//<br >IN SHIRT-SLEEVES， the way I generally worked， I sat sketching a bar of<br >soap taped to an upper corner of my drawing board. The gold-foil<br >wrapper was carefully peeled back so that you could still read most of<br >the brand name printed on it; I d spoiled the wrappers of half a dozen<br >bars before getting tha~ effect. This was a new idea， the product to bc<br >shown ready for what the accompanying copy called "fragrant， latheD，，<br >lovelier you" use， and I had the job of sketching it into half a dozen<br >layouts， the bar of soap at a slightly different angle in each.<br > It was just exactly as boring as it sounds， and I stopped to look out the<br >window beside me， down twelve stories at Fifty-fourth Street and the<br >little heads moving along the sidewalk. It was a sunny， sharply clear day<br >tn mid-November， and I d have liked to be out in it， the whole after+-<br >I10011 ahead and nothing to do; nothing I had to do， that is.<br > Over at the paste-up table Vince Mandel， our lettering man， thin and<br >dark and probably feeling as caged-up today as I was， stood working with<br >the airbrush， a cotton surgical mask over his mouth. He was spraying a<br >flesh-colored film onto a Life magazine photo of a girl in a batl~ing suit.<br > l hc effect， when he finished， would be to remove the suit， leaving the<br >girl apparently naked except for the ribbon she wore slanted from<br >shoulder to waist on which was lettered A IISS BUSINESS I~[ACHINES. This<br >kind of stunt was Vince s favorite at-work occupation ever s~nce he d<br >H~ought of it， and the retouched picture would be added to a collection<br >of others like it on the art-department bulletin board， at which Maureen，<br >our nineteen-year-old paste-up girl and messenger， refused ever to look<br >or even glance， though often urged.<br >