who toil in the Challenger levels. If
tennis were a cosmology, the regular
tour would be heaven, and Futures, the
lowest level, its hell, where all matches
are one endless slog of energy and spir-
itual depletion, an exquisite torture you
must pay to be allowed to suffer. In be-
tween, with the higher levd perpetu-
ally out of reach and the lower fur too
close for comfort, is where the La Jolla
event and hundreds of others like it sit:
Challengers.And when you play in the
Challenger ranb-i;chlepping yourself
economy, relying on local aficionados
tu provide housing in exchange fur prox:-
ilnity to the tennis "life style" or check-
ing into cheapo lodgings on the far out-
skirts of the competition locations and
splitting the cost of food and cars with
other players-what is challenged most
is your continuing devotion to the game.
S
ix months ago, men Toby did not
know came to the front gate and
wouldn't leave the buzzer alone. He
delayed them fur as long as he could,
but the f.unily lawyer's phone was going
to voice mail, and the nanny, a Portu-
guese woman who'd been lured State-
side by Toby's father with the promise
of an independent life she did not have
the temperament to indulge, was even
more frightened than he was. Most of
all, he was intimidated by the I.D.s and
badges that he couldn't-on the tiny
security screen-read.
He took a deep breath before meet-
ing the men at the top of the driveway.
He was prepared to bar entry into the
house. It helped that he was a head
taller than all but one of them. My fa-
ther isn't home, he told them. He's in
Macao. He has businesses there.
We need to speak to him, they said.
To a man, none of them had eyes, only
dark glasses.
Three weeks later, they got their
wish. By then, his father was lawyered
up, and it was the suited representative
who answered all the questions, his fa-
ther contributing only whispered curses
in Cantonese.
Yes, he makes his living from gam-
blers and gambling, but he has nothing
to do with any of these accusations. No,
actually, he would have more respect for
them if they came right out with accu-
sations, instead of confu:mting him with--
what are these, hints? Hints and impli-
60 THE NEY~ MARCH 30, 2020AU6ADEGood morning to what's left and what has gone.
No more of my dense cries and heavy songs
about time's hardships, my mood, gunfights in schools,
our murderous American sunshine.
I want a looser grip, a sweeter lightness
and grace and mercy around us, plainer talkwhile my neighborhood's wild parrots squawk
and :Bash their smart immigrant finery
and acute green wings over treetops and roofs,
and Jimmy starts his Tuesday picking through
trash bins, fifteen years now, set your watch.
Buongiomo, too, you kestrel in the blue,ignorant of tech genius and real estate.
It's a happy day to begin happy days
to come. My friends won't have to remind me
to say thank you, excuse me, please, how nice.
The glory of the casual and destined,
last month's blue moon, the orbed orange shadecations. Yes, he understands how it could
appear that he and the guest player would
have had plenty of time to collude, see-
ing as his home was open to the guest.
But had they taken a look inside, and
would it be so far-fetched to assume,
given the size of the property, that he and
the player had barely seen each other the
entire time? And, most important, didn't
the guest, Mahr-teen Lemcbd, of Chile,
ranked three-hundred-and-fifty-eighth
in the world, have a prior history? Why
else would they have been keeping an eye
on him, .flagging in particular his poor
performance at the Diamond Club?
Don't think that Toby's father is un-
aware of the industry's need to save
face: tennis bigwigs, under pressure to
confront the sport's slack oversight of
illegal gambling, had finally rounded
up culprits---1ln.d, of course, the names
named, the athletes sacrificed, would
come from the lower rungs, easy scape-
goats, and the disgraceful authorities
would get to grandstand in front of an
assembled gallery. pretending that the
problem had been adequatdy addressed.
And where was the digital trail that
linked Lemebel to his hapless La Jolla
host, who even wrote checks to his guests
to hdp them cover the costly overheadof the profession and keep a struggling
dream alive for another half year or so?
So he admits to having written Mr.
Lemebel a check?
He admits to having written each
ofhis tennis players a check, going back
ten-plus years! Could they produce
the texts from him to Lemebel asking
the player to throw a set, or the whole
match, with a corresponding dollar
payment for each lousy eventuality? Of
course they couldn't! Because no such
communication existed!F
orced to alter his routine and to
spend even more time with a son
helmewto be a dud, Toby'sfatherupped
his rages. The drinking became a twenty-
four-hour phenomenon. On the plus
side: the Steve McQueen line, being a
little too close to home, was retired. In-
stead, it was Martin-this and Martin-
that. Faggot Chilean, fucking cheat. I
knew there was something fishy about
that third-round loss. Martin had been
in total control (up by a set and on the
verge of converting a break point in the
second, pivotal set) and Toby's father
was supposed to swallow the Chilean's
sudden inability to serve, believe that
his swinging arm mistimed the hair-