The evening with 'Dr. Italy'

Foreman and some others asked me to tell you all about yesterday evening.
Well. It was interesting and amusing.
At least for me.

When my lecture was over, Dr. Fusselli (Fusilli? Fusselini?) rushed over to me and told me he'd pick me up at 7 p.m. with a cab and take me to some 'molto bene ristorante'. I just shrugged, nodded, grabbed my backpack and made my way to the parking lot.

After having a shower and talking to James on the phone 7 p.m. sharp a taxi blew the horn.
I stepped outside and almost ran into Dr. Fuselli (or whatever) who was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs with a ridiculously happy grin on his face and wearing an Armani suit.
(I was wearing jeans, t-shirt, rumpled shirt, sack coat and chucks as usual.)
"Ciao, Dr. House!", he beamed at me and I quickly made sure he had no box of chocolates or other silly stuff in his hands.
"Hey!", I just answered and squeezed past him to sit down in the cab.
"I am so glad you had spare time tonight", he smiled when he sat down next to me and patted my shoulder. I flinched a bit - I hate it when people just touch me without being allowed to do so.
He either ignored that or was not aware of it 'cause he kept touching my shoulder, my arm and my knee while prattling.
"Stop it!", I finally gnarled and he froze in his movement.
"Stop what?"
The hackie looked over his shoulder. "I think this means Hands off..."
"Oh...", he blushed. "I didn't mean...I..this is just..an Italian habit."

He kept his hands off me until we reached the restaurant, Lahieres on Witherspoon Street. They are famous for their filet mignon, so I already decided what to order the moment I got out of the cab.
Besides that I was looking forward to a good cigar, wine and a Single Malt.
It was almost embarassing that Dr. Fusselini hurried to open the door for me and gracefully guided me to the table.
Even more embarassing was the fact that that table was obviously chosen for a cosy date. A bit hidden beneath flowers, dim light, candles...the whole nine yards.
I sat down and looked around - the reastaurant was nice though.
"Do you like the table?", Dr. F. asked with a bright smile.
I raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Um...well...a fairly nice table when you're with your significant other...Or with a date and being determined to go all the way."
Dr. F. seemed close to a heart attack and grinned from ear to ear. "Oh. Well...maybe."
I subtly shook my head and looked up to the waitress who brought us the menu.
"Did the gentlemen choose a wine yet?", she asked.
Dr. F. smiled and nodded. "Banfi 1999 Poggio alle Mura Brunello di Montalcino, per favore."
"Good choice", I thought, but considering he could afford that wine, I asked "Would it be a problem to choose Casanova di Neri 2000 Brunello di Montalcino Cerretalto?"
If he really thought he was dating me, he could fork out 40 bucks more for me.
Dr. F. was fidgeting at his collar and thinking for a splitsecond.
"Um...no...of course not. A very good wine, you're right."
"Wonderful", I smiled at him and leaned back in my chair to study the menu.

We both chose the filet mignon and the wine was excellent.
For a while, even the conversation was pleasant to some extent. He was talking about Italy, work, wine and so on, I made my remarks, social noises, mocked him without him even noticing and filled my gullet.
I was quite contented until he began to rave of my 'good looks', 'intelligence', 'charme' and so on. I just tried to ignore all that and to enjoy my Tiramisu instead. Dr. F.'s eyes became a bit dilated and I could not see if it was because of the wine or because...well...of me.
"By the way, my name is Marco...Fusselini of course....you can call me Marco", he said with an awfully warm smile.
I looked up from my Tiramisu and replied. "My name is Gregory House, of course. You can call me Gregory...House."
He obviously thought it was a joke 'cause he snickered and grabbed my hand, squeezed it and whispered "Gregory..."
I quickly withdrew my hand and turned my attention to the dessert again. Now this was getting unpleasant.
"Would you like a cigar after the dessert?", Dr. F. asked and I pondered for a while. Then I thought "Okay, a cigar, why not? And afterwards I'll go home."
"Yes please", I nodded, "a J.L. Salazar y Hermanos."

While I was crushing my Tiramisu I heard a familiar voice exclaiming "Marcooooo!"
Joey Arnello. I grinned. That man was nearly everywhere. He shortly hugged Dr. F., eyed the cigar and talked to him. Apparantly he asked if he was here with someone else because Marcooooo gestured towards our table.
A broad grin appeared on Arnello's face. "Dottore House!!!", he yelled over to me and I waved. Dr. F. seemed a bit puzzled and followed Arnello back to the table.
"Nice to see you, eh?", Arnello roared and patted my shoulder.
"You know each other?", Dr. F. asked totally superfluous.
Arnello nodded and winked at me. "Just tell me if he should be molesting you, eh?"
I grinned. "Of course I will."
Arnello nodded again. "Fine. Have a nice evening and greetings to Dr. Wilson."
All smiles I nodded back and began to smoke my cigar and ignored Dr. F.'s attempts to dally with me.

And I successfully managed to ignore said attempts on the way back home.
When I got out of the cab he walked me to the door.
"Um...", he began and hesitated.
"Um?", I asked and unlocked the door.
"Could...could...could I..."
I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting! Sudden aphasia."
"Er...no...I was just searching for words."
"Did you find any? I'm sure I left some on the stairs."
He grinned. "Yes."
"So?"
"Could I get a cup of coffee before I get home?"
Oh no! He still thought he was dating me. That was so cliché!
I walked into the appartment, said "No!" and closed the door behind me.

For a few seconds I leaned at the door and wondered why I did not hear leaving steps outside. Was he too dumbfounded to go home? Considering the fact I had to be at PPTH at 6 am the next morning an idea came to my mind and I opened the door again, peeped around the corner and watched his face light up.
"Okay, tomorrow morning, 6 a.m. at my office. I prefer caramel macchiato. Your treat!"
With these words I closed the door again, went into the bathroom and laughed my ass off.

And you won't believe it.
He was there this morning.
With caramel macchiato from Starbucks.
Most of the time I ignored him, sipped my coffee and prepared my lecture for today.
He looked so ridiculously happy when he entered the lecture room with me Foreman shot milk out of his nose.