Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-03-16


q ] her that had youth were the pur-
chaSable things the gowns she wore,
the slanted hats, the small tall slip
~ pers: the haircut and the CLINT Of
red in her hair. They didn't deceive you. She
was 4O-odd despite them. And her eyes In
their sticky starry frames were old and as
tired as the world. Mrs. Jenny Montgomery
She lived in New York. She belonged to
New York so utterly so unmiStakably, that
people from out of town stared fascinated as
she passed and remembered her along with
Ziegfelds new theater, and the Pennsylvania
roof, and Times Square jeweled for evening,
when they went home. Those New York
women" Provincial matrons, obServ-
ing that her hose were sheer black chiffon,
returned to report to their Saturday bridge
clubs that sheer black chiffon hosiery was the
thing now in New York, although the ratio OF
tan or black beheld by them might have been
thousand pairs to one.
To see her was to wonder who she was.
Were you provincial or Manhattan born? you
wondered. She had air of being some one
not quite respectable, lady a little declaSSe.
There were her eyes. There were her slanted
hats. There was her mouth done freshly in
thick, wine-red Salve upon skin dead white
as lily petals.
As a matter of fact, Mrs Jenny Montgom-
cry conducted speakeasy. De Luxe.
TT was on Riverside drive The building was
an apartment building. Couples with chill
dren dwelt in-it and stiff gray spinsters dwelt
in it, and a man named wilkins who solicited
funds for the cause of prohibition dwelt In it.
happily unaware that in the bungalow on
the roof Jenny Montgomery served champagne
or whisky or absinthe or what-can- you-pay-
for nightly, includings Sundays, from on.
private elevator shot express to her door,
propelled by uniformed youth with thin,
tight mouth and a savings account Jenny
fIol - ~.
World. She had had cards engraved: "Top o.
the World, Riverside Drive" You had to pre-
sent one to Wallace the sepia houseman, who
answered your ring. II your card bore Mrs.
Montgomerys round, rather schoolgirl signature
you got in directly If it didn't there was
delay But you got in.
From the roof that ran around the bungalow
like a brick lawn, you could see the river, and
the toy boats on the river, and miles and miles
and miles of the cluttered town. and at night
there were stars below you; brighter than
higher stars and the wheels and spires Of
Palisades Park made gilt geometrics on the
sky.
The bungalow itself had seven rooms, three
baths. 1t was beautiful, exotic, shadowy, with
purple curtains. Even in the daytime the lamps
were lit, the curtains drawn across the doors
and windows, that there might be no daytime
ever.
Sometimes, Saturdays and Sundays, a pianist
was there pale, blond dinner coated boy, with
magic rh. Yhn1ic fingers. He played by ear
Played anything you hummed or whistled to
him. Left to himself, he chose the Rhapsody
In Blue" Whiteman's arrangement Of the Song
of Inda"-things like that which break your
heart. His name was George.
Sometimes he was asked to play the Varsity
Drag" 'Shakin the Blues Away" And a
girl would dance alone, her bobbed hair pranc-
ing, her silver slippers stamping down the beat
Sometimes a man would lean In the curve Of
the piano casually, his elbow backward on it
and tall glass in his hand, and sing ballad
or nanny song. These performers were
always professional; you could depend on that
Jenny Montgomery tactfully discouraged the
occasional amateur, emboldened by wine, who
wished to give impromptu exhibition.
She was tactful woman. She knew every
thing, told nothing. Her guests enjoyed an
anonymity as complete as possible. Who's
who" she said lis nobody's business"
If you attempted to learn from her anything
about herself, she merely smiled.
mysterious woman. The establishment she
ran had mystery; an atmosphere close mouthed,
inscrutabe. The servants, Wallace and Eulte,
never spoke at all, except to say THE Same?"
or "You may settle with Madame when you are
leaving, If you please"
7 Asst year Jenny Montgomery had made,
over and above her considerable running
expenses thrty-two thousand, nine hundred
and fifty dollars.
She lived at night. Mornings did not exist
for her, and lunch was just word. She woke
in midafternoon to three hours or less Of day
light and of privacy. They were busy hours
always, moving on schedule. Coffee in bed
then telephone calls then conferences with
Wallace and with Eulie. Ten minutes at har