Heineken, the official beer of the U.S. Open.

The crowd was a complete mix. Down low – in the good seats – people had money. But anything went in the dress department. Some wore full suits and ties (like Win), some wore more casual Banana Republic-type clothes (like Myron), some wore jeans, some wore shorts. But Myron's personal favorite were the fans who came in full tennis gear – shirt, shorts, socks, tennis shoes, warm-up jacket, sweatbands, and tennis racket. Tennis racket. Like they might get called on to play. Like Sampras or Steffi or someone might suddenly point into the stands and say, "Hey, you with the racket I need a doubles partner."

Win's turn. "Roddy McDowall," he began.

"The Bookworm."

"Vincent Price."

"Egghead."

"Joan Collins."

Myron hesitated. "Joan Collins? As in Dynasty?"

"I refuse to offer hints."

Myron ran episodes through his mind. On the court the umpire announced, "Time." The ninety-second commercial break was over. The players rose. Myron couldn't swear to it, but he thought he saw Henry blink.

"Give up?" Win asked.

"Shhh. They're about to play."

"And you call yourself a Batman fan."

The players took the court. They too were billboards, only smaller. Duane wore Nike sneakers and clothes. He used a Head tennis racket. Logos for McDonald's and Sony adorned his sleeves. His opponent wore Reebok. His logos featured Sharp electronics and Bic. Bic. The pen and razor company. Like someone was going to watch a tennis match, see the logo, and buy a pen.

Myron leaned toward Win. "Okay, I give," he whispered. "What criminal did Joan Collins play?"