“They are out of place in this lovely mountain setting,” Mrs. Lurie said, but added as an afterthought, “but they’re probably divine to live in.”
Fran, undiscouraged by his passengers’ preoccupation with houses old and new, continued to enlighten them.
“That’s where they print the Aspen Times,” and he pointed out a wooden structure reminiscent of an earlier era. “It comes out once a week, but it’s been right here since the silver boom days.”
Judy had made several attempts to break in on Fran’s monologue. She thought quickly. “By the way,” she said with elaborate nonchalance, “You wouldn’t happen to know where that cute little theater is—I’m surprised you didn’t point that out!”
“Oh, the Isis! We didn’t happen to pass it. But they have movies there—the greatest!” Judy gave up, as Fran continued.
“That big gray stone building next to it is the Jerome Hotel. When they built it in 1881, it was a show place. That’s when silver was all there was in Aspen. It was elegant! It’s still the finest place in Aspen, fixed up modern today with a half dozen or more annexes. And it’s got a swimming pool!” he added impressively.
“Can anyone use the pool?” Judy asked, “or is it just for the hotel guests?”
“It’s mostly for the guests, but the music festival people get in somehow.”
They had now reached the end of town and Fran stopped in front of a plain little cottage with an overhanging veranda. “Here we are,” he said, jumping out to unload the car.