CHAPTER 3
"It's always a silly thing to give advice, but to give good advice is absolutely fatal"
- Oscar Wilde
House turned down the volume of his white Ipod, closing his eyes.
There was nothing better than an evening spent sitting on the couch in his living room, listening to the Rolling Stones, waiting for... a prostitute.
Cassie had her way, she was an expert, she was silent and together they gave each other what they wanted: to him a healthy fuck that allowed him to depart from the problems, and to her money for a new pair of boots.
And that was why he had decided to call her.
He glanced at the clock and saw that Cassie was taking much longer than usual.
At that moment he heard the doorbell ring.
'That's weird, she knows that I leave it open for her...'.
The doorbell rang again, and so he decided to yell "It's open!".
Less than five seconds later he heard the door open, he remained silent, waiting, not sure why but he was expecting something different. And, indeed, he recognized immediately that the two legs that had just entered were not those of his 'friend'.
Sitting in his chair next to the piano, with the iPod off and the the earphones still on and a grin on his face, he studied the unexpected visitor.
She was a young girl, he couldn't define the exact age, not very tall, with a body...a great body. She had heavy make-up on, wearing a very short skirt, tights and classic cleavage-heeled...Probably the only thing that distinguished her from normal women was the shirt far too veiled for society of today.
Despite preferring Cassie, he had to admit that she was not bad at all. After all, he chose classy women.
But the grin on his face immediately disappeared, he wasn't very happy.
He hated changes.
He followed a methodical way of life made of the same old piano, the same old apartment, same old hospital, and the same 'old' prostitute.
This girl didn't promise anything good.
"Hi".
He stared at her. She had a beautiful voice.
He stood up, grabbing the cane.
She looked at him, quiet, with a false hint of malice, she hadn't even glanced at the cane, it seemed as though she hadn't noticed it.
"Why Cassie is not here?".
"She had an inconvenience of the last minute..." she stared deliberately at his lips "What, you don't like me?".
House didn't answer. He stared at her thoughtfully "What's your name?".
She smiled "Evy. But you can call me whatever you want".
House smiled in answer "Ok, let's clear some things up, Evy".
The womand didn't move. House approached her even more.
"Don't ask me my name, and don't even think to use any kind of nickname for me. Don't mention my scar, I repeat no comment, you can't look at it, touch it, caress it, let alone lick it. Just pretend it doesn't exist. Don't whisper in my ear and don't mention anything sensual during foreplay trying to make it more exciting, to me has the opposite effect. All clear or do I have to re-explain something?".
Evy nodded in silence.
"Cassie managed to not break the rules, I hope the same from you...".
Evy was motionless.
House smiled "You're welcome, the bedroom is this way"
She felt something against her skin, something soft and undefined which gave off a pleasant scent of talcum...
She let out a strange rumbling nonsense, squeezing harder her eyes.
When "the thing" began to catch her nails into her pink sweater, Lisa Cuddy knew that unfortunately her afternoon nap was over. She tried to fall asleep again...in vain.
Now she could hear perfectly the shrill voice of the woman who was speaking on TV, the noise of traffic in the street and on top of that her washing machine.
When she finally added a familiar meow, Lisa gave up her nap. She narrowed her eyes slowly, finding it above her face.
"Hey, little one..." she let her manicured hand to be lost among the sparse hair of the cat, back and forth.
She sat straighter on the bed, leaning back against the wall and, after having moved away the plaid, she put the cat on her belly, not stopping to caress her.
"Hey, Stacy, what's wrong, baby?"
The Siamese cat looked at her, then crouched into her, relaxing.
Lisa sighed resignedly, closing her eyes. She opened them after a few seconds, turning her head quickly towards the electronic alarm clock resting on the nightstand. It marked three forty-five in the afternoon; she sighed even more deeply than before.
She turned her eyes on the TV, increasing the volume practically non-existent. She realized that the program she liked so much was over, and that the same channel was broadcasting an uninspiring interview.
Not stopping to caress Stacy, who was resting peacefully, she tried to understand what were talking about the two ladies in the interview. She realized that one of the women had written a book, a best seller, she had never heard of the author or the title of the book (although she read often enough), but in that program they all seemed to be both very important.
"The idea...Well, it came out naturally, in an afternoon of boredom a lot of things can come out...".
Lisa, who was already thinking about what to wear for lunch the next day, was captured by that phrase. The septuagenarian had used the word boredom.
'Well, yes, I definitely know what you're talking about'.
Boredom.
She recalled that as a young girl she had had always something to do, constantly complained about not having enough time to live, feeling in fact a deep joy for all those commitments...Even as a child, she had always dreamed of becoming a woman "important", one "with the pants on". She remembered the evenings in her room, under the covers to read adventure stories, and at the same time the romantic Isabel Allende.
Definitely, she would have been out of her mind If they had told her what the future'd have been.
Boredom had always been her worst nightmare, but it was a feeling which she had now learned to live with...More or less.
Every day, every single insignificant day, was a heap of time, and the thinking every morning to find a way to use it was really becoming unbearable.
Definitely, she hated her monotonous and meaningless life. She wondered If it was her fault, all her life: alone watching TV, cuddling a cat...
She wondered If she'd continue throughout her life as well, or If perhaps the situation'd be even worse.
Luckily she still had both parents who supported her fully from the economic point of view, which over time had begun to trouble her...
More than anything she desired a job, to find something to do during the long, boring hours of the day, something that would make her be independent and fill her with pride and satisfaction. She had never been able to figure out what exactly had made her a failure, If her marriage, not being able to complete her studies or just her.
The fact was that she felt completely useless, If she had passed away at that moment, on the bed in her room, the world wouldn't have changed one iota (and she'd have bet her house that If the same fate had befallen to Hillary Clinton no, it wouldn't have been the same thing).
It was too late, too late to become a politician, or a successful lawyer...She was too old to accomplish anything she had dreamed of in her youth.
Suddenly, she heard the shrill shriek of the phone.
Trying not to disturb Stacy (at least she was able to sleep soundly), she reached for the cordless placed on the bedside table.
"Hello?".
"Hello, Lisa, it's Vivian. So, all set for tomorrow?".
Lisa tried not to let her notice her voice thick with sleep "Absolutely. Did you have doubts?".
"Of course not, my dear. However, I would like to discuss with you the last things about the organization, can we talk about it now or can I come to you later?".
Lisa was silent for a few seconds. Sometimes she didn't mind to continue to pretend to be really busy "All right, I'll see you at seven. See you soon".
She hung up quickly, turning off the TV.
It was the organization of those hateful meetings with those hateful people, idlers who did nothing but brag about how much their suit cost, soaked in cologne brand, that kept her alive.
At least, they could make her feel part of something.
She tied her hair in an automatic gesture, enticing Stacy to get off the ground.
He settled in an almost sitting position in bed, leaning back with his head turned toward the ceiling. If he had been a smoker, that'd have been the perfect time for a cigarette.
'Too bad not being a smoker...'.
He turned abruptly to the nightstand, the prostitute was there, getting dressed, the view of her as she pulled up the skirt was not bad. He grinned, opening the drawer, making her turn around scared.
"No, don't worry, I'm not the kind of customer who kills the prostitute after having sex. It'd be a waste" he pulled out something small and cylindrical, a bottle of medicine. He saw her carefully observe his gestures as he took the pills, slipped them in the palm of his hand and throw them down without a drop of water.
He grinned "Find me an American who doesn't take at least one medication and I'll give you another hundred dollars".
She didn't answer, a sort of smile on her lips.
"How come a nice girl like you does a job like that?".
She gave him her shoulders, fixing her skirt "It's that I'm a beautiful girl that allows me to do a job like that".
He grinned again, she had the answer ready "What's your name again?".
She seemed annoyed by the question, she raised her eyebrows as she put on her shoes "Evy".
"I mean, what's your name when you don't undress for money".
She turned quickly toward him, sighing "You're a pragmatic man, you know?".
"Another woman told me the same thing".
She smiled "A prostitute?".
"No, a woman".
She buttoned the blouse "Have a nice evening".
He looked puzzled, annoyed by that tiny tease, as If so far (for her) it hadn't been. The girl smiled, taking her purse.
House smirked, closing his eyes.
TBC...