"Gee, that's flattering."
Win smiled. "The way of the world, my friend. Many things change, but these people still consider themselves the true, original Americans. You and your kind are just hired help, shipped in from Russia or Eastern Europe or from whatever gulag or ghetto your people originated."
"I hope they don't hurt my feelings," Myron said.
"I'll arrange a meeting for you with Valerie's mother for tomorrow morning."
"You think she'll see me?"
"If I request it, yes."
"Groovy."
"Indeed." Win put down his putter. "In the meantime what do you suggest we do?"
Myron checked his watch. "One of Pavel Menansi's protégées is playing on Stadium Court in about an hour. I figured I'd pay him a visit."
"And pour moi?"
"Valerie spent the past week at the Plaza Hotel," Myron said. "I'd like you to look around, see if anybody remembers anything. Check her phone calls."
"See if she did indeed call Duane Richwood?"
"Yes."
"And if she did?"
"Then we have to look into that too," Myron said.
Chapter 5
The U.S.T.A. National Tennis Center is neatly snuggled into the bosom of Queens' top attractions: Shea Stadium (home of the New York Mets), Flushing Meadows Park (home of the 1964-65 World's Fair) and La Guardia Airport (home of, uh, delays).
Players used to complain about the La Guardia planes flying overhead, for the very simple reason that it made Stadium Court sound like a launch pad during an Apollo liftoff. Then-mayor David Dinkins, never one to let a terrible injustice go unheeded, immediately sprang into action. Using all his political might, the former mayor of New York City – who in a fascinating and almost eerie coincidence was also an enormous tennis fan – had La Guardia's offending runway halt operations for the duration of the Open. Tennis millionaires were grateful. In a show of mutual respect and admiration Mayor David Dinkins returned their gratitude by showing up at the matches every day for the two weeks of play, except – in yet another eerie coincidence – during election years.