"Maybe for kids," Ernie suggested. "Maybe they might want to make things invisible, like if they don't want their folks to find them. I mean, maybe if you sprayed this on a joint of marijuana . . . would it change the flavor? What does this paint taste like?"

"Taste?" asked Wimpler helplessly. He shook his head, blinking his eyes hard.

"Yeah, you know, if it tastes like shit, it'd make the grass taste like shit and nobody'd want it. But if it doesn't change the taste, then maybe somebody might want invisible marijuana."

"I think we're agreed," the third man said, "that it is not prudent to represent this item in its present form."

All three nodded toward Elmo.

"Work on the taste," Ernie suggested.

"And the color," the second man said.

"Mauve," said the third man. "Work on mauve. A hot color this year."

"That's it?" Elmo finally sputtered. "You talk

men. The third man agreed but suggested it might sell best in mauve.

A back scratcher.

Elmo Wimpler packed up his curtain, his invisible black vase, and his spray can and left, shaking his head. On the way out, he didn't even notice the receptionist's forty-inch chest. She was busy talking to a man who was offering to demonstrate how useful his back scratcher would be for front scratching too.

By the time he got home, Elmo had decided to finance himself in marketing his invisible spray paint. Thank God he had money—a little money—

about cars, you talk about mauve, you give me two \ still left in stocks and savings. He called the banker

minutes, and you say good-bye?"

"That's it," the team leader said. "It's impractical in its present form, Mr. Wimple."

"Wimpler."

"Yes, Mister Wimper. I'm afraid it's impractical. Now, if you had something to do with a barbecue, maybe. People are into barbecues again with infla-