and commit it to memory? Did you have a black mammy?"

"I did well to have a mother."

"My grandfather was what you'd call the owner of a whorehouse," I thoughtlessly remarked.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "And what would you call him?"

"An entrepreneur."

"I think I'd like Alabama."

Since I was barred from the cafeteria, Drs. Chase and Cameron came before lunch to get me up and walk me around. They were both breathtakingly beautiful and preoccupied flirting with each other. I was feeling a bit devilish. I smiled as sweetly as I could at Dr. Chase and said with the thickest accent I could manage, "I'm still feeling so very unsteady, Dr. Chase. Would you lend me your sturdy arm to lean on?" I then shoved my beloved IV pole at Dr. Cameron. "I'm sure you won't mind shepherding this for me." Her look was just the slightest bit disdianful.

I wrapped both my arms around Dr. Chase's forearm and marveled at our ability to traverse a conversation despite our dueling accents. Occasionally I would feel a tug on my IV; I would turn to give a cutting glare at Dr. Cameron. Once I even complained to Dr. Chase that the IV was causing a great deal of pain and irritation in my arm. I enjoyed watching him give her a pleading look.

I was appropriately punished for my evil manipulations; while I was concentrating on tormenting the two young doctors I had lost track of our meanderings. Dr. Chase opened an office door and before I realized where I was, I looked ahead of me to see Dr. Blue Eyes leaning back in a chair with his feet crossed on his desk. He had a magic eight ball he was tossing from one hand to the other. When our eyes met and my mouth fell wide open, I tried to straighten up and stop leaning so heavily on the beauteous Dr. Chase, but I was caught. B.E. grinned mischievously.

"Oh wise, magic eight ball, does the lovely Scheherazade have a tale to tell while I feed her lunch?" He turned the eight ball over, grinned still harder, and read, "All conditions are favorable." He looked to me. "What do you say, Scheherazade?"

He lifted the cover from a dish of curry, which I would normally find appealing, but the morning sickness objected to curry and I heaved all over Dr. Cameron's linen pumps. Dr. Chase jerked away from me so quickly I nearly fell, and Dr. Cameron pushed my IV pole away as she squealed and kicked her shoes off. The pole hit Blue Eyes's desk and jerked the line right out of my arm. Blood spurted everywhere. B.E. grabbed his cane and made his way around his desk and leaned over beside me.

"Give me your arm," he growled.

I held it out, and he applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Chase, quick, tape."

Dr. Chase left Dr. Cameron in a pool of vomit and found the surgical tape and threw it to B.E., who wrapped it tightly around my arm. "Chase, get a wheelchair. Hurry."

Dr. Chase disappeared into the hall and came back with a wheelchair. I was soon deposited into it and B.E. was unevenly pushing me back to my room. As soon as we were no longer in sight of the other two doctors, he leaned near my ear and whispered, "See what happens when you foolishly toy with young, innocent babies?"

"Yeah – I don't get to eat curry."

"Not only do you forfeit curry, but I get to insert a new IV – and I'm not feeling particularly gentle right now."

"Awww, I didn't barf on your shoes," I whined.

He chuckled in my ear. "Then maybe I'll get you something bland . . . after I stick you."

I groaned. "You're just pure evil, Blue Eyes."

"And you love it, Tiger."

When the man was right, he was right.

I managed to convince B.E. to leave the IV out long enough for me to get a real shower and to wash my hair. Rather than put a hospital gown back on, I put on the Beatles t-shirt he had brought me along with my sweat pants (no, I just couldn't bear to wear the thong). It felt heavenly to be clean and untethered, but I knew Blue Eyes wasn't going to allow me to wander free and unfettered for long. However, I was surprised when I fell asleep still unconnected to my pole.

This time B.E. woke me by repeatedly ramming a wheelchair into my bed. When I finally sat up and realized it was him, he held his index finger to his lips in a shushing motion, then helped me into the wheelchair. "Where?" I whispered.

He leaned against my ear. "Be quiet, nosey parker."

He wheeled me quickly through the halls avoiding any contact with other people. We took an elevator to the top floor. He pulled me out of the elevator and up a short flight of stairs and out onto the roof. The dark sky was clear and sparkling with stars. White, twinkling lights had been strung around the roof border and white votive candles dotted the roof floor. A large picnic blanket was spread in the middle and was covered with a cornucopia of finger foods and delicacies. Soulful jazz played quietly from a sound system in the corner. I stood, amazed, as B.E. wrapped a wooly sweater around me.

"You did this?" I asked, in shock. "When?"

"After you wrecked my office and alienated two of my staff, I found it useful to be absent. Kind of scary, don't you think?" he laughed. "You don't feel nauseated, do you?"

I elbowed him in the ribs.

"I take it Alabama women are a tad on the violent side."