In comparison with the vibrant world of popular Western entertainment that Frederick had known in Moscow and even in Odessa, Constantinople was a backwater. When he arrived, there were a few elegant European-style restaurants with music in Pera, one or two places with variety acts onstage, and quite a few bars and other drinking establishments that catered mostly to Levantines and to the growing numbers of foreigners, especially military officers. Down the hill near the Galata port, the narrow, foul-smelling streets, which turned to mud whenever it rained, were filled with beer joints and cheap bordellos patronized by sailors and enlisted men; drugs, especially cocaine, were also readily available. Some of these places were so vile that they were put off-limits by the military authorities. The city’s traditionally-minded Turkish men shunned Western entertainment and did not drink alcohol or consort with women outside their families; they frequented the ubiquitous coffeehouses instead. Traditional Turkish women did not participate in public entertainments at all and wore veils when they ventured out of the home; they also did not go out into the street after seven o’clock at night. What Constantinople lacked were precisely the kinds of places that Frederick had owned in Moscow—elegant, sophisticated whirls of Western music, entertainment, dancing, drink, and enticing cuisine.
To find the money he needed to start something like this, Frederick turned to partners and moneylenders. Constantinople was a major crossroads for trade between Asia and Europe and teemed with merchants of different nationalities; Greeks and Armenians were especially prominent. Many had profited from the war, and several offered Frederick short-term loans at usurious rates—more than 100 percent interest for six months. Frederick had no choice; he had landed in Constantinople shortly before the beginning of the summer season and could not afford to miss it. Without enough money to buy or rent a suitable building, he decided to open an outdoor entertainment garden, on the lines of his Aquarium, although on a humbler scale. Summers began earlier and lasted longer in Constantinople than in Moscow, so if all went well this venture would go on into the fall; after that he would see.
Frederick was also used to working with partners. By May 15, less than a month after he arrived, he had settled on two—Arthur Reyser Jr. and Bertha Proctor. Little is known about Reyser except that he was Swiss, and that he and Proctor, who was English, shared a half interest in the new venture; the other half was Frederick’s. Each half represented a sizable investment—3,000 Turkish pounds (abbreviated “Ltqs”), which would be approximately $50,000 in today’s money. Reyser would be a passive partner, not involved in running the business on a daily basis.
Bertha Proctor was something else entirely. A barkeep by profession who specialized in men in uniform, she had made a fortune during the war running a renowned watering hole in Salonika in Greece that was called simply “Bertha’s Bar.” When the war ended and the British army left Greece for Constantinople, she followed it. Although not exactly a madam, she was remembered very warmly by her many clients as much for her friendly and beautiful bar girls—some of them with colorful nicknames like “Frying Pan,” “Square Arse,” “Mother’s Ruin,” and “Fornicating Fannie”—as for her good liquor.
Bertha’s experience and connections were excellent complements to Frederick’s. In her youth she had been a chorus girl and spent years performing in cabarets on the Continent, so she knew the world of popular entertainment intimately. By the time Frederick met her, she was a fleshy, buxom woman of a certain age, with peroxided, lemon-yellow hair piled high on her head, who liked to sit on a stool behind her bar, placidly knitting, while observing the scene and directing her girls. Her innocuous appearance was deceptive, however. In addition to being a shrewd businesswoman and diviner of men’s hearts, she was “a top limey spy,” as Lieutenant Robert Dunn, who worked in American naval intelligence in Constantinople, put it. Her job was to eavesdrop on foreigners’ conversations and to report anything of interest to British Intelligence. This was an especially productive pastime during the Allied occupation of Constantinople, when the city became “the political whispering gallery of the world,” in Dunn’s words, and a hotbed of intrigue, rumors, and espionage. Despite her many years abroad, Bertha preserved her thick Lancashire accent: “Look I’ve coom to ask if it’s by your orders that these bloody detectives… they’ve found nawt, lad… it’s damn disgoosting.” With Frederick’s Delta drawl, their conversations must have been an earful.
Bertha’s popularity with British officers—her prices and women were out of reach for the rank and file—would prove a boon for Frederick, both at the start of his career in Constantinople and later. The two decided to give their venture a name that covered both sides of the Atlantic and called it the “Anglo-American Garden Villa”; it was also known as the “Stella Club.” The hybrid name reflected the symbiotic relationship between the two parts of the enterprise: Bertha would preside over her bar while Frederick handled everything else—booking variety acts, hiring employees for the kitchen and restaurant, and dealing with contractors and wholesalers of provisions.
“Bertha and Thomas,” as the partners became known, found a large parcel of land on the northern edge of Pera in an area known as Chichli. It was across the street from the last stop of the Number 10 tramway line, which made it readily accessible by public transportation from the center. But the location was also risky, because in 1919 it hardly looked like part of the city. Only half of it was built up, mostly with shabby-looking two-and three-story houses of brick and weather-beaten wood, while the rest consisted of large fruit and vegetable gardens and empty lots that merged into the countryside a short distance away. However, the parcel was relatively cheap to rent and had a scattering of old shade trees as well as a nice view of the Bosporus (the area is now completely built up with apartment buildings that block all street-level views). There was also a roomy house in a corner of the property, which is where Frederick and his family probably moved after leaving the Pera Palace.
By the end of June, the empty lot had been transformed into a mini Aquarium: several simple wooden structures were built; there were pavilions and kiosks, neat gravel paths, and strings of electric lights that made the entire place glow at night. Staff people were hired and purveyors of food and drink lined up. An open-air dance floor occupied a central spot, with a stage behind it and tables for customers facing it. The “Stella Club” was on the second floor of one of the buildings. Advertisements had been appearing in local French-and English-language newspapers for several weeks and on Tuesday, June 24, 1919, the Anglo-American Garden Villa opened.
A new era in Constantinople’s nightlife had begun. The establishment offered first-class dinners and suppers in a garden restaurant, an American bar, private rooms, a Gypsy band, and variety acts. For herself, Bertha added that she had “the honour to invite all her British friends to be present”; later she extended a more spirited invitation: “Friends of the Salonica Army, Fall In. We are waiting for you.” Frederick also exploited his past celebrity to underscore the attentive personal service and sophisticated cuisine that patrons could expect from him: “Teas, Dinners and Suppers under the special superintendence of the well-known Moscow Maitre d’hôtel Thomas.” He would become famous in Constantinople for his signature warmth and the big smiles with which he greeted his customers.