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“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do this for the couples who are having trouble conceiving children. Many of them have lost all hope.” Cohn’s cigarette was waving in the air along with his hands. “Say you’ll be part of a new movement, an opportunity to not only bring joy into the lives of others, but also to pass on the aptitude that you carry in your genes!”

Henry looked from the cracked glass to the crotch of his Levi’s. He sucked in a gulp of air, then let it out with a long sigh. “Whatever.”


“Can’t you make me a little smaller? Downsize me?”

Calvin looked from the computer screen to the one other employee of s.t.u.d., inc. “Are you crazy, man? You’re the stud; you’re the main attraction!” As if to spite his co-worker, he retyped the HTML code which, upon a “save” command and a clicking of the browser’s “refresh” button, created an even larger reproduction of Henry’s headshot positioned in the center of the home page.

Henry didn’t argue further; he just leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I just worry what my mother would think.”

“Man, if we spent all our time worrying about what our madres would think, nothin’ would ever get done.” Calvin glanced at Henry once more. “Aren’t you supposed to be having dinner right now?”

Henry looked at the Rolex that had been given to him as part of his dinner attire. “You’re right.” He stood up in Calvin’s dim workroom and ran his hands over the jacket of his new tuxedo in a smoothing gesture. He headed for the door, then turned back and asked, “One other thing: have you talked to Larry about the URL? All those dots are a little awkward.”

Calvin shook his head slowly. “No can do, my friend. Stud-dot-com’s already taken.”

“Well, what does the s-t-u-d stand for then?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. By the way, I left a mag behind the headboard. You know,” Calvin’s eyes made a rare departure from the screen, “in case you need a little lift.”

Henry burned in the darkness as his stomach knotted. “Thanks.”

s.t.u.d. by W.R. Hammons:

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