Vic said, "I wear a plain white shirt as I have for ten years, and an ordinary pair of wool slacks. It's good enough for the retail-produce business."

"You also wear an apron," Black said.

"Only when I'm stripping lettuce," Vic said.

"Incidentally," Black said, "how's the retail sales index this month? Business still off?"

"Some," Vic said. "Not enough to matter, though. We expect it to pick up in another month or so. It's cyclic. Seasonal."

To Ragle, his brother-in-law's change of tone was clear; as soon as business was involved -- his business -- he became professional, close-mouthed, tactical in his responses. Business was never really off, and always on the verge of improving. And no matter how low the national index dropped, a man's personal individual business was unaffected. Like asking a man how he feels, Ragle thought. He has to say he feels fine. Ask him how business is, and he either automatically says terrible or improving. And neither means anything; it's just a phrase.

To Black, Ragle said, "How's the retail sale of water? Market holding firm?"

Black laughed appreciatively. "Yes, people are still bathing and washing dishes."

Entering the living room, Margo said, "Ragle, do you want café espresso? You, darling?"

"None for me," Ragle said. "I had all the coffee I can drink for dinner. Keeps me awake as it is."

Vic said, "I'll take a cup."

"Lasagne?" Margo asked the three of them.

"No thanks," Ragle said.

"I'll try some," Vic said, and Bill Black wagged his head along with him. "Need any help?"

"No," Margo said, and departed.

"Don't tank up too heavily on that Italian stuff," Ragle said to Vic. "It's rich. A lot of dough and spices. And you know what that does to you."

Black chimed in, "Yeah, you're getting a little bulgy around the middle, there, Victor."