It’s a Friday night in the first few days of August and the new crew has finally paid off. Already they have accumulated eighty-five points this week. Mike the Specialist turned up again today and the new crew were well away. Scott observed, with gentle amusement as Mike the Specialist tried desperately to disappear into the rear passenger-side door. This new crew disturb him greatly. The old crew seemed to accept him in an off-hand kind of a way. Left him alone. But, true to form, Mike still sold two large paintings and one small. Six whole precious points. Scott is giving three of those points to Bill Hannah so that he can reach his personal target of twenty points this week. That should encourage him. Make him feel a valued member of the crew.
“Where are we going?” chorus the crew on the outbound journey, getting used to the daily routine ... on the way back, Mike the Specialist is dropped off at Hammersmith Bridge as usual. Scott drive’s him over to Castelnau. Mike always looks happier once he is back in Barnes …

Scott finally answering the question after three crew choruses.
“We're heading for the Playboy Club in Park Lane.” That silences the crew for a moment.
“You mean the Bunny Club?!”, Michaela seems to have found her voice of late ... Passing round the elaborate spliff of crumbly red Lebanese. Very good gear. All the dope that Scott scores from Ricky at Elgin Avenue is reserved for the special clientele. Which Scott thinks must now number fifty people or more ... The crew are all out in Space City. Still, that won't make any difference to young Angie. For the past ten days she’s resembled nothing but a young, spaced-out, Diana Dors cruising the Milky Way. She must wake up in bed in the morning with Ricky at Elgin Avenue. Start her day with a cup of tea and toke on a strong joint of red leb.
“Why are we going to the Playboy Club ...?” the question is eventually asked. Scott pulls another ready-made spliff from an inside pocket of his green corduroy jacket and passes it across to Bill Hannah to light. Michaela has taken to stroking the green corduroy jacket whenever she can without being noticed. As if the little touches remind her of the thrill of the steal.

Scott measures out his reply which seems to settle on the hash smoke swirling in the car.
“Because I’ve been invited by a friend, Francois, who is a member. And crazy though it may seem, I thought I’d bring you all along for the sheer hell of it. It's Friday night! Let’s see how the other half live! The rich and the sleazy. Fashion icons parading to be seen. All the glamour and the oozing contact. Confidential business concluded surrounded by Bunny Girls. The constant image of a kissing Venus with a rabbit ears and a fluffy tail. Very tempting.” Young Angie giggles.
“They won't let us in!”, states Chris Clark.
“Have you tried?”, responds Scott as they drive past the window lights of a Harrods display at night.
“Once last year with my brother and his mate the bass player, Lonnie Street.” Scott ponders the name for Children of the Empire. But he’s heard that Lonnie Street’s estranged wife is a very litigious soul, constantly on the make. You can’t be too careful …
“We never stood a chance. It wasn't a case of no dice, members only or by invitation. No. They said the Playboy Club was not for the likes of us. Shits! My brother and Lonnie Street protested strongly and it all got quite heated. But two big, bad-looking bouncers soon appeared in the reception area. So, we thought better of it and left. That place is nothing special anyhow. Just sex dressed up as rabbits!” At that, young Angie starts laughing uproariously and Bill Hannah joins in. If nothing else, the Playboy Club is good for a laugh or two.

Scott finding it surprisingly easy to park the Cortina near to Park Lane. Just a little side road. Playboy members have their expensive cars parked by attendants in the huge underground car park. Membership privileges.

It’s around eleven o’clock at night. The crew emerge from the Cortina, glancing across at the blackness of Hyde Park dotted with lights ... Scott slightly uneasy, they're a motley crew. Michaela O'Rourke in her dark glasses, wearing a long black overcoat on a hot night in early August. A metal chain around the ankles of each of her uncleaned, knee-length, black boots. Chris Clark in blue jeans and a pale crimson tee-shirt in the style of the Confederate army. He has a black beard and lank, black hair which is drifting past his shoulders. Young Angie seems only half-dressed in a pink blouse, half unbuttoned for maximum effect. A short silver skirt riding up her ample thighs. She is not wearing any shoes or stockings. And after a day on the road with the crew her feet are dirty with half-painted and chipped red toenails. Bill Hannah with his lovely, boyish smile beneath a veritable bush of wild blond hair. A half unbuttoned white shirt. He’s wearing black leather trousers, now baggy at the knees, in honour of Jim Morrison. These are being held up by a silver-buckled, studded belt. Scott, his long hair fringing the collar of his bottle-green corduroy jacket. A maroon and navy shirt with pink flowers. Brown trousered jeans above shiny brown brogue shoes ... Another red leb joint gets handed around the crew as they cluster outside the Cortina. A few barbed comments aimed at the Playboy Club as they look at the neon sign.

Scott grinds out the joint with the heel of his shoe and the crew hit the Playboy Club. Needless to say, they never make it past the reception desk. Everybody is very polite. Very straight in a cordial way. They try to listen as Scott explains that he has an invitation from a friend inside who is a Playboy member. The interruptions are numerous, The fashionable people wandering out from the Club all of the time. They want some fresh information from reception. Cool night air. Awaiting new arrivals to get them in the Club. Without fail, everyone stares at the crew as if they are a band of wandering travellers who’ve just emerged from out the Carpathian Mountains. Michaela helps to maintain that impression with her Vampira black eyes beneath dark glasses stuck in her hair, coolly staring at them. She looks like she wants to bomb the joint. Blow up this Playboy Club. Send all the Bunny Girls with their tails between their fleshy legs, running screaming down Park Lane and stopping all the traffic. Chris Clark is looking mean and moody. Sore at being refused entry to the precious Playboy Club yet again. Young Angie is looking positively sexy and truculent. She may well accost a rich, male Playboy patron at any second. Bill and Scott are doing their level best to maintain a sensible form of communication ...

The sleek and well-manicured girls on reception are Playboy charm-school personified. But no matter how many times Bill Hannah smiles that boyish grin of his, it's nix. One of the reception girls, Cindy, seems very taken with Scott. But that doesn't make any difference, they still won't let them in ... Two mean-looking, bulky bouncers are viewing the crew with mild interest and amusement. They could crush all five of them with a mere flexing and flip of their protruding biceps. Paid simply for the muscle they provide …

Astonishment rains down on Scott from on high. Who should come waltzing out of the Playboy Club into reception, but Nicky. His strikingly handsome face is a picture of surprise for a moment. He quickly adjusts, the way the expert salespeople do, and greets Scott warmly, his fellow graduate and trainee manager ... This being the reception area of the famous Playboy Club in Park Lane, they don't hug or clasp hands in Black Panther style. The abiding theme behind this enterprise, of magazine and clubs is to be cool. Even kool with a K would be frowned upon.
“How in the world’s name did they let you in!”
“Didn't you know, Scott, I’m a member. Have been for months.” The reception girls, including Cindy, are all making eyes at Nicky. The two mean-looking bouncers are glancing away now, following the progress of two uniformed policemen talking to a parked car driver on Park Lane. Nicky’s presence has eased the tension and the Playboy double-glazed doorway affords a good view onto a section of Park Lane.
“Just what are you all doing? What brings you here?”
“It's nearly midnight and we’re waiting for the Devil’s dancing hour!”, counterblasts Michaela O'Rourke. An auburn-haired receptionist, Suzanne, glares in a frosty manner at Michaela for daring to be sharp with Nicky. Her attention is immediately diverted as a fresh group of inebriated men enter the reception area and demand to be let in. They want to play with the Bunny Girls. The two mean-looking bouncers have gone on red alert. Nicky motions Scott and the crew away from the reception and over to some chairs and a table reserved for visitors.
“Say, don’t answer that question about why you’re here. Sit down. I'll order drinks for you and the crew. Would you like me to get one of the waitresses to bring out some food to you?”
“Yes, Nicky, I would. I’m starving!” Young Angie just leaps right in without a second's hesitation. The carefree impetuosity of extreme youth. Nicky grins at her, His flashing dark brown eyes taking in her large, semi-exposed breasts popping out of her pink blouse. She’s in a state of déshabillé and couldn't care less. She seems ready to pounce on Nicky at any moment. He senses it, smiles, retreats behind his lithe movement and grace. The group of men are arguing at reception. Brandishing many hands in the air. One demands to see Hugh Hefner. Cindy is trying to explain that it's membership only. Hugh Hefner is at this moment in California. Sunning himself by a swimming pool. They seem unwilling to understand or comprehend. Alcohol has confused them. Befuddled their brains. The auburn-haired receptionist, Suzanne, is polite, but firm. She’s obviously quite used to having to deal with half-drunken men appearing in the reception area of the Playboy Club late at night. The lure and appeal of drink, food, music, entertainment, sex. After all, that is what the Playboy magazine feeds off. Upmarket, glossy, porn processed as tasteful and fashionable.

“All our girls are really young ladies selected for their charm, intelligence and statistics. They are trained to walk, talk, act in a certain way. Even these receptionists correspond to the Playboy ethic, that is part of the promotions canon.” … But for all the fabricated gloss and glamour. All the publicity. The projection of sexual fantasy. The idea of a harem of Playboy Bunnies attending to all the male requirements. It’s still sexual fascists advocating the idea of soft porn. So opposed to the modern New Age. Liberty for Women. Burn the bras. Let the hair grow under the armpits and on the legs. Openly talk about the menstruation cycle. Better opportunities for all women ... And here the crew are, sat on soft chairs in the visitors reception area of the Playboy Club. No wonder Michaela is seething with resentment. She won’t even take off her long black coat. It seems to add to her sense of outrage and bile …

Nicky, true to form, sails right on by all of this. The mean-looking bouncers are asking the noisily-inebriated group of now belligerent men to leave. Nicky placing his arm on Scott’s shoulder.
“We can't have the purveyors of experimental art and paintings on velvet going thirsty on a hot Friday night like this now, can we.” Nicky, ever the charming and eloquent humourist, moves across to the main reception desk to talk to auburn-haired Suzanne … One of the bouncers has a shouting and swearing, drunk visitor in an armlock. He pushes him head-first through the glass swing doors with a bump. The other bouncer is on hand to deal with any violent reactions. But the rest of the group of half-drunken men decide to leave, reluctantly. You can almost hear them cursing under their breaths. They only regain the confidence to shout obscenities back at the Playboy Club when they are well clear of the entrance. A little boys’ game of retaliation in defeat …

Nicky is whispering in Suzanne’s ear. She laughs. Playboy receptionists don’t blush ... An elderly, rich-looking, grey-haired and very suntanned member appears in reception and starts talking to Nicky. As with Advanced Art, he seems to be the hub of attraction. The person that people go to first. Nicky comes back over to the visitors area to confirm the drinks order.
“You know what this place is, Nicky, don’t you?” The tart voice of Michaela O’Rourke aiming another barb at him. She would never get a seat in his crew, that's for sure.
“You’re going to tell me anyway,” smiles Nicky.
“The underage Bunny Club is for rich paedophiles.”
“You've got a sharp tongue, Michaela O'Rourke.”
“All the better to lash you with, Nicky!” Nicky leaves to go back into the club. Looks briefly at Scott as if to say, ‘How can you put up with her!’ Suzanne, the Playboy receptionist’s, has eyes trained on him all the while.
“You must have to be very dumb to be a Bunny Girl,” declares Michaela.
“Bob Dylan’s wife, Sara, was a Bunny Girl at the Playboy Club in New York,” retorts Scott.
“That’s no argument, is it!” yells Michaela O'Rourke. The Playboy staff are bearing with the crew for all of their show of truculence and obscene peccadilloes. A tray of drinks are brought out to the crew by a young Bunny Girl, courtesy of Nicky ...Michaela O’Rourke’s acidic attitude highlights what seems so obvious. The crew look out of place and frankly they don't like it even in the visitor’s reception area. The Playboy Club feels like an old-fashioned sex parlour masquerading as a ritzy and stylish men’s club for millionaires, and wannabes on the make. A late-night resort for certain kinds of celebrities, curious, well-dressed women arrive and observe. Others on the lookout to score a rich sugar daddy …

Michaela is mostly right. Today we have, in Women’s Lib, on the one hand, Germaine Greer and her notorious book The Female Eunuch; and a classy role models like Barbara Hulanicki, the founder and originator of the Biba experience. While on the other hand we can see gorgeous young women parading around as sex rabbits in front of all these rich, chauvinistic plutocrats and young bucks like Nicky and the charming Francois, who just use it for business connections and choose to ignore all the sexist implications ... It leaves a bad taste in the mouth. And what’s more, folk like the crew are openly discouraged … Another very attractive Bunny Girl with particularly large rabbit-ears materialises. She introduces herself as Gloria. Scott thought the Bunny Girls weren’t supposed to disclose their names unless on request. Not part of the Hugh Hefner experience. Creating mystique … It’s a hot Friday night in early August, stuck in the visitor’s reception area of the Playboy Club on Park Lane. Hugh Hefner will just have to sue Scott when the Children of the Empire hits the commercial bookshelves. Any publicity that is not controlled by the Playboy Empire is deemed to be dangerous. And that is also the case with the London Playboy Club and its Director, Victor Lownds ...

Scott has made a decision. He’s given the keys of the Paris green Cortina to Bill Hannah. Told the crew that once they've finished their drinks and the plates of savoury biscuits with pate and little, neatly cut sandwiches delivered by Gloria. They should all go and sit in the Cortina and wait for him. He won’t be that long. Scott tells them to help themselves to some of the crumbly red leb stashed under the dashboard ... Gloria is hovering around Scott.
“Is everything alright Scott?‘ ... she explains that Nicky had asked her especially to take good care of him. Said you were a special friend of his ... Can I get you anything else? ... I’m sure I know you. Haven't we met somewhere before?” …

How do they make their fluffy tails spring up like that? It’s a clever trick. Catches the eye. Gloria is trying to catch Scott’s eye. Doesn't seem like proper Bunny behaviour to Scott. Maybe she’s a new Bunny on the block. The inherent jokes in all of this are non-stop ... Michaela is eating a small sandwich and giving Bunny Gloria the evil eye. A leave-our-leader-alone look. Cindy from the reception desk has called Gloria twice saying she’s wanted back in the club. Gloria touches Scott’s arm. Promising to return. A form of Bunny guaranteed satisfaction. Scott can’t get the word myxomatosis out of his mind ...

Never give up your car keys. Always a very chancy thing to do. If you are ever going to trust anyone make sure that it’s yourself. We live in a New Age. A loving, more giving society. The dawning of the Age of Aquarius so the song goes. Scott and his crew are the Baby Boomers. The prized first generation of teenagers with true buying-power and a desire to change the world. End all wars. Eliminate all famine. Give peace a chance ... but heh, sad to say, people don’t really change that much. The instincts, desires and patterns of behaviour from Roman times still hold true today. Nothing really changes. You think so, but selling paintings on velvet every day, dealing with people at close quarters, Scott sees all the lies, the little tricks. The despairing hopes and longings that can reveal strange tendencies. How everybody is still searching for love. Dreaming of riches and money. Make you a promise then leave you dying in some back alley to further their golden dreams. Nothing has changed that much in human nature since the prehistoric times. And, as Scott says, never give up your car keys …

At last, another Bunny Girl who doesn’t give her name emerges from inside the sacred confines of the Playboy Club. She asks loudly above the cross-talking voices of a fresh group of men arriving in reception. The Bunny Girl leans close to Scott to be heard and tells him Francois sends his apologies and he will be out shortly ... It all sounded so simple.
“You must come and meet me at the Playboy Club, Old Chap. You will be my guest.” … Well, Scott is still sat here waiting for Francois, now left with little choice. Scott finally persuaded the crew to leave the reception area. Michaela was extremely reluctant to go. She seemed to be enjoying her highly critical harangue of the Playboy Club in a perverse kind of a way. Young Angie only wanted to hang out to see just exactly what she could catch. But finally, she got put off when a swinging, middle-aged man from the latest group of macho men trying to gate-crash the Playboy Club, started leering at her and making lewd suggestions. It started to get quite heated when a protective Chris Clark told him to piss off. One of the mean-looking bouncers had to intervene. They are having a busy time of it tonight. Cindy on reception turns the music feed up loud and everybody is instantly aware of the Andy Williams song Music to Watch Girls By. Scott chuckling to himself. This must be the perfect Playboy anthem. About paedophilia made bland and saccharine …

Bill Hannah finally gets the idea and shepherds the other members of the crew out through the glass doors of the Playboy Club - their protests are relativily mild. Young Angie breaks free and goes back inside and makes to sit on Scott’s lap before a slightly harassed Bill Hannah tugs her away. The Playboy girls on reception found that scene very amusing. They deserve something to smile at amid all the mayhem and disturbance of a hot Friday night ... At last the crew have gone. They were very good really. It is never fun when you are denied access to somewhere. Can induce that pariah feeling.

Cindy in reception takes a call on the internal phone-system, sweeps across the reception area, smiles sweetly at Scott in charm school manner and leads him into the hallowed confines of the Playboy Club. Hallelujah! At last!
“Old Chap, I’m so sorry. So good to see you. Business, you understand.” Francois taps his nose as he says this. It’s funny, Francois is wearing yet another new, expensive, made-to-measure, three-piece, dark, navy-blue suit. Yet to Scott’s eyes, he looked far better in his two piece, off-the-peg, lightweight, soft-blue and light-grey suits ... Francois, true to form, has a table in the far corner of the Playboy Club. Not too conspicuous. Scott’s eyes finding the interior very plush, richly expansive decor as you would expect. The walls are a mass of reprinted and framed cover posters of past Playboy magazine front covers. Centre page spreads of Playmates of the Month everywhere to be seen. The eyes become dazzled. Marilyn Monroe, bless her, is in a few photographs. That famous shot of her standing over a grate with her white dress blowing up in the subway heat of New York City from the film The Seven Year Itch is there. As are prints of familiar Pop Art from Roy Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol whose famous painting of Marilyn Monroe is also reproduced. The ultimate Hollywood dream girl ... Francois is talking about business and Scott has spied prints of Edward Hopper paintings. He's counted three as he continues to nod at the right moments and respond to ‘Old Chap’. Hopper’s New York Movie Nineteen Thirty-Nine, Early Sunday Morning and, Scott’s favourite, High Noon. The blonde model in the house doorway must have been Edward Hopper’s wife …

Bunny Girls are everywhere. Each one of them perfectly presented and attending to all the Playboy creature comforts. Their tails are constantly bobbing. Everywhere, admirers. Francois doesn't seem to notice any of this. The rich Indian moguls are here tonight but are currently having a private meeting. The Playboy Club thinks of everything. They even provide certain private rooms that can be used for business meetings away from the main floor of the Club. Andy Williams just won't go away. He’s back again. Constant, undemanding, background muzak ... Nicky comes over to the table and Scott introduces Francois to him. They make polite noises then Nicky is off, gliding effortlessly away to have a dance with a very beautiful young lady. A few people are dancing. Most seem happy just to sit and watch. Eat and drink. Ogle the Bunny Girls. There is old footage of a silent movie being projected onto one of the walls. Scott thinks it might be Rudolf Valentino in Son of the Sheik.

There seem to be at least three different floor levels to the Club. Plenty of red and black in evidence, the colours of sex and hot love. The Bunny Girl Gloria has spotted Scott and comes over to offer her services. Francois finds it very amusing. He must have grown up with clubs in Saigon that catered to rich men’s’ special needs. It seems to be a part of oriental philosophy. The pleasure seekers' paradise. You wake up in Houri Heaven and all your prayers are instantly satisfied ... There are so many identically clad Bunny Girls, this place could be a hall of mirrors in a funfair. There are just so many of them. As if the Playboy business wisdom is that no one will ever go short of a Bunny Girl. They are so special. There is always one for you. There are also many mirrors here. As if it’s expected that everybody wants to see their own image. Preen themselves on stage for general consumption …

Scott is already sick of this place. Even the Coca-Cola tastes flat. Francois restrains the Old Chap.
“Please wait. Just a few more minutes, you understand.” Eventually the rich Indian moguls appear. Two of them. Hard to say their ages, Scott’s never that good a judge. Maybe late forties to early fifties. They seem oiled and perfumed and plump with well-manicured hands and greet Scott as if they are really only doing Francois a huge favour to please him. Keep him happy. Scott declines the glass of proffered Champagne. When they discover the art company he works for is a modern one, they lose interest. These rich moguls are only concerned with antiques and artifacts and works of classic art. They seem to quietly thrive on the atmosphere as if there is a Bunny Girl especially awaiting them. But, of course, that is not the Playboy creed. Though Scott has spied other ladies in here tonight who are not Bunnies, more the private escort type. The smell and taste of sex lingers over everything, as if sexual gratification was the answer to all of your problems …

The rich Indian moguls have turned away and seem to be discussing a project between themselves ... Scott politely thanks Francois, makes the honest excuse that he has to get his new crew home and takes his leave … they're waiting in the Cortina probably impatiently. Everybody has an opinion about the Bunny Club. The only positive one is young Angie who defiantly declares she would like to be a Bunny Girl and gets talked down for saying it ...Scott suddenly realizes he shouldn't have worried about giving Bill Hannah the car keys. Not one of the crew can drive. So, there you go … pure luck.

Easing the Cortina away from Park Lane. Nearly one o’clock on a hot, steamy, August night. The Playboy Club with its lit-up Bunny Girl sign outside seemed somehow archaic, false, full of money obtained who knows how? And completely out of touch with reality. Fully realizing Hugh Hefner’s dream which has turned the magazine and the clubs into a multi-million-dollar industry. Just goes to show what rich male folks want ... Scott looking in the rear-view mirror and all he can see are Michaela O'Rourke's dark glasses focused on him, as if they are a part of the receding road. At this rate he should expect to receive a fresh gift of eight gold-plated candlestick holders stolen from a cathedral. The red leb joint is having an effect. Scott can just imagine the police turning up at the Hollywood Road office. Chief Inspector Fluff of Scotland Yard to Dom Patel,
“We have reason to suspect that one of your employees has stolen eight gold-plated candlestick holders from out of Canterbury Cathedral.” Dom Patel justifiably alarmed.
“If we return them will that be the end of the matter, Chief Inspector?”
“I’m afraid the Bishop has indicated that they will press charges, sir.”
“That’s not very Christian of them, Chief Inspector, is it!” Dom Patel’s brown eyes are starting to bulge.
“Where their gold-plated candlestick holders are concerned, sir, religions can be very possessive.” Scott and the crew driving round Hyde Park Corner and heading up the Bayswater Road to take young Angie home first again …