Reinventing Lindsey

by Maggie Brown

  Daisy’s cheeks flushed and her fingernails began to scrape on the arm of the chair. “That’s a bit personal.”

  “I’m not trying to pry,” Lindsey said. “I just want to understand what the expectations are with sex nowadays.”

  “I never go to bed on the first date or the second. Kissing is fine. It depends after that on how much I like them.”

  Lindsey rocked back in her chair and regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re not actively looking for a permanent partner then.”

  “We’re all looking once we’re over twenty-five, Lindsey. Like all animals, a human’s psyche is programmed to procreate and nurture. It’s called the biological clock.”

  “But you’re not practising what you preach. You’re having sex and moving on.”

  Daisy gave an awkward little wriggle. “I’m not a damn nun.”

  Lindsey chuckled under her breath—by the glare Daisy was giving her, she’d managed to get under her skin. “But what you’re saying is rather ambivalent. You’re telling me to hold off until I’m comfortable with a relationship, but you jump into bed after a couple of dates.”

  “For shit sake, you’re making me sound like I shag all the time. I’m single and I believe in monogamy. If I like someone and we are going out, then yes, I’ll have sex. But I do not pick anyone up for a one-night stand.”

  “So, you haven’t met the man of your dreams yet.”

  Daisy looked as if she wanted to go for her jugular now. “That’s enough about me,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “This is about you. If you’re worried about sex, then don’t be. You’ll manage. Tell her you’re out of practice and she’ll take the lead.”

  “I hope it’s that easy. Perhaps you could show me how to go about initiating a goodnight kiss,” said Lindsey. When Daisy’s face flushed red, she added hastily, “I didn’t mean that you would have to actually kiss me, just…you know…give me a few pointers.”

  “I’ll put that on the agenda,” said Daisy with a hint of throatiness. “And tomorrow morning we’ll have dance lessons.”

  “Not necessary. I’m an accomplished ballroom dancer…my mother made sure of that.”

  “That’s not exactly the type I was referring to. More nightclub style—hip swinging and leg and arm movements in time with music. Five or six basic moves should be enough.”

  Lindsey blanched. “You expect me to dance at nightclubs?”

  “Believe it or not, Lindsey, women will be falling over themselves to dance with you. You’re wealthy, smart, classy, and the new girl on the block. As well as that, you’re mysterious.”

  Lindsey’s heart jumped. The last thing she wanted was to be in the limelight. “Look, I used to go to nightclubs at university. I really don’t think I’d like that scene now. I’ve…I’ve…” She flopped back in the chair, wishing she could just say it but it wasn’t any use. She couldn’t bear to see the look of revulsion on Daisy’s face.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let you go there until you’re ready. We’ll take it slow for a start. There’s no hurry…even if it takes a couple of months to get your confidence,” crooned Daisy reassuringly.

  “You don’t understand. I—”

  “Yes, I do. We all have our insecurities. I saw a funny video clip on Facebook the other day. An interviewer asked ten gorgeous-looking women if they were happy with how they looked. Not one was. Either their hair was too curly or too straight, their noses too long or too short, their boobs too big or too small et cetera, et cetera. It’s a rare woman who is perfectly happy with her appearance.”

  Lindsey bit her lip, deciding to let it go. Daisy was going to be here a while and, in the meantime, she’d figure out a way to tell her.

  “So,” said Daisy, “I’ve some literature that I’ve put together for you to read. It relates to the dating scene today, for things have moved quickly in the last fifteen years. It tabulates the modern fads, popular music and so on. Even though the bulk of your interaction should be face-to-face or by phone, women will text. Practise it. Be wary of sexting though. Do you know what that is?”

  Lindsey looked at her blankly. “Haven’t a clue.”

  “Sending dirty messages and explicit photos of yourself via your mobile.”

  “People do that?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s gross,” said Lindsey, rather scandalized.

  “It’s a no-no until you’re in an established relationship. Then you can do what you like but be careful. Those photos can be used for blackmail or revenge porn.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me on that score. It’ll never be my scene. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to see my private parts,” said Lindsey with a shudder.

  “You would have to get yourself a landing strip,” said Daisy, a spark of amusement in her eyes.

  Lindsey cleared her throat, her body prickling. “I guess I have a lot to learn,” she said then continued in a bright artificial voice. “There is one question I’ve been meaning to ask. What happens if more than one woman asks me out?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with going out on friendly dates with a variety of women. It’s a way of getting to know them. Eventually you will decide whom you want to see more seriously.” Daisy gave her an earnest look. “Just remember you don’t have to wait to be asked out. If you see someone you like, then you do the inviting.”

  “Okay…one last question. Is it likely I won’t be able to choose between two women?” She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “That is presuming there are two women out there who want me.”

  “True love of a pair bond is anchored in emotional exclusivity. It is a scientific fact that it is nearly impossible to love more than one person at a time.”

  “I never knew that,” Lindsey said, then added with a shrug. “Not that I’ve ever had cause to give it much thought.”

  “Don’t worry. All that’s about to change.” Daisy slipped a USB stick into her laptop. “Now, I’ve a video clip of disco dancing which we’ll practise tomorrow morning.”

  Lindsey sat back with a resigned sigh as a scene of a crowded club morphed onto the screen. For a few moments she stared silently at the crush of people dancing to fast loud music. Couples squeezed into every available space, gyrating wildly to the thumping beat and flashing lights. Her body started to hum as the memories came. Sneaking off with Kirsty to their favourite bar—vodka cocktails—dancing ’til they dropped. She had loved it.

  Then Daisy’s voice brought her back with a jolt. “Look at that dude in the leather pants. A deluded idiot, doing the typical mating dance that goes down like a lead balloon.”

  Lindsey leaned forward for a closer look. The man in question was thrusting his pelvis forward while wriggling his hips and waving arms in the air. “He looks constipated,” she commented dryly.

  Daisy chuckled. “You nailed it. Okay, now have a look at the bloke with the spiky hair and pink shirt. He has all the moves and the attention of everyone around him. See the difference…his movements are subtle and smooth. Take note of them. Basically, there are only six variations in his repertoire.”

  “What about slow dances?”

  “There’re a couple on the clip. Pretty much standard. Some couples dance with grace, while others drape themselves over each other.” She stood up. “I’ll make a start on the robot profiles and get out of your hair so you can watch this in peace.”

  “Right. I’ll see you in the dining room at noon. You can work in the lounge if you like. The décor should stimulate your creative thoughts.”

  Lindsey turned in her chair to watch Daisy walk out. Her head was starting to throb. Talk about a frank talk. She’d been out of circulation so long she was like a babe in the woods. It was a confusing dating world out there now. And what on earth was a landing strip?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Daisy woke up to the sun shining on the quilt and a constant beeping. After she switched off the phone alarm, she glanced at the time and date. Had it really been ten days since she moved into
the cottage? Time was flying by—it always did when she was enjoying herself. She and Lindsey had settled into an easy friendship. They had a teasing banter going, with a casual intimacy characteristic of those who have grown to like each other’s company.

  The only hitch—Lindsey was still guarded about being touched. The dance lessons had been a fizzer. Not only had she refused to cooperate, Lindsey had become so upset that Daisy caved in and postponed them to a later date.

  As she walked to the bathroom a familiar tapping caught her ear. On the windowsill, a peewee pecked at its reflection in the glass pane. It did it every morning until she shooed it away. She wondered if it would ever realize it wasn’t another bird, though she doubted it. It was a territorial thing in the breeding season—it saw a rival in the glass. Most everything in the animal kingdom was deep-seated. And humans were no different. Some clients repeated their mistake as the peewee kept doing, repeatedly choosing the same type of unsuitable partner.

  She wandered from the bedroom, stuck a mug under the coffee machine and popped a slice of bread into the toaster. After checking her email, she heaped a spoonful of sugar into the hot drink and slathered jam on the toast before settling down to organize the robot notes from the previous day. Her work had been fruitful—she had made significant inroads into the preliminary profile. She’d named the robot Stephen, which Lindsey, having been a fan of Stephen Hawking, thought suited him admirably. Daisy didn’t mention she’d called it after her grandad because the robot’s gait mirrored his arthritic walk.

  She and Lindsey had been on more dates, all low-key: the art gallery, a river cruise, a couple of sight-seeing road trips and yesterday they’d spent the afternoon strolling around a food fest on South Bank. Pleasant no-pressure excursions that Lindsey seemed to enjoy.

  At eleven, Daisy was leaving for the city to have lunch with her mother, something she normally loved. But not today. Allison had let slip when her mother rang the office that Daisy was temporarily living on the estate. Sheila had immediately phoned, requesting they meet at noon at their favourite restaurant. Daisy felt out of sorts about the invitation, aware she was going to be quizzed. She didn’t want to discuss Lindsey with anyone. It was an invasion of the woman’s privacy and she’d promised discretion. But she knew her mother would be hard to fob off. Crap!

  At ten, she put on a yellow sun frock, applied lip gloss, brushed her hair and slipped on her heels. After a fruitless search for her purse, she realized she’d left it at the main house the night before when she’d stayed for a nightcap. The side door was open when she drove around the corner, so she entered via those stairs. About to turn left to the lounge, she noticed the laboratory door was wide open at the end of the passageway. She chuckled. Typical Lindsey—couldn’t take a day off. With a jaunty step, she made a detour to say hello before she left.

  The female robot was flat on its back on the long stainless-steel workbench, minus the outside casing over its abdominal area. From where Daisy stood, the exposed mechanical parts seemed a mass of wires, cogs, and wheels. Lindsey was hunched over the table, repairing something under a curved plate that served as the rib cage. Fascinated, she edged closer for a better view. The greeting died in her throat when she slowly comprehended what she was seeing. Lindsey was soldering a cog to a thin piece of metal, holding the pieces together with suture forceps while she worked. But they weren’t an ordinary pair.

  The forceps were the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

  Daisy let out an involuntary, “What the fff…,” and just managed to bite off the last word when Lindsey’s head shot up. Her heart gave a huge thud as the flashing violet eyes met hers. She took an automatic step backwards. Lindsey looked horrified. Oh shit!

  “Hi, Lindsey,” she said, trying to sound light and casual. “I saw the door open. Sorry, I should have knocked I guess but…” Her voice trailed away. Best to shut up. She thought about a hasty retreat, but that wouldn’t solve a thing.

  “Get out, Daisy, and leave me alone.” The initial angry shock had faded out of Lindsey’s face. She slumped onto a chair beside the table and dropped her left arm out of sight.

  “No…I’m not going. We need to discuss this.”

  “Why? So you can see what a freak I really am?” Lindsey’s gaze dropped fixedly onto the floor.

  “What are you talking about? Having a prosthetic arm doesn’t make you a freak. Lots of people have artificial limbs.”

  “You know all about it, do you?” The bitter words were spat out.

  Daisy’s heart went out to her. God, how crap was this! “Our neighbour, Mr Beazley, lost his leg in Vietnam. It’s obviously not the same but it doesn’t seem to worry him.”

  “Why is it that you always have an answer for everything? Maybe you have one for this. How on earth do I tell a woman I have only one arm when she asks me to dance, let alone when she wants to go to bed with me?” Lindsey turned her head away and gulped. “I was a fool to think this would work.”

  With a few strides, Daisy rounded the table to kneel in front of her. “I don’t know who gave you the idea that good women are so shallow, but whoever told you that needs a swift kick up the backside. Many people have disabilities and live happy lives with understanding partners. My aunt had a breast off and my mother’s friend lost all her hair at fifty. One pads her bra and the other wears a wig. Both husbands are very supportive.” She gently took Lindsey’s right hand. “What I’m trying to say here, sweetie, is that it won’t be a major obstacle.”

  Visibly shaken, Lindsey was silent for a long moment before she muttered, “You don’t understand. There is no way I’ll be able to tell someone without having a meltdown. I’ve been seeing a therapist for years and I still go into a sweat just thinking about it.”

  “Right,” said Daisy, getting to her feet, her mind ticking over. “Then we must devise a way to let everyone know before we start going out to find a wife. And in a way that you’re going to be admired for it rather than pitied.”

  “How on earth are you going to do that?”

  “Don’t know yet, but I’ll think of a way,” said Daisy then continued with an encouraging smile. “Come on. Aren’t you going to tell me all about it?”

  “You’re not going to let up until I do, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  Lindsey gave a half-hearted shrug. “Why not. Here’s the abridged version. I was involved in a motorbike accident when I was twenty-one. We hit a truck and my left arm was completely crushed and almost severed. As well, I suffered two broken legs, a bleeding kidney, multiple abrasions and cuts. I was nearly two years in and out of hospitals having reconstruction surgery, skin grafts, and rehabilitation therapy.”

  “You poor thing,” whispered Daisy. “Was that why you decided to form your own company and go into this business?”

  “Yes, though it was a two-fold decision. I soon learnt there was an urgent need to bring prosthetics into the digital age and a real need to make them better cosmetically.”

  “May I see your arm?”

  Lindsey hesitated a moment before she thrust it toward her without a word. Daisy ran her hand lightly up to the elbow in awe of the artisanship. “Gosh, it’s superb. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was real.” She studied the hand curiously. “How do you get these prongs back?”

  Lindsey reached across and twisted the two knuckles. The two extensions retracted into her thumb and index finger, leaving no trace on the taut outer skin. “I thought I’d add them to save time and energy when working with delicate parts.”

  “Very clever. Is it a full prosthesis?”

  “Yes, the whole arm,” said Lindsey. “The ball at the end fits into the socket joint of my shoulder. The ball is fitted with a receiver that is electronically joined to a small computer with electrodes embedded in the motor and sensory lobes of my brain. It works a lot like a cochlea implant, though far more complex.”

  As Lindsey continued, Daisy felt her own tension slide away. She was pleased to see Lindse
y was becoming more relaxed as her explanation became more convoluted. Daisy didn’t interrupt, though her eyes were beginning to glaze over with all the technical jargon. Finally, there was silence and Lindsey said sheepishly, “Sorry. I got carried away. I hope I wasn’t boring you.”

  “No…no, of course not. It was absolutely fascinating. I am totally blown away. You’re bloody brilliant and I love how passionate you are about your work. I can see why you’re so highly regarded in your field. Maybe another day you might tell me more, but unfortunately I do have to go.” Regretfully, she pushed off the floor and dusted her knees. “Sorry, I wish I could stay but I’m going to be dreadfully late if I don’t leave immediately.”

  Lindsey swept her eyes over her. “You look very nice. Big date?”

  “Ha…I wish. I’m having lunch with my mother.”

  “Oh, have a good time then.”

  Something in the way the words were spoken made Daisy’s ears prick. Lindsey sounded disappointed she hadn’t been invited. She wished she could have brought her along, but that would have courted disaster. Her mother would have immediately presumed she was her genuine date and given her the third degree. Lindsey’s sexual orientation would have been out of the bag in two seconds. She’d toyed with the idea of letting Lindsey know, but she’d made a policy never to discuss her private life with clients. From their perspective, she should only be viewed as a means to an end. Or at the most, a friend.

  “I will. She always eats at the same restaurant and the food is incredible. Now I’d better collect my things and be on my way.”

  She turned towards the door, then swung back around and pecked Lindsey on the cheek. “Thanks for showing me,” she whispered.

  All the way to town, Daisy berated herself. She’d been as thick as a brick. She should have twigged long ago. All the signs were there: Lindsey’s aversion to touch, her refusal to dance, her fear of intimacy, and Bernice’s words “the loss of.” But the most obvious, her company made the damn things.

  There had to be something more to Lindsey’s story though. Surely losing a limb shouldn’t stay so traumatic after all those years. She would have thought people learnt to adapt, especially Lindsey who wore state-of-the-art technology. But then again, she had never been in that position so it would be wrong to trivialize the effect of such an injury. If she could hazard a guess, she would say something else was a barrier to the healing process and it was likely to have something to do with the mother. Then Lindsey had said we hit the truck, which meant there was someone else with her on the bike. Unfortunately, unless Lindsey chose to tell her she couldn’t pry.