It was the third door down. Lee knocked. The wheezing sound came from the elevator again, the door rattled shut and the groaning of the mechanism started. Lee rubbed the moisture off his palms against the rough fabric of his trousers. The lock rattled and the door opened.

"Oh, Mr. Bryant? I'm Ted Thorsen."

"How do you do?" Lee managed to mumble. The handshake was brief but very warm and hard.

"Sit down." Thorsen indicated a worn easy chair.

washing my hair, but that's all right."

"You were expecting me? I wrote to you...

"Sure. You bet. It's OK, don't worry. Now let's see... you were interested in some prints-right?"

"Yes.'"

"Fine." Thorsen went to a closet and brought back a large manila envelope. "Here we are. All poses, all angles. Good prints too-if I do say so. Friend of mine took them."

Thorsen perched on an arm of the chair and began handing him the photographs. The pictures were mainly full length, but some were torsoes or close-ups of arms and shoulders. In each the muscles stood out hard, rounded, gleaming under the smooth, dark, lightly oiled skin. "This is good of the pectorals," Thorsen put in. "These are mainly over-all development. These are bicep shots. These are back and shoulder things. I think you can see that they show all the developments most guys are interested in. You can get the thigh work pretty well from the full length poses. You been lifting long?"

"No. Uh... I've just started."

"Wanted to see what could be done, huh?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Well, these will show you. Stand up a minute.'

"

Lee stood hesitantly. Thorsen passed his hands over Lee's slender body. "Good frame. Lots of bulk to pack in there but you'll do OK."

"Well, what do you think of them?"

"They're fine. Very fine. But... well . . . I don't know.'

"I have some others you might be more interested in." Thorsen crossed to a dresser, and, delving under a pile of clothes, brought out another envelope. The ones you just saw were studio things-pretty standard. These are outdoor shots."

Thorsen put in Lee's lap, one by one, pictures of himself, in vigorous poses along a line of surf, atop a dune, among a tumble of striated rocks, in a piney dell. No amatenr snaps, each was composed most artfully to show off the enormous virility of the young man. Each had a clean, idyllic quality about it-as if a Greek youth, fresh from the Olympics, had been surprised in a completely natural, absolutely beautiful posture. A couple of the prints had a second figure, another young man much like Thorsen. One shot was of the two of them, arms about each other's shoulders, facing smilingly into the camera.

"Who's the other fellow?" Lee held his voice as steady as he could, but it still had an odd, indistinct sound.

"My best friend. Grant and I took off one spring while we were in school-just ditched the books and spent a week at the beach." Now it was Thorsen's voice that changed, turning husky and soft, losing the former heartiness. "We just bundled up some stuff and threw it into the jeep one afternoon in May and took off. Slept under the stars. Cooked over an open fire. Swam, hiked, fished, loafed. Never felt so good in my life. I'm thankful often I started body building early, but that was the time I was most glad. Grant felt the same way. Meeting nature head on-kind of skin to skin, you know?"

Thorsen was silent for a while. Lee looked at each photograph again, turning from one to the next with a strange mixture of reluctance and eagerness. His imagination whirled on what Thorsen had told him and spun out the story of the whole week. A moving montage of sunlit, starlit, firelit scenes traveled across Lee's mind. This is the answer, he thought, the answer to that grimy memory of idiotic quarrels in crowded bars. At length he pulled himself away from the pulsing daydream to ask a question.

"How did you get the ones of both of you together?"

"Set the camera on a tripod. Set it for time. Worked out pretty well."

"You-you sell these too?"

Thorsen didn't reply immediately. Then he gave an edgy little laugh. "Sometimes. I still have the negatives, of course. Kind of hate to do it in a way, though. It's like letting go of a really fond memory, you know? Usually I can hardly wait to get some more printed up."

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder. How much do you want for these?"

"Well... for you... twenty-five, I guess. I don't show these to everybody."

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