As Tony Marcetti rung the doorbell, he couldn't help but gaze up in awe at the large windows that ringed the brick mansion.  The name on the mailbox sounded familiar -- one he had heard on the radio from time to time -- but he couldn't recall who it belonged to.  He suddenly felt self-conscious of his appearance and now thought the NY sweat shirt, jeans, and sneakers looked less "athletic" and more "other-side-of-the-tracks," which was, unfortunately, the case.  Breaking his arm his senior year in high school had ruined his chances at a wrestling scholarship, and he ended up working odd construction jobs to pay the rent on a small trailer.  Fortunately, he hadn't really wanted to attend college anyway and enjoyed riding his dirt bike, pumping iron, flirting with small town girls, who were easily impressed with his killer looks and body.

Tony was 26, 6 1, 190, broad-chested, and had black hair cut short and spiked and blue eyes.  He often sported a five o'clock shadow cause he was too lazy to shave everyday.  It was his girlfriend who saw the ad in the Help Wanted section of Craig's List and urged him to apply.  

"Listen to this," she said.  

"Seeking in shape male fitness model.  $200 for 20 minutes of filming.  No experience necessary."  

Tony, who often tuned out his girlfriend, dropped the barbell and eyeballed the screen.  "You think I look good enough to be a model?" he asked.  

"Gimme a break," she said, rolling her eyes.  "You know the answer."