"City can't afford it, I guess. The same reason they don't put screens up."
"What if you want a lesson or something? I've been thinking I might need a couple."
"The parks have clinics. Mob scenes. You have to sign up early and wait for a series to start. My wife forgets to call and gets shot down every time. Or you go to a club pro. Or—see that guy over there?" He is pointing to a corner court where three black men and a white, all wearing conventional tennis gear, are engaged in an intense doubles match. It is the best tennis being played at City Park. The man singled out is in his 30s and has the most enviable strokes of the four.
"They call him Chauncy. I understand he gives lessons. Five bucks an hour. I don't know his last name, but there are two or three who hang around here who give lessons. Chauncy's supposed to be the best."
"He's a pro?"
"Not really. I'm not sure what he does, except that he plays a lot of tennis. Whenever I've been here he's been here."
The young man's delicate-looking wife has entered the conversation.
"While we're sitting here yakking we missed that end court. Those kids just came right up and took it. Oh, damn!"