Copyright 2008 -Kim Brogan (storyline-not characters)


Chapter 1- Twelve Steps Forward- Ten Back

"Hi, I'm Maia, I'm an addict."

The even dozen scattered through the small auditorium droned back, "Hi, Maia."

"I used to have a great job, made a lot of money, had friends and family that were proud of me, but I got hooked on coke and lost it." Maia looked around at the men and women in the audience, all dressed in their winter coats, sad eyes fixed on her. God, this is crap. I hate having to get up here and strip myself emotionally naked. "I've been clean for eighteen months and ten days."


"I still want it. I still find sobriety hard sometimes, hell, most of the time. But I take it one day at a time."

Maia arrived back to the one bedroom apartment. She looked down the street and saw the usual drunks begging outside the liquor store. It was cold, but sunny, a break from the last four days of sleet. She walked into the inner hall and met her neighbor, Jerry Clay, "Hi Jer."

"Hi Maia, how's it hangin?"

She chuckled, "Okay."

"I'm havin' a party next Saturday, you're invited. It may get loud."

"Thanks for the warning, but I hope to be working Saturday night."

Jer pushed his glasses back up his nose and smiled, "Yeah, I guess Saturday is your big night, huh? Well, if we get too loud, let me know. Adios muchacha."


Maia had the first apartment on the ground floor. She opened it and stepped inside, looking over at the bay windows. She had forgotten to close the drapes when she left to help keep the heat inside. It was cold in the apartment. She put her jacket away, but ran to the bedroom to get a warm sweater. She debated whether or not to turn on the heater. She went over to the thermostat and laughed. It was 56F inside the apartment. Cold. Maia debated, heat cost money and if she could get by without her hands needing gloves, then maybe she could live without turning on the heat. She started working around the apartment, changing the sheets, cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming and dusting. As long as she kept busy, she was warm enough. But as the sun started to set, the temperature dropped even further.

"Crap." Maia cursed under her breath. She was sitting under a throw, watching television, having trouble keeping her hands warm. She got up and turned the heater up to 60, hearing the radiators kick on. The ringer on the phone played, "No Place Like Home", indicating that she had a personal call coming through.

"Hello?" she answered.

She heard his deep voice crackle over the phone, "Hey. I thought I'd pick up some Mexican tonight. What do you want?"

"Hmmm. Cheese enchilada and a flauta."

"I'm losing reception. Okay, I'll be there in an hour. Bye."


I better kick the heater up further or he'll moan all night. Maia got up and turned the heater up to 64, then plopped back down on the couch. An hour later the door opened and in walked dinner.

"No flautas, so I got you a chile relleno." He put the bag down on the little kitchen table. He looked up, shook his head, "Lars said no. Sorry."

Maia's stomach went queasy. She had hoped, beyond hope, for some good news. It was long overdue. She managed to shrug her shoulders as she made her way to the cupboards to get the plates.

"Thanks for trying."

Phil stopped and turned towards her, "He said that, with your reputation, he just couldn't take a chance. Maybe next year when things die down."

Maia couldn't get out any words without crying so she said nothing. She nodded and handed him a plate, fork and paper towel. They each grabbed their food and sat back down on the couch to watch television. Maia couldn't concentrate on the program;, all she thought of was that her last real lead was now exhausted. She couldn't even get a job as a paralegal. She felt trapped in this hell she had created.

She shook her head as she chewed on the chile relleno, "I should move. Maybe if I moved to Trenton I could get a position as a paralegal."

"I doubt it. Your little tirade in court was the talk of the state. Everywhere I go they talk about the coked out attorney who tried to attack the defense attorney with a brief case."

Maia frowned, leaning her head back on the old plaid couch, "Yeah, I screwed up royally didn't I?"

"Well, they claim that Rossi still can't work in a courtroom." He saw how sad she was, but didn't want her to sink back into self-pity, "Maia, you broke her nose, pulled her hair out and throttled her neck! What did you expect?"

She yelled back, "I know that I'm getting what I deserve!" Maia didn't offer any excuses, she had none.

Della Rossi was a well known trial attorney for insurance companies. She had harassed Maia for months with masses of discovery from Rossi and her legal team. Every day, week after week, Rossi served interrogatories, requests for admissions, inspection notices and motions, overwhelming Maia and her paralegals. Maia couldn't even remember how the fight started, Rossi threatened even more motions and told the court Maia's case was a waste of the court's time and energy. Something in Maia's coked out brain snapped and the next thing she knew, she had the tall, busty Rossi on the courtroom floor with wads of her brunette hair in her hand.

"You're just lucky that she didn't have you arrested." Phil said.

Maia was tired of hearing how generous Rossi had been. "Oh, yeah, right. She's such a generous person that she tried to get me disbarred. You would have thought the 1.8 million dollars I paid her would have been enough. After the lawyer fees, having to shut down my practice and pay her the blood money, she was single handedly responsible for the bar suspending me for five years. Yeah, she was so generous she left me with no way to make a living."

"No, you left yourself with no way to make a living."

Maia collapsed back in defeat, "Touche." 

They sat and watched television for a couple of hours until the phone rang, playing Fur Elise as it's ringtone. Maia gave Phil a guilty look, grabbed the receiver, ran into the bedroom closing the door solidly behind her.

Maia hit the talk button, "Hi, my name is Cali, what's your name?"


"I'm worried." Lisa picked an apple out of the fruit bowl by the cash register.

"About what?" Wilson grabbed his wallet to pay for both of them.

She scrunched her forehead and grimaced, "House. He's been…morose."


"Not his usual snappy self. No cutting, biting remarks, just growling and yelling. He's not even being a jerk with panache. He's just being a jerk. What's up with him?"

Wilson shrugged his shoulders and knitted his brow, "I don't know. I ask him out and he mumbles about how lame it would be and that's it. I don't think he goes out of his cave very much. He's always got a drink in his hand when I'm with him."

"He smells like it. Can't you spike his coffee with anti-depressants again? Why don't you suggest them? He listens to you sometimes."

Wilson started chuckling at the thought of House listening to him. It was true, but House would never admit it. In fact, he'd do everything to deny that Wilson had any influence on him. Wilson sighed, "I'll see what I can do."

"I don't give a damn what you or Cuddy want. I don't like how I feel on anti-depressants."

Wilson yelled back, "You're self-medicating yourself with alcohol anyway." He calmed down, his shoulders sinking, "House, you're killing your liver and your life. " They stared at each other. Wilson's tilted his head, "What's wrong?"

He snickered, "What makes you think something is wrong?"

"The empty whiskey bottles in your trash can each week?"

House snarled in defense, "Oh, for God's Sake, give me a break. I like a drink when I get home."

Wilson dashed into the kitchen, rummaged through the trash pulling two whiskey bottles out. He held them up to House, "Let's see, trash day is Thursday; this is Saturday . You've gone through half that bottle on the table and these two in the trash can in three days. That's a pretty big drink when you get home."

House rolled his eyes, "And you're point being…?"

"My point is that you're getting worse, not better. You're giving up. Why?"

"You think if I knew I'd be like this?"

There was silence, a stalemate. Wilson wanted an answer, but House didn't have one.

House was grateful when Wilson finally went home. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. He closed his eyes, but he didn't fall asleep. Frustrated with another night of a cold, lonely, bed and a solitary life, House figured he'd watch some porn on the computer. He went out to the desk and started pulling up his favorite site. As he watched, "All Hands on Dick," he realized that each video was the same fake moaning and groaning, same varied positions and same script, different dialogue. He was bored with the porn.

I must really be screwed if watching a girl give head does nothing. He looked down at his crotch. Not a stir, not even a flicker of life. I should call a hooker. House looked in his wallet, Crap, not enough money. I need to start keeping an emergency fuck fund.

House climbed back in bed, but was unable to drift even into semi-consciousness. He sat up, turned on the light and grabbed a local magazine. He looked through the articles on the upcoming Princeton lecture series on astro-physics and new restaurant reviews. Turning the page , he saw her.

Reclining on a chase in a white teddy, garters and black stockings with white feather mules, was a beautiful brunette. Her big brown eyes and dark lashes were sexy, inviting.

"I'm Cali, a co-ed at Princeton. I'm looking for friends. If you're lonely, give me a call and we'll have a good time! (900) 439-4224." In smaller type it said, 3.95 a minute.

House looked at the photo and wondered what phone sex would be like. He suspected that its entertainment value would be somewhere between a hooker and a porn flick. House wanted female company, even if it was a disenfranchised voice. A voice, one that could respond to what he said, what he wanted, had to be better than a porn flick.

He reached for the phone.

March 28th; 10:07 pm



"My name is Cali; what's your name?"

"G. You can call me G or G-man."

"G-man? That sounds cool. G-Man, I have to inform you that this phone call is being recorded until we get the terms out of the way. It will cost you 3.95 a minute, which I'll start charging you once you agree to pay. If you agree, hit the star button."

There was the sharp sound of him hitting the star button.

"I've stopped the recording. Now tell me G-man, do you like it when a woman licks your balls?"

"Wow, you don't waste any time. I thought you'd at least string it out just to make the call last longer."

A talker. I haven't had a talker in a long time. Talkers usually have money and don't really care how much it costs. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? G, do you live in the Princeton area?"

"Uh, I don't know how much I really want to share with someone who makes porn calls for a living. But, suffice it to say that I know the area pretty well."

"Well, I'm a coed at Princeton."

He chuckled, "I'm sure you are. What's your major?"


"I bet."Coed at Princeton my ass. Yeah, well. What did you expect? It's a fantasy…suspend your disbelief.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"I'm a musician."

"What do you play?"

"Piano, guitar, drums, harmonica, sax."

"Wow!" No musician in the Princeton area makes enough to want to talk for 3.95 a minute, but I wonder if he's telling the truth about playing instruments. "You play all those instruments?"


"Have you ever made love on the piano stool?"

"Good segue."

Maia chuckled. Witty. Maia slowed down her speech, letting him absorb what she was about to say, "Thanks. Well, I have…made love on a piano bench. When I was a senior in high school, I went to a party and ended up in the basement with a guy, listening to him play an old upright against the wall. He was playing Claire de Lune when I put my hand on his lower thigh. I kept inching it up slowly as the piece reached its crescendo. By the time I touched his crotch, I was wet and he was bulging. I just barely touched him and he grabbed me, slipped his hand up my top and around to unlatch my bra. He was in such a hurry that it got a little rough. He had a hard time with my panties, so he grabbed the elastic band and ripped them off. He pulled me over to straddle him. I found his zipper and it didn't take much for me to free him. God he was so hard and pink. He was already wet himself. The little blue vein on the side was pulsating and it was slick from his semen oozing out in anticipation. I knelt on the stool so I could lower myself down onto him. He wouldn't let me mount him at first. He pulled my top off, and popped my breasts in his mouth for some serious sucking. It was hard sucking, not rough, just steady and hot. His hand grabbed my hips and played with them for a few minutes before he slipped his hand between my legs. He kept saying, "You're so wet, so hot. So wet." He kept rubbing me as he alternated between saying I was hot and sucking on my nipples. I screamed out and he guided his rather nice sized erection inside of me, thrusting up so hard I yelled out. He tried to continue to suck on my breasts, but they bobbed up and down so fast and furious as he thrusted. He couldn't stay latched on. I have to admit, my butt kept coming down and banging on the keys. He shifted and I kept sliding up and down as he grunted hard several times, coming so hard I dripped all evening. I always have fond memories of piano benches."

She paused. She could hear heavy breathing coming from the other end of the receiver. He was almost there.

"G-man. I bet it would be really hot sitting with you on the piano bench. I can see a baby grand." A guy with money would have a baby grand. "I can see you playing a little jazz on the piano, me sitting next to you in a filmy blouse, no bra and a peasant skirt. You can barely see the brown of my nipples through the gauze of my blouse. I can't take it anymore. The music is as suggestive as the outline of your dick in your pants. I start to rub you until you can't play anymore. You stand up, slip your arm around my waist and flip me on the stool onto my stomach. I have a thong on, so you just push the little string out of the way, unzip your pants and pull my legs apart. You pull me down to the edge of the piano bench, spread my folds with your fingers and plunge your dick inside. You're screwing me like I'm a wheel barrel…" Maia heard little grunts coming from the receiver. He's coming. "You're thrusting like a teenager, fast, hard. My butt is jiggling from the force of your pounding. It's so hot. You come in me over and over and over until it seeps out. I scream out from my orgasm, it rips through my body. I can't catch my breath it feels so delicious. When it's over you gently drop my legs and I sit up."

There was silence and then he spoke, his voice a husky whisper from the constriction of all his muscles when he came, "Next time, let's start with a little tongue, some kissing."

Maia smiled. Next time? That's good. He's already talking about the next time. "I'd like that."

"Okay, well…" He sounded a little awkward, almost shy, "I guess that's it for tonight. Goodnight Cali."

"Goodnight G-man." Maia smiled as she looked at the phone screen.

End 10:28 pm – 21 minutes

I just made 80, less the 8.00 I'll owe Jennifer. About 70. That's good. I could use the 70. That plus my regular calls should net me about 550 this week. That's a good week. I hope he calls back. I'd like to make him a regular.