"The truth is I'd spotted them when I walked along the beach," he picked up the story. "They were hard to ignore. They had terrific bodies and bathing suits that just barely covered what you have to cover, and they were constantly touching each other, nuzzling, caressing, massaging. Young love. It was glorious to watch, and I admit it, I set up my beach chair behind them so that I could watch. Then I heard them speaking French and I got even more interested, so when the tall one came to ask for a light, I spoke to him in French. We talked a bit but he went back to his lover and I went back to the book I'd been pretending to read.

"He came back once more for "du feu," and when I decided I'd had enough sun and saltwater, I took my lighter, one of those throwaways, to give to them, and also, I admit, to have one last close look. That's when they asked me if I knew a dentist in Key West because the shorter boy - he was built like a wrestler or a fire plug - had a toothache. Of course, I didn't, but I volunteered to call your friend Kurt, and one thing led to another and I gave them a lift back to the house, phoned Kurt and found a very obliging dentist who agreed to see Jean-Marc, that was the boy's name, that afternoon."

"What was the other's name?" Terry asked.

"Patrice, the French equivalent of mine. He was thrilled by the coincidence, but what really turned them on, Eli, was your pool. They'd never seen a black swimming pool before. Of course, neither had I. They thought it was 'vachement cool.'

"Well, it is," Eli declared. "David Hockney can have his translucent blues. I like the mystery of the dark depths. I hope you invited them to skinny dip."

"Not, right away, no. We drank some beer, and I drove them to the dentist, and afterwards I was going to take them to the hostel where they were staying, but Jean-Marc was in a lot of pain, and Patrice seemed worried about him, so I took them back to the house to rest and recuperate."

What Pat recalled but didn't describe was the way Jean-Marc had pretended to be brave inside the clinic, but had crawled into Patrice's lap the minute they were in the car to be cuddled and petted like an injured child. The two boys were a little bit ridiculous and totally enchanting in their affection for one another, and without being jealous, Pat had been deeply moved by the way they held one another. Spence used to embrace him like that. Seeing Jean-Marc and Patrice together, Pat had longed to be hugged again, just to be hugged.

"And then you sent them on their way?" Eli clearly guessed that the story did not end so abruptly. "With farewell kisses on both cheeks?"

"Well, no. The truth is I didn't want to lose them. I offered to show them around the next day, to do things you needed a car for. I took them to Sugarloaf Key in the morning and we rented kayaks to explore the mangrove swamps, and we went out to the reef in the afternoon to snorkel off one of those party boats. The diving wasn't that great. It was choppy. But my frogs were a hit. They wore thong bikinis like the day before at the beach, and the tourists couldn't take their eyes off them. Women and men, straight and gay. The skipper of the boat offered us a free trip the next day to make up for the poor visibility he said. But I think he just wanted the boys as bait for more passengers."

"And what did you want them for? Or am I getting too personal?" Eli asked.

"You're always too personal. Terry, be warned. You are not allowed to have secrets around Eli." Pat paused a second. "Eli, I don't think I knew exactly what I wanted them for. I wanted company, but not too much. I wanted their youth which I certainly wasn't going to get. Really, I just wanted to let some of the love they had for each other rub off on me. Not the physical, sexual stuff. But the affection, the joking, the ease with one another and with the world. It was wonderful to be around them and their happiness."

"Medicinal?" Eli asked.

"I'd say tonic. They are the reason I've come back to you feeling so well for the first time in a long time. I owe them a lot."

"How long were they with you?" The question came from Terry who had pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs as he was drawn into Pat's story. "It must have been awful to let them go."

"Well, I hope I'm going to see them again," Pat answered. "They're touring the States until the end of March when they go back to their new jobs. Oh, I didn't tell you. They're cooks. Well, apprentice cooks. And if they don't run out of money, they said they'd come to Cincinnati. I told them that they owed Eli a meal."

"Have you sampled their cooking? Is it up to my standards?"

"Kurt said it was superb. Will that do?"

"They cooked for Kurt? That took guts. Did they know that he's a food critic?"

"No, Eli. I didn't want to make them nervous. They cooked for him and for me and for Dr. Felton, the dentist, and his very nice wife. They wanted to do something to thank all of us, and cooking is what they do. It was a wonderful evening."

"Where did this Lucullan feast take place?" Eli asked.

"In your kitchen. And at your dining room table. I just wish you had been there, too. And I hope you don't mind that I invited them into your house."

"Mi casa…" Eli gave Pat a knowing look. "How far in?"

"Well, the dentist bill had eaten up their cash so I moved them out of the hostel and into the guest room for a couple of nights." Pat tried to seem casual, but a trace of embarrassment crept into his voice. "They were completely honest kids, Eli. You know I wouldn't have let them through your door otherwise."

they might pick up. Not that I own anything worth stealing." Eli sensed that he was being unkind. "I'm sorry, Pat. I'm glad you had them in the house. Obviously, they were very special people. Do you have any photos of these paragons?"

"No," Pat lied. "Remember, I didn't take my cameras, or my armor, as you called them." In fact, he had bought one of those disposable cameras in Key West and he had snapped pictures of Patrice and Jean-Marc lounging by Eli's pool, embracing one another, clowning in the kitchen and, with Mrs. Felton snapping the shutter, sitting on either side of him after the dinner. But those photos were private. Pat meant them to stay that way.

"That's funny," Terry observed. "My roommate says the same thing, that I carry my camera around to make myself invisible. People see the lens but not me."

"It's best if they don't see either," Pat answered. "If you can make them forget that you're there and watching. Not just watching. You're there to capture a moment, to make it stand still. Being invisible would be ideal."

"That's just voyeurism," Eli snapped. "Pat, surely you have to get involved with the people you photograph. Otherwise, how can you know more than superficial things about them? When I interview people, sources I have to trust, I have to get inside their heads and get them to open up to me. You can't do that if you're hiding from them."

"But, professor," it was Terry's turn, "if a photographer becomes a presence, he influences the scene. And that distorts the reality. Pat's right. It's a moment, an instant that you see and freeze. And if you intrude on it, you change it. It's very hard to stay out, but the thing is to keep it to a minimum. That's why invisibility would be so great."

"That kind of photography just shows you bank robbers or shoplifters," Eli retorted. "Pat is so shy that he pretends that he doesn't want to be seen, but he shapes every one of his images. It's his reality, not necessarily the reality."

"If we're going to get into levels of reality, I'll need more wine," Pat said. "But since I have to drive in a snowstorm, I can't have anything more to drink. So, I think a wonderful evening is ending. Unless, Eli, you'll let us help you with the dishes."

"I will not. You're my guest, not a busboy. But I have the feeling that you're holding out on me. About Key West and the undivided Gauls. Did they just cook dinner and wash up and leave?"

"No, they had one more day, and we went back to the beach and a second visit to the dentist. And that night Kurt took us to his favorite restaurant, the Five Dolphins or something."

"Seven Fish," Eli corrected. "It's excellent."

"It was, and he introduced the boys to the chef, and there was a sous-chef there from France, and we all went off to a bar where there was a band and we danced. Even me, Eli, how about that? And I guess I didn't disgrace myself. One of the locals insisted that I let him buy me a drink, and it turned out that he knew my name and my work. He took me to lunch the next day and did an interview for the weekly paper where he works. I haven't seen it yet," Pat smiled, "but I imagine it will be fairly flattering."

"An in-depth interview?" Eli smirked.

"He liked the dark, mysterious depths of your pool," Pat parried. The truth was that the sex with Tony had been passionless athleticism. Not like the night with Patrice and Jean-Marc. That was once in a lifetime. Deft hands, four of them, caressing him, fondling him, guiding his cock or his mouth while the boys murmured endearments and praise using a French vocabulary he had never heard as a language of love. The heat of their strong bodies inflaming his. The complete surrender to intimacy. Pat smiled at the memory, at his secret, at the moment when he had freed himself from grief and begun to live again.

"I suppose you expect me to take that silly grin as your last word on the subject." Eli's clairvoyance was not total.

"Until I write my memoirs. Yes. Sorry, Eli, but you're better off with your active imagination. And I'm better off hitching up the sled dogs and mushing home before the drifts block the roads. Terry, can I give you a lift?"

"That would be great," the young man replied. "As long as the hotel isn't out of your way."

It was, but Pat pretended otherwise. He looked forward to being alone with Terry, to learning more about his years in France and his interests as a photographer, to finding out how much they shared. He had liked Terry's defense of the invisible cameraman, not just what he said but the way he said it. Thoughtful but heated, too. They said their good-byes and their thanks in Eli's hallway and opened his front door to discover that the snowstorm had ended and the sky had cleared. "Look at it," Terry breathed in delight. "It's so still and so clean like this, before cars and people track it up. It turns the city back into country. I love it."

"You're right," Pat agreed as they walked gingerly to the sidewalk. "It's perfect, but I hope you won't mind if I spoil it with a cigarette. I love Eli, but going cold turkey in his house is hard on an addict like me."

"Could I have one, too? I don't carry. I just bum, but I could really use one. If you've got enough, that is?"

"Full pack." Pat extended it to Terry. "Was your first exposure to Eli so unsettling?"

"A little bit, I guess. Is he always so relentless and so… well, prying? I mean, I admire him enormously. It's a terrific privilege to work for him. But I'm kind of a private person. I hope he isn't going to want to live his life through me, that's all."

They had reached Pat's car, a Honda that had seen better days. Pat unlocked the passenger side door and opened it for Terry. "You'd better tell him early on, then," he advised the young man. "It's not that Eli is always nosy, but he likes to be in charge. And that can seem manipulative."

Pat let himself in on the other side, got behind the wheel and turned the ignition key. Nothing. Not even a click. He tried again. "Shit!" he cursed. "Pardon my French. The battery's dead, I bet. My stupid fault. I didn't charge it long enough. The power must have drained down while I was in Key West. It had just enough to turn over once so I could get here and no more."

"Would you like me to check under the hood?" Terry asked.

"Do you know anything about motors?"

"Nope. But I suppose if a wire was loose I'd notice it."

"And neither of us would know what to do with the loose end." Pat gave a bark of a laugh. "We flunk the all-American male test." He stubbed out his cigarette and looked at Terry. "We have two choices. Go back inside and pray for a cab. Eli doesn't drive. Or walk to my house. I've got another car there. It's about a mile and a half."

"It's a beautiful night," Terry beamed. "Let's walk. We can smoke to stay warm."