could be made out It was an invisible paint. ¡ fromhs waUet' Somg slowly s0 he co^ l°6k a*
He touched the grill of the old car and felt the ripples and grooves of the once shiny metal. He took his hand away and leaned back. The grill was not visible.
He felt his heart pounding inside his chest. This was it. His big chance. No more dry cereal. No more living next door to Mr. and Mrs. Jock. No more trying to make do with old, worn-out equipment. No more working in a garage.
The invisible paint was his passport to a new life.
An hour later, he had his new paint compound in a spray can. Ignoring the hoots and calls of Curt and his wife, he walked quickly back into his house and called the FOI telephone number he had seen in a magazine—Friends of Inventors—a commercial group that would help him patent and sell his new paint.
The secretary told him that there was one opening later that afternoon, and he could make it if he hurried. The evaluation fee, payable in advance to FOI, was $500. Cash.
Elmo Wimpler dressed in his one suit, put his can of spray paint in a paper bag, and walked to the neighborhood bank. He had exactly $504 in his checking account, and he withdrew $502. Enough for the fee and bus fare both ways to FOI.
The pretty receptionist at FOI headquarters in New York City looked at him strangely as he arrived, clutching his paper bag under his arm.
"You have the five hundred dollars?" she asked.
big, sweater-clad bosom. She smiled at him, a professional bored smile. When he gave her the money, she counted it, put it into her desk drawer, and announced into the intercom, "Mister Wimple is here."
"Wimpler," Elmo corrected.
"Send him in," a voice crackled over the speaker.
She nodded him toward the door.
Inside the room, three men sat at a long table. They watched carefully as Wimpler approached them.
He placed the paper bag on the table, cleared his throat, and said, "I am Elmo Wimpler." He started to go on, but one of the men interrupted.
"Yeah, yeah, okay, guy, we're the panel you have to show your stuff to. We make all the decisions on inventions and like that. Show us what you got, 'cause we ain't got all day."
"Very well."
Wimpler opened the bag and took out a piece of black cloth, a small vase, and the spray can of paint.
He draped the black curtain over a small picture that hung from the wall.
"C'mon, pal, speed it up," the same man told him. "You're not setting a stage, you know. We've got a lot of other geniuses to see, so don't be wasting our time."
Elmo adjusted the black cloth so it hung smoothly.
"Jesus Christ, what is this guy, an interior decora-
Wimpler ignored them. When they saw what his
invention did, then they'd know he was no crackpot, there to waste their time and his money.
He moved a small table over in front of the painting and set the white vase on the table. It was an ornately carved, cheap, little, milk-glass vase.
Without paying any attention to the three men, he sprayed the white vase with his spray can of black paint. He turned to look at the three members of the panel with a smug look on his face.
They looked at him as if he were from another planet.
'So, you got a black vase?" one of them said. "And it used to be white."
"Watch. It'll dry quickly," Elmo said. He turned to watch himself. The paint was drying before his eyes, and as it did, the definition of the vase seemed to vanish. And then the paint was dried, and the vase was invisible against the black cloth background, i Who needs that?"
"Invisible," Elmo said with a small, proud smile.
"What the hell good is an invisible vase?" one of the men asked. "Why would anyone want an invisible vase?"
The three men began to chuckle and dig elbows into each other. Elmo Wimpler couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. Were they blind? Didn't they realize what a great invention this was?
"It's invisible," he said. "That's invisible paint. Don't you understand? Anything you paint that color won't reflect any light. In the dark or against a black background, it'd be invisible. Against a lighter background, you'd only be able to see its silhouette. You wouldn't be able to make out any of its de-
tails."
8
"Big deal," one of the men said. "Suppose you painted a car that color?" another asked. To Wimpler, the three men were interchangeable, like triplets. "I mean, you never remember where you park it now, but if you couldn't see it, that'd make it even worse. People would keep backing into you. At night, like I mean, who wants a car you can't see?"
They began to laugh again and Elmo closed his eyes, trying to remember some necessary paragraphs from How to Be Pushy. Fight back, he told himself. Fight back. But he could not utter a single word in his own defense. He watched them and listened helplessly to their inane chatter.
"You still got that Cadillac, Ernie?" one man asked another.
"Yeah, but I may be selling it."
"Why? That car's beautiful."
"Yeah, but it sucks up gas like a pack of Turns.
"I could use it. Have to change the color though," the first man said. Suddenly all three seemed to remember Wimpler.
"You got anything in mauve?" asked the one who was thinking about buying Ernie's Cadillac. "Mauve is going to be a hot color this year. A lot of mauve. Maybe if you could do something in mauve."
"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-
.. T, .. . - • -vi u -u« your holdings and made some investments."
tion running rampant. But not an invisible barbe- J6
cue. There's no market for that."
"Try mauve," another man suggested.
"I paid you five hundred dollars," Wimpler shouted.
"Nonrefundable," Ernie snapped. "You understood that when you came in. Nonrefundable. Now, we have other people to see, Mister Simple, so if you're finished? ... We have a man to see about a back scratcher that's supposed to revolutionize the art of scratching your back."
"That sounds interesting," said one of the other