Heller told him to lock the legation back up and walked off down a long, long, long hall past doors, doors, doors, toward his office.

Izzy was trotting along beside Heller. "I really don't think I'm ready to show you their work."

"You found some artists, didn't you?" said Jet.

"Yes. But they have a nonconventional style. They're antiestablishment, which should win friends. But they're total nonconformists. They barely squeaked through art school at Empire: their professors hated them. They tried to take up residence in Soho, the new New York art colony, and they were ostracized and ordered out.

"They won't prostitute their art by working for advertising companies, so they are starving and have no place to go."

"Prostitute their art," said Heller. "Hmm. Well, what's this art style that's so bad?"

"It's called 'neorealism.' When they paint a sailboat, it looks like a sailboat. It's pretty revolutionary! And very daring, very much into the teeth of all modern trends. Their people look like people!"

They were into Heller's office now. It looked like half an acre of white shag. Heller went over and opened an air vent. The view of lower Manhattan was brilliant in the September sun.

"Sure smells of paint," said Heller. He turned. And there, all lined up against the entrance-door wall, were dozens of canvases.

Heller looked at them. He went nearer. "But they're gorgeous!"

Actually, they were not up to Voltarian standards. But they were a lot better than most art seen on the planet.

Izzy said, "Well, technically they are quite good. But they went astray after studying pictures by Rembrandt and Vermeer and Michelangelo. They went totally out of step with the art world. One even refused to run a tricycle over paint tubes and call it a picture in spite of a handsome commission. And the others stood up for him. It's sort of a pathetic case. They're hunted now and scorned."

Heller picked up a large canvas. It was a flesh-colored girl with a red shawl about her shoulders, balancing an orange pottery jug on her head. If I'd been in a better mood, I would have called it very arousing. He picked up another. It was a painting of a beautiful girl on a sofa, naked, holding a cat up in the air with her two hands. By some trick, even on my two-dimensional screen, it looked a bit three-dimensional. He took another: it was a girl in profile biting a rose off a live-looking rose bush—just her face, her teeth and the rose.

"Where are these guys?" said Heller.

"There're eight of them. They're down in my anteroom having kittens! But Mr. Jet, I must point out. This art is not in the mode! That cat looks like a cat! Those girls look like girls! I don't..."

"I agree we should think this over," said Heller.

"Oh, thank heavens."

Heller sat down at his desk. "You got the school things all arranged."

"Oh, yes," said Izzy, offendedly. "You are answering all roll calls. Your quizzes are being handed in. All your lab work is being done. And we don't have to take any more notes or recordings. All of last year's lectures to those same classes are there in mimeograph form in your top file cabinet. You are even taking gym. Bang-Bang is doing well on ROTC. And here is a beeper to wear in case you are suddenly summoned." He handed it over. "I hope this is easier for you now."

"Great way to go to college," said Heller. "I handled the psychiatric interview this morning, but Miss Simmons will be riding my tail next semester."

"I am so sorry I can't help you there. I strongly advise against violence. It's really so unbusinesslike. Can she be bought off?"

"Not a chance," said Heller.

"So you may fail after all."

Bang-Bang came in.

Heller said, "Well, I've decided. Bang-Bang, will our cab hold eleven?"

"Yikes!" said Bang-Bang.

"It's illegal," said Izzy.

"And all these canvases?" said Jet.

"We'll try," said Bang-Bang.

"Collect your painters," said Heller to Izzy. "Bring them and these canvases down front."

"Where we going?" said Izzy, in dismay.

"Marketing," said Heller. "We're going marketing."

"Look," said Izzy. "I can buy anything you need. I can get it for you wholesale."

"Not that kind of marketing. We're going marketing marketing."

"Oh, the book I got you," said Izzy. "What are we going to market?"

"The survey said 'girls.'"

"But that's illegal!" said Izzy.

"You have to do class assignments honestly," said Heller. "And that's what the survey said. So, wouldn't it be illegal to try to get an illegal pass on a subject?"

"That's very true," said Izzy. "You have no choice! If the survey said girls, it will have to be girls."

A few minutes later, the canvases were lashed to the carrying rack on top and the mob somehow squeezed into the old cab.

They went rocketing up Fifth Avenue.

"Now, gentlemen," said Heller to the paint-smocked mass, which was nine people in a space meant for five– Izzy and Bang-Bang were up front—"I don't want you to look on this as prostituting your art."

A nearby, bearded face drew back as much as it could. A real flinch. "We refuse to change off from neorealism!"

"For Heavens' sake, don't!" said Heller. "But you'll see what I mean shortly."

They went roaring into the garage at the Gracious Palms. They jammed into the elevator.

Heller walked into Vantagio's office. Vantagio was sitting at his desk. He obviously had a bit of a hangover. He

frowned at the mob he saw coming in behind Heller.

"We want to paint Minette," said Heller. This was a little bit direct for Vantagio at this hour. "Good morning, kid. Would you like to introduce your friends?"

Heller did. Then he said, "We have a bare wall and it needs a bare girl. We deal only in the authentic. It's for the Beautiful Tahiti Gilt-Edged Beaches Wonder Corporation. Minette is the only beautiful Tahitian I know of."

"Well, take her along, kid. The UN session doesn't start until next week so we're not peak load. I'm sure Minette will do what you tell her so take her along to the Empire State."

"No," said Heller. "Izzy here," and he glanced at Izzy who obviously didn't know where he was or what was coming, "has a great idea. Come along."

Heller went out in the lobby. He opened a closet and rolled out a little platform they must use for something. He began to push it across the lobby. A houseman instantly jumped to help him. Heller put it in the far corner, near the street door.

Then he went and got a painter. He stood him near the platform. Then he got an easel from their gear and stood it up in front of the painter, who, seeing an easel, promptly put a framed blank canvas on it.

Heller and the houseman moved a couple of palms in pots up on the platform to the back.

Heller went to the phone and hit some numbers.

"Who ees thees?" Minette's voice. "I am not dress'. It ees too earlee!"

"You sure you got no clothes on?" said Heller.

"Oh, 'ello, pretty boy. I come right een!"

"No," said Heller. "Grab your grass skirt and some flowers for your hair and come down in the lobby!"

"Ze lobby? You mos' be jokeeng. Vantagio..."

Heller handed Vantagio the phone. Vantagio said, "The kid is changing the decor, Minette. Anything is liable to happen. Come down."

A couple of diplomats were leaving in somewhat tousled condition. They saw the painter standing there with a blank canvas. They stopped.

An early-day demander, a big black, walked in the front door. He saw the blank canvas and stopped.

A limousine drew up and spilled out three Moroccans. They entered, saw the blank canvas and stopped.

Minette arrived. She was wearing a grass skirt and had hibiscus in her hair. Heller put her on the platform. The painter posed her. He began to paint.