Alan leaned across the table and asked to see the paper once again. The clatter of plates and silverware surrounded them, the rattle and bang of pots in the kitchen adding to the clamor. Lin's Chinese restaurant had been the refuge they sought after sitting in the courtroom for three hours. Brandon handed over the folder and Alan gazed down at his name on the page.

The emancipation had been the easiest part. Alan's father made an ass of himself in front of the court saying he didn't want the no good boy anyway. The rant he began about the boy being an abomination to God was cut short, the judge had heard about enough. He signed that paper with a flourish, glad he could do something for the young man. And when Alan's father walked out there was a general sigh in the courtroom.

The guardianship was another matter. Brandon had been a resident only a short time, he had no really close ties to the community. The lawyer explained what was about to happen in Alan's career; the both of them would be traveling extensively. The judge looked at the modeling contract, unsigned for the moment and viewed the financial records Brandon offered.

But it was Alan who sold the deal. The judge gazed kindly at the boy standing before the bench and listened to his story. The room was silent as Alan told of the kindness he'd received, the medical attention, the clothing, and shelter...all points in Brandon's favor.

"I tried to kill myself, Your Honor, but God wouldn't let me succeed. He had other plans, and showed me the way when He brought Brandon into my life. I pray for that man every night, and I will never think so foolishly again. I don't need to."

The sincerity of the boy's words tipped the scales of justice and the judge signed the guardianship documents. It was an unusual situation; single men did not take on this role very often. But the boy had formed a bond here, and the judge was reluctant to beak it.

The judge didn't bat an eyelash when the lawyer also presented him with a request for a restraining order to keep the father away; he understood what that was all about.

"Now we can sign that contract," Alan said.

"Yes, now we're on the road to success," Brandon agreed. "So finish your lunch, we need to go shopping."

The men's department at Macy's was about the best they could do down here, Theresa would outfit the boy her way once they arrived in New York. Brandon had Alan try on several suit coats before selecting the dark blue with tiny pinstripes. Alan was at a loss, he'd never felt so dressed up ... so grand.

"Get used to it," Brandon said. "Most of the clothes you'll get from now on will be freebies; everyone will want you to wear their brand."

"I won't have to live in suits will I?"

"No, at your age a casual look is the expected, but you'll need the suit for meetings and such. Come on, we have some photos to take. Theresa will be mad if I don't get you in those outdoorsy shots."

He thought of getting Alan to take off his shirt but then demurred. Soon enough someone would pay to see his abs; he didn't need to have them hanging around on his laptop. Besides, fall was upon them, the wind was blowing and it was a bit cool for something like that.

They got home, walked into the woods behind the house and Brandon raised his camera. Two hours later he was done, the battery low and his eyes smarting from the cold and wind of the approaching storm. Alan had done nothing unusual, just being himself. Brandon had allowed the boy to get a feel for being photographed without direction. The kid was a natural, the results proved it.

He loaded the disk into his computer and sat back, starting at the beginning. The texture of the trees, the color of swirling leaves, all of nature's glory was muted by the boy himself. Windblown wisps of blonde hair across his face could not dim the sparkle in his eyes or that impish grin. He looked at home among the trees; out in the wilds of nature ... Theresa would be pleased.

Alan sat beside him and talked about the photos. He began to say what he had been thinking at the time, describing the thoughts that formed the foundation of his expression. It was a great way to see what inspired the boy, a tool Brandon could use later on.

They came to the final photos and Brandon had to smile. He'd been asked and allowed Alan to photograph the photographer. It was the first time he had seen himself through the boy's eyes. Like Alan, his hair had been blown about, whipping his face as the storm came closer.

"You're so handsome," Alan said. "I don't have any photos of you, can we print them out?"

Brandon hit the button and the printer stirred to life. Alan took the prints as they arrived, holding them carefully by the edges. He smiled. "I was gonna tell that judge that I would kill myself if he didn't let me stay with you, that would have been foolish."

Brandon reached over and caressed Alan's cheek. "Those days are over, you know that. We have faith in each other now. Do you miss going to church?"

Alan shook his head. "I can't go back to those people, they don't know my God. Maybe someday we'll find some people that don't teach about hate, people we can trust ... then I'll go back to church."

Brandon felt his emotions stir. "You told the judge you still pray for me ... why?"

"I pray we'll always be together, I pray God will accept the way I love you."

"You understand God better than anyone else I know, sweetie. I hope your prayers are answered."

"They are, I can feel it," Alan said.

Four days later Brandon watched the boy's lips move in prayer as their jet took off from the Raleigh airport bound for New York. Alan had never flown before and despite telling the boy to think of it as a bus ride the poor kid was nervous as hell. Brandon didn't need any further proof than the fingers that dug into the back of his hand on the adjoining armrest.

Finally they reached cruising altitude and Alan stared out the window with amazement. He took a cola from the stewardess while Brandon chose water. Their seats were in first class; Theresa never treated him any other way. And soon they were out over the ocean on approach to LaGuardia.

Alan's first glimpse of the city was a moment Brandon would treasure; the boy was in awe of the buildings and the large number of people on the streets. The limo driver had been waiting in the airport lobby. The name on his sign was Alan's, a cute touch and so very much like Theresa.

For Brandon the ride through the city and down Park Avenue to the Regency was familiar. Theresa was telling them to get used to it, the life of a star awaited. Despite the look of awe, Alan looked every bit like he belonged here in that new suit. A point not lost on Brandon by the looks he saw the boy get as they crossed the lobby.

People looked because of something they didn't know. Was this someone famous? Maybe they would remember Alan when they finally saw his face appear in the media. Today he was nobody special to anyone but Brandon.

Their suite was outrageously huge, sitting room, dining room and kitchenette included. What they would do here was sleep and nothing more. The city was out there, a place Brandon knew he had to share with Alan. Soon the poor kid wouldn't be able to walk down the street by himself.

The phone rang half an hour after they arrived, Brandon took the call and hug up in less than minute. "Theresa is on her way up," he announced.

One look told him that Alan was ready to meet her. The suit coat was off, draped over a nearby chair and the boy went for it.

"No, you don't have to wear it for her ... she'll see the real you," Brandon said.

"Sure? I want to make a good first impression," Alan said.

"I have every confidence in you, just relax."

Brandon answered the knock and Theresa blew into the room like a breath of fresh air. They hugged and then she turned to gaze at Alan. He walked over and put out his hand. Theresa took it and pulled him close for one of her trademark hugs.

"My ... let me look at you," she said. Alan stood back and smiled as Theresa studied his face, his hands and his torso. "I haven't seen a face this fresh in twenty years," she declared.

That was quite a compliment from a woman who had filled the pages of dozens of fashion magazines with her clients. Her fame in this town was legendary; Brandon knew he had been lucky to get on her list. She was known as a fighter, the one person you wanted on your side when contracts were passed around.

She led Alan over to a couch and they sat while Brandon called room service for a pot of tea. Theresa was also an activist; railing against the low wages paid the back woods coffee growers in South America. Now she wouldn't even touch the stuff, even thought Brandon knew that the tea farmers probably had the same issues.

"How do you like New York so far?" She asked the boy.

"It's all pretty amazing, I never saw so many people in one place before." Alan replied.

"Yes, it's the price we pay for being such an important center of commerce. Has Brandon told you what's in store for you the next few weeks?"

"Yes, pretty much. He said to just relax and find time to breathe."

Theresa chuckled. "He's right, we move pretty fast once we get going. Tomorrow you're going to meet a man that wants to hire you for that wonderful smile you have. He sells toothpaste so of course you understand why."

"Brandon bought me a tube, it tastes good," Alan said.

"Fine, then you already recognize the brand. Brand identification is important because soon people will see your smiling face and identify it with that brand. You'll have thousands, no ... millions of housewives buying that toothpaste hoping their kids will have a smile just like yours. See how it works?"

"Yes ... does it work? I mean is it a good product?" Alan asked.

"Sure, the government regulates products very closely. They all prevent decay and between you and me, I think they're all about the same. But you are going to be paid very nicely to make everyone think this one is the best."

"OK, I can do that," Alan said.

"Bet you can, and that's only the beginning. Exposure like this will have my phone ringing off the hook, I assure you. We are not going to give anyone an exclusive contract for your services; you'll be able to represent other brands. Brandon will take over the modeling sessions so he'll always be there to advise you.

"A lot of people will be asking you things; you just stop and think before you answer. We don't want you to be controversial right away." She patted Alan's hand. "And don't worry about the gay thing. We're not going to tell anyone and Brandon will keep an eye on you."

"Thank you," Alan said. "I'm just gonna take it one day at a time."

"Absolutely, that's the best way," Theresa said. "Now Brandon and I are going to talk business, would you like to sit with us?"

"Yes, he said I should learn from all this, it's important."

"You keep listening to Brandon, he won't steer you wrong," Theresa said.

They sat at the dining room table and laid out the contracts. Brandon produced a copy of the guardianship order and the signed contract. Theresa added her own name to the bottom and Alan was officially represented by the agency.

Other documents included Brandon's role in photography, the banking source to be used for deposits and a list of potential clients Theresa had worked up. She was full out on this one and glanced up at Alan.

"I'm taking your photos to some really fine companies, Alan. Clothing is a fine option for you, of course shoes and jewelry included. Do you play any sports?"

Alan shook his head. "I worked on a farm most of my life."

She studied his face. "You drive a truck?"

"Yes ... several kinds actually."

"Might go with cars, trucks ... lawn equipment. That's a difficult market until you get some face recognition. I don't want to sell you short, Alan. Your rural background isn't an issue in ninety percent of America, but the urban market gets most of the sales pitches. Let me think about it."

"Yes ma'am," Alan replied.

Theresa smiled. "He sure does have that country boy charm; just make sure he doesn't lose it."

Brandon laughed. "I wouldn't worry about that. I don't think these people here will ever break through that wall."

"We might think about getting him a vocal coach. The southern accent is good, but he might need to flatten out a bit for some clients."

"What's that mean?" Alan asked.

"It means you can be taught to speak a more neutral form of American English," Theresa explained. "One with less of a twang, something less recognizable as southern. It's not very hard, it will only change the way you say certain words when you read a script."

"You mean I have to act too?"

"Acting in commercials is only a form of reading something sincerely. You tried the toothpaste, what you said about it was fine." She picked up her notepad and wrote a few lines and handed Alan the pad. "Now read this to me like you mean it."

Alan looked down at the page and spoke the words. "Zinger toothpaste leaves my mouth minty fresh. I really really like it."

"Now look at me and sell me on how you feel," Theresa said.

Alan looked at her, his face went blank and then he smiled. "Zinger toothpaste leaves my mouth minty fresh, I really really like it."

"Yeah, you can do it. That was very good," Theresa said.

"I never heard of Zinger toothpaste before," Alan said.

"I made that up," Theresa chuckled.

"Oh." Alan laughed. "You got me on that one. We don't get to pick the brand name; we just have to sell it."

"You're gonna have my job someday aren't you? Smart guy, you'll go far," Theresa said.

Theresa left them alone, promising to see them at ten the following morning. They had a lunch date with the client and his advertising staff. She left as fast as she came in and Alan laughed.

"Wow, she's something else ... I like her."

"She won't do anything you don't like ... and if she does she'll tell you about it first," Brandon said with a laugh. He picked up an envelope Theresa had left quietly on the table and handed it to Alan.

"What's this?" Alan asked.

"Open it, you'll see."

Alan opened the flap and pulled out a stack of twenty dollar bills. "Wow ... this is a lot of money." He saw the card and turned it over. He smiled as he read the words Theresa had written. "Go out and see the town before they get to know you, my treat."

Brandon smiled; it was just like her to do something like this. Alan counted the bills and held them out. "I can't hold on to this, its a thousand dollars."

"She wants you to have it, but if it makes you nervous I'll hold on to it for you. I expect it's her way of saying have a good time."

"I really like her, she didn't have to do that," Alan said.

"Yeah, now we can go have tour of the city. Do you want to go out for dinner? Are you tired?"

"I want a shower and then we can go eat if you want," Alan said.

"Yes ... a shower sounds fine ... you first," Brandon smiled. Alan left to begin the task of hanging his clothes in the closet, returning two minutes later with a towel around his waist.

"Have you seen the bathroom? There's no shower curtain, what do I do?"

Brandon followed him back to the bathroom and looked at the facilities. He smiled because it was unusual.

"All the water goes right down that drain, you don't need a curtain."

"Wow, this takes some getting used to," Alan laughed. "Now where's the knob for the water?"

Brandon showed him the lever that turned left and right, hot or cold. He pulled gently on the lever and water started to spray. "You got it now?"

"Yeah, I guess. If I flood the hotel it's your fault," Alan laughed.

Brandon left him and went in to choose some clothing for their adventure. They would have to dress up again if they ate at the hotel, but both of them needed to let their hair down a bit and relax. The front desk would have some suggestions for a casual meal, he could ask down there. The city was pretty intimidating if you didn't know your way around, remembering his first time up here.

Alan appeared in the bedroom a few minutes later wrapped in the towel and looked at the clothes Brandon had chosen. "What, no ties?"

"Naw, we'll find a small place that likes real people, you up for that?"

"Sure, can we eat Italian food?"

"Yes, good choice. New York is famous for Italian. You dress while I shower."

Brandon took off his shirt and pants, hanging them in the closet. He turned back to find Alan staring. "Are we gonna share this room?" he asked.

"I didn't think about it, it has two beds, but I'm sure there is another bedroom."

"No, that's fine ... we never did this before," Alan said.

"Sleeping in the same room is different than sleeping together. Sure you're OK with this?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Brandon knew he had to leave before Alan dropped that towel so he hurried out. Suddenly the boy was being modest, or was he worried he might see something he shouldn't? He had never dressed in front of the boy, or undressed for that matter. Flashing his equipment would send the wrong message, a tease Alan didn't need to endure.

He showered and wrapped himself in the towel. Fortunately Alan wasn't in the bedroom so he dropped the towel and put on clean underwear, slacks and the shirt. He carried his shoes out to the living room and saw Alan standing at the windows.

"Why do all these people want to live in one place ... its too crowded for me."

"They work here, play here and I bet most of them don't even have a driver's license," Brandon said. "You don't need a car, where would you park it?"

"How do we get to the restaurant, not in that limo I hope?" Alan asked.

"Taxi stand is right out front."

They asked at the desk and got the name of a restaurant, the woman assured them the taxi driver would know the place and he did. Alan had never met the likes of a New York cabbie, this one was from India. He drove like they were in a race against time, changing lanes every few hundred feet and dodging potholes.

The whole time the man kept up this conversation with Alan about his sister's family who lived in Fayetteville down home. His English was excellent; it was the accent that made him hard to understand.

Brandon sat back and smiled until he saw the meter running. God, this was costing a fortune. They reached the restaurant with most of their funds still intact and Brandon gave Sanjay a nice tip. He offered to hang around, but Brandon wasn't sure how long dinner would take.

The Italian place looked like a movie set right out of the Godfather. Benito's Ristorante the sign said. A bright young man met them at the door and smiled, welcoming them inside. It was early, and most of the tables were empty. New Yorkers seemed to prefer eating fashionably late.

The menu had everything neatly listed but Alan didn't even look. "Lasagna," he said. Brandon had the chicken and their waiter was off to the kitchen.

"How would you like to visit Italy someday, Alan?"

"Me? Um, I guess, I've never been anywhere."

"We'll be able to afford travel like that, vacation just about anywhere you want to see," Brandon said.

"I don't know, what will we do with all that money? You'll have to help me decide how to spend it."

"Of course I will. I think seeing the world would be a great education for you."

Dinner was excellent, the restaurant a good choice. The ride back to the hotel was filled with wonder as the city was even more impressive at night. Alan stood at the window of their living room and gazed out at the lights. Brandon went around the room and turned off most of the lamps.

Alan was just a simple farm boy at heart Brandon knew. All this had to be wonderful and yet frightening, at least that's the way he would have felt. He would have to stay close the next few days to give the boy comfort.

The hustle of commercial studios was legendary but Alan would find a place for himself. He would be the star, the focus of so much attention it would numb his mind. Yes, Brandon knew he would have to stay close.

They had an appointment at ten with Theresa and then the luncheon; it was time to call it a day.

"Alan, I think we need to go to bed," Brandon said.

Alan yawned. "I was just thinking that ... you tired?"

"Yes, too much excitement for one day ... I need my beauty sleep."

He joined Alan at the windows, the lights and Central Park gave the view such depth ... a panorama of such elegance. Dark shapes of buildings all lit up inside...the city that never sleeps. A flash of lightning lit up the distance and a few scattered raindrops hit the windows.

"We won't have to live here all the time will we?" Alan asked. "I mean being famous is OK, but will that change us?"

Brandon stood behind the boy and put his arms around Alan's waist. "We'll have to go where they send us, sweetie ... but home will always be North Carolina. It's in your blood and all the fame in the world can't take that away from you."

Alan turned his head for a kiss and their lips met. Slowly Alan turned his body and pressed the kiss harder until Brandon pulled back. He gazed into the boy's eyes.

"No matter where we are ... I'll still love you," he said.

Alan smiled. "I love you ... " And again he yawned ... then giggled. "Oh, how romantic I am, sorry."

"Big day tomorrow, let's go to bed," Brandon said.

They shared the bathroom, brushing their teeth with the client's toothpaste. Brandon ran his tongue around his teeth after he rinsed.

"You really like this stuff?" He asked.

"Eh ... I've had better. But for money, it's the best I ever had," Alan laughed.

Brandon smiled. "That's probably the best attitude. This business is hard enough without having to lie all the time about the product. You done?"

Alan nodded and headed back to the bedroom. "Which bed is mine?"

"Your choice, which one do you want," Brandon asked.

"Yours," was the reply.

"I'll take this one," Brandon said. "You may sleep over there."

He gave Alan a kiss and pulled back before the boy could make it anything stronger.

"Now sleep, tomorrow will be quite a day ... Good Night."

"Night," Alan said.

They retired to their respective corners and began to undress. Brandon could feel the boy's eyes upon him as he took off his shirt and pants, laying them across the dressing chair. He really wanted to watch Alan as well, but he didn't want to start any unacceptable feelings.

He pulled back the covers and slid into the queen sized bed before glancing over at Alan. The boy smiled at him and got into bed. Brandon reached over and turned out the light. The room was plunged onto darkness except for the faint glow of the nightlight in the bathroom.

Brandon lay back, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He knew Alan was watching him, he could feel the eyes only eight feet away. The boy would soon tire and sleep ... they both had to, tomorrow they would begin the game.

The commercial advertising industry was one big game. Everyone's product was better than the other guy's when in reality they were all the same. Fresh faces were sought to attract, and sometimes deceive the customers. Alan would become one of those faces. Brandon felt the urge to just take the boy and runaway from this madness, but it would be a career killer and Alan deserved a break.

His fifteen minutes of fame in the spotlight could turn into years ... until the next face came along. That time would make him rich ... rich enough to move on with life and put all the suffering behind. Alan needed time to heal and this work would certainly distract him from the past.

Thirteen months, twenty-three days and ... damn, the boy had him counting down as well. But it was worth the wait ... Alan was everything he had ever wanted ... ever desired. It was hard for them both, the object of desire so close at hand and yet ... they were handling it well ... succeeding. The goal was there, and the prize ... ? Alan was priceless ... love could set no price.

Brandon heard Alan's breathing slow, the rhythm of sleep embracing his body. He rolled over and gazed at the form lying there ... the boy was facing him. Even in the dim light he could see all that beauty. God, he was a lucky man ... maybe there was a God. He wondered if Alan had said his prayers tonight ... and then his eyes closed.

Sleep ... the body's time of rest and recovery, a time to rebuild and refresh ... nature's most perfect plan. A time to dream, to work out a seemingly endless string of thoughts, for the human mind never ceases to function even as the body rests.

Brandon had accepted the feelings he'd been having during those early years...they finally had a name. Being gay wasn't the worst curve life could throw at him; he could have been born blind and dumb. Maybe it would have been better that way, for then he wouldn't have heard all the criticism or had to watch his father's rants.

All the sneaking around behind his parent's backs, and then finally being caught. That had been a fight ... a real knock down drag out battle with the Old Man. But he'd had enough of the crap, he was gay and nothing was going to change that. His father had whipped him enough as a child. But Brandon wasn't going to accept being punished for his desires.

That afternoon at the shop, he'd taken the first blow and then lost it. He was only fourteen but he had fought like a man, breaking his father's nose in the process. They both stood back panting and huffing, glaring at one another and the blood ... but the fight was over.

Brandon had been working out at the school gym, lifting weights at a friend's several times a week. He was a match for his father by then and he had bested the Old Man. He wasn't gonna take it anymore, and now he had proved that point. His father left the shop, slamming the door and damn near breaking the glass. But that slam had ended one phase of Brandon's life ... he would control the next one.

High school began and Brandon dated boys, but he never brought them home. His father and he circled one another for months after the fight and that attitude persisted for years. Their silence only grew deeper and neither of them seemed ready to repair the damage. His mother stood in awe of her young boy, knowing full well that Brandon had won his point.

The love he sought was elusive ... at points in his life non-existent. But he found warmth and sexual progress with several boys his age and more than a few older. He could understand Alan's feelings; it was just too hard to accept that he had once been that way himself. For to do that he would lose this battle ... the one that really counted the most in life right now.

Brandon felt the warmth as if in a dream. Someone was close, close enough for their bodies to share heat and it aroused him. The arousal finally sunk into his consciousness and he started awake. Alan was pressed against his back, an arm thrown over his chest.

No, this couldn't happen ... it wasn't right. But even as he thought that he knew he was helpless to change the wonderful feeling. Alan needed him, this only re-enforced that thought. The boy was off in a strange world, he was seeking comfort and this was his way of acting out. At some point he had crawled in this bed and cuddled, maybe he had been only half awake.

Brandon listened to the boy breathe and closed his eyes. He wanted to roll over and give Alan a hug, pull him close and allow their passions to reign. But that would be a total surrender, something he wasn't capable of doing. Time would tell, not now ... but probably a lot sooner than he was ready to accept.

The light had changed, the morning sun streaming through the sheer curtains of the bedroom. Brandon stirred and rolled over. Alan was still in his bed, facing away but still mere inches away. He glanced at the nightstand and saw the clock ... six-forty five. The wake up call would come soon, seven he'd told the front desk.

He wanted to reach out, to touch the boy. Alan would be embarrassed by his trespass ... but that was fine. It had been innocent he was sure; the boy had never been devious before. Fifteen minutes ... not enough time to sleep, he should get up. Alan beat him to it.

The boy rolled over and smiled. "You just wake up?"

"Yeah, I missed the warmth you provided. Get lonely last night?"

Alan blushed. "Yeah, sorry ... it's this strange place, I got frightened. I didn't mean to startle you ... is this OK?"

Brandon reached over and took the boy in his arms. It took a minute for him to register the hardness pressed against his stomach. OK, Alan was like that every morning, it didn't mean anything.

Alan giggled. "Remember, this was your idea. You know me ... sorry."

"I thought a telephone pole was poking me ... damn, you sure are big down there," Brandon laughed, and they both shared the joke.

Alan snuggled close, his erection never subsided and Brandon tried his best to ignore it. At seven the phone rang, their wake up call. Brandon rolled over and picked up the receiver, hanging up as the automated voice advised him of the time.

Too late, Alan had scooted up against his back, prodding him in the backside ... and right on target. Alan laughed as Brandon scooted off the bed and turned to fight back. He grabbed Alan's cock and squeezed. The boy jumped away, held back by the hand on his appendage.

"Fight with this and you might just lose it," Brandon challenged. "You won't need it for work; we can always stuff a sock in your jockstrap."

Alan grinned. "Just hold on for a minute longer and I'll piss the bed."

"Eww, I do not want to see that," Brandon said, letting go of his prize.

Alan hopped out of bed and made for the bathroom. Brandon sat down on the mattress and realized he had held the boy's cock. His hand had not even covered the length, damn the kid was hung. He heard the toilet flush and Alan returned, his erection half gone but still obvious.

"I'll shower while you shave," Alan suggested. "Do I have to do anything special with my hair?"

"No ... Theresa has people for that. I imagine you'll get the treatment before we meet the clients. Wanna look your best you know, so we wear the suits again."

Alan dropped his shorts right there and strode off to the bathroom. OK, something had changed, Brandon could tell. The modesty was out the window, or was he showing off? It felt like a game and the boy had thrown the ball in his court.

Brandon went in to the sink and tried to ignore the boy standing under the spray only six feet away. He began to shave and looked up in the mirror; the angle gave him a perfect view of Alan. And it was like watching a porno movie.

Alan had shampooed his hair, the rinse trickling down his back and sliding through the cleft of his ass. It could only be described as sensual. God, that image would sell a lot of shampoo in the gay world. Brandon almost laughed aloud at the thought.

He enjoyed the private show as Alan moved on to soaping his body. All too soon the shave was done ... should he shower? They were both aware of the other, it didn't seem to matter. Brandon dropped his shorts and walked into the spray. Alan smiled and offered him the shampoo.

It was while he rinsed the suds from his hair that Brandon felt the boy's touch. A soapy wash cloth began to scrub his back, slowly working in circles. His mind flooded with warm emotion, this was such a tender moment. Alan was offering him something physical to show his love. Brandon placed his hands on the wall and leaned forward, allowing the boy his chance.

"Don't you get turned on by this ... you said we don't have the time," Alan laughed.

"Hmm, you do that so well ... I may never shower alone again."

"Well considering your tub at home barely holds one person that's a no go."

"We shall renovate immediately," Brandon said.

They finished the shower without mishap and dressed. Alan wanted breakfast but Brandon assured him Theresa would take care of that. Her studio always set out a buffet for the talent every morning. They rode the elevator down and walked through the lobby ... the limo driver was waiting.

Thirty minutes later, and that was fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, they arrived at the Stanford complex. Theresa had taken an old warehouse and made it into a playhouse for the beautiful people she represented. There were lounges, complete with couches, wide screen televisions and computers set up throughout every floor of the building. The commissary was on the second floor and that's where Brandon led them.

Alan was stunned as a special order chef took his order for an omelet. Brandon skipped that and went for the fruit bar, adding whole wheat toast to his plate. A waiter brought them coffee and milk after they sat down. There were several other occupied tables and Alan glanced at the woman sitting near the glass wall.

"I've seen here before," he remarked.

"You'll see lots of familiar faces around here, Theresa represents a lot of major models," Brandon said. "That's Denise Rogers; I shot her photos last year for a charity gig."

"Models do charity work like movie stars?" Alan asked.

"Absolutely, its good publicity and something you can do with some of your money before the government gets its hands in your wallet. Do you have a charity in mind?"

"No, not really. Maybe orphans ... or better, gay youth," Alan said.

"Hmm, we'll ask Theresa what she thinks. You have a noble heart, sweetie."

An administrative assistant came through the door and looked around. She spotted them and came right over to the table.

"Mr. Bennett, Mr. Clark ... um, Brandon ... I'm Lucy Briggs. Theresa has assigned me to your production team."

They both stood and shook hands with the bright young woman. Lucy could have been a model herself Brandon knew. But he'd met her before on several occasions and knew differently. She was one of Theresa's bright young business stars from NYU.

"Theresa is running a bit late," Lucy said, "so I thought we could tour the studio and introduce Mr. Bennett around."

"Lucy," Alan said. "Could you call me Alan, please?"

She smiled. "Certainly ... Alan it is. I want you to be comfortable here. We'll go through wardrobe and the styling departments, makeup and finishing. You need to meet the designers so they can outfit and plan some of the polish we give our models. Everything is in the details."

She handed Brandon a binder, the storyboard Metro designers had put together.

"All that for a toothpaste commercial?" Alan asked.

Lucy smiled. "Yes, Alan. The photos will show your torso and face, teeth and hands ... it's all there in the book, Brandon can show you. So hows about a smile for me?"

Alan gave her a winning smile and Lucy smiled back. "Yes, you have what it takes. Theresa said you were one in a million, she's always right."

"Thank you," Alan said, blushing from ear to ear. "I'm glad you work with me, you'll have to teach me everything."

"Good, I like curious boys. I'll try and explain everything you want to know, but Brandon is vastly more experienced at this than I am. So finish up your breakfast and I'll come back for you in say ... fifteen minutes?"

"That will be fine," Brandon said.

"Gosh, she's pretty," Alan said after Lucy left the room.

"Advertising seems to attract the beautiful and talented ... you're here aren't you?"

"Aww, I'm not all that. I wonder why she doesn't model," Alan said

"Some people prefer the business side, it's a great challenge ... just look at Theresa," Brandon replied. "That one woman started this whole thing like thirty years ago, she's got quite an empire now ... and all of it is focused on you today."

Alan smiled, but it looked insincere. "I'm nervous, Brandon."

"Nerves are OK. Just relax, these people are all professionals, they know how to make it look easy. You'll be with me all the time, I won't leave you alone."

"So why all those departments ... stylist ... wardrobe? Are they gonna change the way I look?" Alan asked.

"No, it's all touch up work. Theresa likes the way you look, but they'll make you look perfect. Not a hair out of place, a little makeup to keep the shine off your nose ... details is what these people do."

"Then you photograph me ... are we starting today?"

"Prelims ... preliminary shots to follow the storyboard. For this it can't be more than two pages."

Brandon opened the binder and Alan saw just two pages. One was a layout of a bathroom setting ... sink, mirror, a door ... but it was only a partial room. There were two photos of the set he would stand in. The other showed a drawing of a boy brushing his teeth and the words that would appear in the printed ad.

"I don't say anything ... just stand there and brush?"

"Yup, that's it," Brandon said. "We'll shoot it a few times this morning, get approval at our meeting and do the final tomorrow. The art department will put it all together and if it works we're done with the ad. Then we'll do the publicity stuff about you as their model on Thursday, some shots for the press releases and by Friday we can go home."

"Wow, that's fast," Alan said.

"Time is money. Did you look at that contract Theresa showed you?"

"Yeah, it was confusing."

"Well for three days work you'll be paid close to twenty-five thousand dollars. Not bad for a beginner ... and this is only the beginning. Within six months you'll be making three or four times that."

"Really? I didn't know it was so much. Just for my photos?" Alan looked shocked. It probably seemed like a lot of money.

"You're worth every penny and more," Brandon said. "Finish up; we have some teeth to brush."

They both laughed, and then Lucy returned. She led them down the hall and they took the elevator to the fourth floor.

"This is wardrobe," Lucy explained. "We already have your pajama shirt for the shots, but they'll want to take some measurements for their records. Next time we may have to outfit you from head to toe."

Lucy and Brandon stood back as a pair of women approached. They took Alan's suit coat and hung it on a rack. The tape measures flew, one measuring and one recording every inch in a book. Alan's shoes were measured and discussed. His hands were placed flat on a page and traced out in case he ever needed gloves.

A man approached and took Alan behind a modesty panel. He removed his pants and more measurements were taken. Finally that phase was done and one of the women produced a box with his name on it.

In it was a simple pajama shirt which he had to try on before the preliminary shots were taken. The shirt was a bit tight across the chest and the woman slit the back of the shirt and laid tape across the opening so that the fit looked relaxed. No one would ever see the back anyway.

That done they went downstairs to the stylist and Lucy carried the box. The place looked like a posh hair salon, exactly what it was. A woman took Alan to one of the chairs and sat him down. A well dressed man walked over and shook Brandon's hand.

"Brandon, so good to see you. Is this the new talent we've heard so much about? Perfect, simply perfect."

"Hello, Carlos ... yes, this is Alan, Theresa's latest discovery," Brandon said, giving the boy a wink. There was no need to tell Alan that Carlos was gay, a blind man couldn't have missed it.

"Alan ... delighted to make your acquaintance."Did you shampoo this morning? Condition?" Carlos proceeded to give Alan a lesson in proper hair care. His hand flew about the boy's head, moving a wisp of hair here and there, discussing styles. Again Lucy and Brandon watched from the sidelines.

Carlos did make a few changes, but only after Alan agreed. The man was a master of styling elegance, and he showed the boy what a few light touch ups could do for the overall look.

Alan watched in the mirror as Carlos used a straight razor to remove the stray hair here and there, take off some of the split ends Brandon had begun to notice, and generally improve the shape of the boy's head. The effect was noticeable yet not dramatic, a perfect styling job.

Carlos gave Alan's hand an affectionate squeeze and winked at Brandon. OK, maybe the man thought something was up there, but he was wrong. Lucy took them to makeup and Alan met Brenda.

Brenda Jacobs was a delight, something rare in most of this business. Brandon knew she had worked in films and stage makeup for years. And now past retirement age, Theresa had brought the woman back to work because she had the magic touch. No one could come close to her subtle skills with a brush and that made her Theresa's secret weapon.

Brenda took one look at Alan and declared him the handsomest man she had ever seen. Alan blushed ten shades of scarlet and then laughed with her about it. The makeup session was over in about ten minutes. The boy had flawless skin she declared, nothing for her to do but tone down a few spots. Alan gave her a hug and it was Brenda's turn to blush, the boy had made her day.

Theresa had three studios, each independent of one another and occupying the entire first floor of the building. Open all the folding walls and some major film company could film an epic in here if they wanted to. She often joked that the Jets football team called every year to ask if they could rent it out for practice.

But the equipment was top notch and Brandon never bothered to bring a single piece of his own for the work. They had the tiny set placed on a wall in Studio B, the lighting arranged much as Brandon himself would have placed it. He greeted Todd and Matt, the two wranglers who controlled the place.

"Wow, this is huge," Alan said aloud.

"Yeah, we rolled the airplanes out of here just for your shoot," Matt joked.

Alan laughed, immediately endearing himself to the man. Brandon had heard that joke a dozen times, but it made the point. They had an hour tops and so Brandon set to work. All Alan had to do was stand in place for the moment.

The mirror and the sink were both real, and situated to fit the needs of the storyboard. There was a table set up beside the sink with six toothbrushes of varying colors and several tubes of the client's paste. Alan saw cups of water, several hand towels and an empty basin. Lucy saw him looking and explained these were known as his props.

Matt and Todd made the lighting adjustments and Brandon was ready to take a few shots. The digital equipment would immediately download the shots to the computer. Alan stood still as Brandon explained the method he would use.

Alan would place a small amount of paste on the toothbrush, dip it in a cup of water and pretend to brush his teeth. The tube of paste would be held in his left hand, the client's logo clearly showing for the camera. If he did get the paste in his mouth they would stop, allow him to rinse, dry off with the towel and begin again. He was to spit in the basin not the sink; it wasn't even connected to the plumbing.

They mimed the action several times without the paste as Brandon coached Alan through the movements he was to take. Lucy helped the boy don the pajama shirt and then they went for the real thing. Through the lens, Brandon saw the mirror and the boy's reflection, behind him a section of wall and the door.

"OK, Alan ... nice and easy. Brush up ... smile ... and pause."

Brandon had held the shutter release down, long enough to capture a dozen images for the trial. Alan was told to relax and drink some water if he wished. Brandon went over to the monitor and Todd played back the images. One after the other, Alan's face appeared, the brush coming up, logo clearly defined, the smile and ... it ended.

Brandon reviewed the last four with Lucy. "Looks good, but his mouth looks dry," Lucy said.

"Agreed," Brandon said.

They had Alan drink a bit of water and swish it around in his mouth before spitting in the basin. They ran the sequence again ... and again ... and again. Only then was Brandon satisfied, Lucy agreed.

Alan watched Brandon select six photos which were transferred to a flash card and backed up on a storage disk. Matt and Todd shook hands all around and shut the lights down. Brandon took the flash with him as they left. Lucy escorted them to the elevators and they rode to the top floor.

Theresa's office was a gallery of faces covering the walls and a large arrangement of comfortable furniture. Her glass topped desk held nothing but a computer monitor, the largest one Alan had ever seen.

"Alan ... Brand, so glad to see you ... how did it go?"

"Perfectly fine. As usual your staff is on top of everything," Brandon said.

Lucy took a seat and smiled at the compliment. Brandon handed Theresa the flash drive and she inserted it into a port on the side of her monitor. She motioned for them to come around and view the photos with her.

The screen was huge, and Alan almost gasped as his picture appeared. Theresa scrolled through the six photos and clapped her hands.

"Bravo, this will do it." Turning to Alan she smiled. "Which one do you like best, Alan?"

She scrolled through them again and Alan pointed at one. "That one," he said.

Theresa nodded. "That's probably the very best of them. You have the right smile and a real twinkle in your eye." She touched his arm and leaned close to the boy's ear. "What were you thinking? Something put that gleam in your eyes ... tell me," Theresa whispered.

Alan smiled and whispered something back to her. Theresa smiled and said, "Yes, that would do it for me too. Bravo, this has been a wonderful accomplishment on your first day."

Brandon was dying to know what the boy had said but knew he would be told later. Theresa entertained them for a while and then it was time to go meet the clients for lunch. Alan reached for his suit coat but Theresa stopped him.

"Wait, dear ... I have a surprise for you." She led Alan to a door in the wall and opened it. In the closet was a suit, a very nice suit. "This is for you to wear. I like my men well dressed. Brand, why don't you go help him put this on."

They stepped into Theresa's private bathroom and Alan hung the suit on the back of the door. "Is this some kind of special suit or something?" Alan asked as he began to remove his shoes.

Brandon knew what he was going to find but he took the coat and opened it to examine the label. "Armani ... of course," Brandon said. Turning to the boy he smiled. "Yes, this is very special ... about four thousand dollars worth I believe."

Alan dropped the shoe he was holding. "No way ... for a suit?"

"He's the premier designer of men's fashion, sweetie. One look at you in this and every woman in town will faint." He chuckled. "And of course all the gay men. I don't even have one of these."

"It's too much, Brandon. I would be afraid to ruin it. Go ask her to take it back, please?"

"No way, sweetie. Theresa gives lavishly to those she loves. I think you just made the top of her list. Let her spoil you, it's what she does best."

Alan sighed and put on the suit. Then Brandon sighed, the boy was so handsome. He would photograph Alan in this suit, maybe tomorrow for the publicity shoot.

Alan gazed at himself in the full length mirror. "Wow, it fits so well."

Brandon smiled. "Yeah, it looks good on you. But you would look good in rags."

Alan kissed him for the compliment and Brandon looked into his eyes. "What did you tell her about the photograph, sweetie?"

Alan grinned. "I told her I thought of something you said to me this morning and it made me smile. Wanna guess what it was?"

"Hmm, how about ... I love you."

Alan smiled. "Exactly ... and I love you too."

Another kiss and they walked back into the office. Theresa stood and admired the boy.

"Amazing ... we may have to go after Armani's business with this one. You look simply handsome, young man."

She held out her arm and Alan took it. Theresa knew how it would look; she was being escorted by the handsomest man in the building. They took the elevator down and paraded through the lobby, turning more than a few heads on the way to the limo.

"She really knows how to do it in style," Brandon said, walking next to Lucy through the lobby.

She smiled. "A lucky young man, she's made him today ... you know that?"

"I knew she would the first time I saw that boy's face," Brandon replied. "You work for her and I work for him. I'm here to make sure he stands on solid ground as you try to convince him he can walk on water."

"Point taken," Lucy said. "We both have a hard job."

"Alan's easy ... you have the harder job."

Lucy smiled. "And I discover something new about it every day, it keeps me coming back."

On to Chapter Six

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