The King of Strip

When living in Sydney, many moons ago, one got a blast from the past in the form of a phone call from an old friend of Hobbit's inviting one out to lunch. Donning on a posh suit, heels and a rather fetching hat one fronted up to a grand old hotel. One of the last of a dying breed in the trend towards sleek, functional modernism. It was a place that still had starched tablecloths, silver service and deep plush seating.  In short somewhere that you could conduct important business and discrete affairs.

Down the grand staircase he came as one entered the lobby. He was replesent in leather trousers, ponytail and diamonds, one of which was imbedded in a tooth. On his arm he sported the latest in a long line of very young looking blondes dressed in an identical outfit... though one wouldn’t put money on her diamonds. See the rumour was that he couldn’t get it up for anything too far over the legal age... unless they didn’t look it. The smart ones tried to stave off the encroaching time with endless rounds of waxing and bleaching, but it is hard when you work in a business that chews you up and spits you out in favour of the newest and freshest.

Now the thing you have to understand was that he had a voice honed by years of standing in the back of his clubs, yelling encouragement to the girls over music and mayhem. Affectionately known as the King of Strip he started clubs in the 60’s. At the time his girls were decked out in star pasties and merkins to get around nudity bans. As time progressed so did the nudity levels of his show, but he didn’t let up for a minute.

To this day one can still hear his voice yelling do spreaders girls... a thing that was illegal at the time as no pink bits were allowed. The trouble was that although he aspired to class, he was invariably hoist by his own petard. Even his home was mid century brothel, with its flocked red walls and zebra print furniture. In fact one has suspected that some of it might have been furnished from a business venture way back when.

So there we are ensconced in our booth while we catch up on people past and present. As we carry on with lunch one realises that people are pausing mid bite to listen to our conversation. In fact a hush has descended across the room. And there is his booming voice going do you remember so and so that used to fuck so and so? Well they got done for X, Y or Z! It made for a memorable lunch J

It is strange how we end our days though. He married a lovely Thai girl and they opened a little cafe together. It was far from the noise and the spotlights, but everyone has to retire sometimes. By all accounts he died a happy man.  He will however, always live in one’s mind as the insane character that was superstitious about the colour green to the point of paranoia. And so paranoid that he took a loaded gun and a body guard when he went out the door... but then sometimes they are out to get you.