Denise LeBlanc wondered if she was being unduly disingenuous. She was using a ploy once again which she had perfected in her effort to meet men. It was such a thrill to be flirted with, romanced, and just treated normally by men who typically would not even think of trying to pick up a disabled woman. Oh, Denise always insisted on paying for her own drinks and meals here at the Garden Patch Restaurant; she would not disappoint anyone AND make them buy! But, thrills and excitement aside, Denise somehow felt less and less comfortable doing what she was up to again tonight. But...just once more, she decided...strictly for fun.
The bar area in the Garden Patch was not too crowded yet. Friday traffic would pick up shortly. Denise was situated in her favorite spot, in a corner booth close to the bar. Floor-length white linen covered the tables and Denise knew that, in the eye of a casual visitor, she looked like a very pretty unaccompanied blonde. She winked at Betty, her accomplice, behind the bar. Betty thought the whole scheme was hilarious because she was gay and pretty much hated men all around. Betty was a good ally who made strong drinks and kept Denise's crutches out of sight by the ice machine.
Denise fiddled with her Palm Pilot while she waited for the waitress to bring her first vodka soda. She had several appointments with sales people the following week and she had not prepared for any of them yet. Oh well...another early Monday morning on the horizon! Several of the salesmen who called on Denise were single and attractive, but her status as head of merchandising for a large furniture chain and her crutches had dissuaded all of them from asking her out. The Garden Patch was not frequented by anyone Denise worked with and she hoped it stayed that way.
Denise's mind kept wandering back to Bart. Bart: the postman, and Denise's sometimes-lover in the afternoon at her apartment. Bart, who was the first "devotee" Denise had ever bedded, and who was really quite a good lover. But Denise knew that Bart made love to her so passionately largely because she was disabled, and he was pretty shallow as well. He filled a need, though, and Denise distinctly enjoyed his attentions.
Just as she let her mind begin to be swept away by Bart's lovemaking Denise was shocked back to reality by the entrance of a very unusual couple. A man around 50 or so walked into the bar accompanied by a sensational-looking redhead. The woman was at least 10 years his junior and wore a low-cut black cocktail dress. On her right leg was a full-length metal brace. Not a sports medicine-type brace, Denise noted. This was a steel-and-leather othotic brace with white leather and with inserts fitted into the heel of an old-fashioned-looking orthopedic shoe. Yes, Denise thought, this brace was a throwback to the polio era.
Denise watched the couple as they surveyed the room and then made their way to a table several feet away. The woman with the brace walked awkwardly, taking small steps and leaning slightly left with each step to move her right leg forward. Denise looked closely at the woman's braced leg. The calf muscle was well-developed and firm and her ankle was well-defined and pretty. The realization hit Denise quickly: this woman was a pretender! From her investigation of "devotee" sites on the internet Denise knew that there were people who pretended to be disabled, either to please their lovers or because they were, themselves, "wannabes." Wannabes were people who had a compelling desire to actually be handicapped, and used disability paraphernalia and appliances to accomplish their fantasies.
Denise's first reaction was revulsion. Who was this broad to pretend to be the disabled woman that Denise actually was? Did she not understand the life-long difficulty of not being able to walk? Of being stared at or pitied? How did she dare impersonate a handicapped woman?
The redhead unlocked her brace and sat down. Denise noted that she was easily able to raise her braced leg on its own power to get into the booth—another giveaway! Just then Sandi, the waitress brought Denise's drink. Denise looked at Betty behind the bar, who had a quizzical look on her face, nodding to the man and the redhead now comfortably in their booth. Denise rolled her eyes and subtly shook her head. Betty didn't understand this, but was quickly distracted by another server who needed drinks for the restaurant. She turned to the task at hand.
It was obvious to Denise that the man was infatuated with his pretender. His attentiveness and her response were reminiscent of teenagers on a first date. Her emotions upon seeing the leg brace were still swirling. Denise thought about Bart again. Maybe she should take him more seriously. Maybe a man who appreciated a great crippled leg was not such a problem after all.
Thinking of Bart again, Denise was distracted by a tall, athletic-looking man who entered the bar. He had graying temples and languid green eyes, and Denise caught her breath. She waited for the beautiful woman she knew must be just behind him, but that woman did not appear. Instead, the man proceeded to the bar and took a seat on one of the empty stools. Betty came over to her new patron and took his order. She glanced at Denise, who was riveted by this unaccompanied hunk as she fixed and served what appeared to be a scotch rocks to the man.
As Denise watched, the man at the bar began to survey the room. She was to his right, within easy view, and soon enough he turned to her. There was not a doubt that his eyes registered interest when he saw Denise. She made eye contact with him just briefly, then went back to surveying her Palm Pilot as nonchalantly as possible. It didn't take long; within five minutes the man slid off the barstool and made his way to Denise's table.
"Hi," said the green-eyed man with the scotch in his hand.
"Hi, yourself," returned Denise.
"Are you waiting for someone?"
