I Lick My Cheese
Disclaimer:
I don't own ER or the Roomies. I also have absolutely no claim to the book which inspired this fic; "I Lick My Cheese and Other Notes" which was produced by Oonagh O'Hagan. If you have or have ever had a difficult flatmate then I suggest you read it. And then maybe leave it on the coffee table as a hint!
I will do a third chapter but it may take a while, sorry but I hope you enjoy this in the meantime.
Chapter 2: Surprise
Neela POV
I hate flying and I've long since given up trying to look calm and comfortable in the departures lounge. If I'm going to become a neurotic mess before take off then I may as well show my fellow passengers what they'll be in for if they end up in the seat next to mine. I think that a few stiff drinks might be the way to go because I'll be taking a taxi when I land anyway. I make my way to the lounge, ignore the lecherous glance from a hung-over business type and order a whisky and water from the bartender. After finishing my drink I contemplate having another but the whisky's not that great and the letch has tried a few times to strike up a conversation. Impending flight excepted, I'm in a really good mood and telling Mr Sweat Patches where to get off will end up pissing me off as well as making a scene.
Several hours later I climb into my pre-ordered taxi and settle down to watch the scenery rushing past the windows. I'm surprised that I feel so at home here in Louisiana. It's not really the sort of place I ever imagined living, mainly because it's so at odds with where I grew up but it's friendly enough and after initially finding everything a bit of a novelty I've actually settled in pretty well.
As the taxi draws up in front of mine and Ray's apartment I feel a familiar knot building in my stomach as I pay my fare. If there's one thing that can strike fear into a Brit in America, it's tipping. Seriously, even though I've been living here for the best part of 10 years I still haven't learnt to tip without becoming very uncomfortable. My voice always wavers and I blush and avoid eye contact. Still, I'm not as bad at it as my parents are. I've seen my Mum tip a very disappointed American taxi driver with 5 Euros, some loose fluff and a button.
I can't wait to get into the apartment, I know Ray's at the hospital so I'll have the place to myself. I want a nice long shower first, then I'm planning on slobbing out in front of the telly with some of my favourite comfort food. I can already picture the beans on toast; made with the type of white bread that contains so many additives it never seems to go off. I have a reputation as someone who can leave the junk food alone but I have little willpower when it comes to my childhood favourites. All I need is a nice cup of tea to top it off and I'll be in a Neela happy bubble for the rest of the day.
I fiddle about with the Yale lock on the door for a while. It amazes even me that I can perform intricate surgeries but often struggle with the simple mechanics of a lock and key. I end up wiggling the key in the lock and push hard against the door with one shoulder. The door finally opens and I stumble in the doorway.
Oh shit! This isn't our flat. It looks nothing like our flat. My travel weary brain can't quite work this out so I check the number on the door. Right number, right building and there's an envelope taped resting on the coffee table with that's been messily addressed to me in green felt tip.
'Remember this?' Is scrawled messily in Ray's chicken scratch.
"Well Ray, how could I forget"