A Riviera Fantasy

A Riviera Fantasy-The First Day
by Curt Wallace


"Peter, you've got to get down here as soon as that wretched conference is over!"

Such was the message that awaited me in my Paris hotel room. I had been covering an international econonomic conference for the past two weeks, and to put it mildly, the

experience had been less than exciting. My temporary salvation had been the food. Paris continues to set a most elegant table.

"This symposium promises to be ever so much fun, and there's one girl you'll just have

to meet. She will absolutely enthrall you!" The message was from Marion Jamison, a college classmate who had gone on to law school, and after a short stint with the government, had landed a job with a privately funded organization that supported people, especially women with disabilities. We had kept in touch for the last few years, as we made our way in the world, partly because we hit it off so naturally, but largely because I was completely fascinated by the fact that she had been born completely without hands. In spite of that seeming disadvantage, she was a brilliant class leader, and I had found her most attractive.

The economic conference was ending the next day, so it was easy enough to make a reservation on the overnight train to Cannes, and arrange a car rental to take me to the private estate where her symposium was being held.

I sent a quick, positive reply to the message, and within the hour, her response came back:

"I've reserved a room for you on the second floor. Hope that's all right. All the ground floor rooms were already taken. There will be someone to show you where to park.

Call me as soon as you get in. Can't wait 'til I see the expression on your face."

The rented Citroen pulled through the gates to the estate. There were signs in several languages, and as I moved up the gravel driveway, a very attractive young woman in a short skirted uniform waved me along. As I came closer, I was surprised to see that she was balanced very comfortably on one leg. She waved me through with both hands, and pointed to a shaded area down the hill. There, a similarly clad blonde indicated where I might park the car. When I had stopped, she hopped over on her one trim leg, and opened the car door.

"Welcome to the Life with Less symposium'" she said in French-flavored English.

"Someone will come for your bags, if you remove them from your car, please. Registration is at the desk just inside the doors." The smile was that pleasant, practiced smile that one finds in well turned-out professional people.

The heavy oak doors opened automatically as I entered, and a young man passed me hopping along behind a luggage cart toward my car.

The registration desk was marked with several temporary signs in a variety of languages. As I presented my identification, I was taken somewhat aback to see that the registrar was typing the information into the computer with the tips of her arms. She was most attractive, and although her arms were at most only ten inches long and required shoulder movement that caused her upper body to move in a most fascinating way, she finished the task quickly and returned my passport and presented me a room key, saying, "You'll find your room just at the top of the stairs. I'm sorry, this is a private estate, and there is no elevator." Once more the professional smile.

By the time I climbed the elegant winding staircase, my bags had already found their way to the door of my room.

Inside, I found a flyer listing times and various events. At the bottom, over a greeting from a Madame Beauchais, whom I took to be our hostess, was the statement:

Please come as you really are. If you have brought a wheelchair, or prosthetic of any kind, please leave it in your closet. This is a celebration of life, not hardware.

I could hardly imagine what might lay in store for me over the next few days. Suffice it to say that my dear friend Marion had most certainly hit upon the most sensitive nerve in my body.

I placed a call to her room. She answered almost immediately.

"Well, my dear, what do you think?"

"My Lord, Marion! This is fantastic. Where did the idea for this come from?"

"Easy, old man." she chortled. "I just thought this might put that dreary economic conference in its place. I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes and give you the whole rundown. Ta ta!"

I freshened up and descended the mahogony staircase. The lobby was nearly empty, except for Marion, who was seated at a small table near the windows. She beckoned me to join her. The morning sun shone into her green eyes, creating a sparkle that enhanced her smile.

"Is you room satisfactory?" she asked.

"Perfectly", I answered. "Gosh, it's good to see you again. It's been more than two years, and I really was wondering what you'd been up to all this time."

She caught the eye of a passing waitress.

"Let's get some coffee, and I'll give you the whole story."

It was no longer a shock when I realized that our waitress was missing a hand, and much of the other arm. Holding the ticket book against her waist, she wrote our order for two cafe au laits and brioches with an elegant pen held in the crook of her elbow.

"M'seurDame" she nodded sweetly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Madame Beauchais took me on just after I left the government," Marion began.

She explained how someone, as she put it, "well-placed" in the government had recommended her, partly because she was a good lawyer, particularly enthusiastic in cases involving people with disabilities, and partly because she was an attractive amputee herself.

"Everyone in her organization has fewer than the usual number of parts," she explained. "When you meet her, you'll understand a bit more. She was married to an industrialist who left her with just a huge inheritance, and she set up this private place for amputee women, a place to be comfortable with themselves, and enjoy each other's company. Some come here for the whole summer, some just for a weekend, and a few, like the staff, are permanent residents. She lives in a elegant cottage, just up the beach a bit. "

The watress brought our coffee and pastries, and arranged everything neatly before us. I watched as Marion picked up her cup. The sleeves of her business suit revealed about four inches of her forearms which tapered to soft rounded little ends, where wrists might have been. She raised her cup, and looked at me over its brim.

"Here's lookin' at you, kid," she toasted, doing a Bergman version rather than the classic Bogart. It was wonderful to see her again. She continued her explanation.

"This is her fourth annual international symposium, and I think you'll be delighted with the various special entertainments that are scheduled. Most of the crowd will be arriving this afternoon. So far, just a few have arrived. You'll probably see them out at the tennis courts or down at the beach, later. Oh yes, don't be shocked. This is topless beach country, so just relax my dear, and enjoy it."

Carefully, she pulled a substantial organizer from her brief case along with a cel phone.

"I do still have a lot to do here. As legal beagle, I 'm going to be stuck running checks on visitors, making sure that none of our guests is treated inappropriately. You probably noticed that when you arrived, all your data was already in place. That's the way it has to be here. Tip top security. I'm sure you can see why."

I could indeed.

"Aren't you worried that someone will hack into your cel phone?"

"Actually there's a secure line in the office for problem calls. I simply find it so much more pleasant here, for most of my work. Make yourself at home. Just be sure to wear your ID tag in plain sight. You'll stick out here like a sore thumb, being both male, and in full posession of all your limbs. Odd expression, sore thumb. I wonder what that feels like?"

With that she chuckled, and sent me off for the day.

"See you for coctail hour, sixish. I'll meet you in the lounge. Toodles."

I strolled around the grounds. The estate was marvelously well maintained. The gardens were extensive, with perfectly trimmed lawn pathways throughout. As I rounded one corner, I saw a young woman coming toward me, a large bunch of freshly cut roses in one arm, and with the other, she was propelling her nearly legless body in the direction of the main building, one hand-step at a time.

"For the tables," she explained, as she passed by. "Everything should really be nice this evening."

By mid-day, my stroll had taken me to the tennis court area, where dining tables had been arranged under brightly colored parasols, so that those who weren't at play could obtain refreshment.

There was a doubles match under way, so I found a chair, and settled in. A bright young waitress in a remarkably short skirt hopped to the table, and took my order of cold lobster, a light salad and champagne.

Turning my gaze to the court, I observed that the match between these young ladies in their tennis togs was made somewhat even by the number of limbs available on each side of the net. Each team had a one-legged player, and her partner would be missing some portion of an arm. The play was fast and most entertaining, especially when a one-legged girl was at the baseline, dashing about after well placed ground strokes.

I must have been so enthralled, watching these remarkable athletes, that I didn't notice that my waitress had hopped back from the kitchen with my lobster, and remarkably, hadn't spilled a drop of the Mumm's Cordon Rouge.

"Are you permanent here," I asked," or are you just for the symposium?"

"I'm on temporary status, " she responded, in very good english, "pending my rating approval. We must all pass a fairly rigorous exam to become permanent. Madame judges us on all the usual professional qualifications, plus how well we make use of whatever limbs we have, or have not. Actually, having the one leg isn't much help, because the highest ratings go to girls with much less, like Linda, over there. She's likely to do far better than I. "

Linda, a trim brunette, was setting a table some distance away. She was not only balanced on one shapely leg, but was arranging the silver and glassware with little nubs of elbows.

"I must hurry in now, the crowd is starting to arrive."

A variety of vehicles had been depositing their passengers at the main building, a few more cars parked in the shady lot, and the Estate van arrived with a half dozen more from the airport. .

Across the hedge, I tried to estimate the number of women arriving, as they walked, hopped, shuffled, or otherwise made their way to the doorway. My best guess was about fifty, apparently from every continent save Antactica. I ventured to the side of the lobby, where one of the attendants gave me a very suspicious glance, until she spied my identification card.

"You are a guest of Madamoiselle Jamison," she said.

"Yes, " I replied, "how did you know that?"

"The ID is color coded. Most of our guests don't require further validation, but we need to be careful. You do understand?"

"Yes, of course."

Each guest checked in, and then made her way to her reserved room. Shortly, a very distraught voice was clearly evident in the hubbub.

"There must be some mistake!" The voice had a clearly midwestern American twang.

" I mean really! I clearly asked for a room on the first floor. You can see for yourself, why I requested it!" The registrar leaned foreward, over the desk, and looked down.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'm, came the reply, but the person who took your reservation

was probably thinking in the European way, and therefore thought main floor, first floor and so on. I'll do what I can, but we are completely booked up. I know it's rather contrary to the spirit of the symposium, but perhaps someone can assist you up the stairs."

"Oh never mind," came the response. "I'll manage somehow. " With that, a woman with short curly red hair, apparently legless, and with arms perhaps four or five inches long, turned and shuffled over to the long staircase, her tiny arms moving through the air like some kind of windmill. With some effort, she worked her way up onto one step, then the next.

"Go on up, Sally," she said to a cute blonde hopping up the stair beside her, " Get the things unpacked, I'll be up in a few minutes."

I was wondering if this was the girl that Marion had mentioned. It was hard not to notice what a splendid little body she had, as she squirmed and wriggled to get from one step to the next. My urge to assist her was very strong, but yet I realized that under the circumstances, any such move on my part would be totally inappropriate, and would cause great embarrassment both to the young lady, and to myself.

As I watched the guests register, I was taken by the variety of shortened or missing limbs there were. Some ladies were only missing a hand or foot, some had the classic phocomelia that we came to recognize during the early Thalidomide years, and a few like the red-head who was making her way up the stairs, were perfectly complete with only traces of limbs. Some arrived in wheel chairs, but got out of their conveyances at the entryway, and entered on their own, as an attendant returned the chair to a vehicle.

For the most part, they were well-dressed. Most wore some form of sportswear, tailored to let the wearer make the most of whatever limbs she had. While about half of the registrants signed in by hand, the remainder presented their autographs with a raised foot, or with the pen held between stumps, shoulder and cheek, or with the mouth.

As the crowd began to thin, I stepped into the lounge and at the bar, ordered a gin and tonic. The woman behind the bar had just a small fingerless palm in place of one hand, and the other arm ended with a nub below the elbow. Still, she skillfully prepared my drink, and asked if there would be anything else. I was curious about the evenings welcoming dinner, and asked her What it would be like.

"Well, if it's anything like last year," she said , with what I took to be an eastern European accent, "There will be a couple of welcoming speeches, as the meal starts,

with maybe some sort of exhibition, but then after the supper, Madame will make the official welcome. Have you met her? The Madame?"

I said I had not, but heard that she was a remarkable woman, and referenced the quality of the estate, and the polish of the organization.

"You're quite right. You may be a bit shocked when you see her. Nevertheless, she is a very strong person, and the reason why we're all here."

I made my way to the beach, where a number of the guests were relaxing in the sun, before what promised to be an extraordinary evening.

Marion had reminded me that this was a part of the world where women are comfortable without tops for their bathing attire, and here, where the only males in sight were the beach umbrella attendant and I, the guests of the symposium were very much at ease, taking a bit of afternoon sun. There were, perhaps twenty or so guests

on the beach, a few hopping in and out of the surf, or hand-walking along it's edge.

As I settled on a bench overlooking this fascinating scene, I became aware of a beautifully bronzed brunette at the Kiosk to my left.

"No, thank you, non, merci, I can manage. It just takes a little time for me to arrange two drinks so that I can pick them both up."

As I watched, the woman, balancing on her one leg, and completely armless, positioned two soft drinks at the edge of the kiosk counter. Then standing on tip toe, and thrusting her chest foreward, she hunched her armless shoulders, and lifted the drinks between her bonzed breasts. She then turned, smiled at me and slowly and carefully began to hop. I was amazed that she spilled hardly a drop, as she stepped along on one leg, the stump of the other moving erratically, helping her keep her balance. She hopped back to a towel on the beach, where another woman, a young blonde, was sitting waiting for her.

I continued to watch, as she slowly lowered herself onto the towel, and saw her associate take the nearest cup with her teeth. She took a long sip, then leaned down and placed the cup before her in the sand. The brunette followed suit, but replaced the cup in her talanted cleavage between sips.

Everwhere on the beach, similar activities were taking place. An impromptu game of catch with a rolled up T-shirt was delightful to watch, as one dark-skinned young player gave yet an additional meaning to the word topless. Another woman, with only short stumps of legs, carried her drink back from the Kiosk, walking on her hands, with the drink carried high in the air between her leg stumps. It was with some regret that I realized that I had only a short time to freshen up before I was to meet Marion in the lounge. I headed back to my room.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I wondered about the little redhead and how she would manage the steps for the remainig days of the symposium. As I approached my room, the door across the hall was open, and I could see the red-head and her blonde roommate . While I didn't pause to listen, I could hear the phrase, "of course I'm going to do the stairs alone. ...that's what this is all about, that's why we came here!"

At four o'clock, I stepped into the lounge where Marion was seated in a back corner,

poking away at a laptop with the ends of her arms.

"Hi!" she said, and waved me to a seat beside her. " You wouldn't believe the work there's still to do on this thing," she said, "but that can wait."

We ordered drinks.

"Did you get out to the beach?"

I said that I had, and described the curous episode with the brunette and her soft drinks.

"That must have been Noreen," she said. "She's doing one of the sessions. Here, look over the schedule, see when it is."

The symposium schedule listed the various days' events. They seemed to be organized into activities especially for those with missing arms, and those with missing legs, as well as a few of of general application.

The missing leg classes included: Toward a Graceful Gait...Hopping To it At the Office...Sports...Hiking...Long Strides on Short Stumps, and Legless Balance, among others. I started to scan the missing arm groups which included: Household Hints ...Office Skills, and so forth, when my eye saw a listing: " For the completely armless, a technique to use your womanly attributes to advantage. For girls over 14 only."

Marion said: "That's her class. Talk to her. Maybe she'll let you sit in!"

The look on my face drew the appropriate reponse. Marion laughed, "I told you this symposium would make you forget that economic conference."

Marion knew me better than I was willing to admit.

"Who's that redhead who had to struggle up the steps her room, without any legs and just little short arms. Was that a mistake in room assignments or what?"

"No, that was a calculation. Madame Beauchais saw her application, and decided that she might be one of the real role models for this place, and wanted to see how she'd handle the situation. I missed the scene. How'd she do?"

"She seemed a little miffed, but took it pretty well, I thought. She's very attractive.

Is she the one you mentioned in your note?"

"No. I've never met her. How did she do the stairs?"

"It took her a while, but she made it."

"Good. She'll get faster. She's used to doing everything from a wheelchair. Her folks are very protective, and she really wanted to see what she could do on her own."

"Is all that in the application?"

"Nope. That's part of my job, too. Confidential investigation. That's why I get paid the rediculously high salary I do. Look, I've got a bunch more to do, and they're ringing the dinner bel, go on in and get seated. There aren't any seating arrangements, just go find a nice group and introduce yourself. I'll be along after while."

The dining room was very large, with crystal chandeliers, elegantly draped windows, and had a little platform set up along one side, with a lectern and some chairs. The room was about half full, with guests entering fom the lobby and lounge.

As I entered the room, I saw the redhead and her roommate, already seated at a small table to my right. I introduced myself, explaining my relationship with Marion, and asked if I might join them.

"You're right across the hall, aren't you?" The blonde asked.

She had deep blue eyes, that regarded me with some curiosity and caution. She was dressed in a low-cut silk dress, with a necklace of tiny pearls. A single silken-clad leg sported a calf-skin medium heel. Her roommate was in a shimmering green outfit, with a halter top that showed off her creamy white shoulders, and tapered little arms.

"Yes," I replied, looking at the red-head. "How do you like your room?"

"The room's fine," she said, "if you like stairs. I'm sorry, my name's Jackie O'Boyle, and my roommate is Sally Fenner. We're from Ohio."

"What do you think of this place?" I asked.

"Really, what a beautiful place this is." Sally answered," When we decided to come, and were wondering whether it would be worth the plane fare, and then not having my other leg, or Jackie, her chair, we were really having second thoughts. I helped her on the plane, but once we got here, we had to be self-sufficient."

"And then when we found out we were upstairs," Jackie chimed in, "it really had me going." The waitress poured wine for us. "Something happened, though, as I reached the top step of those stairs, all on my own. I realized for the first time in my life, that even with no legs, and not much in the way of arms, I was a complete person, who was independent, and that I wasn't some useless basket case that had to be a drain on society. That's what's so wonderful about this place. Here's a toast to Madame What's Her Name!"

With that, she tipped foreward against the edge of the table, and coaxed the wine glass into her grasp. LIfting our glasses, Sally and I joined the toast to The Madame.

The opening addresses had begun, and we listened to them carefully, noting where and when the various activities would take place. As the last speaker, a woman wearing sparkeling stump boots, descended from the platform, our meals appeared before us.

"OK...good luck," Jackie said, " No artificial arms, no cuffs with a spoon attached, just plain me. Mama, if you could see your daughter now! You guys go ahead, I'll figure this out,"

Sally and I began to eat, doing our best not to stare at our hapless tablemate. After a few minutes, Jackie got the fork between the ends of her arms, and was, with some interesting twists and turns, getting respectable portions of food to her mouth.

"Well, it looks like I won't starve," she said. "Now let's see. If you think I'm going to let that marvelous steak go to waste, you've got another think coming."

She poked her fork into one edge of the steak, and steadied the handle with her teeth. Then, with intense concentration she squeezed the steak knife tightly between her arms, and painfully slowly, one stroke, then another, until she had managed to cut through the steak.

"I think that deserves another toast," I said, and Sally agreed.

"I can't toast with my mouth full!" Jacky managed, and a trusting friendship was established there and then that lasted for the remaining days of the symposium.

The room lights dimmed somewhat, and our attention was directed to the platform.

From the drapes behind the lectern, an astonishing figure appeared.

Her jet black hair was drawn back, and a diamond encrusted tiara crowned a remarkably beautiful face. Her hair fell down to the sides of her body, revealing an upper torso that had no trace of arms, nor even a hint of shoulders. What little fabric there was above her waist, was dancing with jewels that sparkled in the beam of the spotlights. The audience drew a collective gasp, the fell silent.

Reaching out from this fabric were her two proud breasts, held upward, as if they were her arms, welcoming the guests to her estate. Below the breasts, there was a short black silk bodice that needed to fall a short distance, because this woman was not only completely armless, but legless, as well.

Slowly, with head erect, and chest thrust foreward, she moved her weight onto her left hip. Turning a bit, she then moved foreward onto her right hip. With extraordinary dignity, a few inches at a time, she came up the short ramp to the microphone.

"Welcome to the Fourth Annual Life with Less Symposium."

Every one of the guests stood, to the degree that they could, and filled the room with applause.

"The purpose, as we know, is to realize the absolute most from our bodies. The more limited we may seem to be, the more we must expect from ourselves."

She spoke on, in a most sonorous voice, touched with a pleasant French accent.

"We have gathered here experts in all manner of things that we must learn to accomplish, no matter how unlikely or unexpected. We are the ones who can and must change society's attitude, by giving the world the best possible examples of who we are, and what we can learn to do. When you see me, as I am, reaching out to you as I do, please make the effort within each of yourselves, to make your own world that much better."

She thanked the guests for coming, recognized the efforts of the various volunteers, and staff, and suggested that we should adjurn to the ballroom.

The adjoining ballroom was decorated in deep blue velvet, with gold trim. On a raised dias at the far end, a five piece orchestra was just tuning up.

"I'm just not interested in watching a bunch of girls dancing with each other," said Jackie, as she scuttled along the floor. "I wonder what they're up to now?"

Her question was soon answered, as an announcement came from the dias.

"Ladies, make yourselves comfortable in the chairs and sofas along the sides of the room. Coffee or tea and dessert will be served in a few minutes, but our very special treat tonight, are the famous dances devised by none other than The Belle Monopede, herself, more than fifty years ago. Our dancers tonight will perform, as best as we can reconstruct them, the dance routines, as they were performed by our spiritual ancestor, so very long ago."

As the lights dimmed at the dias, spotlights came up on a full length portrait of that famous danseuse, and the curtains parted, and we were treated to several exciting presentations by a single legged performer, all done with a grace and style that one might deem impossible on two limbs, let alone on one.

"Sally, can you do that stuff?" asked Jackie, as the program continued to a ballet presentation involving three monopedes.

"No, no way," came the reply, "but I that I see how the're doing it, I think I could I could at least try to learn. I think it would be the neatest thing to be able to dance like that."

And so the evening came to an end, and we started back to our rooms. We made our

way slowly up the stairs, keeping pace with Jacky as she pulled her upper body to the next step, then swung her hips up, as if it were now the most natural thing in the world.

"So this is the first day'" I thought to myself. "One wonders what tomorrow could bring."

As we reached our rooms, Jackie stopped and gave me a wave with one little arm.

"I'd invite you in for a nightcap," she said smiling, "but I'm really beat. Besides, I've got this roommate, and she probably wouldn't approve."

With much laughter, we said good night.

"Indeed," I thought, "what tomorrow could bring."