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from too much sun. His short salt-and pepper hair framed a  youthful face. Although in his late forties, Tennison could pass for someone in his thirties. His dark brown eyes were deep and soulful and were a stark contrast to his fair skin. Aaron could read those eyes. And in recent months he was feeling uncertainty from them.
              As he emptied the shelves he discovered a shoe box hidden behind some books. He opened it. He sat down and sifted through the contents.
              Later, Aaron put everything back in place except for the box. It  sat in the middle of the desk. He was sure – or  more accurately hoped   – there was a reasonable explanation. He cleaned the rest of the house and then left to do errands.
     
    #
     
    Tennison leaned forward in his chair chewing on the end of a pen. He needed a killer slogan for this ad campaign but nothing came to him. The product was a high-tech digital card touted to replace all manner of cards carried in a wallet or purse – from credit cards to a driver's license.
              Field research showed a huge potential for the OneCard. And Tennison, being a senior ad man, was given the opportunity to work on this multimillion dollar account. It was also his first international account so he needed it to be perfect..
              The list of slogans he'd written and subsequently crossed off were too esoteric, too cliche –  too something. The client wanted a sophisticated campaign that reflected the card's ease of use for the busy lifestyle of the young demographic it was targeting.
              He tapped the pen on the desk and looked around his office for any kind of inspiration. Along one wall was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. From his vantage point on the twentieth floor, the city scape of downtown Providence shimmered in the late morning light.
              Directly across from his office was a billboard. On it  was an advertisement for underwear and it featured a handsome man. His larger-than-life features loomed. He had blonde hair, a perfect smile, dark brown eyes, a chiseled physique and filled out the underwear quite well. Tennison fixated on the man and his mind wandered.
     
    #
     
    Tennison came home to the smells of a gourmet meal. He found Aaron out on the back deck. “Smells wonderful.”
              “It's your favorite,” Aaron replied as he looked up from his book. “How was work?”
              “Okay. Still stuck on a campaign for a new client. I just can't seem to find the groove on it.”
              Aaron got up, gave Tennison a kiss. “Would you like something to drink?”
              “Sure.”
              Aaron returned a few minutes later with iced tea.
              “So what did you do today?” Tennison asked as he sat.
              “Cleaned the house, thinned out your magazines, found a shoe box hidden on the shelf, ran some errands  and made dinner.”
              Tennison almost spilled his drink as Aaron rattled off his activities. Aaron's  raised eyebrow and the look of stern curiosity offered him a chance to explain.
              The game was on, Tennison thought. He raced through his options: he could deny knowing anything about it but given only they lived here it was an obvious lie; he could offer any number of plausible explanations but Aaron would probably see through them or he could be honest or at least enough to get through this. “You found my collection?”
              “I did,” Aaron responded. “I couldn't understand why it was hidden. It's just a box full of magazine ads.”
              “They're all of men,” Tennison offered as if it the answer should have been obvious.
              “So, they're all of men. Why was it