Leanne

Off Time

“Isabella!” came in loudly from the front door.
“I’m up here in bed”, she called back.

She could hear Tom taking the stairs two at a time and suddenly it seemed like he’d come home too soon, instead of three days later than she’d expected. Isabella rhythmically tapped the screen to smooth the covers. She needed to compose herself. She didn’t want him to be angry at her for having had such a stupid accident.

“It’s the middle of the day. What are you doing in bed?” asked Tom as he leant over to airbrush her forehead with a kiss. Seeing his well bred wife gave him such intense satisfaction. She was a reflection of his talent as much as of her own.

“What’s happened to you?” he asked again as he straightened up and sat down on the bed. “Stop tapping the screen,” he chided.
“I’m just straightening the covers. Don’t mess them up and don’t laugh at me either”, she said in reply.
“Why are you? What have you done…? asked Tom

“I’m fine”, she said.

“That’s not what I asked my love” he said. “Just tell me what I’m not supposed to laugh at. And stop it – the covers are perfect!”

It was never easy finding the right grafts for a woman as beautiful as Isabella, but that was the joy of it for Tom. When Isabella got sick of wearing glasses he’d pored over downloads for 17 months to find a pair of non modified almond shaped cornflower blue eyes. The colour was predetermined by Isabella’s own natural colour. The shape had revealed itself to him slowly as he traveled across the globe scrutinising cultivated offsprings’ eyes. Tom realised over that time that he needed matching eyelids if the transplant was going to be worth it. Isabella had been lucky that way. Tom was an aesthete with enough money to indulge both of their tastes. They were a great match. And they were in love – such an old world outmoded luxury.

Three years ago as a surprise for Christmas Tom had bid in a twelve hour frenzy for the hands of 19 year old virtuoso Nadya Lim, simply because Isabella had said in passing that she wished she could play the piano. Poor Nadya had died in a head on collision and no amount of fame or money could keep you off the donor register if you were born in a Grow zone. Isabella’s wedding ring hadn’t needed resizing, and if she ever decided to take up piano she could span an octave no problem at all. She loved it how her life always seemed to work out now.

“I’m fine darling. I was just waiting for you to get home before I went into Off Time so I could tell you why I was resting.” Pointing at the release tube she said “So pass me my drip n trip ….”

“Hold on, hold on”, Tom interrupted. “You haven’t told me what happened yet.” Tom pulled back the covers to check that everything looked alright.

“Cover Up”, she said waspishly to the screen.

“Look just tell me what happened”, said Tom. “And if you tap that screen one more time I’ll break your hand and get you an arthritic three fingered one instead.”

“Empty threats from a man like you”, countered Isabella. “But anyway – I fell over at tennis on Tuesday. The court was all slippery from the rain and I was running forward to return the serve and badaboombadabam! Landed really badly. Bruised my arse, hurt my wrist, but my hands are ok. And I wrecked my ankle. Dr Lowe came straight over. The x-ray’s on the dresser.” Isabella pointed past the drip ‘n trip kit to a large envelope beneath her mirror.

Reaching over Tom shook his head. “Babe, I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, but you know the court wasn’t wet. It’s all in your head when you and H play tennis. He’s not real. The rain’s not real. You can’t fall over if you’re not even standing up to play the game.”

“Look – how ever it happened, it happened Mr No Imagination. I fell, I broke my ankle, I need a new foot. One foot, two feet, a matching pair – I don’t care – you decide. I only need it for mobility – you’re the one with the foot fetish and the eye fetish and the flawless wife fetish. I just need a body that works. And I really need some rest. There’s no point being conscious if all I’ve got to do is worry about the pas de deuxs I won’t be executing anymore is there? Pass the d&t please my love. And promise you won’t wake me until you’ve found the perfect fit.”

“Of course not Belle”, said Tom. He leant in to approximate a kiss on the lips and made a mental note to check them later for lines. Pursing them around words like ‘unimaginative’ and ‘fetid foot’ was cause for concern.

Three months later and Tom knew he’d hit the jackpot. Here in front of him was a perfect size 37, unblemished, delicate looking left foot. It was still intact – owner and all. The skin was milky white, with no darkening of veins bulging to the surface. No patches of hard skin on or under the foot. Tom couldn’t believe how many vendors were oblivious to details like elongated or stubby digits, hair in places it shouldn’t be, split nails, cracked heels, scars from warts and other injuries. The foot in front of him was the very first flawless sample he’d been shown. Isabella would be as happy with this foot as he was. It was just a shame that the owner didn’t want to sell the pair.

Tom reached into his breast coat pocket for his Morrocan cigarette case holder. The case had been in his family for 12 generations and it was a constant reminder of how precious rare olden times possessions and notions were. He tapped out a cigarette ready to start negotiations. He started to lean back with the confidence of the rich and free born but froze mid extension as he was suddenly struck by the beauty of the owner/occupier.

Nadia was an amazing looking Muscovite with the limbs of a thoroughbred. Green eyes, long hair, 182 cm tall and the beauty of youth. A visage so perfect that now that Tom was looking at her he forgot momentarily which part he wanted for his wife. Nadia’s lips were perfect, maybe he could have those too? Her hair was amazing and her expression so innocent. He knew he couldn’t buy that for Isabella. He was falling headlong for the second time ever.

It was funny – Isabella’s name had been Nadia too. It was the most popular name on the farmer’s children register. Well – for daughters at least. Tom had nearly erased that part of Belle’s life out of his memory. He’d almost forgotten that he’d come to a meeting similar to this one about twelve years ago with the object of procuring a nose for his wife Jane. He’d looked at Isabella’s nostrils, tapped the cartilage for density, inspected the nasal hair on the inside and the condition of the skin on the outside. When he was satisfied that this was the nose Jane had to have he’d pulled his gaze back from the centre of Isabella’s face to look her in the eye and start negotiations. He was as startled then as he was now with the beauty absolute that sat before him.

Isabella didn’t need mobility in Off Time and Tom could see her there any time he liked. Maya would be the perfect name for a goddess like Nadia.