FASHIONED IN FANTASY

J. REVIERE

Fantasy invades everything. It gives us the ability to leap the barriers imposed by senses. It gives us flight above the glaciers of logic. Fantasy woven into thruth's fabric renders tolerable that which otherwise would be stifiling. Business life can be imposing. It can be a burden, a necessary evil, or woven with just the right amount of fantasy, the right fantasy.

The advertising campaign had been a fantasy. Fantasy had been successful. All the indicators said so. Sales had gone up steadily. Market talk was positive. Re- search studies indicated a posi- tive relationship between the series of advertisements depicting the well turned ankle and the photographically near near perfect foot seen in a series of the dain- tiest of slippers, to say naught of the dressiest of heels. There were no real questions. Particu- larly, there were no questions when money flowed. It was flowing.

Early on Tuesday morning the telephone was wrapped in a blanket. Yet the unstopable buzzing of the electronic ‘ringer'. muted and muffled, came through to Erik. Wakefulness followed. As the telephone was lifted, the well turned ankles, the photographically near per-

fect feet groped. At the bedside they found and slipped into a pair of fuzzy high heeled slippers "Hello", Eriks' voice was scratchy. Ordinarily every possi- ble effort would have been made to sound much differently. After but three hours of sleep, there was little patience in Erik. No effort was forthcoming. Erik simply did not feel up to it.

At the other end of the con- nection, Brady was already through half a box of the worst smelling cigars in the city. This affectation was real. His curt businesslike answer verified it. "Erik," he rasped in his brusk manner, "sales are still goin' up... Vogue is wanting a series..." he paused, but not long enough for Erik to speak. Continuing, with- out so much as an inquiry or pleasantry, Brady fired the words clipped and crisp: "They want a series with our new model for their new spring line... What'll we tell'em?"

Shaking head from side to side to clear away sleep's cobwebbs, Erik thought fast! This had start- ed out as a lark. Now it was get- ting serious. A lark no more, something had to be developed, Erik realized even though sleep still dimmed mental processes. At the office of Brady and Erik- son, Advertising Agency, the lark

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had begun. It had begun with a comment about Erik's "well turned foot and ankles." This had led to the first photo spreads In those spreads, designed to sell shoes, product lines had been featured adorning Erik's well turned ankles and near photo- graphically perfect feet. Erik had never dreamed the advertise- ments would sell shoes. Now, six months later, his partner was on the phone wanting him to pose for Vogue.

At first the notion of wearing ladies' things had been a kick. From early childhood till then, his fine features, his lithe grace- fulness and feminine fluidity had required deliberate masking with a shoe of masculinity in the "macho" businessman image Erik had been convinced was neces- sary. Now this! The last six months, Erik's every waking mo- ment had been wrapped up in this advertising campaign. It was producing some mega-bucks, too. Working hard to perfect the image in the hose and shoes, Erik had gradually and in private be- gun experimenting with more and more feminine finery. Erik had justified this, at first as ne- cessary to "get into the role". Gradually this justification had been unnecessary. The makings of preference had emerged and