all right. Here goes nothing. These are the first ten pages of the prologue, which I am still typing. Please review, be honest. Thanks =)
Prologue
The American Dream
July 24th, 2028
There are two types of people in the world: Those who see the world as the mire of despair that it is and those who see it as they think it should be, perfect and full of love. Lisa Cuddy, sometimes known as Cuddy, was one of those hopeless optimists, disillusioned into thinking that if she tried hard enough she could make the world a better place. She was not naïve; she was well aware that the world sucked. Much of her life, kwa definition, had sucked, but she maintained her positive attitude. She had been born in Iraq on July fourteenth, 2010 under the reign of Lawrence El Amein, Iraq’s Adolf Hitler. Her supposed mother had hated her, her dad had left for America when she was twelve. Cuddy was eventually forced to smuggle herself and her brother to America when she was fourteen. There she was forced to work three jobs to pay for her own apartment, her brothers medical expenses until he died, and their basic needs. Her father was not allowed custody of them due to Cuddy’s supposed mothers’ allegations during the divorce. The woman had flown all the way to America just to make sure that Cuddy was punished. Lisa Cuddy, was a small woman, five-foot two and 121 pounds, with curly black hair, extremely fair skin, and gray-blue eyes. Every strand of hair was always in its place, her make-up was always applied correctly, her clothes were never wrinkled and always matched. She never looked less than perfect, which made her a inayopendelewa among members of the opposite sex and even some of the same sex. Everyone liked her, she was smart, pretty, and nice.
Her three-inch, bright red stilettos clicked against the hard wood floor of the county courthouse in Plainsboro New Jersey, a suburb of Princeton, as she made her way to the plaintiffs’ table. Seated on the isle side of the meza, jedwali was her lawyer, George Lawson.
“Today’s the last siku to make our case,” he alisema when Cuddy had arrived at the table.
“We’re doing good right,” she asked.
“We would be doing better if wewe had a green card.”
“I’ve only been here four years.”
“We would also be doing better if wewe weren’t Arab.”
“I’m sorry, if I had known that it was so evil to be middle-eastern and Jewish I would have made myself white before I was born,” Cuddy replied sarcastically.
“Relations between your country and mine are rather tense since nine eleven, the Anthrax scare, and all of the other terrorist attacks.”
“And the idiots wewe people put in office feeding off your fear in order to start a war over oil and a vendetta handed down from Daddy.”
The Lawyer furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Sometimes Cuddy had a tendency to talk way too fast.
“Criticizing the United States will not help your case,” after he had time to realize what she had said.
“This is my hospital. My father has sold it to me. I am paying for it. It is mine. The government can not take it from me.”
“Yes they can. Hospitals are in close association with the government. They are a public service building. Even though wewe paid for it, wewe are technically an illegal immigrant and they can take it.”
“I have a Visa.”
“How did wewe get here?”
“By some mode of transportation.”
“What mode of transportation?”
“An airplane.”
“Uh-huh. And how did wewe get on this airplane?”
“I walked onto it.”
“Stop being a smart punda and answer the question.”
“I smuggled myself and my brother into the lavatory. We stayed there the whole plane trip. I promise wewe I would have done things legally except the borders were closed and I had to get out of there.”
“I know.”
“No wewe don’t.”
“I pulled your file. It took forever, but I was finally able to get your information. wewe ran into some trouble in your nyumbani land.”
At the precise moment the judge emerged from the judges chamber.
“Sit down,” Cuddy’s lawyer hissed.
“What did wewe find,” she asked, sitting beside him.
“My job is not to panya wewe out. What I found will stay between wewe and I.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Because if I do wewe get deported; if wewe get deported I lose my case; if we lose this case I get less of your money.”
“And after we win the case?”
“If I were to panya wewe out after we win the case wewe would be deported and I would be in jail for withholding information pertinent to an investigation. Besides, I like you.”
“Thank you.”
Two hours later court…
“Dr. Cuddy,” the judge Meredith Slater started.
“Yes your honor,” Cuddy alisema nervously.
“You have legally obtained Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, ergo, I see no point in taking it from you.”
“Thank you.”
“Court is adjourned.”
Cuddy withdrew her checkbook from her purse.
“How much do I owe you,” she asked her lawyer.
“You owe me nothing,” her lawyer replied.
“What?”
“Your father took care of it. He also told me to tell wewe that wewe don’t owe him anymore on the hospital and that your 256,375 dollar debt from medical school has been cleared.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Lisa. You’re lucky, you’re living the American dream, the mythical rags to riches tale. Don’t screw it up, they’ll be watching your every move.”
“Thank you,” Cuddy replied questioningly.
“Your welcome.”
As Cuddy made her way out of the courthouse a man stopped her. He was tall, at least a foot taller than her, than again a lot of people were taller than her. He had blond hair and blue eyes and was wearing a black suit.
“Hey,” she alisema cheerily, “Thanks for all your help with my case.”
“Of course,” detective Tritter replied, “The hospital’s your property they have no right to take it from you. It’s not your fault wewe can’t get a green card.”
“You are one of the few people who gets that.”
“Immigration in this country needs to be reformed,” Tritter alisema walking along side her.
“You know, I have been saying that for years.”
“Listen, I was wondering if maybe wewe would like to…go out with me?”
“Uh…I’m…sorry but, I barely know wewe and I really want to focus on my career right now. I mean, we can be Marafiki and all, just not anything more. It’s not like you’re a bad person au anything I mean you’re probably a good person and all, but of course, I am judging that solely on the past week and a half so I don’t really know for sure, but as I alisema wewe seem like a good person, but I need to focus on running the hospital, but mayb__”
“Shut up,” a sharp voice interjected.
Both of them turned in the direction of the voice to see a woman only a few inches taller than Cuddy glaring at the both of them. Her bright red hair hung in front of her face, but she didn’t bother to brush it away. Her multi-colored eyes were framed kwa black, square framed glasses that matched her black skirt, black combat boots, and black mesh arm things. In contrast to all of the black were a pair of neon, striped, knee-high socks and her neon yellow sweater.
“First of all, when wewe talk that fast homo sapiens can not understand you. sekunde of all, she wouldn’t tarehe wewe in a million years detective boy. Third of all, I have official hospital business for wewe Foreigner,” Sarah continued.
“Right,” Cuddy said, “Bye.”
And with that she hurried off leaving Tritter spurned and bitter, an action she would soon regret.
“I assume wewe won your hospital,” Sarah alisema as they walked out of the courthouse.
“Did wewe have to be so mean,” Cuddy asked.
“When wewe ramble on at the speed of light men are not going to understand that you’re saying no. The trick is to be blunt.”
“You didn’t have to be rude. He’s a nice guy. He helped me with my case.”
“He helped wewe with your case in order to help wewe take off your panties and help him get in your ___”
“That’s enough.”
“No one on your fathers staff has decided to quit except for the Head of the other Department of Diagnostics and the Head of Oncology. Unless wewe want to can somebody you’re pretty much good to go.”
“I’m not going to moto anyone and I have interviews lined up for both open positions.”
“How do they look on paper?”
“House and Wilson.”
“Are wewe serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t wewe think that’ll be a little awkward?”
“No.”
“Both of them still want to nail you.”
“Please.”
“Well let’s see. House had already parked his car in your karakana two years zamani and wewe then dumped him. Wilson has always wanted to park his car in your garage, but is too nice to put up a road block against House.”
“Did wewe ever consider channeling all of your anger and admittedly charming metaphors into poetry au some other activity that wouldn’t piss people off?”
“I enjoy pissing people off.”
“I have noticed.”
“You would be an idiot if wewe hadn’t.”
“So what do wewe want to do after work to celebrate your victory over the dismal bureaucracy bent on dolling despair and iniquity to the citizens of this fine country?”
“Want to hit up Barnes & Noble?”
“When have I ever alisema no to book shopping?”
“I’ll text wewe when I’m done.”
“Fabulous, see wewe then Chere.”
“Yup,” Cuddy replied taking out her carkeys.
Fifteen dakika later Cuddy arrived at her hospital. Her hospital, she liked the sound of that. No zaidi living paycheck to paycheck; soon she would be able to get out of her crappy apartment; no zaidi waitressing and other shitty jobs. Her life was finally going to go her way. The first four years in America were just an interlude. This was going to be her real life, her good life, the infamous American dream. But first she had to organize her new office to her liking. She walked through the large wooden doors to her office and observed the surroundings. Indeed, there was work to be done. The first thing that needed to be fixed were the walls. They were this boring, dark gray color. Gag. The carpeting was bland, grayish-white, she would have to change that as well. There was a nice, large, wooden dawati at the opposite end of the room. She was definitely keeping that. On the left side of the room were completely bare bookshelves lining the entire wall. Other than that there was absolutely no furniture. At least now she had extra money to spend. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 1:30. She had two hours before Gregory House showed up for his interview. Hopefully organizing her office would relax her enough to deal with him. It was not going to be fun. Oh well, she had already taken her Anafranil, she was going to clean. There was nothing else she could do. She took out her cell phone and texted Sarah:
wewe mind stopping at a furniture store later? My office is way too empty. And it needs to be painted.
A few dakika later Sarah replied:
wewe haven’t even been rich for an saa and wewe already want furniture? Pompous bitch.
Ha Ha. All I have is a dawati wewe jerk. And the walls are this heinous gray color. I can not have a gray office. It’s so depressing. It makes me want to kill myself.
Your apartment is depressing and makes me want to kill myself. Maybe we should redecorate that too.
Up until today all I could afford was depressing and suicide-inducing.
Sure, lets redecorate your office.
Fine, but if wewe even try to get anything neon I will make wewe do forty hours of clinic duty this week.
I think your newfound power is going to your head.
I’ll see wewe later.
Bye Cuddy.
Bye Sarah.
For two hours Cuddy dusted the bookshelves and the desk, cleaned out the desk, cleaned out the memory of the computer of the unimportant things, vacuumed the carpeting, and filled out paperwork. kwa the time 3:30 rolled around and House walked in she felt prepared to deal with this interview. Gregory House was a tall man with light, brown hair and deep, blue eyes. He was wearing a red T-shirt, blue jeans, and black converses and using a wooden cane.
“Oh thank God it’s wewe and not your father,” he said.
Cuddy finished sorting her pens kwa color, height, and ink level and clasped her hands together on juu of her desk.
“Just because I’m the Dean of Medicine and we had a past relationship does not mean that wewe automatically get this job,” she alisema sternly.
“Well I am the most qualified.”
“That’s not for wewe to decide.”
“We both know wewe still have feelings for me.”
“We both know that I ended things, not you.”
“We both know wewe ended things because wewe were afraid of getting deported.”
“You’re an ass. Can we discuss your credentials?”
“Why don’t wewe read my file?”
“You’re attitude right now, it’s not working in your favor.”
“You expect me to respect wewe just because you’re sitting behind a used dawati and have inherited a hospital from Daddy?”
“No, how about wewe respect me because every other hospital administrator in New Jersey refuses to hire you? wewe need me, I don’t give wewe a job and you’re stuck flipping burgers au ringing up eggs and maziwa at the local grocery store.”
“Being a heinous bitch, kahaba on the other hand…”
“Let’s talk about your qualifications.”
“Let’s talk about yours. Your OCD does not make wewe able to run a hospital.”
“I can do this job.”
“Oh, I’m sure wewe can. You’re an eighteen mwaka old fugitive who arrived here illegally in an airplane lavatory with your two mwaka old brother.”
“I did what I could with the circumstances.”
“Being admittedly ingenious in bad situations does not make wewe qualified to run a hospital.”
“Actually it does and you’re only saying I’m not qualified because that way if I don’t hire wewe wewe don’t have to feel bad about yourself. Quit now and you’ve got the job.”
“I knew wewe were still in upendo with me.”
“I don’t think so. Get out of here.”
“When do I start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Want to celebrate?”
“I think not. Get out of here before my other interview gets here.”
“Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“You should hire him.”
“Go away.”
“Bye Cuddy.”
“Bye House.”
A few dakika later a man as tall as House with auburn hair and brown eyes entered her office. Unlike House he was wearing a dark blue suit and nice black shoes.
“Hey,” he alisema happily when he saw Cuddy.
“Hey,” Cuddy replied cheerily, “Where the hell have wewe been? Ever time I call wewe that annoying, robotic lady on all American phones saying that your number had been disconnected.”
“Yeah …Kathy and I got divorced. In our final argument she snapped my phone in half.”
Cuddy raised her eyebrows.
“Interesting.”
“I see wewe got your hospital.”
“Finally. Racist bastards tried to take it from me.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know.”
“Anything else new with you? It’s been a while.”
“No, you?”
“Other than divorcing Kathy, no.”
“That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
Actually the reason they got divorced did have to do with her, but he was not going to mention that to anyone let alone Cuddy herself.
“Shall we discuss your credentials,” Cuddy alisema breaking the silence.
“Okay. What are wewe doing after that?”
“Sarah and I are going to redecorate this disparaging office and then we are going to watch Maude season one and probably get take-out from that middle-eastern restaurant down the street. Which reminds me, I need to buy some curry.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Uh…I’m working…but after that I’m free. Why?”
“You want to go out to dinner, catch up on old times?”
“Sure. Now let’s get back to your credentials.”
“Sure.”
Later that day…
“What color were wewe thinking for the walls,” Sarah asked.
“I was kind of thinking a light yellow,” Cuddy replied flipping through some paint color cards.
They were at Lowe’s trying to pick out a color for the walls of Cuddy’s office. She hated that heinous gray color her father had painted it. Bleck!
“How about this,” Sarah alisema holding a neon yellow paint color card in front of Cuddy’s nose.
“I can’t tell, I’ve been temporarily blinded,” Cuddy replied taking the card out of Sarahs’ hand and holding it farther from her face.
“You should get that color.”
“I don’t want my office looking like one of those ‘Road Work Ahead’ signs.”
“Oh come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud.”
“I alisema a light yellow. Not construction site yellow.”
“Fine, be boring.”
“I don’t want potential donors and board inspectors to be blinded every time they walk into my office.”
“It’ll make an impression.”
“Absolutely not.”
After some deliberation Cuddy finally chose a light, yet somewhat bright yellow. They bought three cans and moved on to carpeting.
“What color carpeting do wewe want your majesty,” Sarah asked sardonically.
“Light brown.”
“Oh wewe and your light colors.”
“Well, I can’t have light colored walls and dark colored carpeting. Light and dark are opposites they can’t be in the same room.”
“Oh wewe and your OCD.”
“I’ve been better.”
“Yes, and I’ve suddenly become an optimist.”
“I have,” Cuddy insisted.
“You’re on a high dose of Anafranil right?”
“Yeah.”
“How did wewe organize your pens?”
“By color.”
“And…”
“Size and ink level.”
“You’re not better.”
Cuddy and Sarah inayofuata went to a cheap furniture and picked out four chairs, a table, and a couch. The chairs were ten dollars, the meza, jedwali was fifteen, and the kitanda was thirty. When they wanted cheap they got cheap. Cuddy’s frugality was a product of her poverty, Sarah’s was learned from her mother. They spent until midnight redoing the office, but at least now Cuddy could obsessively organize her things. Now the office was truly hers. Even though it was so late they decided to pull one zaidi all-nighter for old-time’s sake. They wouldn’t be able to stay up all night watching Maude, The Golden Girls, Bones, NCIS, and other various shows and movies, talking, and eating middle-eastern take-out as often anymore. It would be one last horrah for the good old days. Little did they know that it would be the last time they would do this when they were actually somewhat happy. The inayofuata siku Cuddy went in to work at six in the morning. She spent the morning finishing up the billings for the mwezi and working on accounting. In between accounting she would assign the patients to a doctor and deliver the file. At noon she bought herself a saladi for lunch and took it back up to her office. At three she put in two hours in the clinic. Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital had a free clinic meaning that all the poor people (those of higher socioeconomic status also came in) with colds and pulled muscles and other mundane problems came in to be examined and to get medication. Two weeks later she ran into her first problem. Tritter entered her office without knocking.
Cuddy looked up from her paperwork. What is he doing here, she wondered to herself.
“Can I help you,” she asked.
“I thought wewe should know that Gregory House in under suspicion for drug trafficking.”
“Drug trafficking?”
“Narcotics, Vicodin.”
“He’s not trafficking Vicodin. He needs it.”
“We found six hundred of them in his apartment. Does he need six hundred Vicodin Dr. Cuddy?”
“All of which were prescribed to him, correct?”
“He had six hundred.”
“Was his name on the prescription bottles?”
“Yes, but that many Vicodin displays intent to traffick.”
“He’s in a lot of pain. He needs the Vicodin. wewe have no proof that he ever trafficked any of it. What wewe have is circumstantial evidence.”
“Are wewe sleeping with him?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are wewe sleeping with Gregory House?”
“No,” Cuddy replied, affronted.
“But wewe were at one point weren’t you?”
“What does this have to do with drug trafficking?”
“I know wewe must feel an instinct to protect your former lover, but we aren’t in high school anymore. You’re actions could have dire consequences.”
“I never slept with him, not that that’s any of your business, and are wewe threatening me?”
“You’ve worked your whole life for this hospital. Don’t through it away on someone like Gregory House.”
“You’re seriously threatening my career just because I don’t think that House is moving Vicodin on the streets?”
“I suggest wewe think about where your priorities lie.”
With that final thought Tritter left. Drug Trafficking? What the hell was going on? And why was Tritter threatening the career he had helped her get? Was it because she had turned him down? Who would be that petty? The man was twenty-six, she thought he would be zaidi mature. She flipped the file on juu of her dawati shut and made her way to Houses’ office.
“Dr. Cuddy,” he alisema when she walked in, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Why are there six hundred Vicodin in your apartment,” she asked.
“Well, hello to wewe too.”
“I’m not playing.”
“I keep them there just in case.”
“Just in case of what? wewe think every pharmacy within ten miles of here is going to run out of Vicodin simultaneously?”
“You seriously think I’m selling it on the streets?”
“No. How long has this business with detective Tritter been going on?”
“For about a week.”
“And wewe didn’t think this was something I needed to know?”
“Nope.”
“He threatened my career!”
“He’s just mad at wewe because he wants to nail wewe and you’re not interested in him and he knows that wewe upendo me.”
“I do not!
“This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew wewe would get all angry and clenched and start shrieking and though it is sexy it is a bit grating. It’s interesting that wewe didn’t deny that he wants to nail you.”
“He asked me out to chajio, chakula cha jioni two weeks ago, that’s beside the point. Has he pressed charges yet?”
“Arraignment’s on Saturday.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Well, look on the bright side, if I end up in jail we can have conjugal visits.”
“I’m sure there’s a few bald, fat convicts who would upendo to have some conjugal visits with you.”
“None of them are as flexible as you. A fat, bald guy twisting himself into a pretzel isn’t as nice an image as wewe __”
“Thank you, that’s enough.”
“You should be flattered.”
“You should be zaidi concerned!”
“About what? He’s got no evidence and I don’t care about your career.”
“Well, without me wewe have no career.”
“He charges me with drug trafficking I have no career. Then it doesn’t matter to me whether au not wewe have one.”
“Thanks asshole.”
“Anytime. They’re probably going to subpoena you, force wewe to testify.”
“I know. I’ll try not to be too incriminating.”
“Wear a low cut top. No one will pay attention to what you’re saying.”
Cuddy shot him a look and left his office. She had better things to do than listen to his womanizing remarks. For the inayofuata week Tritter gathered whatever evidence he could against House. He was determined to put House in jail. With him out of the way Cuddy was free for the taking. Now it was time for the trial. First a psychologist testified that House displayed all the classic signs of being a drug dealer. Sarah made some snide remark about stereotypes and how wewe couldn’t really generalize the personalities of drug dealers. Then the pharmacist testified that House had visited the pharmacy with increasing frequency. Several other witnesses testified, all claiming he was a drug dealer, all except Cuddy. The woman was born to be an administrator. Every word that came out of her mouth was some sort of bureaucratic double-speak, answering the swali while not really answering the question. Maybe House could get used to her being his boss. Not that he would ever stop seeing her as the naïve immigrant girl who barely knew English that had showed up out of nowhere four years ago. With each non-answer answer she gave Tritter became increasingly angry. Sarah was so bored she began to mock him while Wilson tried to suppress his laughter.
“Doctor Cuddy, I need wewe to answer the question,” the lawyer alisema impatiently.
“I am answering it,” Cuddy replied sweetly.
“No you’re not.”
“You are posing a swali after which words are coming out of my mouth so in all technicality I am. I’m just not answering the way wewe would like me to, but wewe see I am under oath and I am not going to lie to make wewe happy when your client is wrongly accusing one of my employees of drug trafficking. If I am pissing wewe off that much than I suggest wewe dismiss me,” Cuddy alisema calmly.
The lawyer shook his head.
“Fine, go.”
“Thank you.”
Cuddy stood up and stepped down from the witness stand. The judge, judge Meredith Slater, the same judge who had awarded Cuddy her hospital banged her gavel.
“Court will reconvene at noon.”
Since they had an hour, Cuddy, Sarah, House, and Wilson decided to go to Caribou Coffee and talk about the case. They were not supposed to do the latter, but neither of the four of them cared.
“That was a great testimony,” Sarah alisema breaking off a piece of her chokoleti muffin, mkate ule ulikuwa mtamu with chokoleti chunks.
“Giving non-answer majibu is harder than wewe would think,” Cuddy replied, “I was running out of bureaucratic double-speak. Thank God that asshole dismissed me.”
“You’re good at that deceiving, worthless, political shit,” House said.
“Thank you.”
“That’s not really a good thing.”
“Considering my career choice it is.”
“Dr. Cuddy, could I speak to wewe alone for a moment,” a cold voice inquired.
It came from behind her and caused the mood of everyone at the meza, jedwali to darken and conversation to freeze. Sarah had broken off another piece of her chokoleti muffin, mkate ule ulikuwa mtamu with chokoleti chunks, but when she had heard Tritter ask Cuddy to speak to him alone her hand had frozen midway to her mouth. House had gone back to playing with the same rubberband he had been playing with during the trial. Wilson was distractedly stirring his coffee.
“Sure,” Cuddy alisema as she stood up and pushed in her chair.
She followed Tritter out of the café. The air was warm and humid and the sun was beating down on Princeton New Jersey. The ninety degree temperature reminded her of Iraq and Israel, except there were too many bushes and flowers.
“When I asked wewe to testify I did not mean for wewe to say nothing in a hundred words and basically undermine my case,” Tritter said.
“Uh, first of all wewe never asked me to testify, your lawyer subpoenaed me. sekunde of all House is not a drug dealer and I am not going to help wewe lock him in jail,” Cuddy replied maintaining her usual kind tone.
“I helped wewe get your hospital wewe owe me.”
“No, we did not have any sort of agreement and when normal people do something nice for someone else they do not in turn hold it over that someone’s head in order to make them send their friend to jail for something he didn’t do. What’s done is done and I’m not rescinding my testimony. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go finish my grande double mocha with a shot of espresso because I paid four dollars and twenty-seven cents and I refuse to waste four dollars and twenty-seven cents.”
Prologue
The American Dream
July 24th, 2028
There are two types of people in the world: Those who see the world as the mire of despair that it is and those who see it as they think it should be, perfect and full of love. Lisa Cuddy, sometimes known as Cuddy, was one of those hopeless optimists, disillusioned into thinking that if she tried hard enough she could make the world a better place. She was not naïve; she was well aware that the world sucked. Much of her life, kwa definition, had sucked, but she maintained her positive attitude. She had been born in Iraq on July fourteenth, 2010 under the reign of Lawrence El Amein, Iraq’s Adolf Hitler. Her supposed mother had hated her, her dad had left for America when she was twelve. Cuddy was eventually forced to smuggle herself and her brother to America when she was fourteen. There she was forced to work three jobs to pay for her own apartment, her brothers medical expenses until he died, and their basic needs. Her father was not allowed custody of them due to Cuddy’s supposed mothers’ allegations during the divorce. The woman had flown all the way to America just to make sure that Cuddy was punished. Lisa Cuddy, was a small woman, five-foot two and 121 pounds, with curly black hair, extremely fair skin, and gray-blue eyes. Every strand of hair was always in its place, her make-up was always applied correctly, her clothes were never wrinkled and always matched. She never looked less than perfect, which made her a inayopendelewa among members of the opposite sex and even some of the same sex. Everyone liked her, she was smart, pretty, and nice.
Her three-inch, bright red stilettos clicked against the hard wood floor of the county courthouse in Plainsboro New Jersey, a suburb of Princeton, as she made her way to the plaintiffs’ table. Seated on the isle side of the meza, jedwali was her lawyer, George Lawson.
“Today’s the last siku to make our case,” he alisema when Cuddy had arrived at the table.
“We’re doing good right,” she asked.
“We would be doing better if wewe had a green card.”
“I’ve only been here four years.”
“We would also be doing better if wewe weren’t Arab.”
“I’m sorry, if I had known that it was so evil to be middle-eastern and Jewish I would have made myself white before I was born,” Cuddy replied sarcastically.
“Relations between your country and mine are rather tense since nine eleven, the Anthrax scare, and all of the other terrorist attacks.”
“And the idiots wewe people put in office feeding off your fear in order to start a war over oil and a vendetta handed down from Daddy.”
The Lawyer furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Sometimes Cuddy had a tendency to talk way too fast.
“Criticizing the United States will not help your case,” after he had time to realize what she had said.
“This is my hospital. My father has sold it to me. I am paying for it. It is mine. The government can not take it from me.”
“Yes they can. Hospitals are in close association with the government. They are a public service building. Even though wewe paid for it, wewe are technically an illegal immigrant and they can take it.”
“I have a Visa.”
“How did wewe get here?”
“By some mode of transportation.”
“What mode of transportation?”
“An airplane.”
“Uh-huh. And how did wewe get on this airplane?”
“I walked onto it.”
“Stop being a smart punda and answer the question.”
“I smuggled myself and my brother into the lavatory. We stayed there the whole plane trip. I promise wewe I would have done things legally except the borders were closed and I had to get out of there.”
“I know.”
“No wewe don’t.”
“I pulled your file. It took forever, but I was finally able to get your information. wewe ran into some trouble in your nyumbani land.”
At the precise moment the judge emerged from the judges chamber.
“Sit down,” Cuddy’s lawyer hissed.
“What did wewe find,” she asked, sitting beside him.
“My job is not to panya wewe out. What I found will stay between wewe and I.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Because if I do wewe get deported; if wewe get deported I lose my case; if we lose this case I get less of your money.”
“And after we win the case?”
“If I were to panya wewe out after we win the case wewe would be deported and I would be in jail for withholding information pertinent to an investigation. Besides, I like you.”
“Thank you.”
Two hours later court…
“Dr. Cuddy,” the judge Meredith Slater started.
“Yes your honor,” Cuddy alisema nervously.
“You have legally obtained Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, ergo, I see no point in taking it from you.”
“Thank you.”
“Court is adjourned.”
Cuddy withdrew her checkbook from her purse.
“How much do I owe you,” she asked her lawyer.
“You owe me nothing,” her lawyer replied.
“What?”
“Your father took care of it. He also told me to tell wewe that wewe don’t owe him anymore on the hospital and that your 256,375 dollar debt from medical school has been cleared.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Lisa. You’re lucky, you’re living the American dream, the mythical rags to riches tale. Don’t screw it up, they’ll be watching your every move.”
“Thank you,” Cuddy replied questioningly.
“Your welcome.”
As Cuddy made her way out of the courthouse a man stopped her. He was tall, at least a foot taller than her, than again a lot of people were taller than her. He had blond hair and blue eyes and was wearing a black suit.
“Hey,” she alisema cheerily, “Thanks for all your help with my case.”
“Of course,” detective Tritter replied, “The hospital’s your property they have no right to take it from you. It’s not your fault wewe can’t get a green card.”
“You are one of the few people who gets that.”
“Immigration in this country needs to be reformed,” Tritter alisema walking along side her.
“You know, I have been saying that for years.”
“Listen, I was wondering if maybe wewe would like to…go out with me?”
“Uh…I’m…sorry but, I barely know wewe and I really want to focus on my career right now. I mean, we can be Marafiki and all, just not anything more. It’s not like you’re a bad person au anything I mean you’re probably a good person and all, but of course, I am judging that solely on the past week and a half so I don’t really know for sure, but as I alisema wewe seem like a good person, but I need to focus on running the hospital, but mayb__”
“Shut up,” a sharp voice interjected.
Both of them turned in the direction of the voice to see a woman only a few inches taller than Cuddy glaring at the both of them. Her bright red hair hung in front of her face, but she didn’t bother to brush it away. Her multi-colored eyes were framed kwa black, square framed glasses that matched her black skirt, black combat boots, and black mesh arm things. In contrast to all of the black were a pair of neon, striped, knee-high socks and her neon yellow sweater.
“First of all, when wewe talk that fast homo sapiens can not understand you. sekunde of all, she wouldn’t tarehe wewe in a million years detective boy. Third of all, I have official hospital business for wewe Foreigner,” Sarah continued.
“Right,” Cuddy said, “Bye.”
And with that she hurried off leaving Tritter spurned and bitter, an action she would soon regret.
“I assume wewe won your hospital,” Sarah alisema as they walked out of the courthouse.
“Did wewe have to be so mean,” Cuddy asked.
“When wewe ramble on at the speed of light men are not going to understand that you’re saying no. The trick is to be blunt.”
“You didn’t have to be rude. He’s a nice guy. He helped me with my case.”
“He helped wewe with your case in order to help wewe take off your panties and help him get in your ___”
“That’s enough.”
“No one on your fathers staff has decided to quit except for the Head of the other Department of Diagnostics and the Head of Oncology. Unless wewe want to can somebody you’re pretty much good to go.”
“I’m not going to moto anyone and I have interviews lined up for both open positions.”
“How do they look on paper?”
“House and Wilson.”
“Are wewe serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t wewe think that’ll be a little awkward?”
“No.”
“Both of them still want to nail you.”
“Please.”
“Well let’s see. House had already parked his car in your karakana two years zamani and wewe then dumped him. Wilson has always wanted to park his car in your garage, but is too nice to put up a road block against House.”
“Did wewe ever consider channeling all of your anger and admittedly charming metaphors into poetry au some other activity that wouldn’t piss people off?”
“I enjoy pissing people off.”
“I have noticed.”
“You would be an idiot if wewe hadn’t.”
“So what do wewe want to do after work to celebrate your victory over the dismal bureaucracy bent on dolling despair and iniquity to the citizens of this fine country?”
“Want to hit up Barnes & Noble?”
“When have I ever alisema no to book shopping?”
“I’ll text wewe when I’m done.”
“Fabulous, see wewe then Chere.”
“Yup,” Cuddy replied taking out her carkeys.
Fifteen dakika later Cuddy arrived at her hospital. Her hospital, she liked the sound of that. No zaidi living paycheck to paycheck; soon she would be able to get out of her crappy apartment; no zaidi waitressing and other shitty jobs. Her life was finally going to go her way. The first four years in America were just an interlude. This was going to be her real life, her good life, the infamous American dream. But first she had to organize her new office to her liking. She walked through the large wooden doors to her office and observed the surroundings. Indeed, there was work to be done. The first thing that needed to be fixed were the walls. They were this boring, dark gray color. Gag. The carpeting was bland, grayish-white, she would have to change that as well. There was a nice, large, wooden dawati at the opposite end of the room. She was definitely keeping that. On the left side of the room were completely bare bookshelves lining the entire wall. Other than that there was absolutely no furniture. At least now she had extra money to spend. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 1:30. She had two hours before Gregory House showed up for his interview. Hopefully organizing her office would relax her enough to deal with him. It was not going to be fun. Oh well, she had already taken her Anafranil, she was going to clean. There was nothing else she could do. She took out her cell phone and texted Sarah:
wewe mind stopping at a furniture store later? My office is way too empty. And it needs to be painted.
A few dakika later Sarah replied:
wewe haven’t even been rich for an saa and wewe already want furniture? Pompous bitch.
Ha Ha. All I have is a dawati wewe jerk. And the walls are this heinous gray color. I can not have a gray office. It’s so depressing. It makes me want to kill myself.
Your apartment is depressing and makes me want to kill myself. Maybe we should redecorate that too.
Up until today all I could afford was depressing and suicide-inducing.
Sure, lets redecorate your office.
Fine, but if wewe even try to get anything neon I will make wewe do forty hours of clinic duty this week.
I think your newfound power is going to your head.
I’ll see wewe later.
Bye Cuddy.
Bye Sarah.
For two hours Cuddy dusted the bookshelves and the desk, cleaned out the desk, cleaned out the memory of the computer of the unimportant things, vacuumed the carpeting, and filled out paperwork. kwa the time 3:30 rolled around and House walked in she felt prepared to deal with this interview. Gregory House was a tall man with light, brown hair and deep, blue eyes. He was wearing a red T-shirt, blue jeans, and black converses and using a wooden cane.
“Oh thank God it’s wewe and not your father,” he said.
Cuddy finished sorting her pens kwa color, height, and ink level and clasped her hands together on juu of her desk.
“Just because I’m the Dean of Medicine and we had a past relationship does not mean that wewe automatically get this job,” she alisema sternly.
“Well I am the most qualified.”
“That’s not for wewe to decide.”
“We both know wewe still have feelings for me.”
“We both know that I ended things, not you.”
“We both know wewe ended things because wewe were afraid of getting deported.”
“You’re an ass. Can we discuss your credentials?”
“Why don’t wewe read my file?”
“You’re attitude right now, it’s not working in your favor.”
“You expect me to respect wewe just because you’re sitting behind a used dawati and have inherited a hospital from Daddy?”
“No, how about wewe respect me because every other hospital administrator in New Jersey refuses to hire you? wewe need me, I don’t give wewe a job and you’re stuck flipping burgers au ringing up eggs and maziwa at the local grocery store.”
“Being a heinous bitch, kahaba on the other hand…”
“Let’s talk about your qualifications.”
“Let’s talk about yours. Your OCD does not make wewe able to run a hospital.”
“I can do this job.”
“Oh, I’m sure wewe can. You’re an eighteen mwaka old fugitive who arrived here illegally in an airplane lavatory with your two mwaka old brother.”
“I did what I could with the circumstances.”
“Being admittedly ingenious in bad situations does not make wewe qualified to run a hospital.”
“Actually it does and you’re only saying I’m not qualified because that way if I don’t hire wewe wewe don’t have to feel bad about yourself. Quit now and you’ve got the job.”
“I knew wewe were still in upendo with me.”
“I don’t think so. Get out of here.”
“When do I start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Want to celebrate?”
“I think not. Get out of here before my other interview gets here.”
“Wilson?”
“Yes.”
“You should hire him.”
“Go away.”
“Bye Cuddy.”
“Bye House.”
A few dakika later a man as tall as House with auburn hair and brown eyes entered her office. Unlike House he was wearing a dark blue suit and nice black shoes.
“Hey,” he alisema happily when he saw Cuddy.
“Hey,” Cuddy replied cheerily, “Where the hell have wewe been? Ever time I call wewe that annoying, robotic lady on all American phones saying that your number had been disconnected.”
“Yeah …Kathy and I got divorced. In our final argument she snapped my phone in half.”
Cuddy raised her eyebrows.
“Interesting.”
“I see wewe got your hospital.”
“Finally. Racist bastards tried to take it from me.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know.”
“Anything else new with you? It’s been a while.”
“No, you?”
“Other than divorcing Kathy, no.”
“That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
Actually the reason they got divorced did have to do with her, but he was not going to mention that to anyone let alone Cuddy herself.
“Shall we discuss your credentials,” Cuddy alisema breaking the silence.
“Okay. What are wewe doing after that?”
“Sarah and I are going to redecorate this disparaging office and then we are going to watch Maude season one and probably get take-out from that middle-eastern restaurant down the street. Which reminds me, I need to buy some curry.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Uh…I’m working…but after that I’m free. Why?”
“You want to go out to dinner, catch up on old times?”
“Sure. Now let’s get back to your credentials.”
“Sure.”
Later that day…
“What color were wewe thinking for the walls,” Sarah asked.
“I was kind of thinking a light yellow,” Cuddy replied flipping through some paint color cards.
They were at Lowe’s trying to pick out a color for the walls of Cuddy’s office. She hated that heinous gray color her father had painted it. Bleck!
“How about this,” Sarah alisema holding a neon yellow paint color card in front of Cuddy’s nose.
“I can’t tell, I’ve been temporarily blinded,” Cuddy replied taking the card out of Sarahs’ hand and holding it farther from her face.
“You should get that color.”
“I don’t want my office looking like one of those ‘Road Work Ahead’ signs.”
“Oh come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud.”
“I alisema a light yellow. Not construction site yellow.”
“Fine, be boring.”
“I don’t want potential donors and board inspectors to be blinded every time they walk into my office.”
“It’ll make an impression.”
“Absolutely not.”
After some deliberation Cuddy finally chose a light, yet somewhat bright yellow. They bought three cans and moved on to carpeting.
“What color carpeting do wewe want your majesty,” Sarah asked sardonically.
“Light brown.”
“Oh wewe and your light colors.”
“Well, I can’t have light colored walls and dark colored carpeting. Light and dark are opposites they can’t be in the same room.”
“Oh wewe and your OCD.”
“I’ve been better.”
“Yes, and I’ve suddenly become an optimist.”
“I have,” Cuddy insisted.
“You’re on a high dose of Anafranil right?”
“Yeah.”
“How did wewe organize your pens?”
“By color.”
“And…”
“Size and ink level.”
“You’re not better.”
Cuddy and Sarah inayofuata went to a cheap furniture and picked out four chairs, a table, and a couch. The chairs were ten dollars, the meza, jedwali was fifteen, and the kitanda was thirty. When they wanted cheap they got cheap. Cuddy’s frugality was a product of her poverty, Sarah’s was learned from her mother. They spent until midnight redoing the office, but at least now Cuddy could obsessively organize her things. Now the office was truly hers. Even though it was so late they decided to pull one zaidi all-nighter for old-time’s sake. They wouldn’t be able to stay up all night watching Maude, The Golden Girls, Bones, NCIS, and other various shows and movies, talking, and eating middle-eastern take-out as often anymore. It would be one last horrah for the good old days. Little did they know that it would be the last time they would do this when they were actually somewhat happy. The inayofuata siku Cuddy went in to work at six in the morning. She spent the morning finishing up the billings for the mwezi and working on accounting. In between accounting she would assign the patients to a doctor and deliver the file. At noon she bought herself a saladi for lunch and took it back up to her office. At three she put in two hours in the clinic. Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital had a free clinic meaning that all the poor people (those of higher socioeconomic status also came in) with colds and pulled muscles and other mundane problems came in to be examined and to get medication. Two weeks later she ran into her first problem. Tritter entered her office without knocking.
Cuddy looked up from her paperwork. What is he doing here, she wondered to herself.
“Can I help you,” she asked.
“I thought wewe should know that Gregory House in under suspicion for drug trafficking.”
“Drug trafficking?”
“Narcotics, Vicodin.”
“He’s not trafficking Vicodin. He needs it.”
“We found six hundred of them in his apartment. Does he need six hundred Vicodin Dr. Cuddy?”
“All of which were prescribed to him, correct?”
“He had six hundred.”
“Was his name on the prescription bottles?”
“Yes, but that many Vicodin displays intent to traffick.”
“He’s in a lot of pain. He needs the Vicodin. wewe have no proof that he ever trafficked any of it. What wewe have is circumstantial evidence.”
“Are wewe sleeping with him?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are wewe sleeping with Gregory House?”
“No,” Cuddy replied, affronted.
“But wewe were at one point weren’t you?”
“What does this have to do with drug trafficking?”
“I know wewe must feel an instinct to protect your former lover, but we aren’t in high school anymore. You’re actions could have dire consequences.”
“I never slept with him, not that that’s any of your business, and are wewe threatening me?”
“You’ve worked your whole life for this hospital. Don’t through it away on someone like Gregory House.”
“You’re seriously threatening my career just because I don’t think that House is moving Vicodin on the streets?”
“I suggest wewe think about where your priorities lie.”
With that final thought Tritter left. Drug Trafficking? What the hell was going on? And why was Tritter threatening the career he had helped her get? Was it because she had turned him down? Who would be that petty? The man was twenty-six, she thought he would be zaidi mature. She flipped the file on juu of her dawati shut and made her way to Houses’ office.
“Dr. Cuddy,” he alisema when she walked in, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Why are there six hundred Vicodin in your apartment,” she asked.
“Well, hello to wewe too.”
“I’m not playing.”
“I keep them there just in case.”
“Just in case of what? wewe think every pharmacy within ten miles of here is going to run out of Vicodin simultaneously?”
“You seriously think I’m selling it on the streets?”
“No. How long has this business with detective Tritter been going on?”
“For about a week.”
“And wewe didn’t think this was something I needed to know?”
“Nope.”
“He threatened my career!”
“He’s just mad at wewe because he wants to nail wewe and you’re not interested in him and he knows that wewe upendo me.”
“I do not!
“This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew wewe would get all angry and clenched and start shrieking and though it is sexy it is a bit grating. It’s interesting that wewe didn’t deny that he wants to nail you.”
“He asked me out to chajio, chakula cha jioni two weeks ago, that’s beside the point. Has he pressed charges yet?”
“Arraignment’s on Saturday.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Well, look on the bright side, if I end up in jail we can have conjugal visits.”
“I’m sure there’s a few bald, fat convicts who would upendo to have some conjugal visits with you.”
“None of them are as flexible as you. A fat, bald guy twisting himself into a pretzel isn’t as nice an image as wewe __”
“Thank you, that’s enough.”
“You should be flattered.”
“You should be zaidi concerned!”
“About what? He’s got no evidence and I don’t care about your career.”
“Well, without me wewe have no career.”
“He charges me with drug trafficking I have no career. Then it doesn’t matter to me whether au not wewe have one.”
“Thanks asshole.”
“Anytime. They’re probably going to subpoena you, force wewe to testify.”
“I know. I’ll try not to be too incriminating.”
“Wear a low cut top. No one will pay attention to what you’re saying.”
Cuddy shot him a look and left his office. She had better things to do than listen to his womanizing remarks. For the inayofuata week Tritter gathered whatever evidence he could against House. He was determined to put House in jail. With him out of the way Cuddy was free for the taking. Now it was time for the trial. First a psychologist testified that House displayed all the classic signs of being a drug dealer. Sarah made some snide remark about stereotypes and how wewe couldn’t really generalize the personalities of drug dealers. Then the pharmacist testified that House had visited the pharmacy with increasing frequency. Several other witnesses testified, all claiming he was a drug dealer, all except Cuddy. The woman was born to be an administrator. Every word that came out of her mouth was some sort of bureaucratic double-speak, answering the swali while not really answering the question. Maybe House could get used to her being his boss. Not that he would ever stop seeing her as the naïve immigrant girl who barely knew English that had showed up out of nowhere four years ago. With each non-answer answer she gave Tritter became increasingly angry. Sarah was so bored she began to mock him while Wilson tried to suppress his laughter.
“Doctor Cuddy, I need wewe to answer the question,” the lawyer alisema impatiently.
“I am answering it,” Cuddy replied sweetly.
“No you’re not.”
“You are posing a swali after which words are coming out of my mouth so in all technicality I am. I’m just not answering the way wewe would like me to, but wewe see I am under oath and I am not going to lie to make wewe happy when your client is wrongly accusing one of my employees of drug trafficking. If I am pissing wewe off that much than I suggest wewe dismiss me,” Cuddy alisema calmly.
The lawyer shook his head.
“Fine, go.”
“Thank you.”
Cuddy stood up and stepped down from the witness stand. The judge, judge Meredith Slater, the same judge who had awarded Cuddy her hospital banged her gavel.
“Court will reconvene at noon.”
Since they had an hour, Cuddy, Sarah, House, and Wilson decided to go to Caribou Coffee and talk about the case. They were not supposed to do the latter, but neither of the four of them cared.
“That was a great testimony,” Sarah alisema breaking off a piece of her chokoleti muffin, mkate ule ulikuwa mtamu with chokoleti chunks.
“Giving non-answer majibu is harder than wewe would think,” Cuddy replied, “I was running out of bureaucratic double-speak. Thank God that asshole dismissed me.”
“You’re good at that deceiving, worthless, political shit,” House said.
“Thank you.”
“That’s not really a good thing.”
“Considering my career choice it is.”
“Dr. Cuddy, could I speak to wewe alone for a moment,” a cold voice inquired.
It came from behind her and caused the mood of everyone at the meza, jedwali to darken and conversation to freeze. Sarah had broken off another piece of her chokoleti muffin, mkate ule ulikuwa mtamu with chokoleti chunks, but when she had heard Tritter ask Cuddy to speak to him alone her hand had frozen midway to her mouth. House had gone back to playing with the same rubberband he had been playing with during the trial. Wilson was distractedly stirring his coffee.
“Sure,” Cuddy alisema as she stood up and pushed in her chair.
She followed Tritter out of the café. The air was warm and humid and the sun was beating down on Princeton New Jersey. The ninety degree temperature reminded her of Iraq and Israel, except there were too many bushes and flowers.
“When I asked wewe to testify I did not mean for wewe to say nothing in a hundred words and basically undermine my case,” Tritter said.
“Uh, first of all wewe never asked me to testify, your lawyer subpoenaed me. sekunde of all House is not a drug dealer and I am not going to help wewe lock him in jail,” Cuddy replied maintaining her usual kind tone.
“I helped wewe get your hospital wewe owe me.”
“No, we did not have any sort of agreement and when normal people do something nice for someone else they do not in turn hold it over that someone’s head in order to make them send their friend to jail for something he didn’t do. What’s done is done and I’m not rescinding my testimony. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go finish my grande double mocha with a shot of espresso because I paid four dollars and twenty-seven cents and I refuse to waste four dollars and twenty-seven cents.”
