"So . . . what medical conference are you going to?" said Wilson as he watched House finish the last of his sandwich at his desk and look at a card.
"Oh, it's not a medical conference at all. I have just received a most interesting invitation by Lex Luthor to spend a charming afternoon with him in his luxury box watching the Metropolis Sharks play against the Miami Dolphins. God, I just love the smell of chum in the morning," said House.
"Oh . . . a luxury box. Sounds important."
"Well, he says that he wants to talk business with me."
"What exactly is he proposing? He doesn't have exactly the greatest reputation."
"Well, how much worse can he be than Vogler? Besides, I always wanted to see what one of those luxury boxes were like."
Wilson smiled rather naughtily. "First there was the old lady who wrote you love poetry and declared you to be hot enough to fire up her loins because she had brain damage. Then there was Lionel Luthor, who gave you an ugly watch declaring his adoration, and was also suffering brain damage. Do I sense a pattern? You may want to test Lex Luthor as well."
"A luxury box with leather seating, a wet bar, a kitchen with your own personal chef willing to make whatever you please . . . I declare this the cheapest date ever," said House as he sat next to Lex. The game had just started fifteen minutes ago.
Lex laughed. "I usually entertain corporate clients up here."
"What makes me so important that I get invited to the stadium version of paradise? I hope you're not under any illusion that I actually own the hospital that I work for."
"Oh, not at all. You have a reputation as being both brilliant and thinking outside of the box. I've also heard how far you go in finding out the truth and curing the patient." Lex smiled. "I've got a research facility that I'm setting up. I could supply you with all the money and assistants you'd like."
House bit into an all-organic, all-beef hot dog that was drizzled with a wavy line of perfect mustard. It had been grilled, not boiled, and as he bit into the piece of tubular meat surrounded by a grilled bun, there was a lovely feel as he broke the skin and tasted the meaty juices laced with smoke combined with the acid spice of the mustard. He chewed and swallowed, thinking that he might have another. "I might join if only for the hot dogs. However, I'm someone who's only interested if it's a challenge or somewhat unusual. Also I enjoy where I am right now."
"I know that you've done some rather unorthodox things to get results and just barely skirted becoming involved with the legal system because of that. I have a large battalion of top lawyers at my command so you can work the way you like, completely unfettered. If you would like to bring people along from your present work place, I'm sure I could accommodate them."
"Oh, Mr. Luthor, are you trying to seduce me?" snarked House.
It was then that a football hit one of the windows of the luxury box, shattered the glass and landed a few yards away from the pair. "What the . . ." said House.
A man dressed in what amounted to a body stocking of primary colors and a cape stood before them. "Luthor, are you all right?"
"You . . . You did that on purpose!" sputtered Lex.
"Maybe one of your enemies was trying to assassinate you?" said the superhero.
"With a football?"
"Maybe the wind . . ."
"People MIGHT believe a baseball could've reached here . . . but a football?"
Superman turned to House, who was continuing to eat the perfect hotdog and was watching the whole thing unfold with amusement, and said, "I suggest you stay away from Luthor. He's a bad influence!"
"Get out of my luxury box!" screamed Lex at Superman.
House smiled as the two continued to argue, went up to the cook, whose demeanor strongly suggested she had seen it all before multiple times, and got another scrumptious hot dog before he left the luxury box.
"Well, that was the most entertaining interview I've ever had. Oh, just between you and me, Lex Luthor and Superman are exes."
Wilson guffawed. "Are you serious?"
"The way they argue? The extremely unusual timing of the football destroying the window of our `little love nest' and the way they ignored my exit from the scene. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that puzzle. Also that body sock the flying man wears is a might too revealing. I decided to stay out of their little psychodrama."
"I wonder who's going to call on you next," said Wilson, shaking his head.
A delivery boy ran up to House and said, "Special Delivery for Dr. Gregory House."
House raised an eyebrow.
"Who is it from?" said Wilson.
"You're not going to believe it."
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