The conversation was upbeat at the very fancy Midtown restaurant where I found myself yesterday, talking with a few serious participants in the art market. Not even a kitchen snafu—which derailed the meal and compelled an assistant manager to apologize to us and the nearby real estate mogul who owned the building—could dampen the mood. Sure, the summer had been slow, but there was a low-eight-figure deal about which to trade tidbits of info. Plus, there was the Elaine Wynn estate sale to look forward to, as well as the latest tranche of Lichtenstein family material, and Pauline Karpidas’s collection next week. In perhaps the most auspicious sign of all, my art world lunchmates were spending money at a tony restaurant and not complaining. (Nor was the finance skylord at the table to our left, who was so enmeshed in the art world that his ex-wife wound up living with an art dealer.)