This financially successful club had an uptown branch in the swank East Side, where customers also "hopped across the (race) fence." It was shuttered after the president of the corporation owning both clubs turned out to be the wife of America's "No. 2 Communist"--Leon Josephson, convicted of contempt of Congress. The village club is still operated but by new owners--not Red. But shrewd traders in nature's mishaps profit by the surreptitious reputation of this off-the-highway sector. They have runners at the clubs and around the town, whispering to likely cash-and-carry strays--women included--of Sodom and Gomorrah on Manhattan, where, for a stiff price, they can behold forbidden fruit. When a fish is hooked, a quick 'phone call assembles the male magdalens and the female monstrosities. When the visitor arrives, the revel is in swing, to seem spontaneous. What goes on then is pretty much the real thing. Guests are rarely invited to any indulgence--they are spectators. Groppe (grape) is served. This is made of the crushed remains of the ingredients of brandy, cheap, insidious and atomic. Whiskey is supposed to be adjured, but this concoction is even stronger, though it doesn't seem so to the tongue and tonsils. The apartment, often a duplex with couches below and a bed or two on the narrow balcony, is candle-lit. The floor is strewn with exotic rugs. The furniture is individual and often distingué. Whips, handcuffs, leg-chains, wire brushes and other instruments of sadistic and masochistic physical and moral aberration enter into the play. It's all routined, timed and stage-managed. The "privileged" who are "let in" on these practices have paid in advance--lest they are overcome by revulsion and cannot stomach the full show. If they stay through, they are besieged for "luck money," as gratuities are known among these habitues and sons of habitues. This is the Village--if you care for such. 9. IT'S NOT TRUE a.--_Chinatown_ The visitor to New York will not find the answer to the musty gag: "Is it true what they say about Chinese girls?" in Chinatown. The local slant-eyed Sadies seldom mix with Caucasians; and most of them are so shy they wouldn't tell you, let alone let you explore the question. Almost every other superstition and preconceived notion you've had about the Chinese and Chinatown is as counterfeit as chop suey. Remember the old song about "Chinatown, my Chinatown, where the lights are low." Well, they aren't. Chinatown is so brightly lighted, with gay and multi-hued neon signs, that its few blocks rival Broadway. Gotham's Chinatown is the oldest in the world, outside the Orient, and looks it. Long before there were human habitations where now is San Francisco, there were suave and placid Orientals in Gotham.